by Andrea Drew
All clients believed they were different, confident their case was a unique and special one, without the faintest idea of how similar their problems were.
Unfaithful spouses, business associates hell bent on betrayal, reference checks on potential employees—most clients begged for his help, confident that once provided with proof, they'd have closure to a problem niggling at their frayed lives.
The reality turned out to be the complete opposite, one for one. They resented him, as he observed from the repeated rising voices and reddened faces which occurred with almost unfailing accuracy. Most people couldn't deal with reality and refused to believe the truth, even once he showed it in black and white. At least they were consistent. They attempted to shoot the messenger, sometimes literally.
It was time to get down to business, and get this interview with Elizabeth over quickly. Connor Reardon expected a rundown on the problem at hand. She was lucky to have an urgent appointment. He wondered how many investigators would not only accept a phone call at ten to midnight, but book in an appointment less than twelve hours later.
Elizabeth’s sheer persistence, reminded him of his fiancé, Gypsy Shields.
Three years earlier, he'd taken an extended leave of absence after Gypsy almost lost her life during an investigation. Strictly speaking, they didn’t work together, but Gypsy had through sheer persistence, got herself involved in prior investigations. Combined with his suspension the previous year from the Victorian Police Commissioner on a trumped-up thin allegation when he'd located Joanne Seyer’s, held captive at his parent's warehouse property, Connor had left in disgust. The accusation proved baseless and had eventually been thrown out but the damage was done. Combined with spending months at Gypsy's side as she recovered from a gunshot wound, he'd caved and submitted a request for a leave of absence, despite half-hearted pleadings.
The time had been right.
"I need you to do some digging" Elizabeth said.
"Go on."
"I got home Saturday, and found a message from my sister, Lauren, on my voice mail. She sounded distraught, panicky. I knew something was up straight away. She's usually so calm and organised and has the family activities planned to within an inch of their lives. She asked me if her and my niece could stay with us for a few days. But when I arrived, ready to collect them, Jarrod was home and said she'd already left, without her daughter." Elizabeth had lost most of the colour in her face, the pink tinge gone, replaced instead with an unhealthy pallor. "I asked where she'd gone and Jarrod got defensive, telling me she'd left him to take up with another man, which I don't believe for a minute. Elizabeth had never hinted at an affair, ever. She was loyal to a fault, not that he deserved it."
Maybe she had willingly disappeared. Connor waited, allowing Elizabeth to tell the rest of the tale. Getting clients to talk about private or embarrassing subjects was an art he'd unfortunately acquired with time. Although he enjoyed the perks of working for himself, occasionally the lure of a job where he didn't need to think tugged at him. A job packing boxes looked appealing about now.
He propped his right foot on his left knee, swinging his hips as he did so. "Jarrod obviously is her husband. And her daughter, you saw her?"
"Briefly. He barely opened the door. She hovered behind him looking worried and scared. My niece called out my name but by then the door was slammed shut. I'm sure the bastard is pleased about this. There never was much love lost between us."
"I see. If it's not an indelicate question, why do you need me?"
"Because he murdered her, that's why." For such a dramatic statement, Elizabeth Metcalfe seemed unperturbed, feathers barely ruffled. Her perfectly coiffed hair didn't move as she turned her head. Her handbag, reflected the sunlight streaming in through the front window.
"What makes you so sure of that? That's a fairly serious accusation."
"I'm fully aware of that fact. He claimed her things were gone and she'd left a note." She snorted. "We all know any idiot can forge a Dear John letter. If anyone was capable of something this evil, it's that pig. I never trusted him, not from the first time I met him. He isn't right in the head. He's dodgy, rotten to the core."
He stayed silent, unsure how to respond.
"Lauren would never leave her daughter, ever, I know she wouldn't."
"A lot of people say what they think they should say. Unfortunately, some parents do leave children behind if they're leaving an unbearable marriage."
Elizabeth’s face went red, and she lifted her behind up from the seat temporarily before sitting back down with a thump. "Not my Lauren! Never, ever! We talked about it, after a friend of ours left her husband."
"Did Lauren speculate?"
"What do you mean, speculate?"
Connor ran his fingers through his hair. Elizabeth just couldn’t accept that her sister would up and leave without a word. Rather than engage his services to track her down, she'd be better off hiring a counsellor. The last thing he needed right now was a loose cannon.
"Guessing. Maybe she told you what she would do in a similar situation."
"Oh, I see." Elizabeth fiddled with a pendant around her neck, a silver moon. "Well, she said that she couldn't understand why anyone would leave their child behind, especially if the partner was difficult." She paused, glaring at Connor, daring him to interrupt her. "She said that husbands come and go, but children are forever."
He wanted to say, don't hold back lady, say what you think, but thought better of it. No good alienating a potentially well-paying client until she'd said her piece.
He rearranged the papers on his desk, straightening the edges of an unruly pile.
He cleared his throat. "Well, Elizabeth, my rates are here, although being a woman who obviously does her research before hiring an investigator, I'm sure you already know them."
He pushed a sheet of paper across to her. She picked it up carefully, eyebrows raised.
She glanced at it before placing it back on the desk, looking back at him. "You're right. I'm aware of your rates. If we're going to work together, though, we need to clear something up. I get the impression you think I'm nuts."
"Sorry?" Connor loosened his tie.
"You know a screw loose, a sandwich short of a picnic, the lights are on and nobody is—"
"I'm familiar with the term. Look, there's a simple explanation for what's happened. Your sister left an unhappy marriage. I understand that she left your niece behind, which is surprising, shocking even, but I'm sure if you approach family services or the courts you can begin the process to gain access to your niece."
"But that could take months! By then, it will be too late, much too late. I need answers. We all do. My parents, they're frail, and this has been very hard on them. Mum had a stroke last year and Dad has heart problems. They're talking about a pacemaker now. If Lauren isn't found soon, I hate to think what will happen..." Her gaze wandered from him, to the desk, to the piece of paper lying forlorn and unwanted on the desk.
He didn’t like the way the conversation was going. "I'm sorry, but as I'm sure you are aware, this is more of a police matter, rather than something I can help with. I’m assuming you or her husband have reported her missing?"
"That's the whole problem. I plan to, but I haven't. The report would be lost for sure, ignored or filed in the circular file. A complete waste of time"
What an idiot.
Connor's chin dipped, and he turned from side to side on the office chair. Even though he'd attempted to knock her back, she wouldn't give up.
"How so? I can assure you the police are pretty thorough, considering what they have to work with."
Like lunatic dysfunctional families.
"I'm sure they are. The straight ones, that is." She said.
"I'm not following."
"That's the whole reason I came to you. I thought you knew that. Lauren's excuse for a husband, Jarrod Whitehouse, the old bastard, is a Senior Sergeant at eastern region police headquarters."
Cha
pter 2
Looking under Rocks
Being decidedly hungry, Connor knew he'd take on the case. Plus, the cat was out of the bag in regard to his Sentinel abilities, so it made sense to use them for a client who'd deliberately searched him out. Something was off in the woman's disappearance, primarily the fact that the missing woman’s husband was a senior member of police, combined with her husband's belief that she'd run off with her lover.
As a member of police, her husband had a duty to report her missing, unless of course, he didn't want colleagues to know about it. Probably an old-school cop who didn't want anyone to know he had a life. He knew the type; kids should be seen and not heard and women belonged in the kitchen. Hell, he'd run away if forced to live with someone like that. Plus, this was the first case he could remember as an investigator where it bordered on a criminal matter, a chance to use his skills as a detective.
He would hunt for evidence, especially for a client willing to foot the bill.
"If I'm going to take on the case, I'll need more information," he said.
"Such as?"
"Well, some basic info to start with." He pushed a form toward Elizabeth. "Full name, address, date of birth, employment details, and car registration."
"Okay." She pulled the form across the desk, picked up a pen, and began scratching out Lauren’s basic information.
"Social media details will help, also. I'll leave you to fill that out, then I'll come back and we'll talk for a bit longer. Can I get you a cup of tea or coffee?" Feeling generous, he decided the woman had money, and was nothing if not sold on his capabilities.
Elizabeth scribbled busily, and then momentarily lifted her head managing a halfhearted smile. "That would be lovely. Tea, white and one sugar, please."
She went back to the form.
Connor got up from his desk, climbed up the three steps, and headed for the kitchen. Gypsy remained, head down over her laptop on the dining room table, and he flicked on the kettle, preparing tea in two mugs. As the water boiled, he wondered about the case. A weird one. Sure, the husband and sister’s reasons sounded plausible—Jarrod because he knew she'd left him and didn't want the embarrassment of alerting others; Elizabeth because she wasn't convinced of the integrity of the missing persons department—but none of it rang true. Most family members would report a disappearance, at least twenty-four hours afterward, many of them attempting it sooner due to anxiety and worry. The only person that seemed anxious here was her sister. Where the hell was everybody else?
He wanted to run his musings past Gypsy, but remained quiet for now. His prospective client would probably overhear. Collecting the two mugs from the bench, he headed back to his desk, taking care not to slop the tea onto the floor as he went.
Back in his office, he bent at the knees and placed the mug of tea beside his soon-to-be client.
"Thank you," Elizabeth said, putting down her pen.
Connor took a seat at the other side of the desk. "I'm interested in your sister's movements. When was the last time you saw her?"
"Well, other than the phone call a few days ago, I last saw her two weeks ago at our parents’ place for a family get together."
"Did you notice any change in her behavior? Different appearance or mood?"
"Not really. She did talk about being worried about the finances after they refinanced the house a couple of months ago. Renovations, apparently. But she'd seemed to perk up, happier than usual over the last few weeks."
"What does she do for work?"
"She's a sales administrator at Brentwood plastics. Part time, three days a week." Elizabeth took a small sip of tea.
Obviously, she'd be absent from work. Time to take up another aspect.
"Is she active on social media?" Connor said.
"Not really." Elizabeth wiped her hands on her skirt. "Maybe once a fortnight, if that. Obviously, she hasn't posted for a while, but then that bastard's done god knows what to her." She spoke through gritted teeth.
"Well, if you can report her missing today, the police will investigate, and so will I. It really is the fastest way to track her down."
"If Laura has run away with some random guy, as Jarrod wants us to believe, why leave her car behind?'
"She didn't take it with her?"
"No. It's parked in her driveway. I drove past there today and saw it still in the driveway. If you were going to run off and have an affair, would you leave your car behind?"
"Probably not. I'll start with tracing her last movements, who saw her, finances, work, social media, that type of thing."
"Good. Here's the information you asked for.” Elizabeth pushed the form back to him. “It goes without saying if you have any other questions, you should call me, day or night. My sister means the world to me, to all of us."
"I will" he said, his mind already working through various possibilities.
Elizabeth stood up from her chair, grasping her handbag with tight white fingers.
"You'll report her missing today?" he said.
She frowned. "I said I will."
"Call another station if that makes you more comfortable. Here are my bank details with an approximate bill—a deposit will get the ball rolling." He handed her an invoice.
"Thank you. I'll process a payment when I get back to the computer at home."
She took the invoice and left the office, taking with her the sad remnants of a broken family.
After bidding her goodbye and closing the door, Connor headed through the doorway to enter the living area. Perhaps, if the wind blew the right way, he could run recent events by Gypsy, get her take on things, as they had in days gone by. Her ability to communicate with the dead made her useful, because if Lauren had been murdered, Gypsy would be the conduit through which he could talk to the victim.
He stepped through the L-shaped lounge room, dominated by the large painting on the wall, a feature they'd purchased just prior to the birth of their first child together Mark, a gift to themselves. At the time, it had signified a new chapter for them, a turning point, featuring buds amongst the bush, a beautiful cottage with a background of green and blue hills.
Gypsy was hunched over the laptop, her dark silky brown hair a veil. She bit at her lip as she pecked at the keys.
He stood with feet apart, directly in her line of sight, waiting for her to look up.
She didn't, or wouldn't.
He shoved his hands in his pockets, shifting his weight to his right hip. "Gypsy?"
She raised her head, hooking a section of dark brown hair over her right ear. "What?"
Like rose petals hanging on past their bloom, a gust of wind would send her flying off in any direction.
"That client knew I was a Sentinel."
She lifted her head. "Well, don't stare at me. I didn't blab. I'm practically climbing the walls, we rarely socialise these days, and I don't think Ryan or Christie are exactly gossips."
"Yeah," he said, hands on hips. "How did she find out then?"
"I don't know. Maybe you could add on a Sentinel surcharge?"
"Hilarious."
"I'm serious. You think it’s a dirty secret, something to fade into the background, but most people, like me, know it’s a valuable skill."
The last thing he wanted to do was open that can of worms, having asked his fiancé to keep a lid on her own abilities after she'd been shot. She shifted her focus back to the laptop.
He pulled back the dark brown chair back and slid onto it. He rested his forearms on the table and focused to give her his full attention.
"I need your help." He kept his tone quiet and, he hoped, neutral.
"What's new?" She had gone back to not looking at him.
"What's going on?"
"Nothing."
The silence stretched between them, until it became a thing, a buzzing mass of energy.
"Mrs. Reeves will be here in an hour. Helen Reeves. I thought we could have lunch, then you'd sit in the office with me while she's here."
"I'll go make lunch." He mumbled.
They'd been together for more than four years now and in that time, he’d learned when to pick his battles.
He headed back for the kitchen and opened the fridge door without seeing what was in there.
Shaking his head, he grabbed some ham, cheese, onions, and pasta. If he focused on the here and now, he'd get to the bottom of whatever was bugging her. He'd known of her tendency to fly off the handle when they met, but since Mark had come along, the same tendency had grown from an occasional quirk to a full-blown annoyance.
Finding a saucepan, he boiled some water on a slow heat as he chopped the ham and onion. He did his best to push away speculation and stay in the present.
"I'm sorry." She said. "It's just...life."
She covered her face with her hands.
He wondered if she'd had enough sleep but now was not the time to ask.
"I know you feel guilty and you didn't want to do it, but it's for the best, I promise."
"It's not about putting Mark in child care." Her eyes filled.
"What is it then?" he said.
"You shouldn't have asked me to do it. It's too much," she said, pulling her hands away from her face, which looked pale and empty.
"Do what?"
"Suppress my abilities, push them down. I get it. I was reckless, selfish, and put myself in harm’s way, but that was the past. You can't keep punishing me forever. We have a son now, a beautiful boy. No way do I want to leave you or him."
"Watching you in intensive care after the shooting, the rehab, was...rough."
"I've said sorry so many times, and spent the last eighteen months trying to make it up to you. But like I said to you the night we met, it’s not like a tap, I can't just turn it on and off at will."