by Tim ORourke
Page 17
“Huh?” I said thoughtfully. “Yeah, I’m still here. ”
“There’s nothing you can do to help,”
Rom said. “Don’t get yourself in wolf issues – not this kind anyhow. ”
“But. . . ” I started.
“No buts, Murphy,” Rom barked, any understanding that he might have felt for me now gone. “Get your arse back home. I’ll see you in my office at nine tomorrow morning!”
The phone clicked as he cut the line dead.
I placed the phone back on the stand beside the bed. Was Pen really alive and well? I wondered. I hoped so. Maybe she was in hiding somewhere? Perhaps she had rented a room? But what I couldn’t understand was – why hadn’t she contacted me?
With these thoughts clawing away at me, I took a shower and got dressed. I slipped my handcuffs through the loop on my belt, holstered my gun, threw on my jacket, and headed for the door. It was then that I saw the envelope lying on the floor. I picked it up and turned it over in my hands. On the front somebody had scribbled ‘ Jim’.
I yanked open my hotel door; there was no one there. I tore open the envelope and read what was written on the folded piece of paper inside:
Check out Dorothy’s ruby slippers!
I recognised the handwriting as that of the previous letter writer. Why can’t Annie just talk to me, instead of posting these cryptic messages? I wondered. But then again, if she felt secure in communicating with me in this way, it was okay with me. At least somebody was prepared to help me find out what had happened to Pen.
Check out Dorothy’s ruby slippers! But what does it mean? I wondered. I placed the piece of paper back into the envelope and tucked it into my jacket pocket.
I remembered the night Pen and I had spent in The Hollows watching the magical moving pictures, The Wizard of Oz, together. I could clearly see Dorothy standing there, beautiful and innocent, clicking the heels of her ruby slippers together and saying over and over, ‘There’s no place like home! There’s no place like home!’
Maybe that was it! Perhaps that was what the message alluded to – Pen had gone home? Maybe she had had enough of Marc and his brother and her ailing bar and had just gone back to her world beyond the Fountain of Souls.
No, not likely, I pondered. Pen had told me of her reluctance to ever go home again.
Perhaps she had found some other place to live?
But it always came back to the same question: If Pen had done any of these things, why hadn’t she contacted me?
“Think, Jim, think,” I said out loud.
Rom had said that I had to be in the office by 9 a. m. tomorrow morning, so that gave me less than twenty-four hours to find out what had happened to Pen. Rom seemed to believe that Pen was alive because her car had been. . .
I picked up the phone again and dialled his number.
“Rom,” he said irritably.
“It’s Mur. . . ” I started.
“This had better be good!” he snapped.
“You said that Pen’s car had been picked up on that ANPR camera, I said. “But that doesn’t mean she was driving it. ”
“Jesus-wept,” Rom groaned. “Stop chasing ghosts and get your arse back. . . ”
“Can you get someone to pull the images?” I asked, my heart thumping. I knew I had already pushed my luck with Rom.
“Listen to me!” Rom roared, and I had to pull the phone away from my ear, he bellowed so loud. “I’ve got better things to do than go wasting my time chasing wolves. . . ”
“But I believe Pen has been murdered,” I said. “Please help me and I promise as soon as I get back I’ll happily give you my badge and leave the Force. I just need to know that my friend is. . . ”
“She’s a wolf!” he cut in.
“But she’s not like the others,” I insisted.
“I thought the Vampyrus were meant to help those wolves who wanted to break free of their curse. . . ”
“And we are,” Rom barked. “But I think you’re too close to this wolf. I believe your judgment is clouded. ”
“What’s so wrong about wanting to help a friend?”
“She’s a wolf!” he almost screamed.
“So she doesn’t deserve our protection, then?” I tried to reason.
There was a silence. I waited for his response to come.
“You don’t leave that hotel room until I call you back,” he said finally, then hung up the phone.
Loosening my jacket, I lay back on my unmade bed. I crossed my legs at the ankles and laced my fingers behind me head. My mind went back to the note which Annie had snuck beneath the door for me. Then sitting bolt upright, I shouted, “Of course! Dorothy’s ruby slippers! The ruby slippers in the display case in Pen’s bedroom!”
That was the answer. That was what Annie had been guiding me to in her letter. But having the answer only perplexed me further.
How would those ruby slippers help me find Pen?
What did they have to do with her disappearance?
And the biggest question of all – how was I going to get to those ruby slippers with Marc and Steve living at Pen’s house?
Chapter Nineteen
Murphy
I popped the end of my pipe between my lips, lit it, and inhaled deeply.
When was I gonna get a half-decent break? I asked myself. I was running around in circles. My best friend had suddenly vanished, or worse, there were two criminals encamped in her house, I’ve got a single mum who’s too scared to even talk to me but has a passion for sending me cryptic messages that the FBI would have difficulty in cracking, and my Inspector wants to sack me!
As I contemplated my next move, I puffed on my pipe and squirted jets of smoke out through my nostrils. I still had the ruby slipper mystery to solve…whatever that had to do with anything, I did not know. All I could do was wait for Rom to get back to me. Perhaps he was right and Pen had driven off, so desperate to escape Marc and his brother that she didn’t have the chance to contact me. I couldn’t do anything for sure until I had some kind of proof that Pen had been hurt, or worse. I spent the day pacing back and forth across my hotel room. I didn’t want to go out for food just in case I missed Rom’s telephone call, so I ordered some to my room.
I chewed the ham and cheese sandwich without even tasting it. I flicked through the TV
channels, my eyes not even focusing what played across the screen. The hours ticked slowly by – dragging out like a long shadow. Then, as the afternoon slipped into early evening, the phone rang. I snatched the receiver from its cradle and placed it against my ear.
“Murphy?” Rom said.
“Have you found anything?” I asked.
“Okay, this still doesn’t mean anything. . . ”
he started.
“What doesn’t?” I cut in.
“I’ve seen the picture the ANPR camera snapped and it wasn’t. . . ”
“Who was driving the car?” I demanded.
“The picture isn’t great, but the person behind the wheel is definitely male. Longish, dark hair. . . ” he started to explain.
“Marc,” I breathed over him.
“We don’t know that for sure,” Rom tried to reason. “And even if it was – so what does that prove? Perhaps he borrowed your friend’s car. ”
“Not likely,” I said. Then thinking of the note which had been placed under my door, I added, “I have just one more lead I want to follow up. ”
“No!” Rom barked. “You get your arse back here right. . . ”
I hung up the phone before he’d had a chance to finish.
I was now convinced that some harm had come to Pen at the hands of Marc and his brother, Steve. I knew the time I would spend trying to convince Rom that Pen was in danger would be wasted, and time was something I feared I didn’t have a lot of. My plan wasn’t to storm over to Pen’s and confront Marc straight away – no, I needed
to get into the house unbeknown to him and Steve, and take a look at those ruby slippers.
They must bear some significance on Pen’s disappearance; otherwise Annie wouldn’t have pointed me in their direction. The more evidence I had confirming Pen had been a victim of foul play, the more chance I had of convincing Rom to launch an investigation into her disappearance.
I checked my weapon, holstered it beneath my jacket along with my cuffs, and left my hotel room. It was fully dark now, and cold. A fine drizzle was in the air, and by the time I had reached my car, my hair and jacket were wet. I started the engine and swung out of the car park.
When I got near to Pen’s house, I pulled off the road and parked my car up a little dirt track about a mile away and took a torch from the boot of the car. I made my way through the wooded area, which stood tall and overgrown on either side of the dirt track, and set off in the direction of Pen’s house. I walked for about twenty minutes through the trees until I could see Pen’s house in the clearing ahead. I positioned myself so I could see who was coming and if anyone was leaving.
Hunkering down, I made myself small between the trunks of the trees. I could see the old blue truck which had been parked there the day before.
I figured at least Steve was at home if not Marc, as well.
Glancing down at my watch and it was just short of 8 p. m. I settled against the tree in the darkness and waited. At just gone half past eight, Pen’s front door was swung open and Steve appeared on the porch. He stood momentarily and picked the seat of his pants from the crack in his arse. If that wasn’t bad enough, he stuffed a finger up his nostril and began having a good root around. After digging away for several seconds, he pulled his finger out and studied the snot he had retrieved. After inspecting it for a moment or two, he popped it into his mouth.
“C’mon!” he yelled back into the house.
“You go ahead, I’ll catch up with you later,” shouted Marc from inside.
Steve then swung the front door closed, farted, sighed, and then got into the truck and drove off.
“Filthy animal,” I grumbled to myself.
