by Simon Leigh
His contacts were growing, his business was growing and the time for his organization to thrive has almost arrived. He just needed to pick off what was left of Matherson.
The wheelchair glistened in the setting sun as he sat outside on the patio in the chill, enjoying one of few peaceful moments of relaxation, feeling content that his plan was working.
He called Cyrus.
‘Did you find anything in Valerie’s apartment?’
‘No, there’s nothing there.’
‘OK, Fraser called. He’s stalling them at the moment. Go and see Ada Trent. I’m sending some guys there to meet you. It’s time we tied up a few loose ends.’
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
Leaving an officer outside Freddie’s apartment door, Baker pushed the door and walked inside. It was his favourite technique, go in yourself with backup just outside.
What a shithole.
With gloves on, he looked everywhere Valerie had looked earlier, coming across the newspaper cutting related to Michael’s death.
Lucy wasn’t joking about him being obsessed.
There was very little else to work with. The whole place had been trashed and whatever clues there were had vanished. He opened the apartment door and asked the officer outside to come in. ‘Get the CSI’s.’
‘Yes sir,’ he said and left the room.
Baker stayed inside for another look, almost clutching at straws. He moved into the bedroom, treading carefully. The place was larger than he expected, with a bittersweet smell in the air from empty aftershave bottles that had been smashed against the wall, biting into the back of his throat almost making him gag. He had to leave for some air. The CSI guys would find something better than he could, although he was frustrated at being back to square one.
His phone rang. ‘Baker.’
‘I have information for you. Meet me at Northbrook children’s home.’
The phone went dead.
He recognized the voice; he’d heard it many times over the last few years.
It was his man undercover.
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
Over at Fosters and Co., an impatient Valerie and Bill were waiting for Fraser’s return, the camera irritating Valerie while Bill seemed oblivious to it.
‘Do you think he’ll find anything?’ she asked.
‘I wouldn’t think so. I’d be surprised if he’s even looking.’
Growing evermore edgy the longer they stayed there, she decided to do something. She walked around the counter to the door and banged on it, loud. ‘Fraser, what the hell is taking so long?’
‘You think he’s running?’
‘He’d better wish he wasn’t.’
The door opened and Fraser walked out with a look of self-satisfaction about him. ‘Sorry it took so long, there was a lot to go through.’
‘And?’
‘I couldn’t find anything to help you.’
‘Bullshit,’ said Bill. ‘I’m going to look for myself.’ He marched over when his cell vibrated. ‘Dammit. Hello?’
‘It’s Ada Trent. I’ve found some information about the tape. Come and see me as soon as possible. I’ll be going out soon and when it gets dark, I don’t open the gates to anyone.’
‘All right, we’ll be there in twenty minutes,’ he said and cancelled the call.
‘Who was that?’ asked Valerie.
‘Ada, she said she has info on the tape.’
Fraser smiled broadly until he found Valerie glaring back at him. ‘We’re not finished here, Fraser.’
‘Val, we don’t have time. We can come back.’
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
Northbrook children’s home was a burnt out wreck. The building was still standing, but parts had caved in from the smothering fire. The walls and floors were black and covered in weeds and broken glass and the air was damp with the stench of death still lingering.
Baker stood in the entrance, taking in the sight before him. The darkening blue sky seeped through the crumbled ceiling beyond hanging wires above charred corridors.
Farther into the massacre, he tried to imagine what it must have been like back then, back when the place was full of children, happy and playful. If only he knew. He imagined the children, trapped and surrounded by an ever growing inferno feeding its way towards them before feasting.
He shivered.
‘Not what you expected is it?’
Baker’s pistol was a Glock 22, standard police issue for Southbrook P.D. and most law enforcement organizations around. Its reliability and versatility built a strong case for the police firearm of choice, and Baker liked it.
Grabbing it from its holster, he spun around to face his inside man standing in a suit, casually leaning against a door frame.
‘Relax,’ said his man. ‘Bit spooked were you? There are no ghosts left here.’
Baker holstered his weapon. ‘What have you got?’
‘Nice to see you too.’
‘Quit the small talk, Leach.’
‘Don’t use that name.’
‘I’m taking a risk meeting you here. You know they have a tracker on my car?’
‘Just your car?’
‘No, all of the police cars.’
‘So tell them you were following a lead. I think I’ve earned your time by now. I’m risking my life too.’
‘Hey, you agreed to this assignment. I worked my ass off when I was undercover in Bridgewater getting the right information on Matherson. Don’t mess this up.’
‘Mess this up? You think I’d give all these years to mess it up? You tell me this shit every time we meet.’
Baker sighed. ‘So why here?’
Opening his arms wide, palms up, as if he was making a grand opening, Leach said, ‘This is where Freddie grew up. What better place to meet?’
Baker raised an eyebrow. ‘Freddie from this morning? Freddie Mason?’
He nodded.
‘What’s this place got to do with him?’
‘Lots of kids and staff died the night of the fire, but not Freddie. Wonder why...,’ he drifted off.
‘Get to the point.’
‘Follow me,’ he said, heading for the staff room.
Baker followed, kicking ash and dust up around him.
‘Freddie escaped and none other than Julius Matherson ordered this place burned to the ground. This place was owned by one of his companies. But as usual there was a lack of evidence.’
Baker walked beside him, listening.
‘Freddie joined the organization that night. Matherson took him in, but he didn’t work out too well in the end.’ He stopped at the staff room door. ‘You remember the boy and babysitter dying a few years back?’
Baker nodded.
‘Well, in the course of Freddie’s work with Matherson, something happened and somebody wanted retribution, apparently. Therefore murdering his only son and almost kidnapping his daughter. Do you see? This is where it all started for Freddie.’
He pushed open the staff room door, creaking as it grazed across the ground, pushing back more ash.
The desk was the only thing still standing, albeit battered and ravaged.
Leach walked around to the back of the desk and picked up a photo album. ‘Look,’ he said, laying it on the desk.
‘How did you know about that?’
‘Never mind how, just look.’
Baker flicked through each page. Some pages crumbled, others displayed the horrific pictures of what the children endured back then. Baker’s image of a happy children’s home was erased, replaced by this: a paedophile’s dreamland.
‘Oh my God.’
‘Yes, this is the truth of what happened back then. Freddie found this album and ran away, thus beginning his life with Matherson.’
Baker took an evidence bag from his pocket and placed the album gently inside. ‘Why wasn’t this collected back then?’
Leach shrugged his shoulders. ‘Who can say? The answer is probably buried with the bodies now.’
&nb
sp; ‘Why wasn’t this place demolished?’
‘Shh. Do you hear that?’
A car was approaching.
They ran to a window.
‘Who is it? Were you followed?’
‘No. Nobody knew I was coming. It must be the tracker.’
‘I’m out of here.’ He turned and ran back down the corridor.
Baker yelled, ‘Wait a second,’ but he was gone.
The car approached the home. Baker drew his weapon.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
On approach, Ada’s gate opened right away.
Slowly, Bill drove along the eerily quiet driveway. The gardeners were now gone and the place was deadly quiet, not even a bird chirping.
‘I don’t like this,’ said Valerie.
‘Yeah, it is a bit creepy ain’t it?’
‘Something’s happened here.’
‘Just relax. The gardeners probably just finished what they were doing.’
They continued along, pulling up to the house as they had earlier, only this time with no lady to greet them.
There were no lights on inside or outside the house.
Valerie opened her door. ‘I’ll check the windows,’ she said and headed over to the right, poking her head through each one.
Bill took the left.
Neither of them saw anything.
‘Suggestions?’ Bill asked.
She nodded, opening the main door a crack and stepping inside.
The lobby was deserted too.
‘Hello?’ she shouted.
No answer.
Moving deeper into the house and keeping each other at arm’s length, they began with the kitchen door beside the staircase, standing on each side.
Bill readied himself to push it open, weapon drawn: a revolver, not the hand cannon the killer used, but a smaller Smith and Wesson Model 60 with a five round capacity. It was silver with a black grip and a small barrel of less than two inches. Originating in the United States, the weapon is mainly used by the South Korean police, but Bill enjoyed his revolvers and purchased it himself. Valerie watched him check the chamber, wishing she had her own weapon with her.
‘Ready?’ he whispered.
Truth was, she wasn’t ready, just sucking it up and bracing herself.
Before he could even touch the door, a bullet smashed through, missing him by inches. He hit the deck and Valerie pressed herself against the wall as a deafening tirade of rounds pierced the air, slamming into the wall beside the front door.
‘That you, Bill?’ shouted the voice in the kitchen.
On the ground, he belly crawled over to a breathless Valerie, her heart pounding against her chest wall. ‘Who the fuck is that?’ she yelled.
‘I think its Freddie’s murderer.’
Please no. Anybody but him.
Bill yelled, ‘Hey, where’s Ada Trent?’
‘Come in and have a look.’
He moved towards the door and Valerie pulled him back. ‘Are you crazy?’
‘Goodbye, Bill,’ said the voice one last time before a door closed inside the kitchen.
‘He’s gone, I’m going in.’
She pulled him back again. ‘How can you be so dumb? You think he would just leave like that?’
‘We’ll never know unless we have a look.’
‘Come on, let’s get out of here,’ she pleaded. ‘I can’t deal with him again.’
‘I thought you had to find Freddie’s murderer?’
‘I do, but not like this.’
‘Valerie.’ He put his arm on her shoulder. ‘You wait here.’
Through one of the bullet holes, he checked to see if there was anybody in sight, and then entered.
Valerie didn’t get it. Why take a chance like that?
‘I’ve found Ada,’ he shouted from inside.
She walked in.
The kitchen was spotless. A real working kitchen. Way too big for Ada with large metal cookers and a granite bench in the centre. It also had Ada Trent lying face down in a pool of her own blood with a large hole in her head.
‘Oh my God,’ she screamed, reliving the memory of last night.
‘I think Fraser had a hand in this,’ Bill said.
‘What do we do now?’
‘We leave.’ He took her hand and left the kitchen, pulling her through to the lobby.
She had walked fast to keep up with him.
Yanking her hand from his, she shouted ‘Bill, will you wait!’
‘We need to leave!’ he shouted.
‘Why?’
‘Something bad will happen, I can feel it.’
A loud smash came from upstairs.
‘What the hell was that?’
‘No idea. But I don’t want to find out. Come on. We need to leave, now!’
She agreed and they ran to the car.
He started the engine and floored it.
Halfway along the driveway, Valerie looked back at the house at a woman (Lenka) climbing out of a top floor window above a lower roof, jumping onto the grass and running after them, weapon raised.
‘Bill, get a move on. Someone’s behind us.’
Valerie ducked as a bullet smashed through the rear window and out through the front.
‘Get your head down!’ he yelled.
Seconds later, she was thrown onto the dash as Bill slammed on the brakes. ‘What are you doing?’ she asked, turning to face the front gate where Cyrus, revolver in hand, blocked their path.
They were trapped.
Valerie was frozen with fear.
Bill put the car in reverse, backing away as Cyrus fired. The metal ping as the bullet hit the car was nothing compared to the loud boom from the weapon itself.
Sliding on the grass, he evaded shots from two directions, heading along the wall until there were no more shots.
He stopped the car. ‘We need to climb the wall,’ he said. ‘And Valerie, stay close OK?’
She was too afraid to move.
‘Valerie, get out of the car! We need to go.’
She didn’t move.
‘Valerie!’ he yelled, shaking her.
With a nod, she jumped out.
Running along the boundary, they came to a low part where two sections joined.
She looked back. ‘They’re not chasing us. Why?’
Bill bent his knees and placed his hands together to make a platform for her to step on and climb over. ‘I’ll give you a boost and you climb over.’
‘What about you?’
‘Just go, I’ll be fine.’
She stepped back and sprung off Bill’s hands and up over the wall, hitting the ground on the other side.
‘Bill?’ she shouted, hopefully watching the ridge.
No answer.
She screamed for him, ‘Bill!’
Still nothing.
Gunshots fired.
Come on, Bill.
Then everything turned to silence.
She was alone.
She fell to her knees and started crying.
The wind picked up, not too much, but enough to send a chilly breeze flowing across her skin. Cars passed by without stopping and nobody took any notice of her on the sidewalk, alone and desperate. If she was honest, she didn’t care if anyone stopped or not, preferably not. She thought of going back over the wall to help him then thought against it. It was suicide and he could be dead. The only person who she thought was on her side was now gone.
For ten minutes, she knelt on her aching legs, not bothering to move, feeling like she’d lost everything. She felt her world falling apart. Freddie was dead, Ada was dead, and as far as she knew, Jackson’s life was on the line. She felt like adding Bill to that list. With nowhere to go and no idea of what she could do now, she closed her eyes.
‘Come on, missy. Don’t cry.’
The words were like a whisper on the breeze.
‘Val?’
Opening her teary eyes, she saw Bill standing outside the driver’s side of the car.
> Bill?
She got up.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘We need to leave. I’ve got some scotch at the office.’
She ran to the car and climbed into the passenger side.
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
With his weapon clenched by his side, Baker watched through the window, waiting for the best opportunity to make a move, the dwindling light impairing his ability to recognise a face.
The slam of the black sedan’s door sent birds flapping from the trees. The heavy crunch of seventeen year old charred residue made Baker’s heart pound with each step heard, growing louder until coming to an end outside the entrance where the newcomer stopped, looking around and inhaling deeply.
Baker moved to the entrance, waiting out of sight.
The man entered.
Weapon raised, Baker stepped behind him. ‘Don’t move.’
The guy held his arms up. ‘You got me.’
‘McGowan?’
Detective McGowan, a veteran of the police force. He held a thick head of greying hair and a scar across his left eye, an officer for many years before taking his detective exam five years ago, not ranking any higher. Not through lack of interest, he just didn’t want to; he felt comfortable where he was, satisfied to be clearing the scum from the streets. He was also a young officer during the Northbrook incident and knew better than anybody what happened here.
‘Hello, Baker,’ he said.
Baker holstered his weapon. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘You’re on tracker and I have some information for you.’
Baker reached into his pocket for his cell and waved it at him. ‘I have a phone you know.’
‘I was curious. I wanted to see the place again after all these years.’
‘That’s a little morbid.’
‘Well, you’re here.’
‘I’m here working Freddie Mason’s case.’
‘You should have told someone you were coming here.’
‘Like I said, I have a phone.’
‘You were meeting someone, right?’
‘What?’
‘There are two sets of footprints in the ash,’ he said, sliding his foot over the ground. ‘See. It’s no secret you have someone undercover. It’s not the first time you’ve been unavailable. Rumours begin and people put two and two together.’