Wasted Lives, a Detective Mike Bridger novel

by Mark Bredenbeck

  Chapter Seven

  Tama had sensed that Martin was a bit off with him, his reply to the text sent earlier was short and to the point. He had not been able to find him either which was strange in itself. Martin did not normally wander to far from home. He knew the 'Pigs' would not have caught him, he would have seen him back at the Police station if that had happened.

  He had been sitting on the bus on the way back to the hood wanting to share his story but he had no one to turn to. The only people on the bus had turned their heads away when he made eye contact. One little kid in the rear had poked his tongue out before sticking his finger up at him; the boy’s mother had smacked him across the head before sticking her own head back into the magazine she was reading. Such a little thing in the boys life, he did not realise how lucky he was to have a mother that cared. It had actually made him a little sad to think of his own mother, living under a cloud of alcohol and drugs. She was such a useless whore; she did not give a shit about him. She never had.

  He tried thinking of someone he could tell, he wanted to show everyone who he was. He could not approach or text J man without an invite. That would be overstepping his boundaries. Martin was missing in action and there was no one in the house when he had returned home. The feeling he had this afternoon had started to fade, the initial high wearing off.

  He had been sitting on the mattress in his bedroom for the last 10 minutes since getting home to the empty house. They had trashed the place; they had even ripped the filthy sheet he was sitting back off the mattress in the corner, revealing a large tear in the fabric underneath, which was spilling stuffing.

  Fucking police, he thought angrily, what did they think? That he would hide the shotgun inside his mattress. They had been through the entire house, nothing had been sacred, not even his mothers room. He had not bothered to pick anything up; it would not really make much of a difference anyway.

  He was staring at his cell phone wondering what to do next when the text came in.

  'Got a job, get the tools, meet at usual, at 9'.

  The number was unfamiliar to Tama, but the message was clear, he was one of the trusted now, he was doing another job. J man must have got one of his boys to send him the text he was clever like that. He wondered if Martin was going to be involved. He thought of sending him a text but then thought better of it, if Star were involved, he would see him there, if he was not involved, he did not want him to know, not yet.

  Tama looked at his watch, he had had it since he was a child, it was an old scratched digital Casio but it still told the time. He had about an hour and a half, more than enough time to go and get the shotgun and then get down to the park.

  He was starting to buzz again; he knew he was going to get his patch. He would finally be somebody. He would do anything now, he had killed that man and it had not even affected him. He was a stone cold killer, someone that J man could turn to when he needed something done.

  He reached under his mattress and retrieved the small point bag with his junk clearly visible through the clear plastic. One thing the pigs did not find, he thought. Grabbing a ratty magazine from the floor and a blackened butter knife, he poured a small amount of the slightly brown powdery substance out onto the cover. He moved it about a bit with the knife as he had seen on the movies, before tipping it into a small piece of foil. He looked around the clutter next to his mattress and found the glass pipe he was looking for. Placing the foil in the small bowl at the bottom of the pipe, he held his cigarette lighter underneath. The powder bubbled and dissolved in the heat then filled the glass balloon with smoke, which he hungrily inhaled. The effect was immediate, pupils dilating, pulse racing. He felt the euphoria flow through him from his brain outwards to the tips of his fingers and toes then race back again and slam into his brain once more. The music, which had been playing quietly in the background, was now clear in his ears and thumping with the Insane Clown Posse, Hokus Pokus. The whole room was alive with the angst of the music; the posters were jumping off the walls, the walls were bulging in and out as if the house was breathing. He was king of the world, people will look at him now, admire him, and fear him. He was a killer; he had killed and did not feel a thing. Stone cold, fucking A.

  Standing up unsteadily, he gathered his darkest t-shirt off the floor. He did not have the mask from last night that was with the gun, he was not stupid.

  Tama looked at himself in the mirror, the man looking back at him smiled, no trace of the boy he was yesterday. With the dope boosting his confidence, he walked out into the gathering darkness to collect the tools of his new trade.

  It was not far; he found himself walking with a slight swagger, just a little, probably not even noticeable but his confidence was building. It was the walk of a man. He turned left into Isadore Road before making the right into Hillhead Road then followed the side of the Golf course until he reached the pine trees, all the while practicing his walk.

  He could just about see the pad across the park on his right as he sauntered towards the trees, the high wooden fence blocking most of the light from within. He knew the sentries would be on the other side, checking over the top occasionally. He wondered if they knew what was happening tonight, he wondered if they knew that Tama the killer was going out on the town again. It did not matter, they would know soon enough.

  He  thought back to the previous night, he was the star of that party, J man had told everybody what happened and then let him revel in it, the drugs and the drink, the girls, they looked at him differently to he had noticed that. He would have one of those bitches tonight, now that he was someone. People like J man and him, they needed girls, men have needs and those girls would feed them. Tonight was going to be his night.

  Moving into the shadows where he remembered Martin putting the bag with the gun he crouched down and felt around blindly at the base of the tree. He knew there should be a small hollow somewhere, moving himself forward he pushed as many of the fallen pine needles as he could to one side.

  He found the hollow but the hollow was empty.

  He started to panic a little bit, searching around frantically, blind in the darkness below the tree. The bag and the gun had to be here, he could not have lost it. J man would kill him if he had.

  "Are you looking for this...?" The whisper of a voice came from somewhere in front of him, hidden between the trees, almost sorrowful in tone.

  "What...?"

  The metallic sound of a shell cartridge chambering into a breach as it closed rang out, the sound bouncing off the trees around him, before ringing in his ears.

  He looked into the darkness, trying desperately to see shape behind the voice. Tama's stomach felt hollow all of a sudden, acid was pouring into the empty space making him feel sick.

  "It has to be this way", the voice said, no trace of emotion now.

  "What does?”

  Tama sensed some movement next to the closest tree, a shadow attached to the voice stepped into view.

  "It's better for all of us", the shadow said.

  Tama could not speak; this was not going the right way.... He wanted to stand but he did not understand what the shadow wanted, so he stayed on his knees as if praying. Was this a bad trip? Was this the dope making him see and hear things?

  The voice sounded familiar to him but it was to quiet to tell. He thought he knew the voice… it might be all right.

  The shadow moved closer, a slither of light on his face, Tama's eyes widened in betrayed confusion as he glimpsed the familiar face behind the shadow.

  "W-Why...?"

  Light flashed from the darkness, just a small lick of flame, which burnt into the back of his wide-open retinas. The flash left behind a white-hot stain, insignificant except for the noise that came with it. His ears registered the loud crack milliseconds before his face imploded and the back of his head exploded, sending fragments of yellow grey bone and brain matter, swirling within a red mist, back against the rough brown bark of the solid tree trunk behind him
. His body toppled forward landing face down in the dirt; its final degrading act was to purge itself of its waste.

  The face of the man that had smiled back at him in the mirror earlier in the evening had spread itself all over the tree.

  The shadow turned and melted back into the darkness.

  Bridger parked his old Toyota at the bottom of York Place, a couple of blocks east of the Octagon, near to the St John Ambulance building. It was more out of habit than the desire to be inconspicuous, he knew there was limited off street parking outside her flat and what street parking there was would be full of the area’s residents at this time of night. He did not want the hassle of having to manoeuvre about, trying to jostle into a tight space. Besides, it was only a short walk uphill, the fresh air might clear his head a bit. Locking the car, he began the short trudge up the hill. Every time he came here, it reminded him of the difference in their lives. He would never be able to afford as second residence just so he did not have to travel too far to get to work. He realised as he walked that he did not even know exactly where Jane lived when she went home in the weekends, but then their relationship did not lend itself to personal details of the other. He did not really want to know either if he was honest with himself. It just complicated things a bit too much when you did not need to.

  Arriving out the front, he stopped at the gate to catch his breath a bit. Jane's flat was the bottom part of a large two story Victorian house with a Welsh slate roof, the wrought iron balustrades on the balconies giving it a grand feel.

  Bridger had not really looked at it properly before. He normally arrived after dark and mostly inebriated; then he would leave again in the cold morning light with bleary eyes and a heavy dose of guilt.  It would have been quite a place when it was first constructed; the family, which it housed, would have been from the upper classes of the colonisers. The man of the house would have been a Lawyer or a Banker, someone of standing within the fledgling community of early Dunedin.

  Bridger stood outside the familiar blue wooden door and took a deep breath, was Jane really a good idea?

  I am not cheating now, he thought, with a tinge of guilt nagging at the back of his mind.

  Jane answered the door before he had time to change his mind. He did not even remember pushing the buzzer.

  "Mike, how are you? Come in". Jane's business like tone confused him a little, as she stepped to the side and motioned for him to come inside.

  He took in her shapely form out of the corner of his peripheral vision and could not help noticing her very sensual fragrance. She was a very sexy woman.

  "We are in the drawing room, through there", she said pointing to the door at the end of the short hallway, "Go through".

  Bridger's mind flashed back to the first night they spent together, he remembered laughing at Jane as she had told him in a playfully posh voice that they would be 'doing it' in the drawing room and would he please go through and make himself available for her pleasure. The leather Chaise lounge had been more than adequate to make them both available to each other in many ways. From Jane's tone of voice though, he was not sure that a repeat performance was on the cards.

  Had she said 'We' are in the drawing room? He could not remember. His sixth sense started to twitch a little as he went through into the familiar surroundings.

  Bridger stopped in his tracks, his mouth hanging open slightly, Jane nearly walked into the back of him. The sight of the person sitting nervously at a small table, hands fidgeting on her lap, knocked the wind out of him.

  "Sorry about the subterfuge Mike, but Laura didn't think you would turn up to a formal meeting at our offices".

  Laura's smile was small and forced; "Hi Mike" was all she managed.

  Bridger looked at his wife, and then back at Jane, what sorts of games was she playing here? A thousand things were running through his head all at once making it difficult to put a sentence together. Did Laura know about Jane? Was she here to confront him about it?

  "It's nice to see you Laura, I've missed you...," Bridger could not quite look her in the eye.

  "I know what you’re like, you haven't missed me Mike; you've missed us..., there's a big difference". Laura's tone was neutral as she spoke, no emotion, as if she knew exactly what he would say and she had already worked out her reply.

  "What's this about?” Bridger asked, looking at both Laura and Jane in turn, then over to the Chaise lounge in the corner.

  Jane looked at Laura and indicated for her to reply.

  "I've asked Jane to act on my behalf; we met at her offices.... She said she knew you through work. I thought a friendly face might help things along a bit".

  Bridger looked at Jane who was concentrating on Laura; he did not think it would have been just a chance meeting. Jane was playing a very dangerous game getting involved in a relationship break up, giving legal advice to the wife of her lover; it would be enough to sink her career.

  “I thought you only handled criminal cases Jane” he managed.

  “I’m making an exception in this case Mike, since it’s you, and we get on okay… Don’t we?” She turned and looked back at Laura “Anyway as Laura said, I thought a friendly face would help things along, make it easier on both of you.”

  Bridger could not think of a reply, he looked at Laura nervously.

  Laura was dressed in her work clothes, she had her fiery red hair tied back in a pony tail and needed minimal make up to accentuate her features. She looked good, just like he remembered. Bridger had to resist the urge to reach out and touch her hand, tell her it was all a mistake, and tell her that they could start again.

  He could not say anything, he just felt embarrassed. He did not want to do this with Jane involved. It felt dirty.

  He looked at Jane; she was standing behind Laura and he saw her raise her eyebrows slightly as she smiled back at him. Both women standing there he knew intimately, it was an odd feeling. One of them was hopefully still unaware of the others part in the triangle.

  Laura was looking at him waiting for him to say something. Laura deserved his involvement, right from the start.

  "Let's talk", he said quietly.

  Bridger had received the call from Grant Wylie just as he was about to close the deal. Jane had been more than persuasive after Laura had left, insisting that they 'Do it' right there on the chair that Laura had used. He had tried to resist at first but then his base needs had taken over and he had lent himself to her pleasure. She had been very excited as well, not needing a lot of attention before he was able to enter her. For his part, he had just sat there on the seat, involved only from the waist down, as she ground her hips and buttocks down onto him, her eyes closed in ecstasy.

  The sound of the phone ringing though had had an immediate effect on them both, breaking the mood. Jane had just climbed off him without a word and pulled her skirt down, leaving him flaccid and wondering what in the hell he had just been involved in.

  Driving in the darkness now, he felt slightly uncomfortable, not having bothered to shower before he had beaten a hasty retreat, glad of the excuse to leave. He gave himself a sniff, but could not detect the musty smell of unwashed sex. There was no doubt that he was a willing partner in the whole scenario but he was at a loss to say why.

  Seeing Laura had shaken him, he was not prepared to have that talk; he could not bring himself to ask the question burning in his stomach about the man she had kissed in the Café. As it was, it was not very productive, just setting the ball in motion really. One thing he knew now, Laura was serious about wanting to separate.

  Already Bridger's mind was conflicting though, his thoughts about Laura and Jane were being pushed aside by the pending thoughts on 'Death' which were about to invade his private space again for the second time in two days.

  Pulling into Hillhead Road, he could see that the circus had already arrived.

  Bright spotlights had been set up; a hastily erected shelter stood in the trees nearby, no doubt the victim would be lying bene
ath it. The scene looked like something out of a close encounters film.

  He could see Grant standing on the roadside up ahead, he looked relaxed despite the situation and was talking to someone dressed in white coveralls, the hood covering his head and obscuring the wearer’s identity. Another unknown male standing next to them was dressed like a golfer.

  A uniform Constable waved him to the side of the road as he drove up close to the emergency tape blocking the way through.

  "Hi Steve", he said, as he got out of his car. Not bothering to lock it, he walked up to and then climbed under the blue and white tape. "This is pretty well contained and under control I see".

  "That's Gillian Holler for you, she is a pretty efficient supervisor" There was a fond tone in Steve’s voice, like that of a younger brother to an older sister "She had most of this sorted a few minutes after leaving the office on the initial 'body found' call. Grant is over there if you want him, he was the on-call Detective that we contacted, and I guess he called you".

  "Has there been any trouble with our friends over there?” Bridger asked, indicating the large tin and wood wall of the pad across the park. It was clearly lit up with the shadows of numerous heads visible above the fortifications, all staring intently at the controlled chaos of the scene.

  "Not yet", Steve said, patting the holstered Glock pistol on his hip "But then they would have to be stupid to try anything".

  "Well I guess they will be on our door to door enquiry list won't they", Bridger said, smiling at the thought. Any chance to pay them a visit and shake the tree a little was too good an opportunity to miss.

  He walked over to where Grant was standing with the white clad figure. As he got closer he recognised Simon West, the Police Scene of Crime Officer dressed in his customary white paper weight overalls. Being a very meticulous sort of character, he was ideally suited to his role of evidence gathering. He was also rather portly; his overalls straining against his belly making him look more like a white Telly Tubby than a professional.

  "Hi Mike, I didn't see you at last night’s shout, but then I did have a few things on my plate...., my usual partner pulled a sicky and left me to process the whole scene on my own", Simon said, shaking his head. "It looks like she's left me in the lurch again tonight..., but hey ho, it’s her loss", he added smiling and rubbing his hands together, eager to get on with his job.

  Bridger had completely forgotten about Simon's love of the gruesome and macabre. It was rumoured that he had a personal photo collection of all the scenes that he had attended throughout his career. He could not repeat the stories he had heard from the less salubrious in the job about what he did with those pictures.

  Grant stood behind Simon out of his eye line smiling at his colleagues’ questionable eagerness. “Mike this is Neil Calder” Grant indicated the male standing off to the side, “He’s the club Pro, he runs the golf shop up in the clubrooms. He is also the man who found the body. Neil this is Detective Sergeant Mike Bridger, my boss.”

  Neil put out his hand in greeting “Hello Sergeant, nice to meet you.” A slight trace of an accent was noticeable as he spoke but Bridger was unable to pick out where it was from.

  Bridger offered his own hand and received a firm shake from a strong hand. Golf must be good for something, he thought. “Call me Mike…, you found the body?”

  “That’s right; I was out for a late round after work just before it got dark so I was late leaving. I think I heard the shot just as I was leaving the clubrooms, but the door had slammed shut at the same time so I didn’t take much notice of it until I found the..” Neil paused and took a breath, “Until I found…,” he pointed over towards the area lit up by the powerful spotlights which no doubt displayed the remains of a human being in full gory detail. Bridger noticed a slight shake in his hand.

  “It’s okay Neil, I get the picture. What were you doing on this side of the golf course; surely you would normally leave from the front?”

  Neil seemed a bit happier once Bridger had moved him off the subject of the body. “I walk through here on my way home, I live in this side and it’s faster to walk through here. I thought I might pop into the trees on my way to see if I could dredge up some stray balls, it’s amazing how many get lost in these trees daily.” He pulled a few balls out of his pockets as evidence of his reason.

  Bridger looked around, it was pitch black, and he could not see anything outside of the lights set up a few meters away. “Forgive me Neil but how do you see the balls in the dark?”

  Neil flicked on a torch he had been holding in his hands, directing the powerful beam into the darkness. At the same time, he picked a small white golf ball from his pocket and tossed it into the trees. A few sweeps of the beam and they could see the little white ball glowing clearly against its surroundings. “Sometimes it’s easier to see in the dark...” His voice trailed off at the end obviously recalling what he had actually found instead of a ball.

  Bridger took this as his queue to jump in, Neil was obviously upset, and he sometimes forgot that it was not a normal occurrence for most people to have to deal with death. “I guess it must have been a bit of a shock finding the body Neil. We will need to take some details and speak to you properly about what you saw, but for now I can get someone to run you home if you like?”

  “I only live just down the road so I can walk”

  “I’ve got his details Mike.” Grant said. Neil was nodding eagerly as if he wanted to leave as quickly as possible.

  “Okay Neil, I’ll have someone call you tomorrow and take a statement.”

  Neil nodded but did not reply. He started to walk away but then turned back “Should I come into work tomorrow?”

  “We should have this cleared up by mid morning Neil, so I don’t see why not, unless you’re not up to it.”

  “I think I should be fine, stiff upper lip and all that, the regulars wouldn’t be too happy to miss their golf.” Neil turned and walked away without waiting for a reply.

  Bridger watched him walking away. Golf was the most important thing in some people’s lives. He wished his life was that simple?

  Turning back to the group, he saw Simon shuffling from side to side, eager to get on with things and get back to the body, the polar opposite to the man who had just walked away.

  "He's over here Mike, care to take a look?” He looked at Simon and made to reply but he had already started walking towards the temporary shelter before waiting for an answer.

  Bridger looked at Grant and shrugged his shoulders then turned and followed Simon towards his next collector’s item.

  Stepping on the steel walk plates that Simon had lain on the ground earlier, leading up to the temporary shelter, Bridger had the feeling that a fat snowman was leading him on a nature walk, only there was no wonder of nature at the end of this short walk.

  The body lay face down in the dirt; the harsh overhead lighting from the portable spotlights was unforgiving. The back of what Bridger guessed was a head had burst open like a ripe tomato, he could see pieces of bone and brain matter spread out behind the body, below its feet. The tree behind the body only a short distance away looked wet and sticky.

  Looking at the obvious injuries there was no point checking for signs of life, even though that was probably what the first responding officers had done.

  There was not a breath of wind, everything was still and the sound of the silence was almost audible. Bridger always felt an eerie feeling at scenes where death had occurred, as if everything around it was holding its breath and waiting for the body to give up its secret. It was always at a point where there was a lull in activity, between the violent beginning and the chaotic finish. A point in which you could draw a breath and just look, it was then you saw everything for what it was, you saw the frailty of life. Bridger hated death.

  "There's no face, so identification might be difficult, all I can say is, it’s a male," Simon said. "I'd say this is a wound inflicted by a shotgun, and if you’re wondering what th
at smell is, I think he shit himself before he died".

  The sound of Simon's voice bought Bridger back to reality. "Yeah, I'd say you’re right Simon", Bridger said, looking at what was left of the victim's head and registering a slightly distasteful smell. "Although I think I know who this is..., those bandages on the leg..., I bet they are covering a great big dog bite".

  "Tama Wilson", Grant said, from behind them.

  "Yes", Bridger said in agreement, "Which leaves us with the question; who would want to kill the only suspect we have for last night’s murder?”

  "There's no honour among thieves", Simon said, crouching and poking around in the dirt beside the body.

  Exactly, thought Bridger.