Sentinel Rising: The Reardon Files #1

by Andrea Drew

  With each palm resting on either side of his face, her eyes scrutinized him. "I've called the police."

  "I need to get him in cable ties. Once he wakes up, he'll come at me again, and this time he'll kill me."

  "We need to get you to a doctor"

  "Get some cable ties before he wakes up."

  "Connor..."

  "Just get them, will you? Now. We can’t just leave him here" He felt the blood pulsing in a vein on his right temple.

  The bleeding man had a full head of dark hair, and despite the blood, Connor at that moment, recognised his enemy for the first time. Joe Reeves, the husband of client Mrs. Helen Reeves, whom he'd recently uncovered as embarking on an experiment with bisexuality.

  They'd possibly had a fight and despite his initial thought that Mrs. Reeves wouldn't bring up her husband's betrayal, it must have come out during an argument.

  Shit. Joe Reeves didn't move, still unconscious, but Connor didn't want to take any chances. Gypsy came back out and hurried down the steps with cable ties in her hands. She passed them to him without a word, her hair shielding her face.

  Squatting beside Reeves, Connor passed the cable ties around the unconscious man’s wrists. Reeves’ body rocked slightly as Connor tightened the cable ties. The nosy neighbours would love this. Squatting again, Connor pushed two fingers into Reeves' neck, alive although not kicking, thank god. A marked police car arrived, and Connor stood.

  The slam of car doors punctured the quiet of the suburban street and he stood back up, his knees cracking. Two uniforms entered the driveway, with matching serious expressions. He didn't recognise them, but they were fully kitted up, both men, both dark haired but one tall and slimmer, the other shorter and well-built.

  They stopped a foot away from him, the taller one just behind the stockier one.

  Connor decided not to shake hands.

  "Connor Reardon. Ex CID, private investigator." He gestured with his head toward Reeves lying below the window, sprawled across the concrete. "You might need an ambulance."

  The taller uniform grabbed a walkie talkie from his belt and started talking into it, turning away from them and taking a step or two back down the driveway.

  "Senior Constable Bowden." The stocky constable Bowden gestured toward the taller man walking down the driveway. "And he’s Constable Newton. What happened here?"

  Bowden retrieved a battered notebook from his fluorescent vest.

  Connor rubbed at the back of his head. Rather than diminishing with time, the pain throbbed harder.

  “I arrived back about twenty minutes ago. As I walked up the steps to the porch, he punched me from behind, in the back of the head. He got me down on─"

  "You should get the ambulance people to have a look at you,” Gypsy said. “That punch in the head─"

  "Let me finish," Connor said, not looking at Gypsy. He didn't care if he bit out the words. Maybe it was meant to be reassuring, that she cared about his welfare, but right now she'd completely pissed him off. Why didn’t she just get the cuffs when he asked her to?

  "He got me down on the concrete, knee in my back. I got him off by rolling my shoulders I got him in a headlock, and his head went through the window. His head hit the window ledge on the way down."

  Senior Constable Bowden scribbled in his notebook.

  "I see." He barely looked up at them. "Do you know him? Why did he attack you?""

  All three of them turned as the flashing lights of the ambulance caught their attention. Constable Newton waved the ambulance into the narrow driveway. As the ambulance stopped, Bowden joined them near the front step. Two paramedics jumped out of the van and jogged across to the prone Joe Reeves, now starting to move his limbs where he lay on the concrete, his words slurred.

  A red-haired paramedic in a green overall with high visibility lettering across his back dropped a kit bag on the concrete and kneeled beside the unconscious Joe Reeves. The paramedic put an oxygen mask over Reeves’ mouth and began checking vital signs.

  "There's a bit of blood and glass on his face. He hit the window?" the red-haired paramedic said.

  "Yes," Connor said.

  "How long has he been unconscious?" the shorter, darker haired paramedic stood straight, frowning.

  "Not long, maybe five minutes. You got here quickly. I think my partner called during the fight so..." Connor turned back to Senior Constable Bowden. The pounding in his head beat heavier and harder, and he wondered if he'd keel over from the dizziness. "I think I need to sit down."

  He took a few tentative steps back toward the front steps and sat on the concrete. Everything swam for a couple of seconds, before the world righted itself.

  Gypsy stood in front of him. "Connor?"

  He raised his head.

  Her face was paler than usual, the dark circles more pronounced. "I'll ask one of the paramedics to come over." She said.

  Bringing a hand to his head, he nodded slightly.

  The two paramedics had managed to get Joe Reeves onto a stretcher. The two police officers remained standing in front of him as he sat on the front step.

  "Can you tell us what happened?" said Newton, not realising the questioning had already begun.

  "Yeah," Connor said. "Can we go inside?"

  Constable Bowden spoke first. "Why don't you go inside, and we'll have a quick chat to the paramedics.”

  "Okay." Gypsy extended her hand, and he grabbed it.

  He looked at her for the first time since the incident had begun.

  "Thank you," he mumbled.

  "Do you want to put an arm around me, and I'll help you in?" she said quietly.

  "No, thanks, I'll get in okay, but my head hurts like hell."

  "Can I get you something?" she said, hovering close to Connor's shoulder. He shook his head.

  The loud revving of yet another car broke the momentary silence and they turned. Connor recognised Ryan's black Hyundai, which didn't stop. The car began a three-point turn, before heading back down the street away from them.

  Connor dragged himself up the steps, counted the eight steps it took to get to the couch, and fell backwards onto the seat with a groan.

  "I'll make you some hot sweet tea," Gypsy said, and then disappeared into the kitchen.

  She was probably worried he had gone into shock, and maybe he had. He didn't really care. All he could focus on was the pain, a metal bolt bashing and clanging inside his head, wishing for it to end As the kettle began to boil, footsteps thudded in the hallway. Constables Newton and Bowden appeared in the lounge room, pausing just inside the living area.

  "Can we come in?" Bowden said.

  "Take a seat," Connor said, ignoring the shaking in his voice.

  Bowden nodded and sat on the couch beside Connor. Newton took the recliner in the left corner. Gypsy brought in Connor’s tea, and he grabbed at the mug. The heat burned his fingers and palms, but he didn't pull them away. He sipped the tea, feeling the heat as it moved through his body. He preferred the sensation of drinking sweet tea to the searing pain in his head.

  Gypsy sat to his right. The front door creaked, and rasping breath filled the hall. Then the six foot one form of his son-in-law, Senior Constable Ryan Sheehan, in uniform, entered the living area.

  "Connor. I heard something happened here. I came when I could." Ryan took a couple of steps in and stood in front of the couch. "What's going on?"

  He took in the sight of Gypsy and Senior Constable Bowden on the couch, his gaze pausing on Bowden's name tag, and then Constable Newton, perched on the edge of the recliner.

  "Senior Constable Sheehan. You know this gentleman?" Bowden said.

  "Yeah, he's my father-in-law," Ryan said.

  "Can the paramedics check he's okay? He was punched in the head and he's feeling dizzy," Gypsy said.

  Ryan put his hands on his hips. "He needs to make a statement while it’s fresh in his mind."

  "I can't give out too much. Client related, confidential." Connor bit out the words.
/>
  Nausea surged, and he wished the pain would stop.

  "Have you met the man before?" Constable Reardon frowned and looked up from his notebook

  "No," Connor said. "I know of him, and have pictures of him but other than that, no, we haven't officially met."

  "Were you conducting surveillance of Mr. Reeves?"

  "I can't answer that."

  Bowden sighed and scribbled in a notepad. There was no chance of seeing what he had written.

  "We need to know what happened. We can’t investigate without information” said Newton, taking a step toward Connor.

  Connor took a deep breath. "He punched me in the head from behind."

  Connor paused.

  "Go on, Mr. Reardon," Bowden said.

  "He had me on the ground with his knee in my back. I rolled my shoulders to the left just a bit, and he counterbalanced, and I managed to roll over. I got him in a head lock and put his head through the window, not hard, though. I just wanted him unconscious, I thought he was going to kill me."

  “You said earlier his head hit the window ledge on the way down. Did it fall down, or did you push his head onto the ledge?"

  Bowden didn't miss much.

  "I pushed his head onto the ledge. Remember, this is someone that punched me in the back of the head, unprovoked, on my property. I thought he was going to kill me. I did just enough to knock him out, not kill him."

  "I see." Bowden frowned and continued scribbling in his notepad. "Would you like to press charges?"

  "Only if he presses charges, as well. I'm guessing he wouldn't want to tell a magistrate why he punched me from behind. His motivations aren't something he wants made public knowledge."

  Constable Newton spoke next. "You said you haven't met him, but he is the husband of one of your clients. "

  The frequency of the pounding of his head had reduced from every second to every thirty seconds, and the dizziness had disappeared.

  He opened his mouth to speak, but Ryan took a step forward.

  "Bearing in mind, Connor was attacked unprovoked on his own property."

  Bowden frowned, and his muscles tensed. He glared at Senior Constable Ryan Sheehan. "We're aware of that. All we're asking for is the full story. We need full information to assess the situation, confidential or not, as I'm sure you're aware."

  "It's okay, Ryan," Connor said, leaning forward on the couch, his forearms on his knees. "He landed on the ground face up, and I recognized him from his photograph. That's all I can say."

  The silence hung heavy and palpable.

  Ryan looked across at Connor, meeting his gaze, before hanging his head, hands perched on his hips.

  "I see," Constable Bowden said finally. "So, you believe whatever you did angered Joe Reeves, which is why he attacked you."

  Connor pressed his lips together. "Like I said, there's only so much I can tell you." He managed a weak smile, catching Gypsy's eye.

  "I still think you should get checked out at hospital," she said, rubbing her hands across her face.

  Ryan walked across to perch on the arm of the couch, next to her. "Don't worry, I said I'll take him to a doctor and I will. Promise."

  Gypsy grimaced, lips thinning.

  Bowden spoke again, pen perched over his notebook. "Can you get permission from your client to provide us with a statement?"

  "Yeah, I’ll try," Connor said, running his fingers up and through his hair. " I had no idea this would happen. None of us did."

  Bowden rose from the seat. "We'll be in touch. We have the basic facts for now. If you have details from your client, that would help. I'll let you know of the status of the gentleman. If you'd like to press charges, you'll need to come into the station."

  "I'll reserve my judgment," Connor said.

  Ryan and Gypsy stood up.

  "Don't get up Connor," she said. "I'll get the file and find their contact details so you can get permission "I'll see you out," Ryan said, stepping toward the front door. He allowed both the officers to pass him and watched as the front door clicked closed.

  Connor hadn't moved. He couldn't believe what had just happened; he'd almost killed the bloke. He prided himself on curtailing his urges and emotions, and had done so for many years in the force, so why had he succumbed to the desire to knock the crap out of the guy? What had happened to all his years of training and experience?

  He wasn't sure if he was ready to attempt getting up yet, even if the pain in his head had diminished. The couch bounced as Ryan sat down beside him.

  "I don't think a visit to the doctor would hurt," he said. "You might have concussion."

  Connor looked back at Gypsy. Her face, which was pale most of the time, anyway, had gone another shade of deathly white.

  "I'll think about it," he said. "I need a shower."

  His body, now heavy as lead, wouldn't easily move from the couch. He slowly dragged himself up and tried to get to the bathroom. He focussed on keeping his balance, ignoring the tightness in his chest. As he reached Gypsy at the hallway, he paused and hugged her. He didn't want to let go. She hugged him back and after a few more seconds, he pulled away, his face inches from hers.

  "Can we be friends again?" he murmured.

  Her eyes were dark and bright

  "We always were," she said.

  He kissed her. She kissed him back, instead of just allowing her to kiss him, which somehow made her lips softer. He pulled away, and she rubbed his arm.

  Ryan called out as Connor headed for the shower. "Let me know if you change your mind about the hospital"

  "I won't," he yelled back, increasing his pace slightly.

  In the bathroom, Connor turned on the shower, the warm burst of water soothing him before he'd even stepped in.

  As he undressed, his thoughts turned to his two most pressing investigations: Helen and Joe Reeves, and Elizabeth Metcalfe looking for her missing sister, Laura. Something niggled at him, some missing piece of the puzzle. Since he'd been a private investigator, he couldn't recall ever being attacked by a client, or a client’s relative, although he’d almost lost his life once, and Gypsy had been shot a few years go. Client's had gone off their rocker in anger but being punched in the head in a surprise attack was a first.

  He allowed himself a quick look in the mirror and wished he hadn't. Judging by the magnified cracks in his face he'd aged a couple of decades in the last few hours, and his face, smeared with dirt, appeared only marginally better than his now scruffy-dirty blond hair, sticking up in all the wrong places.

  He stepped into the shower stall and groaned. The water beat down across his head, heat radiating through him. He moved into the best position for pain relief and stood there for a moment, running the two current investigations through his mind.

  He wanted to go back to the written sequence of events. Plus, the photos, the evidence, and the background of Mrs. Reeves prick-of-a-husband needed another going over, in more detail this time.

  He didn't want to get out of the shower but something propelled him to act, the pinging in his mind returning. There was a clue he’d missed. The water was warm and soothed the aches in his back. The longer he remained, the more his thoughts came back to the file. The photographs were beckoning. Some thread, some tenuous link lurked within it.

  He turned off the taps, grabbed a towel, and dried himself off quickly. He grabbed his light brown robe off the floor and tied the belt around his waist. He walked as fast as his pounding head could stand, which was a snail speed. In his office, he flicked on the desk lamp, sat down, and reached over for the file.

  Opening the file, he ignored the piles of paper cluttering his desk. He flicked through the form at the front of the pile: Mrs. Reeves personal details, and some notes about her situation. Behind that was an invoice with payment details stapled to it, pages of reports in relation to surveillance plans, financial findings, and social media profiles.

  The difference in thickness between the photos and the paper meant he accessed the photos
quickly among the papers. He pulled out roughly ten photos. He had more on his hard drive but these were the key ones. He focused on the first. His stomach sank. If his instincts proved correct, Lauren was dead, not missing with a strong chance it was Whitehouse, not a secret lover.

  Footsteps hit the small flight of stairs directly across from his desk, and he looked up. Ryan walked over to the desk, hovering beside him.

  "Watcha doing?" Ryan said.

  "Going through the photos from the Joe and Helen Reeves case," Connor said, moving his gaze back to the files.

  The ceiling banged lightly above him. Gypsy must be putting Mark to bed for the night.

  The smell of something burning alerted Connor, but as neither Ryan nor Gypsy hadn't mentioned it, he wouldn't either. Besides, maybe they'd tell him that the smell of something burning meant he had concussion and should report immediately to the nearest hospital.

  He waited for Ryan to bring up the hospital again, and wondered if he’d use the same annoying persuasive tone.

  From the corner of his eye, Connor saw that Ryan lingered a few feet from his desk, with a hang dog expression, head down and shifting his weight from one hip to the other. He was going to make him speak, make him nag about getting checked out by a doctor.

  "Want a lift to the doctor?" Ryan said.

  "Nah," Connor said.

  The enlarged colour photo he held in his right hand drew him in. Front and center, two men locked lips in a passionate open mouthed kiss, oblivious to the world, one of them Joe Reeves his attacker. He hoped he didn’t see him again. In the background, leaning against a wall, a heavy-set woman smiled. To the untrained eye, she looked like a woman, but the throat, the jaw, and the shoulders gave it away, no matter how thick the pancake make-up. The shoulder length well-set dark brown hair and the immaculately applied make up transformed the man, unrecognizable to most. But Connor knew him. Jarrod Whitehouse.

  He squinted at the photograph and his mouth twisted.

  "You know Gypsy'll crack the shits if you don't get checked out," Ryan said.

  Connor dropped the photograph. "What's new?"

  "This is serious. You could've been killed."

  Connor peered up at Ryan. He pushed up from the chair and stood a foot away from him behind the desk. "Yeah, I could've but I wasn't. We know the risks when we take this job on, investigator or cop."