by Karen Long
“You think some guy’s advertising for murder volunteers?” Mo said bewildered. “Well it takes the guess work out of selecting a victim! It seems to me that there’s the key. Find out who’s behind this kidnapping business and you’ll find your guy.” Exhausted, Mo slumped back into his seat and belched loudly. “Fucking gastric band!”
Eleanor stood up. Seeing Mo was a double-edged sword: he looked like he was about to keel over and die but talking through the case had helped clarify it for her. “Time to see what Mr Barnes is up to I think,” she said quietly.
“You keep me up to speed, ok?”
Eleanor nodded and made her way to the door. “Sure will boss.”
“Hey, you never told me what this new guy’s like?” asked Mo but Eleanor carried on going, slipping quietly out of the house into the night.
Laurence wasn’t sure how long he had been sitting and staring at the turgid pool of dog faeces. Monster had slunk under the dining table to freshen his nether regions noisily while Laurence came to terms with his arrival. He became aware that where a bowl of apples and citrus fruit had been there was now an empty bowl and he could only deduce that Monster had eaten every unsuitable item of food he could find which had led to the explosion. Sighing, Laurence pulled himself to his feet and tried to mentally organise a cleaning strategy. Failing to do that he flung his jacket onto a chair, opened the now ominously hissing refrigerator and reached for a beer. As he tipped the beer down his throat he caught sight of the piece of paper that Eleanor had stuffed into his pocket and picked it up cautiously. It read, ‘Samuelson went home for his dinner at 6!’ He smiled broadly and then his face sank as he remembered the other task that he had failed to carry out. With the sudden flurry of activity as Laurence grabbed his coat and holstered his pistol, Monster recommenced his insane barking. “No! Shut up!” At this the panicking dog began to intersperse the barks with yowls of misery. “Oh my God!” yelled Laurence as he unclasped his belt and threaded it violently through Monster’s collar. It was with the anticipation of a walk that Monster trotted complacently alongside Laurence as he headed for his car.
“You’re saying that there isn’t a single patrolman or detective that can cover a watch? Really? Really?” snapped Laurence.
“Honey you heard me say that! If you want surveillance then you apply through the proper channels and don’t leave it till the night shift when I aint got no officers free!”
“But this is part of a major murder investigation,” Laurence whined.
“Then you had better do it yourself detective,” answered the Duty Sergeant and rang off. Laurence flung the cell phone onto the passenger seat and accelerated through the traffic in the direction of Cheswell Barnes’ home.
Chapter Seven
Eleanor watched with interest as Laurence made his way over to her table, precariously balancing two cups of coffee and a tray of mixed pastries on one arm and holding a pile of paperwork in the other. “I’ve got a coffee thanks,” she said.
“They’re both for me,” he growled. She contemplated his appearance, his uncombed hair, slept-in shirt and the dog hairs covering his trousers. She inhaled but not too deeply.
“How long before Patrolman Ellis turned up?” she asked innocently.
“You sent him?”
“I checked with the duty Sergeant. She said you hadn’t organised a watch so I did.” She sipped her coffee.
“He turned up at six. When did you call?” he asked suspiciously.
Eleanor grimaced, “You really need a shower and some deodorant.” Laurence contemplated making a snippy comment and asking her whether she could have gotten the surveillance earlier but it had been his job to do it and he’d forgotten. He’d been so damned grateful when Ellis had tapped on his car window and explained that he’d been sent to take over watching the Barnes’ house but now he was flagging and twenty-four hours without sleep was taking its toll.
“Thanks… sorry I should have…” Laurence began.
“The cell number on the card is registered to a Miss Evelyn Strange. It’s a ‘pay-as-you-go’ account and so far has never been topped up. So, it’s used for incoming calls only,” she cut in. “We’ve left two messages, one by Wadesky and another by Timms hoping we’ll get some feedback.”
“Was the phone purchased locally?”
“Molto Electronics, city centre branch. Smith’s going over today with mug shots but don’t waste hope on that one,” she responded.
“Hmm,” Laurence shoveled down another pastry. “Ok, we know that Cheswell Barnes is in some way connected with this.”
“We think he is,” Eleanor corrected him. “We have his fingerprints and a plausible explanation from his girlfriend as to why they are there. You said yourself it seemed unlikely that either Sashia or Barnes could have dragged our victim’s body up the side of a thirty-foot wall.”
“So what is the connection?” he heard himself snap.
Eleanor raised an eyebrow. “Icebergs. Whatever’s visible above the surface there’s ninety percent we can’t see underneath.” Laurence looked at her with incomprehension. “You’ve met Sashia and Barnes but I bet there are a few individuals lurking under the surface that we haven’t got on our radar.”
“Shall I get onto that this morning?” Laurence asked polishing off the last of the pastries.
“Wadesky’s working on that. You are going to shower, make yourself look and smell presentable and join me for an eight thirty meeting with Mr Stollar and his legal representation,” she said rising to her feet and grabbing her bag. “Bum a shirt off Smith, he’s about your size and ditch the dog hairs.”
Laurence looked at his trousers which were coated in black and tan hairs. He groaned, swilled down his coffee and, remembering that he’d left a toiletries bag in his trunk, headed off to the car.
Monster had filled the car with humidity and methane and was now draped lethargically over the driver’s seat whimpering miserably. Hearing the trunk being opened he began to bark hysterically, causing several officers heading over to their vehicles to look over in alarm. Laurence gritted his teeth, snatched his bag and was just closing the lid when he felt a firm tap on his shoulder.
“How long has your dog been in the car sir?” asked a young officer wearing mirrored sunglasses.
“What?”
“Your dog sir? He seems distressed,” he stated calmly.
“I’m fucking distressed!” snapped Laurence. “He’s not my dog.” He saw the patrol officer’s eyebrows rise with interest and felt that now was not the time to launch into the saga of his relationship with Mags. “He’s coming with me,” said Laurence opening the car door and watching as Monster leapt out and buried his head in the officer’s outstretched hand and begin to shudder dramatically.
“You’re lucky to have such a nice dog sir,” said the patrolman, patting Monster’s head his voice laden with subtext.
“Hmm,” said Laurence yanking out his trouser belt, threading it through Monster’s collar and pulling him in the direction of the lift.
“May I suggest you purchase the correct leading equipment sir?” said the patrolman as the lift doors opened. Laurence stared at him with undisguised anger. “May I suggest that you go…” His trenchant advice was swallowed into the lift as the doors closed.
“What the fuck are you eating?” asked Wadesky, her face registering her disgust.
“This,” responded Timms happily, removing a moist, dangerously tiered beige-coloured item from his mouth, “Is the nectar of the gods.”
Wadesky appraised Timms’ flabby backside, which had plonked itself uninvited on the edge of her desk. “You are gonna die… soon,” she said, glancing at her laptop screen and huffing.
“Honey we is all gonna die but on whose terms eh?” Timms smiled smugly.
“You’re an idiot! Get your ass off my table before it collapses and don’t speak to me until your mouth is empty.” Unoffended, Timms lumbered over to his desk to gather his thoughts.
“W
hoa! Well look what mama’s just found!” said Wadesky. “Cheswell Barnes has been networking and look who he’s chummed up with?” Timms, still chewing, leaned over her shoulder to read the information on the screen.
“Now that is nasty,” he replied looking at the image and curriculum vitae that had appeared. “Mr Feodor Yesikov, aged thirty-eight, served ten of an eighteen-year sentence for the rape of a minor. Released in 2010 and when we look at who his bunk mates are we see… Cheswell Barnes!” Wadesky typed rapidly and they both waited as the city probation service confirmed that Feodor had left prison and moved in with Sashia Irina Yesikov his paternal cousin and Cheswell Barnes, whom he had shared a cell with at the penitentiary. Timms peered at the screen and jotted down the number of the assigned probation officer and headed off to his desk. Wadesky pressed ‘print’ and carried on digging.
“Hey…” said a doleful voice.
“This is Detective Timms, am I speaking to Samson Orbrook?”
“Uh-huh!”
“You are the probation officer assigned to Feodor Yesikov?”
“Uh-huh.”
Timms felt his dangerously high blood pressure notch a little higher. “You can speak can’t you? Or are you one of those token ‘special needs’ appointments the city has to make to get the minorities vote!”
Wadesky rolled her eyes from the opposite desk.
“I can speak,” sighed Samson wearily.
“Well if you can spare the jaw time I’d like to ask you about Feodor?”
“Uh-huh…yup, what d’ya wanna know?”
“Where is he? Have you been in regular contact? Where does he work? You know, the sort of information you’d have at your fingertips, eh?” There was a pause followed by another sigh.
“I haven’t seen Feodor Yesikov for three months now.”
“Why not?” replied Timms.
“He disappeared.”
“What d’ya mean ‘he disappeared’?” snapped Timms dangerously.
“Look Detective. I have at least seventy per cent of my clients missing at any one time. You know how difficult it is to keep track of people who don’t want to be kept track of?” Samson’s voice trailed off as he heard Timms growl. “Last time I saw him he was working at the Ford dealership on Dundas. He was staying with his cousin, can’t remember her name… he kept most of his appointments and then, about three months ago he disappeared off the radar,” he ventured more helpfully.
“What did you do?” asked Timms.
“I spoke to his cousin, Sashia, that’s her name! And she said he’d upped and left without paying her rent and that she’d let me know he if showed.”
“And you believed her?”
“Of course I didn’t! But I don’t have surveillance capacity and the city police, that’d be you, said they were too busy to put out a watch.” There was a meaningful pause. “Look, if you want me to forward my files, I’ll send them today and I can make another call on Sashia but experience tells me unless he gets pulled for another crime, you aint gonna find him.”
Laurence moved swiftly towards the interrogation suite, ignoring Lucy, the civilian typist who was pointing meaningfully at Monster who was lying across her feet snoozing having consumed her lunch uninvited. As he opened the door he hoped that the shirt he’d borrowed off Smith, who was at least six inches shorter than him, didn’t look quite as ridiculous as he suspected it did.
“This is Detective Laurence Whitefoot,” said Eleanor.
“Rudy Suchet,” the lawyer said thrusting out a hand to Laurence. Eric Stollar sat at the table his hands folded on his lap and his back rigid.
“Mr Stollar has asked me as his colleague and friend to accompany him today and assist with the provision of information which hopefully will bring the killer of his fiancée Lydia Greystein to justice.”
“Hmmm,” said Eleanor and stared at him. There was a pause as Stollar gradually met her eye. Eleanor looked steadily at him, waiting for the uncomfortable shifting around that went with silences and the anticipation of interrogation; but Stollar had had time to draw on his professional reserves and wasn’t going to be broken so easily. She watched him inhale deeply, waiting for her to move.
“Detective? Do you have any questions?” asked Suchet slowly.
“What do you know about the death of Miss Greystein?” asked Eleanor. She saw Suchet’s mouth move to open but Stollar broke in.
“Nothing,” he replied. “Absolutely nothing.”
“Why not?” she asked, leaning towards him and keeping her unblinking eyes fixed on his.
“Because no-one has felt it appropriate to share any details with me, despite the fact that Lydia was my fiancée,” he said with a hint of anger.
“Is it because you already know what happened to her?”
“Are you implying that my client…”
“I thought you said you were here as a colleague and friend, Mr Suchet?” said Eleanor.
“I am but your tone is becoming more accusatory and –”
“Decide what your role is and stick to it!” Eleanor snapped and turned to Stollar. “This is what I think Eric. You arranged a kinky little session for your girlfriend and during the fun and games things got a little out of hand and you killed her. Am I right?”
Stollar’s face began to redden. “I had an alibi for the night she was killed.”
“Why?”
“What the fuck do you mean why? I was out with friends,” spluttered Stollar.
“Why weren’t you with Lydia? We’ve called several of her friends and she hadn’t made any plans to meet them. Was she having an affair?”
“No!”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” he hissed, leaning closer to Eleanor.
“Then you knew where she was, didn’t you Mr Stollar?” said Eleanor quietly as she placed the card they’d found in the washroom, still in its evidence bag, in front of Stollar. His breathing became shallower and his shoulders began to slump. She’d got him. It was only a matter of minutes now. She let Suchet lean over Stollar’s shoulder and whisper a command to stop talking now.
“You arranged a kidnapping for Lydia. Thought she’d have a sexy time; a bit of fun. But something went very wrong didn’t it Eric?”
“I am advising my client to –”
Suchet’s voice was drowned out by the scream that emanated from Eric Stollar’s throat. Everyone jumped, apart from Eleanor who had been anticipating some sort of reaction.
“It was a present. That’s all. She was totally into… bondage and she’d wanted me to dress up and do it but I’m a fucking lawyer; if I got caught kidnapping her on the street I’d never work again!” His voice was almost a shriek and it took Laurence a great deal of control not to put his hands over his ears at the sheer impact of the noise in such a constricted space.
“And now she’s dead! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”
Eleanor stood up and pressed a hand onto his shuddering shoulder. “Look at me Eric!” Slowly he focussed on her. “You have fucked up but now is the time to start making things right again.” She paused making sure that her next words were absorbed by him. “I need to catch this murderer Eric and in order to do that I want your complete cooperation. Do you understand what I’m saying?” Rudy cleared his throat and made a move towards Stollar but was frozen in his tracks as Eleanor shot a warning finger up to him. “You will tell me everything.” Stollar made small glugging sounds as he nodded carefully.
“Everything,” he whimpered.
“Why did you go back to Xxxstacy today?” Stollar looked confused. “We watched you,” said Eleanor.
“I went to see if there was a number: a card, anything that would tell me who she was with.” Stollar’s voice cracked as he spoke. “I needed to know what had happened. I didn’t know she was dead but she didn’t call. I went over to her apartment and there was nothing, she hadn’t been back. I didn’t know what to think, so I tried to get the number of the guy she spoke to but there wasn’t…”
�
��Lydia spoke to him?” interjected Eleanor.
“Yes. She arranged it and I left the money at the Xxxstacy,”
“Do you know how she got the contact number?” asked Eleanor trying to conceal her excitement.
“Her friend did it and recommended it to her.”
“Did it?” asked Eleanor.
Stollar’s voice began to rise in pitch. “You know, experienced a kidnapping party. I went to the club to see if there was a business card. I don’t know what I thought.”
“What’s the friend’s name?”
Stollar shook his head. “She sometimes went to the club.”
“Xxxstacy?”
“Yes, I met her once. But Lydia had known her from somewhere else… her gym, that’s it. She went to the same gym, on Wellesley.”
“When did Lydia first run the idea past you?”
“I don’t really remember; couple of weeks ago. It was a sort of anniversary and I wanted to treat her.” There was a pause as Stollar tried to regain control. “Lydia told me to drop the money off at the bar, give the barman a fifty as a handling fee and then wait for a call on Saturday. She was so thrilled with the idea. Look,” he leaned closer to Eleanor and dropped his voice. Eleanor looked into his bloodshot eyes. “Lydia was a fucking princess. I’d have done anything, anything to make her happy. Do you understand? If she wanted a huge fucking diamond ring, it was hers. Likewise, if she wanted to explore the boundaries of her sexuality then so be it!”
Eleanor nodded slowly.
“You catch the fucking bastard who did this! Promise me!”
“I will,” replied Eleanor. “You have my word.”
Chapter Eight
Ellis was bored; monumentally bored. He had watched the front of the house for the past seven hours and not a bloody thing had happened, except for a cat being booted out through the front door. He’d felt pretty good when he’d received a call from Detective Raven. It had indicated to him that she’d trusted him, recognised that he was an officer capable of thinking ‘outside the box’. However, the reality of surveillance work was beginning to hit him; it was a snore. He had let his bladder accumulate what felt like several litres of urine in the belief that the discomfort would prevent him dozing off and so far it seemed to be working. Unfortunately, the safety margins of his bladder retention were being passed and after a quick glance around he opened the driver’s door and gingerly stepped out. If he kept low he could scoot round the side of a hedge, opposite the Barnes’ house and unload. He had emptied about a quarter when he saw the front door open and two figures emerge. A white van drew up in front of the house and the two suspects emerged quickly from the house. A stocky figure climbed out of the driver’s seat and went round to the back of the van where he and Sashia were ushered in by Cheswell who then climbed into the driver’s seat and revved the engine. With a lurch the van headed off in a northerly direction leaving Ellis to leap into his car and swerve into the road behind them still a good half litre short of comfort.
