Fire Games

by Mark Stewart

  KENDAL SNATCHED the address he asked constable Alderson to find out of her hand.

  “The tattoo parlors will be our first destination. We’ll visit them on the way to the archery club.”

  “Ambroso is your partner. Why must you drag me along?” she probed.

  “If my hunch is correct, you’ll find out.” He turned his back on the woman and froze, waiting for the verbal response.

  He didn’t have to wait long.

  “What hunch? What are you up to?”

  “Soon all your questions will be answered.”

  Alderson marched up behind Kendal. She grabbed him by the arm and stared into his eyes.

  “Does Captain Hughes know I’ll be missing from the front desk?”

  Kendal returned a non-committal expression.

  “If Hughes finds out about this your head will roll.”

  Kendal squared his shoulders. “Let me worry about Hughes. To answer your question, ‘why you,’ let me say, I have a few ‘whys’ of my own. Besides, think of the big bucks you’ll earn when you do the overtime.” He sent her a snappy grin before walking off towards his car.

  “Give me one minute,” called Alderson.

  Kendal turned side on to the constable, glaring at her.

  “Nature calls.” She shrugged her shoulders.

  Eight minutes of silent driving Alderson started again.

  “Detective, you, are an asshole.”

  Kendal parked his car in Lygon Street not far from the children’s hospital. Stepping down onto the footpath he immediately marched towards a small shop. He read the sign someone painted on the glass front door.

  ‘Tattoos here.’

  The dirty shop window, papers and yellowing envelopes littering the floor, revealed the shop had been vacant for a long time.

  “Alderson, don’t get out of the car, this isn’t the address we want,” called Kendal.

  He drove around the corner and parked outside the next address. The shop looked sandwiched between a small chemist and a liquor store. Overhead fluorescent tubes lit up the eighty square feet of interior shop space. Eight chairs had been lined up along the glass shop front, four on each side of the door. Every seat was vacant. A wrestler-sized man wearing faded blue jeans and thongs on his feet looked busy applying a tattoo of a woman’s head to his forearm. He stopped his work and looked up when Kendal and Alderson opened the door and walked in.

  “G’day. Help you, folks?” The man’s stool squeaked as he stood. His dyed jet black off the shoulder hair and beard were the same length.

  “I’m Detective Kendal; this is Constable Alderson.” They both flashed their police badges.

  The man puffed out his large stomach and big chest. His voice sounded gruff.

  “I’ve done nothin’ illegal Coppa. If you’re here to harass me or give me grief, two bikie mates are on their way. As a matter of fact, me mates are here now.”

  “Sir, we’re not here to cause trouble,” advised Kendal.

  His words were drowned out by the tattooist’s yell.

  Two men, displaying colourful tattoos under their black leather vests, yanked open the glass front door. A tall, thin woman biker in high heels and tight fitting blue jeans strolled in seconds later. Her long hair was the colour of beach sand. Each strand appeared to have been green tipped. She locked the front door and stood next to her companion. She had pushed both her palms onto her hipbones. Roaming her murderous stare between Kendal and Alderson she spat at the floor they stood on.

  Reaching for her gun, Alderson took two steps back. One bikie cracked eight finger knuckles. In a show of anger, he slammed his fist into the palm of his other hand.

  “I repeat what I said before,” said Kendal.

  “What did you say?” asked one of the bikie men.

  “We’re not here to arrest anyone or cause trouble.”

  The rough sounding bikie relaxed slightly. “Name’s Ted.”

  Kendal stepped forward, pushing out his hand. The biker showed sixteen yellow teeth. Reaching out they pressed the flesh.

  “I hope the dog in blue is as friendly,” growled the woman biker, staring at Alderson’s gun.

  “Constable put the gun away. We’re all friends here,” ordered Kendal.

  She exhaled and housed her gun. Ted’s black leather clad mate stood in an attack stance.

  The owner of the tattoo parlor waved his hand in the air.

  “Jake, settle. Give the coppa’s a minute.”

  Uncoiling his curled fingers, he appeared to relax, if only slightly.

  Kendal faced the owner of the tattoo parlor. “I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Fred,” snarled the man.

  “Obviously, a false name,” suggested Alderson.

  “How many years have you been in this place?” quizzed Kendal.

  “Two,” replied Fred.

  “Ever been in trouble with the law?” questioned Alderson.

  “I refuse to answer. I’ll have it known; I resent your question.”

  “Have you any idea of the name and whereabouts of the last tattooist who ran this shop?” asked Kendal. He sent Constable Alderson an ice stare.

  “Yes, Fawkner Cemetery. Clive died two years ago just after I took over. He was my older brother.”

  “My condolences to you, and your family,” said Kendal. “Do you know if Clive ever spoke about drawing a tattoo of a butterfly on a seven-year-old girl some years back?”

  “Not that I’m aware.”

  “Thank you, for your time. Constable, let’s go. This hunch is a dead end.”

  Thirteen minutes later, Kendal drove onto the grounds of the only archery club on his list. He parked his car next to a sky-blue weatherboard shed, estimating the size of the building at being no larger than a small bedroom.

  Walking into the office, a wiry built man wearing black jeans and a plain black T-shirt stepped from behind an old table. He smiled and extended his hand. Kendal flashed his police badge at the man, introduced himself and Constable Alderson.

  The man’s nostrils flared as he pulled his hand back.

  “How can I help you?”

  “I’m not certain if you can,” quoted Kendal.

  The man switched his stare between the two Detectives. Alderson glanced at her temporary partner. Kendal felt a chill descend to the floor of the small office.

  “Your name is?” asked Kendal.

  “Sweed,” he replied.

  “What’s your full name?”

  “You can call me Mr. Sweed or P.S. Ask anyone around here they know me by my initials.”

  “What does P.S. stand for?” asked Kendal.

  Sweed remained tightlipped.

  Constable Alderson balanced her weight on both feet. Her right hand touched her gun. “You were asked a question.”

  Sweed put his hands into the air. “Okay, okay. I’m Patrick Sweed. Satisfied?”

  “Didn’t your mother like you?” probed Alderson.

  “No, she didn’t. Before you start on the jokes, I was bullied at school over my name. I’ve heard the lot by people like you, so you needn’t bother.”

  “Interesting name,” stated Kendal. “What is it you do around here?”

  “Sir, I own and run this place.”

  “Do you have good insurance?”

  “If you’re referring to life insurance, yes, I have plenty. One can’t be too careful. An arrow might accidentally stray off its prescribed course.”

  “I’m searching for someone.”

  Alderson coughed into her clenched fist.

  “Correction, we’re searching for someone.”

  Glancing sideways Kendal noticed her face had taken on the look of a thundercloud.

  “We have a lot of people on the books,” advised Sweed.

  “The person we’re looking for is an excellent archer?”

  “Male or female?” asked Sweed.

  “That’s the million-dollar question.”

  Sweed sat on a plastic chair, reached
into an open drawer and extracted a large green folder.

  “In here are the names and addresses of everyone who comes to the archery club.”

  “May I have a look?”

  “No. I mean yes. Let’s put it this way; it wouldn’t do you any good, they’re just names on paper. However, the small black book in my pocket has the names of our elite archers.” He produced the book and dropped it on the desk.

  Kendal picked up the thin book. Opening it, he flipped through the lined pages. Looking into Sweed’s blue eyes, he growled.

  “Four names. There are only four names in the entire book.”

  “Yes. There are only four elite archers who use this facility. Why do you want to find them?”

  “I didn’t say I want to find them.”

  “I took it for granted you wanted to question them about something.”

  Kendal refocused on the book. He read the names and addresses of the four archers and handed the book back.

  “Is it okay for us to take a look around?”

  “Feel free, Detectives. Be warned don’t walk too close to a target. We have a few bad archers in today. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “I’ll keep your statement in mind.”

  Constable Alderson kept up her stare on Sweed while they walked out of the office. Kendal pointed to a young girl archer lining up a bull’s-eye target. He beckoned the rookie to follow as the girl let the arrow travel to the target.

  “It sounds like Sweed is hiding something,” mentioned Alderson.

  “Yes.”

  “Confess why you want me here?”

  “You’ll know soon enough. To bide our time, let’s move closer to the archers.”

  “What are we waiting for?”

  Kendal put his finger to his lips.

  “Okay wise arse, you win. I’ll shut up.” Alderson threw her arms up in defeat. Reluctantly she followed.

  The girl archer looked to be in her late teens. Kendal folded his arms and watched her re-load another arrow. She raised her bow in readiness to shoot at the bull’s-eye.

  “Great balance and poise,” commented Alderson. “Her professionalism is second to none.”

  Studying the area, Kendal grunted. His brain dropped into overdrive. Ten targets were lined up at various distances. The car park had eight cars. One had to be Sweed’s, the other was his, and the other remaining cars belonged to the two young archers. He frowned. The other four vehicles had no drivers. His frown worsened. He squinted in the sunlight.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Sweed reported there are several bad archers in today. Several are more than two.” Kendal rubbed his chin. “The ends of the string don’t meet.”

  “You’re a weird man.”

  Kendal ignored Alderson’s taunt by looking around more carefully, taking in every detail.

  “Where are the other archers?” He mumbled louder than he intended to.

  “Maybe one car belongs to Patrick?”

  Kendal sent Alderson a sinister look.

  “Or maybe he has another accomplice?”

  “Maybe,” mumbled Alderson.

  “There’s not enough breeze to fill the wind sock mounted on the office roof. Let’s move closer to the girl.”

  Kendal waited for the arrow to hit the bull’s-eye before talking to the girl. The hair on the back of his neck began to prickle. He had a gut feeling things were about to get bad, real, bad. The missing drivers had to be the missing link. He stepped forward.

  “Excuse me, Miss.”

  “What do you want? You’re breaking my concentration and interrupting my practice.” She lowered her bow and sent an angry stare.

  Kendal flashed his police badge, stepped off the pea stones and onto the grass. He introduced himself. The girl gently placed the bow on the grass.

  “Can I ask you a few questions?”

  The girl nodded, positioning herself into a relaxed stance.

  “Have you ever used a crossbow?”

  “No, never. I like a bow and arrow. I love the way it feels. The power it has in the taut string.”

  “Have you ever seen anyone using a crossbow in this place?” asked Alderson, stepping onto the grass.

  “No, only a bow and arrow.” The girl reached up and re-tied her dull red ponytail. “If anyone uses a crossbow around here it might be on another day. I only come here when I need to. I find it therapeutic. Shooting arrows always help me to let off steam if I’ve had a hard day at work.”

  Kendal raised his eyebrows. Alderson scrunched her nose.

  “You look like you should try it some time, Detective.”

  He raised his hands in alarm. “I prefer my Smith and Wesson.”

  The girl grinned and battered her long eyelashes. “Maybe we should get together. I could give you a private lesson.”

  Before he could answer, Kendal heard a moan. He turned in time to witness Alderson dropping to her knees. Blood was pouring onto the ground. His eyes widened. His hunch was right on the money. Things were about to get real ugly. Searching the area, Kendal’s hand dove for his Smith and Wesson nestled under his arm. He knew he had to be fast. He couldn’t afford to fumble. His fingers eased onto the gun’s trigger. In one quick movement, he dropped to one knee. His eyes and gun swept the area. Nothing, he saw nothing out of the ordinary.

  Kendal saw a figure step from the office and start to walk his way with one hand behind his back.

  “Freeze, Sweed,” yelled Kendal. He reached out his hand and dragged the girl down. “Lay flat.” He aimed his gun at Sweed’s torso and yelled. “Lay on the ground, Sweed. This is your last warning.”

  A bloodstain formed on Sweed’s shirt as he too crumbled to the ground. Kendal leapt over Alderson’s body. Her face had already drained of colour. She started coughing up blood.

  “I have to confess something before I have to explain my intentions to my maker. I only hope he can forgive me.”

  Kendal didn’t hear her. He was already on his mobile phone requesting backup and an ambulance. He looked up to study Sweed’s body. It already looked lifeless.

  “I have to finish my confession before it’s too late,” Alderson repeated.

  Kendal looked into her dying green eyes. Blood started dripping down her cheeks.

  “Come closer,” she gargled.

  Kendal sat Alderson’s limp body against his leg. The crossbow arrow had missed her heart by a full three millimeters.

  ‘Not quite the perfect shot after all,’ he thought.

  Alderson’s breathing sounded quick and shallow.

  “Rookie Alderson, there’s a good chance you’ll live,” Kendal lied.

  She groped for his coat. “Patrick and I teamed up three months ago.”

  “Why? Tell me why?”

  She gulped for air as her body lurched upwards. The pool of blood on her uniform enlarged.

  “To bring you down,” she mumbled. “I never thought it would end this way.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Shit. You arrested my sister for prostitution four months ago. Her first night in jail was her last. Because of you, she died in prison.” Alderson reached up, grabbing Kendal’s coat sleeve. “She was sent to the wrong prison. She was only sixteen.”

  “Who is Patrick?”

  Alderson’s eyes closed. “Patrick is…!” her chest heaved as she gasped for air. “Patrick and….!” Her body slumped when she exhaled her last breath.

  “Rookie Alderson, confess Patrick’s identity? Come on RA, tell me.”

  Feeling Alderson’s body slump Kendal placed her head gently on the grass and closed her eyes.

  The shadow of a person covered RA’s face. Standing in front of Kendal the person spoke in a gruff voice.

  “Hey Kendal, don’t move, my gun is already aimed at your head. Drop your weapon and toss the snub nose strapped to your ankle to the wind. No games, no tricks, and don’t say you lost the Beretta, or it’s at the police station for cleaning. I made sure RA gave you an
other when you were at Police Headquarters.”

  Kendal’s gaze darted upwards. He needed to squint in the sunlight. “Patrick,” he snarled.

  “Throw your guns away.”

  Kendal switched the safety on, threw the Smith and Wesson and the snub nose onto the grass. He raised an eyebrow at the approaching sirens. Inwardly he hoped Claire was leading several police cars. He needed to find a way to keep Patrick occupied, even if it meant taking a bullet. If he moved fast enough, there was a good chance he’d only be shot in the leg.

  Kendal stood and moved a half step closer.

  Patrick stepped back. “I hear sirens. It’s time for me to say good-bye.”

  “Leaving so soon? The party is only just warming up.”

  “You’re too much of a wet blanket. You’d spoil any party in a moment.”

  The girl archer squatted behind one of the target squares thirty feet from where RA was shot. She snuck a look around the target’s edge, lifted her bow and lined up the hooded person. She pulled back on the string.

  “You won’t shoot,” bellowed Patrick. He swung the gun around and pointed it at the girl. “On the other hand, I will. Drop the bow and get your arse over here. I need help to leave.”

  The girl lowered the bow, dropping it in the short grass.

  “If you come now you won’t get hurt.”

  “Don’t listen to the creep,” spat Kendal.

  “Shut up Coppa. The clock is ticking. I have to leave.”

  “I demand proof Tegan’s alive.”

  “I’ve done that already.”

  With the police sirens closing in fast, the girl walked slowly, each step hesitant.

  “Hurry up girlie; I haven’t got all day. The sirens are getting too close.”

  The girl stood on his left. A gloved hand reached out and grabbed her ear. She screamed in agony.

  “Coppa, drop to your knees, or I’ll shoot them.” Patrick’s balaclava brushed the girl’s ear. “The next time I call, you run.”

  Kendal dropped to his knees. He watched helplessly as the girl was pulled screaming by her ear towards the car park. If he tried to stand or go for his gun, he’d be shot. He’d be no good to the girl or Tegan, dead.

  “Where’s my daughter?”

  Patrick answered by tightening the grip on the girl’s ear. She screamed again.

  “If you want to see your daughter again, you won’t follow. A word of warning, don’t shoot my car, the kid might be in the trunk.”

  Kendal acted out what Patrick said. His body might be a prisoner to Patrick’s poison words, but his mind was free. Scenario after scenario of how he might change the scene into his favour churned over in his brain.

  He grinned.

  Patrick reached a car. Sliding behind the steering wheel of a dark blue sedan he released the girl by pushing her onto the pea stones. She screamed for the third time when her knees bit into the stones. A few feet of crawling on bloody knees forced her to curl into a tight ball and sob uncontrollably.

  Kendal seized the opportunity to implement his plan. His timing needed to be perfect. He bent sideways and, snatching up his gun, he jumped to his feet and sprinted for the car park. Not taking his stare off his target, he moved his gun’s safety switch to the off position took aim and fingered the trigger.

  The blue sedan’s engine roared to life.

  He heard the crunch of stones under his feet. He picked up the pace. Each breath he took his windpipe reddened. He shut out the pain. He had to catch the blue sedan before it reached the main gate.

  The car started moving. Though his legs felt like lead, Kendal pushed on. Seeing the gap between him and the car he realized he was losing the battle. It was time for part two of his plan.

  The gap between him and the blue car increased rapidly. He had no choice. Patrick’s words flooded his mind. ‘Don’t shoot. Your daughter might be in the trunk.’

  So as to have a larger target, Kendal ran wide of the car like a water skier setting himself for a record high jump. He needed to jump over a knee-high log fence. The jump unbalanced him, he re-aimed his gun at the car and squeezed the trigger. The gap between the car and his gun appeared to be at least sixty feet and quickly widening.

  The bullet smashed the rear driver’s side window. Shards of glass rained on Patrick’s balaclava. He brushed off the glass. The engine roared louder. Kendal squeezed off two more rounds, a second apart. One bullet smashed the rear window. The second ricocheted off the car’s roof and embedded in a tree. Glass littered the car park. Kendal stopped his run, estimating the gap between him and the car to be more than one hundred feet. He doubled over in pain. His breathing sounded quick and shallow.

  From a squat position, Kendal observed the car stopping. Patrick dived onto the back seat. Kendal’s jaw fell open when he saw a blonde-haired person appear in the front passenger seat.

  The unidentifiable figure signaled Patrick to stay low and threw a blue blanket over from the front seat to the rear seat. Slowly the car was driven past seven police cars and a small car driven by Claire.

  “Patrick, the chase isn’t over,” yelled Kendal, recommencing his sprint. Seeing Claire, he waved at her. She immediately screeched her car to a stop. He opened the passenger door and slid into the seat next to her. “You just past the car Patrick was in, let’s go.”

  “I only saw a woman driving.”

  “Did you recognize her?” He pointed. “Turn left at the entrance.”

  “No. The only thing I saw was a blonde, middle-aged woman.” Claire hammered the accelerator.

  “No wonder we’ve been one step behind. Patrick has a second accomplice.”

  “There are two accomplices? Who’s the first?”

  “RA,” announced Kendal.

  Claire sent him a puzzled look. She steered her car at breakneck speed through the open gate and turned left.

  “I saw Patrick dive onto the rear seat, and the driver threw him a blanket.”

  “Where’s Rookie Alderson?”

  “Dead,” reported Kendal.

  Three hundred feet from the main gate the blue sedan had been parked on the side of the road, its shattered windows were the positive ID Kendal needed to ID the correct vehicle.

  “Shattered windows?” questioned Claire.

  “I missed.”

  “Sugar, I’m surprised.”

  “It’s a long story.”

  Claire jerked the car to a complete stop. Both detectives stepped onto the road and stalked the blue sedan, guns at the ready. They circled the car twice before stepping up to look inside.

  After checking the trunk, Claire spoke seriously.

  “Patrick’s long gone.”

  Kendal nodded. Focusing on the ground at the side of the road, he studied the tyre tracks in the dirt.

  “Did you notice any cars parked here on the way in?”

  “Saw it, yes.”

  He rolled his eyes.

  “Sugar, it was a standard parked car.” She emphasized the last three words.

  Kendal exhaled his anger. Together they scrutinized the car’s interior and trunk space. They needed to discover anything that might give them a lead. Disappointed they moved onto the surrounding area.

  When Kendal finally spoke, he sounded frustrated.

  “I was hoping Tegan would’ve been in the car.”

  “Patrick’s played a bluffed hand.”

  “Yes, and he’s won again.”

  Claire glanced up when she heard an ambulance rumbling along the road. When the vehicle sped past, Claire drove Kendal back to the archery club’s office.

  “I wonder why they’re in such a hurry?” she quizzed.

  “Step on the gas pedal, maybe Sweed’s alive.”

  A crowd of onlookers had gathered by the time the Detectives stepped up to the rear of the crowd.

  Kendal pushed his way through the sea of faces to the front. “How’s Sweed?”

  “Just gone,” announced the ambulance officer.

  “When we
arrived, I took his vitals; I gave him a one percent chance of survival. The rookie cop was DOA,” advised the second ambo cutting into the conversation.

  “Sugar, we should go and inform RA’s family.”

  Kendal lifted his wrist so he could read his watch.

  “9:00am,” he mumbled. “If we hurry, we’ll be there by 9:30.”

  Seeing movement, Kendal watched a man in his early forties slowly walking towards him.

  “Excuse me, Sir, Miss. I want to give myself up. I want to confess to killing the young woman cop and Mr. Sweed.”

  Both Detectives gave the man the once over. Short black hair, black coke bottle glasses, over-sized grey pants and he wore a moth-eaten faded green jumper.

  “Who might you be?” asked Kendal.

  “I’m the killer.”

  Claire shook her head. “Sweetie, what’s your name?”

  “Dava,” whispered the man. “Everyone knows me as GD. I’m the one you’re looking for.”

  “Dava, Eh!” growled Kendal. “Convince me you’re the killer.”

  “I snuck up on Sweed. I used me gun, to shoot him and the Sheila cop.”

  “Where’s the gun now?” asked Claire.

  “I threw it away. Arrest me. I’m a menace to society.” Dava held his hands out to be handcuffed. “Arrest me and throw away the key.”

  “I don’t have time for this. Claire, let’s go.”

  “What about me?” Dava screamed.

  Claire put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Sir, you couldn’t possibly be the person we’re looking for. Sweed and our good friend Constable Susie Alderson were both shot by an arrow fired from a crossbow.”

  “Yes, yes, now I remember. I did use a crossbow. I have these sudden blackouts causing memory loss.”

  “Dava, stay in the office, I’ll talk to Captain Hughes to assign Detective Philips to take your statement. He won’t be long. Claire, I need the keys to your car. If you’re coming, get in. You can inform me of the autopsy report on the elderly people as we go.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY