by Simon Leigh
I remember this. Not surprised it still haunted him.
She dropped the article back on the table and looked around, although she didn’t know what she was looking for. She did notice, however, that all the photos in the apartment were missing from the shelves and walls leaving pale squares on a blue painted background.
Who would want those?
In his kitchen underneath an upturned dining chair, she found his mail. The rest of the kitchen was much the same as the living room with broken pots and damaged pans smashed in heaps across the floor and surfaces.
Bull in a china shop comes to mind.
Most of the mail was junk, circulars and coupons mainly, then something caught her eye: a note from an anonymous sender. She figured it had been hand delivered or pushed under the door because it had no address, just the word ‘Freddie’ scribbled in the centre.
It read:
I CAN HELP YOU WITH MICHAEL. MEET ME AT THE MEMORIAL IN PEOPLE’S PARK AT MIDNIGHT.
There were no other notes in the pile.
Then his phone started ringing.
She let the machine answer.
‘Hello? Freddie are you there?’ It was Lucy. ‘Freddie, come on, answer the phone.’ She sighed. ‘Well I need to see if you’re OK. A woman came to see me this morning called Valerie, she said it was about you but didn’t tell me anything. She just ran out of the building. Freddie, I’m worried. Call me when you can.’
Valerie looked at the answer machine. The screen said ‘Two Messages’. The second one was from Lucy, so she pressed play for the first. A gentle male voice in a southern accent came on: ‘Message for Freddie regarding our conversation in the park. So far I’ve been unable to find out much about Michael’s murderer, but I‘ll keep trying. Call me to go through what I have so far. You have my number.’
Who the hell was that?
She deleted both messages and looked around for another clue.
A desk in the corner of the living room looked promising, but it was also empty. She was getting frustrated. Being there in that apartment made her uncomfortable.
Deciding enough was enough, she headed for the door passing a cork notice board hanging on the wall covered in take-out menus and other things Freddie thought necessary to keep. Pinned to the corner was a business card: Yates Private Detective Agency, Lord St. Southbrook.
‘A private detective? Shit.’
She put the card in her pocket and walked out.
Elsewhere, at their headquarters, Sharpe exited the elevator, walking into the reception area to find a man sitting on the red sofa. His name was Cook, a blonde haired man of just below six feet tall. Seven years ago after a brief stint in prison for armed robbery, he’d been put in contact with Matherson by another inmate. Although Matherson wasn’t one for recruiting ex-cons, he’d come highly recommended. But it hadn’t been easy earning the trust of his peers, poking his nose in where it didn’t belong. As the years went by that trust was earned, though the relentless mockery of being an ex-con never stopped with the same old jokes about dropping his soap in the shower or cuddling up to his cellmate becoming tedious, pissing him off.
‘You’re early,’ said Sharpe. ‘You shit the bed or something?’
Cook laughed as he poured himself a cup of coffee from the machine on the table. ‘You want some?’
‘No. Has Mr Matherson said anything to you?’
‘Not yet, but I’ve not been here long.’ He sat back on the sofa sipping his coffee and watching Sharpe take his seat behind the reception desk, straightening his tie and smoothing his hair.
He said: ‘You take pride in your appearance don’t you?’
Sharpe stopped and looked at him. ‘You can never look too smart. That was my brother’s motto.’
‘You miss your brother, right?’
‘You want a heart to heart or something? It’s too early. Change the fucking subject.’
‘Relax.’ He took a sip of coffee. ‘Just curious that’s all. You don’t talk about what happened.’
‘There are lots of things I don’t talk about. Now shut up for fuck sake.’
Cook stood up and sat on the edge of the desk. ‘Like what?’
‘Like your homosexuality.’
‘Hey!’ he said, banging his fist on the desk. ‘Fuck you.’
‘Why do you want to know?’
Cook wasn’t afraid of Sharpe like most other people in here and Sharpe respected him for it.
‘I heard a rumour.’
‘What kind of rumour?’
‘A rumour surrounding Northbrook Children’s Home.’
Sharpe stood up, matching Cook’s height. ‘Who told you and what exactly did you hear?’
‘Nothing in particular. Just a word on the breeze that you had something to do with it.’
‘What does it matter if I did?’
‘It doesn’t.’
‘Don’t push it, Cook. It was a gas explosion. Understand?’
The intercom buzzed. Matherson said, ‘Sharpe, get in here.’
‘Listen,’ said Sharpe, ‘just drop the whole Northbrook thing, OK? You don’t want to get into it. Be careful what you say.’
He left Cook alone and entered into the office.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Eager customers hunting for a Christmas bargain filled the shops on both sides of Lord Street. Even this early in the day Valerie watched mums and dads with their excited children moving from one place to the next while stressed commuters tried desperately to get to work through the morning rush.
With the shops occupying most of the street, other businesses had to open farther down – real estate brokers, lawyers, and private detectives.
Emerging from the traffic, Valerie found the office block that held Yates Detective Agency half a mile away from the shops and was lucky enough to squeeze into a parking space directly outside the entrance. The building reminded her of old gangster movies set in New York with steps leading up to a door set a few feet back from the street, well maintained to the highest class giving out the best possible first impression. She liked it.
A plaque with a list of companies to the right of the entrance told her everything she needed to know: Yates was on the third floor sandwiched between two lawyer firms.
She headed inside, into a dim lit, yet warm, square lobby. Large indoor plants gave the place a more homely feel, though she thought that was a tad too much. There were two elevators in the wall to the right separated by a bench, but she chose the stairs in the corner.
Thankfully, for Valerie, the stairs were wide and set at a relaxed angle making the climb to the third floor easy on the legs.
Throughout the building, signs guided her to her destination, to a door with an gold engraved plaque beneath a frosted glass window.
She knocked and waited.
Apart from the traffic outside, there was no sound.
God dammit.
After waiting a minute and debating whether to just leave or not, she pushed the door and walked inside.
The office was clean with a large desk sitting on a cream carpet in the centre of the room with two chairs, one behind and one in front. A door to a bathroom was to the right while white walls propped up a plant growing in the far left corner.
Cosy.
‘Hello?’
No answer.
She took a seat on the soft chair behind the desk, a welcoming sensation after her car. The desk drawers were locked so she thumbed through a pile of papers, unaware of the man at the door watching her.
‘Something you want, missy?’ asked a gentle southern Texas voice.
Jumping to her feet, she stared at a tall, handsome man with black hair in his mid-thirties wearing a brown trench coat and black suit with a white shirt and open collar.
‘Are you Mr Yates?’ she asked.
‘Call me Bill,’ he said, holding out a hand to shake hers.
She took it.
‘Bill Yates?’
‘William, but I like being called
Bill. Didn’t mean to make you jump little lady.’
The last time someone spoke her like that, she made sure he wouldn’t walk right for a long time.
She held her tongue and waited for him to continue.
‘What can I do for you on this fine day?’ he asked.
She showed him the card she’d found at Freddie’s apartment. ‘I found this in a friend’s home.’
‘Who is your friend?’
‘His name was Freddie.’
‘Was?’
She didn’t answer.
‘Freddie what?’
She hesitated.
‘You all right?’
‘Maybe this was a bad idea,’ she said, turning to leave.
‘Hey, you came to me.’
She sighed. ‘Fine. He died this morning.’
‘That’s a little hazy ain’t it?’
She looked back him, snapping: ‘He was shot in the head last night and tied to a cross, OK?’
‘Hostile ain’t ya? Yeah, I know who you mean. He asked me to find out about the boy, but I can’t tell you anymore until you tell me who you are. Got any ID?’
‘My name is Valerie.’ She showed her driving license.
‘Valerie? Wow, Freddie liked to talk about you. He never told me how pretty you are.’
She said nothing.
‘Didn’t realize that was Freddie though,’ he said. ‘Friend of mine told me about that this morning, an old colleague of the force. Didn’t say it was Freddie Mason, though. Just it was a revolver he was shot with. Always liked revolvers myself.’
‘You were a cop?’
‘I think you’ll find most private detectives were.’
‘Can you help me or not?’
‘Yeah, missy, I can help you. Take a seat.’
She preferred to stand.
He continued anyway, ‘I contacted Freddie after he sent me a letter about an incident a while back. Didn’t like the secrecy myself, but the case intrigued me. Been on the case about three months now.’
‘The incident was four years ago.’
‘Yeah, must have bugged him for a long time. He sent me a sensitive letter asking for my help, asking me not to call him or go and see him, he just picked a time and place to meet. The letter said he was in some sort of underworld organization and it was dangerous for him to be seen talking with me. Why he took so long to contact someone about it I’ll never know.’
‘If he asked you not to call, why did you?’
‘Huh?’
‘I heard your message.’
‘Oh right. I got worried.’
‘He mustn’t have got anywhere on his own.’
‘Shall we get some coffee to talk more comfortably?’
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’
‘Hey, I won’t bite. Can’t deny a man his morning coffee, surely.’
She sighed again. ‘Fine, but not too far away, OK?’
FOUR YEARS AGO. MICHAEL
i
Freddie stuffed food into his mouth like it was his last.
‘Oh wow,’ he said. ‘This duck is delicious,’
‘Good,’ said Lucy, taking a sip of wine. ‘It feels like forever since we spent quality time together.’
‘Yeah, I know. Sorry.’
‘It’s fine. You won’t be working the garage forever right?’ She smiled and looked around. ‘I’ve always liked this place. Look at the artwork on the walls. It’s so relaxing. The music just soothes the soul.’
Freddie followed her gaze. He had to admit, the place had a classy feel to it with a lonely dance floor centring the room. ‘Yeah, it’s a nice place.’
‘What’s on your mind? You seem distant tonight.’
‘Nothing. Just thinking how lucky I am to have you and the kids.’
‘You are lucky aren’t you?’ She took another sip of wine and held the glass, watching him.
Just The Way You Are by Billy Joel warmed the speakers.
Lucy smiled.
Freddie didn’t. He knew what was coming.
‘You remember this song?’
‘No.’
‘Hmm, it was the first song we danced to.’ She stood up and held out her hand. ‘Come on, dance with me.’
Unwillingly, he got to his feet, taking her hand and leading her to the dance floor, wrapping his arms around her long white dress, holding her close and resting her head on his shoulder, swaying left to right in rhythm to the tune, the only pair on the dance floor. Lucy was happy, feeling like nothing could go wrong.
Freddie was embarrassed.
‘I do love you, Freddie.’
‘I love you, too.’ He kissed her cheek.
When the song finished, they went back to their seat and Freddie poured them both some wine.
‘What do you plan on doing to me tonight?’ she asked. ‘All this wine. Could go to a girl’s head you know.’
‘Ask me again when we get home.’
ii
After paying the bill, they skipped the taxi, preferring to walk in each other’s arms through People’s Park on that summer evening.
The grass had been freshly mowed and the flowers had bloomed in the day’s beaming sunlight. A monumental obelisk remembering the lost over the years of violence pointed up to the heavens in the centre of a pond.
They walked around it, dodging the joggers and dog walkers taking advantage of the cool twilight air.
Lucy said, ‘I hope Michelle can handle the twins.’
‘She’ll be fine, she’s a good babysitter. How hard can they be? They’re only one.’
‘Well as you’re always at that garage you wouldn’t know would you?’ she said jokingly, but they both knew the underlying reality was: she was right.
‘Hey, come on. I work to pay the bills while you take care of the kids. It’s how it should be.’
‘OK, Mr Sarcasm, I’ll find a job instead and you take care of the kids.’
‘Yeah, right.’
Their house was up ahead. The street was nice and quiet with trees growing on either side and the large homes bordered clean roads, perfect for bringing up children.
‘We’ve never spoken about marriage really, have we?’ he said.
‘I didn’t think you wanted it.’
‘I do.’
‘That a proposal?’
‘No. Do you want it to be?’
She said no more and opened the door, waiting in the doorway. ‘It was nice tonight. It’s not often I get to spend time with my man like that.’ She kissed him on the cheek. ‘Let’s get Michelle out of the house shall we? Get a drink and go to bed, what you think?’
He smiled broadly, nodded and eagerly followed her inside.
There was no sound in the house; no kids crying and no Michelle to greet them.
‘Strange,’ said Lucy. ‘Usually Michelle can’t wait to leave with her money. Michelle?’
No answer.
‘Freddie, I have a bad feeling.’
‘Stay calm and I’ll look around. She probably fell asleep or something.’
Leaving Lucy at the entrance, he checked in the living room.
No sign of Michelle or the children.
If she’s taken my children, I’ll kill her.
A scream came from upstairs.
‘Lucy?’ he yelled, running up to find her standing in the hallway staring into the children’s bedroom. ‘What is it?’ he asked and looked inside. ‘Michelle?’
She was on the floor, naked and covered in blood. Bruises scattered her body and her throat was cut.
Lucy almost fainted when she saw a lump under the sheets. ‘Oh no, please no,’ she yelled, running passed Michelle to the bed.
Pulling back the sheets, she found Michael’s body. Broken and bruised, he looked like he’d been thrown around the room. His face had been crushed and he was barely recognizable.
Freddie checked Michelle’s pulse. Nothing. He covered her with his jacket.
Standing with Lucy, he looked over her shoulder a
t his son.
She started crying and screaming hysterically, almost falling onto the bed holding Michael’s body in her arms.
Freddie said, ‘Where’s Chloe?’ She wasn’t in the room.
He ran to her bedroom, but she wasn’t there either. At his feet he found a bottle of chloroform and could smell it in the air.
Fuck. Where is she?
His eyes were watering.
Then came a little girl’s scream from the garden.
He darted downstairs.
iii
The pitch black of the night made it almost impossible to see anything, just the shadows of some rustling trees as they eerily danced against the backdrop of the neighbouring houses and garden lights. Anxious, he studied everything for a sign any of unnatural movement, squinting his eyes to make out anything he could.
Then the scream came again, this time from the path just beyond the garden fence. Peering over, he saw the outline of someone running, child in hand. Chloe’s screams were loud in the silent night causing dogs to bark and outside lights to be impatiently being switched on.
He bolted after her.
The main road was brighter under the street lights and he found the kidnapper hobbling along at a slow pace with Chloe in his arms as if disorientated, swaying like a drunk on a heavy night out until, with a thud, he fell over.
‘I’ll kill you, you piece of shit,’ said Freddie before snapping the kidnapper’s nose with his foot.
He lifted Chloe from his grip and kicked him again for good measure. The guy was completely out.
Before someone called the cops, Freddie picked him up over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift, carrying Chloe in his free arm back to the house.
The dogs were still barking, but nobody came out. Instead, people shouted at them to shut up.
He dumped the man’s body over the fence into his garden and climbed over carefully with Chloe in his arms, taking her back to the house and leaving the kidnapper where he was.
Chloe was still crying when he gently laid her on the sofa in the living room, but she was OK.