by Andrea Drew
“Just not how you think I will.”
He frowned and crossed his arms. “Then we have nothing more to talk about.” Kieran pushed out a palm, as if waiting for a response. “I’ll take the office keys.”
“I can’t believe how cold you are. How calculating.”
“Then you obviously don’t know me as well as you thought you did, do you?” The smirk had returned.
“Oh, I think I do. It won’t be too hard to extend my network of contacts.” She sidestepped away from him with shaking legs, seeking the sanctity of home.
“Don’t be too cocky. Remember, I ended this. Just like I can end you.”
Camilla toyed with the idea of slapping his face, hard. No, not just yet. She turned on her heels and strode away, hoping like hell her legs of jelly didn’t give away her intentions.
***
The narrow frontage of the house didn’t cause it to stand out. In a street of freshly painted homes with tended gardens and gutters free from leaves and debris, the home of Brenda Rohan, Jack Regan’s ex-girlfriend, stood out because it appeared deserted, barely maintained. Peeling paint, mail falling out of the mailbox, weeds waist high, and dirty brown abandoned furniture on the front porch told him caring for it didn’t appear at the top the inhabitant’s priority list.
His steps echoed through the squeaky porch floor boards, and he rang the bell. Connor knew she probably wouldn’t want to discuss the past, particularly one which involved an abusive partner, but he needed some context, an idea of what his activities were, to add to his armory in anticipating Regan’s next move.
The tap of footsteps on what sounded like tiles registered quietly at first then louder as the door, which looked like someone had broken in with a crow bar, opened.
“Yes?” Brenda Rohan, if Ryan had repeated the stats correctly, had aged more than her peers. The lines from nose to mouth and the sunken in cheeks told him she’d either attended the school of hard knocks, or smoked ice during down times. Greasy white blonde hair hung in rat’s tails around her skinny face; her skeletal arms holding the door open ever so slightly.
She wore faded jeans, far too long for her emaciated legs, and a dark green, long-sleeved t-shirt with the hint of a sporting logo emblazoned across it.
Connor cleared his throat; glad he wore a more formal navy blazer, with grey dress pants and a pale blue dress shirt. He took a step back in a bid to appear less threatening. “Brenda Rohan?”
The woman squinted at him, stretching her lips in a fake smile. “That’s me. Who’s asking?”
He held out his card. “Connor Reardon, Detective, making a few enquiries. I understand you were in a relationship with Jack Regan some time ago. Do you mind if I come in?”
She sneered and let out a brittle laugh. “Yeah, I do. I don’t want to spend a minute more thinking or talking about that lowlife. I’ve cut him out of my life, and I wouldn’t call it a relationship, not by a long shot.”
“I see.”
The woman refused to open the door fully, instead peering around the edge.
“Can I ask if you saw any signs that caused you to suspect anything?” He shoved aside some old flyers lying across the worn welcome mat.
“You mean anything that caused me to imagine he’d beat the shit out of me?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean−”
“I know what you meant, and I see where you’re going with your fishing trip. No, I didn’t. Yeah, we fought like cat and dog, but that was more because he spent most of his time out with his idiot mates than with me. Other than smoking weed like it went out of fashion, god knows what else he did. Not my scene, he knew that, and it came between us.”
“Have you heard from him since the restraining order? I mean through friends of course, so far …”
Her face reddened and she jerked a hand away from the door.
“Of course I bloody haven’t! I hope no other woman is dumb enough to go within spitting distance. I know what you’re thinking; I’m a drugged-out lowlife that deserves all I get. Well, answer me this, what woman deserves to have hands squeezing her neck up against a wall so hard she almost passes out? Who deserves to be smacked so hard across the face she stays indoors for two days until the shiner fades. No one, that’s who, I’m not a crack whore, I’m sick, not a well woman.”
“Ms. Rohan, I would never think something like that. I’m simply trying to gain greater insight into−”
“Oh, piss off, spare me the bullshit. I’m sick of bleeding hearts coming around asking questions. Unless you have a cure for ovarian cancer, I’m not interested.”
A gust of air wafted across and into his face as the door swung shut, hard. Combined with the ear splitting slam of the door, he figured that would be all she’d want to talk about for today. He turned away and headed back to the car.
Shit, that could have gone better. It could be worse. They still had time to nail the bastard. He had an idea that, crazy as it seemed, might do the job. Time to check in with Ryan back at the station.
***
Please, god, no, not this one again.
The spirit of the young girl was back. Although snug, relaxed and curled up in bed, with the covers tucked under my chin, the voice wasn’t a dream. I’d learned the last time a spirit child visited to pay attention to the message and not second guess myself. It had saved a life last time. This spirit child was younger than Isabella, the last spirit child to visit me, who had been around nine or ten, and she had become my now niece in law, just eighteen months old.
−The bad men are coming. Stop them. Scary men. Bad men.
−You told me that, but when?
−The bad men told Mama Kelly they were taking me to my family. I was happy. But they hurt me. They took my insides. No new family.
The hairs on the back of my neck lifted.
−They’re going to Kelly’s to steal Lisa, but when?
−Yes. Lisa. They want Lisa. Stop the bad men. Mama Kelly thinks we go to a new family. But we don’t. They will hurt her, a lot.
As quickly as it appeared, the presence blew away. The silence of the morning, other than faint chirps outside the window, told me it was early.
The previous tingling in my neck moved to my chest. Despite my previous unkind thoughts about Kelly, it seemed she’d lived in blissful ignorance for a long time. She probably didn’t want to know what happened to the children, living under the delusion that they were moving on to loving families and she acted simply as a foster mother.
Throwing back the covers, I headed for the shower.
It was time to deliver a few home truths.
***
Chapter 6
“He’s here. Sweating it out in the interview room. How long do you need?”
Connor rubbed at his earlobe.
“Twenty minutes. Max.”
Ryan stood in front of his desk, grabbed a pen and headed for the interview room without a backward glance. Although he didn’t make a habit of it, Connor knew the only way he could get the evidence he needed would be with a bug, hidden within Jack Regan’s car in a place where it would never be found, even by a parasite with a suspicious mind.
Connor had resigned himself to the fact that if nothing else, he would gain a voice, a name, a starting point to begin unravelling the threads that led to the puppet master of the child abduction ring.
It would be a place to begin, a reference. Evidence was in short supply at present, hiding a short distance away, and he knew it.
Both he and Ryan had calculated which interview room would be furthest from the car park. Getting Jack to the interview room hadn’t been easy. Initially Connor had called him, and the call had simply rolled over to voicemail.
A few hours later, Ryan tried again, mentioning Jack’s parole officer by name, whom he’d caught up with recently. Strangely enough, he got a call back a few minutes later, and Jack begrudgingly agreed to come down to the station for half an hour, no longer.
Connor made sure he would be place
d nowhere near either the main entrance or the interview room at the appointed time. Instead he stood near one of the back windows, twilight falling. He set himself up with a view of the visitor’s car park. He leaned against the window frame and wondered what Gypsy was doing, imagining her at her desk, chewing on a pencil or frowning at the screen.
He couldn’t remember the precise instant he’d decided to propose. Something changed for him about a month ago. Dealing with death most days, the impermanence of life stayed with him. A random accident, a murderer seeking revenge, and happiness could snuff life out as quickly as it began. They’d been together nearly two and a half years now, and he reassured himself that more than likely he knew her as well as he was ever going to. He knew enough to know they’d be together for a long time to come.
He’d bought the ring a couple of weeks ago. Out of his depth, he’d gained the help of a young blonde woman in the store wearing hot pink lipstick and a garish orange dress, who seemed particularly taken with the idea of him shopping for a ring for Gypsy and surprising her when the time was right. The time hadn’t been right for nearly three weeks. Investigations took hold of both of them, and while in the throes of one, it could be hard to make time for each other. He’d broached the idea a couple of days ago, that rather than waiting for fate to hand it to them, they needed to schedule time for romance. He’d tentatively booked dinner for them this Saturday night at their favorite restaurant, the local firehouse, ironic but their favorite all the same.
The white car’s engine throbbed its arrival into the car park. It pulled into one of the spaces. The windows were tinted, but Connor knew Regan had arrived. He thrust his hand deeper into his pocket where the device sat. His pulse quickened. Connor pushed his nose to the blinds, making out the familiar form of Jack Regan as he opened the car door, stood up, closed the door behind him, flicked on the alarm, and scowled at the station entrance.
He’d give it at least five more minutes before he ventured outside to get started.
Connor knew the best place to leave the listening device would be inside the driver side mirrors, virtually undetectable. If Jack Regan did as suspected, he’d meet his boss in a place where neither of them would be detected. The best way of doing that would be while remaining in their vehicles, with the driver’s window open, exchanging information somewhere public yet quiet. A supermarket car park after hours would do the job. To get started with a point of reference, though, they needed a name, or rather a voice.
Connor needed a couple of minutes, no more than that. He’d acquired the art of controlling his anger over many years and numerous interviews, but occasionally it bubbled over, threatening to burst free. When Jack Regan had made the decision to sit outside his home, waiting for Gypsy, to do god knows what to her, the game changed.
He needed to know what his plans were, if and when he planned to harm Gypsy. The comments Connor had dropped outside their home should have been enough to make Jack think twice, in the short term anyway. Connor hadn’t told Gypsy that he’d done a background check on Jack Regan. He’d assaulted a second woman, bashing her beyond recognition. The woman, a sex worker, had initially been reluctant to make a statement, but when she’d finally recovered, her jaw wired shut as it healed, and she’d been convinced that her testimony could be the one thing that prevented him from doing anything like it again. Negotiations continued.
Jack Regan had done time, but not much: eighteen months in minimum security. Currently on parole, his best bet was to lay low. Instead he had begun to stalk Gypsy, just hours after she tracked down what she suspected to be a secret child abduction racket.
Connor wanted to nail Regan for this one, badly. For now, a bug in his car would have to do.
He made his way to the car park, pausing under a tree a couple of meters from Regan’s car. Above him the branches swayed gently in the summer breeze. He fumbled with the listening device in his pocket. Jack Regan had parked his car toward the end of the car park, where his car hid in the shadow of two large trees.
Connor headed toward the driver’s side door. The side mirror glinted in the moonlight. The sensor lights had turned off. He crouched beside the mirror, removing the pen knife from his pocket. He pried the mirror open and it snapped out with a quiet pop. He nestled the short wire and microphone behind it and then pushed the frame back into position. It took less than a minute.
He pushed up with his hands, glancing around, but the car park remained deserted. He began whistling, to test out the recording device. It seemed to be working.
Regan would be meeting with his handler fairly soon, of that he was certain. Connor intended to be kept updated on his plans on a regular basis.
***
The daylight had only broken about an hour earlier. It was still warm.
I stepped up the front patio toward Kelly’s front door. She wouldn’t want to see me. My chances of her opening the door and granting me entry were pretty slim.
However, I’d promised Li that I’d warn Kelly that the ‘bad men’ were coming to get Lisa.
I knocked on the front door and waited maybe twenty seconds. The twitch of the curtains told me Kelly knew I was there. She called out to me from behind the closed door.
“Go away,” she said, her voice muffled. I heard her steps shuffle away.
“Li sent me here.” The footsteps stopped.
“I’m not just a writer. I’m a psychic. She said the bad men are coming for another girl, Lisa, and soon. Li told me to warn you. You need to take the children and leave, immediately. If not for yourself, then at least for the children’s sake.”
A few seconds later, the door swung open. Her hair in disarray, she crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. I gazed at her, willing her to let me in. In reply she began tapping her right foot.
“You don’t know when you’re not wanted, do you?”
I took a deep breath. “Look, I don’t want to be here either, but Li sent me.”
“What?” Her arms dropped to her side and her mouth flew open.
“I’m a psychic, a medium. Li told me they took her away a few months ago, and soon the bad men are coming for Lisa.”
Kelly took hold of the door and began to close it, but I jammed a foot in the way and matched her glare.
“Give me five minutes. No more. Then you can decide for yourself how nuts you think I am.”
She paused with her hand on the door, ready to slam it in my face.
“Just five minutes. A child’s life is at stake. At least hear me out.”
She sighed and pulled back. Her hand dropped away from the door and she raised it to run her fingers through her hair. “At least let me feed the children first, they’ll be awake soon.”
Kelly headed to the kitchen, her back to me as she stormed ahead. She pulled a hair tie from her wrist, pulling her dark unruly hair hard into a tight ponytail. I stood in front of the kitchen bench as she opened cupboards, retrieving cereal packets and slamming them on the table.
“You know what happened since you were here last?” She rubbed her brow, as if warding off a headache.
I wasn’t sure whether I was meant to respond so simply continued to watch her, waiting for a response. I pulled out one of the dining chairs and sat down.
“That’s Mitchell’s seat.” Kelly’s did her best to control her tone, I could only assume, so as not to wake the children. I stood up. “Jack’s on the warpath. Wants to know why you’re sniffing around. Do you know what that means? Why couldn’t you leave us alone? We don’t need you.” She slammed a cereal packet down so hard that pieces flew out and landed on the table. She fell onto one of the seats, one hand across her face.
“Li asked me to come.”
Her hand flew away from her face and she leaned toward me, her voice a ragged whisper. “Keep your voice down, the kids will hear you.”
I sat back down. I had no idea how to break it to her gently. I mean, how does anyone tell someone that they are aiding and abetting a child abduction racket, ex
ploiting vulnerable families overseas, buying their children, only to then on sell them to western families in desperate need of organs? Whether Kelly knew it or not, she was still an accessory to murder, and child murder at that.
There was no easy way to tell anyone something like that. Better simply to lay it all on the line. Besides, time was running out, and if I didn’t tell them soon, Jack would move the operation, leaving both the children and Kelly to a fate unknown. I shivered.
“I know my business card says I’m a writer, but I’m not just a writer. I’m also a psychic.”
“A what?”
“Clairvoyant, as in a medium, and Li really did send me.”
Kelly’s eyes widened, her face growing pale. Our heads turned at footsteps down the hallway. A boy, around seven, padded over to the dining table, eyes misted with sleep and a crocodile with one eye making a bid for freedom hanging from his left hand.
“Who’s here?” The boy squeezed his way over to Kelly and wriggled onto her lap. She wrapped her arms around him.
“She’s just dropped by to say hello.” The boy stared at me, tilting his head to one side. “How about breakfast?” said Kelly, moving the cereal box closer.
“Only if its cocoa pops,” he said, filling his bowl up with the brown sugary cereal. Kelly grabbed the cereal out of his hands. “That’s enough, I think.” She got up and opened the refrigerator, sliding the milk over to him. Her eyes seemed glassy and her smile forced. “I’ll make coffee and we’ll head out to the back veranda, I think.”
The kettle boiled and Kelly poured coffee into two mugs as the young boy shot surreptitious glances my way, although he didn’t speak.
With the nod, Kelly gestured for me to follow her outside. I opened the sliding door. Although early, the temperature had already risen into a balmy summer morning. The timber deck was small but cozy, with a selection of plants and toys tucked into one corner. Nestled high up on a hill, if I weren’t here to tell her to get as far away as she could from a criminal network more than likely planning to kill her, I could imagine we’d drink coffee and exchange gossip. Fat chance.