Fire Games

by Mark Stewart

  SEVEN MINUTES, after receiving RA’s message, Kendal parked outside Mike’s jewellery shop. The two detectives sprinted inside.

  Claire was the first one to see the dead security guards. Two red blood stained arrowheads pointed skywards, one from each lifeless body. She struggled to keep down the vomit rising in her throat.

  Kendal toed one guard, depressing the flesh. “They haven’t been dead long.” He stepped over the corpse and stood pushing his back against the wall.

  Claire, still fighting the urge to vomit, covered her mouth, closed her eyes and stepped over the same lifeless guard to join her partner at the door. She reached for and twisted the doorknob. Looking at Kendal, she sent him a short, sharp nod.

  Kendal kicked the door open. He only half expected the murderer to be on the other side.

  “Police,” he yelled.

  Holding his gun at arm’s length his gaze swept the area. Claire, in a squat position, mirrored his sweep, her finger more than ready to squeeze the trigger of her revolver.

  They scrutinized the room. Another two guards to their left died where they fell. The computer monitors had been thrown about the room and smashed. Nothing else looked to have been disturbed. Both Detectives eyeballed Mike’s body slumped in the chair.

  Claire looked under the desk for more feet. Finding none, she whispered.

  “This room’s clear.”

  Kendal checked the second room before slipping his handgun back into his shoulder holster. He walked around the room, touching nothing, observing everything. He walked over to the desk and stood motionless in front of the chair. The arrow had pierced Mike’s, heart.

  “Call the coroner and back up; I want this place sealed.”

  “This is Patrick’s handiwork,” snarled Claire.

  “How on earth could he have known?” grumbled Kendal.

  “He has to be a cop; a bloody angry cop. There can’t be any other explanation.”

  A noise outside in the shop forced the Detectives to dive behind the half-open door. A pale skinned man, of medium build, wearing a black suit hesitated at the door. Eventually, he cautiously entered.

  “Freeze sucker,” yelled Claire, pushing the barrel of her gun between the visitor’s shoulder blades.

  The man raised his hands.

  Kendal handcuffed the man and spun him round. For a moment, they stared into each other’s eyes.

  “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  “Have we met?” asked the man.

  “We met at the house fire, Weakom, start talking. Tell us where you’ve been?”

  “Daniel, start explaining,” barked Claire.

  “I’ve been at a business meeting.”

  “What sort of business?” quizzed Kendal.

  “I’m not at liberty to say.”

  “We have five dead bodies in this place, I think you need a convincing alibi,” suggested Claire.

  “Honey, you don’t, you couldn’t possibly think I’d be messed up in all of this?”

  She glared at her boyfriend. “I don’t know what to think.”

  “Sit down, Weakom,” growled Kendal, pushing him into a chair. “I’ve some serious questions I want to know the answer to.”

  “I’m not going to answer any of your questions. In fact, I don’t feel good. It must be the stench.” His face turned paper white. “I need some fresh air.”

  Kendal grabbed the man by the shirt collar. “Claire, let’s take your friend outside for some fresh air.”

  Leaning his back against the police car, Weakom’s colour slowly returned.

  “I’ve thought things through on the way out. To convince you of my innocence I’ll forego a lawyer and explain everything if you take these handcuffs off. They’re uncomfortable.”

  Kendal stepped forward and un-cuffed the man.

  “Detective Ambroso, could you leave us for a moment?”

  “Why?”

  “I’ve my reasons.”

  She folded her arms, marching into the jewelry shop.

  “Tell me something about the dead men inside?” growled Kendal.

  “As I’ve already stated, I’ve been in a very important business meeting. Three influential blokes were also present.”

  “Yeah, likely story,” moaned Kendal. “What did you say the meeting was about?”

  Weakom lit a cigar and looked away. “I didn’t.”

  “Tell me why you left the scene of the fire last night when I told you not to?”

  Kendal’s mobile phone rang. He answered it before the second ring. “Hello,” he barked.

  “There’s been another fire,” said the deep voice.

  “Captain Hughes, how goes there?”

  “Shut up. This is serious. The fire is at Lochiel Drive Altona. Go check it out.”

  “Yes, Sir,” replied Kendal.

  “Claire lives on the same street, doesn’t she?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is she with you?”

  “She’s here.”

  The Captain’s sigh came over the line as static. He abruptly hung up.

  Refocusing on Weakom, Kendal buried the phone deep in his pocket.

  “Don’t move if you know what’s good for you.” He gave the man a fixed stare as he sprinted back inside the shop. He spied Constable Alderson studying the jewellery. “When did you arrive?”

  “Just now, I thought you might need back up.”

  “I want you outside, watching Weakom.”

  Satisfied she had Weakom in her sights Kendal marched into Mike’s office.

  “Claire, there’s been another fire. This time, the address is in Altona.”

  “Where exactly in Altona?” she asked.

  Kendal slipped his left arm around her waist. Looking at her eyes, he forced her to keep moving. He could see her black pupils darting back and forth. He couldn’t manage a weak smile. Time was running out to find little Tacca alive. Patrick seemed to be turning into a violent and volatile arsonist. He was now intent on killing anyone who got too close. He thought back to the dream he had and started to tremble at the thought of accidentally killing Tegan. He didn’t want to arrange her funeral.

  Claire dug her heels in and twisted out of his grip.

  “Before we take another step I want you to tell me where exactly in Altona the fire is?”

  “Your street,” Kendal announced.

  He pushed her forward into a run. Outside, he stared wide-eyed at Alderson.

  “Where’s Weakom? He was about to inform me of the reason for his leaving the scene of the fire the other night.”

  “He ran off before I could reach him.”

  “I told you to watch him.” Kendal’s voice sounded hostile.

  “The bloke gave me the slip. I started to chase him, but I lost him in the dark.”

  “Call it in. I want Weakom found.”

  “Sugar, let’s go. We can’t do any more here,” advised Claire.

  Wide-eyed Kendal looked at her. He nodded and ran to the car.

  In silence, they drove at breakneck speed to Altona.

  The fireys were starting to mop up at the block of units in Lochiel Street when Kendal and Claire arrived. Several police cars had the area blocked off, forcing them to walk two hundred feet to the burnt-out apartments. The lack of wind caused the stench of burnt material to lay dormant like a blanket over the area. The once attractive apartment block resembled a bombed war zone. The grandeur of the barbecue area hadn’t escaped the fire’s wrath either.

  “Detective Kendal,” called Fire Chief Bradwood, walking over. “It’s a gruesome sight inside units one and two. You might want your female partner to wait outside.”

  “What’s the total number of bodies?”

  “It looks like husband and wife in the first unit. The second apartment is a mirror image of the first. All four corpses are elderly. No great loss.”

  Claire’s face turned anger red. She grabbed the fire Chief around the throat, blocking off his air supply.

  “If I
hear you speak those words again I won’t hold back my fists.”

  The man gulped for air under his full salt and pepper beard.

  “Claire, let him go,” ordered Kendal. He made a flippant hand gesture in the air to dismiss the man’s sarcastic comment.

  She dropped him and marched off in the direction of unit one.

  “You ought to keep a leash on that woman.”

  Claire whipped around on her toes. Sprinting back to the man massaging his neck she sent him a double-fisted punch, one to the jaw, the other to his beer gut. Before the bloke could understand what had just happened, he was studying the ground close up. Claire caught up to Kendal walking to unit one’s front door. When he looked at her, she was displaying a proud expression.

  “You really should control your temper. It’ll get you into trouble one day,” announced Kendal.

  “He asked for it.”

  “Yes, he did. I’m glad you’re on my side.”

  Both Detectives entered unit one simultaneously. Water was still dripping from the ceiling. The smell of cooked flesh hovered like a cloud. They immediately started searching the two-room apartment looking for clues.

  “No prizes for guessing the arsonist,” said Claire.

  “There’s not much left to look at. As usual, Patrick’s done a good job.”

  Unit two was exactly as fire Chief Bradwood had described; ‘a burnt-out shell and a total wreck.’

  “Sugar, it’s late. Let’s go back to your place. I’m tired. We can think clearer in the morning after a few hours of sleep.”

  This time, it was Kendal who agreed. Twenty minutes after walking into the house Claire fell onto the bed. She was asleep in a microsecond. Kendal happened to be the opposite. He paced the study floor most of the night going over clues. He climbed the stairs and fell into bed at 4:00am.

  Kendal woke to his home phone ringing at 6:31am.

  “Morning,” he moaned into the phone.

  “Hey Coppa, did I wake you?” asked the excited voice.

  “In fact, you did.”

  “Good. I want you to guess what today is.”

  “I’m not about to join in on a guessing game at 6:32 in the morning.”

  “You’re such a wet blanket. Now I know why you can’t catch me. I’m bursting at the seams to tell you my news. I’ll give you a snippet of a clue.”

  “Go ahead, tell me.”

  “Today’s the day.”

  “The day for what?” Kendal stood and started pacing the floor to force his brain into wake mode.

  “Guess.”

  “Patrick, you scum bag. Your days of freedom are numbered.”

  “How do you figure? You haven’t a clue of my identity.”

  “Yes, I do,” Kendal lied. “Now tell me the news?”

  “Let’s play a new game.”

  Kendal flopped back onto the bed. “I’m listening.”

  “Let’s play, catch me if you can before the next fire, my big finale.”

  “Only if I can talk to Tegan.”

  “She’s asleep.”

  “Prove it.”

  “No,” Patrick hissed.

  “I won’t play.”

  “Be warned, you should agree. You have till 10:00pm tonight.”

  Kendal heard a click. The phone went dead.

  Claire had trudged along the hallway the moment she heard the phone ring. Hearing Kendal talking she opened the door. She stood at the threshold. Kendal noted her bed hair formed a bird’s nest on top of her head. She looked how he felt, lousy. Claire stood rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

  “Coffee?” she grunted.

  Kendal nodded. Returning his stare to the phone, he wondered how Patrick always knew of his where-a-bouts?

  He dressed and walked downstairs and into the kitchen to watch the antics of an over-tired woman rummaging through the cupboards for the coffee jar. She turned her head and saw his glazed look.

  “What, Sugar?”

  “Nothing,” he replied.

  Kendal’s mobile phone rang. For several moments, he let it ring.

  “Sugar, answer the bloody phone. My head’s throbbing enough.”

  He counted three more shrills before snatching it from his pocket.

  “Kendal,” he blurted.

  Constable Alderson’s cheerful voice came through the receiver.

  “Hughes wants to see you and Ambroso in his office, now. You need to move your arse; he sounds pissed off.”

  “Thanks for the message. Before we arrive at Police Headquarters, I need you to look up all the tattoo parlors and archery clubs in the vicinity of The Children’s Hospital.”

  “I’ll have the addresses by the time you arrive.”

  Kendal snapped his mobile phone shut. Before he could slip it back into his pocket, it rang again.

  “Hey kid, talk,” bellowed Patrick.

  “Dad,” said a sobbing voice.

  Instantly alert, Kendal stood to full height listening for a clue to Tegan’s location.

  “Tegan, are you okay?”

  “Yes. Patrick said I’m only to say what’s written on the paper in front of me.”

  “I understand, little Tacca.”

  Tegan cleared her throat. “I’m okay. I’m not hungry or thirsty. I don’t know where I am. Love you. Bye.”

  The phone went dead.

  Kendal appeared to be on the verge of crying. Seeing Claire staring at him he blinked his tears away.

  “Sugar, did you just speak to Tegan?”

  “Yes.”

  “Excellent,” blurted Claire.

  “Yes, it is. We have a busy day ahead. First off is breakfast. According to Alderson, the Captain wants to see us at Police Headquarters. She stressed, ASAP. I want to visit the archery range, and later, we have to pay a visit to Dr. Ashlee Clarke. All this has to be completed before 10:00 tonight.”

  “Why by then?”

  “Patrick’s big finale is at 10:00pm. I believe Tegan will be there.”

  “Did you ask her where she is?”

  “No. Patrick made her read from a pre-written note.”

  “Scumbag,” growled Claire. She walked back across the room to recommence making breakfast.

  The smell of bacon and eggs soon wafted into the air.

  Kendal impatiently paced the floor, staring at the clock every few minutes. At 7:00am, he phoned his wife at Aura Lakes. In a couple of minutes, he had brought her up to speed on the case. She could only manage a few grunts at her end of the phone. He changed the subject and mentioned he’d talked to Tegan. He could feel her hope rise. He naturally left out many details of the case and all the dangerous scenes. He talked with Tani and his mother-in- law, who couldn’t resist giving her ugly opinion of it all.

  At 7:23am, he ended the call.

  Both Detectives walked into Police Headquarters at exactly 8:00am. A drunken man handcuffed to a constable and nursing a bloody left ear was in the process of being dragged towards a closed door. A woman in her early twenties looked to be trying to hide a black eye. At some time in the night, her dress was torn. A rough knot couldn’t stop the material from hanging off her shoulder. A rookie cop was helping her walk to interview room five.

  “Obviously, a domestic dispute,” said Kendal, in Claire’s ear.

  She nodded and turned her nose up at the lift door. “I’ll see you upstairs.” She smacked her backside. “I need the exercise.”

  Kendal chuckled nervously at the thought of physical exercise. It certainly wasn’t his strong point. When the lift doors opened, he stepped into the lift. He leaned forward and pressed the fourth-floor button.

  The first thing Kendal saw the moment the doors opened was his partner’s grin. He shook his head.

  “You should be in the Olympics,” mentioned Kendal.

  Claire grabbed him around the waist as she pushed him along the corridor to the Captain’s office. Her knuckles tap-danced against the timber door.

  “Enter,” bellowed a deep voice.

  Ke
ndal opened the door. Stepping into the room, Claire brought up the rear and closed the door. Captain Hughes stood at the window in a tan, open-necked shirt, and black trousers. He turned to face the arrivals.

  “Two of my favourite detectives are here. Come in and take a seat.”

  “Said the spider to the fly,” remarked Claire under her breath.

  “Morning Cap. I like what you’ve done to the office. I can see you have a new desk, new filing cabinet and I love the view of the traffic outside.”

  “Shut up Kendal. You know this place is only temporary. I’m moving into my refurbished office at lunchtime. Now sit.” Hughes sent him a glacier stare. Switching his attention, he smiled at Claire. “I want a full update on this pyromaniac you’ve been chasing.”

  Kendal was about to sit on the vacant chair on Claire’s left when he spied a photo of Captain Hughes on the desk. He stopped and studied it.

  “What’s wrong?” growled the Captain.

  “Nice photo. I didn’t know your middle name started with P. Captain William P Hughes. What does the P stand for?”

  “Shut up and sit down.”

  “I was only wondering?” Smiling at Claire, Kendal sat at the desk, leaning forward on his elbows. “What does the P stand for, Cap? I didn’t hear what you said.”

  “None of your bloody business,” he barked. “It’s my secret, and you, Kendal, will never find out. I want to know how close you two are in finding Patrick.”

  “Cap, I agree on the idea Claire said at our last meeting.”

  She glared at her partner. Her fingers slowly curled in on themselves showing white knuckles.

  “What did she say?” probed Hughes.

  “I think Patrick’s a cop.”

  “I don’t pay you to think. I pay you to know. Have you discovered any proof of this preposterous accusation? Or is this a fantasy you’ve conjured up to protect your partner and save your own arse?”

  “No. I don’t have proof, yet.”

  The silence in the office felt nauseating. The iron-faced Captain started drumming his short fingernails on the desktop. Kendal felt certain everyone in the room could hear his heart pounding.

  “I need proof,” yelled Captain Hughes. He leaned forward, the volume of his voice dropped to a tolerable level. “My hands are tied until I see proof. Kendal, I’m giving you to the end of the day. If you haven’t found Patrick by then, I’ll handball the case to Philips. Now get out of my office.”

  Both Detectives stood and marched towards the door. Kendal noticed Claire twisting the doorknob like it was his neck. He could sense her fingernails had bypassed the claws and gone straight to daggers. Very long sharp daggers. He shuddered. In his mind, he could hear her screaming. You crossed the floor, why? You’re a traitor. The murderous stare would come next, followed by the silent treatment.

  Kendal stepped into the corridor and gently shut the door. He sent Claire a cursory glance waiting for the vocal volcano to erupt. He didn’t have to wait long.

  Claire raised her voice to a fever pitch. Her poison words quickly flooded the air.

  “What the hell was that all about? You deliberately stole my idea so you can receive all the glory. You’re just a lowlife traitor.”

  “Claire, settle. I can explain.” Kendal hoped the calm sound of his voice might be enough to tame the savage beast. He looked into his partner’s angry black eyes. They chilled him to the bone. It was like stepping from the warm Captain’s office, into a freezer. If it were possible for her eyes to change to the colour of storm clouds, he would’ve sworn it in a court of law.

  Claire leveled her fist at her partner’s nose. “If you don’t make the explanation fast, we’re through as partners. Be warned my fist is going to wipe your nose from your face.”

  Kendal beckoned his partner to follow him to the lift doors.

  “I’m waiting,” she barked, tapping her foot on the floor.

  He pressed the lift’s call button and faced the woman’s anger head on.

  “You heard the Captain he didn’t believe the story about Patrick being a cop. I don’t either.”

  “So why did you mention it?” she spat.

  The lift doors rolled silently sideways. Kendal waited for three office ladies to exit the lift and walk off in the direction of the tearoom before recommencing his explanation.

  “You’d have been yelled at. Your good reputation might have been shot. On the other hand, I’ve nothing to lose.”

  “You’re a bloody good cop,” Claire whispered. “Sorry Sugar, I didn’t know you were protecting me.”

  “Think nothing of it. If we don’t obtain proof, we have nothing. I need you to visit the morgue. I want an autopsy report on the old couple. I need to know if they died of smoke inhalation or by another means. I’m going to take Constable Alderson to the archery club. I’ve a hunch Patrick will turn up.”

  “I’ll catch you up in two hours.”

  “Claire, don’t be late. My life might depend on it.”

  She nodded, and they went their separate ways.

  Kendal watched her run out of the building’s front door before turning to face the main desk.

  “Constable Alderson, let’s go. Bring the addresses I asked you to find.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN