The Emperor

by N. M. Brown

  McQueen was sure Mary would have had said more, but she was pulled away as the doorbell rang again. Sweeping off her feet she practically ran to the door and only moments later, a soft muttering could be heard.

  “She does that. Every damn time.” George said with a sob. He was trying to dry his eyes but struggled. "Every time that damn doorbell goes, she’s up like a rocket hoping its him. It kills her a little more inside every time it not.” McQueen saw then that George wasn’t holding it together any better than his wife, despite first appearances.

  “I will see to your wife.” Hale said softly and he followed Mrs. Bell to the door, Detective Armstrong not far behind.

  Allowing Mr. Bell to take a breath, McQueen pushed on. “I need the events of that morning George, please. Why did your wife suggest you weren’t around as normal?”

  Mr. Bell suddenly looked up panicked, all the possible implications running through his head no doubt. “No, no I am normally up and with the boy every morning; it’s my time to spend with them. But that morning-… God it sounds so stupid when I say it, but I was so tired. I’ve been accepting extra work, extra accounts so I can apply for Branch manager. I’ve worked at the Bank for so long I think I’ll have a shot. I was late that night and I just-… I just wanted a few more minutes sleep…” Mr. Bell took a breath and shook himself out of his spiral.

  “Mitch-… Mitch came and said Johnny wasn’t playing with him. It was around six thirty. Normally the boys are up around six, though we try to get them to lie in. I told Mitch… I told him if his brother didn’t want to play with him, he’d have to find something else to do. It wasn’t until seven I got up and saw that Johnny wasn’t in the lounge. When I asked Mitch where he was, and Mitch just said he didn’t know, he wasn’t playing with him. I looked in Johnny’s room, but his bed was empty. I checked the bathrooms, his brothers’ room, the garden… everywhere. I couldn’t find him.” The last of his words dropped into nothing.

  “And then you called the police?” McQueen clarified.

  George nodded before gulping a breath and looked McQueen in the eyes, ready for anything. Lord give this man strength, McQueen thought, he was going to need it. “So, what is this case? What’s happening to my son?”

  But that same moment, Mrs. Bell came back, carrying what looked like tea cakes. She mumbled something about another neighbour offering help before slowly wandering to the kitchen and dumped the cakes by the sink which already held four other dishes of various foods. Neighbours always tried to help with food and kind words. It was a side of humanity that McQueen liked; showing the community spirit towards strangers. But Mrs Bell didn’t need tea cakes, she needed her son, and lasagne wouldn't bring him back.

  Turning back to Mr. Bell, the man looked ready to hang off McQueen’s every word. “I can’t go into detail about the case, I don’t want to worry you with unnecessary information. Like I said, we don’t know if Johnny’s case is linked, yet. But I do need to ask some questions: had Johnny been talking to any strange people recently? People you didn’t know?” But George was already shaking his head. “What about friends? Is there any way Johnny’s walked to a friend’s house, or gone to play somewhere?”

  But again, George was shaking his head. “No, no, I asked. I called all his friends’ and asked, Johnny wasn’t with any of them.”

  “Do you have any enemies Mr Bell? Anyone who might kidnap Johnny for ransom or as a threat?” McQueen didn’t hold much in this possibility, but he had to ask, and he was sure it was something Detective Armstrong had already checked.

  “No. No, I work at the bank as a teller. I just input and output money, and Mary, she just works part-time at the post office. She just gives out postage stamps too little old ladies.” Mr. Bell let out an exasperated sigh and sook his hands at McQueen in frustration. “Detective, we’ve already been asked all these questions. We know the answers, as do the police. This isn’t helpful. I need to be out there looking for my son!”

  Of course, Detective Armstrong took Mr. Bell’s frustration as a sign he had to step in making McQueen feel worthless. Walking over, he placed a strong hand on the agitated father’s shoulder. “I am sorry Mr. Bell. This is a frustrating, but Detective McQueen must cover everything as a part of a separate investigation. Anything and everything is being done to find your son. Detective McQueen is chasing some loose ends.” Mr. Bell reluctantly nodded, and a great gust of wind flew past his lips as the rest of his body deflated with him.

  McQueen was not a violent man, but he felt his temper spike as he watched Armstrong twitch his mouth in a smile of triumph. ‘Chasing loose ends’? Is that what Hale had told they guy they were doing? Was Wendell just a ‘loose end’?

  Sucking in fresh air, McQueen allowed his anger to simmer, all the way down into a serene pool of calm, before smiling apologetically at Mr. Bell. “One more question Mr. Bell?” McQueen sent a quick prayer before opening his mouth, hoping beyond hope that Johnny was not about to become another victim. “Do you frequently take your son to any parks in the area?”

  George frowned, “I-… I don’t know. Yes, we go to a few parks, Johnny likes to ride his bike and Mitch tries to keep up. Mary normally takes them while I’m at work or we go at the weekend… why? What does parks have to do with it?”

  “Which parks, Mr Bell?”

  “I don’t know names. There’s one a few streets over, the one by the corner shop…” Mr Bell’s eyebrows rose, and something occurred to him “Do you-… do you thinks it’s a podophile?” A sickly green washed over Georges face and he looked over to his wife who was coming back out of the kitchen, returning to her spot on the couch.

  “We don’t know anything at the time Mr. Bell.” McQueen said firmly before looking to Mary. “Mrs Bell, do you know the names of the parks?”

  The poor woman looked dead on her feet. Black bags hung under her eyes and her woollen cardigan was slowly unravelling as she picked and pulled at the threads. She frowned, continuing to look out the window and McQueen waited anxiously. “I-…” She whispered but trailed quickly off.

  McQueen waited a heartbeat more, before sighing internally when she didn’t continue. Perhaps the Chief was wrong, maybe this had nothing to do with their current case. “I’m sorry for disturbing you during this challenging time, Mr. Bell. We will continue to-,”

  McQueen had risen to a stand as he spoke, ready to shake hands with the grieving family and leave them in peace, but then, with great pain and effort, a crooked voice crawled out of Mrs. Bell’s throat.

  “We go to St. Barrie’s play park. Then there’s the one opposite the school; it’s just a square patch of grass, not really a park… and then there’s the big one. It was Johnny’s favourite.” Mrs Bell frowned again, harder this time, looking to her husband for inspiration. “I can’t remember the name though. Something… something forest? Or P-something Park? It was on the news recently for some reason…” She trailed off.

  “Warping Woods?” Hale’s voice was soft. McQueen felt his fists spasm as they clenched and when Mrs Bell’s eyes met McQueen's, their hollowness made him shiver.

  “Yes. That’s it. We used to go there after school, taking a detour so Johnny and Mitch could ride their bikes. But what does all this have to do with Johnny going missing? We haven’t been in days because-… because there was something… something about a girl found dead…” Now it was Mrs Bell’s turn to turn an ugly shade of green. “Is that where my boy is? Is he going to show up like that dead girl?” Her voice rose an octave with every word and fresh tears started to fall.

  “No, Mrs. Bell, we… we don’t know anything for sure. The girl who was found in Warping Woods is an older case. So far, we have little linking the two.”

  It was a lie and it wasn’t. Wendall’s case was a cold-case, old and was only now a homicide. Johnny’s case was not only new, but still a missing’s persons case. Still, there was no denying that there were similarities. However, Mr. and Mrs. Bell didn’t need to know that. “I need to know how often
you took Johnny to Warping Woods, Mrs Bell?”

  But Mrs.Bell was no longer listening. “My baby… my baby, he’s gonna die. My baby is going to die.” She started to rock harder.

  “Mrs. Bell?” McQueen tried, hoping to catch her attention with his voice. “Mrs. Bell we have no strong evidence of that.” But it was hopeless. She was now muttering to herself, repeating her anguish over and over.

  “Is our son going to die, Detective?” Mr. Bell asked, putting some authority into his voice despite his grief. “No strong evidence? That means there is some evidence??”

  “No, Mr. Bell. I-,”

  “You need to find our son Detective. Assure me you will find our son!” Mr. Bell ordered causing McQueen to stutter.

  “I-, I can’t make promises Mr. Bell.” He said, forcing his voice to be calm.

  “Then what use are you!” He screamed, rising to his feet and pointing angrily at him. McQueen almost rose too, but that would have been unwise. Mr. Bell wasn’t a treat. He was a man on the edge with his family missing and the world falling around him. But it didn’t stop McQueen from straightening or for Armstrong to take control. Again.

  “Mr. Bell. Please. Sit down. We know you’re scared, and we know you are frantic about finding your son, but yelling and demanding promises won’t bring him back any sooner.”

  And just like that, Mr. Bell slumped back down to the couch, head once again in his hands and his shoulders hunched. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do.” He cried softly to himself.

  Armstrong wasn’t stupid enough to give McQueen a smug smile, but McQueen also wasn’t a stupid man. Instead of rising to the offensive, he focused on the task at hand. “Mrs. Bell.” He said softly, drawing the woman’s worried gaze. “The park, Warping Woods. How often did you and your sons go?”

  Mrs. Bell licked her lips and thought back, “We used to go every now and again, maybe once every two weeks, but that was during the summer. In the winter we would never go. But then, this Autumn… Johnny wanted to go more. He said he wanted to practice on his bike, and he was getting so fast and confident. I didn’t mind the cold; Mitch and I would watch with hot chocolates…” McQueen jotted it all down.

  “And did he ever speak to anyone there?”

  Mrs. Bell shook her head, “He knows not to speak to strangers.” But she left her mouth open for a fraction too long before snapping it shut.

  “But?” McQueen pushed seeing the hesitation.

  And sure enough, Mrs Bell hung her head, frantically ripping up her tissue. "He was-… He was so fast, and I always walked. He would go and come back before racing off again. Sometimes… sometimes he’d go, and I wouldn’t see him for a few minutes…” Mrs Bell trailed off, flicking quick glances at her husband who was smartly keeping a tight lip. “But he always came back. It was never more than a minute or two.” McQueen smiled gently in sympathy.

  “That’s understandable Mrs.Bell. He was a growing boy stretching his wings. A minute or two isn’t very long.” McQueen reassured, but didn’t add on it was long enough for someone to grab Johnny’s attention. It always took less time than you thought. Looking over his notes, McQueen smiled encouragingly. “May we look around your son’s bedroom? It might give us a better understanding of what Johnny’s like and if he’s had any contact with his kidnappers before.”

  Fortunately, whatever primal panic had risen before was gone, because both parents nodded, and Mr. Bell told them in a sad voice that Johnny’s room was upstairs and to the left.

  ◆◆◆

  McQueen hesitated in the doorway, stunned. Johnny’s room was a shrine. Everything had its place and the soft glow of the night light cast the room in eerie shadow. The theme of the room was dinosaurs, the wallpaper sprouting grass around the edge and McQueen shivered as he felt the eyes of fifty reptiles watch him. Johnny’s books were all neatly stacked and his bags, dressing gown and jumpers were hung on the back of the door. His bed was made, his toys tucked on their shelves while not even a dresser draw was pulled slightly out.

  “Well this is disturbing.” Hale huffed stepping past McQueen and started to leaf through some kid’s magazines left on the dresser. “No kids room should be this clean.”

  McQueen swallowed as images of his Ma danced across his eyes. “Some parents can’t help it. They come in here to be close to who they lost. They organise and tidy so everything’s ready for when the child comes back. They do it whether they know their baby is coming back or not.”

  “You sound like your speaking for experience.” Hale said, but McQueen could hear the question underneath.

  “It's not always kidnapping that removes a child from its family.” Was all McQueen dared say about the matter.

  God above, with Anna popping up unannounced, he was a torrent of conflicting emotions and as much as he trusted Hale, he wasn’t the kind of man you pored your emotions out to.

  “We should just look for anything that might be useful.” McQueen said and despite a sliver of hope, after fifteen minutes, he almost gave up. It wasn’t a spacious room and they’d looked in every hidey hole they could find.

  “Let’s go. There obviously isn’t anything here.” McQueen said between clenched teeth. He’d hope for at least something. Whether he was a part of their case or not, Johnny needed to be found.

  “We can try other avenues.” Hale said, not in comfort, but to reassure them both they hadn’t given up yet. Hale made for the door and spoke over his shoulder at McQueen. “And if Johnny isn’t a part of our case, doesn’t mean we won’t keep looking. I’ll inform James we’re finished. He’ll want to be kept in the loop.” McQueen tried not to sigh disheartened as Hale left, giving one last fleet look before following.

  Walking down the narrow corridor, McQueen paused to look at a family pictures hanging in a large frame. Mr and Mrs. Bell stood behind their two sons, dressed in their Sunday best and each wearing a tight-lipped smile. The boys, who only stood five or six inches apart in height, wore tight pants and shirts, with their hair combed over, slick with grease just like their father.

  They didn’t look so happy. Yet despite any misgivings, they did look like a family. Who could hurt them like this?

  McQueen started to move again but stopped when he heard a frantic flutter of suspicious movement. Frowning, he gently pushed opened the door he’d passed and instead of being greeted by prehistoric jungle, he found himself flying through the skies with repetitive planes passing around him. The carpet was an ugly olive green, that looked to be a few years old, but you couldn’t tell with the number of toys everywhere. If Johnny’s room was a shrine, this room was a war zone and sat in the centre of it all, was Mitch. He was an inch or two taller than his picture in the hall, and he looked all his four years; chocolate smeared around his mouth and his hair stuck up in all the wrong places.

  “Hay Buddy.” McQueen smiled, quickly hiding his gun. “What you doing?”

  “Playing.” Mitch answered, but he sat there with his hands empty and a wide eyed, scared look on his face. McQueen stepped further into the room smelling a rat.

  “What you playing with?”

  “My toys.” Was all Mitch said, but still he didn’t pick anything up. “Are you going to find my brother?”

  McQueen nodded. “Yer, I want to find him. Your parents miss him a lot.” McQueen's eyes drifted around the room taking in the mess but more importantly, taking in what was amiss. “Do you miss your brother?” He asked.

  “Yes. I want him home so he can play with me.” Mitch scrunched up his face in annoyance rather than sadness. McQueen expected, like most children too young to understand, Mitch was probably angry that his brother wasn’t here to play, thinking it unfair rather than understanding the reality of the situation.

  “Do you think there’s is anything you might be able to tell me which could help me find your brother?” McQueen asked, watching carefully, and just like that, Mitch’s eyes flew straight to the doll’s house in the corner. It was old and stylist but
not a typical boy’s toy. McQueen suspected it was once Mrs. Bell’s and with no girls to give it too, found no problem passing it onto her sons.