by Bob Goodwin
‘Just one moment!’ called Wendy. She pulled the plastic liner out of the bin, cussing as she noticed the contents of the ashtray on the floor. She picked up the butts then attended the reception desk, closing the office door behind her.
‘Detective. You’ve just missed our manager, Charlie Madden, by only a moment. I was wanting to give you an appointment on Friday but you left before I had a chance.’’
‘Yes, sorry for that. When do you expect him to return to his office?’
‘Possibly about thirty minutes.’ She looked at the diary on the reception desk. ‘I could squeeze you in then, but only for fifteen minutes.’
‘Lovely. That sounds fine. Thanks.’
‘Anything I can help you with in the meantime?’
‘Ah, no, I don’t think so. I’ll just have a browse through the fitness shop and flick through a couple of magazines while I wait.’
‘No worries.’
The glass door to the Bodytone sales centre was directly opposite the reception desk. The shop had a large range of aerobic and sports clothing, gym equipment, and health foods. Apart from the many well-known brand names, much of the clothing carried the Bodytone label. This was another successful innovation, thought up by Madden and financed by Stacey. Briggs entered the store, keeping a subtle watch on the activity outside. Wendy was now answering the telephone; she had the rubbish bag in her other hand.
Briggs watched as she finished her conversation, hung up the phone, then disappeared from the foyer with the garbage bag. No one else was in sight. He casually moved from the shop back to reception. After a quick glance left and right, he slipped behind the desk and then entered Madden’s office and locked the door behind him. After closing the blinds, he sat at the desk and began rummaging through the drawers. The bottom two contained little to spark Brigg’s interest. There were a few glossy fitness and interior decorating magazines, health equipment catalogues, an ashtray, and the book on sorcery and magic.
‘Weirdo!’ said Briggs softly as he replaced the book. He pulled at the top drawer. It was locked, but he smiled confidently as he removed the small black wallet from his hip pocket. Two of the small implements probed the lock for a few seconds until the click of success was heard. As Briggs perused the bank statements and cheque butts, two entries caused him to put pen to paper; a cheque in February and another in late May, both for five thousand dollars, and both payable to Charden Enterprises. Noel recorded the details and placed the piece of paper in the fob pocket on the inside of his shorts. Reaching to the back of the drawer, he pulled forward a small white envelope. Inside was a gold chain bracelet with ‘Bodytone’ engraved on the tag in old English-style writing. The reverse side had the words, Alison — all my love — Simon. Briggs raised his eyebrows in surprise. He replaced the jewellery, closed and locked the drawer, then had a quick flick through the diary on the desk. A couple of appointments caused him to raise his eyebrows. There was an appointment tonight with a Deborah and another for Saturday with an Alison. ‘A bit of a lady’s man, eh?’ he mumbled. He moved on to Madden’s briefcase. Squatting on the floor, Briggs opened the case. There was little to get excited about here either; a set of keys; a collection of new pencils and biros; a coffee mug; one pair of near new heavily treaded jogging shoes, and a few drawings of building projects. Noel frowned and gave a soft, disappointed growl. With the sound of a key sliding into the office door lock, he hurriedly closed Madden’s case, but had no time to do much else before the towering figure of Oscar Schliemann was standing over him. Briggs promptly started groping around on the floor.
‘Can you help me? I’ve lost my contact lens,’ he said weakly.
Oscar closed the door, grabbed the detective by the back of the neck with his right hand, and in one movement lifted him to his feet and threw him backwards against the closed door. He then placed his other hand securely around his throat and pushed upwards until the detective’s feet were kicking about in the air.
‘You disappoint me. I expected something better than the contact lens story,’ remarked Oscar quite calmly. The live wall hanging tried in vain to pry the vice from his neck. In desperation, he attempted to kick Schliemann in the groin. This was a mistake.
‘Now that is not a nice thing to do.’ Oscar’s right hand shot up between Briggs’ legs, and his fingers wrapped firmly around an unsuspecting pair of testicles. ‘It might save us both some time if you tell me the truth.’ Briggs could do nothing but grunt and gasp for air. ‘Could you speak a little more clearly? I am finding it most difficult to understand you. You’re not one of those bloody foreigners, are you?’ The detective tried hard to make some intelligible sound. His face had turned crimson. Oscar relaxed his grip on the throat, but continued to hold Briggs off the floor by pushing up on his groin. With a loud wheezing noise, Briggs sucked in air, coughed, and sucked in more.
‘Would you care to give me the courtesy of a conversation now?’
‘Yes, yes... give me... a... moment... to breathe,’ he gasped.
‘Let’s start with, who are you, and what are you doing in this office? And no crap, or I promise you’ll be searching the floor for more than a contact lens.’ Schliemann twisted his hand sharply in Brigg’s groin just to make the message clear.
‘Put me down. Please.’
‘You’re in no position to give orders, just answers.’ Oscar slightly tightened both his grips.
‘Okay, okay. I’m a cop. Detective Noel Briggs. I’m working on a homicide.’
‘If that is true then you are not a very good cop, and an even worse detective.’
‘My back pocket. My ID.’ Schliemann lowered Briggs’ feet to the floor and turned him face against the door. With one hand round the back of his neck keeping him pinned, he removed a black leather wallet from the detective’s pocket. Briggs’ eyes strained to see what was going on. ‘No, not that one. The other wallet!’ Using his teeth, Oscar opened the zip.
‘So, this is your detective equipment.’ He threw the small tool case on the floor.
‘Oscar, is everything all right in there?’ shouted Madden.
‘Fine, thanks, Charlie. I’ve got a surprise for you.’ Schliemann pulled Briggs away from the door and forced him down to the floor. ‘Now, you lie there like a good man, so I don’t have to break your neck,’ he said most politely. ‘Come in, Charlie!’
‘What the hell is going on?’ asked Madden nervously as he made his entrance. He looked down in amazement at the man on the floor.
‘This clown has been going through your office. He says he’s a cop.’
‘I am a bloody cop!’ he snapped. ‘If I can show you my ID.’ His hand moved towards his trousers. Oscar reacted immediately.
‘Easy!’ The European’s foot struck Briggs across the back of his neck. His nose and lips squashed hard onto the carpet. ‘Steady, Briggs, or whoever you are. I feel much happier when you move slowly and with my permission. Now easy does it.’ The detective slowly pulled his wallet from his pocket and flicked it across the carpet to Madden’s feet. The ashen-faced administrator examined the badge and photograph.
‘He’s right, Oscar,’ stated Charlie with a rather high-pitched squeak in his voice.
‘So, he is a bloody cop. A very foolish cop,’ grinned Schliemann, totally unmoved after glancing at the open wallet. ‘There’s an outline of something else in his pocket. What can that be?’
‘Nothing else that concerns you,’ said Briggs.
‘I think I’ll be the judge of that.’ Schliemann slipped his hand into Briggs’ back pocket and removed two small, but neatly folded, squares of clear plastic. Both contained a white powder. ‘What have we here? Drugs?’
‘Please, that’s something I obtained from a suspect earlier today. I intend to get it tested.’
‘Bullshit. I’m keeping it,’ said Schliemann, as he pushed the plastic envelopes into his own pocket. ‘I would recommend in future, if you want information you should either ask for it, or produce a search warrant. You may leave
now, and it would be in the best interest of your ongoing health not to return.’ Noel rose slowly to his feet and dusted himself down.
‘You haven’t heard the last of this, I can assure you,’ he retorted. ‘And I would like those packets back.’ He snatched his wallet from Madden.
‘Get out of here while you still can, Briggs,’ said Schliemann calmly. Briggs pointed his finger in a stabbing motion at the security officer and made a growling sound, but said nothing further. He then turned and scurried off.
‘What was he doing here, Oscar?’ asked Charlie, trying to put on a brave voice.
‘Looking for evidence, possibly against Simon. Either that, or information to incriminate someone else here.’
‘You mean he thinks Simon murdered his own family? Or someone here is responsible?’ exclaimed Charlie. ‘That seems ludicrous.’
‘Perhaps. It may be that Simon is their only suspect at the moment. You know what I think?’ mused Oscar. ‘I think Briggs will be in serious trouble when he gets back to the police station. He would have been sent here to interview staff in the regular manner, not to be breaking and entering.’
‘What about those packets. Are they really some sort of drug?’
‘Oh, I’m sure they are drugs. I’m guessing heroin, but I will check that later. I have an old friend who will be very interested in this information.’
Charlie looked towards the open office door where a small group of spectators had gathered. Wendy, Deborah, Wayne, and a few club members were chatting softly and staring. Oscar Schliemann walked out to the group.
‘Everything is fine,’ he announced. ‘We just had an unwelcome intruder. He won’t be back and there’s no harm done. You can all carry on as usual.’ The inquisitive group began to slowly disperse.
‘Deborah!’ called Charlie. ‘Can I see you for a moment?’ The sweaty brunette turned and sauntered back towards the office. Madden now had another reason to justify his rapid pulse. Oscar smiled, gave a wave, and wandered away.
‘Hello, Charlie. Are you okay?’ said Deb softly, taking his hand and cupping it between hers.
‘I’m fine,’ lied Madden. ‘I wanted to confirm our arrangements for tonight.’
‘All systems are go. I’m really looking forward to it.’
‘Ah... me too,’ he replied, feeling a little uneasy about Deborah’s caresses of his hand in full view of those still around. ‘My place, shall we say, seven thirty?’ Deb winked in response and scratched his palm with her fingernail. Charlie replied with a gentle squeeze of her fingers.
Chapter 16
The Red Scarf
‘J. C., do we still need to keep a twenty-four-hour watch on Devlin’s flat?’ asked Carter. ‘I had a call from the traffic branch half an hour ago. They’re short-staffed. I said I’d talk to you and get back to them.’
‘I guess not,’ replied Cochran, as he looked through the names of the missing persons. Of the short list of twenty-eight, only two possibilities remained, both of whom had been reported missing well before the time of the fire. ‘Another futile exercise,’ he mumbled to himself. ‘Yes, that’ll be okay, Sarge. We can keep an eye on things ourselves. I want you to call Devlin’s place every couple of hours. If there’s any answer, let me know. One of us will drive out there again this evening and have another talk to the neighbours.’
‘Great. And Briggs is in your office. He doesn’t look too happy. He doesn’t look too well, either.’
‘What’s he done this time?’
‘Best you ask him. Nothing to do with me, that’s for sure.’
‘I don’t like the sound of this already.’ Cochran made his way to his room. He had a slight limp and left-sided tilt, but was steadily improving. Cathy Johnson had managed to obtain an ultrasonic vibrating massager from a physiotherapist girlfriend, but she drew the line at providing the service herself. After a few simple instructions, Cochran’s wife, Emily, had proved more than capable of attending to the needs of her injured husband.
The inspector sat at his desk, temporarily ignoring Briggs, who sat anxiously opposite. Cochran was aware that something had gone wrong, and was taking his time to get comfortable and relaxed.
‘It’s a lovely day, Briggs.’ He leaned across the desk. ‘Now just watch some bastard come along and fuck it up.’
‘Sorry, sir, but I’m afraid that’s going to be me,’ muttered Noel.
‘Of course it’s going to be you, Briggs, you’ve had practice. And of course you should be afraid! But, let’s keep calm,’ said Cochran, consciously changing his tone, placing both his hands softly on the desk and reclining gently back to his chair. ‘You tell me where you bought that new red scarf of yours.’
‘What scarf?’ he replied, looking around the room.
‘Are you thick, or just stupid? Your neck! Dickhead! Obviously, someone has tried to throttle you before I had the chance.’
‘Oh, that,’ said Noel, feeling his neck with his hand. ‘This Oscar guy assaulted me. Threatened to rip my balls off. Nearly choked me to death for Christ’s sake.’
Briggs described the events at Bodytone, making sure he placed as much emphasis as he could on any personal harm or threat. He told the inspector the office door was open and he was looking for Madden. He conveniently omitted his tampering with the lock of the desk drawer. Cochran was seething. His teeth were clenched, and the angry red colouring had filled his cheeks. He continued to listen to Briggs, becoming even angrier as he recognised the signs of his own irritability.
‘I’ve heard enough!’ he shouted. ‘You knew that your performance on this case was vital to your remaining a detective, and you’ve gone and blown it. You’re stupid, Briggs. In fact, you seem to be working hard to make a success of being a failure!’ The inspector stood and paced around the office, waving his hands in all directions, while Noel remained seated. ‘I suppose you’re hoping they won’t lay charges,’ the Cochran barrage continued. ‘Well I hope they do. How do you think your record will stand up in court? Who the hell do you think you are? You’re not the invisible fucking man! You’re no super bloody hero! Your shit stinks just like the rest of us, except yours is worse. It makes me want to throw up. You had specific instructions. By the bloody book, I said! You’re unbelievable. On the last case, you were screwing the suspect, and now you’re screwing with me — and guess what?’ Cochran put his mouth next to Noel’s ear. ‘I don’t fucking like it!’ he shouted. The inspector returned to his seat and took a few deep breaths.
The noise could be heard across the corridor in the debriefing room. Cathy Johnson and Dan Marshall had been reviewing the case and hoping for some divine intervention to ease their frustration. Their conversation had stopped while both listened to the Briggs battering. Cathy turned to Marshall, shaking her head.
‘That man is going to burst a blood vessel one of these days. He needs some hypnosis to help him relax.’
‘Are you going to tell him?’ Dan asked.
‘Sure, I’ll tell him. But not right now if you don’t mind.’
‘Briggs brings these things on himself. Always looking for a short cut or some angle to benefit himself or get laid. I don’t know why the boss gave him another chance. We all know what he’s like.’
‘Maybe he did it deliberately, to have a good reason to get rid of him?’
‘If that’s true, he’s only got himself to blame for the stuff up. Anyway, enough of that; what have we got on Stacey?’ Marshall opened the manila folder. ‘An alcoholic storekeeper who is fairly sure that he sold him high wattage light bulbs, yet he can’t pull Stacey’s photo out of a group of only three. An old woman who thinks she saw a Mercedes at Edward Duncan’s house at the time he was murdered. Stacey unwilling to give an account of his whereabouts between twelve and four Wednesday morning, and then faking a suicide attempt to possibly escape further investigation. A recent increase in his wife’s insurance policy.’ Marshall shook his head. ‘It’s not what you’d call a rock-solid case, but it does all point to Stacey.’
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‘Stacey’s concealing something,’ said Cathy. ‘And what about the missing dental files? What about the naked body and the .38 slug? What about this sex club his wife was in and that suicide note? Oh, Dan, I’m so confused.’
The discussion between the two investigators continued, with the occasional interruption as they paused to listen to the shouts from John Cochran.
Dempsey and Hogan were out, once again, talking with friends, acquaintances, and family of Simon and Alison Stacey. So far, the only people willing to talk freely were the dentist, Howard Morgan, and some of the relatives. From Stacey’s suicide note there were still three left to talk with: Donald Granger, alias ‘Donger’, Warren ‘Wart’ Tarrasch, and finally Ralph, who remained the only name not yet identified as even being a real person.
The Cochran task force believed those few lines written by Stacey were much more than a farewell message to his friend, Adrian. The group had spent two hours on Sunday attempting to break down the coded message. After an interesting but largely unsuccessful brainstorming exercise, Cochran asked each of the group to use their imagination and write down at least two interpretations of the note, however bizarre their ideas might have appeared to be. Cathy Johnson, with her passion for crosswords and anagrams, had surprised and entertained everyone with her rearranging of the letters in parts of the note. She discovered that the letters from the names listed in the note formed the words, THINK LOBBY WARDROBE, WHO’D RAPE GARTH. Cochran, amazed with Johnson’s hidden talent, had supported her efforts to unravel the message. While no one knew of any lobby wardrobe or anyone called Garth, he had praised her for her creative thinking and application to the task. With their collective thoughts, the investigators had returned to Devlin’s flat and explored each possibility. References in the note to time, beer, furniture, cards, and music had everyone checking clocks, the fridge and contents, chairs, and stereo, all to no avail.
* * *