by N. M. Brown
McQueen wasn’t one to judge, he’d been brought up better than that. He didn’t accuse or belittle or talk-shit about any one. You never knew their story, their past; how or why they were like they were, … But may the Lord himself hear McQueen, Sydney chatted like a caged bird.
“Yes, hello Ms. Summers. I was calling -,”
“Please, call me Sydney.” She interrupted again.
“Sydney,” McQueen changed to be polite. Hale didn’t take shit from anyone and stuck to protocol like nails to a mosquito bite, but McQueen would admit he was a little softer than that. “I wanted to ask some more informal questions, if that’s all right with you?”
“Of course, Detective, whatever I can do to help.” Sydney answered. McQueen smiled at her eagerness to help. People today, he found, could often get lost in their own self-absorption, they’d lose sight of the world around them. Of course, before he could begin, Sydney started again. “After what happened to those two, poor, innocent men, I – couldn’t… how could I…”
A hiccup and a bubbled sob cut Sydney off, and McQueen was slightly relieved. “Thank you Ms.- … Sydney. I was hoping you could shed some light on Dwight for me. Do you know who he arrived at the House with that evening?” A few more names couldn’t hurt to check, not after the whole heap of nothing he had so far.
“Oh, Dwight, sure, sure.” Sydney answered, “Well, I um… he normally comes with-… um-… well, no because they came later… um-…” McQueen listened as Sydney spoke, as if there was a running commentary going straight from brain to her mouth. “And it wasn’t-… hummm,”
“Sydney, if you don’t know, it’s better not to guess.” McQueen said. One false lead could have them doing one eighty and if it was his fault; McQueen didn’t want to know what hoops Hale would make him jump through for that. “What about past clients? Anyone Dwight might have been more than intimate with? A scorned lover? Past flame?”
But before Sydney even answered, McQueen could hear the hesitation in her voice. “I, um-, no, no sorry Detective, I don’t.”
McQueen held in a sigh so it wasn’t audible down the line. “That’s fine Sydney. Is there anything you can tell me?”
Immediately, the bouncing, chirping lark pick right back up. “Well, I didn’t know Dwight well, he never seemed to want to talk to anyone… well, accept Echo but that’s not surprising.” McQueen detected a dash of bitterness there but let it go. “He always found anumber of clients, one way or another. I don’t think I ever saw him not on the arm of someone or two.”
“Did any of those people have spouses with them who didn’t favour Dwight’s attention? Anyone ever seem homophobic perhaps?” McQueen took a shot in the dark, but it really was a guess. He’ seen that place, smelt it, heard it; he’d even go as far to say tasted the pheromones in the air. He doubted anyone went there with a sliver of judgement or weren’t open minded to whatever debauchery they could get up to.
“No… no I wouldn’t say anyone was homophobic.” Again, Sydney trailed off, giving no new information or anything useful.
Back in the station, McQueen could see the first trickle of the morning workers coming in. Haven been there some time, the occasional nod went his way, but for the most part he received surprised glances. Looking over his desk, he saw the streams of paper work that littered it, the scribbled notes and the frustrated crossings out. He needed something to show for all his time spent here. Hearing Ms. Summers breathing gently down the phone, McQueen used all his will power not to hold his tongue. It was the job; it came first over personal matters and opinions.
“Ms. Summers, you said Ms. Headly spoke to Dwight more. Is she around?”
There was a brief pause on the other end of the line before Sydney answered. “You-, you want to speak to Echo?” McQueen expected it to be a sort of rhetorical question, but when Sydney didn’t go on, he answered with a ‘yes please’. “Right, of course you do. Right. I’ll- um, I’ll go see if she’s free?”
With a clunk, McQueen heard the scatty bartender drop the receiver onto whatever surface, and systematically dropped his own head to the desk top.
Echo Headly: sinful, wicked and moral-less. McQueen hadn’t liked her in person and he certainly wasn’t looking forward to speaking to her on the phone. Her ideas of life were harsh, and he could only wonder what kind of world she had been brought up in to have such a view. But he needed her. God help him he needed to know what she knew about the victim; his habits, his routine, who he’d been with before, who he was with regularly.
McQueen was just finishing the lords’ prey to give him strength, when he heard muted grumbles down the line. “Hello?... Ms. Summers?”
Inadvertently or not, their voices became louder, and as McQueen turned up the volume on his desk phone, he could just hear them.
“- the fuck would I want to talk to him?... … Dwight’s dead Echo, I thought maybe-, … Maybe what? I’d want revenge? Justice? Fuck all that. Nothing will bring him back? If the police can’t do their job then, …… He deserves justice! How can you be so, so- so evil?
A sudden garble static whooshed down the line, but McQueen got the general understanding of the conversation, which meant he was more than surprised when the muffled voices became one, strong clear one.
“Detective. To what do I owe this pleasure?”
Echo Headly.The thing that McQueen found disturbed him the most was the drastic change of temperament in her voice. Seconds before he could hear the lack of empathy, the distain and the mocking tone that she had flung in Ms. Summer’s general direction. Now she could have been a call-girl; all sugar and honey drizzled over succulent words to make the spine shiver.
“Ms. Headly.” Rolling his shoulders, McQueen put his game face on, even though she couldn’t see it. He wasn’t going to fall for any charms today. “I’m calling to ask a few more questions about-,”
“Dwight.” Echo interrupted. “I don’t know what you hope to discover about his murder, but I’m not one to turn down a lost cause.”
“How-… kind. Ms. Summers said you spoke with Dwight more so, and would therefore know is clients? Did any of them have past grievances with the victim?”
“Does that make you feel better?” Echo asked, blind-siding him.
“Excuse me?”
“Calling Dwight ‘the victim’. Does it make you feel better? Distanced from his gruesome death?”
“I- uh,”
“I ask because it’s such a cop-out. I mean, sure you see so many dead, but wouldn’t categorising them all under ‘the victim’ be an injustice and a hit to their memory.”
McQueen's thoughts were short circuiting. “No-, no of course not. We do that to-, to…”
McQueen could hear the smile on Echo’s lips as she purred down the line. “Right. My apologises Detective, I shouldn’t detour. What was your question again?”
“Dwight.” McQueen almost ground out.
“Right, right. His ‘clients’… no comment.”
“Excuse me!”
“Client - Hostess Confidentiality.” A far too chipper voice answered down the phone which successfully rendered McQueen speechless for a moment.
“That doesn’t exist.” He almost seethed. “That is only between Doctors and their patients, or a therapist and theirs.”
A child like ‘humm’ buzzed down the phone and McQueen was once again thrown by the twisted personality of this woman. “I’d have to check with my lawyer.” She stated matter-of-factly. “You see, if the wrong name got out, a lot of marriages, friendships, business agreements and even whole livelihoods might fall apart. Careers would crumble: political, medical, corporate. You understand?”
“The sins others commit of their own volition does not come above that of the inexcusable act of murder. You’re ‘clients’ have no confidentiality clause.”
“I’d still have to check with my lawyer.” Echo simply answered. “Now, if there is anything else, I could help you with Detective…?”
McQueen was tempte
d to slam the phone down on her, but that wouldn’t be very professional, plus he’d likely break the phone on impact and he didn’t need news like that flying round the station. “Ms. Headly.” The smoothness of McQueen voice empowered him. He would not be rattled by the woman. No sir. “I will not implore your moral compass, nor expect you to do the right thing, but any information you can give on our case would be of great interest. Who Dwight associated with, who were his clients, anyone who might have claimed him as their own? It would be of help.” Silence stretched down the line so much McQueen could hear the faint buzz of background static. “It would also sooner get us out of your hair and onwards with this the murder investigation. At the moment it’s taking our focus, but that doesn’t mean to say we won’t have time to investigate the scandalous exploits that take place in your House at a later date.”
The threat tasted sour on his tongue. Never, not through all his years at school, university, the academy, had he resorted to such awful resorts. Black-mail wasn’t one of the ten commandments but as sure as God’s unspoken word, it was the eleventh.
“You had my interest Detective McQueen, now… now you have my undivided attention.” The voice once more had change but not for the better. Whatever had once been a screen for Echo to play in front of, had dropped, and nothing but a chilling voice remained behind. It wasn’t light or flirty. Just cold and even, waiting to strike back. McQueen reluctantly swallowed hard as Echo spoke on.“Dwight was a busy, busy boy. He arrived on the arm of a highly regarded government official who won’t be named, about - ooooo, I’d say three years ago. Was a nice piece of arm candy at that age? Baby faced, happy-go-lucky smile and attitude. Though should you ask, my lawyer will advise me to tell you that everyone who worked here was under the misunderstanding that he was, of course, of age. We would never promote under-aged sexcapades.”
McQueen cleared his throat as he tried to remain calm. “And after that?”
“Dwight would latch onto any arm that was open. He quickly became a roaring success among many of the other patrons. Before too long he had regulars; regulars with spouses, careers and piles of money they won’t risk on the ass of a twinky street kid.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” McQueen asked socked.
“Here is want you don’t understand Detective; Dwight was a low end, street kid, with a nice piece of ass and a silver tongue that could swirl its self around a pair of balls easy. He was passed around like a splif and was used until another more interesting variety came along. Then Dwight would bounce back to whoever would take him. No one claimed him. He didn’t belong to anyone.” Echo’s voice now sounded like that often used by spiteful teenage girls; pitiful and mocking. “No one here would cause a fuss because he went off and found another cock to impale himself on, so no one in our establishment would kill over him.”
“Someone must have cared for him?” McQueen asked shocked.
“Him? No. His ass? His tight, well stretched and prepared pucker? Yes, that people might have cared for, but if you came to our House and started passing round his name, not one person would know him.” McQueen practically gaped down the phone. “Unless it was a photo of him bent over of course, then they’d know him, but even then, they wouldn’t know a name.”
“And this… these are the people you serve? Entitled, egotistical folk, too pompous to notice others? Too busy getting their rocks off to learn a simple name?” McQueen was seething at this point. The depravity of it all.
“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.” Was all the she-devil answered.
“Thank you very much Ms. Headly for your time.” McQueen bit out. He was sure his knuckles were white as his hand gripped the receiver tighter and tighter. “Should we have any more questions, we’ll be sure to call.”
“Any time Detective. Any time. We’re always willing to help here at Cardinal House.”
McQueen hoped Ms. Headly’s ear wasn’t still by the speaker because he slammed his end back into the cradle with such force it bounced right back out again. In fact, no, he did hope her ear was close enough it could be heard.
Closing his eyes, McQueen breathed deeply through his nose. He would not be rattled. “In God I trust, and I am not afraid.” He muttered softly under his breath. “What can man-… or a dark-haired woman, do to me?” He repeated it a few times before he felt his heart slow from its aggravated pace.
“What was all that about?”
McQueen almost jumped right out of his seat as the dark and surly Hale suddenly appeared at the desk opposite him. “How-… how long have you been there?” McQueen asked in shock. In fact, as he looked around, he noticed more than a few faces he hadn’t greeted as they’d arrived.
“Long enough to figure out you called Cardinal House.” McQueen waited for some kind of back lash, but none came. “Anything useful?”
“Uh, no. I mean-, all I got was that Dwight was, um-… passed around a lot. He’d been going there for three years, so that would be a big pool of suspects.”
“But?” Hale asked, hearing McQueen’s hesitation.
Taking a breath, McQueen steadied himself. “According to Ms. Headly, our victim was more of a flavour of the month than anyone’s-…” McQueen struggled for the right word.
“Pet?”
“Uh, right, pet.” McQueen didn’t want to know how his boss knew such a term. “It would seem no one in particular was fond of him, and therefore unlikely to kill him in a jealous rage.”
Hale was quiet while he speculated, and McQueen waited pensively. “It would make sense. Still it’s a lead we’ll have to follow until the end, but if the House says Dwight didn’t have anyone special…” Hale nodded to himself, absently tapping a pencil on the desk. “No, with Mr. Farrows also being a regular, their sexual exploits have been going on for a while. For someone too only now have a problem with it- doesn’t seem likely.”
McQueen nodded having also reluctantly come to the same conclusion. “I’ll try and cross traffic cameras with licence plates that are heading towards the House, but if the members are as high profile as suggested, there won’t be any links.”
Hale shook his head, “No, you’re right. They won’t allow themselves to be linked to Cardinal House so easily, it’s a waste of time. If we find any evidence suggesting the two victims were killed in the House or transported from there, we’ll look a little closer. For now, we need to widen the net. Search for similar body dumps, any police calls in the past forty-eight hours about noise complaints or suspicious activity that could be a sign of our killer.”
And just like that, the two of them were buried nose deep in paper work.
✽ ✽ ✽
Two hours later, beady eyed and slumped at his desk McQueen smiled over the rim of his luke-warm cup of tea. Calling the House may have been frustrating, heart-breaking and unhelpful, but it just might have been worth it. “I may have found something.” McQueen said, as he scanned the documents in his hands.
Evidently, Ms. Headly had really gotten under his skin and despite not finding much, if anything at all on the people who worked there, McQueen didn’t give up. He scoured file, after data base, after file. He even delved into the newspapers; an unreliable, biased source, but that was where he found some dirty, tarnished bronze which was as close to gold as he’d likely get.
“Dead at Cardinal House.” McQueen said out loud, pleased as punch which obviously caught Hales attention. “Dated a decade ago.”
“Why didn’t that come up sooner?” He asked, while typing into his own monitor. “I can’t find any reports of murders there on our database?”
“I’m not sure. It’s a newspaper article, I’m not sure if there was even a police report…” McQueen skim read the article, read it again at face value, while also reading between the lines. “The article… its strange.” He said, trying to make sense of it.
“How?”
“It doesn’t say anything.” McQueen huffed out a laugh. Like everything associated with that house, there w
as nothing to be found. “It’s all, well wishes to the family, condolences, a ‘sad passing’ that will ‘effect the town for many years to come.”
“It’s says that?” Hale asked in disbelief. “Who died? And how?”
McQueen looked at his partner, not sure whether this was a joke to laugh about or if they should start throwing stuff out the window in anger. “It doesn’t say. No name. No date of death, nothing on how they died. Heavens above it doesn’t even say a gender.” He scoffed.
But Hale was more level headed. To be fair, McQueen had been at it for a few more hours than the surly man and had hit more than his fair share of dead ends. “How long ago? You said a decade, yes?” McQueen nodded, waiting as Hale worked. “And no name, age or gender.” McQueen nodded again. Hale paused, turning from his monitor. “What exactly does the article say?”