Searching For Hope

by Michael Joseph

  He didn't have to wait long.

  'Well, well,' said Robins briskly, climbing the stairs to the flat, spotting Sam at the top holding the door open. 'Who's been a busy boy lately?'

  Sam said nothing. He simply stepped back to allow Robins into his flat. The detective wore a look of grim satisfaction.

  'I don't know whether to thank you or arrest you for interfering in police business.'

  Sam shrugged and showed his guest into the living room.

  'Do as you please,' he told Robins, watching the detective settle into an armchair. 'I'm off the case.'

  Robins crossed his legs and draped an arm leisurely across the back of the chair. There was a glint in his eye. A look that told Sam he was going to enjoy this.

  'Why were you even on it in the first place?' asked Robins. 'I presume nobody hired you to investigate Danny Findlay's death?'

  Sam pulled a face and told Robins what had compelled him to track down Danny's killer. The detective listened patiently as Sam revealed everything he had found out since discovering Danny's body. He had nothing to lose by divulging the information. He was already anticipating his forthcoming trip and the unknown challenges that lay ahead.

  'You did all this out of the goodness of your heart?' asked Robins, unable to hide his astonishment.

  'You weren't there, detective,' replied Sam, recalling a similar conversation had taken place with Richie. 'It felt like the right thing to do at the time.'

  Robins studied Sam for some time.

  'Have you got any idea how much fuss your visit to Roger Carpenter's place has caused?'

  'I think you're about to enlighten me,' sighed Sam.

  'Too right I am,' snapped Robins. 'When that property went on the market, the police asked the estate agent to keep their eyes peeled for anything suspicious...anybody acting strangely. You were in the police force. You know some of these sickos like to revisit the scene of their crime.'

  Sam wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Yet Robins had a valid point.

  'The estate agent talked to the woman next door. They both agreed you were acting a bit strange.'

  Sam raised his eyebrows.

  'The agent got your car registration and notified the police. Next thing, I've got the head of the team that investigated Hope Findlay's disappearance on the phone asking me why an ex-police officer on my turf is so interested in a girl who went missing two years ago! I only placated him by pointing out your reputation as a private eye and ensuring him I would have a word with you first!'

  Sam did a double take. Had Robins just paid him a compliment?

  'So, what happens now?'

  Robins deliberated the question.

  'What's your theory?' he asked eventually.

  Sam frowned.

  'What?'

  Robins edged forward in his chair.

  'I want to know what you make of all this.'

  Sam was thrown by the request. Why was Robins interested in his opinion? Then it dawned on him. The detective was desperate for Sam's thoughts for one simple reason. If Danny Findlay's death was linked to the disappearance of Hope, then Robins was on the verge of a massive coup.

  Sam took time to reply. He had no intention of withholding his assumptions, not if it could help bring a killer to justice, perhaps even track down a missing girl. He just didn't want to set Robins off down the wrong path.

  'I believe Danny was searching for his sister.'

  'In Newgate?'

  Sam nodded.

  'Think about it. Danny doted on Hope. She goes missing and, a year later, he ups sticks and arrives in Newgate on a mission, looking for something, prepared to live rough while trying to find it.'

  'Okay,' said Robins, nodding. 'I'll go along with that. What about his death?'

  Sam chewed on his lip.

  'It could have been a mugging...'

  'But?'

  'He appeared to have left his home...the village he had lived all his life...without telling a soul. That could mean he knew he was getting into something dangerous. Then he was beaten up shortly before he died. I think that was a warning of some kind...and when he wouldn't back off, he was permanently silenced.'

  'You think he was close to finding his sister?'

  'I'd say so.'

  Robins fell silent. Sam had the impression he wanted to ask more but couldn't bring himself to do so. Instead, the detective sighed, got to his feet and gave Sam a searching look.

  'Don't change your mind about this, Sam. Stay out of it and leave it to us. I'll let you know if there are any significant developments.'

  Sam nodded and saw Robins out of the flat. Watching the detective leave, Sam considered how Robins' attitude towards him had changed during the course of their conversation. If Sam wasn't mistaken, the pompous demeanour had been replaced by something akin to grudging admiration.

  Sam went into his office and settled down behind the old wooden desk. He pulled open the bottom drawer, took out a bottle and glass, and poured himself a substantial drink. Taking a mouthful, he gave one last thought to Danny. Sam asked quietly for understanding, hoping the police would complete the job he had started.

  Then it was time to move on.

  He formulated some ideas for his upcoming assignment based on the information Andrew Rodgers had supplied so far. Sam would know more on his arrival at the airport. The location. The staff. The general vibe around the place.

  Then his thoughts turned to Alice. He had to make his mind up. Should he talk to her before he left? Or maybe it was best they had some time away from each other.

  Sam realised he didn't have a clue.

  His intercom buzzed into life again. Sam pushed his chair back and stood up. Winter had resumed again outside with a vengeance. The wind was howling. Heavy snow swirled around his flat violently.

  He spoke into the intercom and waited for a reply.

  'It's Detective Robins again.'

  The voice was muffled, barely audible over the storm raging outside.

  'Come in, detective,' said Sam, pressing the button to open the downstairs door. He picked up the whisky bottle and glass, put them back in the drawer, then went to the flat door, wondering why Robins had returned. Hearing footsteps on the stairs, he pulled the door open.

  Two masked men burst through the doorway, sending Sam crashing backwards into the wall. The impact was heavy, causing him to lose balance and fall to the floor. Before he could get to his feet, he felt a blow to the head.

  Everything went black.

  His next conscious moment was a terrifying one. He was struggling to breathe, his lungs at bursting point. He opened his eyes to find his face underwater. His arms were locked behind his back. A rough hand on the back of his head kept him down, forcing his face close to the bottom of a ceramic bowl. Just when he thought he couldn't hold his breath any longer, someone dragged him backwards, hauling him out of the water.

  Sam took huge lungfuls of air, gulping for all his worth. Water ran down his face, dripping onto his bathroom floor. Someone still had hold of his arms. Sam sensed more than one person behind him. Anger rose within him.

  'What do you-'

  Suddenly, he was plunged back into the sink full of water. He tried to wriggle out of his captor's grip, kicking wildly even as the energy began draining out of him. Water sloshed over the sides of the sink, soaking his trousers.

  Then he was out of the water again, manhandled with little finesse. Sam fought for air once more. He knew he couldn't sustain many more spells in the water. It all depended on their intentions.

  Then he was being shoved forward again. He closed his eyes and prepared himself for another dunking. Only his face didn't reach the water this time. Instead, his forehead smacked off the edge of the sink. The impact reverberated around his skull. The walls of the bathroom began to go grey. His legs buckled. With the energy sucked out of him, he began sliding helplessly to the floor.

  The last thing he remembered was the indignity of lying in a puddle of wate
r.

  Then it all went dark again.

  Chapter 15

  Sam Carlisle was having a peculiar dream. Something was crawling on his skin, wriggling about incessantly on his body. A muffled noise began to sound far away. It got louder and louder, a harsh monotone piercing his senses.

  Sam's eyes shot open.

  His phone was ringing in his trouser pocket.

  A bolt of pain hurtled through Sam's skull. He groaned and tried to lift his head. It felt heavy and unwieldy, too big for his shoulders. He gave up and remained motionless, flat on his back in his bathroom. There he lay, soaking in a puddle of water, listening to the ringtone puncture the silence in his flat. He presumed his assailants had departed. He hoped so in this state.

  What had happened?

  He tried to rationalize it but simply didn't have the strength. Instead, he allowed himself to drift off again, lured by the enticement of further sleep.

  The flat was shrouded in darkness when he came to again. He was stiff and cold, with a headache that pummelled his temples worse than any hangover. He touched his forehead lightly and felt an egg-sized lump protruding above one eye. Grimacing, he reached up, took hold of the sink basin and hauled himself to his feet.

  He had stayed down long enough.

  Sam wandered around his flat, ensuring no unwelcome guests were lingering. The place was empty. He made his way carefully downstairs to find the front door shut. Sam climbed back up the stairs, feeling the spirit gradually feed back into his body. His head hurt like hell, and his arms were aching, but the loss of dignity hurt more.

  Back in his office, he settled behind his desk just as he had done earlier in the day. He looked at his wristwatch. Seven in the evening. He had been out cold for hours.

  Sam poured himself a double whisky and replayed the build-up to the sudden intrusion into his home. He had let Detective Inspector Robins out before returning to his desk to consider his forthcoming assignment. Then thoughts had turned to Alice. Finally, the intercom had buzzed, igniting the sudden, unforeseen violence that had left him unconscious in a pool of his own tap water.

  Sam took a sip of his drink, ruminating, ignoring his physical discomfort. The flat was deathly quiet. Not a sound could be heard outside. The world could have come to a standstill.

  His phone burst into life.

  Sam nearly jumped out of his skin.

  He pulled the phone out of his damp pocket with a grim smile. He was entitled to be edgy after events today.

  'Sam?'

  It was only Alice.

  'Alice...'

  'I rang earlier,' she said breezily. 'I thought we could meet up for a chat...catch up after you scooted off the other night.'

  Sam thought about the call he had missed while prone on the bathroom floor, thankful now he hadn't been able to take it. A groggy reply would have only alarmed Alice.

  'Sorry, I'll have to give it a miss tonight. I had a heavy day yesterday...still recovering, I'm afraid.'

  Sam sensed Alice hesitate. Any other time, he would have been delighted to spend an evening in her company. However, he had other things on his mind right now. Matters that necessitated an evening with his own thoughts.

  'Oh, okay,' said Alice quietly, failing to disguise her disappointment. 'Well, we can do it another time.'

  'Sure we will,' said Sam, closing his eyes, touching his forehead gently. 'I'll give you a call.'

  They both hung up.

  Sam resumed his deliberations.

  Today's incident had been a warning, a blatant attempt to scare him off. Sam was struck by the irony of it. Almost immediately after calling a halt to his investigation, he had been dragged back into it, experiencing the same heavy-handed intimidation Danny had suffered prior to his death. The men who had barged into Sam's flat couldn't have known he had washed his hands of the case.

  Sam's thoughts turned to how they could have found him. DI Robins immediately sprang to mind. Was it possible the detective had arranged the assault?

  It was the timing that bugged Sam.

  No sooner had Robins left...

  Surely not? What had Robins to gain? Yet the intruders had used his name to hoodwink Sam and gain entry into his flat. Had one of them been Jake Dawkins? Sam couldn't say. It had all happened too fast.

  If Robins wasn't involved, then Sam could only presume someone had been tipped off following his trip to Morehampton. He recalled those he had spoken to yesterday. The woman cleaning the memorial. The barman in the village pub. The woman next door to Roger's cottage. The estate agent showing people around the property. All seemingly innocuous characters. People on the very fringes of Danny's life.

  That brought Sam full circle, back to the issues he would have contemplated had he not handed the case over to Robins. Who had Danny stayed with on his arrival in Newgate? Why had he returned to Morehampton three months ago as the train ticket Sam had found indicated? And why had Danny's uncle put his property up for sale around the same time? Co-incidence? Sam didn't think so. He needed to track down Roger Carpenter. Have that chat with Jake Dawkins.

  Then there was the mystery surrounding Hope Findlay.

  Sam took out his phone and retrieved the picture saved from a news article. A teenage girl in school uniform scowled back at him, her eyes ablaze with resentment. The last picture taken of Hope. An unhappy girl, forced to grow up without her parents, tolerated by her guardian uncle, ultimately rebelling against all those around her.

  Weariness seeped into Sam. He put his head back and closed his heavy eyes. Images flitted in and out of his mind. Snapshots of people's faces. Danny. Robins. Hope. Jake. The last profile he saw was of Roger's next door neighbour.

  The woman cackling horribly, laughing at him.

  Then Sam drifted off.

  Chapter 16

  Sam woke early the next day with renewed purpose. He rang Newgate police station and got straight through to DI Robins.

  'Yes, Mr Carlisle?'

  Sam picked up on the formal reply. The familiar coldness had returned now Robins had what he wanted from him.

  Sam recounted the intrusion into his flat and the subsequent assault.

  'Are you okay?' asked Robins flatly.

  'I'll live,' replied Sam, tolerating the dull ache at the front of his head.

  'And you say they used my name to get in through your front door?'

  'That's right.'

  Sam could sense Robins searching for the appropriate words. The detective had responded with surprise, even mild concern. That meant nothing to Sam. Detectives were masters at disguising their true thoughts. Sam knew that better than most.

  'Well, I've written down everything you've told me, but I suggest you come down to the station and give us a statement.'

  Sam murmured he would consider it. Robins sighed.

  'You did say you were going to stay out of this, Mr Carlisle. I hope that's not going to change...despite what happened yesterday.'

  'Nope,' said Sam, suddenly succinct again. 'I'm going to leave the case in your capable hands.'

  'Good!' retorted Robins. 'Remember what I said...this is a police matter, and I don't want you interfering any further.'

  Interfere?

  Sam wouldn't dream of it.

  ***

  Later that morning, Sam was in his Capri, parked down a side street overlooking Lintons estate agents. With the heater on full blast to combat the bitter cold, he scanned the scene in front of him. The narrow road running through the centre of Witcham was littered with small hotels and gift shops, indicating the village was more of a tourist attraction than neighbouring Morehampton. However, on this Sunday morning, in the middle of winter, every shop was closed, leaving the main road devoid of sight-seers. Sam had seen only the odd hardy soul out braving the freezing conditions.

  That suited him fine.

  He got out of his car and ambled across the road. A road sign indicated the local high school was nearby. The school Hope Findlay had attended. The last place she had b
een seen alive.

  Sam reached the other side of the road and gazed along the row of shops. Lintons was situated at the very end. Sam walked past it, rounded the corner and continued alongside a six foot wall, studying its brickwork with casual interest.

  He spotted what he needed. A large crack halfway up the wall.

  A quick glance up and down the street, then Sam was up and over the wall, dropping down deftly on the other side. There he remained a few moments, breathing hard, relishing the warmth his exertion had generated.

  He had landed in a small yard. Quickly, he made his way to the back door of Lintons, knowing time was of the essence. With no sign the building was alarmed, Sam reached into his pocket and extracted a slim metal implement. Slowly, he inserted the rod into the keyhole of the back door, twisting and turning it gently until he heard the lock click. Holding his breath, he pushed the door inwards, relieved to hear nothing but the faint groan of rusty hinges.

  Sam stepped into the back room of Lintons. It was dark and empty. Treading lightly, he proceeded to the front of the shop. It was a standard sales office, furnished with desks, computer monitors and filing cabinets, bathed in a weak half-light from the wintry greyness outside. The property adverts attached to the window fronts darkened the room further, projecting numerous square shadows into the office. Sam knew he had to work quickly, despite the gloominess assisting his stealthy activity. It would only take one person to walk past and peer in.

  He hunted through the nearest cabinet, hoping to find what he was looking for on paper, not wanting to have to mess about with the computers. The first three drawers proved fruitless, yielding plenty of property files, just not the one he wanted. He struck lucky in the bottom drawer.

  The file relating to the sale of Roger Carpenter's cottage.