His Twisted Smile

by Chris Thompson

  Eventually, Gordon found himself in an alleyway shared by a number of establishments on both sides, including the bar. A putrid smell came from dumpsters filled with decaying food from nearby restaurants that revolted him and made him feel slightly nauseous, but he continued on, hoping for some sign – perhaps a couple of crates of empty bottles – which would reveal he had reached his destination. Eventually though, he gave up and retrieved his phone, using the GPS on the map to find exactly which building was which. He found he was just a few steps from the rear door, but when he reached it, he discovered it was without a handle, so he knocked on it loudly. He repeated this even more forcefully a few minutes later, whereupon the door suddenly swung open. A gruff, older looking man with long, scraggly grey hair looked at Gordon with confusion and mild aggression.

  “What do you want?” He demanded roughly.

  “To come inside.” Gordon responded simply.

  “We’ve a front door for that.”

  “I could explain to you why I need to come in through the back, or I could give you twenty and you could let me past.” Gordon said, reaching into his pocket and retrieving his wallet.

  “Forty.” The man told him. Gordon shrugged, retrieved two twenty dollar bills and handed them over. The man shoved them in his pocket and looked Gordon over.

  “You’re not going to kill anyone are you?”

  “No.” Gordon said as he stepped into the building, the man stepping aside as he did so. “But if I was going to, do you think I’d tell you beforehand?”

  “Just bear this mind, buttercup.” The man warned, tapping Gordon’s shoulder to indicate he should turn back and look. He opened his jacket and revealed a large revolver in a holster under his shoulder.

  Gordon nodded, shrugged and continued on his way. He moved through a storeroom area into a small, narrow passageway with male and female restrooms on the left and a door marked ‘Management’ on the right. Ahead was a cramped, dingy looking room, which was poorly lit by wall mounted lights and a few dirty overhead lamps. The bar was the most well lit area, with a tall, bald, heavily inked man serving beers, shots and bottles to a mixed patronage of poorly dressed men and women who rubbed shoulders with professional individuals in suits; the latter seeming more than a little out of place in Gordon’s mind, but perhaps this was the right kind of place for someone, anyone, to come along and just forget about who they were outside the oddly comforting, dingy embrace of the bar. There were booths on the far right, tables scattered down the middle and the long bar with its accompaniment of stools on the left – more or less in front of the grubby window. Gordon lingered at the edge of the passageway and searched amongst the patrons until he spotted Derek sitting alone in a booth with a bottle of something to his left and a half full glass in front of him. He started across the room, tensing in anticipation just in case Derek decided to get up to leave when he saw Gordon. He weaved between the tables until he reached the booth, where he casually leaned against the end. Derek glanced up at him and his already sullen expression deepened a little more.

  “Mister Crane.” He said without any real surprise in his voice.

  “We never got to have our chat the other night.” Gordon told him. “And I think at this point, we can dispense with the formalities.”

  “Whatever you want. Though I’d suggest you’re quick with whatever you want because as soon as my bodyguards, as my father calls them, report that you’ve followed me in here, we’ll be having another family meeting.”

  “I came in through the back, so I think we should have a little time. Mind if I sit?”

  “Sure.” Derek said emptying his glass and pouring himself another. “So, what’s on your mind, Gordon.”

  “The same thing as the last time we spoke.”

  “Millie.”

  “You got it. Oh, and thanks for the tip about Tamsin’s little problem. It led me on quite a journey of discovery.”

  “You’re welcome.” Derek replied; Gordon’s relaxed, opening remark giving him the confidence to make eye contact with him.

  “But there’s a little more to the story that you never mentioned, isn’t there?”

  “I think I told you enough.” He returned more cautiously.

  “Not quite. When I was talking with Tamsin, she let slip that Millie told her you and she had argued recently about what happened the night Josh found you both together. She also mentioned Millie wanted to have one last attempt to get you to open up about what you and she had been spending time on, so she could put the past behind her.”

  For the first time in their meeting, Derek appeared concerned.

  “And did she tell Tamsin anything more?”

  “No, she didn’t. Would you care to fill in the blanks?”

  “Not really.”

  “Your attitude has changed quite a bit since our last meeting. Before you seemed nervous but eager to help me figure out what happened to Millie; now you seem indifferent at best. What’s different?”

  “My father helped me put the whole thing in perspective.”

  “And what perspective is that?”

  “That it’s probably best I keep what happened in the past, in the past.” Derek told him. He sounded bitter and a little angry. Gordon wasn’t sure if the anger was directed at him or his father.

  “So, you don’t want to tell me what you got into an argument with Millie about?”

  “It’s a personal matter; let’s just leave it at that.”

  “This makes you look really suspicious, you know that, right?”

  Derek finished his second drink and smirked.

  “It doesn’t matter, does it? You’re not a cop and, as my father reminded me, the police didn’t think there was anything more to Millie’s death than the sad story of a girl who decided to party just a little too hard.”

  “And you’re fine with that explanation? You don’t think Millie deserves more?”

  “What I think doesn’t matter, Gordon. What I want doesn’t matter.”

  Gordon was overcome with an intense desire to punch Derek as hard as he could square in the face, rationalizing the impulse by telling himself it might knock Derek off whatever cloud he was floating on that had shut him down. But Gordon held himself in check.

  “Does your father think you killed Millie? Is that why he’s forcing you to keep quiet?”

  “Who knows what my father thinks.” Derek said dismissively as he poured himself another glass of what Gordon saw to be cheap whisky.

  “Did you kill Millie?” Gordon asked, keeping his voice as steady as he could. He watched the changing expressions on Derek’s face carefully, looking for any twitch, any hint that might give Gordon some indication of what was going on inside his head. Derek simply gazed at him for what seemed an interminable length of time before taking up his drink and sipping slowly from the glass.

  “That depends entirely on your point of view, Gordon. Did what Millie and I got up to in university set in motion the events that would eventually lead to her death? Perhaps. Does that make me guilty of her murder? I don’t know. I’m personally hoping to find clarity at the bottom of this bottle. If I don’t, then maybe I’ll find it at the bottom of the next. I won’t be driving home, so I guess I’ll just keep drinking until I have an epiphany. You’re free to join me.”

  “Do you know who did kill her?”

  “Josh seems the most likely candidate. Jilted ex-boyfriend, musclehead and general moron. Take another look at him.”

  Gordon felt he was just deflecting, but there was nothing he could do to leverage him; Derek didn’t want to talk and Gordon lacked any power to compel him. Gordon decided to try and rattle him a little.

  “I’m guessing you and Millie weren’t in a relationship. She had Josh and, let’s be honest, a guy like you won’t get a girl like that. Everyone says you seemed to love her. I guess she was just humouring you.”

  “You’re right; I’ll never get a girl like Millie. I made my peace with that… Hell, she helped me make my
peace with that.”

  “So, did you turn to drink? Drugs? Is that what you did as some kind of desperate attempt to get her to notice you, so her good nature would compel her to spend time with you?”

  “I’ve never taken drugs. As for drink, well, you can see I enjoy one now and then.” Derek responded. He was starting to look a little bleary eyed and Gordon suspected he was something of a lightweight when it came to drinking if he was affected so badly after his third.

  “I’m going to keep looking into this, Derek. I’m going to find out what happened to Millie. If you know anything that might help me then tell me now, because next time I ask I’ll be convinced that you do and… well, I might not ask quite so nicely.”

  “Mister Crane… I think we’re back to keeping things formal at this point,” he lifted his eyebrows questioningly for a moment, “there’s nothing you can do to me that hasn’t been done already.”

  Gordon looked Derek in the eyes. He wished there was something he could do to compel Derek to speak, but he knew he was looking into the face of a damaged man. The question that remained at the forefront Gordon’s mind was whether or not Derek was damaged enough to kill. However, he believed there was nothing he could do or say to force him into speech at that moment. It was time to leave.

  “I’ll be seeing you, Derek.” Gordon told him, standing up and sliding out of the booth. He glanced up and saw one of Derek’s bodyguards, as he had referred to them, looking in through the dirt streaked window. Gordon quickly turned and walked away, hoping he wasn’t seen. He let himself out through the back door and into the alleyway beyond.

  A firm grip landed on his shoulder. Gordon was spun about and struck in the face almost immediately. He staggered back, falling onto his rear as he tasted the coppery wetness of blood in his mouth. Dazed, Gordon started to rise, looking into the bulky frame of the Leland security operative. He brought his arms up into a boxer’s fighting stance; the thug struck out at him again and Gordon weaved out of the way to dodge the attack - only to be caught off guard by the man’s other fist rising straight at him. It connected with Gordon’s gut, winding him in the process, and Gordon was forced to retreat. He shook his head to try to refocus.

  “Mister Leland wants you to stay away from his son!” The thug barked, striding confidently towards Gordon, who by this time was lying in wait for the next attack. As soon as the bulky man launched another blow at him, Gordon twisted out of the way and struck out as hard as he could, slamming his fist into the man’s side. He let out a grunt and tried to club down at Gordon with the back of his fist, but Gordon had now recovered from the initial attacks and was at his full fighting strength. He shifted out of the path of the back-handed blow and followed up with a heavy uppercut into the other man’s jaw, staggering him and knocking his opponent back. Gordon pressed his advantage and sent a powerful left and then an anger driven right into the firm, muscular body of the Leland security officer. Gordon growled aggressively and drew his arm back, before slamming his right fist again into the bigger man’s gut, who cried out in pain as he fell backwards.

  Gordon stayed on his feet and waited for the thug to rise up, which he did, albeit painfully, eyeing Gordon with vindictive malice. He launched himself forward, throwing his body down and slamming Gordon with his shoulder as he wrapped a meaty arm around his side. He carried Gordon onto the ground, and then drew back and slammed the fist of his free hand into Gordon’s face; pain erupted in Gordon’s jaw, followed quickly by a sudden, sharp pain in his nose. Gordon was dazed and felt his eyes welling up, but managed to shift his head at the last possible second before the next blow landed, which might actually have broken his nose. He heard his attacker’s hand slam into concrete followed immediately by a cracking sound and a howl of pain. Gordon managed to flip his opponent from him and, climbing on top, thumped his ugly face with every ounce of strength in his arm and shoulder. The goon’s head slammed back into the concrete and he looked hazy. Gordon stood slowly and, out of spite, kicked his attacker in the groin, causing him to double up in agony and shift into a foetal position.

  “Listen, you dumb bastard: you tell your boss I can’t be intimidated! I’m going to find out what the hell is going on whether he sends thugs like you after me or not. Just because he’s an ex-cop he’s not above the law, and his son sure as hell isn’t!” Gordon told him belligerently. He spat blood on the ground and looked up and down the alleyway to make sure his companion wasn’t coming to reinforce him.

  “Screw… you…” The thug managed to say as he reached to hold his aching jewels.

  “If you come at me like this again, I’ll shoot first and ask questions later.” Gordon warned him. He started to walk away, but, feeling his face beginning to swell, returned briefly to kick the vicious brute in the gut before starting away again.

  Gordon made his way back to his car and drove to his office. He went first to his kitchen to get some ice, then, as the ice pack met his face, cursed his way to his desk and sat heavily on his chair where he tried to get his brain to function so that he could determine what the next move needed to be. He felt Derek’s throwaway line about Josh being the killer was nothing more than a flippant attempt to persuade Gordon to look elsewhere, and could therefore safely be ignored… but where did he go from there? Opening his email, he discovered Jones had sent him pictures of the other victims, and looking through them he saw at once there was an unmistakable familiarity between all of them. He was about to start analysing the information he had over again when his phone buzzed. It was Isabelle reminding him that he could come over at any time to share what he had discovered as she’d wait up for him. Feeling guilty yet convinced any kind of relationship other than professional between them would probably be a distraction, at least until after Millie’s murder was solved, Gordon sent her a message back telling her he was going to have to look over some files he’d received and probably couldn’t make it that night. He had been as gentle as possible - and regretted cancelling their meeting immediately, but there was nothing he could do as the message had been sent and he’d look a damn fool if he changed his mind now.

  Gordon urged his weary mind to focus on the information he had, going back through what he had seen, read and heard. He listened through the audio recordings he’d made and tried his best to put himself in the mindset of the killer. The first thing that seemed apparent was that the killer was a male, due to the sexual component. It didn’t preclude a female being involved - it had happened in the past - but it was unlikely. The second most apparent thing was that the victim’s all shared a similar appearance: blonde, pretty, with innocence to their features that, even in the long time escorts, was still apparent, particularly in their eyes. More than likely this was a deciding factor when the killer chose his victims; Millie’s inclusion greatly reducing the possibility almost to nil that the killer was punishing women who worked as escorts. To Gordon’s mind, it meant the killer was choosing those who reminded him of someone, perhaps his first kill or maybe a girlfriend who had broken off their relationship, and all his subsequent victims looked like her.

  Of the suspects, Gordon had all but ruled out Josh and Tamsin. They had lied and he didn’t think they were particularly nice people, but he couldn’t see them as killers due to the specificity of the victims and the continued, methodical slayings - roughly once a month. He felt if Josh ever killed someone it would be in the heat of the moment. As for Tamsin, she might, in those circumstances, be a witness Josh could depend upon, but he couldn’t see her taking an active part in a violent crime. Then there was Kieran Gladstok, possible drug dealer turned day trader. Everything he had imparted made sense from a certain point of view and, despite his initial posturing, he seemed to be relatively open. There was no evidence he’d had any contact with Millie since her initial confrontation with him, and Gordon was confident if he’d threatened her in any capacity she wouldn’t have hesitated to go to the police. This left Millie’s assortment of other friends whom Gordon had interviewed either
over the phone or in person. It was certainly possible one of them was involved, after all he hadn’t spent a great deal of time looking into them, but that was largely because Gordon’s gut had settled on Derek. His instincts told him that Derek was hiding something - something important to the case - and his meeting earlier that night was all the confirmation Gordon needed. The question before him now was whether the something being hidden by Derek was because his instinct for self preservation had kicked in and he was now determined to do all he could to conceal the fact that he was the killer, or because he knew who the killer was and was afraid of him? Gordon couldn’t say. His body language was one of a man utterly defeated – a man who had no way out of the situation he found himself in. In addition, either his father or one of his goons had struck him violently for speaking to him the first time, and Gordon couldn’t imagine what his father had since threatened him with to ensure he remained silent… which led to another question: why was Harold Leland so determined to keep his son’s name out of the investigation? Did he know his son had committed a string of murders and was protecting him, or was it because he was desperate to protect his company from the kind of scandal whipped up by reporters when the son of a prominent businessman was made a person of interest in a murder enquiry? Gordon continued his musing, wondering if there might be a third possibility. Could Harold be so desperate to protect his son because he needed to conceal something his son had done in the past, something that could be inadvertently exposed if someone decided to dig into his background?