The Hollow Woman

by Philip Saunders

  I’d completely forgotten about my nickname but hearing it again, literally spat from Sean’s lips, vividly brought those days we wore badges, dressed in uniform and patrolled our beat out in East London.

  ‘D’ya remember the fights you had with Hooper?’

  I nodded.

  For a short period of time Inspector Eugene Hooper had been our Guv. He was a snooty, well groomed, fast-track graduate with a sense of entitlement and no idea of how we or the department operated. His general incompetence coupled with his lack of experience and superior, dictatorial attitude pushed me to breaking point.

  ‘Can’t believe ya socked him one in front of the feckin’ Deputy Commissioner.’

  ‘Hooper was an arsehole. He had it coming.’

  The Irishman laughed, agreeing, ‘Yeah, he was wasn’t he...’ Sean trailed off, clearly distracted by something or someone he saw over my left shoulder.

  ‘Probably still is,’ I added.

  He came back to me with a smile. ‘What about that babe, y’know the one in forensics, still hittin’ that boyo?’

  The “babe” Sean was referring to is a forensic pathologist called Dr Alexandra Ward, who preferred to go by Alex. Despite my best efforts to seduce her, Alex remained immune to my charms, continually rebuffing my advances. Eventually, my persistence paid off, and she agreed to go out with me one night, which was when she chose to confide in me, after a few cocktails during Happy Hour, that she was a lesbian. After promising to keep her sexuality a secret, a genuine friendship developed between us, which was misconstrued by the fellas as a sexual relationship, and my ego allowed them to think that. Alex remains both a friend and useful source of mine, who I have consulted on occasion for some of my investigations.

  I gave him the answer I knew he wanted to hear, ‘Only when I have to.’

  However, Sean didn’t react, he was distracted again by whoever was behind me. Out of curiosity, I turned and following his line of sight, saw that he was watching a well-built, stylish man with a mane of dark brown hair, dressed in a white tuxedo and black bow-tie. The man had taken a stance at the bar, with a drink in his hand, and was staring at Catherine’s back.

  I asked Sean, ‘Who’s the guy in the white tux?’

  ‘Who? Him? His name is Sylvain Longchambon. He’s Cathie’s personal trainer…’ As Sean was speaking, Sylvain downed his drink, walked up behind Catherine and tapped her on her bare shoulder. The blonde spun around and her indifferent demeanour instantly melted away upon seeing him. ‘The bloody frog wasn’t invited.’ I could feel the heat of Sean’s jealousy radiating from him, which inflamed considerably when the suave Frenchman smoothly took the bride’s hand, kissed it and then led her out on the dance floor. ‘You haven’t met Cathie yet, have you, Freddy?’ I hadn’t but he didn’t wait for me to answer. ‘I’ll introduce you.’ Sean was transfixed by the beautiful couple who were happily twirling around the dance floor to the music played by the live band. He repeated, with a demented determination, ‘Yes, I’ll introduce you. Wait here, Freddy.’

  Before I could stop him from doing something stupid, Sean had gone, clumsily navigating the dance floor, colliding into couples, and caused another scene by stepping in between Catherine and Sylvain, physically separating them. The band stopped playing and guests gawped at the drama unfolding before them. Apologising gracefully and loudly in a thick, sexy French accent, Sylvain bowed to them both and sauntered away with his head held high, dignity intact. Sean grabbed hold of his wife’s arm and forcibly pulled her over to where I was standing, much to my discomfort, as the guests continued to watch. Thankfully, the band picked back up their instruments and began playing, and the guests resumed dancing, milling around, making small talk with one another, as if nothing had happened.

  ‘Here’s Cathie! Cathie, I want you to meet an old buddy of mine, from my days on the Met.’ Sean introduced me, ‘This is Freddy Sorensen.’

  ‘Fred.’ I extended my hand, which she briefly shook.

  ‘Nice to meet you,’ Catherine produced the words but not the sincerity that came with them.

  ‘Likewise,’ I replied, with the same level of sentiment.

  ‘He works as a private dick in the city.’

  I held my tongue, choosing to grin and bear the term, and simply nodded.

  ‘Really? How fascinating.’ Turns out Catherine’s fascination lasted less than thirty seconds, as she turned to Sean and snapped at him, ‘Ok, I’ve met your friend. Was that really worth dragging me off the dance floor, like that, in front of everybody?’ She shook off her husband’s hold on her. ‘Get your hands off of me.’

  ‘Ah, c’mon babe, don’t be like that!’

  ‘Like what? And I’ve told you before, stop calling me babe. I do not like it.’ Catherine stood there with her hands on her hips.

  ‘Cheer up Cathie, you’ve been so moody lately.’ In that moment, I wondered if the marriage would survive the honeymoon. ‘Otherwise, I’ll have to do this!’ Sean began playfully tickling her sides but Catherine ferociously slapped his hands away, looking extremely annoyed.

  ‘Stop! Sean, stop doing that! Stop! STOP!’ On hearing her yell, Sean stopped. The flushed bride adjusted and smoothed out her wedding dress, took a deep breath, regaining her composure. ‘Now, will that be all, I have guests to attend to.’

  ‘Come ‘ere!’ Undeterred, Sean grabbed Catherine about her waist and slurred in her face, ‘Gimme a kiss!’ She grimaced, clearly repulsed by the suggestion and his strong breath.

  ‘You’re drunk.’ Catherine managed to wriggle free, gently pushing him away with one hand and briskly walked away.

  Sean was not dispirited by his wife’s less than affectionate behaviour, saying, ‘Oh, Cathie, she loves me, Freddy.’ The lovestruck fool smiled at me. ‘I know it, and she knows it too. Its real.’ I wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince more, me or himself. ‘I love her so much, man.’

  A girl snuck up behind Sean and cupped her two hands over his eyes. She teased him, saying in his ear, ‘Guess who?’

  Sean sighed, and then uttered, ‘Siobhan.’

  Siobhan was Sean’s youngest and, by far, prettiest sister. She wore a purple and black rockabilly dress, bright red Mary Janes and a large, mauve-coloured, silk flower in her flame red hair. She modelled herself on those pin-up girls from the 50s.

  Siobhan span him around and asked him, ‘Do you remember what you promised me?’

  Sean rolled his eyes, saying to me, ‘This is the punishment I get for being the only boy, they all wanna dance with me.’

  He had three sisters and although he often jokingly complained about them, I knew that he cared for them much more than he ever would openly admit to.

  ‘Don’t think for one second you’re getting out of it.’ She planted a kiss on her brother’s cheek, purposely leaving a red imprint. Siobhan cradled her hands on her brother’s shoulder and she gently rested her head on them, that’s when her blue eyes fell on me. She began batting her long eyelashes at me and her crimson lips formed a mischievous smile.

  ‘Hello handsome,’ Siobhan addressed me, in the kind of voice that would make most men completely lose their heads. ‘Whose your friend, Sean? He’s some lash.’

  ‘I’m Fred,’ I introduced myself, returning the smile.

  She asked, ‘Will you dance with me, Fred?’

  ‘No, he won’t,’ Sean put firmly. ‘C’mon, ya pain in the arse.’ Before spinning away with a giggling Siobhan, he leaned closer to me and warned me, in no uncertain terms, ‘Off limits.’

  Chapter 2

  I took a flute of champagne from the silver salver of a passing waiter, and drank it as I watched Sean and Siobhan dance, catching more than one of the forbidden redhead’s coy glances. With the temptation growing too much for me to handle, wisely, before I got into trouble, I decided to venture outdoors to have a smoke and cool down.

  The stone terrace ran the length of the Tudor-style mansion, providing a panoramic view of the grounds, River Thames and C
hiltern Hills beyond. The terrace was dimly lit by a soft, golden glow cast out from the hotel through a row of tall, arched windows.

  Stepping outside, I found I wasn’t only one who had escaped the party.

  Standing alone, at the top of the stairs, which led down to a topiary garden, was a statuesque woman, with one hand placed on her chest and looking off into the distance.

  There were also three teenagers, two boys and a girl, huddled around a two-tiered fountain, which had a cherub holding a conch to its ear perched atop of it, located in the centre of the topiary garden. They were passing a cigarette between them, or it could have been a spliff, I wasn’t close enough to smell which.

  Chancing my luck, I crossed the terrace and stood beside the woman, intentionally allowing for a distance of three feet between us, in order to make her feel comfortable without feeling crowded or threatened.

  I think she was aware of my presence but chose deliberately not to acknowledge it, giving me ample opportunity to admire her further.

  The woman’s face was sculpted with high, sharp cheekbones, which gave her beauty a hard edge. Alabaster skin, appearing luminous in the moonlight, perfectly contrasted her raven black hair, which she had styled in a sophisticated up-do, exposing a long, elegant neck.

  She was wearing a floor-length, green, chiffon dress and held a silver-coloured clutch.

  I waited for one minute to pass, pretending to be preoccupied with the crescent moon, before opening with, ‘Beautiful night.’

  She replied monotonously, ‘It is, isn’t it.’

  ‘Do you mind if I smoke?’ I asked, focusing my gaze back on her.

  ‘Go ahead.’ Her voice was clipped and, from the tone, seemed dishearteningly uninterested.

  I took out my cigarettes, shook the pack and offered, ‘Would you like one?’

  The woman slid out a cigarette, which she held expectantly between her fingers and, looking at me for the first time with her green eyes, said, ‘I assume you have a light.’

  ‘Yes, erm…’ I felt flustered under her confident stare, scrambling around in my pockets for my trusty lighter.

  It was a slim, black and gold plated lighter engraved with an intricate, oriental design, which looked more expensive than what it actually was. I remember picking it up when I was travelling in the Far East, a long time ago, and had kept it on me ever since. I wasn’t a superstitious man but I couldn’t deny it had certainly helped me get lucky on more than one occasion. I hoped my talisman wouldn’t fail me tonight.

  Lighter in hand, I ignited the flame after the second strike. She gently rested her cold hand upon mine, keeping it steady as she leaned forwards slightly and burnt the tip. The woman drew the smoke deeply into her lungs and then expelled it out in a cloud before her in one smooth, well-practiced motion.

  ‘What are you doing out here by yourself?’ I asked.

  The woman replied without missing a beat, ‘I wanted to get away.’

  ‘From who?’ I had spotted the sparkling diamond adorning the finger on her left hand. ‘Your husband?’

  She produced a single, short laugh. ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘Call it intuition.’

  The woman dismissively said, with a wave of the hand that held the cigarette, ‘He couldn’t make it tonight. He’s away on business…’

  Her attitude indicated marital discord, which gave me hope. ‘So you’re here on your own?’

  ‘You certainly ask a lot of questions, don’t you?’

  ‘It comes with the territory in my profession.’ After uttering that line, I expected her to ask me what I did, like so many others had done before her, but instead she looked away, off into the distance again, saying nothing. ‘I’m a private investigator.’ As I thought it would, upon mentioning my job, I managed to recapture her interest.

  Her attention and confident gaze returned. ‘Really?’ I detected and countered her scepticism by handing her one of my business cards. ‘Apparently, you are.’ The woman read aloud, ‘Frederik Sorensen, Private Investigator, Sorensen Investigations Ltd. Hmm…Sorensen, Frederik Sorensen.’ She looked me up and down and ventured, ‘Swedish?’

  ‘Close, Danish,’ I corrected her. It was a common presumption given my name, blonde hair and blue eyes.

  ‘Another foreigner.’

  Undeterred by the remark, I continued, clarifying further, ‘Actually, I’m half-Danish, half-English.’ She took another drag on her cigarette, a longer drag than before, slowly turned her head and blew it away. ‘I didn’t catch your name?’

  ‘That’s because I didn’t give it.’ The woman teased, and then after tapping off a build-up of ash, introduced herself, ‘Rachel Sterling.’

  I repeated the name to myself, committing it to memory. ‘Nice to meet you, Rachel.’ She attempted to hand the business card back to me but I refused to take it, ‘No, no, keep it, please, I insist.’

  ‘Well, if you insist.’ Rachel dropped the card inside her clutch.

  There was a lull in the conversation throughout which I smoked my cigarette and thought of what I could ask her.

  ‘So, how do you know the happy couple?’ Was the best I could come up with.

  ‘I know Catherine,’ Rachel answered. ‘We went to university together.’

  ‘Where did you study?’

  ‘Bristol.’ She asked me how I knew them.

  ‘I used to work with Sean on the Force.’

  ‘Oh yes, I do recall Catherine telling me that Sean used to be a policeman before he became a multi-millionaire.’ Rachel commented on the groom, ‘From what I have seen today, he seems like quite a character.’

  I nodded, saying, ‘Sean plays the joker but trust me he’s a stand-up guy with a decent heart.’

  She remarked, ‘I don’t think she married him for his heart.’

  ‘You seem quite cynical about the institution.’

  ‘I suppose I am…’ Rachel trailed off. Tiring of it, she discarded the half-smoked cigarette on the ground and stamped it out under her heel.

  ‘I think everybody is these days.’

  She asked, ‘Tell me, are you married, Mr Sorensen?’

  ‘No, I’m not.’ I added, ‘Please, call me Fred.’

  ‘Do you ever see yourself getting married?’ Rachel probed further.

  The topic of matrimony made me uncomfortable but I tried my best not to show it, offering a noncommittal reply, ‘Maybe, it depends if I was to meet someone special then I’d consider…’

  She interrupted, ‘So, you are looking for the one?’

  I shrugged my shoulders.

  ‘Do you believe that there is one person out there for everybody?’ Rachel mused.

  ‘I’d like to think so.’ I honestly hadn’t given the concept of much consideration.

  ‘What happens, do you think, if you know that you have already met the one, but you didn’t know it at the time, when you were together, only afterwards, when you’ve broken up and looking back you realise that they were the one, when it is too late to do anything about it?’ She continued, ‘What happens then, do you think?’

  I contemplated the scenario and answered truthfully, ‘I don’t think I could imagine a worse fate for anybody.’

  Rachel, once again, looked away into the distance and became so preoccupied with her own thoughts that one escaped her, ‘I should’ve never gotten married.’

  I could not suppress my smile that formed upon hearing this disclosure. I asked, capitalising on her vulnerability, ‘Are you staying at the hotel?’

  She replied with, ‘Are you?’

  ‘Depends on how well tonight goes.’ I hadn’t intended on staying but I would get a room if I had her to share it with.

  Rachel asked, ‘What time is it?’

  I checked my wristwatch and answered, ‘It’s nearly half-eleven.’

  ‘Oh, it’s much later than I thought.’ I couldn’t tell if her reaction was an authentic one, but, for sake of my male pride, I chose to believe it. ‘I’d better start m
aking a move.’

  Crestfallen, I couldn’t mask my disappointment but I wasn’t quite ready to give up. ‘Do you have far to go?’

  ‘Richmond.’

  I offered, ‘I’m heading back into central tonight, I can drop you off on my way home.’

  ‘That’s kind of you but I’ve got my car.’ Rachel softened the blow by extending her hand to me, saying, ‘It was nice to meet you, Fred.’ I took hold of her delicate hand and lightly kissed it, amusing myself with my performance of the perfect gentleman. Dishearteningly, Rachel did not blush, remaining unaffected by the act, probably used to handling men and their advances. Smoothly sliding her hand away, and saying, ‘I’d better say goodbye to Catherine before I leave.’

  I gave a small nod, and then said, ‘Goodnight, Rachel.’

  I couldn’t resist watching her walk away, admiring her form. Without looking back, Rachel passed through the open doors of the hotel. I decided to remain out on the terrace for a while longer and have another cigarette, wondering as I smoked it, if I would ever see her again.

  Chapter 3

  It had been nearly two weeks since the wedding and, for me, business had been slow. During that period, I had only worked one case. My client, by proxy, was Donny Duke, a chubby, American with curly black hair and pleasant face.

  Donny was a solicitor, specialising in cheap, quick divorces, whose business was two streets away from mine. He had hired me on several occasions and over that time I had learnt that Donny had a reputation as a shark and how he would resort to any underhand tactic to up the settlement in favour of his vindictive clients, such as the one he approached me on behalf of.

  Donny currently had on his books a middle-aged housewife seeking proof of her husband’s infidelity. Luckily for me, the target was extremely sloppy with his indiscretions, indulging in open displays of affection in public, which made me think the man wanted to be caught, either that or he just didn’t care anymore. All it took was a few days surveillance and a couple of candid photographs, which I now presented to Donny in a manila envelope.