Play With Fire

by Solomon Carter

The three of them turned to see Ronson leaving his home. He closed the front door behind him. Odd. The little man didn’t even look their way. Instead, he shuffled along the garden path looking at the pavement. When he reached the street he took an immediate left to walk back along the neighbours’ garden path. He climbed their doorstep and thumped his little fist on the door. Dan frowned.

  “See what I mean?” said the woman. “He’s a weirdo. He could have just stepped across the lawn to reach that door. Instead he takes the longest possible route.”

  “Being odd isn’t exactly a crime,” said Dan. But how likely was it that Ronson would knock on The Bleaches’ door? And from outside at least, all seemed quiet. Maybe the man wanted to make peace, after all. Or perhaps there was another reason. Dan couldn’t fathom it.

  The woman shook her head and made a face. “My husband doesn’t like him one little bit. Jerry’s seen him looking out of his window, staring at Kitty. It’s happened a good few times too. I dread to think what he’s up to in there. And I know he’s tried talking to Kitty a fair few times. That man is the real weirdo, if you ask me. Thankfully, Kitty knows it. She keeps away from him, so I’ve noticed. She must have some of her mother’s common sense in there somewhere after all.”

  Mark and Dan looked at one another. Dan looked back. He saw Ronson and Olly Bleach talking to one another, Bleach leaning against his doorway while Ronson stood lower on the doorstep. Ronson was in close proximity to the man. Dan couldn’t tell whether the conversation was friendly or a confrontation. He watched Ronson leaning back with his hands on his hips as he spoke. The two men looked at one other calmly. The sound of rock music poured from the Bleaches’ open door. It was impossible to hear what was being said. After a moment Dan decided it was more of a chat more than an altercation. Perhaps his little Q&A session with the neighbours meant peace was finally about to break out. If so, the paid case would solve itself, but Dan had the Mellot girl to think of before he would be able to move on.

  “Kitty doesn’t like him, then?”

  She shook her head. “No, the man scares her. She’s noticed him looking, and because he always says hello to her, Kitty always says hello back. So far, that’s about the limit of it, but he’s still a serious concern.”

  “I see,” said Dan. “You can’t be too careful these days.”

  “So, if you want to stop any trouble on the close, you’d need to investigate him. If you did I bet you’d uncover all kinds of things. The man even looks like a pervert, don’t you think?”

  Dan made a pained face as he struggled to offer up a smile. “I dare say he does. But you know what they also say, Mrs Mellot? Never judge a book by its cover.”

  “I’d rather judge and keep my family safe, thank you. Any more of that sort in this street, and I’ll be moving house, wouldn’t you?”

  “Which sort, Mrs Mellot?”

  “Both. But that little man is the worst. He gives me the creeps. Take a look at him, will you? Make this street a darn sight safer if you did.”

  The woman gave a firm smile and took hold of the front door as if she intended to shut it. Dan raised a hand to make her stay.

  “Mrs Mellot, if you don’t mind, I think I’d like to speak to your daughter about what we’ve discussed. Would you be okay with that?”

  “Why?” said the woman. Her eyes hardened. “What are you investigating anyway?”

  “Trouble on the street, Mrs Mellot. Just like I told you.”

  “And who’s paying you to do that?”

  “A concerned resident, that’s all I can say?”

  “Won’t say, more like,” she said. “And in that case, I don’t think I want my daughter talking to you, thank you very much.”

  The woman withdrew into the house and slowly pushed the door to the frame. “Be warned, I’ll be checking your credentials.”

  “It’s all there on the website, just waiting to be checked.”

  The woman shut the door on them and they heard the chain slide into place for extra security.

  “Think she’s a bit paranoid?” said Mark.

  “She’s not exactly the lend you a cup of sugar type. But after what we’ve seen on Carberry Close, I think she’s got a point.”

  They turned to look back at the properties across the road, but both front doors were now closed. Mr Bleach was nowhere in sight, and neither was Ronson.

  “That looked pretty amicable, didn’t it?” said Mark.

  “Yeah. Who knows? Maybe Jennifer Soul will end up with a new subscriber.”

  “Or maybe not,” said Mark.

  They walked the short stretch of curving pavement until they reached Ronson’s house, then rang the doorbell. But got no answer. Eventually they knocked. Still no reply. Dan stepped down onto the front lawn and peered through the downstairs window.

  “Maybe he went into their house,” said Dan.

  “We can try it,” said Mark, “but I can’t see him doing that. He hates them. I thought it was mutual too.”

  “You never know. Let’s try it.”

  Dan stepped across onto the rougher grass of the neighbouring front lawn. As ever, the curtains were half drawn, the light blotted out from most of the front room, but there was a sliver to peer through. The front room seemed smaller than Ronson’s, a stud-wall hiving off the back area to create another room elsewhere. The room was dark and empty. Odd, considering they’d seen their client chatting on the doorstep a few minutes beforehand.

  Dan crumpled his mouth and looked at Mark. He knocked on The Bleaches’ door, not bothering to waste further time with being polite then took his hand away and listened hard as he stared at the toes of his boots. There was no answer. Dan pushed the letterbox open, crouching to shout through the gap.

  “Mr Ronson? Are you in there?” He struggled for the names of the residents, before remembering he knew nothing beyond Jenny and Olly. But in his mind he only knew them as The Bleaches. “Will someone open up?!” Dan stood up and let the letterbox snap shut. He narrowed his eyes.

  “Weird,” he said. “I don’t like it.”

  Mark shrugged. “They’ve both gone out. It could be just a coincidence.

  “He wasn’t going out. He was working.”

  “We could wait here,” said Mark. “Or maybe we could get some lunch and come back? He’s bound to be back by then.”

  Dan stayed silent. “Maybe.” Dan looked down the street, looking each way to see if he could see any sign of The Bleaches or Ronson somewhere at the farthest edges. But he didn’t see anyone at all. He listened and heard only the sound of distant traffic on the breeze. Dan bit his lip. There was something else.

  Something on the breeze. A whisper. A voice.

  “Did you hear that?” said Dan.

  Mark shook his head. “No. It must have come from inside the house.”

  “It didn’t,” said Dan. “I heard something, but I can’t hear it now…” He turned his head and frowned.

  “Are you sure—?”

  “Shhh,” said Dan. He stepped back from the front door, backing up along the garden path until he was on the street. Mark watched as Dan walked to the left and then to the right, taking a look along the back garden fences stretching on the left and right side of Ronson and Bleaches’ properties. Their houses occupied a spit of land which thrust out from the rest of the street, the ends of their back fences touching the front corner of the neighbouring properties on either side. Dan moved to the edge of the Bleaches’ back garden.

  “Mr Ronson?” he called, aiming his voice over the top.

  He heard something of a muffled reply. Not much at all, but it was definitely there.

  “Did you hear that?” said Dan.

  Mark’s face was a frown, but he offered a slow nod. “It’s coming from the back,” said Mark.

  “Yeah, but which side?” Dan followed the pavement. He stayed on the Bleaches’ side and walked directly towards the back fence where it touched the front wall of the neighbouring property. The neighbours were in, a
couple watching them from deep in the belly of their front room. Dan made no concession to their presence. He shoved his boot on the corner bricks of their house and pulled himself up on the fence then leaned over the top and pulled himself up, looking down into an unkempt garden. He saw nothing but bushes closing in over an untidy lawn, patchy and bald in places, overgrown in others. There was a broken red leather chaise longue dumped on its side in one corner. No doubt a prop from past filming. There was nothing else to see aside from a scattering of cigarette butts and discarded pint glasses.

  “Ronson?!” called Dan.

  “H-here…” came the reply. The word was barely audible. Dan’s eyes traced across the top of the garden fence between the two houses. Midway along, he saw a part of the fence had been snapped at the top. One length of wood had been scuffed and cracked open, exposing pale fresh wood. The damage looked recent.

  “Where are you?” said Dan. The middle of the fence shook as it was thumped from the other side.

  “Here,” said the voice again. And this time Dan could almost sense the man’s pain.

  Dan’s eyes widened and he dropped down from the fenceposts.

  “Where is he?” said Mark.

  “He’s in the back garden. His own back garden. And I think he’s hurt.”

  “Hurt?” said Mark.

  Dan didn’t bother answering. He jogged past the front door of the Bleaches’ house, pounding their front door with his fist as he went by. Ronson’s door was locked. He didn’t bother trying it. Instead he carried right on around the other side of the house, reached the back garden and looked for one of the tall fenceposts. This time he clamped his hands onto the top of two posts, either side of a fence panel, and dragged his feet up, until he found the thinnest of toeholds on a flimsy wooden slat. Dan pushed up, the wood splintering beneath his boots, but it didn’t matter. He dragged himself up, his stomach raking the top of the fence, inflaming his old scars, before he swung his body over, dropping with a thud to the neat lawn, and sending a shock of pain to his knees. He gritted his teeth, looked across the grass and saw Ronson’s frail body sticking out from a tangle of leaves, flowers and branches on the other side. The little man’s legs protruded from a beneath a big hydrangea, the leaves and globes of bright blue flowers obscuring his head and chest.

  “Mr Ronson,” said Dan. He ran across the grass and dropped to his knee, pulling the shrubbery aside until he got a clear look at the man’s face which was smeared with blood and soil, his glasses cracked and broken. His nose was bloody and looked broken. But most concerning was the position of his right arm, hooked underneath his body, limp and lifeless. Ronson looked up at him and grimaced in pain.

  “What happened?” said Dan. “We saw you talking to the man next door. What were you playing at? Why?”

  “They started again… started making all that noise… they must have seen you go out… I heard them. They were calling me a freak, knocking on the wall… telling me to move out, like they do…” His voice was faint and wheezy.

  “But I didn’t hear a thing when we left you,” said Dan.

  “I swear. They knew you were gone. I told you it was a mistake you going round there.”

  “What…” said Dan. Mark heard the anger in his voice. “What did they do?”

  “I went to see them, to tell them to stop. He answered the door, that awful man. I asked him to stop, because I was working. I need quiet to work. He denied anything was happening. Then he invited me inside to talk about it. I shouldn’t have done gone in, but I only wanted them to stop. And he said he wanted to talk. But as soon as I got inside, he asked me about you. Asked me about my intentions in hiring you, and he ordered me to stop interfering with their business. I think he meant the video business you said about. I told them I knew nothing about it… but they were so angry with me, they lost it and then they set upon me. They went wild! I’m hurt. I’m really hurt.”

  “They? Who?” said Dan.

  “Both of them,” said Ronson. “They both set on me.”

  “Who? The girl as well?” said Dan.

  “Yeah… she was there, but not at first. I think she must have been hiding, listening to us. Then she said a few things, and said she wanted to come an agreement with me… I refused… Then they called me all kinds of terrible names. Then they beat me… and when they were finished with me… That man dragged me outside into the backyard and threw me over the fence and I landed here. Aaarrrgh… my chest hurts. My arm too. It’s agony…”

  Dan looked at the crumpled mess of the man’s arm. The useless looking limb was buried awkwardly beneath his back. The twisted position would have been enough to make the squeamish sick. “Don’t move, Mr Ronson. You’re going to be okay. Just stay there while we get some help…”

  The man tried to reply but managed little more than a whimper. Dan straightened up from the hydrangea as Mark finally scrambled over the fence to land on the grass nearby.

  “What’s happened?” said Mark.

  “The Bleaches hurt him, and they’ve hurt him bad,” said Dan.

  “What?” said Mark.

  “They attacked him and Ronson says they did it because of my visit. Stay with him. Call an ambulance.”

  “Why? Where are you going?” said Mark.

  “I want to double-check to see if anyone is still in that house. I want a word with them,” said Dan, gritting his teeth as he spoke. He dragged one of Ronson’s white garden chairs towards the fence and started to climb it.

  Mark bent down beside the fallen man and then stood up again fast. “Dan!”

  “What?” said Dan.

  “He’s in a really bad way. I think we need to get him to hospital right away.”

  Dan grimaced, shook his head and got off the chair. He joined Mark, yanking the hydrangea aside, twisting and snapping the branches out of the way as he went. “Please don’t,” said Ronson. “I love this plant.” But his words were faint and his eyes seemed distant. His face was increasingly pale. A moment later, his eyes closed. He was unconscious. “Damn,” said Dan. “It could be internal bleeding. We’ll have to risk moving him or he might bleed out while we wait for an ambulance. Mark, give me a hand.” Dan slid an arm under Ronson’s neck, and cradled another beneath his lower back, as Mark assisted, heaving his weight until Dan found his footing.

  “Try the back door. We need to get through the house.” Mark nodded and ran ahead to the back door.

  “It’s locked,” said Mark.

  “Okay. Try his pockets. He must have taken a key when he left the house.”

  Mark threaded a reluctant hand into Ronson’s trouser pockets, sending a rain of loose change onto the grass, before a set of keys came free. The keyring held three keys alongside a battered plastic car key fob. Mark tried one key after the other before the third key slotted home and the lock gave way.

  Mark pushed the door open and Dan followed inside with Ronson, gently depositing him on the sofa.

  “Look after him. I’ll move the car outside, and then we’ll have to put our foot down the whole way.”

  Mark nodded. Dan shook his head as he turned for the door.

  “I had the guy down as a deluded whacko. Turns out all he is one of life’s underdogs,” said Dan. He left the front door hanging wide open as he ran down the street to get his car. Two minutes later he had Ronson propped up and strapped into the front passenger seat, his head rolled to one side against the passenger window. Dan shot a hard stare at the Bleaches’ house as he started the engine. Either they were still hiding in the house, or they’d cut and run. Either way, they had just made the mistake of their lives.

  The car clanked and rattled out of the cul-de-sac, leaving Mark behind to get a taxi.

  Fifteen

  The lines around Eva’s eyes had softened, the tightness was all but gone and the mug on her desk was empty. She picked it up and inspected the final few millimetres of wine sluicing around the bottom. She set the cup down and looked up at the clock. If she drank any more Eva kn
ew her problems would only get worse. Whenever the trouble got too much, the yearning for a drink was never far away. For the most part she had it under control. The only problem was that the drink helped. For a time at least, the wine did seem to kill her problems. Which was the reason a clutch of empty wine bottles always lingered outside the back door like a guilty secret trying to break back in. She hadn’t drunk much today and knew it was down to the placebo effect. She glanced at the two bottles – one open and part emptied – now half hidden at the foot of Dan’s desk. She shook her head. “You’re a bad girl, Eva,” she muttered. “At least now you know it…”

  Eva slid back in her office chair and trundled it back towards Dan’s desk and the bottles beneath. She thought of Dan, knowing full well he would have given her a reprimand. She stopped halfway across the floor, took out her phone and dialled. Dan’s phone didn’t answer. Instead, she was diverted to voicemail. Eva crumpled her mouth and slid her phone back into her jacket pocket. “Fine then. Wine it is,” she said. “Just a little.” But as her fingers reached for the bottle neck, she heard the office door open and the sound of the traffic came rushing in. Eva spun around and put on her business face. A prim looking man walked in and looked at her as if surprised. He glanced around the office for a moment, and then cleared his throat.

  “I’m here for an appointment.”

  “An appointment?” said Eva, hiding a frown.

  “Yes. To see a private detective… Your services were recommended to me.”

  Eva looked at the man with a hint of irritation. He was an inconvenience.

  The man was almost certainly one of the strange influx of new leads which had been coming in lately. So, Dan had booked this one and forgotten about it. Great…

  “Did you have an appointment?”

  “No,” said the man. “Do I need one?”

  “It helps,” she said. “But never mind. Take a seat.”

  Another problem Eva really didn’t need. She forced a smile which her eyes refused to comply with. The man stayed where he was.

  “I thought I was going to see a man,” he said. “Daniel Bradley?”