The Butcher's Husband and Other Stories

by Amy Cross

  "Then you need a new partner," she says.

  I stare at her for a moment. "Fine," I say.

  "It's for the best". She turns and walks away down the corridor.

  "Harsh," says Alice, who had been at the door listening. "You want to go and get a drink?"

  I frown. "Did I imagine it, or didn't you turn down my invitation to get dinner earlier?"

  "That's dinner," she says. "I'm talking about a drink".

  ***

  At 3am, there aren't many options for a drink, but Alice 'knows a place' and we're soon in an all-night diner that does a nice little sideline in under-the-counter liquor.

  "So where is it?" Alice asks, sipping at her straight vodka.

  "Where's what?"

  "The tumor".

  I stare at her. Do I trust her? "What makes you think -"

  "I'm observant," she says. "You've been on chemo. Recently, too. Like... hours ago. Just a low dose, but you have the dilated pupils and a distinctive lightness to your skin. There are other signs, too, but I'm not going to tell you those. Not many people would've noticed".

  I look at my drink for a moment. I don't mind admitting I'm pretty uncomfortable with this conversation. "It's not looking good," I say after a while.

  She nods. "How long do you have?"

  "Five years at most," I say. "They only found it when I got shot. Otherwise I still wouldn't know".

  "You should be off sick," she says.

  "I don't really have any hobbies".

  She smiles. "The chemo will cloud your mind. If that's what you're worried about. It'll stop you thinking clearly for a couple of days after each dose".

  "I know," I say.

  "You need to plan around that," she says.

  "Again, I know".

  "So was she right? About the drinking?"

  I take a sip of whiskey "She buys into that crap about 'once an alcoholic, always an alcoholic'. She doesn't think it's possible to get back to where you once were. She thinks you have to quit altogether".

  "A common misunderstanding," says Alice, raising her glass. "Cheers". I tap her glass with mine. "I'll sleep with you," she says suddenly, "but not until we've cracked this case".

  "How do you know I'll sleep with you?" I ask.

  "Because you asked me out to dinner," she says, "and you don't seem like a guy who cares much about what he eats".

  "True. But still, I might have standards".

  "I'm sure you do. But I'm sure I meet them".

  We sit in silence for a minute or two.

  "Why would someone hold a bunch of kids in a shipping container," I say slowly, staring at my glass, "then kill one of them, toss him in the water where we're going to find him, and move the rest?" I look over at her. She shrugs. "And why wasn't this Thomas Smith kid reported missing?"

  "Because his parents didn't give a damn?" Alice says.

  "There are parents like that?" I ask.

  “Absolutely.”

  A pause. We raise our glasses again and drink.

  "You have to go over that boy's body again and again," I say. "You have to look for something that'll tell us where he's been, what happened to him".

  She opens her mouth to reply, but her phone rings. She answers. "Yeah. Okay". She passes the phone to me. "It's your girlfriend".

  I take the phone. "Development," says Tepper coldly. "We did some checking up on Thomas Smith. We found where he lives".

  "Go and speak to his parents," I say.

  "He doesn't live with his parents," Tepper replies. "In fact, he's married and he's a computer systems analyst. He lives in Redvers Green. And I already came to speak to his wife, except guess what? Thomas Smith is right here, alive and well. And he sure doesn't look like he's sixteen years old".

  VII

  "A hundred grand," says 'Thomas Smith', looking nervous as he sits on his sofa with his wife. "But it seemed worth it at the time". He’s a kid, really. Mid-20s but he looks younger, and it’s hard to believe he’s married, especially to such a good-looking woman. There’s nursery stuff in the corner, too. It’s unpacked, like they’re expecting a baby. Sure enough, there’s a telltale bump in the wife’s belly.

  Tepper nods. "So your real name is..."

  "Victor Fleming," he says. "But I don't use that name any more".

  "No kidding," says Tepper. "So you bought the name Thomas Smith?"

  He nods. "Everything. NI number, bank account, everything. Passport. The whole life. It was like a new start. I... I have really bad credit".

  "Let me get this straight," says Tepper. "You bought a turn-key new identity for a hundred grand, and you've been living as Thomas Smith for..."

  "A month".

  "Fresh," says Tepper.

  I decide to butt in. "We pulled Thomas Smith from the water a few hours ago. The real Thomas Smith. The one whose identity you purchased. How old are you?"

  "Twenty-five," Victor/Thomas says.

  "Who did you buy this identity from?"

  "I got a name from a friend. I called this guy, he said he had an ID I could have for two hundred. I bargained him down to a hundred. We did the deal, he gave me the documents. Look, I know I shouldn't have done it, but who really got hurt?"

  "Thomas Smith," says Tepper. "It looks like you bought his identity, and he was killed about the same time. Probably because he was no longer needed".

  "Kids," I say.

  "Exactly," says Tepper.

  "No," I say, turning to her. I whisper so that Victor/Thomas can't hear me. "The kids in the shipping container. It's a kid farm. The guy keeps them alive until they turn sixteen, then he sells their complete identities. There are people out there who'd pay everything they've got for a fresh start. All our guy has to do is keep the kids alive long enough to collect the details so he can sell them, then dump them in the nearest harbor".

  "Someone would've noticed if a bunch of kids went missing," she whispers back.

  "Not if the kids were picked up when they were young. Maybe purchased from desperate mothers. Kept alive for years until they matured. Once they got to the age of sixteen, they could get all the documents they need, then their identities could be sold. Just need to get rid of the actual kids".

  "Am I in trouble?" asks Victor/Thomas.

  "How do we know you didn't kill this kid?" I ask. "How do we know you didn't track him down, drown him, toss the body into the harbor and waltz off with his identity?"

  "I couldn't kill someone," he pleads. "There's no way. I bought all of this. I know it was stupid, but I wanted a new start. It never occurred to me that anyone could get hurt".

  Tepper and I aren't listening. "There's an address," she says. "If the kid had documents and an identity to sell, he must have had an address".

  "It'll be fake," I say. "I guarantee it". I get to my feet. "Come on, this idiot's not going to be any use. Victor, where did you meet the guy who sold you the ID?"

  "The Harvey Hill industrial estate," he says. "But I think that was pretty random. He chose it".

  "Nothing's random," I say. "Especially when you're trying to be random". I turn to Tepper. "Come on".

  "I haven't finished taking his details," she says.

  "Leave it," I say. "It's not important".

  "I'm staying to take his details," she insists. “You can do whatever you want.”

  "Fine," I say. "See you tomorrow". I walk out of the house without saying anything to Victor/Thomas. I figure it's not worth giving time of day to such a complete idiot.

  Alice is waiting in the car.

  "You missed a great show," I say as I get into the passenger seat.

  "I don't like people," she says, lighting up a cigarette. "What did you find out?"

  "That we need to go and take a look at the Harvey Hill industrial estate".

  "Now?" she asks.

  "Now," I say.

  ***

  The Harvey Hill industrial estate is on the other side of town. It's basically made up of a load of large warehouses, with a few re
sidential streets at one end of the plot. No-one comes here much, especially not late at night. The place has a reputation for being more than a little dodgy, but it's a good place to pick up hookers when you're a little strapped for cash. They come cheap and dirty around here.

  "There's no-one here," Alice says as we drive slowly through the night, passing warehouse after warehouse.

  "Look in the shadows," I say.

  She peers out the windows. "I still don't see anyone".

  "They're here," I say. "Whores, mainly. Some dealers. Stop the car, I guarantee someone'll appear at the window".

  "Creepy," she says.

  "Sure. Unless you're after some drugs or a few minutes with a woman, in which case it's extremely fortuitous".

  She smiles. "And you know about this how, again?"

  "I can't believe you don't know about it," I say.

  The car turns a corner.

  "Stop!" I say.

  We stop outside the ruined remains of a warehouse that has recently burnt down. There's some tape to prevent people getting inside, but the whole structure is pretty much ruined.

  "Fire?" Alice says.

  I nod. "These buildings have fire detection systems, smoke alarms, sprinklers... If a fire starts, it gets dealt with. So how come this one burnt almost completely to the ground?"

  "Because someone made sure of it?" Alice asks.

  I open the door and get out of the car. "Exactly," I say.

  Alice and I walk over to the charred remains of the building, but as we get there I feel a sharp pain in my stomach, and I can't hide it. I double over in agony, barely able to stay on my feet.

  "Here," says Alice, taking a pill from her pocket. "Take this".

  Without hesitating, I take the pill. After a couple of minutes, the pain subsides. "What was that?" I ask.

  "Targeted pain relief," says Alice.

  "You always carry that kind of stuff around in your pocket?"

  She laughs. "Sure, when I know I'm going to be hanging out with someone who has terminal, mostly untreated cancer".

  "Thanks," I say, taking a couple of deep breaths.

  "Hey!" calls a voice. We turn to see a man walking across the road, coming toward us. He's dressed up in hunting gear, with big black sunglasses. He has a bulge in his jacket that suggests a concealed handgun. "Can I help you?" he asks, stopping and putting his hands on his hips.

  "What happened here?" I ask, indicating the burnt-out remains of the warehouse.

  "Fire," he says, with a tone of voice that suggests he thinks he's imparting some great secret information. "Four weeks ago. Huge".

  "What caused it?" asks Alice.

  The man shrugs. "Kids? Squirrels?"

  "Who owns it?" I ask.

  "Some guy used to come," says the man. "Always at night. Had a big van. Don't know if he owned it but he was here a lot".

  "What -" Alice starts, but I interrupt her.

  "Who are you?" I ask. "It's 5am, what are you doing here?"

  He pauses. "Getting home from work. Who are you?"

  Alice flashes her badge at him. "Police," she says. "We're interested in the guy who kept stuff in this warehouse".

  A car comes toward us and stops. Tepper gets out and marches over. "Private investigation?" she asks, "or can anyone join in?"

  Alice noticeably stiffens now that Tepper's here.

  "We need to find out who owned this place," I say, nodding in the direction of the burnt-out warehouse. "And we need to find out what caused the fire".

  "Alex Costas," says Tepper. "And there was enough accelerant in that building to burn down the whole town". She smiles. "Research. I find it more useful than simply blundering in".

  "Alex -" Alice starts to say.

  "Costas," says Tepper. "Totally false name. Same false name that was used to rent out a certain shipping container". She looks very pleased with herself, and I don't blame her; sometimes a little research does pay off, after all.

  I look across the street at a small house. There's a light on downstairs. "Your house?" I ask the man.

  He shakes his head. "Frank's place. But don't bother. He's crazy".

  "Completely crazy?" I ask.

  He nods. "Out of his mind. Only reason he's never been locked up is he's never hurt anyone".

  "Worth talking to, then," I say.

  "You won't get anything out of him," the guy says. He seems unusually persistent. "The guy's as crazy as a box of bees. Look, I'm sorry if that sounds mean or something, but it's true. He's off his rocker".

  I smile. "Sounds perfect".

  ***

  "Frank!" I say, smiling as the door opens. "Detective John Mason, this is Detective Tepper, this is..." I turn to Alice, "Sorry, I don't know your surname".

  "Alice Reynolds," Alice says, looking a little annoyed.

  "Dr. Alice Reynolds," I say, turning back to Frank. "We noticed your light was on and we wondered if we could ask you a few questions".

  Frank is an old man. 70s, maybe 80s, like a fatter version of Morgan Freeman. And he looks extremely suspicious of us, as well he might.

  "You can come in," he says. "But watch the dog. He bites".

  We step inside and exchange glances as we each register the stench. It's not that the house is untidy or noticeably dirty, but it smells as if this guy just spends all day every day sitting around farting. And to be fair, that's quite possible.

  "What kind of dog have you got?" asks Tepper.

  "Watch out for him," says Frank, sitting on the sofa. "He bites".

  I glance around. No sign of a dog. "Frank, I don't know your surname," I say.

  No response.

  "There's no need to turn this into a party," says Alice. "We won't keep you, Frank. We just want to know if you've seen anything odd across the road recently, at the warehouse that burnt down".

  "Good boy," says Frank. "Do you hear that?"

  Tepper, Alice and I exchange glances.

  "That's the new airport," Frank says. "They promised the planes wouldn't fly over here. But they do. Technically, it's illegal".

  I nod. There are no sounds of planes around here.

  "Do you live alone?" Tepper asks.

  "Yes," says Frank. "With my wife. You've met her".

  Okay. "Thanks, Frank," I say. "We've wasted enough of your valuable time".

  "Watch the dog," Frank says. "He bites. Have you met my wife? This is Gladys".

  Silence for a moment.

  "Hi, Gladys," I say. "Gladys, have you seen anything odd across the road?"

  No answer.

  I look at Tepper and shrug. "I thought that might be how it works".

  "We're done here. Thanks, Frank," says Alice, turning to me and whispering: "This isn't going anywhere. He's in a different reality. Come on". She walks out, leaving Tepper and me with Frank.

  "Is there anything we can do to help you, Frank?" Tepper asks.

  He sits completely still, saying nothing for a moment. Then: "When the planes land, sometimes you can hear the kids shouting, you know".

  Tepper smiles. "Lovely -"

  "What kids?" I ask, interrupting.

  "The kids on the plane," says Frank. "Over the road. Not very often. Not at all lately. The planes still land, but quieter now".

  Tepper looks at me for a moment, then back at Frank. "So... until a few weeks ago, you used to hear children shouting over the road?"

  "Watch out," Frank says. "The dog bites".

  I glance at Tepper.

  She glances at me for a moment, and then she turns away.

  "Frank -" she starts to say, but at that moment two gunshots ring out in the street, one after the other, both sounding like they come from the same gun. Tepper and I race out.

  ***

  There's no-one in the street as we get outside.

  "Alice!" I shout, looking around for any sign of her.

  Tepper has her gun out. "Aren't you armed?" she asks me.

  I check. "Apparently not," I say. “I'm impressed that you
are, though. How'd you swing that?”

  “Friends in high places.”

  “You're almost -”

  There's another gunshot, coming from the warehouse next to the one that burnt down. Tepper and I run over.

  "In here!" shouts Alice.

  "You go round there," says Tepper, pointing to one side of the building before heading off in the opposite direction.

  "I don't have a -" I shout, but then think better of it. "I don't have a good feeling about this," I say, not wanting to broadcast my lack of a gun to the whole damn world.

  In America, I'd have a gun. Frankly, I'm not even sure how and why Tepper has one. I guess the girl comes prepared. Sometimes I wish I could be an American cop, going in with a proper weapon in my hand. At times like this, a gun would be mighty useful.

  I hurry along one side of the building, but the pain in my belly is back. I stop and lean against the wall, and for a moment I think I'm going to throw up. Is this what my life's going to be like from now on? Constant illness and weakness? And that's when it hits me, perhaps for the first time: I'm dying. I'm going to die soon, no matter what I do. No matter how hard I fight. I'm going to die.

  Another gunshot rings out.

  I press on, the pain duller but still impossible to ignore in my belly.

  As I head around the corner, I collide with Alice.

  "What's going on?" I ask.

  "Someone let off a couple of rounds at me," she says.

  "Don't you have a gun?" I ask.

  "I'm a pathologist!" she says, raising her voice. “What would I need a gun for? Anyway, what’s your excuse?”

  “It’s my day off,” I say. “That, and they'd never let me carry a gun, not in a million years. Great. Three cops, one gun. Are you okay?"

  "Of course I'm okay," she says. "I'm not hurt. Where's Tepper?"

  "Somewhere," I say, although I know that isn't particularly helpful. "Did you see the guy who shot at you?"

  "Yeah," she says. "It was -" And then something weird happens. As I stare at her, the middle of Alice's face suddenly explodes, showering me with flesh and blood and bone, and she falls against me, forcing us both to the ground. I look up and see a figure a few feet away, with a gun raised straight at us.