The Body in the Boot: The first 'Mac' Maguire mystery

by Patrick C Walsh

‘Who?’ Mac asked.

  ‘The idiots who voted against CCTV. It would have made our job a bit easier.’

  ‘I’m not so sure,’ Mac said. ‘Our man was wearing a baseball cap, what does that tell you?’

  ‘He wasn’t sure if there were cameras. A baseball cap, peak pulled down, will cover your face nicely.’

  A young lady clutching a large brown envelope approached them.

  ‘DS Thakkar?’ she asked hesitantly.

  ‘Are you the young lady from the lettings agency?’ Adil asked.

  She nodded and Adil showed her his warrant card.

  She passed him a large brown envelope and said, ‘My card’s in there too if you need anything else.’

  ‘Before you go can tell me how Mr. Brody paid his rent?’ Dan asked.

  ‘By cash, monthly,’ she replied.

  ‘Isn’t that unusual?’

  ‘I suppose so but it does happen from time to time.’

  Dan thanked her.

  Adil passed the envelope to Dan who pulled out some of the documents and quickly scanned them.

  ‘According to this our man’s name is, guess what, Mark Brody and yes, here’s a photocopy of his passport which is Hungarian. Mark Brody, doesn’t sound like a Hungarian name does it? He paid a deposit of three thousand in cash just over eight months ago and he was paying just over thirteen hundred a month also in cash. I’ll get Martin to see if there’s any bank accounts in that name but I won’t be holding my breath.’

  He replaced the documents back in the envelope and said, ‘Come on, we’re not getting anywhere standing around here.’

  They walked down the stairs and the team assembled around Dan in the car park.

  ‘Everyone back to the station. I need to update the boss so grab a bite to eat and we’ll meet up at two o’clock.’

  On the way back Mac commented, ‘Strange name for a Hungarian passport isn’t it? Tommy can you get the number of that food shop for me?’

  A few minutes later Mac found himself once again talking to Mr. Meszaros.

  When he’d finished Dan asked, ‘Well?’

  ‘Surprisingly Mark Brody actually is a Hungarian name. I guess he picked it because it sounds like a British name as well, works for both countries.’

  Back at the station Mac and Tommy headed for the canteen. Dan went off to debrief his boss.

  ‘What do you think we’ll do next?’ Tommy asked.

  Mac gave it some thought.

  ‘Personally I’m certain that the suicide was staged. Beyond that the main evidence that our man wasn’t in this alone is the hibernation drug, then there’s the tall man in the hallway and the fact that the flat was cleaned out. We still don’t know where the girls were kept and why they were abducted in the first place. We also don’t know where Matyas got his money from, he certainly didn’t make enough to rent such a stylish flat when he first visited the UK, so who was paying him and what were they paying him to do? He was also researching pharmaceutical companies and I know there’s at least one very big one in Stevenage and probably more. Perhaps he was working with one of those, anyway more than enough grey areas to warrant continuing the investigation.’

  Tommy, struck by what Mac had said, stopped eating for a moment.

  ‘Do you mean that there is a chance that the investigation might be stopped?’

  ‘Only a small one hopefully.’

  But why?’ Tommy seemed mystified.

  ‘Solving seven murders at one go sure will make the figures look better.’

  ‘I never thought of it that way,’ Tommy said.

  ‘Let’s hope your boss’s boss doesn’t think of it that way too.’

  The team waited silently for Dan at the appointed hour. As soon as he walked in Mac knew it was bad news.

  ‘The boss is suspending the investigation as of now. He’s happy that our man was solely responsible for the murders and, of course, the improved crime figures have nothing to do with it. Sorry team, there’s no point in having a discussion the boss has made it crystal clear that his decision won’t be changed unless something earth shattering turns up in the forensics reports. It’s been a long few days, go home and get some rest and I’ll give you your new assignments on Monday. Have a good weekend or what’s left of it.’

  The team disappointedly shuffled out.

  Dan came over and shook hands.

  ‘So that’s it?’ Mac said.

  ‘Yes that’s it. Apparently there are some high profile burglaries that need looking into.’

  ‘Burglaries?’

  Mac’s face clearly showed his disdain.

  ‘Probably some of his golf chums. Sorry I’ve got such a short sighted boss Mac but I’ve really enjoyed working with you.’

  ‘Me too, Dan. It’s been a real pleasure.’

  Dan turned to walk away but then turned back again.

  ‘Mac if you think of anything let me know, especially anything that might help re-open the case.’

  ‘You sound like you haven’t totally given up then?’

  Dan shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘I still want to crack this case, Mac, no matter what my boss says. Keep in touch.’

  ‘I will,’ Mac promised.

  Dan looked at his watch.

  ‘Just in time to go shopping with the wife’, he said, looking grumpy again.

  As he drove back Mac found himself feeling quite sad. When he got back he phoned Tim and arranged for an evening session at the Magnets. He felt as though the sudden end to the investigation had left him dangling and he just didn’t know what to do next. Oh well, he thought, a few pints and Tim’s company might cheer him up.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Sunday 11th January

  Mac was immersed in a strange dream where he was running after a police car. It was an old police car, a panda car they used to call them, and he hadn’t seen one since his childhood. He’d catch up and be almost touching the car when it would move away from him again. But he didn’t mind that at all. He revelled in the fact that he was running, the swift confident movement of his limbs and the feeling of the wind on face. It was the feeling of freedom. Then he woke up.

  He lay there for a moment trying hard to hold on to that feeling but it quickly melted away. His legs felt numb and useless. With a deep sadness he knew he’d never run again. He slowly sat up and then stood up waiting for the bolt of pain which thankfully didn’t come. He looked at his alarm clock, it was ten o’clock. He felt a little hung over and remembered his session with Tim. It had been a good night.

  But now it was a Sunday and he had nothing to do. While he made coffee he remembered that Tim had told him that he’d fixed him up with a client. They’d be at his office at ten o’clock on Monday morning. Mac had tried to get Tim to tell him more and had failed miserably so he knew he’d just have to wait until tomorrow.

  He glanced out the window into the garden and noticed that the bird feeders were empty. Nora would never have allowed that. Mac got the bag of bird seed and fat balls out and filled up the receptacles. He then scattered some seed on the ground as Nora always said that some birds preferred it that way. By the time he’d made it back inside a cheeky red robin was already pecking away at the scattered seed. It made Mac smile.

  He watched more birds assemble around the feeders while he drank his coffee. Without him ever thinking about it his mind started ranging over the case. A sudden thought occurred to him, there was at least one thing he could do today.

  The drive to Luton was easy in the Sunday traffic. The hospital ward wasn’t quite as frenetic as it had been last time he’d visited. He looked at the patients’ names on the white board and couldn’t see Hetty’s. Mac had a very bad feeling for a moment until he asked a nurse who assured him that Hetty had improved and been moved to another ward.

  The ward was unfortunately quite a walk away. When Mac looked through the glass panel in the door he could see Janet Lewinton by the side of a bed reading from a book. He had to admire her determina
tion.

  ‘Mrs. Lewinton?’ Mac said as he approached the bed.

  ‘Why it’s Mr. Maguire. How are you?’ she asked with a smile.

  Mac thought she looked tired.

  ‘Never mind me, how is Hetty?’

  ‘Getting better I believe. They say she’s slowly coming round but they’re still not sure yet how much damage has been done.’

  Mac looked down at Hetty. She looked very pretty and had a childlike quality about her as she slept. He had to admit that she looked better than he’d expected.

  ‘There’s still hope then?’

  ‘Yes there’s still hope Mr. Maguire, there’s always hope.’

  ‘I take it you heard that we think we found the man who did this to Hetty? That he’s dead?’

  ‘Yes, it was on the news but I must admit I can’t get angry about him.’

  Mac was intrigued.

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘When I saw Hetty on that slab it wasn’t that much of a surprise. Just happened a bit earlier than I thought it would, that’s all. The way she’d been going, the drugs, the life she led, she’d have ended up there sooner or later. This way there might be a chance. If she comes round she’ll have been off drugs for quite a while, she might have a real go at leading another life, the one I wanted for her.’

  Mac hadn’t thought of it that way but he had to admit that she had a point. He left after Janet had promised to let him know if there was any change.

  The car almost drove itself to the Europeast food shop. He told himself he should try some of the foods that made such a lovely aroma every time he’d walked in but he knew he was just kidding himself. He was still on the case. Mr. Meszaros was once again at his station behind the deli counter.

  ‘Good day Mr. Maguire. What can I do for the police?’

  ‘I’m not a policeman today Mr. Meszaros. Today I’ve come to buy some of your wonderful looking food. What can you recommend?’

  ‘I’ll put together a little taster package that I do for people who want to try our food.’

  He took out a sheet of clear plastic and began assembling slices of sausages, cheese and some other stuff that Mac couldn’t identify. He wrapped this up carefully and put it in a bag. He then took a plastic cup and placed three small pickled cucumbers inside and fitted a lid.

  He handed them to Mac and said, ‘There you go, a snack fit for a king.’

  As Mac was paying he said, ‘I suppose you heard about Sandor on the news yesterday?’

  ‘I did. My uncle came running downstairs all breathless, I thought he was having a heart attack but I finally got it out of him. A very bad business all round.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you or your uncle have thought of anything new since?’

  Mr. Meszaros slowly shook his head.

  ‘Sorry no. My uncle was surprised though when he heard that Sandor was originally from Ukraine. He said he was so sure he’d been born in Budapest.’

  ‘Yes he was good at fooling people, wasn’t he?’

  ‘So that’s over anyway,’ Mr. Meszaros observed.

  ‘Yes that’s over.’

  Mac only wished it was.

  He drove home and tried to think of what he could do for the rest of the day. Unfortunately Tim had a stall at a market over the other side of Hertfordshire so he was unavailable until the evening. As it was the decision was taken out of Mac’s hands.

  The simple action of stepping out of the car caused a huge spasm of pain to grip his back. He must have blacked out for a moment because he found himself on his knees with no idea how he’d gotten there. The pain receded just long enough for him to get in the house when it hit him again. This was the worst of all the types of pain that Mac experienced. It felt as though all the muscles in his lower back were locked in a cramp and it was absolutely unbearable. He had to wait a number of minutes before the pain receded enough for him to get into the kitchen. He found his face was wet with tears.

  He finally made it to the kitchen, threw his shopping in the fridge, and quickly took two little blue pills and put on another pain patch. The blue pills normally took about half an hour to knock him out and he always slept for at least twelve hours afterwards. He desperately hoped that this would be the case today.

  He stumbled to his bed and threw his clothes on the floor. He hesitated for a second before lying down, the pain always got worse before it got better. This time was no different but he was still surprised when a loud grunt left his lips. He knew he just had to hold on and it would soon get better. It was probably his own fault anyway, he told himself. He’d been doing more than he should and there was always a payback. The pain gripped him again but it wasn’t quite so bad this time. After what seemed an age he gratefully drifted off into a dream filled sleep.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Monday 12th January

  He awoke and for a while he had no idea what day it was. It was dark outside. He looked over at the alarm clock and the luminous dial told him it was six thirty but he didn’t know whether it was six thirty in the evening or the morning. Then he remembered the pain and said a little prayer that it had gone away.

  He lay there for a while but he knew he had to move eventually as he desperately needed to pee. He slowly sat up, so far so good, and then stood up and checked his pain levels. A remnant was still there but it was only a faint echo of the agonising pain that had stopped him in his tracks.

  He stumbled to the toilet, leaning on the wall as he went as his left leg wasn’t quite doing as ordered, and was grateful to release the pressure on his bladder. He wondered if he should go back to bed but he felt so wide awake that he thought he’d at least have a drink before trying. He poured himself a large orange juice and swallowed it in one gulp. He had to pour some more to drink with his pill. He turned the radio on in the kitchen and was amazed to find that it was Monday morning. The little blue pills had done far more than he’d expected, he must have been asleep for nearly eighteen hours. He figured with all the running around he’d been doing recently he probably needed it.

  He took off the oldest patch and made himself a pot of coffee. After he’d had a cup he then showered and shaved. While he was shaving he thought about the mysterious client he was due to meet in just over three hours and felt glad he had something to do with his day.

  He poured himself another cup of coffee and turned on the TV. The third item was the news that Bedfordshire Police had caught a serial killer responsible for at least the death of seven people. Mac saw Dan’s boss standing at the microphone thanking the team who had done such wonderful work. One reporter asked him if he thought Oleksandr Shevcheko had committed suicide because he knew the police were hot on his trail. He replied that it was highly likely and, although he had escaped the full punishment for his crimes, good solid police work had ensured he wouldn’t kill again. He could see Dan standing behind his boss rolling his eyes heavenwards. He obviously didn’t agree.

  He knew that unfortunately he’d be chewing on this for weeks to come. He’d never been good with unsolved cases and somewhere in his head he was desperately hoping that he might be able to come up with something that would open it up again. He took his time drinking his second cup and found it was a quarter to eight when he next looked at the clock. Mac had an idea.

  He remembered seeing it advertised in the Magnets ‘Breakfast from 8 a.m.’ so he thought why not? He was standing outside when one of the staff opened the pub for business. It was a barmaid he knew, she looked a bit bleary eyed.

  ‘Bit tired this morning are we Kate?’ Mac asked, as he waited at the bar to order his meal.

  ‘Yes had to fill in last night, they were two staff short. Didn’t get to bed until after two,’ she explained. ‘You’re looking quite wide awake though. Don’t see you here so early normally.’

  ‘Got to bed after twelve myself, so I had a few hours more,’ he said, not mentioning the fact that it was after twelve noon.

  He ordered the big breakfast, suddenly hungry as he reme
mbered he hadn’t eaten at all the day before. He ordered another coffee to go and was in his office before nine o’clock.

  He stood at the window and sipped his drink as he looked out at the comings and goings in the large car park at the rear of his building. The day was overcast and grey. Staff from the council offices were parking up their cars and trudging wearily off into another Monday morning.

  Tim said his client wouldn’t arrive before ten but he liked being early anyway. He wondered what his client might be like and then thought about his recent brief taste of police work. It had shown him what he’d been missing these six months and he began doubting whether being a private detective could ever make up for not working as a policeman. His thoughts were interrupted by a flash of yellow appearing around the corner as a Porsche sports car, brakes squealing, pulled up abruptly outside his window. A woman got out and, without bothering to lock the car, made her way to his back door. All he could see was her long, blonde hair swirling in the breeze. His client was early.

  She came in and glanced around the room without making eye contact. She turned her back, stood in the exact spot Mac had been standing in a few seconds before and gazed out of the window. He sat down behind his desk and gave her the time she obviously needed.

  He studied her closely. Blonde hair, an expensive cut he’d guess. Designer clothes too, really good quality and made to measure, her slim figure showing them off to advantage. It didn’t require any detective skills to figure out that, between the car and the clothes, she must have some serious money.

  ‘You used to be a policeman,’ she said without turning.

  Her voice was cut-glass English upper class.

  ‘Yes I used to be a policeman.’

  The woman turned around. Mac guessed she was in her late twenties and quite pretty if her face hadn’t been contorted by some inner pain. He also noticed that her nails were bitten to the quick.

  ‘You solved some famous murders, I looked you up on the internet last night. I mean, I trust Tim, but I was curious. I read you had to retire because of ill health,’ she said glancing at Mac’s crutch balanced in the corner of the room.