Fire Games

by Mark Stewart

  THE TWO detectives shouldered a single glass door to a small shop situated in a narrow back lane not far from the Melbourne CBD. The sign on the door read; ‘Little Mike’s, open.’

  A cursory study of the bright jewellery cases framing the floor found them standing in front of two men. They were guarding the way into another room. Both men wore a frown. They stood with their arms folded across their deep chest.

  “We’d like to enter,” announced Kendal.

  One heavy bearded guard unfolded his arms and clicked his fingers. The head of a tiger tattooed on his forearm protruded from under his long sleeved white shirt.

  “Appointment card?” he growled.

  Kendal opened his coat to show off his Smith and Wesson. The second guard, a shade lighter and shorter than his mate flashed a short machine gun nestled snug under his arm. The first guard clicked his fingers. He again reached out for the invitation.

  Kendal grinned and flashed his silver police badge.

  Iron-faced, the second guard, opened the door.

  Claire smiled at the guards as she followed her partner into the room.

  “Sugar, I love the invitation.”

  The room resembled a scene straight out of the sixties. A large jukebox sat in one corner on a black and white striped floor. Plastic flower beads hung from the doorway. Two guards sitting behind a computer monitor, stood, folded their arms and watched the two detectives walk further into the room.

  “It’s okay,” said a tall olive-skinned man sitting behind a large mahogany desk. “I know who it is by his cheap aftershave. Detective Kendal, come in make yourself at home. Long time no visit. Like a drink? Help yourself. I’m up for another scotch on the rocks. I’ve only had three today. I’m already five behind in my daily quota. Your lady friend can sit on my lap.”

  Claire narrowed her eyes glaring at the man. The two gorillas repositioned themselves behind the computer screens at the far end of the desk.

  Little Mike, a giant of a man, pushed his dark glasses deeper on his nose, slapped his leg and beckoned Claire.

  “Come on, don’t be shy, I won’t bite.”

  “Water for me,” snarled Claire. Seeing Kendal grinning she already despised the man they came to visit. “And I’m fine on this side of the desk.”

  “I’ll stick to coffee. I don’t want to set a bad example in front of my new partner,” stated Kendal.

  “Naturally,” said Mike, pushing his chair back.

  Steam rose from an Urn at the fully stocked bar not far from the desk. After the man upturned a mug and a glass he got to work pouring the drinks.

  “We need information,” blurted Claire.

  “I know. It’s the reason why you’re here.”

  “How do you know what we’re here for?” questioned Claire.

  ‘Your dagger eyes are early,’ thought Kendal, staring at her sullen look. “All in good time, partner.” Kendal looked at Mike. “I apologize. Detective Claire Ambroso is new to the game.”

  Little Mike displayed a tight grin. Walking towards the two guards, he seemed to float. His limbs swayed in time to the background music of the pop era.

  “Boys, leave us.”

  The two solid built guards didn’t hesitate. They lumbered out of the room to join their colleagues.

  Again, the door was closed.

  “Claire, you like my pad?” Mike raised his glass and waved it around the room.

  “It needs a woman’s touch.”

  Kendal shook his head.

  Mike choked on a mouthful of Scotch as he brought their drinks to the desk. He leaned close to Claire and groped for her shoulder.

  “I like my pad the way it is. For the record, I’m an easy-going bloke. I’m willing to overlook your remark if you join my harem? I could use another young woman. I wore out the latest one. I can slot you in every Friday night.”

  She eyeballed the tall man up and down. “Refusal often offends.”

  Mike gave a deep belly laugh, returned to his chair and sat deep in the black leather seat. He polished off the remainder of his drink then placed the crystal glass carefully on the desktop. He clasped his hands together, staring at the woman sitting opposite him.

  “Seeing how you like the look of me, it must be my charm you don’t like.”

  Claire moved to the edge of her seat. “The lack of it,” she reported.

  Kendal leaned over to whisper in his partner’s ear.

  Looking up she suppressed a smile. “Mike, I do apologize. I didn’t know you’ve been blind since birth.”

  “Your apology is accepted, little momma.”

  “Now kiddies, enough chatting, we have serious business to discuss,” warned Kendal.

  Mike ignored his statement. “So, Darling, may I call you Darling?”

  Claire clamped her teeth together. “Careful, you’re heading for a face slap.” She glared coldly at Kendal. “Someone in this room knows how that feels.”

  He raised his eyebrows and patted his cheek.

  Mike grinned and sniffed the air. “Darling, you sure do smell nice. May I stroke your hair?”

  “Don’t push your luck. To me, you’re just another hood.”

  “Looks can be deceiving Sweetie.”

  “Name’s Detective Ambroso.”

  “I love feisty women. Are you certain you won’t reconsider my offer to join my harem? I have magic hands.”

  Claire bore her gaze into Kendal’s eyes. Her face took on an ashen colour. She resembled someone who might commit murder at any moment.

  “Why are we here? We’re wasting time,” she growled under her breath. She stood to leave. “Coming?”

  Kendal leaned back in his chair and clamped his hands behind his head. He began to grin.

  “What’s so funny, partner?”

  Mike opened the desk’s middle draw. Swiping out his silver police badge he dropped it on the desktop.

  “You’re here because you need my help,” he stated.

  “So, you are a cop?” Claire scrunched her nose, glaring at the man.

  “Yes, I’m the best.”

  “One of the best,” coughed Kendal. Looking at his partner’s fuming face, he burst into uncontrollable laughter.

  Claire folded her arms. Only three seconds had elapsed before she yelled a volley of abuse at Kendal.

  “You didn’t tell me. Why?”

  “If you give me a moment, I’ll explain.”

  “You have four seconds before I walk out of this room.”

  “Only ten cops know of Mike’s existence. You’re the tenth. He pays for information to the underworld. Police pay Mike. This place is the hub of Melbourne. If the wrong person ever found out, he’s a cop. He’s dead.”

  “Before you ask, I was a hood,” cut in Mike. “Been one all my life up to three years ago.” His broad grin widened. “To cut a long story short, I offered my services to the police to help clean up the streets of Melbourne. They agreed to my terms and here we are. This place has its advantages. I get what I want.” Mike took off his dark glasses and placed them gently on the desktop. “I was testing you Detective Ambroso. I have twenty-twenty vision. If I couldn’t convince you I was blind how on earth could I convince an assassin? If one made it past my bodyguards, the underworld would pay him a fortune to see my head in a plastic bag.”

  Still glaring at both men, Claire walked around the desk. “I’m happy to hear you have good eyesight, Mikey.” She lashed out with a double slap across the face.

  After rubbing the sting off his cheeks, his voice sounded slightly hoarse.

  “Can’t say I saw that coming sweet stuff?”

  “Didn’t you just boast you have perfect eye sight?”

  “Maybe it’s not quite perfect after all.”

  “Now the formalities are over; I need help.” Kendal unclasped his hands and leaned forward over the desk.

  “We need help,” corrected Claire.

  Looking up at the woman hovering over him Mike palmed his hand at the seat on the
other side of the desk.

  “Please, take a seat, Detective. If you sit out of arms, reach I won’t have to worry about another slap in the face.”

  “You had the slap coming.”

  “Yeah, I suppose so.”

  Claire looked smug as she sat with her back slightly angled to Kendal’s. She folded her arms and stuck out her bottom lip.

  “There’s an old foe playing a new game,” started Mike. “Wears a black hood and he’s been burning houses to the ground for a long time. His name’s Patrick and more slippery than an eel. The word on the street is someone changed the rules. Now he’s a killer. It could be why he’s kidnapped Tegan.”

  “For someone who doesn’t get out much, you seem to know a lot. Tell us something we don’t know,” suggested Claire.

  Mike clicked his fingers. “I have a picture of Patrick wearing a balaclava. You want to see?”

  “Yes,” blurted Kendal.

  The man moved his fingers at speed over the computer’s keyboard. Hearing a faint hum, he swung a monitor around and sat back in his chair.

  “How did you obtain this information?” asked Claire, her voice sounding hard.

  “I’ve video cameras all over Melbourne. While you two cats have been playing chasey, I’ve been studying my videos. This picture was taken in a lane talking to a couple of street kids.” Mike’s fingers swept over the keyboard again. He pointed to a photo of a Mercedes parked outside a cheap hotel. “The latest emergency 000 call was for the fire brigade to attend the fire at that exact location. I searched the videos and found Patrick followed a man who was escorting a young girl, approximate age fourteen, into a room at the rear of the establishment. He left the area before the building went up in smoke. The fire was extreme. The plume of smoke almost reached the mountains two hours away. I’m surprised you didn’t see it.”

  “We were busy chasing a mannequin,” confessed Kendal.

  “I’d like to hear the story one day.” Mike pushed a button on the keyboard. Under the desk, a printer buzzed. “Here bright eyes a small memento of your visit.” He slid the photo over the desk’s surface. “My private phone number is on the back. You can call me anytime.”

  “Shame the balaclava covers the face,” moaned Claire, snatching the photo up off the desk. “You should change your pick-up line too. It’s lousy.”

  Mike grinned.

  “You do know it’s illegal to withhold information. A child’s life is at stake.”

  “Keep your shirt on, baby; I found the videotape ten minutes ago. Photo’s not much good. Just like you said it’s a shame the balaclava covers the face.”

  Kendal leaned over to study the picture. “I need a photo of Patrick unmasked.”

  “At least it’ll give you something to crow about,” jeered Claire.

  “We’ll be waiting for your call,” said Kendal. He stood and extended his hand.

  Claire copied the move. Mike quickly grabbed her fingers so he could kiss her knuckles. Her eyes glistened as she followed her partner out of the room.

  “I can by the grin on your face you gave Mike your phone number.”

  “A girl has to keep her options open. I dropped my number on pre-written paper on the desk.”

  “What about Daniel Weakom?”

  “I’m over him. Besides, a romantic night on the town might be just what the doctor ordered.”

  Kendal shook his head to the rhythm of his mobile phone. He answered it on the third ring.

  “Captain Hughes here,” announced the voice. A short silence followed. “Kendal, there’s been another fire.”

  “What’s wrong?” questioned Kendal, picking up on the short delay.

  “The fire happened to be modus operandi. Those words are Latin, meaning the fire was started using the same method as all the other house fires. You might want to check it out. The address is 41 Craven Street Clifton Hill.”

  “There’s something you’re having difficulty in telling me?”

  The Captain’s voice lowered to a decibel above a whisper.

  “You’re correct. I’ve just finished talking to the coroner. Two charred bodies were picked up from the hotel fire. They’re at the morgue. One is an unidentified male. The other is a young female. Both have an arrow through their heart.”

  Kendal’s reply came as static over the line. He gulped. His shoulders sagged. His limbs felt detached. He felt nauseous. He lifted his hand to hold up his head.

  Claire watched the colour drain from his face while he dragged the mobile phone from his ear.

  “What’s happened? Does Hughes have news of Tegan’s where-a-bouts?” Claire moved closer so she could push her arm around his waist. “Bad news?” she asked.

  Kendal didn’t acknowledge her question. His thoughts had entered a midnight black whirlpool with no inkling to an end. How could he contemplate ringing Marg? How could he say the possibility of seeing Tegan alive again had dramatically diminished? Where should he start? He folded his phone and dropped it into his pocket.

  “What’s happened?”

  Kendal didn’t have the strength to lift his eyes to look at his partner. He spoke in a sterile, detached whisper.

  “There’s a corpse at the morgue.”

  “So? It’s where we’ll all end up one day.”

  Kendal couldn’t conjure up the strength to return a cursory smile at Claire’s crude attempt to sound humorous. His words started to falter. His eyes were soaked.

  “The corpse is a young female.”

  “Come on. I’ll drive to the morgue.” Claire looked her partner in the eyes. “I’m positive the person isn’t Tegan. If you’re not up to identifying the body, I’ll do it.”

  “No, I’ll do it. I’m Tegan’s father; it’s my job.”

  “It’s my job too.”

  After a short, but heated discussion, Kendal slapped the key to his car into the palm of Claire’s hand and slipped into the passenger seat.

  Inside five minutes Claire parked outside the morgue. The tall building looked unwelcoming. Kendal knew the building all too well. Glancing around he noted the entire area resembled a ghost town.

  Entering the building through the main doors, they rode the lift to the lower floor.

  The two detectives walked side by side down the narrow corridor. Their destination was the coroner’s office at the Melbourne city morgue.

  There were four large steps between each of the thirteen overhead fluorescent tubes. The squeak coming from Kendal’s black leather shoes echoed louder the deeper they walked down the corridor. He felt like he was being escorted to meet the hangman’s noose.

  The moment Claire and Kendal walked under the fifth light they heard a woman’s screams. Her wailing stabbed Kendal’s brain. His legs felt like steel girders. His heart pounded behind his ribs. His right hand clutched his chest. His left hand helped to prop himself up against the wall. He didn’t have the strength to lift his stare from the floor. Colour started to drain from his face again. The feeling of disorientation hit him hard. Everything around him appeared to be in a blurred spinning motion.

  Kendal managed to force his eyes to look up when he heard the sound of slow shuffling feet coming closer. He witnessed a middle-aged woman being propped up and half carried by a man in his late teens. For a moment, Kendal held the man’s gaze. His eyes were flooding tears. Kendal watched them shuffle past. Raising his hand, he massaged his temple. A lift door slid open. The noise it made added to his throbbing head.

  Claire placed her arm around his waist. Eyeballing her partner, she pushed him against the wall. Her knees buckled under the big man’s weight.

  “Snap out of it. Call it woman’s intuition. Call it what you want, I’m betting Tegan’s alive.”

  Kendal couldn’t smile. Fears over phoning his wife to tell her the possible grim news of Tegan’s death added to his nightmare. He lost his footing and slid down the wall to the vinyl floor.

  “Wait here I’ll go identify the body,” said Claire. She made certain her v
oice sounded confident.

  Kendal groped for her arm and clawed his way to his feet. Looking Claire in the eyes, he straightened his coat.

  “No,” he croaked. “You stay here. I’m Tegan’s father. I have to do this.”

  “I thought we settled this argument ten minutes ago,” cautioned Claire.

  “We did.”

  Kendal displayed a brave expression. Together they struggled on to the end of the corridor. Without stopping both detectives stepped through the automatic opening door and entered the room.

  Inside the shoe box size office, the wiry man sat at a large wooden desk behind a computer screen. He stood the moment Kendal and Claire entered the room.

  His nametag read, ‘Ivan Fulton,’ coroner.

  “Can I help you people?” he mumbled.

  His husky voice didn’t match his physical appearance. His black bushy eyebrows quivered as if he was upset at the ongoing intrusion to his half-eaten meal. The remnant of a tuna sandwich and a half empty coffee mug was on the table.

  Kendal channeled his strength to his voice box. He cleared his throat.

  “I’m Detective Kendal. This woman is my partner, Detective Ambroso.”

  They both flashed their police badge.

  “I don’t get many live visitors,” hinted Ivan, chuckling at his own joke. He swallowed a mouthful of food before shaking their hands.

  Kendal failed to hear the humor.

  “I’m kidding Detective,” chuckled Fulton. “I’m just trying to lighten the air.”

  Claire shook her head glaring at the man.

  “I believe two bodies have recently arrived, one male, one female. One corpse has an arrow through the heart. I wish to identify the female,” ordered Kendal.

  “So, military,” reported Fulton. “I’m impressed. There is a slight correction. An arrow through the heart killed both people.”

  “We’d like to view the female,” hinted Claire, frowning.

  “Before I show you I’d like to apologize over the screaming woman. She lost her son in a road accident last night. I hate screaming women. The noise unnerves me. If I didn’t have to pull a double shift, I would’ve been home before she came in. It has been one of those days.”

  Kendal could barely hear the man’s ramblings. He faked a cursory smile and nudged his partner in the ribs.

  “We don’t mean to sound rude. We’d like to view the body, now. My partner doesn’t feel well.”

  Fulton frowned, ushered the Detectives past a thick plastic door and led them over to a series of narrow fridges. He opened the first one and pulled out a long trolley. The noise from the scraping metal board lashed Kendal’s brain. He’d never come close to fainting in his life, but everything started to turn dark around him. He started to envision invisible hands closing black curtains in front of his eyes. He understood the term; ‘blacked out.’ He leaned on the fridge’s stainless steel wall, willing his brain to shake off the darkness. He stared into Fulton’s eyes and wondered how the man could enjoy his job.

  The coroner reached over the corpse’s head. Clasping the white sheet in both hands, he slowly peeled the cover back to reveal the face.

  Both Detectives stared wide-eyed at the charcoal face of the young woman.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN