by Neal Davies
Sebastian goes quiet for a moment. “How can I possibly listen to my own words before making a statement? Do you mean, do I ever think about what I am about to say before I say it? Well the answer, of course, is yes. Why?”
There’s silence as Cynthia’s chin hits her chest and her arms drop limply by her side. Then she angrily brings the phone back up to her ear and barks, “I will see what I can do. Goodbye, Sebastian!” Before he can reply, the phone goes dead.
Sebastian’s eyes bounce around momentarily and then he makes one more call and focuses his attention back to Paul, “I have just made an appointment tomorrow to meet up with a guy by the name of Samuel James. I should be starting my meeting just as you are finishing yours and I will meet you back here later to exchange notes.”
Paul looks up from his writing. “Who’s he?”
“Look, Paul, I hope I can trust you to keep this hush hush. Can you do that for me please?”
“I would be a liar if I told you that without knowing the facts but if I don’t feel you will be placing yourself in danger or breaking the rules, I will give you my word.”
Sebastian nods in agreement. “Samuel James was Jamie Hanigan’s old parole officer; apparently Jamie served time awhile back and I want to get a better understanding of whether or not he is capable of these murders. There are a couple of reasons why I would like to keep this quiet. First, I don’t want Jim or anyone else on the force jumping to conclusions before he is thoroughly investigated. Second, there’s a strong possibility he has been on the straight and narrow for some time and if people got word of what he did in his past he may lose his momentum to remain a model citizen.”
“What did he do Seb? It sounds fairly serious.”
Sebastian goes on to tell Paul the reason why Jamie Hanigan was charged and Paul listens intently. “I can see why you don’t want to let this cat out of the bag! Anyway, you have my word and good luck with the interview.”
Sebastian semi-smiles and begins putting his paperwork into one pile and then packing it away into a lockable draw. “It’s been a long, drawn out day, Paul, and I have had enough. I am going home to my wife and a cold glass of bourbon on the rocks. I will see you tomorrow afternoon.”
Paul smiles broadly, “Perhaps I should become a consultant and work my own hours like you do. What a great life!”
Sebastian grins, “Perhaps one day you will. But for now, work hard and continue to visualize where you want to be and the steps required to get there. Good afternoon my friend.”
9. THE CAFÉ – SUNDAY
The morning is crisp and Paul feels a bitter chill as he steps out of his car. He takes his black woollen jacket from the rear seat and as he strolls down the road toward the coffee shop, he notices pigeons weaving boldly in and out from under the empty cast iron tables that line the pavement outside the variety of eateries and cafés. They are not intimidated by the giants who stride past above them. Unrelenting in their search for food, their heads bob back and forth intently, scanning for any morsel they can find.
Although it’s early, there is a constant flow of traffic shooting clouds of mist from exhaust pipes. The blast of a horn further up the road, where vehicles are beginning to bank up, loses its clarity amongst the sounds of the city’s newborn day.
The redolence of freshly brewed coffee intermingles with other culinary delights but it’s the distinctive fragrance of caffeine that overrides all other aromas and it continues to grow stronger as Paul draws closer to his destination. On reaching the French doors to the café, he is enchanted by the dew on the small glass windows that gleam like marcasites when the light from the sun momentarily breaks through the clouds and collides with the minute droplets of water.
Paul spies Kate heading his way.
Even though it’s become overcast again, Kate’s short blond hair glistens like a golden thread caught in a moonbeam. Her neck and shoulders are straight and square while her torso curves nicely. She walks towards him and he notices how light she is on her feet. The Mohair pullover and matching gloves she wears are still penetrable by the morning’s cold air and as she reaches Paul, she crosses her arms and shrugs her shoulders, “Oh my goodness, that wind has a bite to it!”
Paul’s pushing toward his midriff with his hands in his in his jacket pockets, as he makes every effort to ensure that no drafts permeate his inner sanctum of warmth. With his shoulders pushed high he smiles courteously and replies, “My mother calls it a lazy wind.”
Kate looks at him curiously. “Why’s that?”
“She says it’s too lazy to go around, so it blows straight through you.”
Her red cheeks curve upward. Paul pulls one hand from his pocket and gestures the door. “Shall we?” She glides past him and into the warmth of the shop.
“This is so much cosier; I thought I was going to freeze to death out there!” she says while removing her gloves.
“How do you like your coffee?”
“Just a latte for me, please.” Paul orders and they work their way through crowded tables where drifts of quiet conversations waft through the warm room, “Look Paul, over there?” Kate points to a quiet corner by the window.
Opposite them sits an unusual, yet closely knit couple: a small balding man with a tufted head with a much taller and thicker set woman, sipping joyfully on their mochas and engage in animated conversation. Many of the executives from surrounding blocks come to this quaint little street where massive buildings loom tall on both sides. They use it as a social hub and hideaway from day to day pressures.
The interior is a mismatch of solid timber tables with comfortable leather and vinyl chairs. The old red brick and white mortar walls make the perfect support for the extremely large oil paintings that hang like window frames throughout the dining area. The buzz of the never ending traffic is muffled from within by the dulcet sounds of pipe music; quietly spoken voices and the intermittent hissing of an espresso machine as the Baristas work their magic. The waitress arrives with their coffees and Paul takes a long sip and smiles with contentment. Kate has been intrigued by him from the moment they met and she can’t help but stargaze across the table into his vivid blue eyes.
“What do you do when you’re not at the gym, Paul?”
He pauses deliberately and places his cup back on its saucer, “it’s pretty boring, really. I’m a property developer. It wasn’t what I saw as my ideal career but I’m an only child and when my father retired, I was it.” Kate gives him a motherly smile.
“That’s not boring at all! In fact, I would imagine it to be quite overwhelming at times.”
“Yes, I guess. But it’s still a long way from being a football star or a champion athlete.”
Her smile turns to disdain. “There have been plenty of sports stars come through the gym and, trust me; they’re not all they’re cracked up to be.” Paul squints and tilts his head to one side.
“How do you mean?”
Kate withdraws as if she’s said too much. “Oh, you know… just an ego thing.”
Paul’s a fast learner and the short time he’s been with Sebastian has taught him not to keep pushing. “What about you, Kate? Did you follow in your parents’ footsteps with the shop or is this something you wanted to do?”
She hesitates before answering, “No, purely something I wanted to do. I don’t have any family; both my parents have passed. My father drowned when I was fourteen and my mother died of cancer when I was nineteen” Paul quickly raises his palms.
“I’m sorry Kate. I shouldn’t have asked.”
She closes her eyes and smiles warmly, “It’s okay Paul, my life is a busy one and I rarely have time to reflect. It may seem callous but I prefer it that way.”
He looks sympathetically at her. “I fully understand where you’re coming from. In fact that’s why I came to the gym in the first place; it keeps me busy and gives me an escape from a career I don’t particularly care for. Surely an attractive woman like you has someone special, though?”
&nbs
p; “No, no one,” she looks at him flirtatiously. “Why do you ask?”
Paul lowers his eyes demurely and he shrugs his shoulders in an effort to downplay the situation. He turns his head to watch people scurry past in an effort to get out of the cold. Kate can see he’s feeling uncomfortable. “It’s okay, Paul. It’s like I said, I don’t have much free time in my life.”
She takes a mouthful of coffee, “In fact, as much as I’m enjoying our chat, I will have to get back soon.”
Paul tries to regain some ground. “Do you ever take a break from it all?”
One corner of her mouth hooks upward in a nonchalant manner. “Oh, sometimes I travel overseas when the urge takes me.” Kate’s fingers begin nervously tapping. Her brow creases when she sees him staring down at them and she hurriedly throws down the last of her coffee, “I’m sorry Paul; I really do need to get back.” They both go to rise at the same time but she holds out her palm. “Please, don’t get up. Stay in the warm and finish your coffee. And thank you; I really hope we can do it again soon.”
“Most definitely, Kate; I’d love to.”
He watches her through the window as she scurries up the street to her car and then he reaches around the back of his chair where his jacket remains limply suspended and pulls out his pen and notebook. He remembers Sebastian’s emphasis on making sure he writes only what he sees and not to add his own assumptions; so he quickly scribes the vital points of the conversation, including Kate’s facial expressions and body movements and he makes sure he does this while it remains fresh in his mind. After he is finished, he starts motoring his way back to the station.
++++
Sebastian looks at his watch and realises he needs to get a move on for his downtown meeting with Samuel James, so he grabs his coat and cane, checks out with Emily and heads out into the busy street.
The exceptionally cold weather has caused heavy traffic. People don’t want to travel on cold public transport and the road is slippery and dangerous, so he feels he will be safer taking a cab. Sebastian works his way through the public, who march up and down the street like ants before the rain. He eventually takes his spot by the curb where he has arranged to be picked up and places one hand in his coat pocket while the other holds his cane. “Where the hell has that bloody driver got to!” he says impatiently aloud, as he lifts his cane up to glare down at his watch as if it’s the cause of his problems. A young woman passing by, glances sideways, and pulls away fearfully, thinking he’s a mad man.
A horn toots, “HEY! Are you CORK?”
On the other side of the street, a middle-aged man with straggly hair peeking from beneath a navy blue cap yells from the window of his Taxi, Sebastian stands there staring furiously with his mouth agape.
A disdainful glare is well focused. “WELL? Are you CORK or NOT?”
Sebastian’s mouth closes and his head cocks back, exposing his double chin, “Well, of COURSE I’m CORK, you bloody FOOL. The only OTHER idiot that would stand out here in this FREEZING COLD is Frosty the Bloody SNOWMAN! What the HELL are you doing over THERE?”
The cabby looks skyward then points forward, “WELL, FROSTY? THIS IS THE DIRECTION WE ARE GOING IN. SO ARE YOU READY OR NOT?”
Sebastian hears murmurs and muffled laughter from the crowd who have gathered behind him; they’re all totally immersed in the conversation he is having with the driver. He turns and opens his hands. “Well, what the bloody hell are you all staring at? I should have put a hat down but I don’t have a bloody busker’s licence!” The group look at each and remain stationary.
Sebastian’s head pops forward, “Well!” Just as the crowd are about to move on.
“Hey, FROSTY! The meter’s running. Are you COMING or NOT. I have my regular customers, you know?”
Sebastian’s lips tighten and his knuckles turn white from clutching the top of his cane. “Yes and they’re probably all deaf by now,” he mutters under his breath and then begins weaving his way across the busy road. Sebastian almost jumps out of his skin every time someone hits their horn to warn him how close they are and when he finally arrives, shaken but safely on the other side of the road, he hears applause from behind him; apparently, the crowd has been highly entertained.
Beyond furious, he throws himself down on the rear seat of the cab and slams the door.
“Hey! Watch the DOOR, Frosty; you almost took it off its HINGES!”
Sebastian is in sulk mode, stares hypnotically out the window and doesn’t utter a word until the driver pulls up outside the unit that belongs to Samuel James. He pays the exact amount for the trip.
“Hey, how about a tip?”
Sebastian turns indignantly. “What?”
The driver holds his hand outstretched from his window. “A tip! What about a tip?”
Sebastian smirks and nods his head in the affirmative. “Yes. Why not? Be GOOD to your MOTHER”
“My mother’s dead, Mister Smart Mouth!”
Sebastian turns and walks away. “Then perhaps you should have requested a tip of me a little earlier.”
The driver ploughs his foot down and screeches off up the street.
“My God, what is this world coming to? No bloody respect…” Sebastian continues mumbling all the way up to the glass doors of the high-rise. “Hmmm, these apartments seem overly elite for someone who has just retired from being a parole officer.” He presses the keypad to announce his arrival.
A slender, fair, middle-aged man meets him at the eighth floor doorway. “Hi there, you must be Mr Cork. How was the traffic?” he says softly with a slight lisp.”
Sebastian shakes his hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr James, and please call me Sebastian.”
“Only if you call me Sam; please come in.”
The living room is well appointed with trinkets from across the globe that would put any luxury suite to shame. An aromatic aroma fills the air from an incense burner and the sound of the rainforest plays low throughout the room.
“Take a seat Sebastian and please excuse the mess. Would you like something to drink?” He says while puffing up one of the cushions on the sofa.
Sebastian sinks back into the plump leather seat, “No. Not for me, thanks. I can’t see what mess you are talking about; this place is immaculate. I don’t know about your wife but I have no idea how mine does all the things she does and still keeps the home spotless.”
Samuel smiles, “I don’t have a wife, Sebastian, but I do have a boyfriend who gives me a helping hand whenever he’s in town. Being an air steward keeps him away from me for long stints and I do miss his company but, as you can see, he brings me back some wonderful trinkets. Now, before I lose my train of thought, I do have some Earl Grey, so would you like a cup of tea?”
Sebastian is still raspy from all the yelling he did earlier. “I would love an Earl Grey, thank you.”
Samuel slips out into the kitchen and a short time later, returns with tea and cake. “There you are. I hope you like carrot cake? I baked it myself.”
Sebastian takes a sip and has a nibble, “This is as good as I have tasted, thank you. Sam, I hope you don’t mind me saying but, when I heard you had retired from being a parole officer, I imagined you to be a lot older.”
Samuel takes his cup and saucer from the small coffee table beside his seat and crosses his legs elegantly. “In all honesty, Sebastian, I never really had to work in the first place. When my parents died in a light plane crash, I was an only child and I was left quite wealthy. The other thing people don’t know about me is I write under the pen name of Peter Karston. Perhaps you have heard of the name before?”
Sebastian places his cup back in its saucer and flops back into his seat, “Of course. What an absolute honour! I have read all of your books and, recently, I saw an article by Jacqueline Francis who says you are one of the greatest murder mystery writers of the modern time. We all know Jacqueline is an exceptionally tough critic, so coming from her that is rather special!”
Samuel takes another sip of his te
a. “Yes, I read that article as well. Funny how people change; I remember when I wrote my first few books and that bitch called my work naive and lacking substance.” Samuel begins to chuckle and Sebastian looks at him curiously. “Sorry, Sebastian I’m just having a giggle at my own little piece of naughtiness. I actually kept a copy of her original critique and when I saw the article you just spoke of, I sent a copy to her. I imagine she might think twice about demoralising up and coming young authors again.”
“By the way, I am a big fan of your books as well. You have no idea how often I consult them to ensure I have incorporated the correct body movements for my characters, in an aim to animate them for my readers.”
Sebastian’s eyes open wide in surprise. “Well, I am certainly honoured. I can’t wait to tell my wife I have met you as she is also an avid fan of your work. I have to apologise for changing the subject but as I explained on the phone, I’m here on official police business and I really do need to press on.”
Of course, of course. Go ahead, Sebastian!”
“First of all, I’m a little curious why you became a parole officer?”
“Well you can thank Jacqueline for that. When she wrote that initial piece it hurt but, unlike those that would have thrown away their career at that point, I decided I needed to find a way of getting to know my killers and those who would have attachments to them. Once I became a parole officer it gave me that connection and as much as I hate to say it, I became a better writer for it.”
Sebastian reflects on his past and how he had gone into the darker side of town to understand people from all walks of life when he was studying to become a psychologist.
“Would you mind telling me about an ex-client named James Hanigan?”
“I knew it! I knew this would be about him. What has he done? Has he hurt someone?”
Sebastian leans forward and rests one hand on top of the other which rests on his cane.
“No, it isn’t like that at all. There was a recent homicide and the victim was a member of the gym, so we are doing routine interviews with friends, family and in this case, parole officer, who know any of the staff members there.”
