Sentinel Rising: The Reardon Files #1

by Andrea Drew

  "Okay, well, I guess you'll let me know if it helps. Bye for now."

  His phone beeped as she ended the call.

  "You know how to play the trump card, eh?" Ryan did little to hide his smirk as he steered the car onto the freeway.

  "Whatever it takes, mate. Whatever it takes." Checking his watch, he calculated they'd be back in less than twenty minutes, which would give him time to prepare for the arrival of Elizabeth Metcalfe, and possibly her husband.

  "Will I come in, or wait out the front while you get the info to me?" Ryan asked.

  "Pull into the driveway. I'll bring it out to you after you switch cars. Elizabeth will probably want to meet me at the Coroners' first thing."

  "I can meet her there."

  "I know you can, but she's my client. She'll expect me to be there."

  They drove in silence, the car swaying as they followed the traffic to reach the back streets of Brunswick.

  "Here we are." Ryan parked the car in the driveway, and rolled his shoulder around to face Connor. He twisted his wrist and tugged at the ignition, and lock and extended an arm out to Connor. "The keys to the vault."

  Connor grabbed them and stepped out of the car. "Won't be long."

  He made his way to the front porch. He pulled open the screen door and turned the knob to open the front door, to be greeted by Gypsy, just inches away from where he stood.

  "What was that all about? Since when do you do Bros before hoes? Both hands were firmly planted on her hips.

  "Business," he said, moving to the left, meaning to climb down the stairs and into the bedroom.

  "Oh, yeah? What type of business?" She tapped her foot on the tiles, in a slow rhythm. "You smell of bourbon"

  "Is it a crime to have a drink? Last time I checked, it was still legal."

  "I can't remember the last time you went out for a drink in broad daylight. What's going on?"

  He pushed out a breath and shook his head. "I told you, business is going on. Don't get the wrong idea, please."

  She folded her arms over her chest. "For God's sake, go and do something about your breath! Your clients will be thinking they employed a lush for an investigator."

  "Exactly what I was planning to do already, but yeah, thanks," he muttered.

  "I heard that, and no, the last thing I need is to babysit you. Get on with it!" She retreated into the house, presumably to reinstall herself on her laptop perched on the dining room table.

  He quickly brushed his teeth, then dropped into his office chair and flicked open the folder for the Metcalfe investigation. He located the photos and the reports he'd printed out from the research software he'd gained use of as part of his contract with the insurance company, shoved it into a folder, and headed back out to the driveway.

  Ryan waited in his idling car, elbow resting on the open driver’s window.

  "Here you go."

  He looked up at Connor and raised his eyebrow "Thanks. I'll let you know."

  He started up the car and left.

  Chapter 8

  Passing over the only evidence he had was an important part of the process, but Connor couldn't shake the sense that his mission to find Lauren Metcalfe slipped further away with each minute that ticked by. Like outstretched fingers over a cliff reaching out to a desperate victim, he occasionally came close to finding the answer and contacting the truth, bringing a surge of confidence, but otherwise he sensed that as a lone wolf outside the force, he had little chance of success in a borderline criminal matter. He didn't have the resources or manpower to rapidly solve the case. It had been more than three days since Lauren’s disappearance, and as most cops and watchers of cop shows knew, the first twenty-four to forty-eight hours were crucial. He had nothing other than a maybe.

  Connor trudged back inside, making for his PC to check emails. As he landed in his silver office chair with full body weight on the seat, the awareness of his isolation grew, the silence overpowering. He clicked on the mouse to activate the screen almost half-heartedly, knowing there'd be enquiries from people who wanted information and follow up, but very few of them would be life or death matters as they had been as a Homicide Detective. He should have accepted his new vocation by now, having worked mainly in insurance fraud for years.

  He clicked on a couple of enquiries, one of them a referral quickly answered, then he pressed a button to play back messages.

  One was a nervous sounding male leaving nothing but a telephone number, and the other was a telemarketer with broken English flogging off printer cartridges.

  Elizabeth's car slowed down as it reached the driveway, probably with her other half. This would be interesting. What kind of man married someone like Elizabeth Metcalfe? Did opposites attract, or would they be two halves of a whole, in complete sync with one another as some couples were?

  He pulled the case folder close to his chest, gripping its edges, knuckles turning white. He hadn't done a death notification in years. His gut tightened, and he concentrated on slowing down his breathing. He turned to his right, gazing through the window to watch their body language as they left the car.

  The familiar figure clicked her beige heels down the driveway. A man followed on her left, shorter than her, with dark brown hair combed neatly across his forehead and moustache twitching below a neat nose. He wore a brown suit and carried a briefcase. He had deep trenches in his forehead. He raised his chin to scrutinise the exterior of the building.

  After a pause, Connor climbed the three steps to open the front door.

  "Please, come in," he said.

  A grey pallor had spread over her face, mouth turned down. The man he assumed to be her husband avoided eye contact, gaze fixed firmly on the ground.

  "Please, take a seat," Connor said quietly.

  They stepped into the office and sat wordlessly, Elizabeth perched on the edge of her seat, barely moving. The man curled his hands inward on his lap, examining his neatly trimmed fingernails.

  "I've forwarded the photograph and the details of the financial irregularities to my contact in the police force.” Connor returned to his office chair. “They'll take it from there, and I'll update you as usual."

  "It doesn't seem real, none of it," she whispered.

  "It won't. Please bear in mind that the deceased person may not be your sister. This is merely a process of elimination, a formality. I don't need to tell you this can be a confronting process."

  "I'd like to get it over with as soon as I can. The not knowing is agony."

  "I understand. I'll talk to the Coroner’s office. Maybe I can schedule something for first thing in the morning. I'll confirm with you. If it's going ahead, can you meet me there at 9.30 tomorrow morning?"

  "Yes." She bowed her head.

  Mr. Metcalfe cleared his throat. "Would you like me there?"

  "No," she said, but he extended his hand to her.

  She gripped his fingers. Connor wondered if he saw a look exchanged between them, but he had probably imagined it. They weren’t lovebirds, but then they'd been married for a fair few years, and the slow erosion of daily living could do that to a marriage.

  "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't think, caught up in my own thoughts. This is my husband, Raleigh." She gave him a sideways look before shifting her eyes back to Connor.

  Raleigh tried a smile. "Most people call me Leigh. Raleigh is somewhat stuffy and formal"

  And pompous. He detected a slight English inflection to the man’s tone, quite posh, almost royal.

  Opposites must have attracted, because he couldn't imagine Leigh Metcalfe wooing anyone, and he didn’t think Elizabeth chased him, it wasn’t her style. Pillow talk would be a stretch, most likely a Shakespearean monologue. What the hell did she see in him? The guy must have had something going for him. Connor snapped back into the present, not wanting his mind to speculate on the specifics.

  "Thank you, Leigh. I wish we'd met in better circumstances."

  "I concur," Leigh said, rubbing the soles of his feet across
the carpet.

  "Elizabeth, a question. Do any members of your family work in financial services?"

  "Err, I think so. Why are you asking that? Don't you believe me? It's obvious that snake hurt my sister. If you won't take it further, I will. He'll pay for this one way or the other."

  Connor placed both palms up on the desk. "Unfortunately, there's no evidence of that at present, although there is evidence of potential fraud."

  She didn't miss a beat. "Lock him up and throw away the key. Shame we don't have capital punishment in this country."

  Her cheeks flushed crimson.

  "Take each day as it comes. Are there any financial services professionals in the family, or close friends that you know of?"

  "My sister Katrina is a financial advisor, and Leigh is an accountant."

  Leigh raised his head. "Although I focus more on project management these days. New legislation has been introduced, and it is now against the law for an accountant to give financial advice."

  Leigh hadn’t been offensive, but the guy rubbed him up the wrong way. He didn’t get along with pompous types, far too condescending for him.

  "What about Katrina? They were close?" Connor said.

  Leigh snorted, and Elizabeth raised her eyebrow, turning her neck slightly.

  "Sometimes, depends on which way the winds blowing, but I'm not the best person to ask. Do you have sisters?" said Elizabeth.

  "No." Connor paused. "Katrina can be somewhat unpredictable?"

  "On and off like a light switch. Youngest child syndrome. She's always played on it."

  "I see. Would she mind if I called or dropped in to see her?"

  "Probably not. Flash your wedding ring in her direction, and she'll tell you all you need to know and a bit more." Her lips pursed.

  Connor knew that every person grieved in different ways, and if Elizabeth Metcalfe was grieving without having identified the body, she seemed to be dealing with the beginnings of grief with cynicism.

  He passed a notebook across the desk to her. "Would you mind jotting down her details?"

  "No," she said, fiddling with a charm around her neck.

  She dropped the charm, picked up the silver pen, and wrote the details down with scrawling curly handwriting. When she finished, she spun the pen between her fingers and the pen and looked at him, her blue eyes clear now, the trace of clouds having disappeared.

  "9:30 am." Said Elizabeth.

  "Yes. I'll call the Coroners shortly. Here's the address."

  "I'll find it. It's not getting there I'm worried about. It’s getting home in whatever state I'm in. If I'm not myself tomorrow, Leigh, you know why."

  "I will," he said, his spine straight, almost like a rope had pulled his head upwards.

  Elizabeth stood up, hitching her handbag up over her shoulder. "I'm not sure whether to thank you, or not. You've done exactly what I hoped for—we've almost got the answer the family needs—but somehow, the nearer it gets, the more I want to run. It's not what I thought it would be."

  She turned away toward the stairs.

  "I understand. Unfortunately, feelings like that are reasonably common. It's a confronting time."

  Hopefully, not too confronting. Women crying on his shoulders made him nervous, but in this case, there'd be no way around it. He couldn't keep calling on Gypsy every time a client threatened to collapse into floods of tears.

  "It is," she said, her voice muffled. "See you tomorrow."

  She paused before she opened the front door.

  Leigh reached out with one hand to guide his wife, a surprisingly affectionate gesture. "If you need to get hold of me, I'll be at our place in Sorrento tomorrow. I don't usually go there much anymore, but I need some time away until this is sorted."

  "I might come down and see you when I can. Text me the address." Said Connor

  "Bye," she said quietly and left through the doorway which Leigh held open for her. The door clicked as it closed before them.

  Connor sighed and walked through to the lounge room. He felt himself unravelling, the first stray strands pulling away from his tightly bound exterior. Gypsy remained focused on the screen in front of her.

  He took the seat next to her. She looked up, and he moved his hand closer to hers.

  "What's wrong?" She knew him, like no one else could.

  For a moment, he contemplated laying it all out, the self-doubt, reconsidering reapplying for a place back in Homicide, his first big case after three years as an Insurance drone. Then he reconsidered, clamping his mouth shut before speaking.

  "It's over. For now."

  "What's over?"

  "Possible death notification. They found a body matching Lauren's description. Buried in a shallow grave." He focussed on a spot on the table, zoning out in a mental oasis where no thoughts registered, before gazing back into her deep brown eyes.

  "The fingertips?"

  "Poking up above the earth, like you said."

  "Holy crap." She moved her hands away from the keyboard. "What now?"

  "I need a distraction. Something that doesn't involve death or disappearances. How about we ask Leah if she'll look after Mark for a few hours? Dinner, just you and me."

  "I like your thinking." A smile appeared on her pale face.

  He reached across and kissed her. "Want to give her a call?"

  "Yeah, gimme a sec." She fished around in her handbag for her phone and swiped the screen.

  He needed a shower to wash the grimy layer on his skin. Possibly not bona fide grime sitting at a desk for most of the day, but hunting the sleaze that did this had gotten to him lately, and he couldn't shake the physical sensation of being slimed. He headed into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Steam poured out into the room. He undressed and gasped as the hot water hit his body.

  He thought about a backup plan, alternate motives and previously unconsidered suspects. If Jarrod Whitehouse squirmed his way out of the net, he'd look in other hiding places for evidence. Right now, that was Katrina, Elizabeth's sister.

  If a wife suspected her husband of dodgy financial dealings, who would she turn to? Someone with knowledge of finances, and the laws relating to them. Which meant Lauren would have most likely confided in either Leigh or Katrina. He couldn't imagine Leigh the stuffed shirt being anyone's confidante, but one lesson he'd learned early on was that people's choice in friends and those they turned to in times of stress could surprise him. In-laws that worked in the field were nothing if not convenient.

  If in doubt, he fell back on the tried and true method: his notes. He would scrutinise them next, along with the time track of what he believed had occurred.

  Drying himself off, he dressed in a hurry. Gypsy called out to him from the living area.

  Her footsteps echoed through the office, and she reached the bedroom.

  "You look nice. Guess what?" She beamed, eyes bright. "Leah said she'll pick Mark up from child care today. We can go out whenever we like. Freedom!"

  She extended her arms and spun around, before hugging him. The night lay before them, filled with possibilities. A night to themselves.

  He kissed her forehead. "Great. I better brush my hair to keep my lady happy, then we can go."

  He didn't usually admit to enjoying a night out, usually preferring the quiet comforts of home, but tonight, he needed it.

  She kissed him full on the lips. "I'd like to introduce myself. Remember me? I'm your fiancé."

  He grabbed her hand, gently guiding her toward his desk where he picked up his wallet and keys. "Let's go, honey."

  "What, now? I need to get changed."

  He grabbed her around the waist. "You're gorgeous just the way you are."

  Her sweet breath hung in the air between them.

  "You'd look good in a hessian sack, honey. Spontaneity is where it’s at. We're out of here."

  She laughed, and they headed out to the car.

  Inside the car, she pulled on her seatbelt as he turned the key in the ignition "Whe
re are we off to then?"

  "It's a surprise," he said.

  He smiled so much his cheeks hurt. They needed to enjoy themselves more, take time out. He resolved then and there to schedule in more alone time with Gypsy.

  "Oh, I love surprises," she said and moved her right hand across to his left thigh. "You're going to spill the beans tonight, right?"

  "If you play your cards right, I might," he said.

  "Cheeky," she said, and shuffled in her seat.

  He planned on taking her to Grossi's, a high-end restaurant in the city. An unplanned night out should wash away the intensity that came with focussing on a disappearance, most likely a murder. He hadn't visited the restaurant before, but he knew Gypsy loved going out for dinner.

  "What's with the secret meetings with Ryan then?"

  "I don't want to spoil the moment."

  "But you're going to anyway, right?"

  He sighed. "I need time, I’m a bit surprised at Joe Reeves, I almost killed him.”

  “Yeah, me too” said Gypsy. “Give yourself a break, you’ve got a lot on your plate.” "

  "I don't know what’s happening there.” Connor shook his head. “I wish you’d give yourself more credit. and I'll admit I don't give you enough credit for the good you’ve done with your abilities. A dog sniffed it out, tip of a finger sticking out of the earth under a tree in Wilson's point, out past Sorrento."

  "Oh, God," she breathed. “The poor family. How did Elizabeth take it?"

  "I didn't need to tell her they'd found the body. I asked for permission to show Lauren's photo to Ryan for ID purposes. She guessed the worst."

  "She must be going through hell. If anything happened to Leah, I'd be gutted." Gypsy walked toward a basket of laundry perched on the kitchen table and began folding clothes “I need to distract myself with something practical” she said “It helps

  “Okay” said Connor and he stood on the opposite side of the table and sat down. “I’m meeting her at the Coroner's in the morning so she can view the body. No one likes notifying family. She's a lot saner than I had her pegged for. She acknowledged the news didn't quite bring the closure she'd hoped for, but then she's probably still in shock." Gypsy folded a pair of jeans and pushed them across to him.