“Jade, my wife, was taking our daughter, Claire, to Los Angeles where a boy band she loved was playing the next day. We couldn’t stand them but she’d done very well in school and it was her big reward for the start of the summer break. They were driving overnight because it was cooler and there was obviously less traffic on the roads. I was supposed to travel with them, but I’d just closed a case and had paperwork to do before I could leave, so we had to make new arrangements. I was to drive out the next morning and join them to eat before the concert started.” Gordon explained. He sipped again at his drink, the painful memories that always lingered at the edge of his mind clawing their way to the fore.
“I got the call at two in the morning. I was just leaving the station with Jones, the guy who gave you my card.” Gordon said slowly. Isabelle was looking him straight in the eyes and somehow it helped him to keep speaking. “My wife had been in a head on collision with a big rig. The driver claimed she veered into him and, after a brief investigation, I was told they couldn’t prove it had happened any other way. I was allowed to watch the interview and I looked him right in the eyes as he told his version of the story. I swear he was lying, but there was nothing to corroborate it. I argued and told them my wife was a careful driver, that there was no way she would’ve been driving if she was that tired. Jones listened, but it wasn’t his case and in the end, it made no difference. The verdict was that my wife got tired while she was driving, closed her eyes for a second and veered into the path of the truck. Their car was mangled. I was told…” Gordon stopped, the words catching in his throat, “I was told they didn’t suffer.”
“I’m sorry.” Isabelle whispered; her voice genuinely sad.
“Yeah, me too.” Gordon found himself finishing his drink. “So I went on leave. Came back to what can only be described as the worst realization a cop can probably have.”
“Which is?”
“Sometimes the legal system doesn’t deliver justice. Murderers confessing to a lesser charge and getting away with a lighter sentence because the prosecutor was afraid of ruining his or her win record, which might affect their ability to take a run for office. Or a shitty detective with his eye on climbing the ranks quickly closing cases with the simplest possible explanation - even if it doesn’t make sense - just so they can have a high case clearance rating.”
“Like Millie.”
“Exactly like Millie.” Gordon said, his tone becoming darker. “I looked around at the cases piling up and the lack of real justice being metered out and couldn’t decide if it was always that way and I was just blind to it or if the loss… if the loss of the light in my life had just darkened the whole world. I retired, became a private investigator in the hope I could do some good. It hasn’t exactly worked out that way, but I don’t know what else to do. I’m no good at anything but investigating, so if I’m not doing this then I probably wouldn’t get out of bed in the morning because sometimes the work is all that keeps the darkness at bay.”
Isabelle’s eyes widened.
“Sorry, I should have kept that thought to myself.” Gordon said quickly, shaking his head dismissively as he tried to get his mind back on track. “Don’t get me wrong, most of the people in the legal system are good, hard working people. They’re out to get justice for both the victim and their families, but from what I’ve seen, some of the people at the top, the ones chasing rank, they don’t give two shits about the truth.”
“What will happen to Millie’s killer when we find him?”
Gordon looked into her eyes, seeing a pleading look in them.
“I’ll see that she gets justice.” Gordon promised.
She looked satisfied for the first time since he’d met her.
“You’re a good man, Gordon.”
“I wouldn’t go that far, Ms Reese-Smyth, but until I find the truth I’ll be working Millie’s case.”
“You can call me Izzy.” She reminded him for a third time.
“I wouldn’t want to be unprofessional.” Gordon told her a little stiffly.
“You’re the only person in the world who believes there’s more to Millie’s death other than me.” Isabelle said, letting out a short scoff at the end. “You’re the closest thing to a friend I have even though I’m paying you for your time.”
Gordon smiled at her.
“I became a private investigator to try and work cases like this, cases where someone needs real help but has nowhere else to turn.” Gordon explained. “Yeah, you may be paying me but I’m invested in this. I’m committed to helping you and Millie.”
“I know. I can tell.”
“How so?”
“Because in one day you made more progress and told me more about my daughter than I learned during weeks of police investigation. Is that because Jenkins is one of those cops you talked about, the ones focused on chasing rank?”
Gordon cocked his head to one side for a second before answering.
“The truth about Jenkins is that he wasn’t very good at his job when he started, but somehow he’s caught the attention of the higher ups, so I guess he’s feeling the pressure to close cases quickly.”
“If he’s no good at his job why would he be getting eyed for promotion?”
“Probably because he follows orders. Close this case quickly, don’t look too hard into that one. That kind of thing. A man like that can be useful to some people.” Gordon concluded darkly.
“It seems like you’ve encountered a lot of darkness in your life, Gordon.”
“To be fair, I chose some of it.”
“Come with me.” Isabelle said, getting to her feet. Gordon watched, a little uncertain as to what she meant and where she was going. She crossed to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of wine, a corkscrew, and a pair of glasses before moving towards the dining room doorway. She glanced in his direction and then gestured with her head. Gordon stood up and slowly followed her. Isabelle led him into the living room, putting the bottle on the glass coffee table with the glasses and setting to work getting the cork out. She was having difficulty, so Gordon approached her and silently offered to help. Isabelle nodded and handed them to him, their hands touching for the briefest of moments. They shared a look and, despite the awful turn her life had taken, Isabelle smiled at him with warmth for a moment, before she stepped away and sat on the sofa.
Gordon uncorked the wine and poured a glass for her and a small amount for himself, simply to be polite. She patted the seat on the sofa beside her and Gordon sat, wondering what Isabelle was thinking. She grabbed the remote and turned on the television across from them, then pressed another button to start the DVD in the machine. It started where it had left off, in the middle of some kind of home movie of a birthday party.
“This was when she turned sixteen.” Isabelle clarified. “I saw a therapist for a while and she told me I should spend some time getting together all the pictures and home videos I had of Millie. We didn’t take a lot of home movies, but her sweet sixteenth was different.”
“Did it help? Gathering memories of her?” Gordon questioned.
“No. If anything it reminded me of how much more life she had left to enjoy.”
Gordon watched. He recognized Millie immediately, smiling despite himself when Isabelle caught up to her and moved the camera so it was in a selfie position; showcasing both of them. Mother and daughter looked beautiful and happy, with broad smiles and the warmth of love and happiness in their eyes. Gordon watched as the movie played on, musing on his own loss briefly as Isabelle started to drink her wine. When Claire and Jade died, Gordon didn’t think he would ever recover. He and Jade had married young and Claire had been an unexpected addition to their family at a time when both of them had intended to focus on their careers. Jade had been working in one of the big hotel casinos and taking part in their in-house training programme so she could try to rise to a managerial position. Claire, while unexpected, filled their life with light and joy. Even after the worst days at work, looking into the darkest
, most depraved of killings, Gordon was able to leave it all behind when he heard her call out: “Daddy!” as he walked through the front door. She had her mother’s eyes and her sweet nature too. And then there was nothing but silence when he came home; no laughter, no chatter about her favourite animal cartoon characters… nothing. Just a pain-filled emptiness. The only thing he found solace in was his work; he pushed everything he had into being a better detective and tried to ignore the dark thoughts in the back of his mind, which told him he should eat his gun and be with his family. But that was soon tainted by what he saw happening to the system around him and it was then he decided to strike out on his own.
Gordon felt Isabelle rest her head on his shoulder and he glanced down, seeing from the awkward angle that she looked sleepy. He watched her home movie playing, seeing Millie laugh and talk with her friends, none of whom he recognized from the people he’d interviewed. He told the professional part of himself that watching this with Isabelle was just research - learning more about the victim so he might better understand her and the choices she had made. The honest part of Gordon knew that for the first time since Jade’s passing, he was comfortable in the company of another woman. The scent of her shampoo brought an oddly calm feeling as it drifted up from where she had lain her head on him. Gordon tried to focus on other things, but he couldn’t deny the… peace he was feeling at Isabelle’s side.
“My baby was so pretty.” Isabelle mumbled.
“That she was.” Gordon replied softly. He continued watching, he wasn’t entirely sure how long, but the video had progressed to early evening. Gordon watched it all the way through, moderately interested in seeing what the girl was like in life and trying not to think about the dark way her life had come to an end. Gordon hoped, as terrible as it might seem, that the drugs she took put her in a surreal place in her mind were she wasn’t afraid and didn’t hurt as much. It was, Gordon knew, unlikely. There would’ve been lucid moments during her ordeal where she knew what was happening to her and, as Gordon watched Millie at sixteen accepting a large slice of her birthday cake, he felt his heartstrings pulling. He was convinced that imprisonment was too good a punishment for whoever hurt her.
The video came to a close and Gordon realized Isabelle was lying heavily against him, one hand on his leg and her head weighty on his shoulder. He glanced and saw that she was breathing rhythmically, apparently having fallen asleep thanks to the alcohol she had drunk. Perhaps there was more to it than that, Gordon considered. In the kinship she’d found with Gordon, maybe she felt a little safer than she had in the recent past. Perhaps two tortured souls were able to find some plane of peace together and, once again, Gordon was reminded of the adage that misery loved company.
Her glass was empty, but hanging precariously in her other hand, so Gordon reached for it and took it from her before it dropped on the floor. She didn’t stir, so, with the same care he had used when he needed to get out of bed while his wife was sleeping, he gently rose up, shifting to support her head with his other hand. He put the wine glass down and then reached for a cushion to put beneath her head before setting her down. She muttered something he couldn’t quite hear and then curled her legs up onto the sofa. Gordon briefly looked at how peaceful she seemed and was reminded of his wife. They didn’t look alike but… Gordon didn’t follow that train of thought any further. He looked around and found a blanket on a chair nearby, collected it, then gently laid it over her; hoping she would be comfortable as she slept. He turned off the television and went into the kitchen; it wasn’t something he needed to do but he thought it was only fair to clear up the mess before he left. When he was done, he wrote a note on his pad thanking her for dinner and promising he’d call tomorrow to give her an update, attaching it to the fridge with one of the magnets. As he let himself out, he glanced at his watch and noticed it was now a little after nine. By the time he got home it’d be close to ten. It’d be late, but he’d still have time to look into Derek, then tomorrow he’d try to arrange a meeting.
Chapter Six
Gordon arrived back at his apartment and made a beeline for his desk. He set his gun and phone down on its top, then turned on his laptop. While it booted up he retrieved the whiskey bottle and a glass and poured himself two fingers before he set to work. A small amount of information about what Derek Leland was doing was available on his father’s company website. He was listed as being a junior member of the account management team, with a limited biography stating he’d graduated from university with a degree in business management and had decided to go into the family business. He had, apparently, chosen to take a lower position and work his way up through the company on his own merit rather than, as other companies allowed, accept a more prominent role he didn’t have the necessary experience to handle. It was probably not true, but, Gordon mused, did make decent PR. There was also a contact number for his department, but not an individual contact number. The only other thing of note was a small picture of Derek, which Gordon scrutinized as if it could provide him with answers about his character. While he could definitely be considered handsome, he had gone prematurely bald and, from what Gordon remembered, looked a bit like his father: narrow features with a strong jawline. Gordon left the company website and began searching for any traces of his social media accounts.
He discovered, as Millie’s friends had informed him, he no longer had any. Gordon pondered this as he began exploring any and all the popular social media sites. After much searching, he only managed to pick up old snippets of information from posts made during or just after his time in college through mentions of him in other people’s posts, none of which were helpful. Nothing he found gave him any real information about his pursuits or, more importantly, his character. It made sense, up to a point, that someone who worked in a security company might not want to have too much public information floating around about them. Not to say someone who worked in such a field wouldn’t have social media, but some might choose not to have such widespread vulnerability. Although, unless he had a personal reason for wanting to cut off most of the people he’d met in college, it did seem rather peculiar that he didn’t leave them some way to keep in touch.
Gordon checked as much as he could but didn’t find anything more. Derek had deleted everything with an extreme thoroughness that Gordon found astounding. Gordon sighed, clicked to a new tab and opened the news. He finished his drink and poured a second, not entirely certain where else to check. Earlier, he’d hoped to avoid stirring the pot, but given what few options he had, it seemed all he could do was either call to set up an appointment or use the contact number he’d been given in the hope he could gain access to Derek that way. The latter seemed better than the former, at least for a first attempt, so Gordon finished drinking and decided to go to bed. He got out of his chair and went into the bedroom, taking the glass with him as he went. Gordon sipped at the warming liquid as he slumped down heavily on the bed. He looked down at the bedside cabinet and, after a deep sigh, reached for the drawer, opened it and retrieved the framed picture inside.
“Hey, girls.” Gordon said as he looked at the picture of his family. He looked at the beaming, smiling face of Jade, her arm wrapped around Gordon - who was in the centre of the picture between her and his daughter. As usual, her flame red hair tumbled down around her shoulders and her green eyes looked so alive. His daughter had inherited her mother's looks but his hair colour, and in that picture had her luxurious, dark brown hair in pigtails. The picture had been taken when they were on vacation in Florida about a year before they died. Gordon looked at his family and felt guilt over the stirrings of feelings he had for Isabelle. They were nothing, he attempted to rationalise, just a fleeting fancy brought on by a beautiful woman, and yet there was something about her… something that allowed her to linger in his thoughts. Gordon was lonely, and he wasn’t ashamed to admit it. He’d never lived on his own in his life; moving from the family home to shared accommodation with friends at college, and then living wit
h a couple of girlfriends - until he met Jade and eventually Claire. When they were gone, he was suddenly alone for the first time in his life. By that time, his parents had passed on and as he’d been an only child he had no siblings to turn to. Although he’d become accustomed to being alone up to a point, he missed the sound of a voice other than his own in his home. He didn’t know much about Isabelle’s personal life other than what he’d researched for the case and what she’d told him, but he knew she was lonely too. And somehow that made him feel all the more guilty for the stirring thought that he wanted to keep her company. Neither of the two women he’d been with since his wife died stayed the night, they had just been passing dalliances that were brought on by alcohol and need. He believed his wife wouldn’t have begrudged him seeking company, but it had still felt like a betrayal of her memory afterwards, and both times he’d hated himself come the morning.
“I’m sorry.” Gordon told Jade. He stroked his thumb over her in the picture, finished his drink and rolled over, clutching the picture to his chest as he slipped into dark, painful dreams.
Gordon jolted himself awake, shaking and slick with sweat after cruel nightmares reminded him of what he had lost, showing images of his family’s final moments he couldn’t possibly know. He found the picture of his wife and daughter beside him and as he reached for it, felt a dull, painful throbbing in his head. It wasn’t a hangover, as he had drunk far more than he had the previous night without any repercussions, so he figured it was simply the air pressure. Carefully, he replaced the picture in the drawer and headed for the bathroom. Showered, dressed in fresh clothes and with a breakfast burrito in the microwave, Gordon went to the news on his laptop and let a playlist of headline videos run while he made coffee and found some painkillers. He listened in a vaguely uninterested way, leaving it on more for background noise than a burning desire to know the current events in Carlson Flats. Someone had attempted to knock over a liquor store but was shot to death by the owner; some emails had been leaked about a local politician which apparently tied him to a prostitute, and the dead escort from the day before had died of an accidental overdose, prompting some groups to call for a stronger effort to tackle drugs in the city of Carlson Flats and the surrounding areas. There were a dozen other stories, ranging from violent crimes to fluff pieces about people’s pets, none of which took Gordon’s focus from what he had to do that day, with the possible exception of the weather report, which stated rain was likely from the late afternoon through the night. He made a mental note to put his raincoat in the car just in case he needed it, before sitting down and eating his breakfast, while watching more uninteresting news videos.
His Twisted Smile Page 8
