Kelly and Elliott had been led through the station and had met with a detective, a man, Kelly thought who looked like a pig wearing glasses. Not a pig as in a derogatory term for a policeman, but he actually did resemble a pig. He asked a few questions, he enquired if Tom’s car had been driven, but Kelly had told him no, it still sat in their driveway. In fact Tom’s car keys still hung on the key rack in their hallway.
The piggy looking detective, who also smelled of offensive body odor, had sucked on his pen and leaned back in his chair, making notes where appropriate, while continually straining to read what he had written. Every now and then he would touch his thick glasses, adjusting them on his piggy round face. Kelly was surprised that this man was even a detective. Elliott, she had thought, also seemed rather shocked that this chubby, pig faced man, with his bald head and thick glasses, was a police officer. He certainly did not look like any detective she had seen on TV, or in the movies.
The detective promised to make some enquires. He would speak with some of her neighbors, try and find out if anyone had seen him the morning he disappeared. Later Kelly learned that Tom had spoken to a few of her neighbors. Several of them reported seeing him that morning heading to the park with Shmitty. They had all said the same thing; not one of them had seen anything suspicious, nor heard a sound, nothing untoward apparently had occurred. Tom had spoken with a few people, before he entered the park, but the park had been empty. Tom’s disappearance appeared to be a complete mystery. Unexplained.
While making her initial missing persons report that day, with Elliott at her side, the chubby and odd looking detective had asked her if she had any thoughts on why Tom might have suddenly disappeared.
As he compiled his notes, the detective had looked up at Kelly, then glanced at Elliott, before speaking.
“So, there were no problems at home? I mean, he wasn’t, as far as you are aware, seeing someone else? Maybe, and I hate to ask this, he had another woman?”
“No,” Kelly said, her voiced raised, “Tom was, is, perfect, he would never cheat. No, that is simply not possible.”
“Ok,” said the detective. “Is there anything else I should know about?”
Kelly took a deep breath, and looked at Elliott, before staring at her feet.
“Mrs. Hudd?” said the detective, “is there anything you would like to tell me?”
Kelly spoke sheepishly and in a whisper, conscious that her neighbor, Elliott sat with her. She felt embarrassed, she felt ashamed, but if what she told the police would help find Tom, then it didn’t matter.
“Well, he may have found out that I had cheated on him,” Kelly replied.
Elliott looked surprised, thought Kelly, though he did not comment. The detective began scribbling on his notebook.
“I see,” he said, rather a little too judgmentally for Kelly’s liking.
“But it wasn’t anything serious,” stammered Kelly. “To be honest I am not even sure he knew. It only happened last week. I was in France. It’s a long story, but there was no way he could have found out.” But Kelly wasn’t sure. Maybe he had found out; maybe that’s why he had left.
“Was it anyone he knew?” asked the detective, quickly glancing at Elliott before turning back to face Kelly.
“What are you suggesting?” interrupted Elliott, annoyed by the veiled implication. “I am her friend, her neighbor, her Alderman, probably soon to be the Mayor. If you are insinuating anything inappropriate between myself and Mrs. Hudd, I assure you, I will speak directly with the Chief.”
The detective’s demeanor changed immediately. Gone was his cockiness and his earlier condescending attitude.
“I apologize. I assure you I am not insinuating anything. Mr. Miller, Alderman, sir, please accept my sincerest apologies,” he spluttered.
“I think you also owe Mrs. Hudd an apology, don’t you?” said Elliott sternly.
“Yes, of course, I am sorry, for maybe subconsciously implying that the other man involved in your, erm, life, was Mr. Miller. I see he is here merely offering support, merely as a neighbor and friend, and of course, in his role as Alderman for your district, one of the finest I may say, Aldermen, not districts, though the district is also fine. I for one will be casting my vote next week in the mayoral election, and you, sir,” he said turning back towards Elliott, “have my vote, sir.” The detective shuffled uneasily in his chair, stains of perspiration appearing on his shirt under his armpits, the stench of his body odor increasing.
“Anyway, I digress, where was I? Oh yes, Mrs. Hudd, was your... dalliance with anyone Mr. Hudd may have known?”
“No,” lied Kelly. “It happened in France. “He doesn’t know him, the man I slept with,” Kelly swallowed before adding, “and it was just once!”
Tom never did return to work, nor did he contact any friends or family. He must have been devastated, thought Kelly, finding out that she had been unfaithful, discovering that she had cheated on him. Facing Kelly after her treachery must have been too much for him, she guessed, and then having to see the man she had slept with, not that he was a man, he was a boy, a scrawny nasty little hick, well, that would have been worse. No, he was gone. He wouldn’t have been able to take the ribbing from his friends, and he would have been the butt of countless jokes about how his beautiful wife had been tricked into sleeping with some horny kid pretending to be a count. The embarrassment would have been too much for Tom.
Of course Kelly hadn’t given up searching immediately, she had continued to drive through every street and avenue in Savannah just hoping to catch a glimpse of her husband, but as the days and then weeks and eventually months passed, she resigned herself to accept the inevitable truth – Tom had left her and didn’t want to be found. He had left her because somehow he had found out about Billy Malphrus, Paris and Count Enrico de Christo. Kelly knew she only had herself to blame.
The detective had called her a few times. He had no leads, and he had implied that many missing adults were missing because they wanted to be missing. They didn’t want to be found. He had also told her that the department simply didn’t have the resources or manpower to conduct a search on the scale Kelly had hoped, and of course, taking into consideration her confession of adultery, it was probably time for her to accept that Tom had simply left her.
Kelly took another scoop of ice cream as Shmitty continued to sleep at her feet. Tom had left everything, the only thing he had taken with him were the clothes on his back. She could remember exactly what he was wearing the day he had left her: lime green jogging pants and a white t-shirt. Those lime green sweatpants were a gift from her. She knew he hated them but he wore them nevertheless. Kelly began sobbing. How could it all have gone so wrong? How could she have destroyed her marriage, forced Tom to leave?
She turned her head to the refrigerator. The detective had given her his card. ‘Detective Jeff Morgan’ — and it now hung via a fridge magnet, along with other bits of paper, postcards and decorative fridge magnets collected by her parents.
At least Elliott had been good to his word. He had promised not to mention anything he had heard at the police station, Kelly’s confession of adultery, nor any of the circumstances surrounding Tom’s unexplained disappearance to a living soul. He hadn’t, and she was thankful for that.
Maybe it was time for her to move on, to try and rebuild her life, despite her hopes that Tom would return. Maybe it was time to face facts. Maybe Tom was indeed gone for good and she would never hear from him again. Kelly Hudd had never not had a man in her life. She and Tom had been together since high school. Going forward, if she was to finally accept Tom was never going to return, she would, she was sure, need a man to support and love her. Kelly craved affection, and despite her current mental anguish and despair, she did not want to spend the rest of her life alone.
Kelly Hudd was shallow, and deep down she knew it. She was superficial and judged others by their looks, not their personalities. But she was evolving, she was changing, Tom’s disappearance h
ad given her time to take stock of her life and the way she lived it. At one time her looks had been the most important thing to her, and the second most important thing to her was how others looked. She was changing, and though consumed by many different emotions, including sadness, hate, insecurity and a lack of confidence, she remained practical. She knew she couldn’t spend forever waiting for Tom, and she knew that sooner or later she would need to find a man to take care of her.
Shmitty stared at his mistress as she continued to shovel ice cream into her mouth. Shmitty, poor Shmitty, she thought. Tom had not only abandoned and left her, he had also left Shmitty. The poor animal had no idea what had happened to his master. He had no idea why they had left their former home and, thought Kelly, had no idea why he was no longer able to run in the park with his friends, the dogs belonging to The Gordonston Ladies Dog Walking Club.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Ignatius had slept intermittently for a few hours. He looked down from his bed and saw that Chalky was still at his side. His dreams had been fueled by his memories, and he had dreamt of May, Pete Ferguson and Chalky. A result, no doubt, of his reminiscing and the potent painkilling drugs he was taking to ease the horrendous pain caused by the cancer eating away inside him. He reached for one before lying back onto his bed, his eyes staring at the ceiling, and his memories once again fresh. He closed his eyes; it had been seventeen years ago.
* * * * *
Peter Ferguson and Ignatius had arranged to meet at Pete’s hotel, a quaint Bed and Breakfast, named the Dresser Palmer House, located on Gaston Street, in downtown Savannah. Ignatius had walked the three miles from his home in Gordonston to the inn, which sat close to Forsyth Park and amongst the other fine homes which populated Savannah’s downtown and tourist districts.
The walk would do him good. Though he was suffering a broken heart, and had all but lost his will to live after May’s death, he was still fit enough to briskly stroll to meet his old friend. Ignatius arrived promptly at the hotel. Despite his prolonged grieving and depressed mental state, he was excited at the prospect of seeing his old friend. Peter was waiting for him in the sitting room of the elegant inn.
“Ignatius,” said Ferguson with a smile, as he gently grabbed his old friend and hugged him, “how long has it been? Twenty years? More? You look exactly the same,” continued Ignatius’s friend.
Ignatius Jackson smiled and shook his head. Young Pete Ferguson, a Lieutenant General, look at him, a little grayer than when he had last seen, a little fatter too, but here he was, dressed in an expensive looking business suit. For the first time in weeks, Ignatius smiled, and for a brief moment his depression, anguish and heartbreak evaporated as he embraced his old comrade.
“First of all, let me tell you how sorry and devastated I was when I heard about May. It was a shock, and please, accept my heartfelt condolences. She was a good woman, a great woman, and you have my utmost sympathies. I can only imagine the pain and suffering you are feeling.”
Ignatius smiled. He knew his friend’s words were genuine, and he had appreciated them.
“I am doing as well as can be expected I guess,” he lied. “Thank you, Pete, for the kind words, May would have appreciated them. She was always fond of you.”
“I am just sorry I wasn’t here sooner. Sorry I didn’t come for the funeral. I didn’t know. I didn’t find out until, well, you know, until I called,” explained Pete.
Ignatius nodded and forced a smile. He understood. How would any of his old friends and comrades have known about his wife’s death? It wasn’t exactly news. There had been an obituary in the Savannah Morning News, but that had been it.
“Thank you, Pete, or should I call you sir?” joked Ignatius, referring to his former subordinate’s high military rank which he had attained before his retirement from the military.
Peter laughed, before replying, “You know, it was me who always called you sir, when we served — the best commanding officer I ever had.”
The retired General suggested they sit in the elegantly furnished and decorated sitting room, adorned with paintings and expensive furniture. “Nice place,” commented Ignatius as he sat. The room, apart from the two men, was empty; in fact, the whole inn was deserted. All other guests were either sightseeing or conducting organized tours of the Hostess City. The innkeeper was away on errands. They were quite alone.
Ignatius enquired about Peter’s family. His friend’s wife and May had been good friends, and when they had known each other; often the two couples would dine together. His friend told him he and his wife had divorced several years ago, but he was sure that she was fine, especially after the alimony settlement she had received. For about an hour the two men recounted stories of their past, both mentioning names and characters that the other had long forgotten. Ignatius, for the first time since May’s death, actually felt happy.
“Look, Ignatius,” said Ferguson as he leaned in closer to his friend, checking over his shoulder that no one was in earshot. As the inn was deserted, he needn’t have checked, but he did so anyway, his caution not going unnoticed by Ignatius.
“I am going to be honest. My being here, in Savannah, isn’t a coincidence. I came here to see you and to speak to you. There is no ‘other’ business. I came because I have something I want to discuss with you. Something that I hope you will take seriously and, I am hoping, not be offended by.”
“Okay,” said Ignatius, intrigued by his friend’s statement, “I am all ears.”
“As I explained, I now work in the private sector. I know I told you that it was a security-based position, which I suppose it is, but my job is much, much more than that. My employers have many divisions, many subsidiaries; they are ‘facilitators’; they get things done, for a price. They take care of things. I will be honest, I am not even sure who I work for, but I know we have contracts, contracts from the government, but, as I have been told a thousand times, I am just a small cog within a very big wheel.”
Ignatius sat back in his chair and eyed his friend with curiosity. “Facilitators? What do you actually mean by facilitators? What is it you facilitate?”
Ferguson took a deep breath. “I work for a company known as the ‘Organization’. They go by many different names; some are folklore, myth, even exaggerated, but I assure you that they are real. Some of our clients are wealthy individuals, and…” Ferguson once again looked around him, checking no one could overhear their conversation “…and even governments. We have sub contracted work for not only individuals but countries. This country, Ignatius, one of our clients is the CIA.”
Ignatius shuffled in his seat and looked skyward before returning his gaze towards his friend. He had heard of ‘organizations’ before. They carried out ‘Black Ops’, ‘Deniable Incursions’ and ‘Unauthorized Operations’. It was common knowledge, to Ignatius anyway, that there were ‘organizations’ who worked ‘off the record’ and ‘under the radar’, on behalf of governments.
“I am what is known as ‘The Director’. I am the one responsible for fitting our guys for a certain job,” explained Ferguson.
“Job?” interrupted Ignatius. “What type of job?”
“Job, as in contract, as in,” once again Peter Ferguson looked around him, confirming that the two old friends were alone, “as in hits”.
Ignatius whistled, amazed at what he was hearing. He sat back in his chair and smiled. So that was how Pete Ferguson afforded his flashy suit, the alimony he paid his wife, his flashy cars, his apartment in Manhattan, his town house in DC and his beach house in Miami.
“Oh, come on, Ignatius, don’t act so surprised. You must realize that ‘off the grid’ things happen. They happened back when we were serving, and they still happen today. You know what I am talking about. Look at history, look at the world; there is dirty work to do and somebody has to do it.” Peter Ferguson leaned back in his chair. “And I guess that someone is me.”
Ignatius stared at his old friend. “It isn’t that I am surprised. I assure you I
am not. I am just surprised at how you found yourself such a cushy job? I am just surprised because the Pete Ferguson I knew, back in the day, was a straight-up guy, a stickler for order. It isn’t this ‘Organization’ that surprises me. It’s the fact you are involved. Let me get this straight,” continued Ignatius, “you basically organize hit men to kill people. That, basically, is your job. I am correct?”
Peter Ferguson nodded.
“And you have both private clients and ‘other’ clients, who may, or may not be, working for governments, who subcontract your ‘Organization’ to carry out assassinations on their behalf?”
Ferguson nodded again. “Correct; I guess that’s about the sum of it.”
Ignatius put his finger to this lip and tapped it slowly before speaking again. “Peter, are you asking me to hire your ‘Organization’ to kill the man who murdered my wife? Don’t bullshit me, son, I know you knew May was dead before you called, and if you are working for this ‘Organization’ I am sure you have eyes and ears everywhere. You know all about TJ Robertson, May’s accident and the bull crap stunt they pulled, don’t you?”
Ferguson laughed and shook his head. “No, Ignatius, I am not trying to get you to hire us. I am not a salesman, give me some credit. I am offering you a job; to join the ‘Organization’; to replace me as the Director. You would be ideal. I know you may need some time to think about this, and of course I know this has come as a surprise, but I will be honest, you are the only man I trust.”
Ignatius studied his friend before replying. “So, you are retiring?”
“No,” replied Ferguson, “I will be the one in charge, your boss, but that’s as much as you will ever know. We will never be able to socialize together, be seen together and our communicating will be over secure telephone and internet connections. It’s a big ask, I know, but I promise you, I swear on the memory of May, that no matter what, I will protect you. You will be immune from any investigation or prosecution, there would be no link back to you, and I would not ask you, Ignatius, unless I had covered all eventualities.”
Unleashed - The Gordonston Ladies Dog Walking Club Part 2 Page 5