by Gareth Lewis
'There was nothing in her behaviour that made you suspicious?' I ask.
She considers it a moment. 'She was maybe a bit reserved. As though there were parts of her history she didn't want to share. But people can get like that. Talking intimacies with a loved one is difficult via an intermediary. And they're afraid I'll mysteriously learn all their deep dark secrets. Nothing that made me think she was faking, though. When she started getting obsessive, I did wonder whether she had trauma issues. She didn't seem to want to let go.'
'Of her imaginary husband, or of you?'
She stares at me, her mind working. 'Oh,' she says in some kind of realisation. 'I did suggest another medium who'd probably be willing to take her on, but she wouldn't even take his card. I assumed I'd become part of her obsession, but...' She waves vaguely.
'You can't think of anyone who could have sent her to spy on you?'
There's a flash of something in her eyes, but it's quickly overwhelmed by frustration. 'This is insane. And I'm sorry, but she must have been too. That's the only thing that makes any kind of sense. She had enough proof I was a fake. She could have used it weeks ago. And if I'm shown as a fake, so what. I can move, use a different name. I've done it before. It isn't worth killing anyone over.'
That I can believe. She barely hesitated in dropping the act when we confronted her on it. From the look of the place, it doesn't make the kind of money that'd be worth blackmailing someone for. Or killing a blackmailer for.
Maybe shock on being confronted by a blackmailer could do it. But again, that raises the question about why Mortimer would take so long to confront her. That version of the story just doesn't hang together.
I can't shake the feeling she's lying about something, but I'm not seeing a motive. Or anything faintly resembling a clue.
Judging by Jake's vaguely bored expression, neither does he.
I don't think there's much more to be gained here now. Maybe after the seeds have had time to take root in her thoughts, she'll have something.
'Please don't leave the city without checking with us, Ms. Lyons.'
12
When in doubt, stakeout. If nothing else, you'll give the impression you're doing something. At least to the upper ranks who have only distant memories of what real police-work is like.
'Now we know why there were no witnesses,' Jake says as we stare at the street on which the Apollo stands. It's as dead as Mortimer.
We're parked on an adjoining street, which at least has a few more cars among which to hide. Not enough to be comfortably invisible, but the Apollo's street has barely half a dozen. And most of those look like permanent fixtures.
We still feel obvious. But it's the best we can do to keep a watch on the hotel, for what that's worth. It's mainly to get a feel for the local night life, which, as is becoming quickly apparent, is non-existent.
There are few official residential premises nearby, and I haven't noticed signs of too many unofficial ones.
'Maybe Mortimer was also working another con man,' says Jake. He's always fidgety when confined for any length of time. Hardly good stakeout material, but you make do with what you're assigned. 'Woman? Con person?'
'Go with fraud.'
'Fraud. Maybe she was working another fraud, confronted them, and they did this.'
'No other regular appointments marked in her calendar.'
Jake opens his mouth to respond, but thinks better of it.
'Besides,' I say. 'Wouldn't it be safer for her if they met somewhere more public?'
'If the payday was enough, it might have enticed her here.'
'Without precautions?'
Jake shrugs. 'Just trying to look at the possibilities.'
And I don't want to stop him actually focussing on work. 'If you see any that fit, let me know. Because I got nothing.'
'Knowing if Mortimer was sane would help,' says Jake.
'Depends on how narrow a definition of sane you want to use. She was functional. She did her job without arousing suspicion. Everything in her life seems unexceptional. Apart from her obsession with Madame Anastasia.'
'And nothing in her history to suggest a reason,' says Jake. 'I skimmed through what I could find on them, but no obvious intersections. Can you believe Madame Anastasia used to be a scientist?'
'Really?' That doesn't fit the image. 'What area? Not sonics?'
Jake shrugs. 'Physics. Theoretical, I think. Didn't look to deeply. Mainly a university research position. Then moved about a while before coming here. Mortimer was in Boston during that time.'
'Either of them have any criminal history?'
'Not on record. Although, obviously, Madame Anastasia has probably done a bit of fraud if we want to give her a record.'
'Not just yet. Let's keep that until it can be useful.'
'Useful like sitting here watching nothing happen?' asks Jake. Already bored and it's barely been an hour.
'You know one thing this unguarded derelict hotel is really lacking?' I ask.
'A reason for me to care?'
'Vagrants. There's a camp, what, a couple of blocks away. May not be freezing yet, but it is cold out.'
'Stone said he discourages it.'
'That he did. But I can't imagine his men would regularly discourage it in the middle of the night. Maybe we should go ask about it.'
Jake gives me a weary look. 'You mean go and rouse some sleeping bums, with possible mental issues?'
'Or we could stay here watching.'
He sighs deeply. 'This night just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it?'
It's a short drive along ghostly streets. There's the occasional pedestrian, but fewer than most places. It's not even that late yet. Traffic is even more sparse. We pass one taxi - which I assume is lost - and get fleeting glimpses of other cars in the distance.
There's few signs of habitation until we reach the underpass beneath which the patchwork lodgings are erected. Or at least thrown up with hopes they'll avoid strong winds.
It's prime real estate for some, with cover from any rain coming straight down.
Jake keeps his complaints to a mutter as we get out of the car, and I focus on being careful where I step.
The minimal effort expended on the DIY becomes more obvious as we get closer. As is the distillation of the natural open-air aroma of the city - piss, petrol, and desperation.
We get the expected hard stares from those still awake at this time. Even if they don't make us as cops, we're too smartly dressed to belong here. And Jake's too colourful. Probably a bit too bright for stakeout, but some things you just can't change.
Strangers often mean trouble, but there'd need to be more of us for them to start feeling threatened. Not that they're any more welcoming. But at least we've got their attention.
I hold up my badge. 'Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Any of you regular residents of the area?'
There's the expected forced silence, as they all wait for someone else to respond. One of them will, of course. They have to know we won't leave until we get some kind of answer.
'Regular don't mean much here,' says the volunteer. He's heavyset, with an impressive black beard, flecked with white. His stare's belligerent, but not overly intoxicated. The hostility in his tone sounds perfunctory, with little real effort behind it.
We approach him, though not too close. I don't want to overwhelm him with my intimidating demeanour. 'Regularity's always comparative. You are...?'
'Billy,' he says, though I've no reason to believe him. Doesn't look like a Billy.
'Well, Billy. We were wondering whether any of you ever use the Apollo Hotel, a couple of blocks thataway.'
The wariness in people's eyes tells me they know where I mean.
'We like the outdoors,' he says. A bit quick, and a bit defensive.
'All of you?'
He nods.
'I imagine it can get cold,' I say.
'We can take it.'
'Even when you don't have to.'
&
nbsp; 'What do you care?'
'I care that you're evading the question,' I say. 'We're investigating a murder there. I've no reason to think anyone here would be involved, but I'm wondering whether anyone might have witnessed anything.'
I let my words sink into the silence, and settle down to wait them out.
'We don't go there,' says Billy.
'Have you been run off?'
'Some have. Newcomers, who've spent the night there and got caught. Not many though, and they ain't too rough. Just get the point across. Easy enough to avoid them if we want.'
'But you don't.'
'No.'
'Why?' I ask.
He glares, unhappy with me for forcing him to answer. And unhappy with himself for speaking at all. 'It ain't a good place.'
That's fairly non-specific. 'In what way?'
'Ain't fit for people. Ain't fit for the living, leastways.' He glances around for support. His eyes settle on Jake and he frowns. 'Don't you roll your eyes boy. Plenty of us have spent a night there, but never twice. Ask anyone. Ain't a place you want to go back to.'
There are a few supporting murmurs and nods.
His lips are pressed together, chin jutting. I get the feeling he doesn't want to say any more. There's little we can do to encourage it anyway. Running him in will just mean a dry, warm place for the night.
Something about the hotel has scared him, and others here. Enough that they don't go near it, so there's unlikely to be any potential witnesses.
I hold out my card. 'Thank you for your assistance. If you hear of anything about the hotel, please let me know.'
He stares at the card, but I keep it there.
He eventually takes it, mainly to make us go away.
Which we do.
13
'That was certainly useful,' Jake says as we drive back to the hotel.
Not sure how long we'll hang about. Maybe until Jake pisses me off enough that I consider shooting him. I give it another five minutes. 'It was something to do.'
'Yes. Having my clothes absorb vagrant aroma.'
I glance at his attire. 'Like that material absorbs anything but bad taste.'
'Jealousy.' He shakes his head. 'I've offered to help you shop for a better wardrobe.'
'That was an offer? I thought it was a threat, but didn't know what I was supposed to do to avoid it.'
His response is bitten back as we reach the street and see a new car. Parked out front of the hotel. Nobody in sight. The parking could be coincidental, of course. But there's plenty of space. And he's parked directly in front of the entrance. If going elsewhere, why not park closer to their destination?
We sit in silence for five minutes, watching and exchanging glances. And growing impatient.
'Maybe we should check the crime scene's secure,' I say.
'Or maybe wait to see who comes out, and how many of them there are.'
'Are you letting the vagrants spook you?'
'Something spooked them,' says Jake. 'But no. I'm letting good sense guide me. And official policy.'
'That's new.'
'Not gonna stop you going in though, is it?'
'Probably not,' I say. I get out of the car and proceed towards the hotel.
Jake catches up to me before I reach it. 'I hate you.'
'Duly noted. You can call in for backup if you want. Better do it down here, while we have a signal.'
He gives me a sour look. 'That was just nasty.'
I take the lead as we reach the doors, as usual. Jake is no coward, but he does have a healthy aversion to firefights. We draw guns as soon as we get close.
The door opens easily, with no signs of anyone in the foyer. The streetlights offer little help inside. We'll have to risk highlighting our presence if we want to see where we're going.
We take out our phones, one at a time, and get some light. I'd sooner have a proper torch, rather than just an app. It'd also double as a bludgeon, should it be needed. But carrying one around just in case is inefficient. So it means more chance of having to shoot someone.
I look through the door to the dining room. Nothing. And no hint of light from the far side.
Jake checks the door on the other side of the foyer, then turns and shakes his head.
Do we really want to do a full search of each floor? If so, maybe we should call in backup. It'd cut the workload. At the risk of looking like idiots if there's nobody here. No, it's not worth it.
We move through to the elevators and stairwell. The door to the latter has been wedged open. Did our guys leave it like that?
Since we can't hear anything down here, we might as well check the other floors.
I lead the way up. Jake takes the next door, and we turn off our lights.
I hear him open the door, even if I can only vaguely make out the outline in this gloom. No light from out in the corridor, but I step through and look both ways anyway. Nothing.
Back into the stairwell, and Jake puts his light on again. No point both of us doing so while we're together.
We do the same procedure on the next floor, with the same result.
We keep on going, only slowing as we approach the sixth floor. The door's also wedged open, and there's a light showing.
Jake hides his phone, fumbling the light off before we proceed.
The light's from the opposite arm of the corridor to where the body was. Markings should still be there, so they could hardly have missed it. Not what they're after then.
We reach the landing, and I peek through. No one in sight. The light is coming from around the far corner. The corridors are laid out in a H shape, with us in the middle of the bar. There are emergency stairs at the rear of each side corridor, and we don't want whoever's there making for them. We'll have to try and get close before they see us.
I glance back along the darkened corridor, but there's nothing visible. No reason to suspect a trap anyway.
I look at Jake in the dim light. He nods, and I feel rather than see his glower and admonition not to shoot if I can in any way avoid it.
We move out into the corridor, guns leading. There's noise ahead as we advance.
We're halfway along when someone rounds the corner.
We freeze, targeting him. He's coming out of the light though, so doesn't see us. I assume that's why he doesn't stop. I let him get a few steps along before speaking.
'Police, don't move.'
He obeys, though that's probably shock to begin with. If he's smart, he'll stay like that. Can't see his face to make a judgement on what he'll do.
'Raise your hands,' I say. First thing is to check he's unarmed. Or at least that it's not in his hands.
He takes a moment to think, then his silhouetted arms slowly rise.
I react at the first flash of movement behind him, shoving Jake to the opposite side and pressing myself against the wall.
The bastard isn't alone, and his friend fires along the corridor. The sound crashes over us in the confined space, but I don't feel like I'm hit. Which is good, as far as it goes.
He's still firing, as the guy in the corridor ducks aside. No doubt drawing his own gun.
I fire towards the wall near the shooter, forcing him back.
Why did I do that? I intentionally missed. Because of bloody IA, getting in my head. A gunfight is no time to focus on not killing people.
I spot a gun in the hands of the guy in the corridor. And he's an easier target. I aim for the centre of mass, as per regulations, and hope it doesn't prove fatal. Enough to stop him firing back, but no more.
I hit. He stumbles, one arm going to the wall as he ducks or falls down it. He's on the floor, either way. Fairly sure I saw the gun drop, so hopefully he's out of the fight. Time to focus on the other one.
He stays back as Jake fires sporadically from the doorway he's using for cover.
The idiot on the floor fumbles around for his gun. Stop that, idiot. He finds it, and tries to lift it.
Damn. I put another one in him. P
robably making IA's day.
The other guy uses the distraction to reach around the corner and fire wildly.
I duck down and return fire.
Even with my focus on the gunfight, I can't help feeling an odd tightness in my stomach. What the hell's this? I don't usually get feelings in the middle of gunplay.
It almost distracts me as the remaining hostile darts across the gap. Towards the side leading to the emergency stairs.
I hug the wall as I advance, in case he appears again. The running footsteps say that's unlikely.
I barely start to run before movement near the fallen guy brings me to an abrupt halt.
No, not movement, I realise as I fail to find a target. It's almost a kind of heat haze.
Then there's something there, in the middle of it. There and not there. I can see the features of the wall behind it, but it still looks solid. Solid enough that I aim my gun, even if I'm not ready to fire.
I'm not sure I can fire, my movements becoming hard to control.
My eyes are still trying to work out what I'm seeing. Or my brain is. No, my eyes. The form somehow shifts as I try to focus. And looking away isn't possible.
I'm transfixed as this thing gradually coheres into a fixed shape in my mind. It's not a shape that should be there, all odd angles.
My eyes may still be lying about what they're seeing. I'm not convinced it really is solid. Or red.
Am I having some kind of breakdown? Is this the trauma I'm supposed to suffer from repeatedly shooting people?
I tear my eyes away to glance at Jake for reassurance. He's staring at it with eyes wide, mouth agape.
At least it's not just me.
My gaze is drawn back. I feel the terror seep in through my eyes, crawling back towards my brain.
It's a dark shade of a colour that isn't really red, and while the shape is vaguely human, I somehow know it isn't anything close to that.
Have we been exposed to some kind of hallucinogen? To what end? And they weren't wearing masks, so it'd have to be an accident. Why use it here anyway? That makes no sense.
Not that what I think I'm seeing is any more believable.