by Stuart Field
Steel was looking for anything that may help find who shot Brad and why. He was sure it was blackmail of some kind. The kid needed cash, and he did not seem the type to get his hands too dirty.
Foster had told him Brad lived and worked in Mdina, which was about twenty minutes in a taxi. He did not have an address, but Steel did have an idea where Brad worked.
While he waited, he opened up the photograph file and braced himself for what might be there. Usually, a young guy with a camera meant plenty of junk shots, and that’s one thing he did not want to see, not on an empty stomach.
Surprisingly enough they were all pictures of places from both islands as far as he could tell. Buildings, churches, and waterside caves. Steel was just beginning to change his mind about the boy when he found pictures of the American embassy and someone getting into a four-by-four SUV.
Steel could not make the face of the man because of small branches that blocked the view. Steel stared at the photograph and hoped it wasn’t Foster.
He flicked through the rest of the pictures. There was plenty of shots of the vehicle, but no more of the person inside. Steel sat back in the chair and took another sip from the cold drink. The smell of rum hung in his nostrils.
It was a stiff drink, and just what he needed.
The next picture in the set was a small jetty and a sizeable fenced-off building that looked half-built. He thought he had studied all of the islands' wharves, but this one proved difficult to identify.
However, one thing he did notice was the large black superyacht in the background.
After the late lunch Steel telephoned his new friend, Stan the cabbie to pick him up. Stan had joked Steel should put him on a retainer, something Steel had considered beforehand. Stan would make a useful guide, and besides, there was something about the man that made the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. But then, Steel was suspicious about nearly everyone.
In some of the photographs, Brad had a local florist shop in the background. It wasn’t much to go on but then how many florist shops could there be? Steel showed the photographs to Stan in the hope he recognises the place. Unfortunately, Stan did not. Stan got out his navigation system and typed in the keyword Florist. Steel sat back and made himself comfortable. He had faith there would be at least two. Stan turned around and smiled.
‘Well, it’s your lucky day. Apparently, you mentioned only one in the area,’ Stan said with an excited grin.
‘OK, let’s go.’ Steel fastened his seat belt and waited for Stan to speed off in his usual manner. As Stan drove, Steel flicked once more through the pictures, hoping to find some clue about what he had discovered.
And what was worth killing two people for.
Stan drove at a relatively leisurely pace. Steel had insisted on it. It was not out of fear, but to allow him to see the terrain better and get a feel for the land. Travelling at eighty-miles an hour and everything is a blur. At fifty – he saw just about everything, including an extensive golf course and a race track. Somewhere for the rich folk to spend a little of their free time, Steel had thought.
He saw the old stone walls that separated fields and vineyards and peoples gardens. He saw the roads as they wound up the side of the hills. Steel gazed at the plant life that sprung from the dry ground. He saw the endless blue sky without a single cloud. It was a beautiful but somewhat harsh land. Not dessert harsh, but an unforgiving landscape of high mountains and hills with jagged rock formations.
It appealed to Steel. Not the harshness, but absolute hypnotic beauty of the place. As they wound their way through the countryside, Steel took the time to take in the fantastic views around him.
Stan had taken the Triq L-Imdina Road which held plenty of mixed views on the way. A large town on the left and arid country on the right. Brownfields mixed with the occasional green of a tree line. The aircon in the minibus taxi was on full to counteract the blazing heat from outside. Steel had once been used to such weather, but being in New York had softened him slightly. He figured in a day or two he would have climatized again.
‘So what brings you to Malta anyway?’ Stan asked with interest.
Steel kept his gaze out of the window, taking in every point of interest, just in case something were to happen. It was easy to navigate with a reference point, sometimes better than having a map.
‘I am here to see an old friend. Take in some sites while I am at it,’ Steel said, wary of sharing too much. The Triq L-lmdia road hit a roundabout. Suddenly, they were on the TelghaTas-Saqqajja road heading west towards Mdina.
‘So this flower shop, has it got anything to do with your friend, or you just hoping to buy something?’ Stan asked with a curious tone of a man pressing for gossip.
‘You ask a lot of questions, don’t you, Stan?’ Steel said in a deep, ominous voice.
Stan looked into the rear-view mirror and caught Steel’s stony gaze staring back at him. Stan’s smile disappeared, and his eyes stayed on the road and his mouth glued shut. Steel smiled to himself, amused his almost childish scare tactic had worked. The less Stan knew, the better, Steel had thought.
Stan followed the TelghaTas-Saqqajja road until they hit another roundabout and the Is-Saqqajja road. Stan headed north on the road and U-turned the minivan, after spying a shaded area on a large parking area.
‘Sorry, guv, I can’t go any further. You’re going to have to foot-it from here, I am afraid that road bottlenecks after a bit. No cars can get down, not where you're headin’ anyway,’ Stan said. He turned and pointed down one of the streets. ‘It’s just down there about two-hundred meters.’ Steel turned and looked at the road the cabbie was referring too. It seemed big enough to drive a vehicle down, but then most of the side roads Steel had seen in Valletta had been quite tight in places.
Steel got out and stretched out his muscles after the inactivity of being a passenger. Steel looked at Stan and then back at the street.
‘Wait for me here, will you? I shouldn’t be long,’ Steel said. Stan just gave a quick salute and got comfortable in his seat.
Steel walked towards the road. It was busy with tourists who took up most of the street, a mass of people blindly following their guides.
Steel watched as one group waddled by. It was a group from France, Steel figured, or somewhere that spoke French anyway. The guide was a tall woman in khaki shorts and tight-fitting t-shirt, and brown walking boots with white socks, which broke the boots' tops. Her long black hair was tied off into a ponytail. Steel smiled to himself as he watched, hoping to get her name, or at least the name of her tour company.
Who knows, when I’m finished with the case, he thought to himself. The woman looked over and saw Steel watching as he leant against the wall of a nearby building.
She shot him a quick smile and purposely lifted her folder of information up. Stel noted the on a sticker on the back, which read Malta Island Tours.
Steel watched as the group wandered off. With their cameras clicking and cell phones beeping, as endless photos and selfies were taken. All of them stood open-mouthed in excitement, waiting for the next exciting piece of cultural information.
Steel just wanted her number. He sighed deeply as they disappeared from view. Steel knew that chances of seeing her again were slim to none. But then he wasn’t on vacation – not yet.
That would have to wait.
Steel stared into the middle distance, his thoughts a million miles away. Ideas of what she would look like in something less formal – or even, just, less.
The sound of a bicycle bell startled him from his daydreaming. The sharp cling-cling made him jump slightly. He smiled as a little girl of about six years old struggled with a bike that seemed too big for her.
Steel’s gaze fell back onto the street – and the flower shop.
The florist was a small shop in the middle of a long street so narrow it could be mistaken for an alleyway. Green shutter doors were locked back against the wall. An old-style security system that hid the display windows when
the store was closed for the night. It was a tiny place compared to what Steel was used too. It had a single display window with a selection of net hanging baskets and what appeared to be miniature porcelain tea sets. Beyond this were containers containing fresh flowers waiting to be arranged for the customer requirements.
This was no grand window like on 5th Avenue, that was for sure. But he considered it quaint, with a lot of character.
Steel thought how much his wife would have loved to have seen all this. How she would have lazed by the pool at the hotel or explored each of the cities. Steel felt his pulse begin to race. His temperature was rising – he was getting angry. Angry at the people who had stolen everything from him, transferring the anger to something useful, he refocused on getting mad at Lucy’s death.
He saw a woman in the store, busy sorting out a bouquet for someone. As he stared, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the window. His face was full of anger, hate, his fists were clenched as if he was ready to pound away at the glass. The image shocked him, he wondered who else had seen him and thought he was there to do harm.
Steel watched almost in slow motion as the florist began to turn in his direction.
She would see him for sure.
Steel could still feel the anger consuming him, it must be still etched on his face, in his stance.
She stopped.
Steel felt blood rushing back into his fingers, his fist was starting to unclench, but he still bore that menacing glare.
Her eyes started to look up as if aware someone was at the window. Steel saw the smile beginning to form at the corners of her mouth. She would look up and greet a potential customer, and all she would see was a terrifying man dressed in black, looking at her with venom.
Steel traced her eyes as they moved slowly up towards him.
Her smile broadening.
Steel looked to see a kitten that had just walked into the window and curled itself around the tea sets, knocking one of them slightly, causing it to make a noise like the tink of a bell. A smile crossed his face.
‘Saved by the bell,’ Steel said, still watching the kitten.
He looked up quickly, shook off his cold demeanour and smiled as her gaze met his.
Steel cursed himself, angry he had once more allowed his feelings to let his guard down. What the hell was wrong with him?
Was it Lucy? Had her death effected him so badly? But that made no sense, he hardly knew her – wrong, he did not know her.
Could that be it?
He had let his own tragedy and selfishness drive away from the only other family he had. Sure he claimed he had done it to keep them safe. But had he actually done it to save himself?
‘If you are alone, no one can hurt you or use someone against you. You are stronger alone…untouchable,’ someone had once told him.
And Steel had believed them at the time. But now Steel believed it was all crap.
Trouble was now, he enjoyed being alone.
Steel entered the shop, looking around the store as if browsing. The shop was long and narrow. The walls were painted white and red tiles made up the floor. Above, a single strip, halogen bulb illuminated the interior, making the inside glow with light.
Along both walls, wooden shelves stood three high, stacked with arranged bouquets in small metal buckets ready to buy. There were ornaments and hanging baskets. The air was thick with the perfume of flowers and the tang of greenery.
Now he was waiting for the two women to pay for the flowers they had just purchased, and leave. The shop assistant was in her mid-fifties and had a china doll pretty face. She was a short, chubby woman with styled short black hair. She smiled at Steel and adjusted her black-rimmed glasses as he approached. Her dark eyes were large with long lashes.
‘Looking for something special?’ she asked, walking closer to the counter.
‘My name is John Steel, I…’ he paused; Steel knew telling her he was a cop would just make her clam up, especially if she’d been in trouble with the law before – which seemed unlikely, but he’d been wrong before. Or she was just sick of the police coming around because of Brad. Either way, he had to be careful.
‘….I was Lucy Foster’s Godfather. I came here hoping to speak to Brad about what had happened to her.’ The woman nodded, a sympathetic look on her face.
‘Yes, lovely young woman, I heard they had some trouble, poor kids. But I’m sure they will work it out,’ The woman said, confidently.
Steel was about to say something when it hit him. She did not know, the press hadn’t confirmed it was Lucy’s body that had been found at Gozo. Steel thought for a moment. Trying to find the right moment to say something. Before he would just be telling her about Brad, now, he would have to tell her about both Brad and Lucy.
‘I understand he worked here?’ Steel asked.
The woman shot him a curious look. ‘What’s that boy done now… was he found dead drunk again?’
‘I’m afraid I have some bad news regarding Brad,’ Steel’s words were soft. He could see the woman had warm feelings for Brad. Hopeful that was the key to getting some answers for both of them. The woman struggled on her feet and grasped for a nearby chair. Her face had turned pale, and tears began to pool in the corners of her eyes.
‘I’m sorry for your loss.’
The woman grasped at a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped away her tears and blew her nose.
‘I am Anna Bonello, I have known Brad for many years. You know Brad was a little bastard at times, but I loved him like a mother, probably better than his own mother,’ she said with a sad smile as she thought back.
‘Yes, he was a good boy, but a ladies man. Don’t get me wrong, he cared a lot about Lucy, but he was a big flirt. Got him into trouble plenty of times that did,’ she smiled sorrowfully. Her voice was scratchy, her eyes red and bellowed.
‘Miss Benello, where was Brad last Saturday night?’ Steel asked.
Anna looked up at him strangely, her suspicious expression suggested the alarm bells had started to ring. ‘Why?’
‘Lucy’s body was found a few days ago at a place called…’
‘The Blue Hole in Gozo…’ Her eyes flickered from side-to-side, thoughts began to weave a web of terrible possibilities. ‘That was her – the body, that was poor Lucy?’
Steel nodded slowly.
‘You think that Brad could have?…No, not true, not possible.’ Anger filled her voice, and she stood up sharply. ‘I’d like you to leave now,’ she said, wiping away her tears.
‘Miss Benello, I believe someone killed Lucy, and that person also killed your boy. I need your help to find out who did this and why' Steel said before the police do. His tone was firm but compassionate, urgent, but calm.
Anna looked up at Steel again, this time with a puzzled look on her face. ‘Sorry? I thought you were a policeman,’ her tone rang with emotion as if relieved at the revelation.
‘I am… in New York,’ Steel shrugged. ‘but here… I am just a man on vacation trying to find who killed my God-daughter…and your boy.’
‘Brad was gone all day,’ she said. ‘I saw him again until the next morning. I did not know what was going on. You see for the past few days he’d been acting strange… secretive even, which wasn’t like him.’
‘When did it start… this change of his?’ Steel asked, with genuine concern.
‘It was a few days before Lucy was killed. They’d all had gone to Gozo to make a documentary for a blog or something…. They did that a lot,’ she said.
Anna looked over at the front door. Almost as if hoping to see Brad standing there. ‘When he got back, he wasn’t the same. He seemed scared. I don’t know why.’
‘That’s what I am hoping to find out, Miss Benello.’ Steel smiled reassuringly at her. ‘Thank you.’
She nodded again in response.
Steel turned to leave, thinking there wasn’t anything more she could tell him. He stopped for a moment and looked up at the ceiling.
‘M
iss Benello,’ Steel said. ‘Did Brad live near here?’
‘Yes, he was renting the apartment upstairs, would you care to look?’ Anna said.
‘Yes, yes, I would. Thank you,’ Steel said.
John Steel used a set of stairs that ran along the shop's side, the store and apartment were accessed separately. He unlocked the door using the key Anna had given him. The key slid into the lock with little effort.
Steel stepped inside and found himself in a narrow corridor that doglegged out to the left. Immediately in front of him was a compact kitchen, with no room for even a small table.
Steel went inside and opened the refrigerator. The shelves held only beer, cans of soft drinks and day-old pizza. Steel opened up cupboards and drawers, the place was almost devoid of food, or anything to eat on or with. It was almost if Brad had moved in that day straight from leaving home.
Steel checked the cupboards over the sink. His face soured.
‘No coffee, what sort of bloke was this?’ Steel grumbled.
Steel reached inside the fridge and took out one of the cans of soft drinks and opened it. There was a sudden hiss as the gasses were released. He took a small sip of the can, he felt the refreshingly cold liquid on his tongue, and the back of his throat.
Not the best, not the worst drink, but it was cold and wet.
Steel walked out of the kitchen and ventured down the corridor to the next room. Giving the door a gentle tap with his military-style footwear, it opened to reveal a tiny bedroom.
The bedroom was a shoebox. There was just enough room for a single bed with some cheap covers, which sat next to the right-hand wall. On the left, was a wardrobe and a chest of draws. Steel checked the dresser, the closet, and bed, even under the mattress. Steel did not find anything except a couple of dirty men’s magazines and some photography magazines under the bed.
Steel left the bedroom and stepped out, back into the long hallway. He looked around at the bare walls. There were no pictures nor even a mirror.