Human Frailty, a Detective Mike Bridger novel

by Mark Bredenbeck

  Chapter Sixteen

  Mat Simpson's flat was nothing out of the ordinary, a wooden bungalow similar to the neighbor’s house and the one after that. He lived alone now his flatmate had moved on. It was a typical male environment. Xbox in front of the large screen telly, pictures of semi naked girls torn out of an FHM magazine decorated the peeling wallpaper; their thoughts hidden behind their fixed smiles were the only thing left to the imagination.

  "The pictures are probably holding most of the wallpaper on", Grant had commented seeing the general state of disrepair.

  There was a musty smell in most of the rooms except for the kitchen, which smelt strongly of stale cooking fat. They had found a few items of women's clothing in his bedroom, a bra and tights lying next to his still unpacked rucksack. Mat had confirmed that they belonged to Marion. A pair of well-used skis was propped up against the wall.

  Mat looked more relaxed in his own environment and they did not find any evidence of foul play having occurred in the house. It was beginning to look as Bridger had expected a dead end. The only thing he found was a few remnants of a cannabis cigarette in an ashtray on the kitchen table.

  "Personal use", Mat had pleaded, his nervous look returning.

  Bridger was not interested anyway. Time would have been that he would have invoked a drug search using the now defunct Misuse of Drugs Act to search for more evidence of drug use. Nowadays apart from having better things to do, he had not schooled himself up on the new Search and Surveillance Act enough to remember what his obligations would have been.

  Mat's lucky day, Bridger thought, but it is not mine.

  Returning to the office, Bridger's mood darkened on seeing an email from Matthews demanding a full account of the enquiry at tomorrow’s crime meeting.

  "Arrogant tosser, why can't he just come and see me, or phone me on my cell", anger was bleeding out of his voice.

  "What's that Sarge?” Jo queried.

  "That bloody Matthews upstairs. He sends me an email demanding things. What if I did not check my emails, I bet he would still blame me for not completing his directions… Tosser".

  Jo stood there open mouthed, unsure of what to say.

  Bridger saw her expression. "Sorry Jo, I know I shouldn't speak like that in front of you, it puts you in a difficult position".

  Jo mumbled something about needing the toilet and left the office.

  Bridger sat down in one of the chairs and looked around the now empty office. A wave of tiredness washed over him and he yawned.

  One more enquiry to do, he thought glumly.

  Jo drew the short straw and was to accompany Bridger to the Playhouse, the others were quite happy to leave them to it and scarper out the door to whatever passed as their personal lives.

  He knew Grant was married although had no children, he would be out with his wife again, in some forest somewhere pedaling through the mud.

  Fun for some he thought, but not his cup of tea.

  Becky was still single as far as he knew; he did not delve much into her personal life these days, still a bit embarrassed. He remembered a drunken Christmas party long ago, a drunken kiss that went no further, pulling away at the last moment, both of them looking at each other, wanting to say something, but they left it unsaid. Come Monday morning they had said nothing about what happened and they had said nothing since.

  John was still single and was out playing the field most nights, if you believed the stories he spouted.

  He had not seen Brian since the start of the day but knew he would be at home, tucked up in front of the television with Mrs. Johnson, East Enders or Coronation Street for entertainment, quite content to leave the rigors of his court appearance for the next day. He envied that in Brian, being able to switch off.

  Maybe it came with age and experience, he thought. Then how much age and experience did he need.

  He thought about his life compared with his colleagues, all completely different, they all seemed happy enough, always doing something. He realised that he could not remember the last time he had actually spent some meaningful time with Laura without it ending in arguments or stony silences. Pushing those thoughts to the back of his mind, he tried to concentrate on the job ahead.

  For her part, Jo looked keen as mustard to be working late on an enquiry, the keenness of youth not having dulled her sense of excitement for the job. He envied her enthusiasm, having lost a lot of his over the years. It was not as if he was old, but the job had taken a lot out of him over the years. He had developed what he thought of as a coppers intuition; Laura called it a mistrust of people in general. She still believed in the goodness of people, he just believed that most people had secrets, most of them stayed secret and were never a problem. Some of them spilled over into their daily lives, and then some of those secrets were against the law.

  He wondered what secrets he would uncover at the Playhouse this evening.

  "There it is," Jo said, pointing to the old red brick church building standing beside a row of Victorian terraced houses. They could see a large spire in the middle, which gave it a grand feel.

  There was a lot of old buildings in Dunedin used for every purpose other than what they were intended for when they were first constructed. Churches were a popular choice; Bridger did not know whether it was the decline of religion that made this possible or something else entirely, either way. This one was now apparently a fully functioning theatre.

  The billboard out the front was displaying past and present productions. The one that caught his eye was called; ‘The Frailty of an Angry Man’ - A journey into the violent emotions of men. Displayed under a bright banner proclaiming it was ‘Coming Soon’.

  The play that went with the script Becky had shown him earlier in the day, Bridger guessed. Reading the fine print, he picked out the name Marion Watson. He wondered if she would make the curtain call. He certainly hoped it would be so.

  Stepping inside the building it looked as if it had not changed from its days as a place of worship, all that was missing was a white collared man greeting them at the door. The white washed brick walls inside the door giving it the feel of a small courtyard, and radiating a slight chill.

  "I've never been in this place", Jo was saying, "I've been to the Globe and the Fortune but not this one. The girls from work like to go to a play every so often; I will have to keep this place in mind next time".

  Bridger was about to say something when middle aged male stepped into his personal space. He was dressed in beige trousers and a woolen v-neck jersey, which had the slight smell of body odour clinging to it.

  "You must be the police", he was saying, "Is it about Marion? The rumour mill has been going wild; people are saying she is missing or that she died. Beth said you were coming tonight, I thought she was just Beth being Beth and making a big thing about it. She idolizes Marion you know".

  Bridger held up his hands, "I'm sorry you are?”

  "Jonas..., Jonas Clifton, the writer director of this play. Marion was my leading lady".

  Another person using past tense already, Bridger noted.

  Glancing at Jo, he saw she was studiously writing in her notebook as Jonas was speaking. Bridger could be a bit slack on the note taking sometimes, preferring to keep everything in his head. His memory did not fail him often but he was glad of a backup just in case.

  "Jonas, I am Detective Sergeant Bridger and this is Constable Williamson. We are here about Marion as it happens. She has disappeared and we would like to find her".

  "Of course, of course, come through to the main hall". Jonas turned with a flourish and swept into the hall area clapping his hands. "People..., people please".

  A hush swept through the small group standing in the middle of the room. Heads turned expectantly, "Are these the critics from the paper then?” one of them said loudly.

  "No Jeremy they are from the police, here about Marion".

  Jeremy looked embarrassed and lowered his head. Turning back to
Bridger, he spoke quietly, "I've asked them already whether they know where Marion has got to and no one has a clue".

  "If you don't mind", Bridger replied, "We would like to speak to them ourselves..., and you to Jonas. We will try and be as quick as possible, let you get on with your play".

  "Of course, but I'm not sure I will be of any help, I hardly knew the girl outside of the theatre group. The play can wait. Besides, without her it will force me to use Beth. Jonas looked towards where Beth was standing. "She is her understudy, nowhere near ready. Marion was who I envisioned when I wrote this, she was my muse, and she seemed so perfect for the part".

  "But you just said you hardly knew her", Jo said, looking up from her notebook.

  "Y yes..., quite right constable", Jonas stuttered. "I guess I meant to say that she fitted the character that I created... she was better than I could have hoped for".

  Nice call Jo, Bridger thought, looking at Jonas's reaction. It is always good to put someone off guard. You get to see how they react.

  Bridger looked over at the eclectic bunch of people arranged in a small line in the middle of the room. A few of them were dressed in clothes he used to wear as a teenager, a throwback from the eighties.

  Maybe the play was set in that decade, he was thinking.

  "Right Jonas we had better get on with it if we can", Bridger said.

  He had already discussed with Jo on the drive over what they needed to ask. He had gone over what information would be helpful in the enquiry so he felt comfortable with letting Jo get on with her part.

  They divided the small group into two and then began speaking to everyone one by one. The whole troupe consisted of five main actors, four without Marion, a stage hand, a writer come director, and three hangers on who called themselves understudies, one who doubled as the lighting and effects person. It was not a huge operation.

  The actors were all students from the university and only knew Marion from the theatre. None of them confessed to having anything to do with her outside of the play except for Beth. Bridger did not press Beth for any more information than what she had provided to Grant and Becky earlier.

  Jeremy who had spoken earlier apologized a lot for making light of the situation; he liked Marion and said he would never wish her any harm. He had met her for coffee a few weeks ago, but she had a boyfriend he had added quickly, so he thought it better if he did not see her again. He did not want to cause trouble between them.

  Bridger thought that a coffee hardly rated in the book if infidelity.

  Moving on, he found the lighting and effects person was a student counselor employed by the university. A nondescript sort of man, middle aged, conservatively dressed. Bridger was currently getting a very descriptive lesson on the stage set he had designed for the play. His expressions animated in his face as he explained the intricate workings.

  "That sounds pretty technical Mr. Crompton, but can you tell me if you know Marion at all outside of the theatre group?”

  "No Sergeant I didn't..., I only met her this year when I got asked to design the set for the play. I have worked at the university for about 8 years but she has never set foot in my office. She did seem very settled and composed. I guess she had no use for my services". He was now looking at the floor, almost embarrassed.

  "What sort of services do you provide, Mr. Crompton, if you don't mind me asking?”

  "I'm sort of a sounding board for the new students. Some of them get a little overwhelmed when they first arrive. For most of them, it is their first time away from home. They have too much freedom and don't know how to make the right choices; I sort of guide them through the finer points of university life..., and life in general".

  "Sort of like a social worker then", Bridger said.

  "Not really, I don't have any formal qualifications. My job description is more to point them in the right direction; I have been helping Beth, which is how I got into this. We were talking about her acting and I mentioned that I was handy with a hammer. She suggested I contact Jonas as he was looking for volunteers to build his set…. And here I am".

  Bridger looked at the man in front of him. He did not look like the type that a young girl would open up to, but it took all sorts.

  "Thanks you for your time Mr. Crompton", he said.

  Bridger looked at his watch. It had been less than half an hour and they had covered everyone. They were no further forward. No one knew anything about the whereabouts of Marion and they could offer no further information on friends that they had not already spoken to before. It was starting to look serious; females of any age do not usually just disappear.

  First thing in the morning, he would ring the bank and get them to hurry up on checking usage on her account. He would also have to think about a media release.

  Bridger motioned for Jo to follow as he made his way towards the door.

  "Thanks for your time Jonas; you can get on with your practice now".

  "It's actually a rehearsal, but I don't think I can carry on tonight, not without Marion, we might just call it a night. I am sure whatever Marion is up to she will sort it out soon. The play will not go ahead without her, she knows that".

  "I hear that you are a lecturer at the University Jonas, what do you teach?” Bridger asked, as he stopped the door.

  "I'm a Professor of Sociology actually, I provide tutorship to various students but I don't lecture at the moment…, I am currently undertaking various studies".

  "Forgive my ignorance Jonas but what exactly is Sociology".

  "Not at all Sergeant, I don't mind explaining". Jonas took a deep breath "In a basic broad sense Sociology is the study of society and the way social structures impact on our daily lives, how people work together for the greater good...., or not, as the case may be. I'm sure you see many examples in your work of the negative side of social structures no longer working".

  Bridger nodded.

  "I believe people are a product of their circumstance. What they experience in their lives shape them into whom they are and what impact they have on the world. Take those religious extremists that insist on females wearing a burqa in public to protect their modesty, which is not about religion, it is about power and control, keeping the woman subservient. The women have grown up like that and so they never question the custom. The men are hardly likely to change it of their own accord because they have it to good.

  Then we have the western world, its teenage population is out of control, a young female in her room listening to the lyrics of a song or watching the raunchy music videos, she is forming a distorted view of what life is like. Young males watching those girls trying to portray what they see on TV, receiving mixed signals. That is control as well, only in a different form. Life can be to free for them, causing issues all of its own".

  Bridger was beginning to regret asking the question.

  "Then there the extremes like the child soldiers in central African wars, inducted into a violent world of rape, mutilation and murder at the age of 12. They grow up thinking that it is normal. You see how Circumstances directly affect who we are.

  At the top of the pile, we have the Governments and big business that control the world's finances, their decisions impact on billions of lives worldwide. The greed of man has caused the fiscal meltdown of the world’s economy. It's all about the few controlling the many....., maybe that's how it's supposed to be, to stop all out anarchy, I don't really know. I do know society needs structures to work; I just do not think we have worked out what they should be yet....

  In the mean time, to coin a phrase, it looks like we are all going to hell in a hand basket. Anyway, you are not interested in all that. It bores most people, happy to live with the status quo. If you're not one of the affected you can just turn off the television and pretend it isn't happening."

  Jonas looked almost angry at the end of his little speech, Bridger saw him take a deep breath and close his eyes for a second.

  He looked at Bridger and Jo again,
"You should come and see my play. I could get you some tickets. I am trying to explore the reasons why man has a violent streak and why he uses it against the ones he loves. It seems so inconsistent with human nature to hurt those closest to you. Surely it could spell the demise of the human race if we all started maiming and killing our families every Friday night".

  "I'm not sure it would be my cup of tea Jonas as I see the real thing often enough, but thanks for the offer".

  "Anything I can help you with Sergeant just call me, we all want to see Marion back safe and sound".

  Back in the car, Bridger turned to Jo, "What did you think of Jonas then?”

  "He is a bit pretentious for me, but then I've never been the academic type, the deepest I ever think is what to wear in the morning, then this job took that choice away as well. There's only so many ways to wear blue trousers and a stab vest".

  "Well for the next few weeks at least, you will have to think a bit harder about what to wear in the morning”, Bridger said smiling.

  Jo looked down at her jeans and tee shirt, "I was sort of caught out this morning Sergeant, I was not expecting to have to wear civvies. I will wear something more appropriate tomorrow".

  "You look absolutely fine in what you've got on", Bridger said glancing over at her. This time it was his turn to go red as she caught his eyes involuntarily straying to the tightness of her shirt.

  Jo did not say anything as Bridger quickly turned away and fumbled with the keys.

  "What exactly does the phrase, 'Going to hell in a hand-basket', actually mean anyway?” Bridger said to deflect his previous indiscretion.

  "I think it's something to do with the baskets used to catch decapitated heads from the guillotines", Jo said. "Most of the people decapitated were criminals so were destined to go to hell, hence the saying".

  "Sounds like a reasonable explanation", Bridger said, wondering why she would know that piece of information.

  "More likely it’s just a colorful way of saying we are all destined for disaster", she added.

  "That's Beth over there getting into that car with Jonas isn't it?” Jo said pointing down the street.

  Beth looked more than friendly with Jonas as she rubbed up against his arm while he opened the door for her.

  "That's strange", Bridger said, "I would not have picked them for a couple, especially the way he was talking about having to make do with her now that Marion's missing. Not to mention the age gap, it must be at least 15 years".

  "Some girls like an older man", Jo said, "It offers a stability that you don't get with someone younger".

  Bridger realised that he did not know anything about the personal circumstances of his new member of staff; she may be going out with an older man herself. She could be a lesbian for all he knew. "Something's a bit off there", Bridger said more to himself than Jo. Some things just did not sit right with Bridger and this situation was an example.

  Bridger caught Jo looking at her watch, realizing that he too would like to go home he suggested they call it a night. Maybe it was time for a serious heart to heart with Laura. Jonas's little speech was playing on his mind.

  They hardly spoke on the drive back to the police station, Bridger happy to lose himself in his thoughts, Jo staring out the window.

  Dropping Jo off at the front door of the central police station, he watched her jog up the front steps and through the doors. He realised with only a little bit of guilt that he was looking at her backside as she disappeared through the front doors. Maybe it was the problems he was having at home having a subconscious effect on his behavior. Bridger thought of his conversation with Jonas earlier, was he a victim of his circumstance?

  He would have to watch himself, I do not want to be getting a reputation, he thought.

  Bridger couldn't be bothered going through the hassle of driving around the back and parking the work car in the basement garage then walking the ten minutes to reach his own car, so he made an executive decision and decided he would risk taking it home for the night. If anybody asked, he would just tell him or her he had a late enquiry to make. He would just have to be in early the next morning.

  He was actually looking forward to seeing Laura this evening, he knew they were long overdue for a proper talk about the last week's issues, if he was being honest with himself, he thought, there was probably more to talk about than just the last week of their relationship.

  With this in mind, he made a stop at the liquor store just off the Octagon to pick up a nice wine. Paying more in the smaller shop always gave him the pretence of better vintage.

  Pulling up outside his house Bridger saw his wife's car in the driveway, a red Mini Cooper that she had always wanted and had purchased a few years ago after a blazing row over something long forgotten. She had told him guiltily after she had brought it home that she had only bought it to prove to herself that she was still in control of her own life. Lucky she did not have a penchant for cars with bigger engines, he thought.

  Opening the door, he could smell something cooking, thinking that it was a good sign he went into the lounge. Laura was on the couch with a glass of wine already in her hands. There was a huge bouquet of flowers sitting on the table in front of her. Laura looked up and tucked something into her pocket. It looked to Bridger like a card, the type sent with flowers.

  "They sort of put these to shame", Bridger said nodding towards the flowers, holding the wine and cheap chocolates lamely in his hands. "Who are they from?”

  "The boss", Laura said quickly, "We landed a big client...; it was sort of a thank you".

  Bridger had met her boss, a very severe looking fifty-year-old woman called Cynthia; somehow, he did not see her giving flowers to anyone. They looked more like the ones he would have chosen to send to his wife as an expression of his feelings. Putting that thought aside he sat down beside her and patted her knee. "Dinner smells nice", he said.

  Laura did not look him in the eye when she got up saying she had better serve it up before it went to waste.

  Sitting at the table it seemed to Bridger that Laura was being unusually quiet. He tried to open up the conversation he knew they had to have. Before he could start, Laura burst into tears.

  "Laura what is it…, what's wrong?”