Fire Games

by Mark Stewart

  KENDAL DROVE away from Aura Lake and went straight to Claire Ambroso’s apartment. His thoughts of Tegan were strong. The clock was ticking. He must arrest Patrick sooner than possible. He certainly detested the idea of having to follow orders from the psychotic arsonist.

  Kendal allowed his mind a five-minute breather by calling Police Headquarters. He grinned at the way Captain Hughes described how a local Constable, Roy Adams from Aura Lake had reacted to the order he must watch the house and make sure Marg, her mother, and Tani remained safe.

  “Adams, you have five minutes to get your arse up off the chair it’s buried in and be at the stakeout. Adams, do you hear me? Five minutes,” ordered the local Sergeant.

  When the Altona exit came into view, Kendal steered the multi coloured wagon off the freeway. He turned into Lochiel Drive and parked in the visitor’s carpark.

  Claire’s apartment, number seven, was on the second floor in a group of twelve. All the apartments had a great view of Port Phillip Bay and were of modern design. Kendal stood outside the apartment, rapping his knuckles against the solid wooden door. A miniature brown yappy dog named Choco started yelping from behind the window of apartment nine. Kendal’s eyes narrowed when he remembered the last time he and the dog stared at each other. The dog lunged and tried to bite his ankle. It sprinted away the moment he tried to kick it off the balcony.

  “I hate small dogs,” Kendal mumbled. “If you are going to own a dog, buy a Doberman. At least they look mean.”

  He rapped his knuckles on Claire’s door for the second time. Glancing down at the grassed barbecue area he saw an old couple pointing at him.

  Someone’s muffled voice from inside the apartment was silenced. The slow shuffle of feet on the carpet also ceased.

  Instinct took over. Kendal took a wide step to the right. He scraped his back against the solid brick wall and pushed his right hand under his open coat, slipping his fingers around the revolver sitting comfortably in his shoulder holster. He extracted the gun, moved the safety switch to the off position and reached for his police badge.

  Kendal stood motionless listening for any more noise coming from inside the apartment. He flashed his badge at the door’s round eyepiece. He was about to further announce his presence by yelling, ‘Police, open up,’ when he heard a moan. The door chain rattled and hung loose. The lock clicked. He pushed the door open a tad.

  “Claire, are you alone?”

  “No, my husband’s asleep. Sugar, you look like a cop, come in, you’ll scare the neighbours.”

  Kendal frowned. He stepped into the apartment, sliding his gun back into his shoulder holster.

  “I am a cop, and you don’t have a husband.”

  He shut the door, blocking out the prying eyes of the old dears who were now standing near the barbecue area staring up at him.

  Claire’s voice came from the bedroom at the end of the hall.

  “I know I don’t have a husband, neither do the neighbours. I want to keep the secret from them. If they ever find out, they’ll set up a blind date after blind date. I’ve seen their infinite list of male names and phone numbers.”

  Claire walked out of the bedroom and straight at Kendal wearing a mischievous grin. “I hope you understand where I’m coming from?”

  “It’s your life,” said Kendal. He sent her a reproving look. “Do you want to go and put on some clothes?”

  Claire boasted a sheepish grin and battered her long black eyelashes. To Kendal, she belonged on the catwalk instead of catching criminals. She stood in front of him like a schoolgirl caught in a boy’s bedroom by his parents wearing only a man’s business shirt.

  “Detective, I do believe you’re blushing,” giggled Claire.

  “No, I’m not.”

  She reached up and put her hand on his shoulder.

  “Yes, you are Sugar. I’ve been hitting on you since school, and I know when you’re uncomfortable.”

  “Uncomfortable? Me? Never!” he blurted.

  Claire puckered her lips before sweeping them close to his.

  “I confess. I’m uncomfortable.”

  “I knew it.” Claire turned her back and waltzed along the hallway to the bedroom.

  “You’re very joyful today,” Kendal called, shaking his head.

  “Knowing we’re partners has put me in a good mood. Sugar, make yourself comfortable. I won’t be a minute.”

  Kendal knew of her pendulum mood swings. Nice one day, intolerable the next. Going through a difficult case such as this one took up all his thinking. What was left he devoted to his wife and kids. He wasn’t against a female partner he just preferred to work alone. He didn’t want the added responsibility of another partner’s death on his conscience. Then there was the small matter of her secret. He knew in time it will show its ugly face.

  He slowly walked around the two-bedroom apartment studying its new look. He wandered into the kitchen and spied an opened envelope on the bench. It was addressed to Claire and was sent from an insurance company.

  Kendal deliberately picked it up and studied it longer than he should have. The contents of the envelope were missing. He twisted the envelope by using his fingertips hoping to discover the name of the insurance company. Claire had obviously disposed of the name. Hearing footsteps, entering the lounge-room, he placed the envelope back on the bench and walked under the kitchen arch wearing an innocent expression. Claire had replaced the business shirt with tight black leather pants and a pale blue T-shirt. The runners she carried in her hand matched the colour of her French cap.

  “Are Margaret and Tani safe?” she asked, slipping her arm around his waist.

  Kendal quickly pulled away. “Claire, I’m married.”

  “When has that stopped me?” She giggled and walked towards the kitchen. “Coffee?” she called.

  “A coffee sounds great. I’ve dropped my family up at Aura Lake. They’ll be safe there.” He reached for the TV remote and made himself comfortable in a large bean bag near the window. He checked his watch and started to surf the TV stations for something to watch. Finding nothing interesting, he switched the TV off. “I like what you’ve done to the apartment. You’ve been busy on your two weeks off. Where’s all the old furniture?”

  Claire placed two coffee mugs on a small conservative table and jumped onto a large beanbag.

  “My best friend Fiona and I had a garage sale. I sold the couch, bed, and all my junk. I finished painting the walls the peach colour last week. I lashed out and bought myself a new second-hand TV from Fiona, four bean bags, and the glass coffee table.”

  “Is it the reason why you were at the burning house?”

  “It happened to be an easy babysitting job. Fifty tax-free bucks would’ve paid off my gas bill. I’d never say no if someone sent me a big fat cheque in the mail.”

  Kendal flicked a cursory frown her way.

  “Sugar, are you okay?”

  “Sorry, I was thinking about Tegan,” he lied. Hearing his mobile phone sound, he answered it before the second ring.

  “Hey, did you miss me?”

  “Patrick!” Kendal hissed.

  “Hey, you’re becoming a good guess. Don’t forget the date. I thought you might want to know I’m being talked about on the TV right now.”

  The phone went dead.

  Kendal sent Claire a sideways glance before switching on the TV. He settled his stare on a reporter interviewing Captain Hughes.

  “What are the police doing to keep the public safe from this firebug?” the anchorman asked.

  “We’re doing all we can. I’ve assigned an additional detective to the case. The team of top detectives is well on their way to catching the suspect.”

  “What time frame are you looking at before an arrest?”

  The Captain looked annoyed at having to explain details of the case. He folded his arms and faked a smile. “I’ve no further comment at this time.”

  “What time frame?” the anchorman asked again. “You have to give the pu
blic some hope.”

  “The only information I’ll share is; an arrest is imminent. Good day.”

  The camera played Captain Hughes re-entering Police Headquarters. There was a seven-second summary before the next news bracket began. Kendal switched off the TV as his mobile phone sounded.

  “If Patrick’s calling, keep him talking,” suggested Claire.

  Kendal answered the mobile phone on the fourth ring. He switched it to the loudspeaker.

  Claire listened intently to the conversation.

  “What did you think?” asked Patrick. “Personally, I loved the way Captain Hughes tried to convince the anchorman an arrest was imminent? I love the word, imminent.”

  “You’ll be arrested and soon. You’re one mistake will see you in the nut house for the remainder of your natural life.”

  “You can’t catch me. I’m too good. You have no idea of my identity or where I am. For all you know I could be sitting next to you listening in on our private conversation.”

  Kendal looked up at Claire. She stared back and shrugged.

  “I don’t mean to be rude, how’s the new partner? Hi, Claire, you sound so sweet.”

  “Hello, Patrick.”

  “Did you ring to gloat about something?” Kendal asked.

  For several seconds, Patrick’s sigh marred the phone line.

  In the short pause, Claire’s eyes sparkled.

  “Did I catch you in bed?”

  “What’s wrong?” asked Kendal. “Is there someone close? Someone who might expose you for what you are?”

  Both detectives heard a click. For nearly a minute they stared at the mobile phone willing for Patrick to talk. Kendal closed his phone and pushed it deep into his pocket.

  “Robbed,” blurted Claire, leaping from the beanbag. The pitch in her voice sounded full of excitement. “You didn’t hear the noise?”

  “No, what did you hear?”

  “Someone knocked on a door just before the phone went dead.”

  Kendal’s shoulders slumped. “Not much to go on. I need a break to catch the scumbag and find my daughter. The Captain was telling tales to the anchorman to shut him up.”

  He swallowed the remaining mouthful of coffee before walking over to the window to stare at the outside world, displaying a distant look.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “I’m wondering how long little Tacca will be alive? Time is running out.” He caught Claire’s gaze. “Patrick knows. Somehow he knows my every move.”

  “Tegan will be fine. I bet she has discovered a way to escape and is walking home right now.”

  “I hope so,” he mumbled. “Patrick has given a clear warning of another house fire, the big finale. The phone call was another piece of the giant jigsaw puzzle. I have to discover his identity before it’s too late. I also promised Marg, Tegan would return home safe.”

  “It’s a big promise.”

  Claire stood and walked into the kitchen to refill the two coffee mugs. Returning to the lounge room, she grabbed the biscuit barrel and glanced at the envelope on the kitchen bench. She placed both mugs on the coffee table and sat looking at Kendal.

  “Nice table,” he commented in a distracted voice.

  “Ten bucks at the local OPP shop. They were asking for thirty dollars. As if luck was on my side the man who runs the shop chipped the corner on my car’s tow bar. I did offer my help to carry the table, he refused. He probably thought I was a weak female.”

  “You weak, I don’t think so.” Kendal chuckled. “The man who wins your heart will be a lucky bloke.”

  “Thanks, Sugar. You should’ve married me.”

  “You know I’ll always be faithful to Marg.”

  “Are you positive?”

  Kendal flicked Claire a cursory glance as he swiped the coffee mug from off the glass top table.

  “The look you just sent me is the very reason why I tease you endlessly.” She giggled and made herself more comfortable in the black coloured beanbag. “Patrick’s a cop,” she blurted.

  “Careful, I nearly spilt my coffee.”

  Kendal slammed the mug back onto the coffee table and wiped the hot liquid from the back of his hand. He yearned to see Patrick in checkmate in the not too distant future more than anyone. To accomplish the feat, he needed to discover enough proof against the pyromaniac, so when he got to court, it will be an easy win for the police. To react on impulse was not in his logic. Claire had always been the one to shoot first and ask questions later.

  “He has to be,” Claire continued.

  “Why do you think so?”

  “All the facts fit.”

  Kendal shook his head. He leaned forward to pick up a short length of cotton off the floor. He balled it between his fingers.

  “I disagree. The clues don’t add up.”

  “Yes, they do. How else could Patrick know about us? Where are we? What you’re doing at any one time?”

  “I don’t have an answer to your question. I just can’t believe a cop would play games like this. Maybe Weakom is Patrick?”

  “Sugar, Daniel Weakom isn’t Patrick, and this isn’t a game.”

  “You’re wrong.” Kendal reached for and bit a cream biscuit in half. “To Patrick, it’s all a game.”

  “If you think I’m wrong I’d love to hear your ideas?”

  “I don’t want to table my ideas too soon,” replied Kendal, shrugging a shoulder.

  “I insist. If you don’t inform me, I’ll tell Marg we slept together.”

  “That’s entrapment, besides she’d never believe you,” snarled Kendal, choking on the biscuit.

  “Are you certain?” she taunted.

  Claire giggled at seeing his frown and the way he quickly changed the subject.

  “Did you discover anything new from the names on the CD?”

  “They’re all clean. Not one name from the band ‘Split Theory’ has a criminal record. Although a Phil Mason had been questioned at length about a house fire, he was allegedly at just before the house was burnt to the ground when he was a kid.”

  Kendal felt genuinely relieved the subject was changed.

  “Have you thought about my proposal?”

  “You’re talking blackmail again. I thought the subject was closed.”

  Claire’s eyebrows shot up. “Shall I call Marg?”

  “Okay, you win. You’ll need a pen and paper to write down my ideas.”

  “I’ll be right back. I can’t wait to hear your views.” Claire skipped off into the kitchen. “Sugar, do you want to stay for dinner. I’m cooking.”

  “I’ve tasted your cooking. How about we eat out? I know a lovely restaurant not far from Police Headquarters.”

  “Sounds like an idea too good to pass up.”

  While Claire stared out the kitchen window patting an escaping black curl, Kendal’s mobile phone sounded. This time, he answered it on the first ring.

  “Kendal, get over to Claire’s apartment and bring her up to speed on Patrick.”

  “Yes, Cap Hughes, already done.”

  “Good. The APB on Tegan was started, and all available police are on the lookout for the white van you called in this morning. We’ve had a couple of sightings in the South-Eastern suburbs. We’re searching the area as we speak. This case will soon be wrapped up.”

  “Thanks, Cap.”

  “Oh, and Kendal, stop calling me Cap.”

  “Right Cap.” He waited for the usual verbal diarrhea. Instead, he heard a click.

  For several moments, Claire watched the driver of a white van watching her. He didn’t do anything, in particular, he just sat behind the steering wheel watching her standing at the kitchen window.

  “Arsehole pervert,” she eventually yelled.

  The van’s engine started, backfired, and the vehice was slowly driven along the road.

  “Sugar, I think the white van we chased this morning is the same one that was parked opposite my window.”

  Kendal hurled himself off the b
eanbag and sprinted for the front door.

  “Which way did it go?” he yelled.

  “North towards the beach,” replied Claire, sprinting past him.

  For nearly a minute the pair ran along Lochiel Street. Kendal, sweating in his thick black coat, slowed to a walk. Leaning against an old large tree, he bent in two. His breathing sounded laborious.

  “Don’t keel over on me, Sugar.”

  “I’m okay.” Kendal straightened, took a deep breath and stared up the road.

  “The van’s gone.”

  This time around Kendal reluctantly agreed. The two detectives turned simultaneously. Walking back to Claire’s apartment Kendal scanned every side street in the hope of seeing the van.

  “Did you see the driver?” he asked.

  “No, only a tall shadow. The head nearly touched the roof of the van.”

  The elderly couples from apartments one and two looked up and smiled the moment the two detectives returned.

  “Did you have a nice afternoon jog?” asked the elderly male cook. He started to entertain the group by his infatuation of using his barbeque tongs as castanets.

  “No. I’m Detective Kendal, Melbourne homicide.”

  Claire stood in silence next to her partner.

  One of the old women slowly stood. Reaching out she shook his hand.

  “I live in apartment number one. These two blow-ins are long time neighbours from apartment two, Henrietta and Daryl. The cook’s my husband, George, and I’m Mavis. Daryl and George met the day they enlisted in the Navy fifty years ago. They’ve been friends ever since.”

  Kendal nodded to each one in turn. Daryl stood looking like a lifeguard for the sausages. His sleeves were rolled up revealing a large anchor tattoo on each arm. George was wearing an 80th birthday badge on his jumper.

  “Happy birthday,” sang Claire.

  George replied by doubling his efforts to make a louder noise using his improvised castanets.

  “Did anyone see a van in the last ten minutes?” asked Kendal.

  George stopped his infernal clanging of the barbeque tongs to look at Kendal.

  “What colour was the van?”

  “White,” Claire answered.

  “Yes, we did,” squealed Henrietta and Mavis.

  “I didn’t,” said George, picking up a long fork and pricking each of the ten dehydrated sausages.

  “Yes, you did,” scolded Mavis.

  “No, I didn’t,” corrected George.

  “George!” exclaimed Mavis, displaying a frown.

  “If Mavis said I saw the van, then I did. After all, she’s my wife.”

  Kendal shook his head and extracted a small notepad and pen from his coat pocket.

  “Can anyone tell me what the driver looked like?”

  The four elderly residents shook their heads.

  “What about the van’s number plate?”

  “The van had no number plates,” reported Daryl.

  “No, no plates,” echoed George.

  “See, you did spot the van,” yelped Mavis.

  “Yes, dear.”

  “Thank you,” said Kendal. You’ve been most helpful.”

  He buried his notepad and pen, extracted his mobile phone and tapped the numbers panel for Police Headquarters. “Susie, Kendal here. The white van everyone is searching for was last seen near Altona beach.”

  “Rookie Alderson to you,” she yelled through the phone.

  “Sure Susie, whatever you say. Give the following message to Captain Hughes. Four elderly people saw a white van outside Claire Ambroso’s apartment. The address is number seven, apartment one and two, Lochiel Drive, Altona.”

  “Since when have you started calling cops by their first name,” hissed RA. “You’re such an intolerable person.”

  “Don’t say something you might regret.”

  “I’ll give the right person the message,” she advised.

  Kendal heard the phone slammed back in its cradle before he could say thank you.

  “Would you two like to stay for dinner?” asked Mavis. “The burnt sausages will taste okay if you smother them in tomato sauce.”

  Kendal cringed at the thought of eating burnt sausages drowned in tomato sauce. “We’ll pass,” he said bluntly. “I’ve made a reservation for us at a restaurant.”

  “You have?” quizzed Claire, sounding surprised.

  “We haven’t seen each other in months. You understand?”

  “Of course, we understand,” said George. “It’s always good to catch up with family.”

  “Family?” repeated Mavis, frowning.

  “I’m adopted,” explained Claire.

  “That explains many things,” mumbled Henrietta.

  Kendal bid the four residents a polite goodbye and walked off.

  “Excuse me, Claire,” said Mavis, shuffling up. “I don’t mean to pry; I asked George to shut your door when you went for a jog. He said he saw a gun inside your apartment and you left your keys on the coffee table.”

  “The revolver is for safety. A woman can’t be too careful.”

  Mavis nodded.

  “Please tell me he didn’t lock my door?”

  The old dear placed both hands over her heart. “Yes, he did.”

  “Don’t worry about the locked door Mavis, I have a spare key,” advised Kendal.

  “When did I give you a key?” asked Claire.

  “Last year when I arrived from America,” replied Kendal.

  “Good, I’d hate to miss out on a dinner paid for by my brother.”

  “I thought we’d go Dutch and pool our money.”

  “Isn’t the person being asked out supposed to have a free meal?”

  Kendal grinned. In a moment, it vanished.

  “Not forgetting to add I can’t wait to see how you’ll open my front door using your spare key.”

  The two detectives bid the group farewell and walked to Claire front door.

  “Claire, maybe you and Rookie Alderson should have a talk. She’s so moody.”

  “Sugar, you don’t talk nicely to her. Calling her Susie or RA isn’t a good start to making her like you.”

  “I don’t want to blow my supposed, ‘lax cover.’”

  “Be careful; she’s only been a cop for three months. She doesn’t know you yet. She could have you up for harassment. Now explain all about the fictitious spare key you reckon is in your pocket.”

  Kendal leaned on the door and whisked two narrow steel tubes from his wallet.

  “Little Mike showed me this trick.”

  They heard a click and opened the door. Kendal puffed out his chest and turned to the foursome watching from below. He gave them a quick smile and a wave.

  “Sugar, you’ll have to teach me the illegal trick.”

  “One day.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN