The Dead and the Dying (a John Mason thriller)

by Amy Cross

  A car comes towards us and stops. Tepper gets out and marches over. "Private investigation?" she asks, "or can anyone join in?"

  Alice noticeably stiffens now that Tepper's here.

  "We need to find out who owned this place," I say, nodding in the direction of the burnt-out warehouse. "And we need to find out what caused the fire".

  "Alex Costas," says Tepper. "And there was enough accelerant in that building to burn down the whole town". She smiles. "Research. I find it more useful than simply blundering in".

  "Alex -" Alice starts to say.

  "Costas," says Tepper. "Totally false name. Same false name that was used to rent out a certain shipping container". She looks very pleased with herself, and I don't blame her; sometimes a little research does pay off, after all.

  I look across the street at a small house. There's a light on downstairs. "Your house?" I ask the man.

  He shakes his head. "Frank's place. But don't bother. He's crazy".

  "Completely crazy?" I ask.

  He nods. "Fucking out of his mind. Only reason he's never been locked up is he's never hurt no-one".

  "Worth talking to, then," I say.

  "You won't get anything out of him," the guy says. He seems unusually persistent. "The guy's as crazy as a box of bees. Look, I'm sorry if that sounds mean or something, but it's true. He's off his rocker".

  I smile. "Sounds good".

  "Frank!" I say, smiling as the door open. "Detective John Mason, this is Detective Tepper, this is..." I turn to Alice, "Sorry, I don't know your surname".

  "Alice Reynolds," Alice says, looking a little annoyed.

  "Dr. Alice Reynolds," I say, turning back to Frank. "We noticed your light was on and we wondered if we could ask you a few questions".

  Frank is an old man. 70s, maybe 80s, like a fatter version of Morgan Freeman. And he looks extremely suspicious of us, as well he might.

  "You can come in," he says. "But watch the dog. He bites".

  We step inside and exchange glances as we each register the stench. It's not that the house is untidy or noticeably dirty, but it smells as if this guy just spends all day every day sitting around farting. And to be fair, that's quite possible.

  "What kind of dog have you got?" asks Tepper.

  "Watch out for him," says Frank, sitting on the sofa. "He bites".

  I glance around. No sign of a dog. "Frank, I don't know your surname," I say.

  No response.

  "No need to turn this into a party," says Alice. "We won't keep you, Frank. We just want to know if you've seen anything odd across the road recently, at the warehouse the burnt down".

  "Good boy," says Frank. "Do you hear that?"

  Tepper, Alice and I exchange glances.

  "That's the new airport," Frank says. "They promised the planes wouldn't fly over here. But they do. Technically, it's illegal".

  I nod. There are no sounds of planes around here.

  "Do you live alone?" Tepper asks.

  "Yes," says Frank. "With my wife. You've met her".

  Okay. "Thanks, Frank," I say. "We've wasted enough of your valuable time".

  "Watch the dog," Frank says. "He bites. Have you met my wife? This is Gladys".

  Silence for a moment.

  "Hi, Gladys," I say. "Gladys, have you seen anything odd across the road?"

  No answer.

  I look at Tepper and shrug. "I thought that might be how it works".

  "We're done here. Thanks, Frank," says Alice, turning to me and whispering: "This isn't going anywhere. Come on". She walks out, leaving Tepper and me with Frank.

  "Is there anything we can do to help you, Frank?" Tepper asks.

  He sits there, saying nothing for a moment. Then: "When the planes land, sometimes you can hear the kids shouting, you know".

  Tepper smiles. "Lovely -"

  "What kids?" I ask, interrupting.

  "The kids on the plane," says Frank. "Over the road. Not very often. Not at all lately. The planes still land, but quieter now".

  Tepper looks at me for a moment, then back at Frank. "So... until a few weeks ago, you used to hear children shouting over the road?"

  "Watch out," Frank says. "The dog bites".

  "Every a stopped watch tells the right time twice a day," I say to Tepper.

  "Frank -" she starts to say, but at that moment two gunshots ring out in the street, one after the other, both sounding like they come from the same gun. Tepper and I race out.

  There's no-one in the street as we get outside.

  "Alice!" I shout, looking about for any sign of her.

  Tepper has her gun out. "Aren't you armed?" she asks me.

  I check. "Apparently not," I say.

  There's another gunshot, coming from the warehouse next to the one that burnt down. Tepper and I run over.

  "In here!" shouts Alice.

  "You go round there," says Tepper, pointing to one side of the building before heading off in the opposite direction.

  "I don't have a -" I shout, but then think better of it. "I don't have a good feeling about this," I say, not wanting to broadcast my lack of gun to the whole damn world.

  I hurry along one side of the building, but the pain in my belly is back. I stop and lean against the wall, and for a moment I think I'm going to throw up. Is this what my life's going to be like from now on? Constant illness and weakness? And that's when it hits me, perhaps for the first time: I'm dying. I'm going to die. Soon. No matter what I do. No matter how hard I fight. I'm going to die.

  Another gunshot rings out.

  I press on, the pain duller but still impossible to ignore in my belly.

  As I head around the corner, I collide with Alice.

  "Jesus!" she says.

  "What the fuck's going on?" I ask.

  "Someone let off a couple of rounds at me," she says.

  "Don't you have a gun?" I ask.

  "I'm a fucking pathologist!" she says, raising her voice. “I don’t usually need one. What’s your excuse?”

  “It’s my day off,” I say. “Great. Three cops, one gun. Are you okay?"

  "Of course I'm okay," she says. "I'm not hurt. Where's Tepper?"

  "Somewhere," I say. "Did you see the guy who shot at you?"

  "Yeah," she says. "It was -" And then something weird happens. As I stare at her, the middle of Alice's face suddenly explodes, showering me with flesh and blood and bone, and she falls against me, forcing us both to the ground. I look up and see a figure a few feet away, gun raised straight at us.

  9. Suffer

  A shot rings out, and the figure runs. I push Alice's body off and look at her face, or what's left of it. Most of her head is intact, but her eyes and nose have been blown away but what must have been a bevelled ballistic from a high-powered semi-automatic handgun. I reach down and check the pulse at her wrist, but I already know it's far, far too late.

  "Holy shit!" says a voice.

  I look up. It's Tepper.

  "He went that way," I say, pointing in the direction towards which the man ran. "Go!" I shout.

  Hesitating for a moment, clearly shocked, Tepper turns and runs into the darkness. For a moment, I consider calling her back. After all, I just sent her running after a killer into the pitch black of night. Then again, she's a cop, and that's what cops do.

  I wipe my face. There's blood and other body parts all over me. I wipe a small, moist piece of meat from my eye. I look at my hands. There's blood everywhere. Blood with bits of splintered bone in it.

  Two paramedics lift a stretcher and carry it to an ambulance. The whole street is now dotted with police cars and medical vehicles, each with lights flashing on their roofs. The men carrying Alice's body don't hurry. There's no need. The sheet is over her, so that no-one else has to see what has happened to her. Police are crawling all over the scene. Alice's colleagues... former colleagues... are mopping up and looking for evidence. Tepper is talking to other officers about what happened, about what she saw, and about how she
lost the shooter in the maze of alleyways on the other side of the industrial estate.

  "We're both wearing odd socks," I say to Frank as we sit on the porch of his house.

  "It's been a long time since the planes were here," says Frank, his eyes fixed on all the lights of the vehicles.

  "You see planes?" I ask, following his gaze. "I wish I saw planes".

  "Who got shot?" Frank asks.

  "A friend of mine," I say.

  A few minutes of silence pass between us. "She dead?" Frank asks.

  I nod.

  "The pretty one? Brown hair?"

  "No," I say. "The blonde one".

  "Damn," he says. "She was beautiful".

  I smile. "Are you sure you're nuts?"

  "Watch out for the dog," he says. "He bites".

  I nod. "I'm sure he does. What kind of dog is he again?"

  "Hey," says Tepper. I hadn't noticed her walking over. "You okay?"

  "I'm fine," I say. "And so's my friend here".

  "I can't believe I lost him," Tepper says. "I was so close, but it was dark. I guess he knows his way around this place. He's probably in a different state by now".

  "I wouldn't be so sure," I say.

  "He wouldn't stick around now," she replies.

  "Wouldn't he? He stuck around so far. Something was keeping him here, even after his little scheme started to unravel. And I mean -" I indicate the destroyed warehouse. "He was literally still here. The scene of the crime. Why the hell would he still be hanging around?"

  "Habit?" asks Tepper.

  "I don't know," I say. I turn to Frank. "Come on, Frank. Let's see if we can get a moment of clarity here. Why would a guy be hanging about at a place where he knew there'd be police crawling all over the damn scene?"

  Frank stares at me for a moment. "Maybe he likes the planes?" he says.

  I look at Tepper. "Sorry," I say. "I thought maybe he'd come up with something insightful".

  Tepper shakes her head.

  "Alex Costas," says Lou, staring at the computer screen. "Just appeared out of nowhere a few years ago and started renting warehouses and shipping containers. No verifiable facts about him. The guy just doesn't exist".

  "Who's that?" I ask, looking up and seeing a man speaking to the captain of our division.

  "Alice's husband," says Lou.

  "Alice had a husband?"

  "You didn't know?" Lou says. "Married woman. Couple of years".

  I stare at the husband. "I didn't know," I say.

  Tepper walks in, reading a printout. "Alex Costas paid for his rentals with a credit card. It was in his name. I've got a trace on it. If he uses it again, we'll know within thirty seconds".

  "Good," I say. "Make sure it's active".

  "He won't use it," says Lou. "It's be suicide. He knows we're onto him. We've got to get smart here".

  I look at his computer screen. "Google?" I ask.

  "You got a better idea?" Lou asks.

  The truth is, I don't. A year ago, I would have. Every case has clues, you just have to be able to spot them. But I've still got the chemicals flooding my system, and the cancer. I'm facing a couple of years of steady decline before it gets to the point where I can't function. But even now, the chemo affects me too badly. I've got to find a way to clear my mind.

  "Drink?" asks Lou.

  Tepper scowls at him.

  "No," I say. "I need to keep my head clear". I look at Tepper. She looks proud, which makes me feel faintly sick. "Later," I say. Tepper frowns. Perfect.

  Lou gets up and hauls his ass heavily out of the room. I watch him go. "I don't mean to be harsh," I say, "but that guy's an idiot and we're never going to solve this case if we listen to him".

  "You got any better ideas?" Tepper asks.

  I shake my head.

  "You need to take a break," she says. "What happened last night, that'd fuck up anyone".

  "I'm fine," I say.

  "That's all you ever say. You're 'fine'. Don't you ever want to be better than 'fine'?" I know she's staring at me, but I refuse to look at her. "Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?"

  "Can I stop you?"

  "Are you ill?"

  I look at her. "What?"

  "I'm worried about you," she says. "And you're not yourself. You seem distracted, and there's something different about the way you walk, the way you talk".

  I'm about to say something when I notice a familiar face walking towards the door. "I'm fine," I say. "Got to go".

  "What are you doing here?" I ask, keeping a safe distance in case he has any more needles.

  "How are you doing?" Dr. Fibes asks.

  "As it happens," I say, "I'm recovering from having some maniac sticking a needle in my neck".

  "I heard you were recovering from something more traumatic," Fibes says.

  "It's fine".

  "I want you to undergo a psychiatric exam".

  I stare at him. "A what?"

  "I want to know how you're dealing with all of this. Studies show that emotional stress can have a negative impact on the body's immune system and can limit your ability to recover physically. Your immune system is probably shot to pieces..."

  "My body's shot to pieces," I say. "You want me to spend my remaining energy just trying to survive?"

  Tepper approaches.

  "Anyway," I say loudly. "Thank you for inviting me for a few drinks, but I'm afraid I'll have to turn you down. I drink very little these days, as I have told you repeatedly".

  Tepper eyes us as she walks past.

  "Sorry about that," I say to Fibes. "Just got to get the crow off my back every now and again".

  "You have an appointment for chemo on Friday," says Fibes. "Don't make me come and find you this time".

  Her name is Esmerelda Smith and when I arrive at her house, she initially claims she has no idea what I'm talking about. But I keep banging on her door, my voice getting louder and louder until she opens up and lets me in. Even in a crumby part of town, some people still worry about what the neighbours might think.

  "You sold your kid," I say.

  "What kid?"

  "Sixteen years ago. You had a kid, and you sold him".

  For a moment, she looks angry. But a wave of sadness comes across her face. "What do you want?"

  "I'm not here to judge you," I say. "And I'm not here to get you into trouble. I'm just here to tell you what happened to him".

  She sits down. I stay standing.

  "You sold him to a man, right?"

  She nods. "He said he could get Thomas a better life. With parents who could take care of him".

  "How much did you get?"

  "Five hundred".

  "The guy you sold your son to. He didn't give a shit about whether Thomas would get a better life. He kept him chained up for the past sixteen years".

  Esmerelda's face breaks into sobs.

  "He fed him just enough to keep him alive," I continue. "Last month Thomas turned sixteen. So our guy collected his social security details, got him a passport, and he sold Thomas's identity for a hell of a lot more than five hundred dollars".

  Esmerelda stares at me, tears in her eyes. "Where is my son?" she asks.

  "On a morgue slab. He wasn't needed anymore. In fact, he was an inconvenience. So he was drowned".

  She nods. I expected her to keep sobbing, but she seems to be pulling herself together. "You didn't have to come and tell me all of this," she says slowly.

  "Why not?" I say. "Don't all mothers want to know what happens to their children?"

  She gets to her feet. "You must leave now. My husband is coming home".

  "Lucky man," I say, showing myself to the door. "I assume you won't have the guts to tell him what you did, or what happened. Good luck keeping your dirty little secret".

  I stand on the street corner and watch for a while. The girl - barely out of her teens - is standing by the entrance to the park. Taking a deep breath, I stroll over.

  "How much?" I ask.

/>   She looks me up and down. "What are you talking about?" she asks.

  "Fifty? A hundred?" I hold up a roll of notes.

  She studies me for a moment. "A hundred and fifty," she says.

  I know that's over the odds - way over the odds - but I hand her the money anyway.

  "I live around the corner," I say.

  She shakes her head. "I have a room. I don't go to your place". She leads me to a nearby apartment building. We go inside and soon we're in her one-bedroom home. She throws her bag on the floor. "Turn around," she says.

  I turn and hear her opening a drawer, then closing it again. I guess she doesn't want me to see where she keeps her money.

  "Okay," she says, and I turn back to face her. "What do you want?"

  I hadn't really thought about it. "Sex," I say. "Just regular sex".

  She nods, then pulls her top off. She's not wearing a bra, which is a shame really because for a young girl her breasts are surprisingly flat and saggy. I paid a hundred and fifty dollars for this? She pulls down her skirt and then her underwear, revealing a shaved crotch with a small heart tattoo to one side. Wow, this really is going from bad to worse. She's exactly the opposite of the kind of girl I find attractive.

  "You want to be naked?" she asks, walking over to her bed and sitting down.

  I nod, feeling as if I shouldn't be here. I pull off my jacket and shirt.

  "You're going to have to be more naked than that," she says, smiling for a moment before her expression changes. "A hundred and fifty gets you an hour," she says. "Just so you know".

  "That's very generous," I say. But it's not working. My mind is as clouded and vague as ever. Nothing helps. The only thing I can do is make sure no more of those drugs get into my system. Ever.

  "You want me to suck your cock?" she asks.

  I look down at her keen, impatient face. I should say yes -

  My phone rings. I grab it from my pocket and answer it gratefully. "Hi," I say. "What is it?"

  "He used his card," says Tepper on the other end. Three minutes at a petrol station near the harbour".

  "Pick me up," I say. "By the Harbour Bridge metro station in five minutes".