by N. M. Brown
‘Hi honey,’ Leighton said whilst walking into the kitchen, ‘how’s your day been?’
‘Good,’ Annie said, shrugging her shoulders.
‘You forgot to put out the trash can again.’ Leighton poured himself a glass of water from the refrigerator and returned to the living area.
Annie frowned. ‘Isn’t it Wednesday that the garbage gets picked up?’
‘Nope,’ Leighton said resolutely, walking back into the room, ‘it’s always Monday, Annie.’
‘Oops,’ his daughter shrugged, and briskly turned another page in her magazine.
Leighton considered letting go of the fact that his daughter was still wearing her pyjamas at 6 pm but, as this had been the case for more than a month, it was too much to ignore.
‘You decided not to get dressed again today?’ he asked, and took another sip from his glass.
‘Why? I’m not going out anywhere,’ she said, without looking up from the pages, ‘and it’s practically evening.’
Leighton looked at her for a moment and felt torn between love and concern. He knew she hated the way he always seemed to be lecturing her – he did too, it wasn’t the type of dad he wanted to be, but he also knew how easily doing nothing can become normal, then consuming, and eventually depressing.
‘School finished three months ago, honey. You need to find something to do.’
‘I’ve actually been looking for work you know.’ She tried to sound casual but she began turning the pages with quick irritated flicks of her hand.
‘So maybe you need to up your game? Step up to the plate? When the going gets tough and all that.’
‘Hey, it’s not like I’m living the party lifestyle here!’ she said with a sullen frown.
‘No?’ Leighton’s voice shifted to an angrier tone. ‘So, who stayed over last night?’
‘Nobody.’
‘Don’t lie to me, Annie,’ Leighton sighed. ‘There’s two pizza boxes crushed in the trash can outside.’
She shrugged. ‘A friend came over last night, it was late and I was afraid.’
‘You were afraid?’ Leighton raised his eyebrows. ‘Was this a male friend?’
‘Maybe.’ Annie said, and looked straight ahead.
‘Maybe is not an answer.’
‘Yes, jeez!’ Annie threw the magazine down on the floor. ‘It was a male friend who stayed over. So what?’
‘So, in order to be safe, you let a stranger share your bed? Very wise.’
‘I was afraid. I already told you. Sam is a guy I went to school with. He’s nice.’
‘Annie, your dad’s a cop, there’s an intruder alarm with motion sensors, and there’s a Taser in each nightstand. I really don’t think your guest was here to make you feel safe.’
‘Nothing happened,’ she said, her voice wavering.
‘I didn’t ask if it had,’ Leighton said, ‘but there’s a poorly concealed hickey on your neck and a Trojan wrapper floating in the toilet, which suggest otherwise.’
‘Jeez, do you ever switch out of Robocop dad mode?’
‘Do you ever switch out of trashy daughter mode?’
There was a moment of silence in which Leighton wished he could retract his question.
‘I’m seventeen,’ she said defiantly, ‘I can do what the hell I like.’
‘Maybe in the outside world, or in your friend Lina’s big old mansion, but not in my house whilst I’m paying for you to do “what the hell you like”.’ Leighton turned and walked toward the kitchen, but Annie wasn’t quite finished.
‘So, would you prefer I was living on the streets?’ she called after him. Leighton stopped and turned around to look at her.
‘No, baby,’ Leighton said softly, ‘I’d prefer you were making something of yourself – of achieving what I know you’re capable of. Which is more than lying around all day watching TV and reading magazines.’
Annie stood up but avoided eye contact with her father.
‘I’m going to Lina’s place, so you don’t need to worry about any guests tonight.’
‘Oh, c’mon, I give you some basic house rules and you stomp off? You can’t run away from your problems.’
‘You did with mum.’ Annie threw her words like a weapon. This was payback for his ‘trashy daughter’ comment.
For a moment there was silence, and both of them knew it was a cheap shot.
‘That’s not fair.’ Leighton looked at the floor. ‘Your mum’s problems, her depression, couldn’t be fixed – at least not by me.’
‘Other people might have tried,’ Annie said, but she only sounded half-convinced of her own claim.
‘Well, I guess I’m not other people,’ Leighton said quietly, ‘you got me. Your mum’s gone and I’m to blame. I’m sorry, Annie.’ He turned and walked into the kitchen to wash his glass.
‘So, you can’t lecture me, you’re no better.’ Annie called after Leighton, but there was no need: his fight had gone.
Leighton walked back into the room and looked at his daughter. She was fiery and beautiful, and he wished that he could make her understand that he only wanted her to grow up happy and safe.
‘Annie, you’re right,’ he said. ‘I messed up. I married your mum and I didn’t know what to do to help her. I tried different things, but I wasn’t an expert and, in the end, I failed. But maybe that’s why you should listen to me. People who have messed up can help you avoid the mistakes they made.’
‘Dad,’ she looked at him with something close to pity, ‘you don’t learn from other people’s mistakes, only your own. I’m still going to Lina’s.’
‘You don’t need to go anywhere. I’m just taking a shower then I’m heading out, so you’ll get some peace.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘Work,’ Leighton said, with a casual shrug.
‘But you just got back in from work. Haven’t you given enough of your day to Oceanside PD?’ Annie frowned and picked up her magazine.
‘I know, honey,’ Leighton shrugged, ‘but I’m covering for a friend whose father is dying. I need to go and fill in some paperwork on his behalf or the captain will fire us both.’
‘But you are coming back tonight, right?’ Annie asked.
‘Yeah, before dark, so we can talk then. I can bring some takeout?’
‘Maybe,’ Annie said, but while Leighton was in the shower, she sent a text to her friend Lina, asking to get picked up.
Chapter Six
As her cheap pink plastic alarm started beeping, Rochelle rolled over in bed with a groan. One hand fluttered from beneath her crumpled sheets to hit the snooze button. The third time she heard the alarm, Rochelle slowly sat up. Her fold-down bed was in a crumbling two roomed apartment, in an almost entirely industrial part of the city. In this area, the air had none of the freshness of the nearby coast. The erratic air conditioner drew in the chemical vapour and stench of nearby businesses.
After clambering out of bed, standing up, and stretching until some bones in her lower back cracked, Rochelle stumbled bleary-eyed to the small kitchen area. She slumped down at the plastic picnic table and rummaged through the debris covering it. Eventually, she picked up a foil-wrapped burrito, ate half of it and threw the remainder into the trash can.
She moved the microwave and used a steel knife to prise a loose tile off the wall. Reaching into the deep cavity behind it, Rochelle removed a large bag of white powder and a thick brown envelope – both of which she carried to the cluttered kitchen table. She sat down and yawned, and without realising, she licked her lips.
She picked up the envelope and carefully slid out its contents. The worn property brochure featured details of homes for sale in Wisconsin. The homes were two thousand miles from Oceanside, but, to Rochelle, the distance seemed further than that. She may as well have been looking at properties for sale in Narnia.
As she opened the property brochure, Rochelle felt a deep ache that had little to do with her physical state. She had gazed at the images so often each day th
at she knew each of them better than the building she had lived in for four years; yet she still took her time as her red plastic nails carefully traced each image.
After closing the brochure and sliding it carefully back in the envelope, Rochelle sighed and shifted her attention to the plastic bag. She slid the zip lock open, and used the knife to extract a small mound of cocaine from the bag before holding it up to her face and inhaling it through her nose. The rushing euphoria was just enough to mask her deeper craving for a different life.
She shook her head, as if to clear water from her ears, and returned the envelope and the bag to the hole in the wall. Only after this ritual was complete, was she ready to get showered and go to work.
Chapter Seven
It was after 8pm but still a warm evening when Leighton arrived back at work. Having parked his red Duster amongst the glossy black and whites of Oceanside station, he walked in through the locker room and passed a number of pinboards featuring a range of notices. He stopped outside the dispatch room where a small red-haired woman was typing at a computer, whilst a second woman spoke into a microphone.
‘Hey, Lisa,’ Leighton said in a hushed voice, ‘how you doing this evening?’
‘Hi, Jonesy,’ she said with a warm smile. ‘I’m good. I thought you were on day shift?’
‘Yeah, I was, I just need to catch up on some paperwork. It’s like being in the third grade all over again. How are things in mission command, quiet I hope?’
‘Pretty quiet so far – thankfully – a break-in up on the Heights, a stolen car, and a ten-fifty-four just called in an hour ago.’
‘What was the location of the last one?’ Leighton asked.
Lisa peered at the screen for a moment. ‘It was pretty far out. Yeah, out at the edge of Carpenter Road. Some kids out on their bikes found a body lying in the grass at the side of the road.’
‘Not good, sounds like Homicide’s bag,’ Leighton said, with a small shake of his head. ‘Any details on the victim?’
‘Nope,’ Lisa shrugged. ‘Jane Doe so far, but you know how quickly things can change around here.’
‘Well, everything except for the decor.’
‘Never a truer word! You want me to keep you posted?’
‘It’s okay, thanks,’ Leighton said with a smile. ‘I’m simply a traffic man.’
‘Don’t put yourself down, Jonesy. You’ve got a nose for this stuff. Some of the guys working in operations here wouldn’t recognise a criminal if they were wearing a ski mask and a T-shirt that said “Bad Guy”. You’re smarter than that … most of the time,’ she said with a wink.’
‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I think.’
‘Is there any word on Danny’s old man?’ the second woman asked whilst now typing into her own computer.
‘Still just the same, Maria. The doctors are running some tests apparently. But I’ll let him know you guys were asking after him. He’ll appreciate it.’
Leighton turned to go but Lisa held up her hand to halt him, and cocked her head as she listened intently to her headset. She began to type rapidly as she spoke.
‘Hang on, Jonesy, there are some details coming through on your Jane Doe: confirmed as dead, height five two, estimated to be twenty to thirty years of age, brunette, no distinguishing marks other than a tattoo on her neck,’ she shrugged, ‘no personal items found at the scene.’
Leighton, who had almost turned away, twisted around. ‘Can you repeat that last part?’
‘No personal items?’ Lisa asked.
‘Before that, something about a tattoo?’
‘Sure,’ Lisa checked the screen. ‘Hang on, one of the techies is still adding the data. Yep, the recovered body has a tattoo on the neck. The system doesn’t include a description yet. That mean something to you?’
‘No, probably not. Thanks, ladies.’ Leighton said, and left the room.
He moved out of the dispatch area and entered the corridor leading to the office area that was shared by General Crime and Traffic Division. As he passed by a colleague, Charlie Cox, who worked in another Traffic unit on most of the evening shifts, Leighton nodded a greeting.
‘Hey, Charlie, have a safe one out there tonight.’
‘Thanks Jonesy, I’ll do my best. Listen, you should keep your head down buddy – Gretsch is looking for you,’ the smaller man said, with an expression that suggested the captain was looking for trouble. That would be nothing new. At the age of forty-nine, Leighton was more experienced and much less malleable than many of the newer recruits. This was an endless source of irritation for the youngest of the station’s four captains, who wanted to stamp his authority on everyone beneath him as he clambered his way the top.
‘Thanks for the heads up, Charlie,’ Leighton said with a wink, and made his way carefully to his small booth at the back of the office.
Leighton sat down at his neat workstation and rubbed his tired eyes. Sleep, which had eluded him for his first two decades on the force, seemed harder to escape as he approached fifty. If he remained in one position for too long, he would feel his eyes droop. He needed some chemical assistance to perk him up.
After grabbing a much-needed coffee from one of the two filter machines in the office, Leighton returned to his seat and tapped his login details into the computer. While the system went through the laborious process of signing him in, Leighton glanced at the only photograph on his cramped desk. It was a small picture of Annie as a kid. The girl in the frame was smiling and hugging a stuffed toy bird. Leighton responded to the small smile with one of his own. He could remember the exact day the photograph had been taken. Annie had been so pleased with the gift that she had fastened herself around her dad’s neck and refused to stop hugging him for ten minutes. Afterwards, she had insisted that he take a picture of her holding the new pet. He remembered that they had made banana pancakes with maple syrup for supper that night, and they’d curled up together on the couch to watch silly cartoons. Annie had laughed so much that Leighton had worried she might eject the earlier supper. Those were golden times, but, like most of the precious things in Leighton’s life, he hadn’t appreciated them until they were gone.
After using two fingers to laboriously type up his record of the day’s duties – describing the actions taken by himself and (allegedly) Officer Clark – Leighton sighed and leaned back in his creaking chair. The image of a girl in a borrowed jacket, standing at the back of the Beach House Café, flickered in his mind. He reflected on the hooker’s claim about the girl who had stolen her garment. In Leighton’s mind, something was wrong about the whole thing. It didn’t make sense that a customer from a restaurant would steal a prostitute’s grubby jacket, and run off with it into the deep, dark night. However, it seemed even less likely that the thief would leave a rolled-up bundle of ten dollar bills behind, along with the jacket. Still, whatever holes were shot through the story, it wasn’t his problem to solve. Even if the Jane Doe turned out to be the girl from the corner, the guys in Homicide could easily put the pieces together.
Leighton yawned, and rubbed his tired eyes in an attempt to move his mind on to something else; yet the persistent thought wouldn’t go away. He kept imagining how, under different circumstances, it could have been his daughter standing on the corner that night. God only knw he saw little enough of her – she could be out wandering along the same streets as every psycho in Oceanside. What if Annie and Lina had been in that café? His daughter could just as easily have stepped outside for some fresh air and vanished. The terror linked to that image motivated Leighton to gather more information.
Leaning forwards to the computer, Leighton’s fingers clicked on the keyboard and brought up a list of current incidents. He found the details of the recovered body on Carpenter Road and clicked the print icon. A few moments later, a machine at the other side of the office began to shudder. Leighton shut down his machine and stood up. Having made his way across the room, he grabbed the warm pages from the plastic tray beneath the printer. It wouldn’t do an
y harm to have a look. Nothing more.
Chapter Eight
An unseen Boeing 747 roared overhead, defying gravity as it rumbled into the night sky. The area at the rear of the Airways parking lot was too far away from the glowing cubicle of the security office to be visible. It was a vast area of anonymous cars, located beneath intermittent lights on the northern edge of Oceanside Municipal Airport. The illuminated rectangle of the terminal building was visible in the distance.
Even though there were several sodium lights mounted on tall poles around the area, there were, thankfully, no security cameras. That was one of the main reasons he had chosen to take a vehicle from this specific location. There were many, busier parking lots dotted all over Oceanside, but almost all were either too busy – making it likely that he would be interrupted – or they had some type of surveillance system. This place did have a couple of cameras, but they were both mounted at the yellow entrance and exit barriers, half a mile from the shadowy corner he was concealed in. However, a far more important reason for selecting a car from this location was that the Airways lot was a long stay facility. Therefore, the cars parked in this area were unlikely to be reported missing for at least a few days. That gave him time to use the vehicle, dump the remains, and get home to clean himself up. By that time the trail would be cold; natural decomposition and the elements would help to conceal his crime. The airport parking lot had another significant benefit: he needed to take the car from somewhere that held many different vehicles as the chances of finding a left hand drive car, parked on the street, would be slim.
As he slid the slim bar of flexible steel between the glass and the car door, the man was lost in the past, thinking about how Veronica should have been the one. If it had worked out, back in 1988, everything would have been different. In a way it was partly her fault, but he couldn’t blame her entirely. It was clear to him that fate never played fair. You would only ever have what you wanted in life for a moment. Everything was transitory. This meant spending half your life wishing for something, and the other half wishing it away. In that sense, Veronica’s death had given him something magical – a dark purpose – to create something permanent.
