by Rob Ashman
Mechanic was emotionally shredded. The planning had been rushed and the execution at the house a total disaster. Daddy would not be happy.
Lying in the dark, Mechanic tried hard to focus on the ritual. The soft strains of Pachelbel’s Canon in D played through the headphones. The fantasy preparation was in full flow but it wasn’t working. Mechanic’s mind drifted back to the house and replayed the sequence of events over and over again. How could it have gone so wrong?
There was so much catching up to do, the plan was never going to be ready. Worst of all, Mechanic knew that control was ebbing away with each attack. It was just a matter of time.
Eyes closed, Mechanic rehearsed what needed to happen: the method of approach, the forced entry and the precise ceremony of killing the occupants – a procession of grainy images from a low-budget horror movie. Then came the unmistakable sound of footsteps. The thud of heavy boots stomped on wooden floors as Daddy moved from room to room inside Mechanic’s head.
Doors opening, doors slamming.
This was getting way out of control.
Mechanic tore the headset off and crashed down the corridor, jerking the weights off the floor.
‘It’s too soon,’ Mechanic snarled into the mirror as the frenzy of pumping iron did its job. The pain surged and acid coursed through tiring muscles, burning them with every lift.
Footsteps were fast approaching.
Daddy was about to make his decision.
Ready or not.
5
Lucas enjoyed driving, but was hating every mile of this trip. The needle hugged sixty-five as he drove the seventy miles down US 98 to Keaton Beach and the home of Celia Mason.
With the cruise control on, he’d little to do except to think of the tactics which he would employ once he met his nemesis. He’d decided back at the station that the personal touch was the way to play it, and had asked Metcalf to telephone ahead to inform Judith Somerville that he was on his way. He didn’t want to make the call in case she chewed him out over the phone. Lucas would have to meet the infernal woman sooner or later and it was best to do it face to face.
He made good time to the row of expensive beachfront properties. The house was big and, like its neighbours, overlooked the Gulf. It had beautiful trimmed lawns on each side, an avenue of imported trees and a long sweeping driveway. At the back was a large pool area and two sun terraces with access to a strip of private beach.
I wonder who paid for this lot, Lucas thought as he climbed out of his car, knowing exactly where the money came from. He started up the driveway, gravel crunching under his feet.
It was well known that Judith Somerville’s husband was a successful man in his own right and ran his own real-estate business. What was not so well known was that he knew jack shit about selling houses and it was Judith who pulled all the strings. Her husband was a world-class socializer who would win gold if brown-nosing ever became an Olympic sport. He was a superb frontman for the company, but was never anything else.
Lucas always suspected that it was set up this way so that Judith could concentrate on her political image without the risk of tarnishing it with the sordid necessity of making money. He also suspected that not all of the business deals would stand up to close scrutiny since Judith wielded her political influence in the background to ease them through. It would never do for the congresswoman to take a fall if some of the rather more underhand transactions become public. That, Lucas surmised, would be her husband’s job.
Looking at the house, framed in the pale glow of the morning sun, Lucas had to admit that the Somervilles were very well off and that Celia Mason was taking handsome advantage of her parents’ riches. This house was all about family wealth and an ostentatious wedding gift from Mommy and Daddy.
The big brass knocker thumped hard on the door, echoing around the vaulted ceiling of the entrance hall within. The door opened only to the extent of the thick safety chain connecting it to the frame. A man’s face, ashen grey with red-rimmed eyes, peered around the woodwork.
‘Yes, who are you?’
‘Lieutenant Ed Lucas, Florida State Police Department.’ Lucas showed him a card he’d removed from his wallet. An arm snaked out from behind the door and grabbed it. The door slammed shut.
Bit late for the Fort Knox routine, Lucas thought. Pity you weren’t as keen on getting value for money from your alarm system last night.
Lucas was getting impatient, but tried not to allow himself to get boiled over before he even saw Somerville. The same grey-faced man opened the door and ushered him into the house, giving him his card back.
‘Please come through to the living room, Lieutenant Lucas. We’ve been expecting you.’ The man walked on ahead.
‘Thanks.’ Lucas grimaced at the exaggerated emphasis given to the word we.
The room was spacious, with two four-seater sofas facing each other across a marble coffee table which was big enough to hold a sporting event. Pallet-knife oil paintings hung on the walls, original pictures from a local artist depicting ocean and beach scenes. The far wall was mostly glass, giving a splendid view of the pool area and beach down to the water’s edge. This also housed the derailed patio door.
To the right of the hallway, Lucas could see the dining room. Glass cabinets along the walls housed cut crystal and polished silver which sparkled and glittered while a rich walnut table and eight chairs were positioned in the centre. The same painter whose paintings were featured in the living room had also provided the paintings for this room – he’d done well out of the Somervilles. Lucas was drinking all this in when he realized that the man he’d followed was no longer in the room. A familiar voice greeted him from behind.
‘Lieutenant Lucas, so good of you to pay us a personal visit to clear up our little difficulty.’ It was Judith Somerville.
Lucas turned to see her emerge from the kitchen, slinking towards him. She was dressed in a tight-fitting top and a long silk wrapover skirt that revealed a generous glimpse of thigh when she walked. Her long black hair was piled up high at the back and held in place with grips. Sunglasses were perched on top of her head. The ensemble was finished off with what Lucas could only describe as a pair of hooker heels. Memories from their first meeting flooded back, the ones about the screwing, that is, not the killing.
She glided around the sofa and sat on the edge of one of the seats, motioning for him to sit in the chair opposite.
When he was seated, she reclined into the soft cushions and crossed her legs. The skirt wrap parted and fell to either side. What Lucas had previously only glimpsed was now firmly on display.
She smiled and looked at Lucas, saying nothing. It was obvious he didn’t know whether to meet her gaze or feast his eyes on her expanse of thigh. It was so easy with men like Lucas. The top, the skirt, the whole ensemble was just a technique for disarming them, to make them think more about what was happening in the front of their pants than to concentrate on serious debate. Judith broke the silence when she gauged Lucas was uncomfortable enough.
‘I’m unhappy with this situation, Lieutenant,’ she said flatly. ‘I hope you’re receptive to the sensitivity required in handling our …’ she paused, ‘… unfortunate mishap.’ She delivered the line like a woman who was telling her boyfriend that penis size didn’t matter.
Lucas’s mind was still halfway up her skirt. He jolted himself back to reality and grunted a noise that could be interpreted as either yes or no, making a nondescript waving gesture with his hand. He was outmanoeuvered, already struggling.
She continued, ‘You, of all people, know my stance on law and order in this state. I’ve campaigned on it and bettered it. My record is one of achievement.’ She stopped, allowing Lucas to catch up.
‘Congresswoman—’ Lucas started, but was cut off.
‘Needless to say, an incident such as this is a godsend to those political elements who have, shall we say, differing views to mine. I have no doubt that they wouldn’t hesitate to use my daughter’s misfor
tune to undermine my strong record, which could prove most damaging.’ She fixed Lucas with a stare that made him feel about eight years old. ‘Damaging, that is, for all concerned, Lucas. Am I making myself clear?’
‘I appreciate that this could cause adverse publicity for you and your family,’ Lucas replied, finally off the mark, ‘and that any coverage could be used against you by your opponents.’
‘Well done, Lieutenant. Well thought through.’ Her tone of voice ensured Lucas was back to being eight years old again. ‘But that’s just half the picture.’ She pulled her skirt back in place with a flourish and leaned forward. ‘This story is bound to break sooner or later, irrespective of how carefully it is handled. We have to consider it inevitable. When that occurs, I want to be able to provide a response that states the incident has been dealt with and that the perpetrator of the crime is already in custody. All of which, of course, is due to the effective law enforcement processes I’ve implemented since I’ve been in office.’
She focused her gaze on Lucas across the marble-topped table. Lucas eventually broke the silence.
‘Bringing this to a satisfactory conclusion will be in both our interests.’
‘That’s correct, Lieutenant.’ Judith rose to her feet and stared down at Lucas. ‘And let’s not be under any misunderstanding here. It will be brought to a satisfactory conclusion.’ She emphasized the ‘will’ with a foreboding that Lucas painfully recognized.
Lucas nodded his head as if in surrender. ‘Everything possible will be done. The team are on their way here now, Congresswoman.’
‘Good,’ she replied, making her way back into the kitchen. She continued the conversation over her right shoulder. ‘To allow your team as much free access as possible, my daughter will move to my residence in Tallahassee until this settles down.’ She returned with four envelopes.
Judith waited in the centre of the room with the envelopes in her hand. If Lucas wanted them, he’d have to go and get them. He moved to stand in front of her and she handed them to him, one by one.
‘This one contains a statement from Celia, my daughter. This one is a statement from her husband Charles. This one is a list of all that is missing and approximate valuations. And finally, this one is a list of the guest names at yesterday’s party.’ Lucas now had all four envelopes. He was about to speak, but Judith raised her hand to stop him.
‘Should you require any further information, please contact my attorney as he will be acting on behalf of Celia and Charles. My car is waiting, I must go. Goodbye, Lieutenant.’ She offered her hand to Lucas who shook it. ‘The house keys are on the dining room table.’
‘Thank you, Congresswoman,’ was all Lucas could manage before she swept past him and was gone, closing the front door behind her.
Lucas was rooted to the spot, clutching four manila envelopes. He heard the car pull away from the driveway.
‘Thank you, Congresswoman,’ Lucas said to no one. ‘Thank you,’ he continued a little louder, pacing around the living room floor, shaking his head in self-berating mode.
‘Thank you for a delightful kick in the nuts more like.’ Lucas was furious with his performance. ‘And why the hell did I shake her hand? Should have been her damn neck. Good job I worked out my tactics beforehand, otherwise I’d have risked screwing it up.’
Lucas was still giving himself a hard time when the sound of heavy tyres on the gravel outside made him stop. There was a sharp rap on the door. He opened it to find Bassano standing in the front porch while the forensics team got out of the van. Lucas glanced at his watch. It had been five and a half hours since Metcalf’s call.
It wasn’t long before the whole house buzzed with the energy of professional seekers, people who piece together the past from the crumbs left behind. The air tasted of fingerprint powder as white-suited professionals puffed and brushed their way around the house. This was punctuated by the repeated flash of a high-resolution camera, snapping at anything that looked interesting. With so many photographs taken, Lucas was sure the entire interior of the Mason home must be in one shot or another.
One of Bassano’s team disappeared back to the station with the envelopes containing the statements and guest names so the process of elimination could begin. Lucas went outside and sat in one of the wickerwork chairs on the pool deck, deep in thought. Silver-grey powder clung to the cuffs and forearms of his jacket, a testament to the chair having already been passed as clean.
The method of entry was straightforward. The burglar had approached the property from the back, walking along the water’s edge up the beach to the house, probably dragging something behind him to cover his tracks. Once at the house, he’d cut through the mosquito netting that surrounded the pool and slipped through. He’d secured the netting back in place with black insulating tape, sticking it to the underside of the frame.
From there he walked along the poolside to the patio doors. There were sandy footprints on the decking, but nothing that gave any indication of size or make of shoe. The sea breeze had seen to that. The burglar had slipped a flat-edged tool into the runners and prised one of the doors loose. He’d lifted it out and rested it against the frame to give the impression of it being partially open to anyone who passed by. Then he was in.
Once he’d gathered up the goodies, the burglar had left the same way, again securing the pool netting back in place with tape and covering his tracks along the beach. Metcalf had been right, just a run-of-the-mill, standard burglary.
Lucas sighed, rising from the chair and heading back to the living room. He avoided the squares of carpet that had been marked off in red for special attention. Drifting through each room of the house, his mind was in neutral, soaking up what he saw. Glancing at his watch, he noticed that it had stopped. He shook his wrist and put it to his ear. The metallic tick, tick, tick told him it was still working. Lucas walked back to the living room and looked at the clock on the mantelpiece which read 10.22am. He adjusted his watch.
‘I’m going back to the station, there’s nothing I can do here. If you find something, call me.’
‘The initial sweep should be completed around two o’clock,’ replied Bassano. ‘We’re pushing for results later today or early tomorrow.’
‘That’s fine,’ Lucas said at the front door. ‘Just keep me posted.’
Driving back to the station, Lucas’s mind once more wandered through the Masons’ home, evaluating what he’d seen. Something bothered him.
Lucas believed that all good cops had a sixth sense. It wasn’t something that could be taught at the Police Academy, nor was it something that could be gained with experience. You either had it or you didn’t. It was what made you look beyond the facts and peel back the veneer to find what lay beneath. Lucas’s sixth sense was in overdrive.
He knew what he saw, that was clear, but he had an overwhelming feeling of being taken by the hand and led up the garden path. The more his mind roamed around the house, the stronger the feeling. Something wasn’t right.
Back at the office, the afternoon passed into early evening. Lucas spent the remainder of his day dealing with the ever-expanding administrative demands of his in-tray. Several times he caught himself drifting back to the Mason property, its expensive designer decor, and that damn woman in that damn skirt. But there was something that just didn’t add up. Something didn’t fit the picture.
There was a loud knock at the door and Bassano walked in. Lucas liked Chris Bassano and had a huge amount of respect for him, but there was one thing that drove him crazy. Whereas Lucas always came to work in a sharp suit, with his shoes polished and his shirt ironed to within an inch of its life, Bassano looked as if he’d been dragged through a hedge backwards. Whenever Lucas told him to tidy himself up, he’d respond, ‘But, Chief, you’re well-dressed enough for the both of us.’
Bassano had learned early on that the way he dressed added to the impression he made on a woman. When his shirt looked as though it came straight from the washing basket and a six year
old had done his tie, it added a pinch of vulnerability to an already desirable package. It was a dynamite combination and, as long as the women kept coming, he really didn’t mind. His wife, on the other hand, had minded a great deal.
Lucas motioned for him to sit down. ‘What do you have so far?’
Bassano walked around his desk to join his boss at the conference table. ‘Fingerprints and statements have been taken from all the guests we could get hold of.’ He consulted a ream of computer printouts. ‘That’s sixty-five so far with fifteen left to go. The team has almost completed the forensics so we’ll be ready to go first thing in the morning.’
Lucas nodded. ‘That’s good, let’s hope it throws up something quickly. I don’t think our delightful congresswoman will wait long before sticking her nose in.’
It was 6.15pm and both men were washed out from their early start. ‘Get yourself home,’ Lucas said. ‘Get a good night’s sleep and pray that Celia Mason’s burglar left us a calling card.’ Bassano smiled, bid Lucas goodnight and left the office.
Lucas stared into space with both of his elbows on the table, supporting his ample chin in his hands. His mind was full of the images of the day, trying to find the piece that didn’t fit.
He left the office at 7.30pm, still searching for it.
6
Mechanic’s face reflected back from the smoked glass cabinet. The glazed eyes and vacant stare told their own story. The battle was almost lost.
Daddy’s voice was harsh and insistent. ‘I said, do it now.’
‘Not ready,’ Mechanic replied in a trance. ‘Need more time.’
‘Damn you,’ Daddy’s voice reverberated around Mechanic’s head. ‘You screwed up. I said now.’
The weights had not worked. Pumping the barbells had brought excruciating pain, but the attack just kept coming. Mechanic was struggling to stop Daddy taking full control.
The preparations were a long way from complete and the constant attacks didn’t help. Daddy was impatient for the next one. The screw-up at the house ensured that.