Mr Invisible

by Duncan Brockwell

  Elfman’s departure didn’t make much sense to Coates. Why leave most of your belongings behind? And where would he go without his passport? “Are you talking about his Peebles or Elfman paperwork?” He guessed the ex-convict wouldn’t own one under his old name now.

  “Danny Elfman,” Packard confirmed. “I’m looking at it now. It’s still in date; in fact, it was only issued a year ago. Why would he make a run for it without this?”

  “Because he can be traced with it. And he might have a fake passport, who knows? I would use a fake one, if I had to leave the country fast, wouldn’t you?” He had a thought. “Do me a favour? Open his laptop and check his browse history. I’m going to ask Cyber to do the same with his work computer. Let’s find out what secrets they hold.”

  “Sure thing,” Packard affirmed.

  Coates hung up and waited for a member of the sales team to enter. Coates thought apprehending Elfman might be hard going. He could be anywhere by now. His charge might not be in the UK anymore.

  Using his mobile, he looked up the name Georgina Shaw on Google. A list of options came up. He had the choice to view her on Twitter, Facebook, through the World Surf League website, or via YouTube. Coates chose Chatter, and because the app wasn’t installed on his phone, Google Play gave him the chance to download it. “When in Rome,” he mumbled.

  After joining up, which took thirty seconds, he was officially a Chatter member. He never liked social media. But looking at photos of Georgina Shaw, he understood why Elfman enjoyed her so. A talented surfer, she appeared to be far more than that, even to his old eyes. Stunning didn’t do her justice, he thought, scrolling through pictures of her in various poses, and varying degrees of undress, although never less than in skimpy swimwear. If truth be told, he enjoyed her in a bikini the most. “My word,” he said, stopping at a photo of Shaw with a gorgeous girl either side of her, all three in bikinis.

  “Ah-hem.” Coates looked up to see a guy in a navy suit cough a second time.

  Coates switched his phone off and asked the sales team member to join him at his table, the bloke in his early twenties and dressed to impress in a tailor-made suit.

  42

  Wednesday morning was hectic for Coates. Instead of driving to police headquarters in Lewes, he drove straight to the offices of McGiven, Niall and Sanders to complete his interviews with the sales and customer service teams. Having arrived late afternoon the day before, he’d only managed to speak to two team members and Patrick Jacobs, the floor manager.

  Fiona Wilton, his first interview of the day, knocked on the door. He called for her to enter, and a lovely-looking brunette girl poked her head around the door. “Please, come in, Miss Wilton.” Coates invited her to sit down opposite him. Like her other teammates, Fiona dressed to impress. She wore a light grey two-piece suit and white blouse. “Thank you for coming.”

  Before he’d left the offices the previous night, he wrapped Elfman’s work laptop up in cellophane and drove back to HQ on Church Lane. He then carried the computer to the Cyber department, where he asked for them to check its search history.

  As he left for home, Packard arrived in the station car park. Coates checked with his partner what he’d found in the flat. According to Packard, Elfman had an interest in everything Australian. The online history showed Elfman used Chatter, and Google Maps the most.

  “I thought Patrick was having a laugh when he said you want to talk to us about Adrian Mole,” Fiona said, jump starting proceedings. “I thought you were going to ask me about Carl.”

  “Excuse me, Adrian Mole?”

  “Our nickname for Elf Man. He’s so ordinary, Elf Man actually looks a bit like him.”

  Impressed, he raised an eyebrow. “I’m surprised you know who Adrian Mole is. Aren’t you a bit young to remember that? And what’s this Elf Man business?”

  “Another name he hated,” Fiona confessed. “It sounds horrible, but no one liked him. I mean no one, not even Patrick, who spoke to him more than anyone else. I caught Elf Man trying to sneak a peek at me from behind his screen so many times. The thought of him eyeing me up makes my skin crawl.”

  “So, it’s safe to say you and he never talked about his social life at all?” He didn’t need to ask the question. Her expression, the turned up nose and look of contempt gave him everything he needed.

  “What social life? He didn’t have any friends inside, or outside work. The way I understood it, Elf Man lived on Chatter. If you want to know more about him, look into that. He was obsessed with Georgina Shaw. I bet he’s even got little photos of her on his walls, the ugly, sad perv.”

  A brief silence fell over them, then Fiona chuckled to herself.

  “Do you want to hear something funny? He went around telling people that he was flying out to Sydney to meet her. You couldn’t make this shit up. How deranged can you get?”

  Coates smiled, making out he was laughing at Elfman.

  “He even cheeped his plane ticket as proof. The guy’s an absolute arsehole, and I hope you catch him. Carl was lovely; he didn’t deserve to die like that, no one does.”

  “Show me that plane ticket, would you?” Coates asked her, sliding his mobile across the table. He waited for Fiona to open the Chatter app. Once she had, she scrolled down for the right picture. “Thanks.” He took the phone back and studied the photo. It showed the date and time of the flight, but not the name of the owner.

  A line of enquiry, if nothing else. Fiona’s scoffing made him apprehensive of believing her story. “And how long ago did he disappear?”

  Her face changed, more serious. “Well, he never came back after that Friday, and we know why now, don’t we? He put the picture of his ticket to Sydney up in the afternoon, and your lot say he stabbed Carl that same Friday night. So, he obviously murdered Carl and did a runner.”

  Unable to argue, Coates continued discussing Elfman with her for a further ten minutes. Dismissing her, he walked her to the door and asked her to send in the next sales team member. There were twelve people to interview on that team, and eight on the customer service side. He would be there all morning, and part of the afternoon. While he waited, he logged on to Chatter and Elfman’s page.

  At the top of his page: Elf Man. It was written how Fiona had said: Elf Man. Why would he want his username written like that? One of his last cheeps showed a picture of the plane ticket to Kingsford Smith Airport, Sydney.

  With the name on the ticket omitted, Coates couldn’t find out if Elfman flew to Sydney, or not. Four thousand pounds he had spent. Without a name to search, he couldn’t go to Qatar Airlines and ask if he’d flown on the date shown on the picture. Or could he? If Elfman had used a fake passport, his photo would be on their system. Coates exited Chatter and phoned Packard. “Yeah, I need you to do me a favour,” he said, hearing a knock on the door. “Contact Qatar Airways and ask for a passenger manifest for…” He reeled the date off and hung up.

  Now that he had his partner working the airlines angle and Cyber scouring Elfman’s digital fingerprint, he hoped they would find him soon. But what if Elfman was over in Sydney? What could Coates do then? He had no desire to fly over to Australia; he hated flying at the best of times.

  43

  Shane stared up at the dark clouds through the living room window. Outside in the garden, the wind had dropped. Eerie and still, the promised storm edged closer. Predicted to be the biggest thunderstorm of the summer so far, he loved freaky weather, the more violent the thunder and lightning the better. He winced at the pain in his arm.

  “Here, take these,” Georgina said, handing him painkillers and a glass of water. “I’m going to lock up downstairs.”

  She hadn’t spoken to him all afternoon, not after he’d snapped at her during lunch. That was the most she had said to him in hours. He regretted snapping, but she didn’t understand how he felt. The embarrassment and humiliation ate away at him. He remembered a crowd gathered around him, and a couple of people taking photos, which would end up in the n
ewspapers.

  Being in the public eye had its merits, and huge pitfalls. Every time he made a mistake it ended up on page one or two of the daily rags. Fortunately, Elf Man had yet to use his incriminating photos. The “yet” bothered him the most. What was this freak waiting for? Elf Man could have caused him great distress. He could have broken Georgina’s heart by now, split them up and caused mass devastation.

  With his arm in a cast, Shane walked over to the table and picked up his sling. His sling on, he rested on the sofa, wanting to hear the approaching storm, so he kept the volume low on the TV. It excited him, hearing the thunder rolling towards the house. Rain gently pattered against the windows. “George, I’m sorry about earlier!” he shouted, as she walked away. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

  “Whatever! I’m going up.”

  “Night,” he said, watching her disappear. Anger made him throw the remote at the armchair, not stupid enough to smash it against the wall. The rain increased in intensity, the patter becoming more sustained, more like a hiss. “Here we go,” he told himself, getting up from the sofa and walking to the window overlooking the garden.

  Staring out at the dark, he watched the drips roll down the glass. The first clap of thunder, quiet and far away, made him shiver with excitement. He swore that one day he would move to the States and chase storms, for fun.

  The first flash of lightning lit the garden. In darkness, his own reflection stared back at him. Thinking it might be a good idea, he hobbled over to the wall and turned the lights off. “That’s better.”

  In his shorts pocket, his mobile vibrated. He used his fingerprint to open it, and a text from Elf Man sat there. Stood in front of the window, he opened the message to find a photo of himself looking through the glass, taken from behind the perimeter wall. He wore the same clothes. Tonight’s the night, the writing below the picture read.

  Not liking the sound of that, he dropped his phone and hobbled through the living room to the stairs, where he tried his best to climb them with his injured knee. The fall had broken his arm and sprained his left patella. “George!” he yelled. “I need your help, babe. I’m sorry about earlier.”

  In her bed garb – knickers and long T-shirt – she joined him at the bottom stair and aided his ascent, allowing him to use her as a crutch. “I’m sorry,” he repeated halfway up. Georgina said she forgave him, although words were cheap; he knew she didn’t mean it, and when on the landing, she sped ahead to the bedroom.

  Instead of trying in vain to beg for her forgiveness, he ignored her when he walked into their bedroom and stumbled over to the wall safe hidden behind a painting Georgina loved. He took the picture down, entered the code and opened the safe.

  “What do you need in there?”

  “Now it speaks.” He took out his Beretta and full clip. “Just as a precaution,” he added, turning to her. He slid the magazine in and chambered a round. “I’ll be downstairs, if you fancy joining me later?”

  On his way out, Georgina said, “He’s here, isn’t he?”

  Stopping with his back to her, he tucked the pistol into his shorts and turned to her. Shane didn’t want to scare her. “You locked the back door, right?”

  “Of course. But that doesn’t answer my question.”

  “No, he’s not here,” he lied. “Would you want to be outside tonight? Nah, this is just a precaution. Better to have it–”

  “And not need it, than to need it and not have it,” she finished.

  Shane chuckled. “I’ve said that a few times, huh? Doesn’t mean it’s not true.” He was happy seeing a smile on her face, if only fleetingly. “Come down and join me.”

  “Maybe later, when the storm gets here.”

  Taking his leave, he hobbled back downstairs and stood in front of the window, his pistol handle sticking out of his shorts. “Come on, you bastard,” he muttered, holding the handle. With the doors locked, Elf Man couldn’t get inside. And if he did, Shane would pump him full of bullets, prison or not; he would protect his castle, his love. Georgina was his guiding light, his North Star, and he would fight for her, even banged up. “I’m ready for you.”

  She screamed upstairs.

  “George!” He leapt towards the stairs, ignoring the stabbing pain in his knee and arm. Up each stair with a wince he went, until he flew across the landing, the gun in his hand. With a kick, he almost took the door off its hinges to find her crying, her mobile on her lap. “What is it?”

  Georgina held out her phone, her hand shaking. “She’s dead.”

  Not really wanting to find out, he glanced at the bloody picture of Amelia with her throat sliced open, lying on the floor, her dead eyes staring into the camera. Ready to throw up, he dropped the mobile on the bed and sat next to his girlfriend. “I’m so sorry,” he said, pulling her into him, stroking her hair on his lap. “This shouldn’t be happening. We’re supposed to be out there enjoying ourselves. I’ll phone the police.”

  Georgina screamed again when the lights went out.

  Shane helped her upright and picked up his mobile. No bars. Reaching for the landline phone on his chest of drawers, he put it to his ear: nothing. No dialling tone. Dead. Without scaring her, he got up and told her to stay in the bedroom, while he went to check on the fuse box. “It’s probably nothing, baby,” he said, not convincing himself, much less her. “I’ll be right back.”

  On the ground floor he found the box by the front door. The fuses had been tripped by something. Reaching up, he pulled every switch up at once, to no effect. The house remained in darkness, only occasionally lit by the approaching lightning. He gulped. He would have to go outside to check the wiring. “Shit!”

  Georgina shouted at him from upstairs. With gun in hand, he hobbled up to the bedroom, groaning in pain with each step, to find her staring at her phone. “What is it? What’s wrong?” He took the mobile away from her for the second time. Tears coursed down her cheeks.

  And there it was! The photo of him with Valerie on his lap at Fever nightclub. A damning picture of her kissing his neck. How could he respond? “It’s not what you think.”

  Beyond words, Georgina fell onto the bed and buried her face in her pillow. Sitting down next to her, he reached out and tried to comfort her, rubbing her back. “I’m sor–”

  “Get out!” she snapped.

  “Please, baby.”

  Pulling herself up, her face red and puffy from crying, she stared at him. “I said, get out! Go on! Go downstairs. Go into the rain. Go anywhere, I don’t care, you bastard!” And she fell back down and buried her face in her pillow.

  Shane didn’t want to leave her in such a state.

  His secret was out there.

  He would make it up to her; he had to. He couldn’t lose her.

  44

  With Georgina upstairs in the bedroom, Shane went back to watching the storm in the distance. Every thirty seconds or so the room lit up in a fleeting display of Mother Nature’s wrath. Elf Man was out there, Shane thought, the pistol back in his shorts. Quiet in the garden, no sign of their tormentor, he watched out for him. “Where are you, Elf Man?”

  No sooner had he asked, than the pom appeared in a series of flashes, stood in front of the pool, staring up at him, his arms outstretched, and fingers gesturing for him to come outside and face him. Elf Man was drenched through, not carrying anything.

  Another scream came from upstairs. “He’s here, Shane.”

  He walked towards the stairs. “Not for long. Stay where you are, baby. Don’t come down here until I tell you.”

  “Wait! You’re not going out there?”

  Her voice faded away. He found himself at the sliding patio door. He paused for a moment, thinking, go out and kill the mongrel, or stay in and play it safe? An inner rage made him flick the lock and slide the glass door across, the hiss of the rain slamming against the paving slabs. A rumble of thunder reverberated through the concrete as he took his first step outside.

  “Where are you, you piece of
shit, huh?” He held the pistol out. “Where are you? I’m going to fucking bury you.”

  Out in the pouring rain, Shane did a panoramic scan of the garden, twisting, left, then right, behind him, in front.

  Visions of Amelia’s slashed throat flashed before him.

  Further into the garden he went, spinning around with the pistol, ready to fire if he saw the slightest movement. Rain pummelled him, dripping into his eyes.

  Out by the swimming pool, where the pom had stood only a couple of minutes earlier, his itchy finger on the trigger, Shane stared up at the house, where Georgina stood looking out of the living room window.

  “You want me, Elf Man? I’m right here,” he bellowed, trying to shout louder than the thunderous roars above him. “Let’s finish this, you and me. I’ll even put the gun down, how about that?”

  Nothing.

  Elf Man didn’t appear.

  Shane stood holding the pistol out, waiting for the pom to show himself.

  Georgina beckoned him from the bedroom window.

  “Fucking coward!” Shane shouted before turning. As he walked towards the house, Shane felt eyes on him.

  Reaching the patio door, he quickly jumped inside and slid the door closed so fast, he thought Elf Man would appear.

  Shane locked it. “We’re safe,” he yelled up to her.

  With his clothes dripping, he picked up a towel Georgina had left by the patio door and dried his hair.

  In the living room, he found her stood by the window, her arms crossed. “He’s fucking with us, honey.” He placed the gun down on the coffee table before stepping behind her and putting his hand on her shoulder. When she shrugged him off, he let his arm drop by his side. “I’m sorry! I’m going to make it up to you, I swear.” He tried holding her waist.

  “Don’t touch me!” she hissed. “The only reason I haven’t thrown you out’s because he’s out there, and I don’t want you to end up like…” Her voice trailed off. Georgina bowed her head and let out a sob.