by Rick Blechta
“Well...no.”
“Exactly! Birmingham is the only place where I might pick up her trail.”
“Don’t you think Campbell has already tried to do that?”
“He told me they’d had no luck, but I really wonder how hard they tried. I might do better. Do you have any other suggestions? No?” Shannon tightly folded her arms over her chest. “Then, in that case, I’m going to the UK with you.”
Twenty-One
Just what the hell do you expect to accomplish from all this? Shannon asked herself for about the hundredth time.
As the plane bumped along the taxi way, she watched a huge airplane lift off into the night and wondered if anyone on that flight was as conflicted about their trip as she.
This was to be her first time out of North America, and it felt like a very big step. Her previous travels had been confined to the States and one holiday in Cuba with Rob two years earlier.
Now, with almost no preparation or planning, she was jetting off to the UK , with only a goal in mind and possibly no way to attain it: find the girl who’d started this series of woeful events and bring her to justice. Never in any case she’d handled was the detective as personally involved. This was now about her family, her kids, and she wasn’t playing a game of one-upmanship like her damned husband, either.
When she had called New York that afternoon to announce she’d be gone for a while, Rob had sounded suspicious and made a snide remark about “running off with your rock star boyfriend,” and how this was further evidence she’d “taken leave of her senses.” If Shannon hadn’t been so desperate to speak with her children, she would have slammed the phone down on him.
Robbie hadn’t said much other than that his dad had been taking him to “a bunch of really cool places,”and that he was feeling pretty good. She had felt reassured, since Robbie had sounded his usual chipper self. Maybe he would miraculously come out of this without any lasting scars.
Then again, what might the boy go through in the lonely hours of the night, when tortured things were free to slither out from the dark corners of a young mind? Would his dad notice there were problems?
Rachel, on the other hand, had not sounded good.
“Are you sleeping okay, honey?” Shannon had asked.
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“When are you starting at your new school?”
“Dad says tomorrow.”
“What do you think of Manhattan so far?”
There was no answer for a moment, then Rachel blurted out, “Mom, why does dad have to be such an asshole?”
“Hush! That is no way to talk about your—”
“He knows how I feel. I just got finished telling him!”
“Well, that’s not a good way to talk,” Shannon answered, even though she felt exactly the same about him. “Your dad thinks he’s doing the right thing.”
“When can we come home? I hate it here!”
Shannon saw no reason not to be truthful with her fifteen-yearold. “My lawyer is setting up a court date, and hopefully you’ll be able to come home after that.”
“But when will that be?”
“As soon as possible, honey. Grams and I both miss you a lot.” She did not want to start crying, further upsetting her daughter, so she changed topics. “I’m going to be away for a few days.”
“Where are you going? To England?”
“Yes. I’m going over there to search for the person who started all this trouble.”
“Is Michael going, too?”
Shannon hesitated, wondering if Rachel had overheard her dad’s “rock star” comment. “Um, yes, we’re flying over together, but he’ll be rehearsing in Glasgow, and I’m heading south to Birmingham.”
“Are you going to sleep with him?”
It took Shannon several seconds to find her voice. “Rachel! We’ve been through this before. You know that is way out of line!”
“Don’t you want to, Mom? He’s a pretty cool guy.”
“Rachel,” Shannon answered, struggling to keep her voice calm, “you don’t take a large step like that just because you think someone is ‘cool’. Haven’t I taught you anything?”
“Relax, Mom. I’m not saying I’m going to do it—but I think you should.”
Shannon felt completely out of her depth. Sure, she had spoken to her daughter about the birds and bees several times over the years. She’d even bought her a book in case the girl felt uncomfortable talking about those sorts of things. Now here was Rachel counselling her mother to hop into bed with someone! It would not be easy for Shannon to wrap her brain around this turn of events.
“We shouldn’t even be talking about this.”
“But don’t you like Michael?”
“He’s a nice person.”
“Well, Mom, it’s time you moved on. You’re too good for Daddy.”
Tears welled up again at her daughter’s words. Shannon suddenly felt as if she’d been waiting for someone to tell her this. That it was her fifteen-year-old daughter, with whom she hadn’t been getting along very well lately, made the remark doubly welcome—and awkward.
“Rachel, honey, I...”
“Mom, I just want you to be happy. Before, I was angry with you for making Daddy leave. I wanted us to be a family again, so I was mean and unfair to you. I’m so sorry about that.”
“There’s nothing to apologize for. We’ve all been under a lot of stress.”
“I can see now that what Daddy did was awful for you, that he was being an ass—”
“Please don’t use that word again. He is your father.”
“It doesn’t change things, and we both know that,” Rachel laughed. “Just do your best to get Robbie and me out of here. I am never going to be a New Yorker! Never!”
“I’m working on it, Rachel, I’m working on it.”
“Good! Now go to England and find the person you’re after. If anyone can do it, it’s my mom.”
“I really appreciate your confidence in me. It means a lot.”
Rachel giggled again. “And sleep with Michael if you want to.”
“You’re too much!” Shannon laughed.
“I love you, Mom.”
“Oh honey, I love you so much I feel like I’m going to burst!”
“Good night, Mom. Have fun in England.”
Shannon had held the phone to her ear until the dial tone came back on, her mind in a complete uproar. Draping a coat over her shoulders, she had gone outside and stood on the back porch looking out over the fields until the cold couldn’t be ignored any longer.
Their plane was now in position on the runway, the pitch of the engines rising as it started rolling forward. Shannon said a silent prayer, not for the flight, but for the leap of faith she was making. Not a good flier at the best of times, she reached out and gripped Michael’s hand without realizing it.
The plane rose very fast and first circled south, swinging over Lake Ontario, then east. Far below, the lights of Toronto’s downtown glowed with almost painful clarity in the winter night as the pilot steered a course for Glasgow, three thousand miles and another life away.
***
Nine and a half hours later, Shannon, accompanied by Michael, walked into DCI Campbell’s office at Divisional Headquarters in Dumbarton, west of Glasgow. Their flight had arrived at eight thirty a.m., and since they couldn’t check into their hotel until noon at the earliest, Shannon had made a call to see if the Scottish detective could see them right away.
It was mainly a courtesy call, one investigator to another, something cops always did when they came on to another’s turf— especially if they wanted cooperation. Shannon also felt she needed to establish her credentials as a competent investigator.
Campbell rose as they entered his office. Tall, neat and very proper in his manner, he did and didn’t look like what Shannon had expected. First of all, due to his accent, she’d pictured him wearing a kilt, as silly as that sounded. Next, even though he was over six feet, she’d p
ictured him heavier, since he had a “heavy” kind of voice. He had on a heathercoloured tweed suit, accompanied by an immaculate white shirt and silk tie. Rumpled Columbo he certainly wasn’t.
Giving the room a once over, Shannon was amazed at how exceptionally tidy it was, quite unlike the office of most other cops she knew. It made her want to begin surreptitiously moving things.
After gravely shaking hands, Campbell immediately picked up a rather impressive fountain pen. While he did use it occasionally to take notes, most of the time he fidgeted with it in the most annoying fashion. Before five minutes had passed, Shannon had to restrain herself from reaching over the desk to take it out of his hands.
The interview started with Shannon bringing the Scottish policeman up to date on things at the Canadian end, and he seemed sincerely grateful for that. He hadn’t yet been told, for instance, that the blond henchman had met with a fatal accident.
“This is an unfortunate turn, lassie,” he said. “I’ve just sent one of my detective sergeants over to your country, mainly to have a wee chat with this man. Last I heard, he was going to cooperate.”
“I’m sure they have their hands full with this investigation,” Shannon answered, sticking up for the home side. “They’ll certainly get in touch with you as soon as they can.”
“And what exactly do you hope to accomplish while over here?”
Shannon laid her cards on the table. With the assistance of her notes, she told Campbell everything she knew, guessed or imagined about the mysterious girl. After a while, Campbell picked up his phone, asking for someone to come in to record the discussion. Other than that interruption, Campbell let Shannon give her report uninterrupted, a mark of respect, she hoped.
“The thing that really puzzles me,” she said towards the end, “is why the girl told Michael all that garbage about her supposed father. When I spoke to those hoods in New York, their information about Mastrocolle matched a lot of what she’d said. Why would she have done that? It certainly puts her head more firmly in the noose. She could have made up any number of harmless stories about why those thugs were after her. That makes me suspect there may be more truth in some of the other things she said, as well.”
Campbell sat nodding, the fountain pen held endwise between his two index fingers. “An interesting theory, to be sure, but I don’t see how finding her would help me solve my murder case. She may have set things in motion, but she was three thousand miles away when the murder happened.”
“Are you actually looking for her?” Shannon asked.
“To be sure, lassie, to be sure, but we operate in a different manner over here. We don’t hold much with conjecture, no matter how interesting. Our investigation is proceeding down other avenues at the moment.”
The Scot got to his feet and stood looking down at her, a standard police tactic to “gain the upper ground.” At that point, Shannon would have had to stand on a chair to get the upper ground, and Campbell knew it. Her anger rose.
She looked steadfastly down at her notes, pretending not to notice him looming over her. “Have you looked for the place where she told Michael she was staying in Birmingham?”
“Yes, and it took a lot of hours and energy to come up with absolutely nothing. It’s our feeling she lied about that.”
“And you’ve got no further information about her?”
“We’ve shared that photo of her you so kindly sent us with every law enforcement agency in Europe, with no luck. She’s probably gone to ground someplace in North America, and you don’t need me to tell you what that means. Finding her is going to be no easy task, especially since, from what you’ve told me, she sounds like a very resourceful young lady. So, while she’s still of interest to our investigation, we’ve moved on to other areas which we hope will be fruitful.” He nodded to the notetaker, who got up silently and left the office. “Why don’t we keep in touch? If you come up with anything, you’ll pass it along, won’t you?”
On the way back downtown to the hotel, Shannon sat on her side of the taxi, arms crossed and severe disapproval on her face.
“Boy, I’ve been shut down by some smooth ones before, but Campbell takes the cake! Tell me, Michael, is he always that insufferable? About the only thing he didn’t do was pat me on the head and tell me to go home!”
“I wonder if he cares whether he solves the case or not,” Michael said as the cabby skillfully threaded the vehicle through the traffic flowing toward Glasgow’s core, windshield wipers going a mile a minute under a driving rain.
“Oh, he cares. That kind of investigator always does, but he will also proceed as he thinks fit. Campbell has already formulated his theories, and he’ll follow them until he has no more blind alleys to go down. Then he might consider what I told him, but by then the trail will be even colder. If I strike paydirt on my little trip south, I’m going to make certain he has to eat his words!”
***
By the time they were ready to check in at their hotel, Michael had actually come up with a very good plan. He would check in at the Hilton, where the rest of Neurotica would be staying when they hit town. However, he wouldn’t be sleeping there. Where he would actually be was in the much smaller, out-of-the-way boutique hotel where Shannon was currently looking across the counter at a very tall young lady with extravagantly red hair.
“And you are checking in for yourself and your husband?” she asked.
“Yes. He has a business appointment and will be arriving later this afternoon. I’m absolutely beat after the flight and want to get some rest.”
“To be sure,” the desk clerk smiled.
Shannon was on edge, mostly as a result of her conversation with Rachel the day before.
Michael’s idea was to book this room under the name of Mr. and Mrs. O’Brien. With Michael Quicksilver booked into the Hilton, any bad guy wanting a piece of him would naturally try there.
The sticking point, and it was a very big one, was that they would have to share a room, unless they were to book a third room so that propriety would be served.
“I doubt that I will be sleeping much,” Michael had said back in Toronto, “so you can have the bed all to yourself. This damned insomnia, you know. I’ve brought a few books to read, and all my business materials are on my laptop, and you know how much time I need to put into them. I imagine I’ll be very busy.”
Up in the room, she quickly stripped and went into the bathroom for a long, steamy shower to soak the kinks from her body and cobwebs from her brain. Even though she’d dozed a bit on the plane, she had missed a night’s sleep, and it was beginning to have an effect.
Putting on a robe, she closed the drapes and lay down on the bed, thinking, I’ll just shut my eyes for a few minutes then get dressed.
An hour later, Michael’s knock on the door woke her out of a deep sleep. For a moment she had no idea where she was, and the knocking made her very apprehensive.
“Who is it?” she called out.
“Michael. How about opening the door to a poor dusty traveller?”
She hurried across the room to open the door. Michael’s eyes flicked downward for a moment, and Shannon realized with embarrassment that her robe was open at the top a little more than was appropriate.
Pulling it shut, she let him pass into the room.
“Nice digs,” he said, looking around. Noticing the state of the bed, he added, “Sorry I had to wake you.”
“I was just dozing anyway. You said I should go until I drop.”
“Only way to deal with jet lag.” He flopped down on the bed, hands behind his head. “I’m all checked in at the Hilton, and I also stopped off to make sure the equipment was at the rehearsal space we’ve arranged for.”
“When is the rest of the band showing up?”
“Rolly and Lee are already here, but I avoided them at the Hilton. John and Tommy arrive tomorrow.” Michael looked at his watch. “It’s nearly two. Fancy something to eat?”
“The way they fed us on the plane?
I may want dinner, but nothing until then.”
“How about we eat here in the hotel? I’m told they have a very swish rooftop restaurant. Quite the view of Glasgow. Would you agree to be my guest? It’s the very least I can do.”
That sounded good to her. While Michael sat at the desk making the booking, she wandered around the room a bit. The bed was quite large. Some sort of drawn up curtain do-dad behind it made the room seem grand enough for the Queen herself. She had never stayed in such a luxurious place. Michael acted as if it were the norm for him. Perhaps it was, considering his background.
***
They clinked glasses for the second time.
“My feeling is that every bottle of wine should be greeted with a toast,” Michael said with a grin. “What shall we toast to this time?”
“Hmmm,” Shannon answered. “We can’t toast to that unfortunate girl who brought us together. To be honest, I wish I’d never heard of her.”
“How about to Scotland the Brave and your first trip to Old Blighty tomorrow?”
“Old Blighty?”
“Native terminology, covers the whole country. You’re actually going to Brum, though, as the locals call it, and the Black Hill country. I hope you can understand their speech. They can be quite unintelligible.”
Shannon took a sip of wine. “Initiate me then.”
During the remainder of the meal,Michael gave her a crash courseon Brummy slang. He was really quite funny, and his good mood rubbed off. For the first time in days, no thoughts of her problems cast a shadow on Shannon’s mood.
“I have no idea what you just said,” she laughed.
“I asked you if you wanted to go to the off-license and pick up some beer.”
“It sure didn’t sound like that! I guess you have to be born there to understand the accent and local terms.”
“The terms I certainly know, but even I have trouble with the accent sometimes. I haven’t lived there for a lot of years, after all.”