American Crow

by Jack Lacey

  I saw a flicker of desperation in his eyes, the look I’ve seen a thousand times when a guy is cornered and has no one to turn to.

  ‘So your daughter, Olivia...she’s gone walkabouts?’ I said trying to lighten the talk.

  ‘Indeed. Usually we speak every other day or so, even when she’s away somewhere. It’s been nigh on six weeks now. There’s been no contact at all. It’s truly out of character.’

  ‘And she’s in the U.S, Lenny says?’

  ‘Yes. She wants to study history of art in London, so I organized it for her to help out at a gallery in Minneapolis where I know people. I thought it would help inspire her, do her the world of good to go and check out a different art scene for once, away from her doting father. It can be difficult just the two of us sometimes, you know…’

  I studied his face for a moment as I absorbed his words, not wanting to connect with his pain. She was a teenager. It’s what they did. They rebelled. It had only been a few months since she’d left. Get a grip I thought. She was probably having the time of her life, fallen in love for the first time, and was just lost in the bubble.

  ‘So, tell me about your last conversation with her?’ I said diplomatically.

  ‘She seemed happy. They were getting ready to change the exhibition at the gallery. She was helping out and revelling in the excitement of it all.’ He sighed. ‘That seems like a long time ago now.’

  ‘And she didn’t say anything else about any troubles out there, any problems?’

  ‘None.’

  Henry took several more sips of what must have been a cold cappuccino by now and stared at the table in sombre reflection.

  ‘And what about her friends, contacts on Facebook, Twitter and stuff like that? Surely someone must know something about her last movements?’ I pushed.

  ‘I’ve spoken to her closest ones, Ben and Izzy. They say that she hasn’t been on any social networking sites for quite a while...the last entry was about three days after we last spoke.’

  ‘Mobile?’

  ‘No answer.’

  ‘Who was looking after her in Minneapolis? Your friends from the gallery?’

  ‘She was staying with a woman called, Chrisse O’Reilly. She’s the sister of the gallery’s director. His name’s Walter Finch. He sorted everything for us. He’s an old college friend of mine from way back. I’ve spoken regularly with both of them to see if Olivia has comeback or made any sort of contact, and neither of them has heard a thing.’

  I ignored his deflated body language and continued with the questioning.

  ‘And Lenny said that you hired a couple of private detectives that end too?’

  ‘Yes, just over a month ago. One from Minneapolis, the other from Minnetonka. The first took my money for a week then said the trail had gone dead, the other just took my money and never got back to me at all. I went over there and filled out some missing-persons forms with the police recently, spoke to a female detective called Herring who deals with these sort of cases, but it’s all gone quiet. My Olivia’s…well, just plain vanished it seems.’

  The last words were saturated with emotion, ejected in a near-whisper. I eyed him sternly. The guy was a worrier that much was clear. He didn’t have enough information yet to be so pessimistic. But he was a ready to shelve out some big bucks to put his obsessive mind at rest, so for now I would put up with him.

  ‘I’ll find her, Henry, whether she’s in any sort of trouble or not, okay?’

  ‘Okay…’

  He glanced at me then drained the rest of his coffee. I could see that he didn’t even want to contemplate the worst-case scenario, not that it would come to that when he finally got his reality check, when she surfaced alive and well.

  ‘Now these friends, can you give me their addresses, telephone numbers, or a place of study or work? It would be good to talk to them before I leave tomorrow.’

  He leaned over and pulled out a plastic wallet from his bag and slid it across the table. I glanced at the contents and the photos clipped to some of the papers. His daughter was a slender blonde with inquisitive grey eyes like his, and a blush of healthy colour on her rounded cheeks. The sort of daughter every man would be proud of. I suppressed my nausea at the similarity to Laura and forced a painful smile.

  ‘Everything you need to know about Olivia, including some recent photos. It’s all in there,’ he continued. ‘My work and mobile numbers are there as well. You’re welcome to check over Olivia’s room at my place in Chelsea too. The address is on the first page. Mrs Kendle, my housekeeper, should be there to let you in, if you can get there before six today.’

  I nodded. Housekeeper. Very posh.

  ‘And can I ask, where’s the mother in all of this, Henry? I’m getting the feeling she’s not on the scene anymore.’

  The banker looked at me mournfully.

  ‘She died in a skiing accident a couple of years ago.’

  I nodded sympathetically.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

  I stood up, keen to get on with the investigation.

  ‘As soon as I’ve got something concrete I’ll get back to you.’

  He looked at me like some underfed puppy.

  ‘Thank you, Blake.’

  ‘Try not to worry...okay.’

  I turned and headed off at a good pace. A few hundred metres down the path I took a right turn and walked onto a wooden bridge which spanned one of the larger ponds in the park, then stood there for a while thinking about the case whilst admiring the sea of daffodils covering both banks.

  Laura had loved nature. That had become clear in the short time we’d been in contact. She’d said that she’d wanted to work in conservation eventually. She would have been good at that...

  I felt some sick rise up into the back of my throat and swallowed it back down. A burst of sunlight cut through the clouds as if she’d heard me in the heavens and drawn close suddenly. I enjoyed its warmth on my skin as my stomach tightened again, then sat down on a nearby bench and flicked through the papers Henry had given me, trying to ignore the feeling of broken glass in my guts.

  Quickly I found the numbers of Olivia’s two closest friends and punched their numbers into my phone and dialled. The one for Ben Jackson rang and clicked through to a stupid voicemail message. The other for Izzy, was answered straight away.

  ‘Hello?’

  Her voice was young and feminine.

  ‘Hi Izzy. I’m a friend of Henry Deacon’s. Olivia’s father. He took the liberty of giving me your number. I hope you don’t mind me ringing you cold, but I’m trying to find out if she’s okay. Do you know anything at all?’

  ‘You’re not another of those annoying private detectives, are you?’ She replied sharply, ‘because if you are, I’ve already spoken to the one from America, as well as to the police here, and told them everything I know. Everything.’

  ‘Well, I’m not some stiff snooper type who peers through a hole in a newspaper, let’s put it like that,’ I said, amused at the notion. ‘The name’s Blake.’

  ‘And you’re not a cop?’

  Her tone was still defensive. I laughed.

  ‘That’s the last thing I would be, Izzy. Look can we meet for a drink? I’ll even pay for it, and if you want me to piss off after a few questions then I will, alright?’

  ‘Where are you?’ she said, mellowing.

  ‘Central London, but I can get anywhere pretty damned quick if you tell me where and when.’

  ‘Well, I work at a tattoo studio in Camberwell called ‘Skin’. It’s just up from the green on the left on the road heading towards Peckham. I can spare ten minutes if you want to drop by in the next hour or so, as I’m taking a late lunch. But that’s all I can spare.’

  ‘You’re on. I’ll be there in half an hour.’

  *

  Izzy didn’t look how I imagined either. Maybe this was going to be the trend for the whole job I thought. Or maybe I was just losing my touch. Usually, I was good at fitting a voice to a name
, but she was just the opposite of what I’d conjured up in my mind. She was no homely girl-next-door-type. She was covered in ink as befitting her job. I should have realized.

  When I walked through the door she was sitting behind a counter, thumbing through some plastic folders where people could choose their designs. Her black hair was part-pulled up into a fierce pony tail on the top of her head, and the few remaining strands left to dangle loosely over her shoulders as if she’d got up late and couldn’t be bothered. I liked her look...

  ‘So you’re the mysterious new detective then?’ she said sarcastically, looking up.

  ‘Just Blake will do...’

  She eyed me up and down, intrigued. I was wearing faded black jeans, an original Clash tee-shirt, and an old black bomber jacket that had been sown up more times than I could remember.

  ‘Is that your first or second name?’ she said with a cold smile.

  ‘Both.’

  She raised an eyebrow and pointed over to the customers’ seats by the window. I decided to accept to make her feel in control.

  ‘So that dick of a father is employing you now, uh?’

  I liked her assessment.

  ‘Kind of.’

  ‘But you’re not the usual sort of private detective?’

  ‘No, I work in a different way. I look after my contacts and respect their privacy.’

  She looked at me unsure.

  ‘And I bet Henry’s paying you a fortune, right?’

  ‘Lots of cash thanks, that’s the other reason I’m doing it. Look, I couldn’t give a toss about some high-flying banker, I just want to find this friend of yours, take a picture of her to prove that she’s alive then be on my way. If she’s wanting time out from her father then that’s fine by me too, so don’t worry about grassing your mate up. I won’t be telling Henry any exact locations. I don’t like sneaks myself. My main motivation is to insure that she’s okay,’ I lied. ‘Plain and simple…’

  I threw a couple of fifty pound notes on the counter.

  ‘These are for you anyway, if you want to help. I’m more than happy to cover your time...’

  She stuffed the money into her bra, not that she needed one.

  ‘I like you, Blake.’

  ‘I like me too.’

  ‘He’s the reason she went away, you know.’

  Interesting.

  ‘Go on...’ I probed.

  ‘She said that she might go AWOL for a bit when she got over there.’

  ‘Did she now?’

  ‘He runs her bloody life with a rod of iron, Henry does. He smothers her, if you hadn’t gathered that already...has done since her mother died. And she’s just had enough of it. Thought that if she agreed to go away, it would be a good opportunity to have some time alone where he wouldn’t be able to harass her for once.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really...She might not even come back you know, if things work out.’

  ‘I would have done the same,’ I replied, thinking that the girl didn’t know much about America to think that possible.

  I wasn’t surprised at the revelation too. Henry didn’t seem like the controlling sort, but I’d learnt early on not to judge a book by its cover.

  ‘Look, Blake. I really don’t know where she is, okay. All I know is that she met some new guy over there and that she’s probably very happy right now, wherever she is...’

  Bingo.

  ‘When did you hear from her last, Izzy?’

  ‘I got a Facebook message around five and a half weeks ago. Since then, she’s gone off-line big time. Probably having too much of a good time, the cow.’

  I smiled warmly, stood up and placed my hand boldly over hers playing it cocky, like I’d done countless times before when working an informant. She looked up and eyed me warily, but didn’t shy away.

  ‘You’re a very attractive girl, Izzy.’

  ‘My boyfriend seems to think so,’ she said with a flirtatious smile.

  I squeezed gently.

  ‘Does he get jealous?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good...I like a bit of competition.’

  I felt a stirring down below and tried to suppress it.

  ‘My Gary would beat anyone to a pulp if he thought someone was cracking onto me. He can be vicious like that.’

  ‘Would he now...’ I thought, amused at the notion.

  ‘What’s the name of this new bloke of Olivia’s then?’ I said working her some more.

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  She was lying.

  ‘You’re a real delight, Izzy,’ I said, seeing the innocent face that had existed before it had been punctured with studs.

  She blushed ever so slightly.

  ‘Fancy a cup of tea? Marion’s on lunch at the moment, so we’ve got time for a quick one...if you fancy a quick one that is?’

  ‘Marion?’

  ‘The tattoo artist here.’

  ‘I don’t mind one, if you do...’ I said, looking into her hungry grey eyes.

  Her gaze lowered to the floor as if she was thinking about it, then slowly came back up and locked onto mine, telling me all that I needed to know.

  ‘Well, do you want to help me make the tea then?’ she said coyly, working it ever so slightly like I had.

  ‘Sure...’

  She lifted the counter and beckoned me through to the back room via a black curtain. Inside was a small storage cupboard doubling up for a kitchen. She reached up for a tin and I moved in behind her. She froze as if surprised at the direct approach then seemed to relax.

  ‘That’s a bit cheeky, isn’t it?’ she said playfully.

  ‘Oh yes, I think it is a bit...’

  I waited for her to get cold feet, like those young teasing types do sometimes. She didn’t.

  My hand went down to her crutch and released the buttons one by one, testing the water. She dropped the tin she’d been holding and grabbed my other hand, which had now worked its way up inside her top and was massaging her modest cleavage.

  ‘If he ever found out, he’d kill me you know...’

  ‘I would do the same if you were mine,’ I said, thinking she couldn’t have been much older than her missing friend.

  She eased her jeans down below her hips for me and I kissed her neck. I wasn’t surprised to discover that she wasn’t wearing any knickers either. She was that carefree sort. Just my type. My mouth went to her right ear and whispered some cheap flattery. She seemed to like that too and growled a little louder.

  ‘I wouldn’t let him touch you, you know...if he tried to hurt you. You’re far too precious. Worth fighting for, I reckon…’

  Something seemed to ignite in her and she thrust her buttocks towards me in response, moaning and grinding, and hungry for a response of equal measure. I looked down and stared at the detailed Celtic knot-work tattooed skilfully across her hips and tried to control myself. She was far too young, far too like my Laura...

  ‘Go on, do it,’ she urged, digging her nails in the front of my thighs. ‘Do it…’

  ‘Who’s Olivia’s boyfriend, Izzy?’ I said, kissing her neck slowly.

  She moaned some more.

  ‘Some local guy over there.’

  ‘Who?’ I pushed as she ground into me harder.

  ‘He’s...he’s called...Ethan I think. I don’t know his second name...Sorry.’

  A hand reached for my fly. I pulled back a little, knowing I was getting close to the point of no return myself.

  ‘Second name?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How old?’ I said.

  She moaned.

  ‘How old?’ I said slipping a hand between her legs.

  She arched her back in pleasure and grabbed my neck from behind.

  ‘Seven or eight years older...I think.’

  ‘Go on...’

  ‘Olivia said he’s in his mid-twenties, I think.’

  My fingers explored fu
rther, deeper.

  ‘You got a picture?’

  She groaned loudly then shuddered.

  ‘He’s...cute.’

  ‘Can you show me?’

  She winced with pleasure.

  ‘I deleted it.’

  ‘You being straight with me?’ I whispered.

  ‘Yes...’ she said, shuddering again.

  ‘Okay.’

  I withdrew my hand and pulled back further.

  ‘No...’ she murmured, her head lowering in frustration.

  ‘I want to Izzy, trust me...’

  She turned, looking bewildered.

  ‘Look, I’m married, okay…’ I lied.

  ‘I didn’t see the ring,’ she said sounding annoyed.

  ‘We’re not the traditional sort.’

  ‘It doesn’t stop most men...’ she said softly, moving in for the kiss again.

  ‘I’m not most men,’ I said, edging away. ‘Trust me, Izzy, I want to...’

  ‘Tea then?’ she said exasperated.

  I looked at her flushed face as she picked up the tin, then thought about Laura again and felt nauseous.

  ‘Milk…sugar?’

  ‘Sorry, I’ve got to go,’ I said swishing the curtain to one side.

  ‘Did I do something wrong?’ she said, calling out after me.

  ‘No, Izzy...you didn’t,’ I replied, heading out onto the street.

  I jumped on my bike feeling unnerved, then after a few seconds turned the key. The girl had been roughly the same build and height as Laura, her eyes just as inquisitive and bright.

  I shook my head and pulled out into the busy Camberwell traffic then drove up to the lights and waited on the red. At least I’d got a result. A name. I just felt bad about working the girl that was all. It had been a while since I’d done that, and with someone so young, but you had to play people. It opened them up, and opened doors that would normally have remain closed. And sometimes that was all there was between finding someone alive at the end of the trail, or in pieces.

  The lights turned green and I sped off sharply, weaving in and out of the cars ahead as I chewed over the case, then my life at the same speed. I’d find this Olivia Deacon wherever she was, and maybe that in itself would make me feel a little bit more human again, make me feel better about failing Laura at a time when we should have been celebrating a new start together.