by N. M. Brown
Jotting some notes, Hale took over, his gaze not as pleasant or understanding. “So, you were unaware your husband, on a Friday night would seek the company of a prostitute? A Dwight Waver??”
Mrs. Farrows flinched, and her head started to turn to look at the door. No one was behind her, nor could hear through thick walls, however, in this society, image was still everything. McQueen slapped Hale on the back mentally. She knew about her husband’s illicit affair and she hated it. The gossip it must have caused her reputation. “No, no, I wasn’t aware.” She lied, her sniffles stopping now, the act slipping away as she tried to concentrate. McQueen felt his anger begin to rise, but he pushed it down. She was an emotional woman at a time of grief. He couldn’t judge.
“Right…” Hale scribbled nothing, already seeing that her words were a lie. “And the wake Mrs. Farrows? It’s a little soon to be holding it. I checked with our coroner. You haven’t been to see your husband yet and haven’t collected the body. A wake without the body is a bit odd, why did you choose to do that?”
“I- I,” she stammered. “I haven’t found the time. I -, I had to send off the children, and then Barbra, my neighbour heard the news. She all but demanded to take the responsibilities from my shoulders. She’s the one from outside, she wanted to host it today. I wasn’t ready, but she insisted. Said to get it out of the way so people would leave us in peace.” Mrs. Farrows let out a harsh sob. The noise was starting to grate McQueen’s ears.
“Why didn’t you report your husband missing Mrs. Farrows?” McQueen asked once she’d subsided. “You said he’d come home late on a Friday from work. His whereabouts wasn’t unknown to you. So why did you not report him missing when he still wasn’t home Saturday morning?”
“I assumed he’d had to stay the night.” She replied without a pause. Rehearsed, McQueen said to himself. Practiced. “He doesn’t come home until mid-day Saturday. I wasn’t surprised when he wasn’t back.”
McQueen knew that the Officers who’d visited Mr. Farrows’ place of work had been told he left every day at the same time, bang on five o’clock. He never worked over time and never arrived early. He was a basic cog in the grinding machine. “Have you found any leads at all Detectives?” She asked, twisting the handkerchief between her fingers.
“We are following many avenues Mrs. Farrows.” McQueen smiled at her. “You didn’t find it strange when the Officers told you your husband was murdered? Was he receiving death threats?”
“N-no… no I don’t think so. I was in such a state of shock, I truly don’t remember what those Officers said.” Hale continued to write, and McQueen was ready with the next question, but Mrs. Farrows stood up. “If that’s all Detectives, I really must get back-,”
“We just have one more question Mrs. Farrows.” Hale spoke, not lifting his head. She slowly, sat back on the desk. “Why did you withdraw a total of thirty-six thousand pounds from your over-seas trust fund account over the span of two months?”
All the blood drained from Fiona’s face and McQueen's stomach lurched. She was guilty as sin. He almost felt bad for what a terrible liar she was. She was trying to put on quite a show. “I- I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The account in your name Mrs. Farrows. Created when your Aunt died and some of the money was left to you. The account that, for almost twenty-five years, you’ve only ever put in a few hundred here and there.” That part was a guess, but they had six months’ worth of statements and more money went in than out, except those two months. “What was the money for Mrs. Farrows? Thirty-six thousand pounds is a hefty amount. You can do a lot with that kind of money.”
“It wasn’t me. Marty must have taken it out.” She babbled, twisting the snotty rag in her hand tighter. “I don’t know what he used it for. Probably to pay for that whore.” She said stiffly with a little more malice.
Hale raised an eyebrow. “I thought you weren’t aware of Dwight Waver before his death, Mrs. Farrows? That’s a lot of venom for someone you didn’t know about.”
Rage flashed across her eyes and her hands shook under the strain she was feeding into them. “I didn’t.” She insisted. “I didn’t know, but a woman-… sometimes a woman can sense things. It was never perfume on his clothes or lipstick. I just, you know-… thought Marty was being clever.” She bit her lip, eyes again flicking to the door. “I never check that account either. I’m sure Marty took money out all the time.” He in fact did not, but McQueen didn’t say so. Mrs. Farrows was digging herself a hole well enough.
“Mrs. Farrows, it really wouldn’t do you well to lie to us.” Hale stood, using his height to tower over her, though he kept his distance. “Your husband didn’t withdraw the money, nor did he sleep with women. He also didn’t work late or spend time at home with you or his children.” Fiona looked close to tears – real tears this time - her teeth still gnawing at her bottom lip. The lipstick had worn away leaving her face imperfect.
“Instead he spent his time with a prostitute. A boy he frequently went too, and who was scarcely legal.” Hale bent to look into Fiona’s eyes, “Are you trying to tell me you never followed him? Never wondered where he was when he wasn’t at work or at home? Did it not anger you when you saw what he preferred over you? Over your marriage and your children? A prostitute?”
Pain sliced across the widow’s face before it crumpled into anger. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
But Hale had got her. “Did you follow him after work one-night Mrs. Farrows? Did you see Dwight? His low-slung pants and exposed chest. Did they go to a hotel? Or did you see them there, at the House? Did your husband use the mouth he kissed you with to lick elsewhere? The mouth he uses to kiss your children goodnight when he stumbles in late?”
“Enough!” Fiona broke, stamping the floor in her heels. “Enough! Don’t you dare talk about my children like that! Marty was a dirty, old pervert! And that whore… that whore…!” Mrs. Farrows was so lost in her rage she couldn’t spit her words out, but Hale was more than happy to help.
“The boy, Mrs. Farrows, Dwight, saw your husband regularly; no doubt he knew all about you.”
“Knew about me! I hope that whore knew about me! That little skank fucked with my husband every damn week.” She snarled, pacing in the tiny room. “Never did Marty say he was gay, or even bisexual. But that – tramp was who he went to. Him and all the others I’d bet? He went out after work and never came home. He would leave on a weekend and be gone until the wee hours of Monday morning.” She continued to spit, pacing now, her angry words flying from her mouth and the previous grief wiped away. “The boys, our children, would ask where he was, why he was never here. So, I followed him, yes, and yes, I saw him with that ‘boy’.” She laughed, “Boy is right. The kid was the same age as our son. Our Son!” She screamed.
People were trying to see into the window discreetly now, as Fiona’s voice travelled out into the courtyard. The old-fashioned bricks of the house weren’t thick enough to cage in her screams. “What about the money Mrs. Farrows?” Hale pushed, the woman wild with rage.
“The money? Oh, I pulled it out every time I caught him with that skank of a child. Every time he shoved his withered, flaccid, disease incrusted cock up that child’s ass. Every time he cheated on me and broke our vows, I withdrew a bit more. Then I called my friend who had a cheating bastard of a husband too. She was lucky though. His interests lied with some fetish riding bitch, not some underage boy.” Flinging the last strands of hair from her face, Fiona laughed gleefully and empowered. “She gave me a number for the hit man she’d used on her own husband. A very conscientious gentleman who - for a fee would solve any and all my problems. I paid him to kill my husband. I paid him to rid my life of that spineless cheat. And you know what? I’m glad he finally finished the deed, I paid damn near enough. I thought it was about time that cheating, fucking bastard died for what he did to me!!”
Tears of rage and pain streaked her face and she’d fallen to her knees, exhausted
from her outburst. Hale looked at McQueen and smiled, the first genuine smile he’d seen on the man’s face. Stepping forward McQueen drew out the handcuffs from behind his back. The metal chink drew Fiona’s head up in fear. “Mrs. Fiona Farrows, you are under arrest for the solicited murder of Mr. Marty Farrows and Mr. Dwight Waver. You have the right to remain silent…”
“No… No!” Mrs. Farrows cried, struggling as cold cuffs wrapped around her wrists behind her back. “I didn’t -, I didn’t mean it. It was a joke. No, no. Let me go!” Hale opened the door for McQueen as he finished reading her rights, the words flowing from his tongue. Stepping into the hall, a crowd had gathered, some with their phones out to capture the whole moment. Cameras flashed, and the hush whisper became an almost roar as people exclaimed in their shock and outrage.
McQueen struggled to see in front of Fiona. She was twisting and shrieking like a fish, pleading her innocence and so McQueen didn’t see the small girl stood at the edge of the crowd. Knocked by one of Fiona’s attempts to escape, McQueen stumbled forward, his boot landing on the girl’s tiny shoe while the rest of his body knocked her to the ground.
Hale wrestled the now begging Fiona out of McQueen's hands and dragged her outside; taking the crowd with him allowing McQueen to check if the girl was alright. “Gosh, I’m sorry love.” He winced looking down at the mark he’d left. The once white velvet shoe was now smeared with mud and grime. Kneeling, he gave the girls shoe a rub with his cuff, getting most of the dirt out and then helped her stand. “There, that’s about the best I can do.” Smiling at the girl McQueen realized she could have only been about six or seven. Her long blonde hair was perfectly curled any swept into pigtails and looked soft to touch. McQueen's sister used to wear her hair like that and though it made him smile at her memory, his heart lurched. “Where’s your family?” he asked, trying to catch her eye, but she was still looking down at her shoes. She bobbed her head and for a split second, McQueen thought he saw vibrant purple, but she ducked her head away.
“Far from here.” She studied his shoes, as he studied her. He realized she was the only one in white. The soft lace of her dress bounced off her knees and white ribbons were tied around her wrists making her glow in the gloomy sea of black and grey bodies.
“Are they in the house somewhere?”
“No. But it’s ok. I can find them.” She smiled up at him, screwing her eyes shut and wrinkling her nose. It was the sweetest, most innocent smile McQueen had ever seen and it brought laughter to his lips. “Thank you, Mr Detective. You are a very good man. I can tell.”
“Well, thank you. Now you be sure to be a good girl too, huh?” Patting her softly on the shoulder, he moved to the front door, already seeing Hale struggle to push Fiona onto the back seat.
“Detective?” The little voice spoke from behind him. “Take good care of her.”
“Mrs. Farrows?” He asked in shock, turning to look at the girl, but when he did, she was gone. Not even a flash of white could be seen going around a corner and before he could investigate, Hale started to yell for his ass to get a move on and assist him. Shaking his head, McQueen did as he was told, quickly forgetting about the girl, while his mind focused on how much paperwork they would have to now fill out.
Hiring a hit man…? What a case.
VIII
Echo knew the little black dress she wore was a stark contrast to her milky skin. Lips painted bloody red and her hair swept up, she knew she was turning heads. Loose curls hung around her face and bounced as she walked down the stairs in her knee-high boots. She made sure she gave everyone an erotic smile as she passed but dismissed them all quickly. She wasn’t feeling small fry tonight. She wanted something with a bit more… bite.
She passed: tall men, short men, long legged blondes and bouncy brunettes, all she waved off with a sad sigh. It wasn’t great pickings tonight. That was until one girl wearing a small, polite smile and had big blue eyes did nothing extreme but tuck a small piece of hair away. This girl caught Echo’s attention.
Her taller boyfriend, with big meaty hands was in deep conversation while she just stood there looking stunning in her tight navy dress. Hand folded neatly in front of her, she seemed to be admiring the Library. It was a beautiful room, ornate and lush with dark tones surrounded in ancient books and text. But the walls and dusty scrolls weren’t what people came here for.
The girl with the auburn hair tapped her heeled feet to the music. This girl wanted to dance. It was a shame her man wouldn’t let her. She stood there instead, like a trophy and Echo liked trophies, even more so when they belonged to other people.“Can I cut in?” Echo purred, trailing fingers up the girl’s arm. She twirled a strand of the short auburn hair between her black nails while locking their eyes together. “I’m Echo.”
“Do you mind?” Her boyfriend snarled, pulling his shiny trophy closer. His fitted suit and platinum watch screamed of money. Daddy’s credit card no doubt. His fingers twitched across the navy dress and Echo saw the girl flinch. A sure sign she’d been beaten before, if not at the very least verbally abused. The little navy butterfly stood on edge while her boyfriend’s temper flared. What a nasty right hook daddy’s trust-fund must have.
“What’s your name gorgeous?” Echo asked, keeping her smile locked on the girl.
“Sarah,” She breathed, slipping a hand into Echo’s, trying to create distance with a handshake. Echo wasn’t buying it.
“You’re beautiful Sarah.” Echo whispered.
The girl blushed, running her hands down her immaculate dress and tugging it to try and make it longer. Daddy-trust-fund must have picked the dress because she wasn’t comfortable. The right size would have helped. Cut just below her knee, it gripped tightly to her voluptuous hips while her legs were made longer by high silver stilettos. But her boobs were too big for the dress and they tried to pop out over the low-neck line. The material stretched where it should have flowed, twisted instead of hugged. She didn’t look bad, just uncomfortable.
Sarah suddenly squeaked as her boyfriend dug his nails into her hip. “I said, do you mind?” Trust-fund snapped, dragging his girl closer. He moved his arm higher across her chest, no doubt constricting her rib cage.
A wicked smiled curled Echo’s lips, “Not at all.” Leaning forward, the length of her body resting against Sarah’s, Echo danced the smallest breath across her mouth before capturing the lower, plump lip between her teeth. Sarah gasped, rushing cold air over their touching lips. This could only prompt Echo to slip her tongue into the awaiting mouth feeling a soft tongue on the other side only hesitate a moment before responding. Fresh air swept between them as Daddy-trust-fund ripped Sarah away, sloshing his drink all down her front.
“What the fuck bitch?” he snarled drawing everyone’s attention.
Trailing her eyes up and down Sarah, Echo drew her thumb along the edge of her bottom lip and slinked slowly backwards, “What the fuck indeed.” She hummed, not turning away from Sarah or removing eye contact until the crowd swallowed her. Echo writhed at the lust that erupted from safe, cautious, trapped Sarah.
“Having fun?” Sydney asked from beside a couch, drinks tray in hand and balanced quite skilfully. She looked frazzled, hair swept from her face one too many times and tiny stains dripping down the front of her shirt. Echo gave her a once over in disgust.
“Where’s Archer?” She asked, ignoring Sydney’s attempts at small talk.
“I’m not sure.” Placing some red cocktail glasses into awaiting hand, Sydney scanned the room while Echo helped herself to a drink.
The room wasn’t over crowded, but there were a lot of people waiting for drinks. Echo could have helped, but then she also didn’t want to. She found the ground floor… common. That wasn’t to say they were just anyone off the street, but as demonstrated by Daddy’s-Trust-Fund, almost anyone could buy their way in.
There were five main rooms for the lower classes to entertain themselves in; the entrance hall which held the large sweeping staircase up to
the second floor. Under the stair case led you to the Grand Hall, which was pretty self-explanatory. Gold etchings and creamy walls reached up high with two-story high windows that over looked the courtyard and gardens. It was the room used for big bashes or when they had ‘other-worldly’guests. People were allowed in, but it wasn’t decked out like Echo had seen in her childhood. Instead it was just a big, empty room for people to mingle in.
Off to the right of the Grand Hall was the Blue Room, or the second lounge which unsurprisingly was decorated in blue and hosted a piano. Echo had never heard it played but it did look rather impressive and a small area perfect for dancing. After that, to the right of the Entrance Hall was the Library and as you’d expect, it had books. Again, Echo had never read any of them, finding that reading was terribly dull. Instead, hearing the achievements of the Sins throughout history from their own lips was much more enjoyable. Even so, it was a pleasant enough room with a large, roaring fire place that never went out. People tended to collapse here after they’re danced their feet off in the Blue Room, falling where they stood. Chairs framed the fire place, and tall floor lamps lit to room. The current customers were milling around and relaxing as they murmured about sinful deals and wicked schemes, but nothing more.