BURN, BABY, BURN

by Jake Barton

  "I fully comprehend your disappointment, Miss O’Prey, but my executive decision is final. I will inform the clients that Mister Dexter and myself will be dealing with the case in future. As the police are now handling the enquiry, I’m sure in any event the firm’s future involvement will be minimal."

  Her protest having proved futile, Donna sat there and took it, feeling like she was back in the Headmaster’s study. Roper dismissed her and she stalked out, trying in vain to maintain some dignity. Not easy in this tee shirt.

  Donna walked down the drive and out to her car, feeling desolate. This had started off as her case, and even though circumstances had elevated its importance, the client had specifically asked for her continued involvement. Donna felt a sense of betrayal, especially as her removal from the case wasn’t through any fault on her part. She’d as good as promised Paula Dobson she would find her daughter. She’d given her word and was now deprived of the chance to even try to carry out that promise.

  As Donna drove off, a few straggly spits of rain pattered on the windscreen. By the time she drove down Grange Hill, Hilbre Island was invisible and the rain a full downpour. When she reached home, every parking space was taken. The three or four times she thought she was in luck, the space was a fraction smaller than her car. She drove round and parked outside the old Post Office, locked up and belted across the road for the sanctuary of her front door. Splashing her way through the teeth of a gale, rain hit her in horizontal bands; she was like a drowned rat when she reached the gate. As Donna stepped off the kerb, straight into a puddle, the car which had straddled two spaces almost directly outside the house pulled away, but she was too wet to care. What else could be expected from such a bastard of a day?

  Donna went straight upstairs, dripping water everywhere. Once changed into dry clothes, she put the kettle on and sat in a chair staring into space. She didn’t know how long she sat there, but it took the insistent tones of the telephone to raise her consciousness again.

  "Donna? About bloody time, I’ve been ringing for ages." It was Dexter.

  "Thanks for dumping me from the case," Donna started, feeling the tears welling up. "I won’t pretend I’m not gutted. It’s what I’d expect from Roper, but I really thought better of you. I’ve worked hard on this and-"

  "What the fuck are you talking about?"

  "Roper said…" Donna tailed off in mid sentence.

  "Is he in the office now?" Dexter asked. Donna managed to croak out an affirmative.

  "Ring you back in five minutes," Dexter said, sounding angrier than she’d ever heard him before.

  Still gutted, Donna sat staring into space for almost ten minutes until the ‘phone rang again.

  "Meet me at Meols Drive, soon as you can," Dexter said. "I’ve arranged to meet Abbott and you should be there."

  Donna didn’t feel capable of speech, but the meaning of his words couldn’t have been clearer. She was back on the case.

  "Get moving," Dexter snapped. "I’m on my way now." He hung up and Donna replaced the receiver with studied care. What she really wanted was to throw it aloft in triumph.

  *****

  When Donna pulled into the drive, she saw Dexter’s car already parked up. She slotted the Fiesta alongside and walked to the door and rang the bell. Paula Dobson answered her ring, smiling as she ushered Donna over the threshold. Donna could see the strain on her face and knew she’d not have had much sleep. No more news about Celine, that much was obvious. As they entered the hall Paula stopped. Behind her, the wooden panelling was a deep russet colour, like polished autumn leaves. Dating from a time when quality was taken for granted.

  "I had a very strange telephone call from your Mister Roper this morning," she said. "He told me you were to be replaced as the firm had so many other cases outstanding. I wasn’t thrilled, to say the least, but felt I had to accept it. Yet here you are."

  "I’m still very much part of the case," Donna assured her.

  "Good."

  They didn’t go into the big room as Donna had expected, Paula led the way into the kitchen instead. Dexter was there already, seated at the table with Mister Dobson and Acting DI Abbott. They all stood at their entrance. A courtesy surely intended for Paula, as nobody had ever stood up when Donna came into a room. Certainly not Dexter.

  Paula helped herself to coffee, turning to ask if she should pour Donna a cup. She shook her head, already on the verge of needing to pee and not wanting to worsen the situation. How she envied people with large bladders. Her own had to be emptied every five minutes, or that’s how it seemed.

  "Donna, a word if you will," said Dexter, rising from the table. Donna followed him into the hall.

  "Sorry about that business this morning," he said. "I knew nothing about it. Roper took it on himself to remove you from the case. You’ll no doubt be pleased to hear that we had words about that. That’s putting it mildly. I want you on the case, and more to the point, the clients want your input. You provide a valuable perspective for us all." He smiled. "I left my partner in no doubt on that point. Actually, I offered him a way out by suggesting I supervise your every move, but that’s just between him and me. There are some jobs our firm will not do, some clients we won’t take on. That’s not to say we don’t occasionally take on those jobs or accept those clients. We just don’t talk about them. They’re the ones that Mister Roper would prefer not to know about. This situation falls into the same category. What I choose to say to my partner and what I really mean may be different things. As far as I’m concerned, between you and me, and as regards this case, the status quo still applies."

  Donna nodded. She could have hugged him, but didn’t think he’d find it appropriate. Or that he’d particularly appreciate it.

  "Abbott reckons they’ve got their man in Alex Melia," he said. "I’m not entirely convinced and I know you’re not either. I’ll keep in touch with Abbott and their investigation, but we are still free to act on our own account as long as our actions don’t contradict or interfere with the police enquiry. I’ll allow you some scope to have a good poke around, and I’ll help as much as I can, but bear in mind the facts suggest that Abbott is probably right to be concentrating on Alex Melia. He knew the girl, had her trust, and most of all, there’s the fact of the fingerprint. If we’re looking for anyone else, it’ll be someone who’s bloody clever. Someone who makes plans well in advance."

  "My granddad was a cabinet maker." Donna nodded towards a walnut credenza positioned against the back wall of the hall, its inlaid top almost covered by an untidy sprawl of reference books. "That’s the sort of thing he made. A real old-fashioned craftsman. His motto was to measure twice and cut once. Double-check every time to avoid mistakes. In his own twisted way, the man we’re after is a craftsman, albeit in an evil form."

  Dexter nodded, giving her a strange look. Surprise and something else. Respect, perhaps?

  "We could both be wrong about Marcus Green," Dexter mused. "It’s a long shot, a gut feeling. The sort of thing I used to have problems with in the old days. How to justify concentrating on a suspect without a shit-load of evidence to back it up."

  "We’re not wrong," Donna declared. "You feel the same way I do, why are you backing down now?"

  Dexter smiled broadly. "Easy," he said unruffled by her outburst. "Who rattled your cage? I didn’t say I was discounting Marcus Green as a suspect. I’m not. What I mean is we shouldn’t close our eyes to other possibilities."

  *****

  Back in the kitchen, everyone talked over their respective roles in the case. Abbott was no PC Plod that was for sure. A sharp mind and a good grasp on detail. Donna knew how highly Dexter rated him.

  Abbott was a good copper, Dexter had said, his local knowledge second to none. Abbott knew this patch as well as anyone, all the characters, their foibles and weaknesses, all the knowledge that formed a policeman’s stock in trade. He’d never lost his interest in people. Honest or bent, they all came alike to him. What Dexter wasn’t so certain about was
how he’d adjust to the step up, to being the leader.

  Abbott confirmed that the biker with the broken leg hadn’t added much to their knowledge. He’d been contacted by telephone in his local pub and asked if he wanted to earn a hundred notes and an ounce of blow. His instructions had been to park his bike under the bridge and wait for a package to be tossed over the edge. He was told to leave the package in a bush to the left of the bridge support and to get out of the area as quickly as possible. A plastic bag would be waiting for him in the same bush and this contained his agreed fee, made up of cash and drugs.

  Abbott also had the results of forensic tests carried out on the envelope and greeting card which accompanied the bouquet of flowers delivered to the house the previous day. Donna had no doubt they were privy to this information solely due to Abbott’s previous working relationship with Dexter. Finding the appropriate page in his notebook, Abbott read out the findings. "Typed address label, adhesive. No residue of saliva. Probably sealed by moistening with tap water. The envelope is a brown manila, A5 size, on sale everywhere, folded in half and sealed. The sellotape provided four prints. All belonged to Alex Melia. The brief message to Paula Dobson had been produced on a Hewlett Packard printer, judging by the grade of ink used, almost certainly one of their DeskJet range. There must be hundreds of thousands of them. The font used is common to every PC on the market. Nothing special for us, nothing out of the ordinary. The lab boys are still looking, but said not to expect miracles. We know what that means." Dexter nodded ruefully.

  "Easier in the good old days," Abbott continued. "Nobody uses typewriters any more, apart from us poor buggers. Always something to work on with a typewriter. Olivetti, Underwood, Remington, all chalk and cheese. All those records we kept for comparison. Once you knew the model it was just a matter of finding the specific machine. Each one as distinctive as handwriting. How many bloody Hewlett-Packard printers are there out there?" He wasn’t looking for an answer.

  As they were leaving, Dexter asked Donna to sit with him in his car for a moment. He reached for his ’phone and flicked through a small notebook until he found the number he was seeking.

  "We need help, Donna. Expert help," he said, dialling the number.

  "What do you have in mind?"

  Dexter grinned wickedly. "Someone you’ll like. She’s a stroppy bugger. Bit of a rebel, like yourself. Works only on a freelance basis, so we’ll have to pay through the nose for her. Still, Dobson’s picking up the tab, and he won’t quibble." He broke off as his call was connected and in a few moments had an appointment for that evening.

  Marcus sat in his car, a sheaf of papers on his knee. The security system described in the manual provided motion and heat sensors, infrared beams, tripwires and concealed pressure plates. All of it with an elaborate power system. In the case of main electricity failure, the backup systems kicked in automatically. Oil powered generators and an awesome array of batteries took over in the absence of mains power.

  To avoid false alarms, the sirens would not sound at the first hint of an intruder. An array of closed-circuit cameras would check out any potential security breach, checking against an installed data-base for non-hazardous intruders such as squirrels or wandering cats, before triggering a full-scale alert, both by alarms and direct contact with police and two private security firms. Marcus whistled softly. This must have cost a fortune; all of it a complete waste of money now he had the plans in his possession. He looked at the night sky, completely dark apart from a thin sliver of moon showing through the clouds. Almost time now.

  ~ Chapter 11 ~

  Marcus held his breath as he entered the final command into the control panel. The row of bright lights on the keyboard dimmed and went out. He waited a moment, but no alarms sounded. He walked up the stairs, placing his feet on the extreme edge of each tread to minimise any creaks. Through a partly open door he saw the figure of a sleeping man, partly covered with a blue duvet.

  Passing the door, he walked along the corridor, opening each door in turn. The third door revealed the prone figure of a woman. He walked into the room, looking at the sleeping figure with expectation.

  He stooped over the woman, placing one hand over her mouth. Her eyes flew open, but she had no time to struggle before he slipped the needle into her bare shoulder. He held her until the eyes closed, then left her for a few minutes while he collected various items of clothing and placed them in a suitcase that he found under the bed. He lifted her without apparent effort from the bed and slung her over his right shoulder. Five minutes later, he unloaded his burden into the boot of his car and drove away.

  *****

  The detached house stood solid and foursquare as a castle. The similarity was appropriate as was the security system. Donna suspected Roper would have been dead jealous. They waited while the camera confirmed they were whom they claimed, and then the door swung open.

  "Electronic locking system," Dexter said.

  As if Donna couldn’t have worked that out for herself.

  A figure stood in the hall. Tall and slender, wearing jeans and a light sweater, she stood absolutely still, watching their approach warily, like a fawn poised for flight.

  Dexter went first, smiling with apparently genuine pleasure as they shook hands. She took a pace forward and introduced herself. "Call me Kate," she said. "We'll go and have a chat." Donna grinned as Kate ordered Dexter into the room on her left and told him to wait there. He went off as meekly as a lamb.

  "Wait a moment," Kate said as Donna prepared to follow Dexter. Donna waited while Kate checked the settings of the door and security panel, then came back and beckoned Donna to follow her. She led the way down a long corridor and into a windowless room with a single bed placed against the far wall. No other furniture and no pictures on the walls. The room was a cell.

  "I live here." Her voice was faint, as if she hadn’t practised the art of conversation in a while. "Just this room and my work room. This is how I exist. I want you to understand how I live and the reasons for it."

  Donna glanced down at Kate’s bare feet and was struck by her appearance of vulnerability. She wore un-flattering jogging pants and a hugely oversized tee shirt, emphasising her slim body, and her face was as pale as fine porcelain. Dexter had referred to it as prison pallor, appropriately so, as her condition had made her a stranger to sunlight and a prisoner in this room for several years. She’d obviously cut her short blonde hair herself as it stuck up in spiky tufts with no readily discernible style. Donna liked it.

  Kate beckoned for Donna to sit on the bed next to her. "I want you to understand," she said. "So you don’t come to the wrong conclusions about me. I won’t work with anyone who can’t appreciate my reasons for living as I do."

  Kate took a deep breath. "My husband, Roy, was a criminologist. Quite a bit older than me. Not that that’s relevant." She shook her head in apparent annoyance at herself. "Dexter’s age. They were friends and occasionally colleagues. He died a few years back when I was oh, twenty-three."

  "I’m sorry."

  Kate waved a hand airily. "Roy was murdered. I’d been away, on a course, and got home late to an empty house. No sign of Roy, but the front door was wide open. The kitchen was a mess. Pots and pans everywhere, and something had exploded inside the microwave. I only realised just what it was when I found my husband’s other eyeball in the ‘fridge, floating in a jug of milk."

  "Jesus!"

  Kate nodded. "His eyes had been gouged out. The one in the microwave, well, it was just like putting a raw egg inside. It explodes when it starts to cook."

  "That’s awful, who would do that?"

  Kate grimaced. "They never caught the person responsible. Roy had a lot of enemies. Unavoidable in his line of work."

  Donna was quiet for a long time. Kate sat still and waited. The sudden loss of a loved one was something Donna knew all about – her Dad had killed himself after a marathon drinking binge. It was not a subject she liked to dwell on too often.

 
"There’s more," Kate said, eventually.

  "Go on," Donna said.

  "Well, the first thing is, I’m agoraphobic, haven’t been out of the house for years. I neglect myself and work myself into the ground. Some days I look like an angel, which I most certainly am not, other times I’m a total wreck. I’ve got all Roy’s case notes, all his records. He was the best around in his day and kept records of everything, I’ve had a good start. I carry on his work. It’s the least I can do."

  Impulsively, Donna reached out and a firm grip of Kate’s hand.

  "The way I live, locked away in one room most of the time."

  Kate went on. "It doesn’t bother me in the least. That’s the way I want it. I’m obsessed with privacy, with my anonymity. It’s not an easy thing to come to terms with, but it’s the way I am."

  "How do you…?"

  "Work?"

  Donna nodded.

  "It’s not a problem. Everything I do is online. I’ve got a system in place. People who I trust, they know how to find me. Your mate Dexter out there, for instance. I’m not Roy. No one is. But I get results. according to Dexter. Daft old tosser."

  Donna blinked. Showing disrespect to Dexter was akin to mocking Mother Theresa.

  Kate grinned at Donna’s shocked expression. "He’s a copper. At best a determined plodder with nothing to offer apart from the ready access to information provided by his occupation."

  They sat close together in silence for a minute at least before Donna spoke. "Thank you for telling me. I understand more than you might think."

  Kate nodded, but said nothing as Donna continued. "I found my dad’s body. He’d killed himself. I still don’t know why. I couldn’t cope with it at all. I was in therapy for almost two years. I still have dreams where …" Her voice broke as the tears came. Kate reached across and hugged her like a sister.