by N. M. Brown
Despite his mind still being shrouded in the remnants of the tranquilliser, he was vaguely aware the building was large and dark, stretching perhaps twenty feet in all directions around him. As his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, Charlie twisted his head from side to side, trying to locate some point of reference. He could distinguish large grey squares attached to the distant walls. Each of these squares seemed to feature a regular pattern of dark spots. Something about this pattern seemed familiar to Charlie, and he had to search through the fog of his mind to find the association.
The terror rose within him when he realised that the walls were lined with sheets of egg cartons. Eleven years earlier, Charlie had played bass guitar in a couple of bands in his senior year at Oceanside High School. On Tuesday afternoons, he and the other guys would rock out in a small practice room lined with the same type of egg cartons. It seemed so remarkable to him at the time that, outside of the room, no sound could be heard, even when the guitars were screaming out within.
The realisation that the walls of his prison had been sound-proofed triggered Charlie’s second wave of terror. He had to get out of this place, regardless of how numb his limbs felt, but as he attempted to move his legs and arms, he found himself unable to. For a moment, he wondered if he was actually paralysed – however, his hands moved freely below the wrist. Charlie shifted his trembling head enough to see his hands were attached by orange cable ties to the table, which felt hard and cold beneath his sweating skin.
It was then he began to comprehend he was not lying on some makeshift surface; it was a stainless steel table, like those found in surgeries or industrial kitchens.
Charlie’s final stage of terror came when he twisted around far enough to see what was located over each of his shoulders. There were two black tripods. One featured a large black video camera on which a small red LED light was blinking; the other held a massive light bulb surrounded by the type of white umbrella used by photographers. As he realised the horror of his situation, Charlie began to thrash crazily against his unforgiving restraints until his face was scarlet, dripping with sweat, and his heart was hammering against his ribcage. If he hoped to have any chance of escape, he would have to calm down and try to think clearly.
Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and expelled the air as slowly as he could. This started to have a calming effect, so he repeated the breathing exercise, focusing purely on inhaling and exhaling. After several moments, he felt his heart return to an almost regular pace. As he calmed down and opened his eyes, Charlie was overcome by the feeling that he was being watched.
‘Ah good, you’re awake,’ said an excited voice from the darkness. ‘Now, we can get started…’
Chapter Twenty
The evening sun was setting as Leighton pulled his car off the road and parked on a communal lot of the Oceanside housing complex. The location was essentially a two-storey condominium of eight beachside homes.
As he wrenched on the parking brake, Leighton glanced around. His car looked conspicuously grubby as it sat uncomfortably amongst the Porches and BMWs. This made Leighton smile proudly. He pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket and checked the address. When he had picked up Vicki the previous week, he collected her from the car park and therefore avoided having to approach the formidable white block of homes. This time was different. Having checked the property number, he stuffed the paper back in his jacket, walked to the trunk of his car, opened it, and took out two white paper bags.
Leighton traversed the path to the apartment and pressed the doorbell, shifting from foot to foot as he nervously waited.
After a few minutes, the door opened.
‘Hi,’ Vicki said looking slightly confused.
Leighton thought she looked tired, and maybe something else too.
‘Hey,’ he greeted her. ‘I’m sorry for just showing up like this. I wanted to apologise. I tried calling for a couple of days…’
‘It’s not a great time, detective. I get why you’re here.’ She rubbed her temples. “I get it – I was stupid, okay?”
Leighton’s expression became uncharacteristically soft. ‘Hey, it’s fine,’ he said. ‘I just wanted to see you – to say I’m sorry about Monday.’
Vicki looked at him for a moment, then sighed.
‘It’s okay, come on in.’
She walked ahead, leaving Leighton to close the large door behind him.
Vicki didn’t turn around as she led him along a small hallway to a large open plan room with patio doors opening to a beach front balcony. Leighton’s eyes widened at the impressive view of the orange sky above the pounding ocean.
‘Have a seat.’ Vicki waved a hand towards the two red sofas.
‘I brought you this.’ Leighton held up one of the bags.
‘What is it?’ Vicki frowned inquisitively.
‘That stuff you said you liked from Thai Garden – fried tofu and spring rolls. Is that right?’
‘Wow.’ Vicki’s eyes widened. ‘That was really thoughtful of you…’
This simple act was too much for Vicki, who was unable to hold back the tears that began forming beneath her eyes.
‘My father died,’ she said quietly. Her shoulders slumped and hot tears began pouring over her face.
‘Oh no, I’m sorry.’ Leighton dropped the bags, moved over to Vicki and held her. ‘I’ll go.’
For a few moments, she stayed there, sobbing against the comforting man, letting her hot tears wet his shirt.
‘I’ll go,’ he said softly again as her heaving slowed and began to subside.
‘No,’ she said, pushing back from him, and wiping at her face. ‘It’s okay. You’re just the first person I’ve told.’
‘Do you want to speak about it?’
Vicki wiped at her red eyes with her sleeve. ‘I guess.’
‘Where’s your mother?’ Leighton asked quietly.
‘Still in the city – she has the US MaxFac Conference this week. She said she’ll aim to stop by next Friday.’
‘But what about the funeral? Won’t she be around for that?’
‘There won’t be one.’ Vicki shrugged dismissively. ‘My father was a member of the Natural Burial Foundation. He paid nine hundred to bucks to get buried wrapped in banana leaves in an undisclosed location.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘Unfortunately, yes.’ Vicki said with a sad smile.
‘I don’t suppose you’ll feel much like this.’ Leighton looked at the bags on the floor.
‘Actually, I’m starving. I’ve not eaten for a couple of days. I’ll get us some plates.’
‘Us?’
‘Yeah, looks like you’ve brought enough for a small army there.’
Leighton blushed. ‘They had a few types; I didn’t know which one you’d prefer.’
Vicki smiled, though her face was still wet from crying.
‘It’s only the tub of sauce that’s different. You could have got one box of fried tofu and a couple of extra sauces. How many boxes did you get?’
‘Four.’ Leighton looked shamefully at his feet.
‘Then you’re definitely eating too!’
Vicki went to through to a dimly lit kitchen area and returned with two glossy white plates. She knelt on the floor and divided the crispy tofu and a portion of noodles between the two of them.
‘I must confess, I’ve never tasted tofu before.’
‘Don’t worry, it’s nothing bad.’
‘What’s it like?’
‘Just try it.’
Vicki handed him a plate and went back to the kitchen, returning with two chilled bottles of imported beer. Sitting cross-legged on the floor next to Leighton, she watched as he took his first tentative bite.
He looked upwards as he chewed and despite his reservations, he found he liked it.
‘Well?’ Vicki asked.
‘Pretty good. Kind of like calamari, only softer.’
‘See, I knew you were a gentleman of taste.’
; Leighton picked up his cool bottle and held it out to her. Toasting before sipping was a sacred ritual amongst all officers. Station houses were full of urban legends of officers who fell in the line of duty after they had forgotten to toast in a bar the previous evening.
‘Cheers,’ Leighton said.
Vicki clicked her green bottle against Leighton’s, and they both took a gulp.
They ate in comfortable silence, but when Leighton noticed Vicki beginning to stare into the distance, he recognised a look he had often seen in his bathroom mirror.
‘You know you can tell me about him if you want?’
Vicki look startled for a second, then smiled. ‘How did you…’
‘It’s a retired cop slash grieving father thing.’ Leighton focused his attention on a piece of food, but was intently hoping Vicki would trust him.
‘There’s not much to tell.’ She sighed. ‘I still don’t feel it yet. It’s weird – because he’s been kind of distant for most of my adult life. Maybe I had less to lose.’
‘Loss is loss.’
‘I guess. Though, it sounds like something my dad would learn on his hippy retreats.’
Leighton looked at Vicki for a moment. Now, it was his turn to do some trusting – something he found difficult.
‘You know, I never saw much of my daughter, Annie, once she hit high school,’ he chuckled wryly. ‘It was as if one minute we were making ant farms in the backyard, the next she was sneaking out her bedroom window at midnight. It felt like I was suddenly cut out; I wanted to be involved, to keep her safe, but I guess for her it was suffocating. After her mother… left, I found myself trying to be Mom and Dad… and failing at both.’
‘But you loved her.’
‘Yes, I did – with all my heart, but…’ Leighton looked at the floor.
‘But?’
‘I’m not sure that’s what she would have thought.’
‘Why?’ Vicki asked as she shuffled slightly closer.
Leighton smiled and shrugged. ‘That last year, our conversations were almost always just arguments. Did I love her? Yes. Was I proud of my baby girl? Hell, yes.’ Leighton’s voice cracked. ‘But I didn’t know how to shoehorn these things into the everyday conversation. It’s not easy to set boundaries and show love, and hold down a job and muddle through life at the same time.’
‘I know, but some manage it,’ Vicki said defiantly.
‘That’s true, but some people win the state lottery. Doesn’t mean we all can. Look, I just mean, maybe you shouldn’t judge your father by what he didn’t say.’
‘So, you think my father loved me?’ As Vicki spoke, she met Leighton’s gaze.
‘Yes, I’m sure he loved you, very much.’
‘Maybe, but he never said so. I mean, he called me “sweetheart”, but never anything sincere.’
‘That might be true,’ Leighton conceded. ‘But did you always tell your father how you felt?’
Vicki reluctantly shook her head and chewed on her bottom lip.
‘We don’t always say what we feel. That’s the messed-up thing about humans.’
There was a moment of silence, in which they both felt the rich comfort of each other’s presence.
‘No, I guess not. So, you want a fresh beer?’ Vicki held up her empty bottle.
‘I’m good here, thanks.’ Leighton smiled and patted his stomach.
‘Mind if I do?’
‘Not at all.’
Vicki leapt up, leaving Leighton dipping some more fried food into a circular tub of chilli sauce. When she returned, she held two more beers. Ignoring Leighton’s protests, she handed him one and flopped on a cushion on the floor beside him.
‘So you came over here to apologise, eh?’
‘Yeah, I overreacted. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you.’
‘Thanks. Consider yourself forgiven. Tofu works every time.’
‘Listen, Vicki, I also found out some stuff that paints a different light on the case.’
‘What, about Laurie?’
‘I can fill you in later. You have enough to deal with now.’
‘Leighton,’ Vicki said firmly, ‘God knows I need a distraction now more than ever.’
He looked at her for a long moment. ‘Well, I asked a friend to get me the CCTV camera footage of the bus you saw arrive at the depot. Did you see the front of the bus that afternoon?’
‘Yeah, I mean, I think so.’
‘Can you remember what it said?’
‘Not really,’ Vicki said, as she rubbed her temple again. ‘San Diego, San Francisco, maybe.’
Leighton picked up the envelope from the floor beside him, took out a photograph and handed it to Vicki. ‘Does this look like the bus you saw?’
Vicki peered at the black and white image for a moment and then nodded.
‘Well, the thing is that this bus has “San Diego” displayed on the front, but it never went there, or to any of the places on the route to there.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Traffic Control cameras cover the entire city. My friend obtained images from thirty-two cameras covering the routes north and south for the hour following the departure of that bus from the depot. Only those cameras covering the bus depot captured that bus.’
‘So maybe it’s still here in the city?’ Vicki suggested.
‘Maybe, but I believe your bus showed up at Oceanside and then turned right around again.’
‘But, why would it do that?’
‘Well, the section of road up to Vegas isn’t covered by any cameras.’
‘No, I mean, why would it do that?’
‘If something bad had happened…’
‘Like what?’ Vicki locked her unblinking eyes on to Leighton’s. ‘I want you to say it.’
Leighton looked to the open patio window, where the rhythmic waves continued their infinite motion. When he looked back, he found Vicki’s eyes still fixed on his, demanding honesty.
‘Like something bad happening on the bus,’ he said quietly.
‘What might that bad thing be?’ Vicki pushed again.
‘I don’t know,’ Leighton said.
‘But it could be some type of crime possibly?’
‘Yes.’ He eventually nodded. ‘It is looking like a possibility. And, yes I am sorry that I was so dismissive.’
‘Thank you.’
Leighton cleared the plates, cartons, and empty bottles to the kitchen area. Vicki brought her laptop and a pad of lined paper to the low coffee table. She sat on the floor and booted up the system.
‘Okay, where do we start?’ she said in a voice that sounded tinged with tiredness.
Leighton returned from the kitchen and sat beside her.
‘I’m not sure. What do you think?’ Leighton frowned as he locked his fingers together beneath his chin.
‘You’re the cop!’
‘I used to be,’ he corrected.
‘Okay, retired cop, whatever. Where would you start if this was your “official case”, given what you know already?’
Leighton looked intently at the photographs. They were stacked in a neat pile with the uppermost image being that of the front of the bus. Given the quality of the image, it was impossible to make out the licence plate, which, in any case, would probably be false.
‘We need to connect the bus to a person or persons. What about the web page you called up, advertising the service? Would a commercial company create that – someone on record?’
‘Not likely, it was just a page. However, I might be able to trace who the domain is registered to.’
‘The what?’
‘You know, how every website has an address – the “www” bit?’
Leighton rolled his eyes. ‘I’m not that far behind the times.’
‘Good,’ Vicki said, as she began typing into her laptop. ‘In order to use that address, a site creator has to register his or her site. If I can reveal how the site was created, I might be able to find a name.’
&nb
sp; ‘Okay, what should I do while you’re working your technological voodoo?’
‘You could make us some coffee. I already had a couple of beers before you arrived. I couldn’t sleep at all last night – I figured they might help, but I’m feeling a bit droopy now.’
‘At least your plan’s working,’ Leighton smiled. ‘You do look pretty tired.’
‘I can’t rest now. I will maybe once the software is running.’
Leighton nodded then quietly did as he was told. He knew there was an expanding virtual universe which one day would engulf him, but for the moment, he intended to stay away from that place as long as possible. Despite his urge to take a lead role in the hunt for Laurie Taylor, he was content to take a step back and allow Vicki to perform her alchemy – turning digital bytes into information he could use in the real world.
He returned, cups in hand, to find Vicki had used a short cable to connect a small flat metal box to her computer.
‘What’s that do?’ he asked as he sat beside her.
‘It’s the memory from Laurie’s laptop. The original website has been taken down, but I can access a snapshot of it still held in the temporary files.’
‘Like our memories?’
‘Yeah, pretty much. Only this one doesn’t fade with time.’
For a moment, Leighton and Vicki glanced at each other and felt the shared connection of unspoken loss.
Vicki then looked back at the laptop, clicked on a couple of buttons and launched a program called “Sniffer”. Within a few seconds, rows of numbers began racing across the screen. Moments later, a list of web pages opened in a new window. Vicki ran her cursor down them and clicked on the bottom one, causing the Route King checkout page to open.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘This is the bus company page, so let’s see if we can link to it a person.’
She clicked on the window and the picture vanished, only to be replaced by rows of numbers and words.
‘What’s happened?’ Leighton leant suddenly forward. ‘Have you lost it?’
‘No.’ Vicki smirked. ‘It’s meant to do that. I’m viewing it as code.’