by J. S. Spicer
A car.
Aubrey wanted to get a better look. The day he’d followed this guy back from the bank he’d been on foot, not driving. The trip had involved catching two different buses. It had taken Aubrey ages to make his way back to where he’d left his van afterwards.
The padlock wasn’t much trouble, but it took him a while. He’d removed his gloves to pick the lock and soon the cold gripped his exposed fingers, slowing him down. Darkness and numb fingers slowed his progress but finally he heard the satisfying click that told him he was in. The interior of the garage was what you’d expect; the car took centre stage filling most of the floor area, and around the sides all manner of paraphernalia had been squeezed onto shelves and stacked on the floor. There were tools, paint cans, jam jars and tins filled with nails and other bits and pieces. An old mower hung in the corner. Aubrey reached out to touch some garden shears hanging near the door; rusty. The whole place had an air of neglect, as if someone had locked it all away years ago.
Except for the car.
Unlike everything else the car was clean, shiny even in darkness, and it was only two years old.
A Volvo.
Hugh Bishop immediately sprang to mind; he drove a black Volvo. Aubrey couldn’t be certain this was that same car, but he had a strong suspicion that it was.
Aubrey put his gloves back on and tried the door handle. It was unlocked.
Pulling open the driver’s door Aubrey peered inside, aided by the soft overhead light that pinged on automatically. The interior of the car was as pristine as the exterior. It smelled strongly of pine air freshener and furniture polish. Aubrey eased himself into the driver’s seat and closed the door, flipping the interior light on permanently as he did so. The glove box yielded nothing useful; a small torch, shammy leather and a bag of boiled sweets. Aubrey helped himself to a sweet then checked under the seats. Nothing there either. He twisted to peer into the back. It was empty, but a dark stain on the backseat caught his eye. Given how spotless the rest of the car was this one flaw cried out to him. He clambered over to get a better look. It was a patch about the size of a tennis ball, and it looked like blood.
The press reports said Hugh Bishop had been drowned. If this was his car it probably wasn’t his blood. But the missing girl, Jennifer Kim, it could be hers. The weirdo hadn’t been watching the bank as Aubrey had feared at the time. He’d been watching her.
Aubrey righted himself in the chair and let out an explosive breath. He could just walk away, but the actions of this guy were coming back on Aubrey, and for all the wrong reasons. Aubrey could have been long gone before the police linked him to the bank robbery, if it weren’t for the murder of Carol Bishop, and now her husband had been killed too.
As his eyes fell on the boot release Aubrey already knew what he had to do. He pressed the button, got out of the car. He took a deep breath before reaching to pull open the boot of the car. He remembered Carol Bishop’s dead body, the skin, the blood and the torn clothes. He didn’t need any more nightmares but he had to know.
Empty.
The boot was empty. Thank God.
So, where was the girl from the newspaper?
CHAPTER FORTY
It was easy to get in. The sliding doors leading from the patio provided no challenge for someone like Aubrey Davis. He stepped straight into a stuffy living room where warmth lingered in the air from an old gas fire. Aubrey risked clicking on the small torch he had with him. He glanced around in a silence only punctured by a slow ticking mantle clock. Flanking the clock were porcelain figurines of spaniels. He immediately worried the house might have a dog but so far no sign. The armchairs at one end of the room were pale with matching fat embroidered cushions propped up on each. This guy didn’t live here alone. Aubrey guessed by the doilies and basket of knitting he lived with his mother rather than a wife. How many people were sleeping overhead? It was unlikely he’d brought the girl here. Then again, he’d hidden the car in the garage so you never knew. He moved on, quietly exploring the downstairs of the house. The dining room looked rarely used. A large vase of dried flowers graced the centre of the polished table and a compact dresser was crammed full of more figurines and crockery sets busy with scenes of birds and woodland creatures. He checked one of the drawers where he found bills addressed to Mrs Edna Myers. The kitchen was small but orderly; the chrome of the sink and cooker glinted in his torchlight.
His belief that the missing girl wasn’t in this house didn’t prevent Aubrey from making his way upstairs. He moved slowly, feeling and testing each step to avoid unwelcome creaks or groans from the old wood beneath the carpet. When he reached the landing he found four doors; two shut, two open. The first open door was the bathroom, dark and empty. The other open door was at the end of the hall meaning he had to sneak past the closed doors to check it out. A box room; a sewing machine sat upon a small table beneath the window, next to it an ironing board was propped up against the wall. There was no bed. Even empty the room was probably too small to accommodate one.
Aubrey turned to the first of the closed doors. He turned off the torch and reached for the handle.
Aubrey had barely stepped one foot into the room when a terrified screech filled the air. He froze, just for a second. Weak light filtered through the thin curtains from the street outside. It gave enough illumination to let him see a wardrobe and a dressing table, and a bed directly ahead. In the bed a small, elderly woman was screaming and flailing her arms. He didn’t realise what she was reaching for until a lamp at her bedside suddenly dazzled him.
Time to go.
The old lady was screaming so much Aubrey didn’t hear anything else; not until he ran straight into someone on the landing. It was him, the guy that had been hanging around the bank.
Breaking into homes wasn’t his thing. In fact breaking into anywhere with people inside wasn’t his style. He liked to work in quiet, empty buildings where he could slip in and slip out and no-one was any the wiser until hours after he was gone. Still, he made assumptions, had expectations. He’d met enough house-breakers inside to give him an insight.
An intruder was a shock, a terror and a trauma. The old lady’s reaction was expected. The guy on the landing should have given way and rushed to check on his mother.
He didn’t.
He planted himself squarely in Aubrey’s path and lunged at him. They collided to the continued soundtrack of old mother Myers’ cries. Now, instead of just screaming, she was calling out ‘Joseph, Joseph’. This then would be her son. The whole neighbourhood would be roused by the din. Aubrey kept up his momentum, using his strong legs to propel him forward and force his opponent backwards. They soon ran out of hallway and stumbled through the now open doorway to the other bedroom. Here too a bedside lamp shone. Aubrey could see there was no-one else here. If the girl was hidden in this house then she was locked in the attic or buried under the patio or something. But he no longer cared.
He had enough to feed anonymously to the police; a name and address, and Hugh Bishop’s car complete with bloodied backseat.
Now Aubrey just wanted to get away. He’d take his money and take his chances. If he could lay low for a while hopefully the police would find enough evidence to realise he wasn’t involved in any murders. He shoved Joseph Myers but the man wouldn’t let Aubrey go. He held onto his coat for all he was worth, grunting with the effort. Aubrey’s determination to get the hell out of there only increased when he looked into the other man’s eyes. There wasn’t fear at finding an intruder in their home, not even indignant anger. Instead they were wild, furious and deranged. In the split second that he stared into those mad eyes Aubrey knew this man wanted to kill him. His own fear and anger and disgust at the injustice of his situation gave him strength.
He punched him; once, twice, then tugged free. Myers stumbled back and Aubrey took his chance to turn and flee. He was halfway down the stairs when he heard the thumping footsteps of pursuit. He went as quickly as he could on the dark stairs but he was
n’t fast enough. He felt the blow from behind which sent him lurching forward, his legs scrambling to stay beneath him. When he reached the bottom he swung his arm out behind him and felt a thrill of satisfaction as the torch in his hand smashed into his pursuer. He risked the front door since it was right in front of him, praying it wasn’t double locked or bolted. He yanked it open and was gone, out into the cool night air.
Aubrey had sprinted down the street and ducked into a dark alleyway before he realised something was wrong. Where he’d been struck on the back the flesh felt hot and painful. He paused against a wall, hidden by shadows, and reached round to feel his shoulder. His jacket was wet, sticky.
That bastard hadn’t hit him, he’d stabbed him.
The knowledge seemed to release the pain and he felt the raw sting of it throbbing beneath his torn clothing. He had to get back to his hideout; assess the damage. He was sure he’d seen an old first aid kit in the kitchen there and hoped it was still stocked. For now he removed his jacket and tore a strip from the bottom of his t-shirt to tie around the shoulder. Then he put his jacket back on and made his way back, moving as swiftly as he dared and keeping to the shadows where possible.
The light of dawn was staining the eastern sky by the time he made it back to the industrial estate. The return journey had seemed almost impossible at times. Lack of sleep and loss of blood made him weak and his exhaustion pulled at him until the act of walking had become a feeble shuffle.
When he took the final steps across the threshold of his hideout fatigue got the better of him. He dropped to his knees, slumped against the wall and tried not to pass out. He allowed himself only a moment’s rest. If he stayed there on the floor too long he wouldn’t get up again. Using the wall as support he struggled to his feet and made his way unsteadily to the kitchen at the end of the corridor. He soon found the first aid box and lowered himself onto the cold tiles to open it up. He breathed a sigh of relief when he found several packs of bandages, some tape and even a half-full bottle of antiseptic. He peeled off his coat, shirt and t-shirt until he was sitting topless and shivering. He took his time, fearful at the prospect of infection. He couldn’t risk a doctor or a hospital and he didn’t even have running water in the hideout.
He sorted the bandages by size. Those that were too small he soaked with the disinfectant and pressed them into and around the wound. It stung like hell but he was determined to be thorough, twisting into uncomfortable, contorted shapes to reach the deep cut. He kept back a couple of small squares which he again dappled with disinfectant before placing them over the knife wound. Then he bound his shoulder with the larger bandages, pulling them tight and making them as secure as possible. Finally he held it all in place with strips of tape.
Aubrey’s body ran with sweat. He felt hot and hoped it was from the exertion of wrapping his injury and not a fever. The sun had risen by now. Shafts of early morning light hit the tiles on which he sat. Not ready to face the stairs back up to his nest, instead he piled his clothes together on the floor, putting his coat on top since it was the least blood-stained, and lay down on them. Caught between the cool floor and the warm sunlight he quickly fell into a deep sleep.
CHAPTER FORTY ONE
Max felt like he was going backwards. He had two bodies, a missing girl, there was no sign of their only suspect, and he was no nearer to solving the burglary at the bank. The only thing he was sure of was that the crime wasn’t what it seemed; there was definitely more to it than met the eye. Why else were the bodies starting to pile up. Travers first instinct after leaving the station was to try and find Jennifer, but he had enough experience to know there wasn’t much he could do on that score. At least not until they were able to trace Bishop’s car. Her picture had been plastered across the local papers. Maybe, if they got very lucky, someone would call in with information. It was frustrating. No, it was worse than that. It was infuriating. Travers felt like he was about to explode, but he didn’t have time to indulge in a temper tantrum.
When all else fails just follow the leads.
The bank job may not have been all it seemed, but the crime still happened, and what’s more it seemed to be the key to everything else; including Jennifer’s disappearance. If Max could make some headway with the burglary perhaps the other pieces would start falling into place.
The area around the bank had been canvassed thoroughly already, but that was before they had a solid suspect for the crime. If Aubrey Davis had robbed that bank, and so quietly and expertly, then he must have done his homework. At least part of that homework meant learning all he could about the daily routine.
The door to Bert’s Café stuck. Max had to give it an extra shove just to get inside. There were only a few customers, all men. The café had been there for years, he remembered walking past it as a schoolboy, thinking the guys in there all looked tough and interesting. Now the street was full of coffee bars and delicatessens, but there was still a market for a good fry up; probably always would be. But Bert’s Café was down-at-heel. You could feel the grease hanging in the air. The place probably hadn’t had a good clean in years. Travers wondered how it passed the health and safety inspections.
He approached the counter, glancing briefly at the blackened congealed mass an old guy was shovelling carelessly into his mouth. The old fellow’s eyes stayed on the racing pages of the paper the whole time. Did he even taste it?
The woman serving behind the counter looked as outdated and unwholesome as the café itself. She was carelessly buttering slices of bread and didn’t look up as he approached.
“What can I get you?” Her voice was a twenty a day habit rasp.
Travers held out his ID card and waited for her to look up. Sometimes keeping quiet was more effective to get someone’s attention. It worked. She paused and glanced at him, then at the ID. She gave a grunt and returned to her work.
“What do you want?” Her tone was resigned, but at least it wasn’t hostile. She’d dealt with police before, Max guessed, but she wasn’t totally shutting him out.
“You heard about the burglary last week? Across the street?”
A curt nod. “The bank, yeah. I’ve already talked to your lot. Didn’t see anything.”
“I’m just following up. Could you take a look at something for me?”
She glanced at him, wary now.
Travers held up the photograph of Jennifer Kim. “Have you ever seen this person?”
Her eyes dropped briefly to the picture.
“No.” She moved aside the stack of bread and butter and started slicing tomatoes in half. Max noticed she used the same knife.
“Are you sure? You barely looked at it.” He heard the hard edge creeping into his voice; his irritation was rising again.
Max glared at her silently until she gave him her attention again.
“I’m sure,” she told him. “I’ve never seen her.”
He took out the other photo. “OK. What about him?”
Travers watched the woman across the counter. Saw the eyes focus. Saw the briefest hesitation. She started to shake her head.
He leaned in, hating the smell of nicotine and grease.
“Look closely,” he instructed, his voice low and his eyes boring into hers. “I’ll know if you’re lying.”
Doubt replaced her earlier disinterest. Then she gave a sigh and put down the knife. She leant her knuckles against the counter and finally gave him her full attention.
“Yeah, he came in here a few times.”
“He was a customer?”
A nod.
“How long has he been coming here?”
A shrug. “I don’t know, not long. A few weeks I’d say. Always sat at the same table.”
“Which table?”
She pointed to the one in the corner next to the window.
“When was the last time you saw him here?”
Another shrug. “I’m not sure, I don’t keep track you know. Must have been some time last week.”
Travers
turned back to the counter. He smiled. “I’ll have a cup of coffee please.”
It was perfect he now realised. A tired old place that blended nicely into the background. Not too busy, but anonymous, unremarkable. He sat at the table; the one favoured by Aubrey Davis. It was an ideal vantage point. He had a clear view of the bank right across from the café and could see a good portion of the street in either direction. The café opened early. Travers could picture it in his mind. Aubrey would be in place before the bank opened, sipping tea, hiding behind a newspaper, maybe even risking the food. He could see everyone coming and going; staff, customers. He could make a note of any outside cameras he’d need to avoid. The Bank Manager and his assistant entered the premises from the rear, but behind the shops and businesses was a maze of yards and alleys. Davis could have easily hidden there to watch and learn Hugh Bishop’s routine.
Aubrey Davis was casing the bank; so, he was definitely guilty of the burglary. Not enough for a conviction of course, but enough to finally convince Travers he was after the right man.
Travers sipped his coffee. It was bitter. He threw a few sugar lumps into it which helped a bit. As he watched people go by he took out Jennifer’s picture again.
Davis would have seen all of the bank staff. He would have seen Jennifer.
This was where the puzzle was still in a million pieces. Hugh Bishop and his wife murdered. Jennifer missing.
Why?
CHAPTER FORTY TWO
He woke cold and stiff. His neck ached from lying awkwardly and his shoulder throbbed. The early morning sun had been replaced by a steel-grey day. With effort he struggled into a sitting position, leaning his good shoulder against the cupboards and blinking away sleep. His mouth was dry and his stomach contracted painfully; he was hungry.
Aubrey still had some snacks upstairs in his office hideout. He’d need something more substantial than crackers and crisps but that would have to wait. He was wanted by the police, his girlfriend was hooking up with her ex, and some maniac had knifed him.