I close my eyes and let out a long breath of air, and once I’ve sucked it back in again, I say calmly, “You may show her in.”
I place the phone back in its cradle before Christine replies, and stand from my desk to look out the window. I don’t see it. I see nothing but blonde curls and a chubby pale face grinning up at me covered in chocolate. It’s been six years since Lara chose to last speak to me. Six years of a cold shoulder I know I deserve.
I hear the door open and then shortly thereafter close. Then nothing as I stare at a scene I have looked upon several times a day, but couldn’t describe in that moment if my life depended on it. I know where she’ll be standing if I turn around. I know how she’ll look. I know the expression she’ll be wearing on her face. Lara doesn’t change much. Once she’s decided on a course of action it might as well be written in stone.
I turn around and get the first glimpse of my daughter in close quarters for quite some years. She’s tired. More pale than usual. Her hair is windblown, her frame too thin by far. A coffee stain mars her blouse in a blatant display of disregard. If Lara could, she’d throw a fuck you at fashion and be done with it.
Her mother was the same.
And suddenly I am furious.
I hide it all. My perusal. My observations. My rage. I take a seat at my desk and shuffle some papers. God alone knows what they’re all about, but I don’t care. The only thing that matters is that my daughter is standing before me and hasn’t said a fucking word.
“Lara-Marie,” I say. “This is a surprise.”
Why now? Why in this moment when everything is starting to make sense in my life? Why bring it all back, just to watch me bleed?
“Superintendent Keen,” she says and I can’t help my reaction. My head comes up and I stare at her, relief, a somewhat familiar emotion of late, coursing through my body.
“You’re here on business.” Thank fuck for that.
“Yes, sir,” she says, taking a seat in one of the chairs opposite my desk. “A case I’m working on.”
“How can I help?” I ask, eager to please. Work I can handle. Lara asking for help on a case is unusual, but I’ll accept the peace offering, and be thankful it’s not personal.
Anything else is too painful to even think.
“It’s delicate, sir,” she says, making me rise to the bait. As usual.
“No point sugar coating it, Keen. You’re here for a reason, best you just get on with it.”
Something flashes in her eyes. Something that tears at my heart. I become steel.
“We’re investigating a gentleman’s club on Karangahape Road,” she announces, and the steel I am begins to heat.
“And?” I press, calling her bluff.
“It may be nothing, but we’re covering our bases.”
“Of course,” I murmur, effecting a relaxed, but attentive pose. “Connected to what?”
“A homicide.” Now that is unexpected. But strangely, well received.
“How can Counties assist?” I ask, using the correct title for South Auckland Police.
I’m not sure what this is all about. I certainly haven’t heard of a murder case, so it must have just transpired. And for it to be connected to Sweet Hell, if Lara is referring to that particular gentleman’s club on Karangahape road, then why is she here? In South Auckland.
I don’t like where this is going.
She watches me for a while, then suddenly leans forward. It’s too intimate, when all I’m thinking right now is what I did the last time I was at Sweet Hell. I settle back in my chair and hold her steady gaze.
She’s good. She’s very good. I’m impressed with my daughter.
I don’t show it.
“We’re going through the membership list for Sweet Hell,” she suddenly says, and I know this is not a interdepartmental courtesy call.
“Sweet Hell,” I say. “I know it.” She doesn’t move an inch. Not even a twitch of an eyelash. There’s nothing for it, she already knows. I can’t see the confirmation on her impassive face. But I see it in her pale blue eyes.
So like her mother’s.
“My name is on that list?” I finally say.
“Yes, sir.”
“And what do you wish to know?” I ask. She expects me to fold. She thinks she has me cornered. I stare her down and demand with a look alone for her to up her game. I’m almost eager for her to show me everything she’s got. Lara has always been a challenge. One I had forgotten I enjoyed in the past.
“What can you tell me about it?” she asks.
She’s fishing, and I’m suddenly very disappointed.
“It’s personal,” I reply, words clipped.
“We understand it’s a gaming establishment and one must be invited to attend,” she presses, and I’ve just about had enough.
“That’s correct. You hardly need me to provide you that information.”
“We’re unsure at this stage if drugs are sold on the premises or not,” she continues. I remain silent. Anything I say now could be held against me. “But it’s the Irreverent Inferno that really interests us most.”
I’m so shocked, I blurt out, “The what?” I gather my wits, ensure I appear outwardly calm, when inside all I see is chaos.
Dear God, this can’t be happening.
It takes too long, but finally I manage to say, “It rings a bell.” Pitiful. Absolutely pathetic. I’m angry at myself now, more than Lara.
“What happens there, sir?”
“You’re asking questions I cannot answer, Lara.” It’s easiest to stick to the law. I am bound to silence where the Irreverent Inferno exists. Contracted to disclose nothing under penalty of law.
Lara doesn’t know this and she doesn’t need to. Whatever this murder case is, it won’t lead back to me or the Inferno. The Marcrofts, the owners of Sweet Hell, and the founding members of the Irreverent Inferno, will ensure it doesn’t.
I mentally dust my hands of it all. Push it from my mind. Now I just need my daughter to leave so I can have a few moments to myself to banish Anna from my mind as well.
“People will find out,” she doggedly offers. “This investigation is not closed.”
“I can make it that way,” I throw back, silently willing her to leave and leave now.
“A homicide,” she adds, incredulously. “Even you don’t have the clout for that.”
That’s it. I’ve had enough.
“Watch yourself, Detective. I hear you’ve been on probation. Would you like a return to it now?”
I regret the words instantly. I see the hurt in her eyes and then she hides it. It’s an all too familiar expression on my daughter’s face.
She struggles with herself for a moment and I lower my head, shifting my attention to something on my desk, to give her privacy. It’s what I’d want her to do for me. It’s what I want her to give me now.
Privacy. To regroup. To mourn. To forget.
“Just one more question, sir,” she finally says. She sounds strong again.
I don’t look up. “Yes.”
“When was your initiation completed?”
The world stops. The room suddenly loses all air. To become a member of the Irreverent Inferno one must first pass through Hell. Dante’s Hell. All nine circles of it.
She knows. How she knows, I have no idea. But the fact that she knows is what is most unacceptable. I have tried to protect her from my lifestyle. I have tried to keep the worst of my needs out of her line of sight. I have been discrete. Joined clubs that ensure silence and privacy. Chosen my submissives well. I have done everything to keep Lara free of this.
And she throws it in my face.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Detective,” I say steadily.
“Your name…” she tries, but that’s it. No more.
I can’t bear this another second.
“Enough! These questions are out of line. You risk insubordination.”
“It’s an investigation, sir,” she pushes one last
time. And I have to respect her tenacity. “I’m obligated to ask the difficult questions.”
“Never lower yourself to defence, Lara-Marie,” I scold in a voice I know will make her run from me. I use it purposefully. Mainly for me, but also for my daughter. She needs to run. “And should further inquiry into my private life be required,” I add, pulling myself up to full height in my chair, “I’ll expect a personal visit from Inspector Hart and no one else. Is that understood?”
I know from the look she gives me, she has no clue who I am. If she found out what it is I need to survive, she’d despise me even more than she does right now.
“Understood, sir,” she says quietly.
I look at the door, and then down at my desk. I dismiss her in that one simple move.
A few taut seconds later my daughter gets up from her chair and leaves without another word. The whisky is on my desk before the sound of the door closing stops echoing inside my head.
The glass is to my lips before I breathe.
It takes two phone calls to find out the name of the murder victim. One to Jason. And one back from him. I hang up the phone without a word.
I see nothing. I feel nothing. On automatic I inform Christine that I’m going home. Several hours earlier than I usually call it quits on any given day.
I don’t remember the path I take to reach my car. I don’t remember if I speak to anyone or say a single word. I slip into the driver’s seat and stare out of the window.
I’m no longer afraid for just Haydee. I’m afraid for me. For my world. For my perfectly ordered life, for my meticulously protected privacy, for my secrets. All of it is spinning out of control.
Samantha was strangled to death across the street from Sweet Hell.
I know things. Things that would help in the investigation. Aid Lara. I know things and I also know I won’t tell.
Jason is parked in my driveway when I arrive home. His face says it all: We’re in trouble.
“This is a disaster.” I’d like to think he’s referring to a woman’s horrendous death, but I’m unsure. “This could have far reaching repercussions.”
“You believe the Inferno is involved?” I query.
“Do you think it won’t be plastered across the papers by the end of next week?” he counters.
I let out a frustrated breath and lead him into the house. The whisky in the kitchen is already conveniently sitting out on the bench. I grab two clean glasses and pour three fingers into each.
We both drink before either of us talks.
“Whoever did this,” I say, “has no care that it leads to Sweet Hell’s door.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s not one of us.”
“Who would do it?”
“Any one of us who gave Samantha what she needed and lost sight of our roles.”
“Have you ever done that?” I ask. “Not murder someone, but take things so far you realise you’re no longer in control?”
He shakes his head slowly. “I’ve always known how far to push and when to pull back.”
“So have I,” I agree. “So, I say again, who could have done this?”
Jason takes a seat in one of the tall stools at the bench and runs a hand through his blond hair. Unlike me, he has no grey. The strands so pale that even if he is greying, you can’t see it. It gives him a youthful appearance he is well beyond being able to claim.
“David Gordon was angry,” he eventually says.
“At me, not her.”
He shrugs. “It might have been enough for him to lose control.”
“Not him,” I say, taking a sip of my drink. “If there’s one thing to be said about David Gordon, he is always in control.”
“Aren’t we all?” Jason quips. I don’t reply. “Look, it’s going to come out that you were with her last week. It might be best to bite the bullet and provide an affidavit.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Time of death was apparently four-thirty this morning.”
“I have an alibi,” I say, before he can ask.
Silence meets my words.
“I’m sorry,” he finally adds. “I’m sure you don’t want to drag Haydee into this.” He’s assuming my alibi is Haydee. In the past, that might not have been the case.
Things have changed.
“Do you think Lara has an ulterior motive for questioning you?”
“Other than discovering her father is a member of Sweet Hell?”
“She’s not aware of your connections to the Inferno part of the business.”
“Not aware, but suspects. My daughter has a knack for connecting the dots.”
“Maybe it’s time you and she built some bridges,” he says, staring into his Scotch. Jason doesn’t have children. He’s never been married either. His advice on this is skewed.
I place my glass on the bench carefully.
“Let’s just see where CIB takes this,” I suggest. “We’re jumping the gun. The case may lead them down a completely different path than to the club.”
“Twenty-four hours,” he agrees, downing the rest of his drink. “And a no-fly zone around Sweet Fucking Hell.”
“Agreed.”
He stands up from the stool and slaps me on the shoulder. “Call your pet. Have her take your mind off things.”
I offer a smile. I’m sure it doesn’t reach my eyes. Jason got one thing right: I don’t want to drag Haydee into this.
He leaves the way he came and I pick up my half empty glass and walk into the office, settling myself into the chair. I haven’t lit the fire. It’s too early to switch on any lights. The smell of burned candle wax and charred wood fills the air. The leather creaks as I lean back and sip my drink contemplatively.
I last five minutes before I’m unlocking the drawer and pulling out her picture. I stand it up on the desk and lean back and stare.
“Anna,” I say, the sound of her name on my tongue, after so many years, is painful. “What happens now, my love?”
Chapter Eight
“Are you ready, pet?”
The sound of my cellphone ringing wakes me. My body is stiff and cold and I realise I’ve fallen asleep in my office chair and it’s now dark. I scrub my face and reach for the phone, by the time it’s at my ear, I’m fully awake.
“Ethan?” Haydee’s voice whispers down the line.
“Haydee? Is everything all right?”
“I think someone’s following me.”
The room dims even further than it already is. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think someone was screwing with me. Just one hit after another after another.
“Where are you?” I demand, walking to the front door and already setting the alarm.
“I’m at a bar in Takapuna. The Dirty Martini.”
“Alone?” I demand, as jealousy rears its ugly little green head.
“My girlfriend’s just left. I was walking to my car, and I felt him.”
Him. She knows her stalker is male.
“Stay in the bar,” I say. “I’m on my way.”
“Hurry,” she whispers. “I’ve locked myself in the toilets.”
Sweet beautiful woman. “Stay put, little pet,” I murmur down the line. “I’m already on my way.”
Manukau in south Auckland to Takapuna on the North Shore should take roughly forty minutes at this time of night. I make it in half that. Lights and sirens, of course, help.
I stride into the overcrowded bar and it’s only then I realise I’m in uniform. Fucking brilliant. All eyes turn towards me, several unsavoury words are hurled from otherwise cowardly people. Someone tries to spill their drink on my trousers, but thinks better of it when I stare them hard in the face. Police in a drinking establishment this late at night never goes down well.
I walk up to the bar and I’m immediately approached by the barman.
“Problem, officer?” he asks, flicking unhappy eyes over the crowd.
“It’s Superintendent,” I say. “And I’m looking for a woman who
should be hiding in your toilets. Short dark hair, tanned skin, brown eyes, five foot eight, approximately sixty kilos.”
“Could be any number that fit that description here, mate.”
“Superintendent,” I say again. “And show me to your bathrooms.”
He shrugs and hands over the keys to the register to someone else, leading the way to the back of the building.
“Haven’t heard about anyone hiding,” he says over his shoulders. “Been a busy night, but nothing unusual’s happened.”
“No one harassing the women?” I query.
“Well, no one’s complained,” he qualifies. “Here they are. Um, shall I get a female to check?”
I push past him and walk into a four cubicle bathroom. Two of the doors are shut, the rest are open and bare.
“Haydee?” I say, aware the bar manager has followed me inside. I think better of him at that point.
The far end stall opens and she runs out. I’ve never seen her this… dishevelled. Her make-up is smeared, her dress might even be ripped, tears are streaking down her face. She leaps into my arms and holds on for dear life.
“Baby,” I whisper in her ear. “It’s all right, I’m here.”
A sob escapes and then the second door opens revealing a startled young girl of about sixteen.
“You here with your parents?” I automatically ask, then grimace and hold Haydee closer.
“Um…” the young girl says.
“Go home,” I snap and she bolts like lightning.
“I didn’t serve her,” the bar manager announces, holding up his hands as though I’m about to arrest him.
I shake my head. “Have you got a back way out of here?” I ask instead.
“Yeah. Is that it? Just the lady?”
“Yes, just the lady,” I reply and walk past him with Haydee in my arms out into the hall.
He leads us to the rear door which is designed to provide emergency egress. It’s bolted shut, undoubtedly for the bar’s security, not its patrons. I stare at his hands as he unlocks the door and then stare at him as he hangs his head waiting.
I just want to get Haydee home. I just want this day to finally be over. I make a mental note to pass on the details to the correct division and walk out of the door. I’d told Haydee I was always a cop, in or out of uniform. But that doesn’t mean I can’t always put her first.
H.E.A.T. Book Bundle (H.E.A.T. Books 1-3) Page 74
