by David Carter
Now Blaze had his full attention. “I’m listening,” he said, intrigued.
“Well, from my experience with car clubs, especially of the vintage kind, it’s one of those hobbies you do as a couple—you know—something husbands and wives do together. But there is always the odd enthusiast who joins a club on his own to either escape the nagging bitch at home, or a bachelor who has nothing better to do with his spare time.” Blaze paused.
“Go on,” said Ryan.
“Well, I think it fits your profile of the Watcher, that he’s a single, older generation male, who lives alone, and we’re ninety nine percent sure he’s a local resident because as soon as I burned down the school he responded almost immediately by killing three people, and he knew exactly where to find me in my dorm room, in the middle of the night, some twenty-odd years ago.”
Ryan jumbled everything Blaze had said into order in his mind. “So you think the Watcher could be one of a handful of single members of the Glendale Vintage Car Club?” he asked.
“Gotta be worth a shot?”
“That’s not a bad theory at all, but there’s just one problem...”
“What’s that?”
“I can’t prove it.”
“There has to be a way.”
“Well, unless I can narrow the field down even further to say, two or three suspects, and then find something substantial to pin the murders on one of them with, then I’m afraid we’re up the creek without a paddle.”
Blaze thought about it for a moment, then a wry grin spread across his face. “There is a way,” he said confidently.
“Really?” asked Ryan, in the dark as to where he was going with this.
“I think the Watcher may have finally slipped up,” he said smugly.
“How?”
Blaze beamed as he said, “He told Trinity he has a basement under his house.”
“Yeah, and...?”
“Okay, so let’s just assume for a second that Trinity was right and that she definitely saw a cap that belongs to a car club member...”
“Okay...”
“Well, what are the chances of having more than one anti-homosexual, single, elderly male vintage car club member, with extreme religious views and a basement under his house? It’s quite the unique profile.”
Ryan scratched his chin as he considered this. “Jesus Christ, Blaze, I think you might be onto something. The only snag is that I can’t go wandering around inside people’s houses without a search warrant. And to get one of those I need something concrete. And after the Arnold Spencer debacle, I’m having to tread rather carefully with the MCHU hierarchy. Hell, I’m not even allowed to set foot on a property without proper authorization or permission from the resident as of yesterday. So the question is; if I can’t see any obvious signs of a basement on a potential suspect’s property from the roadside, how am I meant to find out for sure if there is one there or not? Because not all basements are visible from ground level, you know.”
“I’ll do some snooping around when you’ve got a list of names, if you like?”
“That’s absolutely out of the question. If you get caught, I get caught, remember?”
Blaze tried a comical approach. “You could always try appealing to Judge Matthew Jones’ stomach and take him out for dinner...”
“Sorry? I don’t follow...”
Blaze grinned. “Perhaps you could charm the fat prick into gaining access to the blueprints and/or LIM reports of any potential suspects’ houses? The worst he could say is go fuck yourself, right?”
“Blaze!” said Sharon crossly as she started clearing the dishes, “language, please.”
“Shit, sorry.”
She shook her head in disbelief.
Ryan jumped up from his seat, instantly forgetting his crook guts and thumping headache. “You’re a goddamn genius, Blaze!” he said before grabbing his phone to call Hampton and relay his idea.
Ryan seemed to take forever on the phone, deep in conversation with Hampton. So Blaze thanked Sharon again for her hospitality and walked over to the apartment door. He let himself out, limped down the stairs, and asked himself the same question that had been bugging him ever since he’d stormed out of Trinity’s hospital room the day before.
Who the fuck is my real father?
Chapter 60
Blaze barely noticed the pain in his knee as he limped inside the Glendale Hotel’s lobby. He was nervous, which felt strange to him. He would rather have been in The Wolves’ Den, fighting Nugget, than confronting his demons with Elizabeth. Just as he went to ring the bell and wait for the receptionist to appear, he sensed somebody approaching him from behind. He turned around to find Hampton standing there.
“What do you want?” Blaze asked him curtly, less than thrilled to see him.
“Your mother asked me to give you this.” He held out a manila folder with Elizabeth’s name written on the cover.
“What is it?” he asked. “And how the hell did you know I was here?”
“Ryan told me you were on your way over from Sharon’s when he called me about your idea to find the Watcher…which is brilliant by the way, and I just happened to be here having breakfast with Elizabeth.
“I hope you slept in separate beds.”
“I slept in my own room, thank you very much,” he said defensively.
Blaze’s face broke into a grin. “You don’t have to justify anything to me. I’m just fucking with you.”
Hampton looked relieved.
“What’s in the folder?” Blaze asked.
“It’s a case file. I found an old copy of it in the archives down at the station.”
“Why does it have my mother’s name on it? She’d be the last person on Earth to do anything wrong.”
“Just wait till I’m gone before you open it. It’s something you should see alone.”
Hampton left Blaze standing in the lobby, staring at Elizabeth’s name on the cover.
Blaze took a seat and flipped it open. “All right, dearest mother, let’s see what you’ve been up to,” he said quietly to himself.
What he saw was unexpected; it shattered him to the core. There in front of him was a medical examiner’s report confirming the rape victim’s name and personal details, followed by a detailed outline of the injuries she’d sustained. He felt sick to the stomach as he flipped through the up close photographs, and shed a silent tear before closing the folder, hauling himself up, and ringing the bell at the reception desk.
The receptionist appeared from an office behind the desk. She told Blaze Elizabeth’s room number. He thanked her and made his way up a flight of stairs to Elizabeth’s room on the second floor. There was a police officer standing in the hallway. Blaze explained why he was there. The officer told him to wait while he confirmed his request.
The officer returned from Elizabeth’s room. “She’s ready to see you,” he said.
Blaze exhaled heavily. “Here goes everything...” he muttered.
He limped into her room and saw her standing at the sink filling a kettle with water.
“Coffee?” she offered him.
“I could use something stronger after reading this,” he held up the case file, “but, yes, please.”
There was an awkward silence between them as Elizabeth offered no reply. Blaze tried his best to break the ice. “Mum, I’m—”
“Coffee first, then we’ll talk, okay?”
“Good to see you have your priorities straight.” He grinned at her.
She smiled back, savouring the moment. “You’re still a coffee addict, I see?”
“Among other things...”
The kettle whistled; she took it off the boil. “Do you still take milk and two sugars?”
“No sugar, thanks.”
They sat down opposite each other at the tiny kitchen table.
Blaze put the case file down next to his coffee mug. “I’m sorry, Mum,” he started, “I had no idea about any of this. How have you coped for all these year
s without telling anyone?”
She took a sip of coffee. “Because I have you… well, at least I had you...” she said sadly.
He leaned across the table and took her hand. “You still have me,” he said. “I just wish you’d told me sooner.”
“I could say the same thing to you, my stubborn boy.” She smiled. “Why didn’t you tell me about what happened to you all those years ago?”
He stared at the centre of the table. “You just answered your own question.”
She looked at him lovingly. “You were always the determined one, Bobby. You always accomplished anything your mind set out to do.”
“Yeah, well, perhaps everyone was right about us after all,” he said glumly.
“About what?”
He took a sip off his coffee. “That we are more alike than I would like to admit.”
There was silence between them for a moment. Then Blaze said, “Tell me what happened. I need to make some kind of sense out of all of this.”
She, in turn, took a sip of her coffee, then began her sordid tale. “When James was just a baby, I attended a teachers’ course in Worthington.”
“Worthington? I’ve never heard of it.”
“It a small town a few hours’ drive south of here. They have the best teachers’ training centre there. Anyway, after my course had finished for the day, I went to one of the local bars for dinner before my drive back to Glendale. As I sat alone at my table, a young gentleman in his, I would say, mid-twenties, asked me if I would allow him the pleasure of my company.”
Blaze unknowingly gripped his coffee mug tight as he listened.
“The young man was dressed in a suit and tie with polished shoes, nicely groomed hair, and a pair of stylish glasses. Sensing no danger and feeling quite flattered that a younger man had noticed me, I agreed to let him sit with me. It was all innocent on my part, and I made it perfectly clear I was a married woman. We talked, we ate, and we shared a bottle of expensive wine, which he insisted on paying for. I discovered why after a trip to the ladies’ room.”
“He spiked your drink while you were gone, didn’t he?” he asked, pointing out what he thought was the obvious.
She stared into her coffee. “Yes.” Her lips trembled. “I don’t know what he used, but the effects didn’t take hold of me right away. But by the time I had walked outside to my car I was feeling dizzy and nauseous. He offered to drive me to the hospital or to a local doctor and I, being so naive, agreed to let him take me to the hospital.”
“But that’s not where he took you, is it?” Blaze added.
Elizabeth shuddered. “No, it wasn’t. I must have blacked out in his car. All I remember was waking up with my arms tied to the headboard of a strange bed. The rest, well...” She looked ready to burst into tears.
“It’s okay, I saw the pictures...” He patted the case file on the table, and waited patiently for her to compose herself. When he thought she was ready, he asked, “How did you manage to escape?”
“He simply let me go.”
“That almost sounds too easy.”
“He told me that letting me go was all part of the fun for him—knowing I would live with the scars and memories for the rest of my life.”
“He scarred you all right, thirty-one years of putting up with all my issues.”
“Please don’t say that.”
“Sorry. Even so, he took a huge risk letting you go?”
“Yes, but he threatened me.”
“What did he say?”
“That if I told anyone he would track me down and, well...I’m sure you can imagine...but I still went to the police.”
“Any they caught him?” he asked hopefully.
“Unfortunately, no.”
Blaze thought for a moment. “Did he know your name or any of your details?”
“Luckily I’d left my license in the glove box of my car. And when he’d asked me my name during our dinner I’d only referred to myself as Liz.”
“That was lucky.”
“Yes, but the story gets even more interesting...”
“I’m listening.” He took another sip of his coffee.
Elizabeth did the same.
“The morning after he attacked me, he drove me back to my car that was still parked outside the bar where I’d met him. He had forced me to drink some water before we left, which I figured would dull my senses, but I was ready for it and tried to keep my wits about myself for as long as possible.”
“Who’s the stubborn one now?” he said proudly.
“I remember the sun was just coming up. He dragged me out to the car, and as he threw me in the passenger seat, I vaguely made out the number on his letter box: 17. I also saw that his house was newly built, modern, and had beautifully kept flower gardens out the front, which I thought was strange for a man of his pedigree.”
“Different strokes for different folks, eh?”
“The thing is, Bobby, I saw what I was sure was a patch of middlemist red flowers.”
“You saw, what?”
“They are the one of the rarest flowers in the world.”
“Really? In little old New Zealand?”
“That’s right.”
Blaze was confused. “I know you love your flowers, but what’s that got to do with anything?”
“It gave me a definitive clue as to how to help the police find his house again.”
“And did they?”
“Yes, one of the detectives went around all the garden centres in Worthington until they found one that ordered in and sold middlemist red flowers to an exclusive client.”
“So they arrested him?”
“No, because it wasn’t his house. It was his parents’ house. They were away on an overseas holiday at the time he attacked me.”
“So you found out the man’s name?”
“Yes, but the police never found him.”
“I’ll find him. I’ll do whatever it takes,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Bobby, please, it was a long time ago.”
He wouldn’t take no for an answer. “I’d like to meet my father and look him in the eye before I—”
“Kill him?”
“Damn straight.”
“You can’t do that.”
“I can, and I will. I have the right to exact justice.”
Elizabeth, knowing and sensing Blaze’s determination, gave in. “All right. His name is Samuel Bowman.”
“Okay, so tell me, how come the pigs I mean cops, never found him?”
“Because he doesn’t exist.”
“Huh?”
She sighed. “When his parents returned from their holiday, the police questioned them and discovered he was a bit of a loose cannon. His parents had had a devil of a time raising him, to the point where they gave up, as he’d always had a thirst for sadistic behaviour.”
“Such as...?”
“Well, he started out small, frying worms in the sun on black, plastic rubbish bin lids, catching and ripping birds’ wings off etc. Then he moved onto bigger things: torturing animals, lighting firecrackers while they were inserted in their rear ends and so on...”
“Sounds like a sicko.”
“Then he went to the next level, obviously.” She motioned towards the case file on the table.
“So how does that explain his non-existence?”
“Well, after he disappeared from home, his name came up in the system as deceased a year or so later. His parents thought he was dead until he attacked me.”
“So he’s got a new identity?”
“That’s what the police concluded. It was as if he were passing through town and decided to do something crazy on a whim.” She paused. “Then about a year later I found out something else disturbing about him...”
“What?”
“He knows about you.”
“Really?” he said, stunned. “How?”
“Because I sent a letter and a picture of you as a baby to his parents. I thought th
ey might want to see their grandson.”
“And...?”
“And they replied saying it was a kind gesture, but under the circumstances they preferred to remain detached. Then a year or so later they sent me a letter explaining that someone had broken into their house.”
“Why would they tell you that?”
“Because apart from a few personal items of Samuel’s that had been taken, the letter and picture of you as a baby I’d sent them had been taken, too.”
Blaze couldn’t believe what he had just heard. “So they reckon he came back to grab a few of his belongings and found out about me by accident?”
“Presumably, yes...”
“So he knows my name and everything?”
“No, I hadn’t decided on a name for you at the time I sent the photo. All he knows is your birthday and what you looked like at two weeks old.”
Blaze was gobsmacked. Then something else occurred to him. He asked, “So why did Raymond beat you all the time? Surely he should have felt some kind of compassion towards you?”
This was the question she had been waiting for. She exhaled loudly, then said, “The truth is he couldn’t handle the fact that I’d fallen pregnant to the man who’d raped me. He begged me to have an abortion or adopt you out, but I refused. I believed God had given me a beautiful baby son, and that Raymond would eventually warm up to you. That’s why the abuse started, Bobby,” she said as she looked into his eyes, “because I wouldn’t give you up.”
Blaze’s heart pounded as the words of a mother’s love stirred within him. “That’s still no excuse. He’d better pray I never run into him someday...”
“I know but after he’d accidentally killed his friend at work, and lost his job for the second time, the booze took hold of him. He wasn’t the same man I married. He became angry and aggressive. But at least now you know why he never took a liking to you. As far as he was concerned: you weren’t his child to love.”
Blaze embedded her words in his memory. “Who else knows?” he asked.
“Trinity and Sharon.”
“And your lover boy.”
“Yes, Steve obviously knows, too.”