Carly knew that the words had come from her own mouth, but she’d opened her mouth before engaging her brain. For one split second she panicked. Oh no, now what have I done. I’ve only got a week off work. Let’s hope I make headway fast.
Composing herself mentally, she took stock of the situation. The last time she’d met Scott he was a drunken mess. Now, he appeared to be sober. Albeit a bit weird too.
It seemed rather devious, but if Carly was going to get Scott to open up, then she’d have to get close to him. And pretty quickly. Flirting would look a bit suspicious, she thought, and I couldn’t pull it off anyway. He makes my skin creep!
“You can start tonight if you like. I’ll show you around the place, then I’ll show you the ropes. You’ll soon get the hang of it.”
Gesturing with his hand, Scott invited Carly to the other side of the bar and led her through a doorway, up a stairway, and onto a hallway which housed three doors.
Leading her into the first door, Scott introduced her to the staff room. This was a small kitchen containing a table and four chairs, a small stove, and the usual basic drink-making facilities. Scott pointed out a door to the staff toilets, before leading her back onto the hallway.
“This is where I call home,” he winced as he opened door number two. As they entered, Carly saw a large battered sofa that looked about as comfortable as a bed of nails, a portable TV with an obvious tuning problem, and an old record player that appeared to have teleported from the 1940’s.
“This is where I come to chill. Any time you can’t find me; this is where I’ll be. Well, that just about sums up the grand tour. I’d better get you back downstairs and show you what you’ll be doing.”
NINE
Within a couple of hours of arriving, Carly had been shown around the pub, shown what to do, and had her ears talked off by the incessantly chatty Scott. It didn’t take much to work out that the place wasn’t doing a roaring trade, which wasn’t uncommon in today’s economic climate. However, it was a pretty depressing place to come for a drink, and she couldn’t help feel that takings might improve if the place looked a little brighter.
Knowing that time was of the essence, Carly decided to try to steer the subject towards Vincent. After all, he was the reason she was here.
“So, will your brother be likely to call in? I mean I know you’re the boss, but if he shows up I expect he’ll be surprised to find me working here.”
“Don’t worry about Vince. He’s not likely to show up around here. Like I said before, he just leaves me to it. I make any changes. And I choose the staff. Let’s just say, he owes me. I’ve done plenty for him over the years and my reward is that I get to do whatever I like to this place. He lives over in Mansion Hollow. Anyway, he always says he’s got more important places to be than this boring old backwater town that he grew up in.”
“So, he doesn’t think much of his home town? I guess you must be different to him then?”
These words brought an instant change to Scott’s facial expression, and Carly wondered if she’d pushed it too far.
“You bet I’m different to him. What you see is what you get with me.”
Scott’s reaction told her it was time to slow down. She didn’t want to get him angry.
“I’ll go and wash some glasses; before the rush,” Carly pronounced as she turned, trying to hide the incongruent look on her face.
Before the rush, Carly laughed, I bet this place hasn’t seen ‘a rush’ in thirty years or more. But I wonder what he meant about him doing plenty for Vincent, and that bit about - he owes me - and what you see is what you get.
For a fleeting moment Carly wondered if she had made a mistake in coming here; but she was here now, so she may as well get on with it.
As the evening wore on, the odd customer came and went, and apart from a few strange-looking characters that seemed to be Scott’s drinking buddies, most of the clientele came and left alone.
This was a pub where sad people came to drown their sorrows before going home to an empty house. Almost without exception, though, each customer gave Carly a ‘tip’ and offered to buy Scott a drink.
By late evening Scott was beginning to wobble slightly on his feet, and the once chatty host became much quieter in himself. The abundance of complimentary drinks had obviously taken their toll, and he was clearly drunk now.
As the last customer left, Scott made a garbled statement. “Lock the doors. Had enough. That’s it for tonight.”
It wasn’t yet official closing time, but what did Carly care!
TEN
Scott remained slumped against the bar as Carly cleared the tables and washed up the empty glasses herself. When she’d finished, she tapped him on his shoulder, “C’mon I’ll give you a hand up the stairs before I go.”
Carly needed to repeat her offer another three times.
“Errrr, you’re so kind Carly,” Scott mumbled as she helped him to his feet and headed very unsteadily towards the stairs. “I wish I were five years younger, and then I’d ask you to stay the night. It gets so lonely here sometimes.”
Five years younger. He’s got to be joking. More like fifteen or twenty, she thought.
Eventually they reached Scott’s room and Carly started to pick up the pace. If he falls there’s no way I can pick him up. Carly made a mad dash for the sofa which reminded her of the awkwardness of three-legged races from her school sports days. They didn’t fully make it, but at least the top half of Scott hit the safety of the sofa.
He didn’t even stir.
Lifting his heavy legs up onto the sofa, Carly removed his shoes which immediately released the pungent odor of sweaty feet. His big toe poked through a large hole in his left sock.
Although Scott was snoring like a well-contented pig by now, Carly decided to try to find something to cover him up with. Guessing that the third door she’d seen earlier in the day might be Scott’s bedroom, she made her way there to get him a blanket.
Feeling uneasy about being in his bedroom, Carly entered the room and walked nervously over to the closet door and opened it. She spotted a ceiling cord hanging down in the closet and pulled it. The darkness remained. As she felt her way around, Carly noticed that the shelves on one side were crammed high with all sorts of stuff, and on the other side was a messy selection of old clothing dangling from a hanging rail.
A large woolen blanket on the top shelf looked perfect for the job, so Carly rose up onto her tiptoes and gave it a quick tug. There was a crash that Carly didn’t expect to hear. She paused to see if she could still hear Scott snoring; and hearing that he was, gave a sigh of relief.
Looking down to the floor, Carly saw a silver-grey Samsonite aluminum attaché case. One catch had come open but the other was still shut. In the dim light she could just about make out that there were two embossed initials on the case. V.H.
V.H. Mmmm. I wonder if that stands for Vincent Halliday?
She knew she shouldn’t do it, but she couldn’t resist it.
With feelings of excitement and trepidation all rolled into one, Carly popped the other catch on the case and opened the lid. “Good grief” she yelped. Her heart started to beat faster and faster. Although she was on a mission to determine if Vincent Halliday was a murderer, she was still flabbergasted to see the proof of it in front of her eyes.
In the case was a selection of large envelopes. The top envelope had Vincent’s name and address on it. Then there was a selection of different trinkets, including ribbons, hair clips, a ring, and a bracelet. There was also a gold locket. Not just a gold locket, but THE gold locket.
Carly took some long, slow deep breaths, but her heart wouldn’t stop pounding. She could clearly see the engraving on the reverse of the locket. It most definitely said ‘Tracey’ on it.
Think Carly. Think. What’s the best way to handle this? Try and wake Scott? But what if he already knows and was covering for Vince? No, that’s crazy. What if I tell him and he tries to handle it himself; Vincent’s a
lready killed, so what’s to stop him killing the both of us too?
Carly’s mind was working overtime. She quickly closed the case and got to her feet. Looking round the bedroom, she noticed a bright yellow sticky notes cube and a pen on Scott’s bedside cabinet next to the telephone.
I’ll phone 911. I won’t leave my name. I’ll just tell them to get over hear quick. I’ll leave before they get here.
Just as she was about to lift the receiver Carly had second thoughts.
This is going to drag Scott into it. Poor guy. He’s had it hard enough. I have to leave him out of this. I’ll take the attaché case down to the police station; say I found it in the street, or something.
Instead of picking up the phone Carly picked up the sticky note pad and pen and started to write, “Scott, sorry but I must do this. I found the attaché case. I know you must have covered for Vince. He killed Tracey Dawn Jackson. I’m taking the case to police. I won’t involve you.”
Carly pulled several sheets together off the sticky note pad, and popped them and the pen into to her jeans pocket. Hurrying silently along the corridor, she was happy that she could still hear Scott snoring like an old freight train. Entering cautiously into the room, Carly attached the yellow sticky note to an empty beer bottle that was standing on the coffee table. There’s no way that he’ll miss that, she sadly thought.
Carly returned to the bedroom to get the case, and then headed downstairs to gather her personal belongings together. She put the attaché case under her coat as she left the Cabbage Tree pub for the last time.
ELEVEN
Just a short way from the police station, Carly suddenly got ‘cold feet’. Questions started to fly through her head as she pondered on how to handle the situation. Spotting a wooden bench she sat herself down to gather her thoughts.
Am I doing the right thing? What will I tell the officer? Will he believe me?
After five minutes of pondering, Carly reached a decision.
Pulling the sticky note pages and the pen from her jeans pocket, she began to write. “This case belongs to Vincent Halliday. It contains a locket which almost certainly belonged to Tracey Dawn Jackson.”
Pulling a handkerchief from her bag, Carly placed the attaché case flat on her knee. Then making sure no one was about, she wiped the case thoroughly to remove all of her fingerprints from it. The next step was to stick her note to the case, and to wipe the prints from that also. Then, using her handkerchief to hold onto the handle of the case, she rose from the bench and walked confidently into the police station.
A solitary overweight police officer was sitting at his desk, feet up, telephone in one hand, and tightly gripping a large sandwich in the other. The contents of the sandwich were spewing from the sides and falling onto his shirt. He didn’t notice Carly entering the station, so she quietly placed the case on to the counter and left.
God, that was stressful. Crossing the street, Carly stepped quickly into the shadows and waited. She left herself a clear view through the open door of the small town police station.
It wasn’t too long until she saw the officer at the counter, scratching his head, as if wondering where the attaché case had come from. As soon as Carly saw him take hold of the case, she turned and hurried to the bus stop. She wanted to be on the last bus out of town before the inevitable commotion would start.
Her timing was impeccable as the rickety old bus pulled up just as she arrived. Phew. Carly breathed a huge sigh of relief as she boarded the bus, knowing that in about an hour’s time she would be safely back to the security of her home in Beacon Glade.
Being the last bus it was fairly empty, and only a couple of people boarded and alighted during her journey. This was good news, as the journey took a little less time than expected. Nevertheless, when Carly stepped off the bus she felt emotionally and physically exhausted.
Did anyone see me go into the police station, she wondered during her short walk home. Every muscle of my body is aching. I can’t wait to get back in my apartment and kick off my shoes. What a day!
TWELVE
It was approaching midnight when the local patrol car pulled up outside the Halliday residence in Mansion Hollow.
Mansion Hollow was a purpose-built town. A small exclusive area where only the extremely wealthy could afford to reside. This gated community kept outsiders OUT, and that’s how the residents liked it.
The twin marble columns towered above Officer McRoberts and Officer Flanagan as they approached the giant front door. Flanagan rang the door bell. They smirked at each other. They’d had minor dealings with Vincent Halliday in the past, and his superior attitude had always irked them and everyone else down at the station. Tonight, they got to take him in for questioning, and his usual responses of, “Do you know who I am,” or “I’m best friends with the Mayor,” wouldn’t help him at all.
It was Vincent, glass of wine in hand, who answered the door to the officers. He wasn’t too pleased to see them there. “Do you know what time this is?” he growled as he glanced down at his Rolex Oyster.
“Yes sir, we do know what time it is. Can we come in Mr. Halliday, sir?” asked McRoberts.
“What’s this about? It had better be good.”
“If we could just step inside, sir,” urged Flanagan in a more serious tone.
“I don’t like your attitude. Tell me what you want right now!”
“O.K. If you insist, sir. Vincent Halliday, I’m arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Tracey Dawn Jackson…”
Vincent’s jaw dropped as Flanagan continued to read him his rights.
“Vincent what’s taking so long? Who’s that at the door?” The approaching woman’s voice belonged to Deborah J Halliday. “What’s going on Vincent? Why are the police here? Has there been an accident? What is it?” There was a growing panic in her voice as it grew louder with each word.
Handing his wife the wine glass, Vincent spoke confidently. “It’s nothing to worry about, Deborah. There’s been a huge mistake. Call Edwin and tell him I’ve been arrested. Tell him to get down to the station. NOW!”
Edwin R Cornelly was a lawyer to the rich and famous. He knew every trick in the book, and his clients expected him to be at their beck and call any hour of the day or night.
Flanagan spun Vincent around and handcuffed his hands behind his back. Vincent was then escorted to the patrol car where he was unceremoniously helped into the back seat. Oops, sorry, sir, Flanagan taunted as he turned and winked at McRoberts.
THIRTEEN
“You’re making a big mistake. I’ll have your job for this.”
McRoberts and Flanagan escorted an unwilling Vincent into the police station. The elderly desk sergeant glanced up from his newspaper, and immediately beamed an ear-to-ear smile revealing crooked teeth and lack of dental hygiene going back dozens of years. It was obviously a great pleasure to see Vincent Halliday not looking so smug for a change. Payback time, he thought.
Tossing his newspaper aside, the desk sergeant grabbed a form from his desk and slowly strutted his way over to the prisoner.
“Name?” said the desk sergeant gruffly.
“What do you mean, name? You know who I am.”
“Name?” the officer repeated.
“You wanna be funny, fine. I’m not saying another word till my lawyer gets here.”
Vincent Halliday looked like a spoiled brat throwing a tantrum because he couldn’t get his own way. He was used to being in control, but here and now he had absolutely no power over anyone. And he didn’t like it.
The telephone on the counter top rang and the desk sergeant answered it. Whatever was being said at the other end of the telephone pleased him, because another goofy smile manifested itself.
When he hung up the phone he looked directly at Vincent. “Well, sir. It looks like you won’t be talking to us for quite a while. Your lawyer, Mr. Cornelly, won’t be joining us just yet. It seems he had an earlier appointment with a whisky bottle. I’m afraid that until he
arrives we’ll have to pop you into a nice cold cell. That is unless you want to call a different lawyer?”
The three officers couldn’t hide their delight. They knew that Vincent wouldn’t want anyone else to handle his case; especially as it was so serious. They also knew that it would be hours before Edwin Cornelly was safely below the alcohol limit to drive. And Vincent would be so desperate after his extended time in an uncomfortable and damp cell, that it would be an open-and-shut case.
“Great shame,” teased Flanagan.
After leading the protesting Vincent to his cell, Flanagan phoned through to his colleagues in Harvest Spring Junction to give them the good news. “We’ve arrested that pompous twat, Halliday. He’s not going to get out of this one. And his lawyer can’t get here until tomorrow.”
“That’s great,” sniggered Detective Abernethy. “Hopefully he’ll be ready to sing like a canary by then. Give us a call in the morning after he’s spoken with his slimy lawyer and we’ll come over to collect him then.”
Flanagan nodded. “Will do, Abernethy. Everyone here is looking forward to seeing the humiliation on his know-it-all face as he’s taken away in cuffs. See you tomorrow.”
FOURTEEN
Carly could hardly keep her eyes open, but she wanted to see what was happening in the news. She knew it was unlikely, but maybe the story would hit the headlines quickly and she’d see that Vincent had been arrested.
The hours ticked by but nothing appeared, and Carly began to wonder if something had gone wrong. I’ve heard stories about wealthy people ‘getting away with murder’, but not literally. Surely? Minor crimes, maybe. But this was no minor crime. I can’t believe Vincent could talk his way out of this.
After a restless night and only a few hours sleep, Carly turned on the TV to see if there were any developments.
The Key Page 3
