by N. M. Brown
Archers tone left no room for question. “You are to get in line with the family once and for all. You live to serve us, live to please us and you will die for us as we see fit.”
Echo looked down and replied meekly. “Yes Archer.” And that was that. No extra explanation was needed, and she was dismissed.
Back-stepping, she didn’t stop until her feet hit the stairs. Trying not to trip, she raced up them, distantly aware they could probably hear her heavy foot falls as she ran. Her throat burned, and her vision was blurry while she gritted her teeth until she thought they might crack. Heart thundering, she slammed into her apartment and closed the door behind her.
Twenty-fucking-three! She was twenty-fucking-three and she was running up to her room like a scared little baby. Chest heaving, she trembled against the door. She wasn’t good enough. Her legs weren’t strong enough, her body was too weak, but every wound she’d taken was nothing compared to the stab she felt in the centre of her chest.
Utter humiliation. Disregard and disgrace. Echo bit the inside of her cheek absorbing the pain. Bit down under her teeth clashed together again. Copper blood swelled in her mouth, but what was one more injury? Her forehead thumped on the door of her apartment as she couldn’t think… couldn’t process. What had just happened?
“Oh, good you’re finally back.”
Nails down a black board, the electrical buzz from a faulty socket, hell, even the sound of a silver fork across a china plate would have been more pleasant than that of Anna- fucking- McQueen.
“I wanted to go out again tonight. You’re taking me. Not that place you took us too before though. That club… I don’t remember much.” Anna totter to Echo’s wardrobe helping herself again. “I want to see Canice. Does he go out drinking? Silly question. He loves to socialise at the pub. He would go all the time with his mates. I’m sure he’ll go to the local hole near the station.” Still she prattled on and Echo’s hands clenched into fists.
“Shut the fuck up you bimbo-headed twat!” She shrieked. “Just shut it.”
But Anna wasn’t one to understand the simplest of demands. “What? What has your panties in a twist? Jesus.” Tutting and fluffing her hair, Anna continued. “So, I need to fit in with Canice’s crowd. I need to be… the woman he wants. The woman he’d expect.” She applied some lipstick which Echo noticed through her rage, was hers. “I’ll look for apartments sometime next week, maybe the week after that. I’m sure we’ll be moving in together soon enough, maybe somewhere near the old heritage sites-,”
Fingers dug into flesh and a yelp bleated from Anna lips as Echo literally dragged her across the room. One heel of Anna’s shoe broke, causing her to teeter to one side, but Echo didn’t slow her pace. Wrenching the door back open, she threw Anna down the flight of stairs hoping she’d fly head-over-heels, but as luck would have it Anna keep her footing. A look of complete shock was the last thing Echo saw before she slammed the door shut.
Fucking bitch. Stupid fucking bitch, Echo thought. She was a leech, sucking anything and everything up that she could and now, now it was affecting Echo’s life. Her family. She was done! Done with the McQueen’s, done with breaking any podiums. Just done.
She would prove herself. She would prove her worth!
XVI
McQueen took his time in the morning and so he went to church and prayed; for what he wasn’t sure: guidance? Knowledge? Reprieve? Hunched in his coat; he’d felt cold as he took his seat in the church. The painted ceiling looked down on him judging, and though the sense he wasn’t alone had dissipated, he still felt isolated.
He was a cheater; not in flesh, but the blood that pumped through his heart that no longer belonged to Anna. His soul no longer sort for her as it once did and thus he was a traitor to his vows, and begged God for his forgiveness.
Yet, after sitting for far too long, hoping for a miracle in his life, McQueen withdrew. He left as confused and hurt as he had entered; finding for the first time he had no solace, no answers and no strength.
He’d tried calling Sage in the morning with no avail, even sending a text to ask if he could explain, but it never got a response. His gut hollowed at the thought of what Echo could have said to Sage; what twisted lies she might have spun. Frustrated, he knew she’d say something to throw his life into more turmoil. Despite all the aid he’d given, McQueen didn’t know what he felt towards Echo: pity for the state she was in, anger for what she said and did. Could he even dare hope she could change anymore …?
Shaking his head at such a stupid fantasy, he climbed the stairs into the station, ready to bury his head in anything that distracted him for his personal life.
◆◆◆
Sleet had fallen over night and despite multiple search teams, Johnny had yet to be found.
Twenty-four hours had passed, and the clock had almost run out. The longer it took, the more likely they’d be looking for a corpse. McQueen didn’t feel any closer to solving Wendell’s case and arriving at the station that morning, seeing the mass of paperwork that scattered his desk, he hadn't felt better.
He started with Cassi’s preliminary findings on the drugs compound first, regardless of the fact it looked like an art piece, rather than a report to him. She’d written about her lack of progress with what it was made off and how the organic structure was confusing at best.
Hale had therefore begun talking with the Narcotics Unit as he’d arrived, but they were putting him through the ringer. McQueen could see the thick vain in his partner’s forehead pulsating with anger as he suddenly, with force slammed the phone down, seething through his teeth. “Bloody useless!” He snapped.
“What? What happened?” McQueen asked closing Cassi’s report.
Hale waved a dismissive hand at the phone in disgust. “They’re saying we’ve been hooked by the Boggy-man and to stop asking so many questions.” He spat, rocking back on his chair,running his interlocked fingers over his bladed head, giving it a scrub. He didn’t look pleased, but there was also a hint of fear. Whatever the Narco-Unit had said, he believed them.
“There’s a rumour of these blue sweets. People have heard of them, even sworn they could get some, but every time the lead falls through. They’ve never been seen, or touched, or ever found on a junky; dead or alive.” Hale huffed, but began tapping his pen between his fingers. If anything, it was a sure sign he was thinking this all through. “According to the guys in Narco,’ every time they think they’re getting close to a bust, the rat turns up empty handed or dead. The Unit Chief has all but banned any and all future investigation of the stuff. To them, it doesn’t exist.”
McQueen shook his head. “But we have the actual drug? Doesn’t that count for something?” But Hale was already shaking his head too. “Well, what do they call it anyway? This mysterious drug?”
“It’s a pansy of a name and by the sounds of it, it was a tossup of what to call in. The guys figured it was best to call it after something that would never to be found, Unicorn farts was one, but they stuck with a more orthodox choice. Pixie Dicks - or Dixie for sort.” Hale snorted. Shaking his head, he stretched out, his pen still ticking in his fingers. “But if it is this drug we’ve found, they’ll be all over us to get information on it. For now, keep its existence under wraps. We don’t need the Narco’ Police barging in on the case with no regards for the missing or dead kids.” Hale ordered.
“Agreed. Plus, it’s likely Narco’ would overlook small children. If they were street kids or urchins, they might try to help them more than arrest them.” Grabbing the phone, McQueen called Cassi.
She quickly agreed, and pulled all files that involved a drug called Dixie, even going on to confirm that the three other victims had the drug in their system. It was good, meaning all their cases were linked. Cassi didn’t say goodbye as she hung up, too busy thinking and running all the possibilities though her mind. McQueen liked her for that.
He’d just started to bring up the data bank to research Dixie, when Ramirez strolled over wi
th a cup of tea for McQueen and a coffee for Hale. “Morning McQueen. Hale. How’s the case going?”
“Slow.” McQueen smiled half-heartedly, but wasn’t that always the way?
Ramirez nodded but smiled, “Well maybe this will help. The families of the friends of Johnny Bell are here.” He indicated over his shoulder and McQueen saw the long line of kids and parents trailing into one of their small conference rooms. “I thought you might have forgotten you’d asked them to come, you know, with everything that’s been going on.”
McQueen cringed and didn’t dare look at Hale. “Yes, it’s been… some interesting few days. But yes, yes I’ll talk to them now. Thank you, Ramirez.”
His one achievement from the previous day, before Anna and then Echo descended on him, was contacting all Johnny Bell’s friends. A parent or guardian had to be present, but McQueen informed them it was a time sensitive matter and excuses wouldn’t be accepted. Most of the parents had grumbled about short notice, long distance, or the other plans they’d pre-made, but really, they didn’t have choice. Children saw more than they let on.
Thus, not five minutes after Ramirez informed him, he walked into the small conference room and was greeted by hostile adults and bright-eyed children. Hale told McQueen to go ahead while he worked on finding a lead on Dixie. He also said he’d catch up with Armstrong and see where his team was at. McQueen was happy to leave that job up to him.
“Hello.” McQueen made sure to smile at the kids as he entered the room. They were who he needed to warm towards. “I’m Detective McQueen, thank you for coming in.” He pulled a spare chair in front of the group and sat.
“Not that we had a choice.” A man grumbled from the back.
“Hush Barrie.” A woman next to him scolded before passing a forced, apologetic smile McQueen’s way. He nodded in thinks.
“What’s this about?” Another impatient mother asked, jostling a new-born on her lap. “I assume it had something to do with the Bell boy. Are our children in danger?”
McQueen smiled encouragingly at her, before looking at the parents in total. “I can’t give any details of the Bell case at the moment; however, I do wish to speak with your children. I have some questions and yes, it does involve Johnny Bell.”
A collective movement of nervous glances swept over the parents and McQueen could sense the fear. He also didn’t fail to notice that the kid’s eyes were moving back and forth between the adult already, no doubt picking up most of the conversation.
“Where’s Johnny gone?” One kid pipped up, starting the ball rolling.
“Yer, you going to find him?” Another asked.
McQueen looked at the parents but they each looked as terrified as the next. Apparently, it was a topic of conversation they’d been avoiding. “I am trying to find him, but I need the help of some very cleaver children. I know that you all want to find you friend, so this way you can help by helping me. Would you all like to help?” McQueen was pleased to see a round of eager nods. “Okay. So, I first need to know if you’ve seen anyone strange. Anyone new who you've never played with before?”
But to McQueen’s dismay, the kids stayed quiet. They fidgeted, and one was even picking his nose while looking at the ceiling. So much for the eager nods, so he took a breath, his mind rattling with ideas, until one amazingly simple thought popped up. “Does anyone want a lollipop?”
Five minutes later, each kid was happily munching on lollipops that McQueen had snagged from Reception. He’d waited until there was sugar syrup an inch around their mouths before trying again. “I guess we really like sugar sweets, huh? Did any of you see someone give Johnny any sweets? Little blue ones?”
“Oh yes. Me, I did.” A little girl in pigtails eagerly answered. She was licking her lolly like a delicate lady, but still had it all round her mouth. McQueen worried for her hair. “Johnny would show them off all the time.”
A cold chill went through McQueen. “Did he ever give you any of these sweets?”
“No.” The girl answered shaking her head, getting some hair stuck on the lolly just as he feared. “He just liked to show them to us.”
“He was mean.” The boy next to herhuffed. He’d finished his lolly and eyed the bowl for his next one. “He wouldn’t share. He was mean and stupid and no one liked him.”
“You shouldn’t say awful things about a friend.” A quiet father said to his boy, but a boisterous woman - his mother - overruled him.
“Shut up Lace, James isn’t wrong. If Johnny Bell was mean to our son, he can say so. Besides, we all know Johnny was a …troubled child.”
“Troubled, Mrs…?” McQueen asked, growing suspicious.
“Mrs Roger.” She smiled, battering her eyelashes. “Yes. Johnny was a troubled child. His parents, the Bells, they were… having problems.” McQueen could tell this was ‘that mum.’ The one who lived for gossip; who knew everyone’s business and made it her priority to make it known she knew.
He nodded for her to continue and of course, she didn’t hesitate. “Mr. Bell is a late-night drinker and Mrs Bell wasn’t best pleased. He would come home well after six, drunk and would try to make up for it with kisses in the morning. But I told Mary, I told her not to fall for it; what George was up too would only get worse.”
“Gellie?” Another mum hissed displeased with Mrs Roger’s gossip, but the woman didn’t stop.
“There was divorce on the horizon.” Mrs Rogers nodded, pleased with her own detective skills. “Johnny had stopped coming for play dates, and I know for a fact the school was concerned Johnny was becoming distant and detached.”
McQueen wondered where Mrs Roger had heard that information, but it would explain how someone could worm their way closer to Johnny. Alone and frustrated, he would have been perfect to be whisk away on the promise of more sweets and a better life. “You think the prospect of divorce was keeping Johnny distant?” McQueen mused over the idea.
“The Bells are loving parents.” One mum came to the defence. “They ardour their boys… But times have been hard. I know George was having stress at work and they cut Mary’s hours at the post Office. It’s easy to see they might have had trouble.”
“And what about Johnny and Mitch? Apart from being distant, did any one notice anything else about the boys?” McQueen looked back to the children who seemed much more engaged in the conversation.
“Johnny didn’t play with us anymore. Mitch still did. He was fun.” The girl with the pigtail spoke up again.
“Yer, Johnny had a new friend. He gave Johnny those sweets an wouldn’t share.” The boy, Lance spoke out. He’d nabbed another lolly and was quickly devouring that one too.
McQueen heart beat a little faster. “He did? Can you describe the new friend? Was it an man or a woman?”
But to McQueen’s surprise, Lace wrinkled his nose, “It wasn’t an adult. It was a boy. He was older, like my brother Matt.” McQueen looked to the Dad stood behind who conformed their other son, Matt was eleven.
Eleven. Their kidnapper was an eleven-year-old boy. Cassi had been right. No one suspected children as drug pushers. Seeing extra kids at a playground didn’t raise suspicion because that was where they were meant to be.
McQueen's brain ticked off one question after another: who did these children work for, how where they kept in line, how did they obtain these sweets and most of all, where did they go at the end of the day?
Of course, the children with him now wouldn’t know these things, so he stayed on task.
“He wore all black.” The girl said when McQueen asked for a description. “And he had long hair and he was dirty. Very dirty. And he smelled really bad.” She concluded with a sniff like the boy had offended her.