by N. M. Brown
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“You’re wine Gala.” Echo announced as she moved across the room to the expanding man. Now, gone was his tie, his shirt no longer buttoned, and his belt had been discarded.
Many customers were still eating, their earlier meals drooling down their chins and chests. Other wine bottles lay discarded on the floor, ready and waiting to be used in a fight over the last ham hock.
Gala, currently eating through a selection of meats – some from four legs, some from two – toasted to her as she approached. “Good girl, you’re back.” He waved away his customers holding aloft his empty glass. It was one of five, each glass different to compliment a different meal. “You took an age.”
“I’m sorry Gala. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.” Was all Echo said. Her voice strong, her body calm and she knew she looked the picture of collected as she poured the crimson liquid out.
Making a small humph in the back of his throat, he surveyed the room, looking for who was holding themselves and their taste buds back. With no further instruction, Echo thought herself dismissed, but held back a yelp when fatty, soft fingers grabbed her wrist.
“Did you not have a glass like I told you?” Gala asked. He was looking at her now with his full attention. Sweat drip down his brow and Echo shivered as piecing sky, blue eyes stared into hers.
“I didn’t want to keep even a drop from your feast.” Echo explained calmly. The drunker Gala’s guests were, the more they ate which in turn fed Gala. She was doing him a favour.
“Your restraint surprises me girl.” Gala said, slowly releasing her and sitting back. “It’s a pity. I so wanted to share that bottle with you.” He blinked once more, before turning away and only then did Echo allowed herself to wipe her sweaty palms.
“Next time.” Echo said in promise. “I’d best go. The others wanted me.” She made the excuse, setting the bottle and making a move to leave.
“Yes. I bet they do.” Was all she heard as she walked out the door and Echo could whole heartedly say she was shook.
◆◆◆
It was early morning and Echo felt like death warmed up.
Her feet were no longer attached to her body, while her arms ached from the trays that flew from her kitchen, every single one laced with her best concoctions. Had the police raided again, things could have gotten hairy. But Echo would risk it. She would risk it all for her family and she took it as her personal mission to get customers flowing back through their doors. She was done with the McQueen’s, done with the holy Saint because she had all she needed, and didn’t need more. But as tired as she might have been, she had one last order to fulfil before she could rest.
The last drinks of the evening were for Mara, and walking into the Midnight Suit, she made sure she’d slipped a little extra in for the Sin of Wrath. A little hawthorn to oxygenate the blood and some crushed jade to revive any energy lost. Not that Echo thought any more energy was needed as she looked around the room.
Blood, sweat and pissed had pooled on the training mats, glinting in morning sun from huge bay windows. The red walls gave the room a hot, angry aesthetic, which was built upon by the black gym bags and black leather seating. Guests huffed out in aggravated breaths as they punched, kicked and attacked. Other’s grappled with each other, wrestling to the floor until one was dead or unconscious. High tempo music pumped out from surround sound speakers and the smell furry hung heavy in the air. This room was anything but zen.
Five men in training gear sat with Mara and silently watched Echo move across the room like she was prey. They were each ordinary in features and after quickly dismissing them as poetical fucks, she’d set their drinks on the table. They didn’t nod in thanks or say a word, but that was typical for the macho men Mara could manipulate. There was often more brawn then brain in The Midnight Suit, excluding Mara herself of course, who was dressed in similar sportswear, her white tank top already splattered with blood and sweat; none of which was hers of course.
“Anything else I can get you Mara?” Echo asked.
Suddenly, off to the side there was a whimper and Echo glanced to see a man, more bone than muscle, curled on the floor in defence. A woman, no bigger than he, was enjoying taking large, swinging kicks, hitting anything she could. The man might have arrived here full of rage, ready to take it out on someone, but here there was onlyone winner and unfortunately Mara made sure there always was a looser.
“No. You are no longer needed.” Mara answered, drawing Echo back to where she was meant to be, eagerly serving her family. “Enjoy your night. I’m sure we’ll be seeing you again.” Mara smiled wickedly and Echo smiled back. It was a knowing smile; an insider smile that she’d shared with many of the Sins growing up. It was a smile that never changed, and she knew all previous doubts she’d had dissipated.
This house was where she belonged.
X
Hale didn’t speak to McQueen as they drove to the Bell’s residence. He was a tough officer with over ten years of detective and police work under his belt; a man that didn’t do coincidences. Now, they were looking down the throat of one coincidence too many.
“Bullet notes; now.” Hale said as they took the second exit of a roundabout.
McQueen cleared his throat. “Johnny Bell, aged seven, has been missing anywhere between six to nine hours. His parents sent him to bed as normal at nine-teen-hundred and then checked on him at twenty-two-hundred where he was in bed and asleep. Come morning at oh-six-hundred he was found not to be in bed and after checking the house, he was reported missing half an hour later.”
Hale didn’t even twitch as he overtook a van, narrowly missing an oncoming car. “I suppose there could be a link to the other missing kids. We need to determine that as quickly as possible. If Johnny has been taken by the same people who killed Wendall, we’re gonna be on the clock, one that better not take ten years to count down.”
McQueen had thought the same. The Chief may have gotten the report quickly and sent for McQueen and Hale as soon as possible, but finding any trace of Johnny Bell was becoming less and less likely by the second. Time was key when finding a missing child; they had forty-eight hours before their chances radically reduced to a fifty, fifty chance he was found alive. What worried McQueen the most however, was if this case was connected to Wendall’s where would Johnny end up.
Breaks screeching to a stop, Hale pulled up to the residence of Mr. and Mrs. Bell, already scanning the neighbourhood and the house for anything that could be useful. It was a quiet street, a small cul-de-sac with thick hedges between the houses blocking out sight and sound. The Bell’s house was two stories; one window on the ground floor and two on the first, while it was made of new age red bricks. To one side of the house was a black gate, leading to the back door and garden with no lock or bolt on it, meaning it was another possible escape route. The front door was cheap plastic with glass windows and a slow movement could be seen inside. Two police officers were stationed in a car outside who both nodded in greeting as they passed, while the Detectives already on Johnny’s case would be inside.
Ringing the bell, McQueen could hear muffled voices and after a heartbeat or two, a woman with blotchy eyes and a red nose came to the door. “H-hello.”
“Morning Mrs. Bell? I’m Detective McQueen, this is Detective Hale from the Rippling Station. We’re here to talk to you about your missing son, Johnny.” He flashed her his badge and made sure to smile gently.
Suddenly, another man approached from behind Mrs. Bell, his mustard brown trench coat so stereotypical of a Detective, it made McQueen cringed. “Hale.” The guy nodded in welcome but didn’t look twice at McQueen. “Mrs. Bell, these are the two detectives I was telling you about. They’re here to help.”
Yet even as the Detective spoke, Mrs Bell’s eyes widened and became glossy as more tears began to well. “Have you – have you found him? My boy?” She rushed out in a breath, clutching the ratty tissue in her hand.
“Ah, no Mrs. Bell, but we are doing
everything we can to do so.” McQueen said softly. Hope was an emotion he should have been prepared for when she came to the door, but the desperation in her eyes was heart stopping. “I’m sorry for the misconception Mrs. Bell. We are running a different case and we believe your son might be linked to it. We wanted to ask some easy questions and look around his room if that’s ok? It could help in finding your son.”
But before McQueen had even finished speaking, he knew he’d lost her. Her eyes had glazed over with raw guilt once more and she’d begun softly swaying. Her feet shuffled like she needed to do something, but nothing seemed important enough, so they just stumbled forward and then backwards on the spot. When McQueen didn’t continue further, she just sadly nodded and turned back to the house, leaving to door open behind her for them.
“Poor woman.” Hale sighed softly. Only the Detective stood in the doorway and McQueen suddenly felt on guard. “James.” Hale stuck out a hand to shake. “Unfortunate circumstance to meet again.”
“Likewise.” The Detective said, stepping aside allowing Hale to pass, but returned to block the threshold as McQueen tried to follow.
“Detective McQueen.” Sticking out his hand, McQueen offered it to shake, "Nice to meet you. We haven’t met before, I-,”
But whatever had been about to say was cut off and McQueen was stocked by the cold, hardened voice that did so. “You can call me Detective Armstrong and I know who you are.” Detective James Armstrong looked McQueen up and down, unimpressed. “Caught yourself a serial killer and now you think your top dog?” He asked and McQueen was taken aback.
“No, I don’t think that.” Pulling his hand away and felt the sudden need to puff out his chest. He was proud he’d caught Mrs. Badal before she could kill anyone else, but with all that came with the case, namely a raven-haired sinner, McQueen would happily have let someone else take the glory. “I did my job. I investigated and that was that. All I wanted in the end was justice.”
Shaking his head, Detective Armstrong levelled his gaze with a tut. “You’re as bad as he was.” And without a backward glance, he left McQueen stood alone at the door in shock. But, let Detective Armstrong think what he like. He wouldn’t be judge for catching a killer, not by someone who clearly didn’t like him already.
Stepping into the house, McQueen examined the layout. The corridor opened into the lounge-come-kitchen, all the way to the back of the house where a small dining room table sat. The stairs leading up were directly in front of the entrance hall and covered in an ugly rust red carpet. It was open plan and light, but very small, only made smaller by the scattered toys and games that took up every inch of the floor. Mrs Bell had moved to sit on the couch, still softly rocking, while her husband who’d been in the kitchen, walked over. Detective Armstrong was talking on his phone, while a technical analyst was setting up equipment around the Bell’s home phone.
“Who are you?” Mr Bell asked with a gruff voice. He’d obviously been crying too, but he looked like he’d changed clothes at the very least.
“As I told your wife at the door, I’m Detective Hale, this is Detective McQueen. We’re here about your son, Johnny.”
The father was a little more responsive, but no more understanding, “Cops? More of you?” He asked, the desperation leaking into his voice as he flapped the kitchen towel. “We’ve had Officer’s here all morning. We’ve given statements. What more could you possibly ask us? You should be out there, looking for my son, just like you should allow me to do!”
Now off the phone, Detective Armstrong chipped in, soothing the Father’s frustration. “I’m sorry Mr Bell. We know this is hard for you and your wife. In cases such as this, it’s required to keep the parents at home should a ransom demand be made.”
“Is that why you’re here? To be here for the ransom?” The father asked, looking to McQueen and Hale.
“That isn’t our department Mr. Bell. Our case is of a different nature and we believe the disappearance of your son might be connected.” Hale answered this time and poor Mr Bell didn’t know which Detective to look at. Hearing of a different department however, fear flooded his eyes he quickly went over to sit beside his wife who was still unresponsive.
“What is your department? What kind of case?”
McQueen took a seat on the couch opposite, while Hale indicated to Armstrong they should speak quickly in private. McQueen was sure the Detective would want to know about their string of missing children. Problem was, if they did find proof Johnny was a part of their case, it would automatically be passed on and Detective Armstrong might have a problem with that. He seemed to already have a problem with McQueen, it was safe to say. Hale however had repour with the guy; he was sure his partner could smooth things over.
Sat alone with both the Bell’s, McQueen centred himself, knowing the next conversation might not be easy, nor would it be taken well. “We have a number of children missing and we believe they might be linked.”
“A kidnapping ring?” The husband paled jumping to the worst case. He was leant forward on his knees giving McQueen his full attention. His wife, however, was slouched, biting her fingernails and looking out the window. McQueen didn’t miss the distance between the couple, but it was unsurprising; a missing child often put strain on relationships.
“We don’t know that, Mr. Bell. We don’t want to jump to any conclusions yet or assume that Johnny is a part of this case. However, if he is, the sooner we know the better.” McQueen emphasised and quickly took control before the parent’s mind could spin out of control. “Johnny went missingin the early hours of the morning. So, did you do anything that day differently? Special?”
Just as he’d hoped, Mr. Bell focused on answering his question then spiralling over what had happened to his son. “No, it was a normal day. He had school, I dropped him off and Mary picked him up along with our other son, Mitch. He goes to the neighbouring Primary school.”
McQueen nodded and took notes. “And after that, what did you do?”
“Mary helped with homework, then the boys would play together, and then I came home. I was here for six o’clock and then we had dinner.” Mr. Bell was caught in the flow now, listing everything they did, everything they talked about like any piece of information could be important.
None of it was as far as McQueen could tell, but making the parents feel like they were achieving something was key. Eventually, Mr. Bell came to the end of the night.
“Then it was bath time, both boys together. They were laughing, having fun. We put too many bubbles in the bath, so it was overflowing. Then it was bed by seven. Mitch, I read a story to first. Johnny would help me with the funny voices, and then I put Johnny to bed.” Mr. Bell choked on a sob. “He said he was too old for stories and could read by himself, so-… so I let him, but I still checked on himat ten. They-… they were both asleep.” Mr. Bell finished barely above a whisper, his eyes tearing up, much like his wife. Hanging his head, he caught his breath.
“And then in the morning, what happened?”
Mr Bell, let out a shaking breath and wiped away a tear. “Mitch, he came in at six and said Johnny wasn’t playing with him. I- … I didn’t think anything of it, you know. Kids, they fight, they fall out. I -… I just thought… Mitch is so young…” Mr. Bell was breaking down and his hands started to shake.
“Mr. Bell. I really need to you tell me what happened. No one blames you.” McQueen tried to sooth, but his words were met with an explosive reaction.
“I do!” Suddenly, Mrs.Bell was awake, and she spat her words at him. “Mitch said his brother wouldn’t play with him and you thought they’d fallen out. All the while our son was missing!” She screamed. If fact, her outburst was so explosive, Hale and Armstrong made a speedy, but unalarmed re-entrance into the room.
“You were there too. You didn’t say anything.” Mr. Bell retorted but he wasn’t spitting the fire Mary had. It sounded more like a man grasping at straws.
“Well I’m sorry George, that it’s you the
boys go to each morning. You who insists I have a lie in, and you do breakfast every morning! What was different this morning, George? Could you not be bothered?” Mary screeched. George’s head collapsed in his hands as he shook in grief.