by Adam Carter
“You start bringing me fresh towels,” Hayden told him, “you can look for a nice couch to sleep on for the rest of your life.”
“We find this woman,” Tremens said, “we find Slade.”
“So you don’t think he’s dead any more?”
“I think he’s run away with his other woman. No offence to Laura, but she was asking for that.”
Hayden glanced away from the road. “Excuse me?”
“Knowing Harry was having an affair and not even confronting him about it? Guy was obviously bored with his wife and she didn’t care enough to ask him about it?”
“I think she was trying to save her marriage, Rich.”
“You don’t save a marriage by not talking to your partner.”
“I can see why we’re not married.”
“Why do you pull apart everything I say?”
“Because everything you say is, on some level, offensive. Or stupid. Or both.” Hayden did not mean to take anything out on Tremens, but the entire situation was ridiculous. None of it made any sense at all, yet that was all they had to work with. She could not shake the image that Harry Slade was out there somewhere, lying on a cruise ship with his mistress, sipping cocktails and laughing at everyone he had left behind in his old life. For one fleeting moment, she spitefully hoped Tremens was right and that Slade was dead. It was a horrible thought and made her a horrible person, but at that moment Hayden’s seasonal goodwill was all but exhausted.
They drove the rest of the way home in silence.
CHAPTER FOUR
“One Happy Christmas breakfast,” Suzie Locke said with a beaming smile.
The detective, Richard Tremens, looked down at the food she had dropped in front of him. It was morning and he was in for his usual full English. She had been afraid yesterday he wouldn’t come back, that his partner would not have allowed him to. Suzie knew all too well how annoying co-workers could be, how they tended to think they had every right to run your life for you. Tremens was one of those men who had his own mind but had enough experience not to use it. Suzie had been wondering for several months now whether he was seeing anyone. He did not wear a wedding ring, but that did not necessarily mean he was single. She had never seen a wedding ring on Harry’s finger either, but it seemed he had just been careful to remove it whenever he came to see her. It still irked her to think of how the man had treated her. She knew she would always have a clear memory of how he had announced he was willing to leave his wife for her; the wife he had until that moment never thought to mention.
She vowed she would not make the same mistake with Tremens. She would find out first whether he was attached to anyone. She would play this one carefully. For one thing, she had only recently had her new settee delivered and could not afford to lose it just yet.
“Thanks, Suzie,” Tremens said, taking up his knife and fork. He seemed distant, as though he was distracted by his problems. It was probably that case he was working on with that icy woman he had come in with yesterday.
“Nothing a good breakfast can’t solve,” she said, sliding into the seat opposite him.
“Why’s it a Happy Christmas breakfast anyway?” Tremens asked as he ate.
“I reckon this is the sort of thing Jesus ate at the Last Supper.”
“Uh, the Last Supper was at Easter.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, it was just before they killed him.”
“Oh. Wasn’t that Christmas?”
“No, Christmas was when he was born.” He paused, confused. “Are you playing with me, Suzie?”
“Sure,” she said, beaming. She would look it up later to make sure, but she was certain she had it around the right way. “Still freezing outside, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” He resumed eating.
“Still, not as cold as around that woman from yesterday.”
“Ruth? Yeah, if she comes in again, could you tell her I only come in here occasionally?”
“Why?”
“She doesn’t like me coming here so much. Thinks it’s bad for my health.”
“Sure, Richard. Anything for you.” She offered him her most dazzling smile but he was busy dropping sugar into his coffee. She coughed to get his attention, but his concentration really was elsewhere. “Hard case you’re working on?” she asked.
“Sorry, can’t talk about it.”
“Maybe I can help.”
He went to refuse again, but reconsidered. “A lot of the guys from the station use this café, right?”
“Yep.”
“What about a guy named Harry Slade?”
Suzie was glad she was sitting and somehow managed to keep a vague trace of a smile to her face. “Gary Slade?”
“Harry.”
She put on her best pout as she shook her head. “Nope. Sorry, don’t know him. If he comes by, maybe you could point him out to me.”
“If he comes by I won’t much care because it means we’ve found him.”
“You and Ruth … you’re looking for Slade?”
“Yeah. He’s disappeared. Just wondered whether he might have mentioned something while he was here.”
“Oh.” She thought hard. “I think he said something about heading north for a while. Maybe to see family?”
“Thought you said you didn’t know him?”
She realised she was an idiot. “Oh. No, I don’t. But I saw your paperwork yesterday. It said something about gambling debts. There’s only one detective I know with gambling debts, only I never knew his name.”
“So you do know Harry Slade?”
Suzie wished she had never begun to dig her own grave in the first place. “Well, a little. Never tipped, that one, so I didn’t pay much attention to him. Tips keep a waitress happy, you know? Saves her having to supplement her income doing other things.”
Tremens laughed. “How many jobs do you have exactly?”
Sensing a way to break away from talking about Slade, Suzie said, “Just the one more. I sell stuff. Have myself a market stall when I have the time to use it. I sell rather a lot of …”
“That’s nice, but back to Slade?”
“Ah.”
“You said he said he was heading north?”
“I’m not sure. Like I said, I didn’t pay much attention to that one. Maybe he did, I don’t really remember. He’s disappeared, you say? Any leads?”
“Would I be sitting here asking you if I had any leads?”
“Well, there’s no need to be rude about it.”
“Sorry, Suzie. Just having a difficult time with this one, and it’s not even my case.”
“Then why are you on it at all?”
“Ruth. Detective Hayden insists.”
“And you don’t want to find Slade?”
“Don’t get me wrong: when one of our own disappears, I’m more than willing to pull out all the stops. Whatever that means. It’s just, I never liked him much to begin with. I reckon his arrogance has finally caught up with him.”
“How do you mean?”
“Like I said, the man had problems. Problems of his own creation. I’m not saying anyone deserves to be killed, but he was a rough character. I was told this morning his description’s been put out now. Hopefully someone somewhere will have seen him, dead or alive.”
“But he wasn’t killed. He just headed north.”
“So you think you heard. But considering you didn’t even know his name I’m not putting much faith in that theory. No, depending on who he annoyed, Harry Slade is likely holding up a bridge somewhere.”
Suzie tried to think that through, but if it was a well-known metaphor it was something she had never heard before. “I’m sorry,” she said at last. “Holding up a bridge?”
“Hmm?” Tremens gulped his tea. “You know, mob killing. It means his body’s probably in the river.”
Suzie felt the colour drain from her face. She thought about how much her new settee had set her back and how it was a waste of money if the police already k
new what had happened to Slade.
“You all right?” Tremens asked.
“Sure. Richard, do you mind if I ask you something personal?”
“Shoot.”
“If it turned out the woman you were seeing was married, what would be a normal response?”
“Normal?” He half-laughed. “I don’t think I’ve ever given a normal response in my life, Suzie.”
“Humour me.”
Tremens thought a moment. “Normal response would probably be to shout at her and never see her again. Go out and get hammered or something.”
“And your response?”
“Honestly? It would depend where we were at the time.”
“Say … say you were at your place.”
“We in bed?”
“No, we’re in a café.”
“Cute. I meant in the theoretical scenario.”
“Oh. Sure.”
“Then I’d take all her clothes and throw her out the front door. She can scream and pound on my door all she wants, but it wouldn’t be me suffering.”
It was something Suzie had not thought about. Perhaps she should have done something similar to Slade. Perhaps killing the man had been a little over the top after all. At the time it had not felt satisfying, but she could imagine throwing him out naked into the snow might well have done. Richard Tremens could have had a good influence on her life had she fallen for him instead of Harry Slade.
“Why anyway?” Tremens asked.
“Oh, no reason. Just trying to sort through some personal issues.” What she was hearing was terrible. At the time, she had thought what she was doing was perfectly normal and entirely acceptable. Harry Slade was a cheating rat and it was not illegal to kill a rat which entered your home. Now it seemed she might have overreacted, that perhaps bashing his head in could have even constituted murder. She wanted to ask Tremens but feared the answer. If it turned out to actually be murder, he would arrest her. She did not want to go to gaol, even though she was certain it would not come to that. But she needed to make sure, needed to be certain she was in fact in the right. And if she could not tell Tremens precisely what she had done, perhaps she could show him. After all, it was only a matter of time before someone found her settee. They would have a tough time connecting the body to her but the police were clever. They would make the connection eventually. She needed to know beforehand whether she had actually done something wrong.
“Rich,” she said slowly, “could I ask you a favour?”
“Sure. What?”
“Would you take a ride with me?”
“Is that a euphemism?
“In my van. There’s something I want to show you. Something I think you need to see.”
A strange look came over his face then. It seemed as though he was on the verge of making a crude joke, but he must have seen the seriousness to her face because he nodded instead. “All right. When?”
“Now, if you’re free.”
“Not really, but I’m intrigued. Will it take long?”
“Maybe half an hour, round trip.”
“All right.” He looked wary, but also incredibly curious. I’ll just let Ruth know where I’m going.”
“Couldn’t you do that when you got back? I … this is a little personal.”
Tremens looked as though he was about to argue. Then he smiled reassuringly. “Only because I trust you.”
Suzie returned his smile, but inside she was a bag of nerves being shaken like a carbonated drink. Once her lid came off, she had no idea what might happen. She hoped Tremens would laugh when she showed him Slade, but if it turned out she had actually done the wrong thing, she always kept a few tools in the van. Among them was a wrench. Richard Tremens was such a nice guy, but she had to protect herself.
With any luck, she was worrying over nothing; but she had a sneaking suspicion in the eyes of the law she had done something very, very wrong indeed.
CHAPTER FIVE
She had been neglecting her actual work and Hayden knew she would have to immerse herself in it the entire day if she had any hope of keeping her job. It was after midday now, which meant she had not seen Tremens for a couple of hours. The two of them had agreed they would just get on with their separate workloads today and try to figure out Slade’s disappearance once they got home. Rather than allow him to do that, however, Hayden had followed him. He had gone precisely where she knew he would: to that café down the road. She knew it was irrational to think he was having an affair with the waitress, but Hayden had not been sleeping much lately and she always became paranoid when she had not slept enough. The fact that the waitress – Suzie – was younger and prettier than she did not help her state of mind any. But no; she knew Richard Tremens simply could not say no to a bacon and sausage butty. The only way Tremens would cheat on her would be to run away with a pig.
It was not a trust issue, therefore, which saw Hayden pop out to the café for a coffee. Since she had not been sleeping, she needed more coffee, which was a perfectly reasonable argument. Having found no trace of either Tremens or the waitress, Hayden returned to the station and tried not to think about either of them. It was then she realised she had forgotten to buy her coffee; which proved she had indeed been following him. Not that she would ever have admitted it.
“Excuse me, do you work here?”
She almost collided with a middle-aged man hanging around the doorway.
“No,” Hayden said. “I just heard there was a fan club forming at the door so I thought I’d wait for an autograph.”
The man did not seem to even understand her joke, which was fine because she wasn’t sure she did either.
“Detective Hayden,” she said. “Can I help with something?”
“Well, I’m not sure. I … Well, it’s silly. I just thought I might be able to provide some information and I didn’t … I’m probably just wasting your time.”
That explained why he was hanging around the door. He did not want to be laughed at for wasting police time, or arrested or something. Why he had not just phoned in the information he was certain no one wanted was beyond Hayden. He was probably one of those goody-two-shoes characters who always wanted to phone Crimestoppers but never had anything worthwhile to say. That meant she did not want to talk to him, but could not very well turn him away.
“Tell me what case it involves and I’ll get someone to talk to you,” she said. It was always best to get someone else to sort out the things she did not want to know about.
“This missing detective.”
Suddenly Hayden was interested. “Slade?”
“Yes. I knew him. Well, I say knew him and I really …”
“Do you know where he is?”
“No.”
Hayden’s hopes fell. “Oh.”
“But I saw him a lot. He’s seeing my next-door neighbour. I haven’t seen him around for a few days, though.”
“Seeing …? He’s having an affair with your neighbour?” Hayden’s heart leapt at the possibility she had finally caught a break.
“An affair? Oh, I didn’t realise he was married.”
“What’s your name?”
“Jack. Jack Eddings.”
“Mr Eddings, I want you to think very carefully. When was the last time you saw Harry Slade?”
“The twenty-first of November. They had an argument, you see. I heard shouting, but it didn’t last. There was proper screaming, though. Something about a woman. I suppose it must have been Slade’s wife.”
“Supposition’s a fine thing, but I need to know facts. What time did he leave?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t see him leave.”
“When did his car pull out?”
“It vanished the next day. I remember thinking that odd, because her van left the day of the argument. I helped load it. I remember wondering why Slade’s car was still there if the van was gone.”
“Helped load it? With what?”
“A settee. She was throwing it out. It didn’t
look that old, although it had been sown up good and proper. I didn’t like to say anything. The replacement didn’t arrive for weeks, though, so I don’t know what she did in the meantime for sitting down.”
“Mr Eddings, your neighbour. She wouldn’t happen to be a bit OCD in the cleaning department, would she?”
“OCD? No.”
“Shame.”
“But she does sell cleaning things. She has a market stall, you know. When she’s not waitressing.”
Hayden’s heart sank. “Waitressing? Mr Eddings, what’s the name of your neighbour?”
“Locke. Suzie Locke.”
Suddenly Hayden decided she should have punched the woman in the face when she had wanted to yesterday.
“I’m terribly sorry to waste your time like this, detective.”
“No,” Hayden said quickly, her mind racing. “No, you might just have solved … Richard!”
Eddings looked about him silently.
“She has Richard,” Hayden said.
“Oh. Is that bad?”
Hayden’s instant thought was to run back to the café, but they would be long gone. “Come with me,” she said, grabbing Eddings by the arm and hurrying him back to the street. “Which one’s your car?”
Eddings indicated and she pushed him inside, scrambling in beside him. “Where are we going?” he asked.
“Locke. Get me to her house. Quickly!”
Eddings asked no further questions and simply drove. A thousand scenarios shot through Hayden’s head. There was no indication this Suzie Locke had killed Slade; perhaps their affair had ended and Slade had just chosen to disappear. What Eddings had said about the settee, however, had made her think a little too hard.
They shot through a red light and almost collided with a lorry coming the other way.
“Jesus! What are you doing?”
“Urgent police business,” Eddings said. “Do you have a spare blues-and-twos for the roof?”
“Do I have a spare …? Slow down.”
Eddings looked at her, which was not a good idea considering the speed he was travelling. Finally he slowed.