by Adam Carter
She seemed to like that suggestion even less. “It just doesn’t seem right, dear. His family haven’t even been through his belongings yet.”
“His family lives in Turkey. I doubt they’re coming over here. His house and belongings will likely be sold off and the money sent to them.” I assumed that was how it would work anyway, and if it wasn’t I doubted the old woman would have known to contradict me.
“Still, I think we shouldn’t be walking around his house.”
The woman was infuriating, although she was also entirely correct. I had no right to force her to give me the key and her loyalty to Mr Polinski was admirable. None of that helped me of course and it did not matter how infuriated I felt; I knew there was nothing I could do about it. And that of course infuriated me further.
“I just need access to his records,” I said, knowing there was no point in pushing her any further. If I annoyed her too much she might end up calling the police. “For his shop? There’s something I need to check out.”
“I don’t know, dear. Surely the police have access to his records?”
“I think there was something he may have kept off the books.”
She straightened herself in indignation. “Mr Polinski was the most upstanding man of this community. He would never be involved in anything illegal.”
“I don’t think he would, either,” I said, knowing I did not believe that. I no longer had any idea what to think of the man. I had begun this investigation because I wanted to find his killer, but the more people I spoke to, the more confused I was becoming. I had so many conflicting concepts in my mind that a part of me truly feared he was indeed involved in something shady. I could not believe such of him, but then how well had I really known him? I only shopped with him, I didn’t know him at all in fact. But this woman’s attitude only affirmed what I myself had always thought about him, and I felt a rush of shame to ever call his integrity into question.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to suggest anything. It’s just I’m hitting my head against a brick wall over this and I don’t think it’s the wall that’s going to crack.”
She softened at this, perhaps because she noticed I was close to tears over the whole thing. “There, there,” she said in what she likely supposed was a soothing manner. “We all thought a great deal of Mr Polinski, dear. But I’m still not letting you into his house.”
The tears hadn’t worked, so I was all out of ideas. The only recourse I had left was to break into the house, and that led me back to all my perturbations with that particular strategy. I would have to go away and have a rethink of the situation. I doubted there was anything I would be able to do, but maybe I could go back to Carl and see whether he had anything. I had been trying to avoid Carl because I didn’t want to find out he had been a party to that dirty trick Lewis had played on me, but with nothing else to go on I would have to suck it up and talk to him.
“Thank you for your time,” I said, wishing I could remember the old woman’s name. “Sorry to have bothered you.” I was halfway out of her gate when I decided I would ask something on the off-chance. “Mr Polinksi never mentioned a kid named Nathan did he?”
“Nathan? He didn’t much like Nathan.”
I blinked, wondering how stupid I could have been not to have asked her as soon as I rang her doorbell. “Who is Nathan?”
“I don’t know.” I could tell by the way she scrunched her face that she did not think much of Nathan at all. “He took him in, gave him a job. I don’t know why he did it, said he didn’t want to lose his house.”
I tried to work that out. “What does Nathan have to do with his house?”
“Nothing. He’s never been there, but it’s what Mr Polinski said. He didn’t want to lose his house so he had to give that scroat a job.”
“You didn’t like him much, did you?”
“Is he a suspect?”
“Possibly.”
“You mean yes.”
I nodded. “Do you know where I could find Nathan?”
“No.”
“And you don’t know his connection with Mr Polinski or Mr Polinski’s house?”
“No. But if he’s a suspect you could always look him up in the phone book.”
“I would,” I tried to laugh, “if I knew his surname.”
“Oh that’s easy, dear. His name is Nathan Wentworth.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Prime Suspect
It was uncomfortable sitting in the same position for so many hours, but I had parked myself outside of Wentworth’s house and had been watching carefully for any comings and goings. I wasn’t about to miss something just because my bum hurt. I could not believe how many pieces of this puzzle there were, although certainly were things beginning to make sense now. Albert Wentworth had a son named Nathan. For some reason he had told Mr Polinski that he had to give Nathan a job for a while. Mr Polinski had not agreed with that but had done so anyway under threat of losing his house. I have no idea what powers landlords actually have with regards to such things, but clearly the threat sounded real enough to Mr Polinski to force him to comply. He had almost definitely been told to keep no record of Nathan’s employment, which would explain why the youth was never seen in the shop, and even Mr Polinski’s record-keeping probably did not mention him. But he complained to his neighbour regardless, perhaps solely so he could have some form of verbal record when all written ones had been forbidden him.
This was all just a theory, but if it was true it meant Mr Polinski was complacent in nothing, and only guilty because he was forced into it. And since there was no crime in giving someone a job it might well have meant Mr Polinski was guilty of nothing at all.
I could not figure out why Nathan was there, however, and that really bugged me. Maybe he was being paid under the counter, but his father lived in a wealthy house and clearly did not need to resort to such tax-dodging. But then perhaps he had gathered such wealth by avoiding tax himself. Perhaps I had stumbled upon a huge tax-dodging scam of which certain celebrities could be proud.
I don’t know how long I was sitting there but it was getting dark by the time I saw some activity. A car pulled into the driveway and I stared hard at the driver emerging. It was Wentworth, I could clearly see, and to my joy he opened the passenger door and all but dragged out what appeared to be a youth. Wentworth did not look at all pleased, and the youth stumbled as he was practically thrown towards the house by the old man. They were hidden by a bush very quickly so I did not get a good look at the youth, but I would have bet a year’s pay that his name was Nathan.
Charging into the house and demanding answers would have got me nowhere, especially if Nathan still had his gun. Phoning Carl was obviously the cleverest course of action but, since Carl had always tried to make me believe he was far cleverer than me, that was not an option I entertained for very long. I tried to work out why Wentworth was so angry with his son, and came up with the obvious: that he did not agree with Nathan having murdered Mr Polinski. But I still could not work out why he had been murdered. If it wasn’t for money, why would someone shoot him? Why would Wentworth insist his son was given employment, only to have that son murder his employer?
It made no sense to me so I decided I needed more information.
Leaving my car, I sneaked across to their vehicle and using it as cover headed further towards the house. Approaching one of the windows, I could hear raised voices although could make out no words. There was no window open so I doubted I would be able to hear anything even if I were to press my ear to the window itself; and then they would see me of course. Frantically trying to work out what I should do, and well aware I was missing all the best bits of the heated conversation, I headed to the door, hoping they had forgotten to lock it in their rush to get inside. No such luck, however, so I did the one thing which I figured might stop them arguing until I could hear them properly. I rang the doorbell and jumped into a bush.
My heart hammering at the somewhat chil
dish prank I had been forced to implement, I peered through the bush, the leaves scratching my eyes and bare skin, and I had to admit that as spur-of-the-moment plans went, this had to have been my worst. The door opened almost immediately, a curious Albert Wentworth peering out from the crack of the door still on its chain. He was afraid, then. Perhaps he thought the police had followed him out here. Again I thought I should probably call them myself, but there was still something strange going on and I was determined to find out just what that was before handing my investigation over to someone else.
My investigation. I had to shake my head at how much I was doing this to get at Carl. Shaking my head caused further itching from the leaves and I almost hated myself in that moment for the realisation that, yes, I was only doing this to annoy Carl and that I had come to that realisation with some murderer’s thorns in my eyes.
The door closed and I heard no more arguing, so I made my way out of the bush. It was a difficult process and while I managed to get one leg free, the other was snagged and I fell heavily. Biting my lip to stop myself from so much as gasping too loudly, I rolled onto my back and struggled to pull my foot free. The bush rustled in awkward pleasure as it watched me struggle and if I thought it might do any good to punch the thing I would have done so.
I became aware of sounds behind me and half turned my head to see Wentworth standing at the door, open once more. The youth was ahead of him, moving rapidly and looking very much as though he was making a run for it. Wentworth was no longer shouting at him and instead looked extremely worried. No matter what he thought of his son murdering Mr Polinski, it seemed he was willing to let him escape. I don’t have any kids but I guess I would do pretty much the same thing. It must be a nightmare for a parent to have their child turn criminal, and I found I could not hate Wentworth for his complacence.
Giving one final jerk, I managed to free my foot from the bush, and went stumbling down the path. Wentworth saw me and shouted to his son, who took one look at me and burst into a fit of speed such as only the young possess. I did not shout to him, did not waste the energy, and simply ran as fast as I could. By the time I got to the street, Nathan was already halfway down the road and I could envision another chase I was destined to lose.
Only this time I had wheels.
Jumping in my car, I peeled away from the kerb with such haste that the screech likely alerted the entire neighbourhood watch. Nathan was running full-tilt, but thankfully for me he was heading down the road, taking none of the side turnings down which my car would not fit. He did not even seem to realise he was being pursued in a car and as I shot towards him I realised I was going to have to slow down or else risk running him down.
My problem now of course was subduing him. I’d never before tried to pin down a young man, not even one who wasn’t wanted for murder, and I knew he would be stronger and faster than me. My best bet would be to hit him with my car after all, but that was not something I would even consider. At that stage of things I was not averse to breaking a bone or two, but hitting someone with a speeding car is a good way to get them killed and that was the last thing I wanted.
And then I had an idea and pulled across so I wouldn’t strike him. As I passed him, I slowed to his pace and rolled down the window. “Quick!” I shouted. “Get in!”
His first reaction was shock and fear, but I was throwing open the door for him and he took it, sliding into the seat beside me. I drove, not knowing how to play this, certain he would see through my deception at any moment and pull a gun on me. I tried to appraise him while looking as though I was concentrating on my driving. He was in his early twenties, thin and scared. His dark hair was a mop of untidy fashion and he was dressed in a dark jacket which may have been a hoodie for all I know about these things. He was breathing hard, his adrenalin surging, his fear giving him strength, and he seemed genuinely terrified.
It was not what I had expected.
“Who are you?” he asked at last, the question I had been afraid of ever since he had jumped in my car.
“Lauren.” I didn’t see any reason to lie to him, but pressed on before he could ask anything else. “The police are looking for you, Nathan. You have to get away.”
“I know, I know. I ... My dad brought me home to hide me. The cops were there. Ghillie-style.”
I cringed at the fight I had with that bush: the fight I had well and truly lost. “Yeah, have to watch those cops sometimes. Why did your dad bring you home to hide?”
“Because of what happened to old man Polinski. He said I’d be safe at home, but the cops were already staking the place out.”
Dropping him off at the police station seemed the best course of action for me, although getting him out the car once we arrived would prove the real problem. “When was the last time you were at the shop?” I asked.
“I haven’t been back since the shooting. Dad says to stay away from that place.”
So, if Nathan could be believed, it meant Lewis and Carl had indeed set up the whole ‘attack’ on me. Whoever that kid was they got to jump me in the shop, it had not been Nathan. That rankled more than I could say, although at that moment I had to concentrate only on Nathan. I could not see that he was carrying a weapon of any kind, but I knew he was dangerous and if he had any inkling that I was out to get him he would clobber me and steal my car.
“Do you have somewhere to go?” I asked. “Somewhere safe?” My thoughts turned to leaving him somewhere, watching the place to make sure he didn’t scarper, while calling the police and getting them to pick him up.
“No. They’re gonna find me wherever I go. I have to get out the country or something, yeah? Go live the rest of my days in Spain.”
“They have police in Spain, Nathan.”
“Who’d you say you were?”
He was beginning to calm down by this point, and with that calm was coming reason. He was at last beginning to understand he had leaped into the car of a total stranger and that this stranger seemed to know far too much about him for it to have been a coincidence that she had picked him up.
“Lauren, I told you,” I said before launching into another question which would hopefully steer his mind away from who I was. If I could make him focus on the trouble he was in, I might stand a fighting chance of getting him somewhere useful before he could figure me out and attack me. “I don’t get why your dad got you a job working for Mr Polinski. What was that about?”
“He thought it would give me an alibi. Figured if Polinski could say I’d been working for him the past few months, they couldn’t pin me down for the shooting.”
I was having a difficult time following all of this. Wentworth told Mr Polinski to take Nathan into his shop so that Nathan could have an alibi for when he shot him? None of this made any sense to me, and I was half tempted to just come out and tell him so.
“What did you think of Mr Polinski?” I asked if only to keep him talking while I tried to work through things.
“Why’d you keep calling him Mr Polinski? Are you a teacher?”
“Do I look like a teacher?”
Nathan shrugged and answered my earlier question. “He was OK for an old guy. He was a laugh sometimes. Had a weird sense of humour, but he was all right. Shame what happened to him.”
“Yes. It was.” It was strange, but Nathan seemed genuinely sorry Mr Polinski was dead. He looked incredibly guilty about it, but there was something I was missing, and the harder I thought about it the further it was moving from me. I considered trying for another river analogy but I had far too much to concentrate on.
“Mr Polinski was shot three times,” I said, keeping my voice as level as I could. “That’s overkill.”
Nathan snorted. “These people don’t mess around, Lauren. Hold on, who are you?”
I almost didn’t care any more that he had all but figured out he didn’t know me. “Wait a ... what people?”
“Whoever shot the old man.”
“Didn’t you shoot him?”
Nathan looked aghast. “Why would I shoot him? He was good to me. He was hiding me, why would I shoot him?”
“So why was he hiding you in his shop? You just told me you didn’t want to be blamed for the shooting.”
“Not Polinski, the bank. I ...” His face became an almighty frown. “My dad didn’t send you after me, did he?”
“Your dad knows me, it’s fine.”
“No, you’re with them!”
He had opened the door and rolled out before I could stop him. Screeching the car to a halt, I looked behind me to see him struggling to his feet. There was blood down the back of his trousers, but that was to be expected if you leaped from a moving vehicle, and I cursed soundly as I got out of the car to pursue him. But Nathan was far faster than me and had greater incentive to get away; I had not taken more than four steps before I could see him disappearing down an alley and over a fence. I would not catch him and did not fancy a repeat of my last chase of someone his age.
Getting back in my car, I drove just to get away from the area. Nathan had said plenty in the short time he had been in my car; enough to make me rethink the entire situation. All this time I had assumed he had killed Mr Polinski, but that had been purely on the basis that he was the only suspect. Yet Nathan had claimed otherwise. He had also mentioned a bank, which brought back something Carl had mentioned to me, something I had vaguely heard about in the news. Someone had committed an armed robbery in a bank and a man had been shot and killed. It seemed that armed robber was Nathan and that his father was trying to hide him in Mr Polinski’s shop because of this. If he worked long enough in the back room, Mr Polinski could claim he had been working there for months. It would not be something which would sit well with Mr Polinski, but something he seemed to have agreed to.
Someone had then entered his shop and shot him three times. Nathan had gone on the run again, probably thinking he would be blamed for this shooting as well. Nathan would have to have been the unluckiest man alive to be hiding from one shooting only to have his protector shot as well. The two had to be connected, therefore, but perhaps Nathan had not murdered Mr Polinski, and from his mannerisms and reactions I was beginning to believe he was telling me the truth. Even innocent of this crime, however, Nathan was still guilty of the bank robbery and the shooting there, but that was not my case. Carl could receive the glory for that one if he liked: I would even phone him about it later, I decided. Right at that moment I had bigger things on my mind.