Burning Crowe

by Geoff Smith

  [We're heading over to the school. Don't tell police. Really important. Come over. Witness us at scene. Could help if things turn nasty. Attached pic speaks for itself. Z.]

  There was an image attached. Bart tapped it. The picture of the man in the door from the night of the fire, except that it wasn't. It was the same pic all right, but it was clearer, and when he zoomed in on the face it was recognisable.

  It was the face of Steve Hasland.

  *

  Bart got out of the taxi and he pulled up his collar. Cameron's grey BMW was parked across the street, up the hill from St. Stephens. He peered in through the tinted glass. In the foot-well were scrunched up bags of McDonald's. They'd eaten en route - hardly a sign of panic.

  He photographed the car and he headed down to the gates.

  The paths around the dorm were tarmacked so he had no problem moving about quietly. Everyone was in bed. Just a couple of night owls with reading lights on. But there were lights behind the curtains of Hasland's house. He stood on the step and he rapped on the door with his fists. The lights went out and the house was silent. No one came. He knocked again and he spoke through the letter box.

  "Hey guys. You know sooner or later someone is going to notice me out here, and erm, well, I'm not the one in someone else's house without permission am I? Just saying.'

  There was a scuffling, and the door opened and clunked against the chain.

  'Oh look,' Cameron said. 'It's the proverbial bad penny.'

  But he unhooked the chain and Bart stepped through.

  In Steve Hasland's front room identical sofas had been overturned. Their undersides ripped open. No dirt in the spaces they'd left. Photos had been separated from their frames and scattered across the floor with current issues of fitness magazines.

  A voice from the kitchen.

  'Hey, Graham. I found some more files and papers, buddy.'

  It was Zack.

  Cameron pushed Bart into the corner of the front room.

  'Sit there!' he said. 'Stay!'

  Bart went along with it. He sat.

  Zack was pulling out papers and boxes in the kitchen.

  Cameron went to look and he said, 'Leave them boxes with me. You head on up the stair, okay?'

  Sitting on the floor Bart noticed something black and glossy. It was tucked under the TV stand. His fingers were edging towards it when Zack wandered back into the room. He was carrying a large photo album. On the front cover, a white sticker - 'FAMILY #2' written in felt-tip. And Zack flipped through its pages. One page forward. Back. Forwards again.

  And then he stopped turning.

  Zack looked over at Bart but he was distant. And he returned to the album, his eyes fixed on a single image.

  'Hey, Zack?' Bart said. 'Are you okay? Have you found something?'

  And Cameron appeared at the door to the kitchen.

  'What've you got there, son?'

  'Photos.'

  'Oh ay, anything good?'

  Zack didn't answer.

  Cameron crossed the room and leaned over and Bart edged along the wall, close enough to see.

  In the album were pictures of Steve Hasland at sixteen or seventeen, a strong and healthy lad. He was with a small woman, a pale woman, with a lined face and straggly hair. She shared Steve Hasland's grey-green eyes, except hers were paler, as if they had been drained or diluted. Another man was in two of the pictures, slightly older than Steve, mid-to-late twenties. A man who carried himself with confidence. And there was something familiar about him. In one picture the three of them posed together, the woman - Hasland's mother? - standing between them - and the two young men behind her.

  'They've got the same nose. Look,' said Cameron. 'Sorta hooky.'

  'Aquiline,' said Zack.

  'I'll stick with hooky, okay?'

  'Is that other guy Hasland's brother?' Bart asked. 'He looks like -'

  There was a silence and Cameron shrugged.

  Then Zack said, 'He looks like my fucking dad!'

  Bart looked again. Zack was right. They were looking at a picture of a teenage Steve Hasland standing beside a thirty year old Mickey Richards, and they did look like family. Bart didn't know what to make of it. Co-incidence, or?

  Zack was silent.

  Cameron said, 'Are you gonna snap out-a-this, Richards? Or am I gonna have to finish this thing on my own?'

  Zack gave him the finger.

  There more photos of Steve Hasland in the album. More of the skinny woman. But no more of Zack's dad. But the back of the album was filled with magazine clippings, all of Mickey Richards.

  'What do you make of it?' Bart asked.

  Zack turned the page back, and he was squinting, staring at the page as if the photo had more to give.

  'Dad was adopted,' he said. 'He told me about it one time. Said he'd found his natural mum. Said she was an addict. Said that must be where he'd got it from! Like addiction is genetic or something. He told me he'd paid to get her cleaned up but it hadn't worked out and they'd drifted apart. Never mentioned a brother though.'

  Bart put his hand on Zack's shoulder.

  'Are you okay?'

  'Yeah buddy. I'm good.'

  'So, I guess this makes Mr. Hasland your Uncle Stevie!' Graham Cameron announced, grinning. He looked at Bart. 'An I thought I told you to stay in the corner, Crowe. So I think you'd better get back over there, hadn't you?'

  Bart held up his hands. He shuffled back to his place in the corner, but a little closer to the TV this time. Slipping his hand beneath the TV stand, he hooked out the glossy black object that had caught his eye and he slipped it into the pocket of his coat.

  It was Steve Hasland's Filofax.

  Document M

  Text messages from Sophie Heath to Bartholomew Crowe: 22/11/19. 01:15 a.m.

  [Dear Bart. This is a late one. And I'll be honest. I've been putting off writing it. CRAZY DAY!]

  [You probably know - well you do know - how Noah stuck around in Margate during my incarceration - big word BONUS! - in the QEQM - that's the hospital, remember. You went there once. Well - I haven't told you that Noah came to see me there. He's been here today too.]

  [He's said some very nice things about you to Mum and Dad. So that's good!]

  [We've been hanging out playing video games and stuff. He even reads to me! I know it sounds corny but he's really good! He reads from one of the books you bought me. It's about this wizard who like goes to New York with all his magic. Everyone falls in love with him and all these couples kind of all fall apart cos they love the wizard so much, except that of course they're all going to hook up with each other later. It's just that they were with the wrong people at the start. ]

  [Whatever. That's just how stories go I guess? ]

  [Anyway, tonight when he's finished reading he leans over and he kisses me. I mean PROPERLY kisses me!!! And at first I was like - WTF are we doing this!? Seriously? And then I was like - I guess we are doing this - AND WE KISSED!!!! I'll be honest. I don't even know if it was nice or not cos Noah's elbow was right beside me and his forearm was pressing near the wound. Only lightly, but, honestly, when Noah kissed me, it was all I could do not to cry out or swear! I know that sounds horrible. And it was actually pretty nice of him really. I mean it was sweet. He meant it nicely if that makes sense. ]

  [I don't think this means we are a thing or anything. It has to happen like three times to be a thing, right?]

  [So anyway... that happened.]

  [Back to the small stuff - you know - like being shot. I literally can't move without being in total agony and most important, I AM SO BORED!!! Missing school so much it makes me sick thinking about it. Then I think how weird it is to think like that about missing school! So, in short, everything's a bit rubbish. ]

  [It's great that you got that boy back with his mum. You did it! You should be proud! I mean it. My little Bartie - the macho P.I.!! Well I'm proud of you anyway, that's all. And you didn't say anything about the gun in your texts - which I assume
means that it's not a match??? Am I right?]

  [But this is what I don't get. WHY HAVEN'T YOU COME HOME!?!? WHY!!!! All this stuff with guns! It scares me - obvs. I told the boys about it - of course!!! - and Connor says he's going to come back down there and sort out whatever mess you're in. I don't think he means it and I know it's all bull - but I kind of secretly like him when he's like that. For God's sake don't tell him that tho! And I don't mean 'like him' like him ok!]

  [Anyhoo that's all for now. Except I will ask you again. Bart please don't go chasing after gunmen. I'll be okay and the police will get the truth out of it sooner or later. They know what they're doing, and there's lots of them.]

  [Seriously tho Bart. Come back. We need you.]

  [Big love Sophie x]

  48

  The ball of paper arced across the room and bounced off the side of Zack's head. Graham Cameron grinned.

  'Wake up, sleepyhead!'

  Zack had been looking at the picture again. But now he stood up, the album close to his chest and the paper ball at his feet.

  'Okay,' he said, 'I'm done.'

  'Okay. Right enough.' Cameron picked up Hasland's computer and iPad. 'Let's go. We'll get what we can off these gizmos and see what his plans are.'

  Zack flicked hair from his eye and fixed Cameron with his cold dark eyes.

  'Sorry Graham,' he said. 'I don't think you understand. When I say I'm done, I mean I'm done - with you. So run on back to Daddy and you tell him Zack doesn't want to play anymore. Bart, you're coming with me buddy.'

  'No no no son. You're no goin' anywhere. We agreed.'

  Cameron stepped forward but Zack was already half way to the door, and Bart said, 'Looks to me like he's unagreeing.' He held up his hand and gave Cameron a wave. 'See ya.'

  The stocky Scot followed as they walked up the street, laptop and iPad under his arm.

  'Richards!' he hissed. 'You're bein stupit! Jesus man, you two got nothing. Got no hope of ever gettin nothing. No to fuck. What you gonna do, eh? Where you gonna go? So where? Answer me that.' Then he stopped and he pulled a gun from his jacket. He said, 'I think yous guys should turn around.'

  Zack looked round, then sighed and kept walking. But Bart did stop. He turned to face him. Graham Cameron. Another gun. Another man trying to control him with the threat of violence. Bart unbuttoned his coat and he held it open wide.

  'Go on,' Bart said. 'Shoot if you want. Look. It's easy. But think about it Graham, do you really want to do that? I mean here? In a residential street? And me with a picture of your car saved to the cloud, the last picture I took before my death? Hardly seems worth it, does it? So maybe you should put the gun away, okay?' And Bart held out his hand. 'Here. Let's shake. You can wish us good luck. And I'll wish the best of luck to you. You know how it goes.'

  Bart held out his hand. Cameron sneered, but he put his gun back in his jacket. He took Bart's hand. But then his gripped tightened,and he yanked it down and he pulled Bart close and he swung his other fist around, and he punched Bart in the side of the head and left him sprawling on the floor.

  And then Graham Cameron kneeled down beside him.

  'Fuck you!' he whispered. 'Fuck yous both!'

  Then he stood and he spat and he crossed the street and climbed inside the BMW, revving his engine and pulling away.

  Zack offered Bart his hand.

  'Shit buddy,' he said 'You're a crazy man! You know, if anything's going to make him shoot it's a stuck up little prick like you telling him to do it. Fuck it, I'd shoot you myself if you did that.' He laughed. 'My God, you've got guts buddy!' And he patted Bart lightly on the side of the head, just where Cameron had hit him. 'You're fucking stupid but you've got guts.'

  Bart grinned and he let his head bump back on the pavement, and he breathed hard and said, 'And this is from the kid who's blackmailing an arsonist with a faked photograph.'

  Docunent N

  An email from Bartholomew Crowe to Colin Crowe: 22/11/19. 01:58 a.m.

  Dear Granddad.

  I've got loads to say and not much time so sorry in advance for what I miss. Things are getting scary and if anything happens to me I want you to forward this on to DS Wayne Simmonds at Kent police.

  So this is it.

  Lola Golden was kidnapped tonight and we think it's a guy called Steve Hasland. It looks like he burned the casino - 95% he's the guy in our picture - he may have killed Raymond Feathers too. Plus I think he was the gunman that night at The Music Hall.

  And before you ask, yes, I have reported it .

  I'm in my car now and I'm outside a supermarket. It's two in the morning. I've got Steve Hasland's Filofax and I'm waiting for Zack Richards. Don't quite know how it happened but somehow we're working together to find Lola.

  So Hasland's our bad guy - but somewhere there's Glenn Golden behind it all. I think that Golden paid Hasland to burn the arcade and Golden's been paying Zack to keep the picture away from the police. What makes no sense to me though, is how a school teacher ends up working for Golden on a cheap crook's job like the one at the casino.

  In other news, it seems that Steve Hasland is related by blood to Zack - his uncle - so Steve's motives - if it is him we're dealing with - are doubly unclear.

  Anyway, if we're right and it is Hasland we're looking for, then Zack and I are going to find him before he makes his move. We'll use the Filofax and hopefully be able to narrow down some possibilities.

  So tonight we're on the hunt for a gun toting kidnapper.

  I'll keep you posted.

  Bart.

  Document O

  Text message from Bartholomew Crowe to Sophie Heath: 22/11/19. 02:22 a.m.

  [Hi Soph. Sorry for the late text but this is important. I know who the gunman is. His name's Steve Hasland. He's a teacher at St. Stephen's school. He's kidnapped Lola and now he's hiding out. I'm going to figure out where he is and I'm going to get him arrested. And as soon as the police have got him, then I'll come home. I'll text again in a couple of hours - I'll try not to do anything too stupid before then! Love you guys. Bart xx]

  49

  'Any luck getting hold of Richards?' Simmonds asked.

  The car's interior lights faded and the two men were draped in darkness. A flashlight cut its narrow beam across the bonnet of the dark Mondeo. Bart covered his eyes.

  'No, and I'm worried. I'll admit it.'

  'Do you know what address he's at?'

  'I know where he's going first.'

  'So - if there's still no response we check that next.'

  'Okay. Look Wayne - can you turn that thing off, please? I thought we didn't want to be seen.'

  Simmonds deactivated his flashlight and their eyes strained to adjust. They had driven out beyond Margate and Minnis. There were no streetlights and there was no traffic. No light at all. They floundered a few steps in the blackness before they gave up and used the dim light of their screens to guide them. Twenty metres up the road they found it, a bungalow. Muted lights behind the curtains and a light coloured van on the drive.

  'Check the plates,' Simmonds said, 'just to be sure. And stay off the stones if you can. I'll see who's in.'

  Bart ducked behind the hedge as Simmonds walked down the drive. The curtain stirred and a light went off. Simmonds stood on the step and pretended not to notice. Then the lights came back on and the door opened. A tall man, middle-aged and well groomed and in good shape in pyjama bottoms and a vest. He and Simmonds spoke for a moment. Then another man appeared, and looked over the shoulder of the first.

  Steve Hasland.

  And then the three men went indoors.

  Bart clambered through a gap in the hedge and crept across the grass, hoping the two men would be distracted enough by the strange policeman, that they might not notice a misplaced footfall or broken twig. When his phone vibrated in his pocket he nearly jumped out of his skin. Simmonds. He pressed the green button and he hurriedly turned the ring-tone down to silent.

  The first voice he heard was Hasland
's.

  'No, no. I've been here with Tony all night. I did pop into town for some wine a little bit earlier - No - No sorry, I don't remember the exact time. I think it was somewhere around nine though.'

  The other man was deep-voiced and well-spoken.

  'Honestly officer, Steve, he was gone for like an hour, tops, so I really don't think we can help. I was out at the time, in the car, visiting a client. We were discussing some plans she had for her garden. I can give you the number if you'd like to check but really I'd appreciate it if you'd wait until the morning.'

  'That won't be necessary thank you, Mr. ?'

  'Sullivan - Tony Sullivan. Sullivan's landscapers.'

  By now Bart had snaked round the side of the house to the white van. The light of his screen glowed against the number plate. The van was a match with the photo. The same van he'd seen earlier when the man took Lola. He tiptoed onto the gravel, and he tapped at its panels.

  'Hello?' he whispered

  He tried the handle on the back of the van. It was unlocked and so he opened it. The inside of the van was empty. No Lola. No anything. He climbed in and used his flashlight to light up the van's interior. A drawing of a stick man on the plywood lining. A smiling man holding a shovel and the word 'uncal tony' scrawled above it. He sighed and shuffled back towards the back of the van. Then he heard gravel crunching behind him. In a panic he pulled the van door almost closed, shutting himself in. He put the phone back to his ear.

  'It's right around here you say Mr. Sullivan.'

  'Yes it's just here. Hang on. That's weird. Looks like it's -'

  The van doors squeaked open and the three men all shone their iPhones onto the face of Bartholomew Crowe.

  'Who the hell -' said Tony Sullivan.

  'Mr. Crowe!' Simmonds said, feigning surprise. 'Now fancy meeting you here. Mr. Sullivan, Mr. Hasland, this young man is Bartholomew Crowe. He's a private detective who's been following me around of late. I've told him to stay away of course but - Young people they never listen, do they - you'd know that of course Mr. Hasland. Come on Crowe. Out then.'