by Rob Ashman
Lucas was getting impatient, but tried not to allow himself to get boiled over before he even saw Somerville. The same grey-faced man opened the door and ushered him into the house, giving him his card back.
‘Please come through to the living room, Lieutenant Lucas. We’ve been expecting you.’ The man walked on ahead.
‘Thanks.’ Lucas grimaced at the exaggerated emphasis given to the word we.
The room was spacious, with two four-seater sofas facing each other across a marble coffee table which was big enough to hold a sporting event. Pallet-knife oil paintings hung on the walls, original pictures from a local artist depicting ocean and beach scenes. The far wall was mostly glass, giving a splendid view of the pool area and beach down to the water’s edge. This also housed the derailed patio door.
To the right of the hallway, Lucas could see the dining room. Glass cabinets along the walls housed cut crystal and polished silver which sparkled and glittered while a rich walnut table and eight chairs were positioned in the centre. The same painter whose paintings were featured in the living room had also provided the paintings for this room – he’d done well out of the Somervilles. Lucas was drinking all this in when he realized that the man he’d followed was no longer in the room. A familiar voice greeted him from behind.
‘Lieutenant Lucas, so good of you to pay us a personal visit to clear up our little difficulty.’ It was Judith Somerville.
Lucas turned to see her emerge from the kitchen, slinking towards him. She was dressed in a tight-fitting top and a long silk wrapover skirt that revealed a generous glimpse of thigh when she walked. Her long black hair was piled up high at the back and held in place with grips. Sunglasses were perched on top of her head. The ensemble was finished off with what Lucas could only describe as a pair of hooker heels. Memories from their first meeting flooded back, the ones about the screwing, that is, not the killing.
She glided around the sofa and sat on the edge of one of the seats, motioning for him to sit in the chair opposite.
When he was seated, she reclined into the soft cushions and crossed her legs. The skirt wrap parted and fell to either side. What Lucas had previously only glimpsed was now firmly on display.
She smiled and looked at Lucas, saying nothing. It was obvious he didn’t know whether to meet her gaze or feast his eyes on her expanse of thigh. It was so easy with men like Lucas. The top, the skirt, the whole ensemble was just a technique for disarming them, to make them think more about what was happening in the front of their pants than to concentrate on serious debate. Judith broke the silence when she gauged Lucas was uncomfortable enough.
‘I’m unhappy with this situation, Lieutenant,’ she said flatly. ‘I hope you’re receptive to the sensitivity required in handling our …’ she paused, ‘… unfortunate mishap.’ She delivered the line like a woman who was telling her boyfriend that penis size didn’t matter.
Lucas’s mind was still halfway up her skirt. He jolted himself back to reality and grunted a noise that could be interpreted as either yes or no, making a nondescript waving gesture with his hand. He was outmanoeuvered, already struggling.
She continued, ‘You, of all people, know my stance on law and order in this state. I’ve campaigned on it and bettered it. My record is one of achievement.’ She stopped, allowing Lucas to catch up.
‘Congresswoman—’ Lucas started, but was cut off.
‘Needless to say, an incident such as this is a godsend to those political elements who have, shall we say, differing views to mine. I have no doubt that they wouldn’t hesitate to use my daughter’s misfortune to undermine my strong record, which could prove most damaging.’ She fixed Lucas with a stare that made him feel about eight years old. ‘Damaging, that is, for all concerned, Lucas. Am I making myself clear?’
‘I appreciate that this could cause adverse publicity for you and your family,’ Lucas replied, finally off the mark, ‘and that any coverage could be used against you by your opponents.’
‘Well done, Lieutenant. Well thought through.’ Her tone of voice ensured Lucas was back to being eight years old again. ‘But that’s just half the picture.’ She pulled her skirt back in place with a flourish and leaned forward. ‘This story is bound to break sooner or later, irrespective of how carefully it is handled. We have to consider it inevitable. When that occurs, I want to be able to provide a response that states the incident has been dealt with and that the perpetrator of the crime is already in custody. All of which, of course, is due to the effective law enforcement processes I’ve implemented since I’ve been in office.’
She focused her gaze on Lucas across the marble-topped table. Lucas eventually broke the silence.
‘Bringing this to a satisfactory conclusion will be in both our interests.’
‘That’s correct, Lieutenant.’ Judith rose to her feet and stared down at Lucas. ‘And let’s not be under any misunderstanding here. It will be brought to a satisfactory conclusion.’ She emphasized the ‘will’ with a foreboding that Lucas painfully recognized.
Lucas nodded his head as if in surrender. ‘Everything possible will be done. The team are on their way here now, Congresswoman.’
‘Good,’ she replied, making her way back into the kitchen. She continued the conversation over her right shoulder. ‘To allow your team as much free access as possible, my daughter will move to my residence in Tallahassee until this settles down.’ She returned with four envelopes.
Judith waited in the centre of the room with the envelopes in her hand. If Lucas wanted them, he’d have to go and get them. He moved to stand in front of her and she handed them to him, one by one.
‘This one contains a statement from Celia, my daughter. This one is a statement from her husband Charles. This one is a list of all that is missing and approximate valuations. And finally, this one is a list of the guest names at yesterday’s party.’ Lucas now had all four envelopes. He was about to speak, but Judith raised her hand to stop him.
‘Should you require any further information, please contact my attorney as he will be acting on behalf of Celia and Charles. My car is waiting, I must go. Goodbye, Lieutenant.’ She offered her hand to Lucas who shook it. ‘The house keys are on the dining room table.’
‘Thank you, Congresswoman,’ was all Lucas could manage before she swept past him and was gone, closing the front door behind her.
Lucas was rooted to the spot, clutching four manila envelopes. He heard the car pull away from the driveway.
‘Thank you, Congresswoman,’ Lucas said to no one. ‘Thank you,’ he continued a little louder, pacing around the living room floor, shaking his head in self-berating mode.
‘Thank you for a delightful kick in the nuts more like.’ Lucas was furious with his performance. ‘And why the hell did I shake her hand? Should have been her damn neck. Good job I worked out my tactics beforehand, otherwise I’d have risked screwing it up.’
Lucas was still giving himself a hard time when the sound of heavy tyres on the gravel outside made him stop. There was a sharp rap on the door. He opened it to find Bassano standing in the front porch while the forensics team got out of the van. Lucas glanced at his watch. It had been five and a half hours since Metcalf’s call.
It wasn’t long before the whole house buzzed with the energy of professional seekers, people who piece together the past from the crumbs left behind. The air tasted of fingerprint powder as white-suited professionals puffed and brushed their way around the house. This was punctuated by the repeated flash of a high-resolution camera, snapping at anything that looked interesting. With so many photographs taken, Lucas was sure the entire interior of the Mason home must be in one shot or another.
One of Bassano’s team disappeared back to the station with the envelopes containing the statements and guest names so the process of elimination could begin. Lucas went outside and sat in one of the wickerwork chairs on the pool deck, deep in thought. Silver-grey powder clung to the cuffs and forearms of his jacket, a testament t
o the chair having already been passed as clean.
The method of entry was straightforward. The burglar had approached the property from the back, walking along the water’s edge up the beach to the house, probably dragging something behind him to cover his tracks. Once at the house, he’d cut through the mosquito netting that surrounded the pool and slipped through. He’d secured the netting back in place with black insulating tape, sticking it to the underside of the frame.
From there he walked along the poolside to the patio doors. There were sandy footprints on the decking, but nothing that gave any indication of size or make of shoe. The sea breeze had seen to that. The burglar had slipped a flat-edged tool into the runners and prised one of the doors loose. He’d lifted it out and rested it against the frame to give the impression of it being partially open to anyone who passed by. Then he was in.
Once he’d gathered up the goodies, the burglar had left the same way, again securing the pool netting back in place with tape and covering his tracks along the beach. Metcalf had been right, just a run-of-the-mill, standard burglary.
Lucas sighed, rising from the chair and heading back to the living room. He avoided the squares of carpet that had been marked off in red for special attention. Drifting through each room of the house, his mind was in neutral, soaking up what he saw. Glancing at his watch, he noticed that it had stopped. He shook his wrist and put it to his ear. The metallic tick, tick, tick told him it was still working. Lucas walked back to the living room and looked at the clock on the mantelpiece which read 10.22am. He adjusted his watch.
‘I’m going back to the station, there’s nothing I can do here. If you find something, call me.’
‘The initial sweep should be completed around two o’clock,’ replied Bassano. ‘We’re pushing for results later today or early tomorrow.’
‘That’s fine,’ Lucas said at the front door. ‘Just keep me posted.’
Driving back to the station, Lucas’s mind once more wandered through the Masons’ home, evaluating what he’d seen. Something bothered him.
Lucas believed that all good cops had a sixth sense. It wasn’t something that could be taught at the Police Academy, nor was it something that could be gained with experience. You either had it or you didn’t. It was what made you look beyond the facts and peel back the veneer to find what lay beneath. Lucas’s sixth sense was in overdrive.
He knew what he saw, that was clear, but he had an overwhelming feeling of being taken by the hand and led up the garden path. The more his mind roamed around the house, the stronger the feeling. Something wasn’t right.
Back at the office, the afternoon passed into early evening. Lucas spent the remainder of his day dealing with the ever-expanding administrative demands of his in-tray. Several times he caught himself drifting back to the Mason property, its expensive designer decor, and that damn woman in that damn skirt. But there was something that just didn’t add up. Something didn’t fit the picture.
There was a loud knock at the door and Bassano walked in. Lucas liked Chris Bassano and had a huge amount of respect for him, but there was one thing that drove him crazy. Whereas Lucas always came to work in a sharp suit, with his shoes polished and his shirt ironed to within an inch of its life, Bassano looked as if he’d been dragged through a hedge backwards. Whenever Lucas told him to tidy himself up, he’d respond, ‘But, Chief, you’re well-dressed enough for the both of us.’
Bassano had learned early on that the way he dressed added to the impression he made on a woman. When his shirt looked as though it came straight from the washing basket and a six year old had done his tie, it added a pinch of vulnerability to an already desirable package. It was a dynamite combination and, as long as the women kept coming, he really didn’t mind. His wife, on the other hand, had minded a great deal.
Lucas motioned for him to sit down. ‘What do you have so far?’
Bassano walked around his desk to join his boss at the conference table. ‘Fingerprints and statements have been taken from all the guests we could get hold of.’ He consulted a ream of computer printouts. ‘That’s sixty-five so far with fifteen left to go. The team has almost completed the forensics so we’ll be ready to go first thing in the morning.’
Lucas nodded. ‘That’s good, let’s hope it throws up something quickly. I don’t think our delightful congresswoman will wait long before sticking her nose in.’
It was 6.15pm and both men were washed out from their early start. ‘Get yourself home,’ Lucas said. ‘Get a good night’s sleep and pray that Celia Mason’s burglar left us a calling card.’ Bassano smiled, bid Lucas goodnight and left the office.
Lucas stared into space with both of his elbows on the table, supporting his ample chin in his hands. His mind was full of the images of the day, trying to find the piece that didn’t fit.
He left the office at 7.30pm, still searching for it.
6
Mechanic’s face reflected back from the smoked glass cabinet. The glazed eyes and vacant stare told their own story. The battle was almost lost.
Daddy’s voice was harsh and insistent. ‘I said, do it now.’
‘Not ready,’ Mechanic replied in a trance. ‘Need more time.’
‘Damn you,’ Daddy’s voice reverberated around Mechanic’s head. ‘You screwed up. I said now.’
The weights had not worked. Pumping the barbells had brought excruciating pain, but the attack just kept coming. Mechanic was struggling to stop Daddy taking full control.
The preparations were a long way from complete and the constant attacks didn’t help. Daddy was impatient for the next one. The screw-up at the house ensured that.
‘Do it. Do it now,’ Daddy snarled.
This was bad.
Mechanic swayed and struggled to hold onto the last vestiges of control, the gas ring hissing as the blue flame heated the metal skewer. Mechanic took it from the flame and lifted the T-shirt, exposing an impressive six-pack that was already streaked white where hot metal had burned away the skin pigment. Mechanic’s head swam and the room blurred. Control was fading fast.
‘Kill the bastard through pain,’ Mechanic shouted, trying desperately to drown out Daddy’s voice. ‘Kill him now.’
The skin sizzled as the red hot skewer scorched and blistered its way across Mechanic’s stomach. White smoke rose into the air and the sweet smell of melting flesh filled Mechanic’s senses.
Mechanic screamed, falling back against the wall, the skewer clattering to the floor. Searing pain surged through Mechanic’s body, making it shake uncontrollably.
The room spun wildly as Daddy’s voice faded away.
All was quiet. Daddy was gone, at least for now.
7
Lucas rose early. A restless night had not helped him get his thoughts in order and he needed to make a prompt start. On the few occasions he had managed to drift off, his dreams were full of the large beachfront property with its lavish furnishings, and Judith Somerville with her lavish legs. Equal portions of both combined to guarantee that Lucas had precious little sleep.
Depositing his bag of food and his briefcase in his office, he made his way down to the incident room on the floor below. In the elevator he could feel the familiar knot in the pit of his stomach – the expectation of what today might bring. The hunt for bad guys was bread and butter to Lucas, and he relished it.
Opening the door to the incident room, he turned on the large fluorescent lights. Around the walls were roller shutter covers. Lucas lifted each one in turn to reveal boards covered with pieces of evidence collected from the Mason house the day before. Others were blank, waiting to receive new material.
Desks made up the rest of the room, with computers and fax terminals plugged into sockets. Large boxes cluttered the floor with stickers on them to describe their contents along with more pads of paper and sticky notes than Staples.
Lucas raised one of the shutters to reveal photographs taken of the interior of the house. The pictures were arranged in grou
ps, each depicting a different room.
Lucas stepped back and sat on the corner of the desk, staring at the collage of images. His eyes scanned each one in turn: the hallway, the living room, the kitchen and so on. He mentally checked off items in the photographs with what he’d seen. There was something odd about the living room, but what the hell was it? It wasn’t the furniture, it wasn’t the pictures hanging on the wall, and it wasn’t the oversized coffee table. What was it?
He snapped back to the present. ‘Damn thing,’ he said under his breath, shaking his head.
‘What is, sir?’ Bassano was standing right beside him. Lucas had been so lost in the photographs he hadn’t heard him come in.
‘Oh nothing,’ Lucas replied, ‘just a touch of indigestion.’ He pushed the knuckles of his right hand into his chest, breathing deeply. ‘Ready for a successful day?’
‘We’ve got the lot, sir. Probably have the whole house in one box or another. If there’s anything to be found, we’ll find it.’
‘I’ve got a good feeling about this one,’ Lucas lied. He rose from the desk and walked away from Bassano to avoid eye contact. ‘I feel a result coming on,’ he lied again.
Lucas always thought it was necessary to talk up an investigation at the start. He firmly believed that people who searched for evidence thinking they’d find it would always be more successful than those who didn’t. His nagging doubts he kept firmly to himself.
‘What time is your briefing?’
‘7.30am, sir,’ Bassano replied, breaking out writing pads from their paper binders.
‘I’ll join you for the beginning and then get out of your hair. Call me if you turn something up.’ Bassano nodded while Lucas left to make another assault on the paper mountain in his office.
Bassano watched him go and then he turned to the board that Lucas had been staring at.
