Cuts Both Ways

by Solomon Carter

Eva cast a look at Joanne. The girl gave her a hint of a smile. Determined and ready to go.

  “Then try it if you like. But don’t put yourself in an uncomfortable situation.”

  “I’ll just butter him up, that’s all. It works at the council, believe me.”

  Eva nodded and Joanne took a deep breath. She set her tablet down on top of the microwave, neatened her collar and stepped past Eva to open the sliding door. Eva’s eyes flicked up to Joanne’s black tablet and stylus, hanging over the edge of the white microwave. It looked a bit precarious. Her eyes narrowed, and a wave of curiosity hit her. She felt devious for even thinking of it… but if there was a way to find out what was going on with Joanne, Eva wondered if she should take it. She listened as Joanne walked out into the office.

  “Hang on…” said Joanne. Eva froze, her eyes still fastened on the tablet, still considering her options. For no good reason, Lauren’s accusation of blackmail slipped into her mind. Doubts about her moral compass had been stirred and wouldn’t quite disappear.

  “Joanne?” called Eva.

  “Just a sec, Eva.” She heard the girl walking further into the office, and Eva took her chance. It was the action of someone, devious, untrustworthy. The irony caught her off guard. Lauren’s voice came to mind. “If the ends justify the means…” Her own words coming back to haunt her. Regardless, Eva picked up the tablet and flipped it over in one quick move. She pressed the on button at the top of the device. It was a device she’d never used before and Eva had to guess at how to make it work. Then the screen came to life, filling with a background of a tropical island with a multicoloured night sky full of stars. There was no pin code. No security at all. The screen was almost blank of icons. The tablet was clean and spotless on both sides. All of which meant the tablet was almost certainly brand new – which made sense. Eva had never seen it before.

  Eva looked at the few icons she could see on screen noticing something yellow that looked like a cartoon image of a reporter’s notepad. She dabbed it and found the notes Joanne had made in their interview with Poulter. They were vague and hard to read because of the handwriting with a stylus. And from what she could decipher, Eva saw they were a token effort, little more than a ramble. But it didn’t matter. Eva wasn’t interested in the notes. Instead she looked for the web browser icon. She didn’t see it anywhere. Instead, she saw something that reminded her of the old Safeway supermarket logo from when she was a kid. She didn’t recognise it. Skype maybe? Eva dabbed it anyway, and a web browser window leapt up to fill the screen. She saw there were four tabs open already, left exactly as they had been at the time of last use. Outside, there was a sudden scuff of hurried footsteps. Eva realised she had heard no chatter in the office, none at all, and now Joanne was coming back. Eva had to hurry. She scanned the screen fast, taking in all she could. The first tab was for a website full of images of girls and women dressed in smart clothes. It looked like a work fashion page, full of very young women looking suave and demure in fine office wear. The website was Pinterest. Eva frowned, but flicked past the first tab and found a similar open tab behind it, albeit with different colour graphics laid around the images of fashionable office girls. This one was Instagram. So, Joanne had been brushing up on her power dressing and from the look of it, it had paid off.

  “He’s not here,” said Joanne, her voice fast approaching the kitchen door. Eva was too busy to reply.

  She dabbed the third tab and the browser page switched to a voucher code website. At first she was intrigued, and then she was wide-eyed with shock. She saw an obviously stock image of a man holding a DSLR camera close to a window, peering out through a set of blinds in classic spying mode. Above the image was a title in bold black typeface: Private Investigating Online Course with Metro Intelligence Training. And to the right of the image was a price. The figure of two hundred and forty-seven pounds had been crossed out and replaced with the paltry sum of seventeen pounds. The discounted price tag stumped Eva. Her mouth opened. But there was one last tab to look at. She tapped it and saw a blue and white off-the-peg website for a private investigation firm she’d never heard of… Tobias Falk Investigations? The name sounded more like a solicitor’s firm. The union of two surnames and all that. There was no personality or face attached to the website. It looked pure business. But scanning the text, she saw the firm really was an investigations outfit. Tobias Falk – friendly, professional, discreet and always gets the job done – with an excellent success rate, male and female agents, working on a 24/7 basis – our services are available on a fixed fee basis at a rate you can afford. Tobias Falk are the experts you can rely on, specialising in investigations across Essex and beyond…

  The last words of the promotional blurb lingered in Eva’s mind as Joanne’s footsteps came close.

  With mad haste, Eva pressed the tablet’s top button and sent the screen black. She placed the device on the edge of the microwave and it slipped and dropped as Joanne walked into the kitchen. Eva caught the device as it fell, but the stylus fell from its tube and bounced on the stained lino below. Joanne looked down at the stylus and the device in Eva’s hands.

  “I think my shoulder must have almost knocked it down. Sorry,” said Eva, hoping she wasn’t blushing, because she felt she had broken the girl’s trust, and invaded her privacy. Joanne was worth her weight in gold. She was researching the business, looking around at her options, planning her future. There was nothing wrong in that. That had to be it.

  “Eva, I can’t see him at all,” said Joanne.

  “What do you mean?” said Eva.

  “Didn’t you hear me? I called and said he wasn’t out there. The front door is wide open. He’s gone, Eva.”

  Eva frowned. “What do you mean, gone? Poulter? But he was with us just a minute ago. If he came here to hassle me, why would he leave?”

  Joanne bent down, picked up the little plastic stylus from the floor and clipped it back into place on the side of the tablet as she took it from Eva.

  “I know… but I went to speak to him and he was gone. I even went outside to look for him, but there was no sign of him anywhere. I’m sorry, Eva. I really hope that creep won’t mess you about. Not like Wharton did.”

  Eva felt disoriented. Tobias Falk…? Online private eye courses for £17… Lauren’s gleaming eyes, and Poulter’s odd nervousness. The unconnected images jangled in her mind like pieces of different jigsaws. She worked to clear her head, but nothing made sense.

  “But he really can’t have gone,” said Eva. “He wants us to find his sister. That’s pretty much all he cares about…”

  Eva walked out of the kitchen into the office, Joanne in her wake, scanning her tablet behind Eva’s back. She looked it over, turning the thing in her hand, and wiped it for dust with her hand. Eva breezed past the front reception desk and headed for the front window. She opened the door and walked out into the noisy street, but all she could see in either direction was traffic. Traffic and a random sample of the usual passers-by. None of them looked anything like Poulter. Eva retreated into the office, gathering pace as she went. She walked to the front desk and looked it over dabbing her lip with her fingernails as she scoured the room for a clue. Her eyes returned to the desk. Next, the seats. Next, her handbag… Eva picked it up, opened the clasp and peered inside, but nothing was obviously missing. The coffee cups on the desk hadn’t been touched, neither of them. And then she saw her phone. But her phone was not where she had left it. Now her phone was on Poulter’s side of the desk. But she had left it on the work side, on the corner by her hand…

  Eva’s eyes widened. She snatched up her phone and dabbed in her pin code. The phone screen blinked open on the function last used. It went direct to the text messages. Right there, front and centre, was a string of messages between her and Dan. And there it was. The message which said Dan had found Alma… the message which laid out the fact Alma Poulter had been found at The Albany Centre. And that there had been trouble. Trouble? She had been so preoccupied with
Lauren, with a head full of Poulter, Eva hadn’t stopped to consider what Dan’s version of trouble might mean. Had Alma resisted? Lost persons often wanted to stay lost. But if Dan had already experienced some problems at The Albany Centre, it was clearer that things were about to get a darn sight worse.

  “Oh no,” said Eva. She looked up at Joanne. The girl didn’t have to work too hard to see the worry in Eva’s eyes.

  Eleven

  Coffees all round then, but only because Dan had insisted. Shame instant was the only thing on offer, but as instants went, this one wasn’t too bad. Dan had gotten into the old project manager’s office – Margie or whatever. It wasn’t hard, the main lock was already broken. From there he dug around the cupboards and drawers while Alma looked over his shoulder. Eventually he found Margie’s secret stash. One of those fancy so-called barista-style blends in a silver tin, stashed at the bottom of some redundant paperwork. The coffee powder inside was long into the process of drying out into a useless clump, but they’d found it just in time, and stirred with water boiled on a camping stove, it tasted good enough. And all the while, the man called Cripps lay on the floor, eyes closed, but eyeballs occasionally rolling beneath the lids as if he was trapped in a wonderful dream. It had been almost ten minutes since Dan had put him down, and Dan was surprised he was still out for the count. Unusual. Back in the old days, back in the ring of his amateur bouts, ringside would have called an ambulance for someone in that state. He would have been halfway to A&E by now. As it was, Dan checked him every minute or so with a few glances, a finger against his pulse and looked at Alma. Alma, the bouffant woman, held her coffee like one of the women from the old soup commercials. Both hands around the big dirty mug. And all the while her eyes were glued to her fallen accomplice. There was a half-mournful look in her eye, a half-defeated look too. But all of it was nestling amongst something else. She looked stressed as hell, and Dan didn’t yet know why. She had barely told them a thing, not even the pipe-of-peace coffee was helping her open up.

  “Is he okay? Your friend here should be awake by now. Awake and causing trouble,” said Dan.

  “Didn’t you see what you did to him?” she snapped in response. “You almost knocked his head off. You hit him before he could defend himself.”

  “Hey, he was hurting my friend,” said Dan. “Don’t sweat too much. He’s breathing easily. His eyes are moving. If he hasn’t got any underlying problems, I’m sure he’ll come round soon. Has he got any… background problems?”

  “Background? No. But he was exhausted before you came. He’s been keeping watch. He hasn’t slept for nights on end.”

  “Then who knows - maybe I’ve done him a favour?”

  Alma Poulter scoffed and shook her head in anger.

  Dan narrowed his eyes as he looked at the woman. She fended off his gaze with an angry glare.

  “I was joking. What’s he into. Is he a drug dealer?” said Dan.

  Alma hissed and shook her head again.

  “But he is one of the people you came here with. The gang from Watford?”

  The woman wouldn’t bite. She sipped her coffee and smacked her lips at the taste. She looked at the cup.

  “I should have known where old Margie had been hiding this stuff. I’ve been in that office a ton of times. If I’d known, I would have had this months ago,” said Alma. “The instant they put in the meeting room was nothing but ground acorns and chicory. Tasted like mud and vodka. And I know good coffee from bad. I live on the stuff.”

  There. The girl had said something human. Dan watched her eyes flit back over the body of the fallen Cripps. Looking at the flicker of the man’s eyes and facial muscles, Dan saw he didn’t have much time left before the next round of bother. But Alma was just beginning to open up. He had a chance. “Maggie… she was the project manager here, right?”

  Alma Poulter looked at him and nodded once.

  “You liked her?”

  “Margie,” said Alma. “She was okay. She wasn’t a totally self-centred bitch like a lot of the hypocrites who work in these places. Margie cared and she liked having a bit of banter with us, a natter. I didn’t give her much time, but when the place went under I saw she had been trying all along. I should have been nicer.”

  “Why did the place go under?”

  “Funding. They pulled the plug on it halfway into the program. Dropped us all right in it, good and proper. At least I wasn’t hooked on anything like half the poor bastards in here. I was here to keep a low profile. But since the centre closed I know Curtis and another ex-resident have already been back in jail. One of the girls, Rhiannon, disappeared full stop and another of the guys, Marius, he ended up dead. He OD’d in the toilets behind KFC in town. That’s what pulling the funding did to us. Do you think anyone’s even going to apologise to Curtis, Rhiannon or the others? And it’s too bloody late for Marius…”

  Dan listened to Alma’s roll call of names. One of them sounded familiar, Rhiannon, perhaps. Was it the name Robert Poulter had mentioned at their first meeting? But Dan wasn’t sure, so he let it go. “The others moved on, but you stayed after the place closed.”

  “Yeah. Because I didn’t have anywhere else to go. This was my roof, my cover. Even when they locked it up, Margie let slip that the place would be left empty for a while. I think she knew what I was hoping. I’d only been here six weeks when it folded. I had nowhere else to go… zero options. I needed the place almost more than any of the others.”

  “More?” said Dan. “More than the guy who OD’d in the toilets?”

  “My situation is different. But just as risky…” The woman looked up at him as if she suddenly realised he was talking to open her up. Alma scowled but couldn’t resist carrying on.

  “Some of them were crazy, right. They’d gone through a whole life of addiction and people telling them that they were pure shit, worthless, the scum of the earth. I guess that’s what happens. Some of them were just junkies who needed a place to stay. But some really wanted to get clean.”

  “And which side were you on?”

  “None of the above.”

  “I saw those pills under your bed, Alma.”

  “Eh? And who are you supposed to be? My dad? You came here and broke into my home. You ransacked my room, you went through all my things. I even saw that sweaty little sod in my knicker drawer. You came here to find me. Your reason for coming here has nothing to do with my pills or my cash. I know what you’re about, even if you want to play your twisted games.”

  Dan’s mouth twisted for a second while he decided how to play it. He sipped his coffee and went after his original tack. Best to steer clear of a row about drugs until some home truths were out in the open.

  Finally, Alma sighed and spoke with a weary resignation. “Those pills aren’t drugs. Least not in the sense you mean.”

  Dan waited. “Well?”

  “They’re Fluoxetine. Anti-depressants. A bit like Prozac. I’ve been on them too long. I’ve been trying to cut them out for years now.”

  “So was that why you’re here? For depression?”

  “Piss off. You know exactly why I’m here. My liking for happy pills and the fact The Albany Centre had a bed for me was just a happy coincidence. I’m not a headcase, if that’s what you’re suggesting. Life has just kicked me in the teeth for few too many times, so I’m not always the happiest fairy on the Christmas tree. Those little tablets help me smile a bit more. Even when I feel like screaming sometimes, I can look in the mirror and there’s a smile pasted on my face. That’s what they do for me. I can smile even if I don’t know why.”

  Alma hadn’t been smiling much since he’d met her which wasn’t much of an endorsement, but Dan didn’t say a word.

  “So,” said Dan. “Have your kicks in the teeth got anything to do with drugs?”

  “Is this the new way you people deal with your victims? Soften them up by patronising them before boring them to death?”

  “I’m not softening you up for anything,
Alma. The honest truth is, I’ve already completed the job I’m being paid for.”

  Alma frowned and looked between Dan and Mark.

  “Why do you say that? Is someone else coming to mop up after you?”

  “Mop up? Come on. What does that mean?” said Dan.

  The woman shook her head and looked away.

  A moment later, she added. “For your information… for what it’s worth… as if it’s even any of your damn business – I’ve been entirely clean of that shit for almost a year. Before that, I hardly used it. I’m not a junkie even if you think I am one. I bet he’d love that. He wouldn’t have to do a thing then, would he?”

  “Who?” said Dan.

  “Shut your nonsense. The way you see me. I know what you see. The rings, the jewellery, the hair, the attitude. You think all of this is down to drugs, right?”

  “Some of it, maybe.”

  “Like your leather jacket is all down to you being a value range heavy?”

  Dan took the barb, but he couldn’t prevent his jaw tensing with irritation.

  “This is my style. My culture, man. Dance culture. That’s what you see on me. Dance music. House. Electronica. The music is what I live for.”

  “And drugs don’t play any part in that at all, I’m sure.”

  “They were only ever occasional supplements. Like some people like to drink energy drinks, Red Bull and all that. But I have always been able to rave without them and have a wicked time.”

  “Alma, are you trying to convince me, or yourself?”

  “I don’t need to convince you of anything. As far as I’m concerned you’re the enemy.”

  Dan noticed Cripps twitch on the floor. His head turned before it sank and relaxed again.

  “And this deep sleep of his has nothing to do with your so-called ‘dance culture’.”

  Alma sneered. “Cripps left all that behind before anyone else. You don’t know us at all.”

  “True,” said Dan, as he finished his coffee and set the empty cup down on the table. “But that needs to change, as of now.”