The 13th Black Candle

by Bob Goodwin

  ‘Angela? Huh, the plot thickens.’ The sleeve of a white shirt caught his eye, he pulled it free. Well, it was almost white, and it did have most of its buttons. It would have to do. Simon spent a few minutes searching for an iron. This proved fruitless, and just served to cause irritation.

  ‘Jesus, Stacey, get your shit together.’ His legs had slipped into the denim before he realised he wasn’t wearing underwear. He continued cursing himself and shook his head in disbelief of his faltering style. Taking a little extra care with the zipper he was soon dressed, out of the flat, and on his way to see Cochran.

  He briefly surveyed the block of flats and the few nearby houses before turning the ignition. While Narangba itself was a nice enough place, Simon wasn’t particularly impressed with the edge of suburbia; to him it was a sign of a steady deterioration in living conditions right through to the noisy metropolis. His rural living desires developed as a child on an avocado farm with his parents until the age of six. A succession of extraordinary weather conditions had led to multiple crop failures and the family moved to town. The city had its purposes, but over the years, incentives such as wealth, success, and beautiful women had been strong enough to override his preference for country living.

  Soon enough he was back at the Alderley Police Complex. He entered the front parking area and took the only vacant spot in the Reserved Police Only space alongside Cochran’s vehicle. The building was large, with various police activities being distributed throughout many offices over the two-storey structure. Simon entered the reception area of the ground floor.

  The first thing noticeable on entering was an offensive odour of stale, sweaty feet. He looked around to locate the source of the smell. The desk sergeant was typing away awkwardly with two fingers at a computer keyboard behind the counter, refusing in any way to acknowledge Simon’s presence. Simon continued his surveillance. He spotted the problem. In the far corner, a pair of joggers sat propped up on a low wooden stool in front of a bar heater.

  A large dot matrix printer kicked into action then stopped. The sergeant walked slowly to the other side of the room, grabbed a new roll of printer paper, then returned and fed it into the machine. He jabbed with annoyance at a few buttons. The machine came back to life. Simon had decided he would neither say a word nor rap his knuckles on the bench. He placed his hand over his nose and waited. The game continued for some time until the sergeant spoke.

  ‘You know anything about computers?’ he snapped.

  ‘Just enough to get me into trouble.’

  ‘Huh, what’s the good of ya? Down the hall, second on the left. He’s expecting you. And you’re late.’

  With some relief, Simon proceeded down the corridor. Behind him came the sound of spray from a pressure can. He smiled, brushed at a couple of creases in his shirt with his hand, and then knocked three times on the door.

  ‘It’s open. Come in.’

  ‘Good morning again, Inspector,’ said Simon, trying to sound relaxed.

  ‘It’s afternoon, and secondly, you’re thirty-three minutes late ...’ Cochran paused as he looked up. ‘And where did you get those clothes? It’s just not you, Stacey.’

  ‘They’re not mine, they belong to a friend who is helping me out.’ Simon looked about the room. ‘I must say, this office is pretty ordinary. A bit of a step down from your inner-city room with a view.’

  It was in that Brisbane City office where the two men had met three years earlier. Stacey’s apartment had been ransacked. Nothing was missing, but the place was a mess. Glassware and bottles smashed, books and documents ripped, and blood smeared over windows and mirrors. A heated argument had erupted after Simon repeatedly insisted he couldn’t help with any enquires. Their second encounter was more recent; Stacey’s car, another Mercedes, had been stolen. Investigations failed to discover any trace of the vehicle. In both cases, no one was apprehended.

  ‘This office is just fine, Stacey. Can I offer you a cup of tea or coffee?’

  ‘You are really trying hard, aren’t you? It’s good to see a man who recognises his own shortcomings and tries to change them,’ said Stacey. Cochran forced a grin but said nothing. ‘Do you have any freshly squeezed orange juice?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘That is a shame. I’ll have nothing then.’

  ‘As you wish. Now, we have some rather disturbing results of our preliminary enquiries. Please sit down.’ Simon carefully slid out a rickety wooden chair and sat down. The inspector shuffled a few sheets of paper as if collecting his thoughts.

  ‘The fire was, of course, deliberately lit, and this is a homicide investigation. Traces of several incendiary devices have been found at the scene. I believe Detective Marshall gave you some details. For what it’s worth, Stacey, suffering for anyone inside would have been minimal.’

  Simon was silent. How do other people know that suffering was minimal; that they all died instantly; that there was no pain? How can those who are alive tell others what dying is like? Maybe seconds seem like hours and suffering is unbearable. Maybe you have to feel the fire singeing the cilia from the depths of your lungs. Maybe you have to watch your own flesh burning and falling from your bones.

  ‘There’s more, I’m afraid. A third body was found late yesterday morning. A man aged probably thirty-five to forty. One point eight metres tall, that’s about five foot eleven. Weight estimated at eighty kilos. He was discovered in your back yard behind the garden shed. He had a single gunshot wound to the head and he was naked. Any ideas on this guy?’

  Simon’s brow was now resting on the edge of the desk. His hands grasped the laminated surface on either side of his head, as if to prevent his falling to the floor.

  ‘Stacey, if you’re going to throw up again can you use the basin in preference to my shoes?’

  ‘That sounds more like the John Cochran we all know and love,’ mumbled Simon. ‘I’m not going to do an encore. But I might just decide to die right here. There’s another body? Jesus!’

  ‘What about this bloke behind the shed then? Do you know who he might have been?’ said Cochran.

  ‘I think it might have been the milkman.’

  ‘Shit, Stacey, it’s time for some straight answers. This is not just another break and enter like at your damned flat. It’s murder. It’s now triple murder! This guy was shot in the head and guess what? His tongue had been cut out of his head. Don’t fuck me around here!’ The inspector was overheating. The two men’s complexions were at stark contrast. Stacey pale and ready to pass out, and Cochran on the verge of exploding.

  ‘It was an apartment or a home unit, not a flat. And I honestly have no idea who that bloke is, or was. His tongue cut out? What sort of deal is that? Some mafia thing? Fuck me.’

  ‘Was there anyone else besides your wife and son staying at the property?’

  ‘No. There was no one else there when I left the house at seven o’clock on Tuesday night. I don’t know anyone who hates me enough to do such a thing. Why didn’t they get out of the house? There must have been noises. They should have heard something. They should have got out. There were so many exits. Windows, doors. They should have got out!’ Simon found his speech was racing as he tried to keep pace with his thoughts.

  ‘I believe the arsonist planned it so that no one would escape with their life. We are still waiting on final results of the autopsies, but despite the state of the bodies, we have confirmation that one was your wife and another was most likely your son — according to weight, age, height, etcetera. As for the other body, we have no leads.’

  ‘I really want to help. Don’t you think I want to nail the murdering sons of bitches?’ Simon’s voice faltered as a solitary tear ran down his cheek.

  ‘There are a couple of questions I must ask that I know you’re not going to like.’

  ‘Okay, Inspector, go on then, don’t be shy.’

  ‘You told the detective yesterday that you were with that Duncan fellow, playing cards, at the time of the fire.’

&nb
sp; ‘Yes, I was,’ replied Simon cautiously.

  ‘I’ll need his full name and address to confirm that.’

  ‘You think I had something to do with this! Are you crazy? This is totally absurd.’

  ‘At this stage I don’t know what to think. I have to check out all the angles. Isn’t it true that you stand to collect five million dollars from your wife’s life insurance policy?’

  ‘That policy is nearly three years old. It covered both our lives. I don’t need the money, anyway.’

  ‘Isn’t it true that you altered the policy six months ago and doubled the payout?’

  ‘You arsehole, Cochran! That’s enough. Are you charging me?’

  ‘No, I’m not. But if you hinder investigations, I’ll ...’

  ‘Well thank you very much and good-bye.’ Simon promptly stood up and made for the door.

  ‘That name and address, Stacey!’

  ‘Twenty-One Kingsview Terrace! Teddy Duncan!’ shouted Stacey. He wrenched the door open, hesitated briefly, then looked back at the inspector. ‘Those fat cells have infiltrated your brain, Cochran. Your synapses have been replaced by cellulite.’ He slammed the door and left.

  After taking few deep breaths, Cochran sifted through his paperwork, examining the reverse side of each page. He flipped over the second-last sheet and found what he was searching for. There it was; Edward Duncan - 21 Kingsview Tce. - Deceased – time of death estimated at 0400 hrs. on Wednesday 4th June – (approx. 4 hours after Stacey’s house fire).

  Chapter 7

  Familiar Friends

  Upon completion of the afternoon rounds, Charlie Madden entered the foyer and reception area. His office was located behind the reception desk where Deborah stood chatting with Wendy, the receptionist, and two other fitness enthusiasts. Charlie smiled.

  ‘Hey, Charlie,’ she said brightly. ‘Excuse me for a moment guys,’ she said to her companions before stepping across in front of Charlie Madden.

  ‘Hey there, Deb. Always nice to see you. What’s up?’

  ‘How are you?’ She placed her hands on his shoulders. ‘That news about Simon. I know you were probably closer to him and Alison than most people here.’

  ‘It has shaken me up. I do worry for Simon more than anything. He’s a pretty strong guy but this…’ he paused and swallowed, ‘I don’t know how someone could ever recover. It’s just too hard.’ Charlie dropped his head, stepped away from Deb, and turned away. The small group had all stopped chatting and watched with Deborah as Charlie scurried into his office with his head lowered.

  ‘I’m just going to see if he’s okay,’ mouthed Deb softly to her friends. They all nodded. She followed him into the office and closed the door.

  Charlie was sitting with his elbows on the desk, resting his head in his hands. As Deborah entered he immediately grabbed a pen and paper.

  ‘You know, Deb, I’ve got a couple of great ideas. I have been thinking about the night club area. It’s a bit too small, but if we open the side wall towards the barbecue we can double the floor space as well as... as well as allow easier access to...’ Deborah squatted down next to him and grabbed him in her arms and squeezed.

  ‘You are a good man, Charlie Madden.’ She kissed him on the cheek.

  ‘Sorry,’ he squeaked.

  ‘You have nothing to be sorry about.’ She turned his head to face her. ‘Showing you have feelings is a good thing.’ Deb kissed him on the mouth. Lightly at first, then more passionately as he responded.

  ‘Wow,’ said Charlie when they finally broke. Their faces were still close.

  ‘I think we should sleep together,’ said Deborah.

  ‘Really!’

  ‘Oh, do you think that’s a bad idea?’

  ‘Oh, yes… I mean no. I mean of course. Yes, yes. It’s probably the best idea I’ve ever heard in my life.’

  ‘I have been told you can cook.’

  ‘I do okay. You should come over for dinner.’

  ‘Yes, I should.’

  A sharp rap on the door disturbed the conversation.

  ‘Hey, Charlie, you got a minute?’ Came a loud voice through the door.

  “It’s Simon!’ declared Deb.

  Charlie blotted his face with a tissue and settled himself back at the desk. Deborah took only a moment to turn the door handle slightly to release the lock and sit opposite Madden.

  ‘The door’s open. Come on in,’ said Charlie. He took some deep breaths and began drawing on a blank sheet of paper. As the door opened, Deb took the initiative.

  ‘That sounds like a good idea, Charlie. How do you think it will work out cost wise?’

  ‘Ah! Simon. It’s good to see you.’ Charlie stood and moved to the side of the desk. Deborah gave Simon a consoling hug and a kiss on the cheek. Apart from his serious expression, Stacey looked a million dollars. He’d felt compelled to do some shopping after seeing Cochran, and had notched up a bill for five grand to restock some of his wardrobe. He was very smartly attired in a white wool sports coat, navy blue tie, and blue pin-striped business shirt.

  ‘We’re all so sorry to hear about Alison and Robbie,’ said Deb. ‘It’s horrible. How are you managing? Is there anything we can do?’

  Simon returned the kiss, shook hands with Charlie, then dropped into the soft single recliner lounge to the side of the doorway.

  ‘Thanks, Deb. I’m just managing to cope and that’s all. If you don’t mind I’m trying to focus on the practicalities for the time being — to keep me from losing my mind. But it’s comforting to know I have such good friends.’

  ‘If there’s anything we can do, you know we are always here for you,’ said Charlie. ‘You have no need to worry yourself about this end of things. Everything is just fine. Business is booming.’

  ‘I know I can rely on you both, as I can on everyone here. I just thought I’d better put you all in the picture before you read it in the papers tomorrow morning.’ Simon paused and swallowed heavily before continuing. Deborah sat down.

  ‘It’s been confirmed that the fire was deliberately lit. So you see, it’s murder. My family has been murdered. And so was someone else; an unidentified man’s body was found as well. Now, I believe that whoever orchestrated this tragedy has some master plan. I have no idea at this stage what that might be or who is involved, but it does mean that you all need to be a little careful.’ Stacey was concentrating on his words, trying to keep his emotions under control. He looked up at his two friends. Deborah and Charlie were stunned.

  ‘What the hell are the police doing about it?’ asked Charlie after an extended silence. He began a slow pace around the office.

  ‘They don’t tell me much. They just ask lots of questions. Apparently, they have very few leads.’

  ‘Why do we need to be careful here? Is there some sort of threat?’

  ‘No. There is no threat, Charlie. It’s just me being careful. When someone targets your family, and blows up your house, it makes sense to take a little extra care. Wouldn’t you agree?

  ‘Sure. Of course.’

  ‘You need to tell everyone to keep their eyes open. If they see anything unusual or anyone… Charlie, can you sit down please?’ Simon was both surprised and a little irritated by Madden’s behaviour.

  ‘Sorry, just thinking, that’s all. I think better when I’m walking.’ He returned to his desk chair.

  ‘Now let’s get this clear; I don’t want anyone else getting hurt. I don’t think anything is going to happen here at the club, but I’m not prepared to take any chances. I’ve hired a security guard. His name is Oscar Schliemann. He’s a big German guy who knows his business. You can expect him tomorrow morning. As far as security matters are concerned he is to have full control. He will be doing a little quiet research for me as well, so tell him anything he wants to know. No secrets whatsoever.’

  Deborah sat quietly. Her dark-brown eyes glistened as the first tear ran down the side of her nose. While she found the whole scenario very upsetting, it was the soulless
act of Robbie’s fiery murder that cut the deepest.

  ‘And what if we see something then?’ asked Charlie, fidgeting with his pen.

  ‘Tell Schliemann, he’ll know what to do. That’s what he’s getting paid for. And one more thing; let’s not start a panic here. Use those staff management skills of yours, Charlie. I’m counting on you. We don’t want to scare off our members, do we? It’s business as usual.’

  ‘Okay, sure. I’ll chat with the others this afternoon. Where will you be in case I need to contact you?’

  ‘I’m staying at Adrian Devlin’s place. I think you already have his details.’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  Simon stood and moved over to Deborah.

  ‘Are you okay, Deb? I’m sorry about all this, but we’ll have it sorted out within a couple of weeks.’

  ‘I’ll be just fine, thanks, Simon. You take care now. It’s nice having you around.’ Deborah blotted the tears from her cheeks.

  ‘Right then! I’ll be in touch. Sorry I have to rush, but as you might appreciate there are a few matters I still need to attend to. Are there any other questions?’

  ‘Probably lots, but I’m lost for words at the moment,’ replied Charlie.

  ‘Well, you know where to reach me. Leave a message on the answering machine if you need to.’

  Stacey reached across the desk. Madden stood, and the two men shook hands firmly.

  ‘Thanks, my friend,’ added Simon. Charlie nodded and escorted Simon to the main entrance. On returning to the office he found Deborah still sitting quietly, but looking much more composed. He squatted beside her chair.

  ‘You okay?’

  ‘Yeah,’ she sniffed. ‘I’ll be fine. What sort of a world is it, Charlie, when a family can’t be safe in their own home?’

  ‘You hear about this sort of thing, read it in the papers, then, suddenly it’s all so real, and so very close. It’s frightening. Makes you realise how vulnerable we all are. I don’t mind telling you, Deb, it makes me a little nervous.’