by Andrea Drew
"You're a Sentinel, so you can break the connection especially where a spirit connection can do damage. A Sentinel is a guard right? Nip this in the bud before it escalates."
"Okay, I'll go up there shortly. I'm not keen but for my son, anything."
They looked at each other.
Connor took in a large breath, and then let it out slowly. "Anyway, back to this investigation. I wondered if you wanted to come along with me on this one."
Her cheeks flushed. “Does a cat have a bum? Of course I do, just like the old days."
She shifted her chair closer to the other side of his desk.
"Great. Next on the list is Hugh Fraser's address. I thought we'd pay him a visit."
"I like it. I'll go grab us some snacks while you ponder " She rose from the chair and left, flicking her hair toward him.
He brought the computer out of sleep mode by waving the mouse across the mouse pad. The financial tracking software was open. It served a dual purpose, not only in providing data on financial transactions but in skip tracing. If Hugh had moved house or left the state, the Subject Locator function should know about it.
He didn't have Hugh's date of birth but from the photograph on the newspaper article, he looked similar to Whitehouse facially although thinner, scruffier, and around five foot nine with short dark hair. The dark brown hair captured his attention in stark contrast to Hugh's lined face, an obvious dye job.
With a jolt, Connor realised the man who'd dug the body fit Hugh's description. True, neither he nor Gypsy had seen his face, but so far the man before them could be the murderer. He clicked on the screen which notified him that six results had been found by the IntQuery program for his search on Hugh’s name and address. Only one of the Hugh's lived in Upwey. He figured the man may not have experienced much remorse after the sour business dealings but surely he wouldn't be so bold as to stay in the same property where creditors had taken pot shots at him?
He'd soon find out.
He had a rough idea of how he’d get there and the maps function on his mobile phone told him it would take 92 minutes to get from Brunswick to Upwey. Time for a road trip to meet the dodgy dealer himself. "Gotcha, weasel." Connor leaned back in his chair, mouth turning upwards. He rubbed on the stubble across his chin.
Gypsy headed back into the office. "Who you talking to? Me?" she pulled her hand out of a packet of chips, munching on them loudly.
"The pathetic excuse for manhood that did this. I figure he'll be alert for signs someone's onto him, and I’m getting close. "
She sat down, leaning her elbows on his desk. "So where's Hugh Fraser hiding out these days?"
"Upwey, believe it or not. He hasn't moved, or it doesn't look like it. The software has a listing for H Fraser in Upwey, private, of course." He stood up and grabbed his jacket and walked toward the hook in the hallways in search of his keys.
Gypsy stood up. "We're going right now"
"No time like the present."
"Wait, give me five minutes." She raced for the bedroom.
Hugh Fraser may not be home, but he didn't want to take the chance of forewarning the guy that they were coming.
Connor found his wallet, keys, and phone and pressed the button to unlock the car from the hallway.
"Gypsy!" he called behind him, turning his head and then took a step toward the open door.,
A muffled reply filtered out from the bedroom.
Gypsy came running out of the bedroom, zipping up one of her boots, purple bag slung over her shoulder. She sounded out of breath.
"Okay let's go crazy." She suppressed a grin, unsuccessfully.
Chapter 7
After an hour drive, Connor and Gypsy stood outside the gate leading to Hugh Fraser’s enormous property.
His stomach growled.
“Let me do the talking” said Connor, casting her a sideways glance.
"We'll see," said Gypsy looking down at her shoes.
The large property scrawled across half an acre. In places the sprawling lawn faded to bare earth, in others underneath the large ancient trees moss had taken over. The home itself had been fashioned after a quaint country cottage, with bottle green shutters matching the pitched roof, and the white rendered façade. Gypsy and Connor shared a look as they stood at a large white wrought iron gate across the driveway. The large gate squeaked as they pushed it open, and small white pebbles crunched underfoot as they made their way down the slight slope of a gravel driveway. As they walked past a white car toward the front door, the driver’s side door opened. A man stepped out, thin and bony. He had a couple of days of grey growth on his chin which certainly didn't match the dyed brown hair on his head.
Hugh Fraser.
"Can I help you?" he said, unsmiling.
Connor halted a metre or so away. "I'm Connor Reardon, and this is Gypsy Shields. I'm an investigator ex Homicide."
Fraser crossed his arms. "I wondered when one of you would show up. In it for the money? Not good enough for the cops anymore?"
Heat flushed through Connor's body. A muscle in his jaw twitched. "You knew we were coming. Was that before or after you buried the body?"
Fraser thrust his chest out. "If it's going to be like that, you can leave now."
"Did you know your friend’s wife disappeared recently? Jarrod Whitehouse’s wife?"
"Bloke up the road in security, Terry, heard from Katrina Riley, Lauren's other sister. Said she'd disappeared and they wanted an investigator. He asked around and your name came up."
"I don't think I've met him. Terry got a surname?" Connor said.
"You probably haven't but news travels. Word on your case close rate is it’s high, unnaturally high, and maybe you had, shall we say, an unfair advantage."
Connor wanted to punch the sneer off Fraser's face, but instead, he clenched his fingers. Obviously, this was how Elizabeth Metcalfe had originally found him. He rubbed at the back of his neck, stiffness intensifying. "Look, we're not here to make trouble. We hoped you might answer a couple of questions."
"Do you mind if we come inside?" said Connor.
Gypsy remained silent beside him.
Hugh Fraser put his hands on his hips. "Actually, I do mind. What's going on? As far as I'm concerned, Lauren's run off. They weren't exactly poster people for the perfect marriage."
"Jarrod told you about the marital problems?"
"Briefly. Did you find who she's having it off with yet?"
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, and that's confidential information." Connor widened his stance, moving his right foot further to the right.
"Not when you're standing on my property it isn't."
"Mrs. Whitehouse was reported to police as a missing person a couple of days ago. So, either you talk to us, or you talk to the police."
"How did you tie me to Jarrod? The business deal? Remember I'm the victim here"
"How do you figure that?"
"Last year, I barely escaped with my life. Trespassers shot at me. Business deal gone wrong."
"Yes, we heard about that," Gypsy said.
Connor turned and gave her a warning look. He didn’t want to alienate yet another witness
"I bet you did. The media story not the real story." Fraser had moved away slightly, glancing at his home at the bottom of the long driveway. "I only just made it."
"Through the underground tunnel,” Gypsy said.
Connor cleared his throat. “I understand you were shot at, and some people were charged. I'm interested in how you knew Lauren Whitehouse."
"If you know about the business deals that went south because of a couple of criminal types, then you probably know I met Jarrod Whitehouse a couple of years ago, through friends."
"Which friends were they?"
"Is that relevant?"
"It might be. Lauren hasn't been seen for more than four days now. Her car is still in the driveway, and she hasn't used her credit cards."
"I see." Fraser's voice deepened. He continued to st
are at Connor. "Lauren's a good woman."
Is or was?
"Regarding the payments Hugh Whitehouse made to you."
"That's private business."
"Maybe. Like I said, I can ask the questions, or cops can ask the questions."
Fraser stuffed his hands into his pockets, rocking slightly on his heels. "Yeah, but if the cops come calling, I'll ask my lawyer to the party."
"You need a lawyer?"
"Look, I'm not interested in your fishing expedition, okay? My private business is exactly that, private."
Connor considered the situation. He hadn't been asked to leave yet. He'd completed pissed off not only Jarrod Whitehouse but now Hugh Fraser. It was time to ease off the throttle.
"I'm sorry, you're right. I started off on the wrong foot here, and I've caused offence. As you can imagine, I'm anxious to find Lauren."
Fraser’s shoulders relaxed, just slightly. "I thought they'd get divorced before she'd disappear. I know things were rocky with her and Jarrod for a while but I thought they'd got over that. I don't get it."
"Have you heard from any of the creditors again?"
"Creditors?" Fraser snorted. "That's one word for them. That bastard builder is up on attempted murder charges. And no, I haven't heard from them again, thank God. "
"Did you consider moving?"
"I did, but then I figured why the hell should I run? Yes, there were major problems with the property development, but I did everything I could to work that out, to make it right with investors. That builder is a complete nut and deserves to be charged."
The conversation needed steering toward the area where Fraser might slip up. Judging by the colour in his face and his wide-open staring eyes, he was close.
"Was Whitehouse an investor in any of those properties?" Connor knew that wasn't the case but sometimes, a change of direction just might recover the situation.
"Nah, we were going into a new venture together."
"What type of new venture?"
The colour in Fraser's face had subsided a little.
"We talked about it. I recommended shares, but he wanted retail." Fraser stared off into the distance. "I told him there was no money in retail. I wondered if he was a frustrated retail fashion buyer, part of his alter ego"
Connor cast a sideways look at Gypsy.
"What do you mean by that?" Connor said.
"Maybe he means Jarrod looks good in clothes, pretty clothes," Gypsy said, her voice low.
"He likes his clothes." Fraser turned away from them. "I need to get back to what I was doing. You took me by surprise, turning up here without warning."
"You weren't referring to Jarrod's secret? Is he keeping up the blackmail payments? Because if not, you can tell us about it, can't you?"
"Get off my property, now," Fraser growled, turning back to point at Connor.
"What about the underground cellar. Maybe Lauren’s hiding down there” Gypsy said with a sly smile
"You’re a nut lady. Leave now and don't come back. This is none of your damn business." Fraser stormed down the driveway, toward his home.
"It is our business, and its Lauren and Jarrod Whitehouse’s now. Is she in the tunnel, Hugh?" Gypsy called out to him, her neck straining.
Connor grabbed her by the elbow and steered her toward the top of the driveway, where Black Betty waited just metres away
"Let's go. That's all we're going to get for now," he muttered.
A bang emanated from the front porch at the bottom of the driveway, but neither of them looked back. Connor unlocked the car, and they swung themselves into the vehicle in a hurry. The car roared to life. He pulled the seatbelt across quickly. Connor pushed his foot down on the accelerator, and the noise echoed throughout the quiet street. Turning the car around, they headed for the end of the street and got back onto the main road.
Neither of them spoke for a long time, until they were back on the freeway heading toward Brunswick.
"So what now? “said Gypsy You've got pretty much nothing out of either Fraser or Whitehouse."
"I know, but I didn't expect much more. If Fraser was blackmailing Whitehouse, neither of them will admit to it. "
"There's proof, though. You found it." Gypsy rubbed her index finger across the indent in her chin.
"I found proof that Whitehouse paid around ninety grand to Fraser, which according to the refinance on his mortgage, was supposed to be for renovations. I didn't see any renovations so I figure its hush money. I have the photos of Whitehouse in women's clothing, standing behind Joe Reeves, and plan on putting my theory to Ryan so he can take it further, but only once I get the client’s okay. Then if charges need to be laid, Ryan can set it in motion. I wouldn't mind a look at that tunnel, though."
"Me, either. Can you prove the blackmail?"
"Well, not technically, although it might be fraud on Jarrod's part. The money wasn’t used for its intended purpose. Ryan can find out if it can be reported to the bank and take it from there."
Gypsy didn't reply. Connor flicked a glance at the sat nav to his left. They'd be home in around twenty minutes. He needed thinking time, and then to talk to Ryan and his client, Elizabeth Metcalfe. He had some information, but not what his client wanted, the whereabouts of her sister, alive or dead.
They drove on in silence.
"That tunnel’s pretty curious, an unusual thing to have almost like he planned something" Gypsy said at length, turning her eyes. She had the look when she was hatching a plan, a sly smile.
"Whatever you’re thinking, we can't do that, Gypsy."
"Why not? If Ryan questions him, there's no harm in looking around the property."
"Other than trespassing."
"A minor inconvenience. If she's in there. can you tell yourself you didn't want to break the law to check?"
An incoming call rang through the car’s interior phone. The small screen in front of him said 'Ryan mobile.' Keeping his hands on the steering wheel, Connor pushed the blue tooth button and answered the call.
"Hello?" Ryan said.
"How's it going?" Connor said. "You’re on speaker phone. Gypsy's in the car too."
"Okay, mate. Where are you? I know I asked you to come to my place, but I thought I'd drop by, better in person than phone."
In person visits usually meant he didn't want the conversation logged or traced officially on his mobile phone.
"Half an hour, maybe less," Connor said.
Gypsy watched him, scrutinising his face.
"Right. See you there about three then." Ryan hung up.
"Sounds juicy," Gypsy said.
"Maybe."
Connor tasted bitterness on his tongue, and at the back of his throat. For the first time in two years, the desire for a drink seared through him. Just one, to take the edge off, maybe a Bourbon and Coke, or a Jim Beam. Something sweet, dark, and potent.
He'd never been an alcoholic, but he'd drank in his younger days, to obliterate the memories and forget, a temporary anaesthetic. As he progressed through the police force into more senior roles, he'd turned to running rather than grog, to clear his head and purge the thoughts and pictures, a mental reboot.
But he hadn't gone on a run for over a year now. And rather than a long jog, what he wanted now was to feel the slow sweet warmth of the bourbon making its way down his windpipe, seeping through his chest into some burning reassurance.
"I might go out with Ryan for a bit when he gets there," he said
"Cutting me out of the action, huh?"
"I need to focus. Not cutting you out, hon.”
But he was, and they both knew it.
He pushed another button and the radio came to life, a classic rock station at low volume. Thankfully, Gypsy didn't press the point of him cutting her out of the investigation any further, and they arrived home before long.
He pulled up past Ryan’s car already parked on the street and removed the keys from the ignition. As he opened the door, he caught a waft of warm summer a
ir combined with a sprinkling of recent rain. He followed Gypsy up the steps to the front door and the slam of a car door a couple of houses down followed by purposeful boots striding their way told him Ryan hadn't come to ask after their welfare. He wanted information.
His son-in-law appeared at the bottom of the driveway as he pulled the screen door open.
"Hey, how's it going?" Connor said, facing him as Gypsy disappeared inside the house.
"Yeah, okay, one of those days." Ryan's expression turned serious, mouth down turned and eyebrows gathered in.
"Come in," Connor said.
Ryan followed him into the hallway.
"We might head out for a bit," Connor said, projecting his voice into the living room where Gypsy flicked through some papers and leaned back on the couch. She turned her head.
"Whatever floats your boat," she said quietly.
"We'll only be an hour at the most." Connor turned toward the front door. "Let's go."
“We just got back!” said Gypsy, but wondered if maybe Ryan had something important to say, it wasn’t like him to change plans this suddenly.
They left, stepping down toward the driveway where Ryan paused. "Your car or mine?"
"Black Betty of course, any excuse. Let's go for a drive." Connor unlocked it.
They both got in, and he turned his head to reverse the vehicle. As they drove, Connor waited for Ryan to break the silence. As Ryan was the sworn in officer, Connor decided the direction of the conversation would be Ryan's call. The ever-increasing tendency to relive the plus points and minimize the minuses of his police career had remained flattened within Connor's chest for some time.
He swung the steering wheel, and the car bottomed into the steep driveway of Caraway Park just a few minutes away, cricket nets and playing fields eight hundred metres to his left, tennis courts almost a kilometer down the driveway, and a large expanse of grass and trees to the right. He pulled into a parking space on his right, the only vehicle parked amongst ten empty spaces. He tasted the irony of a warm sunny day without a cloud on the sky, while he suspected bad news perched on the edge of Ryan's tongue.
He turned off the ignition. Silence settled in the car. Connor shuffled around in his seat, turning slightly toward Ryan who had curled inward, shoulders rounded and gaze focused on the tumbleweed of Gypsy’s hair on the car floor mat.