by Jack Lacey
I thought about the trash can of empty bottles outside the trailer for a moment and felt angry at letting myself go. Things had to change or I was going to end up following Laura to the grave pretty damned quickly.
Perhaps the case was just what I needed to clean the slate and Lenny had intuited that before he’d offered it to me. Or maybe, I thought cynically, it was going to be a bitch of a job and Lenny knew that to, knew that I was the only one on the firm who was prepared to get their hands dirty, who’d place themselves in extreme danger, just to get the right result...
Chapter Five
'the photo'
Chelsea. West London.
Late Afternoon.
Henry Deacon’s home was a four-floor terraced building with a classic black and white tiled porch, black scrollwork railings set above a basement, which was serviced by two small rectangular windows situated either side of a half-dozen steps.
It looked clean and well-maintained and just like all the other expensive houses skirting the tree-lined square, where a sprinkling of residents were reading newspapers in the sun or exercising their well-manicured dogs.
I took a deep breath and knocked on the door feeling out of place, wondering what sort of welcome someone like me would receive in this sort of neighbourhood.
A well-dressed housekeeper opened the door before I had a chance to pull my hand away. I took a step back and she offered me a wary smile, creasing the thick make-up around her eyes.
‘The name’s Blake, I...’
‘Oh yes...’
She beckoned me in with a deft gesture of the hand, then guided me straight upstairs to Olivia’s room without saying another word. I say room, it was more like a self-contained flat in truth, and reasonably organized too for a teenager, though I’m sure that was down to the hired help and not her own efforts.
The housekeeper forced another polite smile then slowly made her way downstairs, as if she was reluctant to leave me up there alone. I scanned the contents inside…
Before me was a freshly made king-sized bed and an expensive-looking dresser to my right with a mass of hair and beauty products on show. To my left were a row of built-in cupboards faced with full-length mirrors and an archway leading to another room.
I walked over to the other side and slid back a door. Inside were an array of clothes of varying fashion and a collection of shoes lined up neatly along the floor.
I strolled through the doorway. It led to a lounge space with a small sofa, containing a fold-out bed which I assumed friends or hopeful boyfriends could use on a sleep over.
I scanned the walls. There were two or three tiers of shelving filled with C.D’s, photos, and various books on art and music as you’d expect with her particular interests. I eyed them for a while trying to get more of a feel for her personality, then picked up a newish-looking photo album from a coffee table, and sat down on the sofa to flick though it.
Quickly I discovered that the photos the banker had given me were hopelessly out of date. The guy was obviously in denial. Since leaving school Olivia had revamped her image big time. Vamp being the operative word.
Gone were the pastel cardigans, summery skirts and knee-length dresses of innocent youth, and in came tight leather minis and torn tee-shirts of the newly found rebel. Out went the soft pink blush to the cheeks and bright red lipsticks and in came a scattering of piercings and heavy black eyeliner.
No wonder Henry was worried. His pretty little girl had transformed herself into something resembling a whoring punk, just like her friend Izzy. By sending her away from her friends, he was hoping to change all that. Bad move. Now it was back-firing big time and he knew it. No wonder he was so deflated. He was the emotional architect of his own downfall...
I slid out a couple of recent pictures from the sleeve to replace the misty-eyed ones her father had given me, then found a date on the back of one, marked July of last year. She was probably still sporting the same look in the U.S I thought, and if anything might look even more radical, now she was away from her father’s prying gaze.
And who knows what sort of trouble that might attract, boyfriend or not. There were a lot of bad guys out there who just loved some fresh-out-of-school chick, dressed as a whore. A lot…
I walked back to the bedroom and turned my attentions to the drawers in the main dresser. Inside, I found nothing of value.
Next I checked the bed side-tables. Nothing remarkable in the first few drawers either…just the usual girly stuff. Anything private or controversial would be well-hidden I’d imagine too, especially with a snooping housekeeper tidying up behind her and willing to tell tales for an extra buck.
It wasn’t until I checked out the final drawer though, that I found something that made me sit bolt upright. Sandwiched between a couple of blank A4 notepads was a dog-eared photo, which looked to have been taken on a family holiday.
I held it up to the light to see it more clearly. It looked like a snap of Deacon’s late wife and his daughter on a skiing trip, which I assumed was probably his wife’s last from what Henry had said back in the park.
I studied it closer and felt an unnerving chill grip me. The angle of the shot made Olivia look the dead spit of Laura, save her face being a little narrower and her blonde hair tied up in a French plait. Other than that they could have been twins. I closed my eyes then saw Laura suspended in the water again. This time she was smiling.
‘Fuck...’
I threw the picture back into the drawer and slammed it shut hoping that it would sever the emotion at source. It didn’t. I took a moment to compose myself, then finally hauled myself up and headed out of the bedroom to broaden my search trying to keep focused.
The next door revealed just a bathroom and was pretty bare save a solitary tooth brush in a glass on the sink. I stepped out and tried the door at the end of the landing. It was locked. I tried the handle a few times annoyed; making sure the mechanism wasn’t stiff.
A few seconds later I heard the housekeeper head back up the stairs, as if she had been listening out the whole time from below.
‘Can I help you, Mister Blake?’ she said sternly, halfway up.
‘Just having a look around...’ I said lightly, waiting for the offer of a first name.
It wasn’t forthcoming.
‘Sometimes the smallest things can help locate a person, that’s all,’ I continued, trying to fill in the uncomfortable silence. ‘What’s in here anyway?’
She smiled diplomatically, but I could see the agitation in her eyes, as if she felt territorial about the place while Henry was away, or was trying to hide something of importance. She walked up a few more steps slowly like some smarting matron.
‘That, is Mr Deacon’s bedroom.’
‘Yes...’ I tendered with a big unspoken ‘so what’ attached to the end of it.
‘He doesn’t let anyone go in there when he’s not around. Not even for private investigators...’
I looked her up and down pondering whether to insist or not, then decided to leave it.
‘Right you are...’
‘I’m making some coffee. Would you like some?’ she said, changing the subject and her tone, in an attempt to redirect the conversation as well as distract me in the process.
‘Sure...’
I checked another couple of rooms on the way, both of which were pretty sparse, then followed the housekeeper downstairs to a large open-plan kitchen where I watched her place a posh-looking kettle on the hob.
I scanned my surroundings, hands in pockets as it boiled slowly, devoid of conversation. Feeling uncomfortable, I eventually got up and wandered through to a plush dining room, then a study, then out again into an antique-filled sitting-room where I found further framed pictures of Deacon’s family, one matching the photo I’d uncovered upstairs, which was proudly displayed above the fireplace in an elaborate frame.
I stared at it for a moment, Laura’s face trying to hijack the girl’s once more.
‘Coffee’s ready
,’ the housekeeper announced, breaking the trance.
Unnerved, I wandered back through then took the mug from the outstretched hand and smiled politely.
‘Does Henry have any other close family?’ I asked eventually.
‘He has a brother who lives up north, whom he sees occasionally, but Olivia really is the only close family he has left now. She’s the apple of his eye. After losing Sandy, you know…’
She sipped her coffee and I saw her eyes glaze with emotion.
‘What’s your take on events?’ I probed gently, wanting to keep the focus on the girl. ‘I mean, what’s Olivia really like? Do you think she could have engineered her own disappearance?’
‘She’s an intelligent girl, resourceful, and can be quite a handful at times, but I’m not sure that...’
‘And she’s still at that rebellious stage you think?’ I pressed.
‘She will always be at that rebellious stage, Mr Blake,’ the housekeeper replied sharply. ‘She was always getting up to mischief even as a young’un. You know, getting dirty, falling out of trees. I’ve lost count of the torn clothes I’ve sewn up over the years. All in all, she’s a bit of a tomboy really.’
I took a generous gulp of the strong coffee and forced a sympathetic smile, hoping it would open her up some more.
‘I found out today that the last time she made contact was five and a half weeks ago, which is not as bad as six, and that she’s almost certainly met a boy over there.’
The housekeeper exhaled with relief.
‘Thank god for that…So you think…?’
‘That perhaps she’s just eloped, gone AWOL on purpose? Yes...’
‘Mr Deacon dotes on her a little too much at times, so yes, I can believe that she may have done that then on reflection...’
‘Has there been any other time when she’s disappeared?’ I continued.
‘Sure, but nothing longer than a day or two. I just think going abroad alone has brought out the rebel in her even more, and if I’m honest…’
‘Go on…’
‘That there is some anger being directed towards Henry still, because the skiing holiday was his idea, and Sandy didn’t want to go at the time.’
I nodded slowly absorbing the information, satisfied at how the pieces were beginning to fit snugly together, then strolled through to a plant-filled conservatory where I reflected on the case some more as I stared at the darkening clouds racing overhead.
Olivia Deacon had still to grieve over her mother, of that I was certain. And when you found out the root cause for people’s disappearances, it made it that little bit easier to step inside their heads and get a feel for where they might have gone…
Emotionally, the girl had dumped her father and found a boyfriend to replace him, to make herself feel that little bit better. She was bound to feel vulnerable over there at times, yet temporarily secure in this new relationship of hers, especially if she was in love.
And the boy was going to hold a lot of power over her because of it. The last thing she’d want to happen, was to have to come back and face the music. The big question was, what sort of kid had she fallen for? And would he abuse the trust she’d placed in him if he had the chance?
I drained my coffee and headed back out onto the streets, my head buzzing. If I got into the U.S without any trouble, I was confident I’d track them both down pretty quickly and find out whether there were any other parties involved.
I zipped up my jacket and jogged back to the bike as a heavy rain shower came down suddenly, hoping for once that the case was what it appeared to be on the surface and that the gnawing feeling in my guts was simply down to the photo I’d seen back at Deacon’s place, and not that poisonous spider, edging ever closer…
Chapter Six
'the crossing'
Ontario, Canada. Late evening.
I felt as if I’d been shoved through an industrial-sized blender, twice. All in all, I’d been on the go for twenty-four hours since leaving London, and now I was not only tired, but seriously uncomfortable as well.
It had to be at least minus-twenty outside and the clothes I’d brought just weren’t man enough for this part of the world. In the short time I’d been out of the game, I’d got slack.
And I’d been crammed into my ‘accommodation’ a few miles north of the U.S border in the middle of a vast pine forest at some location previously organized by Lenny. Everything had run like clockwork up until that point. But that didn’t make me feel any better right now, in the situation I found myself in. It felt as if I’d been incarcerated alive in someone’s deep freezer…
Earlier that evening, I’d been picked up by some distant nephew of Lenny’s from the snow-covered airport at Thunder Bay, which made me relax at first until I was driven to the forested backwater at dusk and greeted by a truck driver called Jed who looked like he pushed over trees for a living.
He’d cracked a smile through his thick, gingery beard as I’d stepped out of the car, then a wider one as he and Max had unbolted the large chassis skirt of his polished Freightliner Century.
When the trucker pointed out that my temporary home was actually underneath the rig and saw my face, his laughter filled the clearing as if he actually got some sort of kick from stowing people there.
After the long flight, the joke was certainly lost on me that was for sure. I’d just stared at him as Lenny’s words came back to haunt me…
“Everything will be organized...” he’d announced smugly back at the office.
I knew it was a bloody stitch-up there and then. I should have listened to my gut. I was hoping for a fake passport and an easy ride in the back of a hay truck sipping a coke, or flown covertly over the border to some secret landing strip like a drugs baron. I couldn’t have been more wrong...
After the truck’s skirt had been released, I quickly discovered that its massive fuel tank was indeed a fake one, having been transformed into a compact stowaway area for one medium-sized human being to be transported in, while the real tank had been reduced in size and moved further in, out of view.
Only a guard with a keen eye would spot the difference Jed had reassured, as he’d released the false panel. Now in truth, I was more worried about dying from carbon monoxide fumes and freezing my balls off, than getting caught at the border. I’d been used to expecting the unusual from Lenny, but travelling in a damned gas tank? That was a first even for him...
After an hour or so, I heard Jed thankfully work his way down through the gears. The border had to be close now I thought. Not that I could tell from my metal sarcophagus. I was completely in Jed’s hands. Ten minutes later when I felt the truck grind to a halt, and heard the muffled voices of border guards, I knew we had.
‘Where you headed, sir?’ a young sounding guard enquired close by.
‘The Twin Cities, Officer, to drop off these girders at a construction site. Then I’m heading down to Mankato to see some friends of mine for a few days,’ the trucker said boldly, sounding calm.
‘Really?’ the officer responded as if half-distracted.
‘Sure. I’ve got the delivery information right here if you want to have a look.’
Pause. I held my breath trying not to cough. The diesel fumes had been unbearable at times and were still lingering in my throat.
‘Do you mind if we take a closer look?’ the reply came back after some conferring with an older, more authoritative voice.
‘Of course,’ Jed replied calmly again, still playing it cool.
I heard the crunch of footsteps in the snow and tensed up. They stomped closer then faded again and I imagined the officers inspecting the entire truck inch by inch, clipboards in hand.
Then a flicker of torch-light shot underneath the rig...For a split second it filtered into the dark chamber I was in through the breathing holes. I tensed and tried not to move, trying to breath as shallow as I could. Finally, the footsteps returned to the cab where they came to a halt once more.
‘Are these sk
irts removable, sir?’ the first voice probed suddenly.
Shit. That was the last thing I wanted to hear...
‘I suppose if you have the right tools, yes, Officer.’ Jed replied bluntly. ‘Never done it myself though…’
Silence. The border guard was obviously mulling it over. I was starting to smell a tip off. Hell, what if they had sniffer dogs too? It would be game over before it had even started. I would be handed over to the relevant authorities and that would be that.
I should have listened to my intuition after Lenny’s call, just said no when I had the chance. I’d be sat back in the caravan now, staring out of the window and enjoying a quiet drink listening to some tunes…
‘Can you pull over there please, sir, we’d like to have a closer look?’
Now I was hoping that Jed had a damned good poker face. I tensed, trying to ignore the itch I couldn’t reach without moving.
‘Sure thing. I’m ahead of schedule anyways so have plenty of time,’ Jed replied lightly.
Nicely done. Sounded convincing. The engine rumbled into life once again and I shook in the tank uncomfortably. Then I heard the breaks release and felt the truck trundle another hundred metres or so, into what I assumed was an investigation bay for the extended check.
Now I could hear additional voices, some that sounded weary, others that sounded fresh and busy as if they’d only just come on duty. More footsteps arrived and circled the rig. I listened anxiously to the sound of hydraulic ratchets being applied to the panel on the passenger side where the tank was located.
I shifted my head slightly trying to ease the cramp in my neck then heard a loud creaking, then a few thumps as the panel was finally released from its housing. Several probing lights lazered their way under the cab suddenly. I scrunched up tighter, like a foetus in a tin can, hoping to remain undetected...
‘See anything?’ a different voice asked firmly, sounding more attentative than the last.
