Vanishing Point

by J G Alva

  ◆◆◆

  Ethel Green didn’t want to talk on the phone. It was so impersonal. She wanted to meet.

  She directed him to a small café, which was just around the corner from where she lived. She’d tell him all he wanted to know…for the price of a cup of coffee.

  “Now I’m retired, I never seem to go out,” she lamented on the phone. “It’ll be nice to get out. How will I recognise you?”

  “I’m tall. Dark hair. Mid-thirties.”

  “Oh. Okay. See you in a minute, dear.”

  Ethel was already parked in a window seat when Sutton entered the café. She saw him and waved to him gaily.

  “Mrs Green?”

  “Call me Ethel, young man. Sit down. Sit. Sit. Do you want some coffee too?”

  “Tea please. Milk. No sugar.”

  Ethel called their order over to a woman behind the counter who couldn’t have been much younger than Ethel was herself. In fact, they might have been sisters. Ethel was plump and in her sixties, with white hair cut short and curled; the woman working behind the counter looked very much the same. Maybe a little thinner.

  “Now, Charlie said you were a private investigator, looking into poor Liam Casey’s death?”

  She patted him on the arm.

  For such a morbid subject, she seemed to be curiously delighted.

  “Something like that, yes. Charlie said that you might have taught them? The Casey children?”

  “Yes. That’s right. Not that we hardly saw them of course. Their father was always making them miss school, what with all the beatings he gave them. I swear they’d come in looking like they’d been prize fighting: black eyes, split lips, lumps on the head, bruises on the back and stomach. It was all so terrible, such terrible things. I felt for them dear, I really did. Everyone knew about it, knew it was wrong, but…they were different times back then. But the Lord works in mysterious ways. Robert Casey got his judgement when they were in their early teens. It was the best thing that could have happened, believe me. The absolute best thing. After he was gone, those children just blossomed. Do you know what I mean? They were so shy, so timid…it wasn’t natural. But they gradually came out of their shells. And they were so smart. Who could have guessed? Honestly, the girl…she was my best student for English and Drama. She read everything, and she could deliver it right back on stage, word for word, just like that. A one take wonder, we used to call her. And so pretty…but she never got into trouble. She was a very sensible girl. Very sensible. What do they call it? An old head on young shoulders? Always so serious…but such a lovely girl.”

  The woman from behind the counter delivered the drinks, and Ethel directed her conversational intensity to her momentarily, while they spoke about someone named Margaret…or rather, Ethel spoke about Margaret and the woman from behind the counter listened. Sutton was starting to get an idea of what her husband had meant. The focus of conversation directed elsewhere, he was able to gather his thoughts before Ethel dismissed the other woman, and turned back to him.

  She was about to continue speaking when Sutton interrupted her.

  “Ethel, did you see Liam recently? Before he died, I mean.”

  “Not me, dear, no,” Ethel said sadly. “But Laura did. Laura and I have been friends since we were six, and she lives one street over, on Orchard Lane. She’s got three children, and six grandchildren, and she is forever looking after the little ones, honestly I don’t know how she does it, she’s seventy two in three weeks –“

  “Laura saw Liam? When?”

  “She saw them both, both the Casey children. A couple of days before he died. She said she was in Chippings car park going to her car and she saw them both go into the bank. And then she had to deal with a crisis – little Lilly-Ann lost one of her favourite toys and they had to retrace their steps to go and find it – anyway, once they found it and she got back to the car, well, she said she saw them again as they were coming out of the bank.”

  “What were they like? Did they look happy? Were they arguing?”

  “Laura said no. Laura said they were just talking. Then they walked off and the next thing you know you’re picking up the local paper and you’re reading about the poor boy being found dead on Freddie’s farm, I mean, I couldn’t believe it, he was so young, it’s just shocking, and in Tetbury, of all places, heaven knows what this world is coming to, the things I read about in the papers, and see on the news, I fear for the world Laura’s grandchildren have to deal with, it seems like one crisis after another –“

  Ethel continued to talk, but Sutton was pondering over this strange revelation. They were both at the bank. Why? Jennifer had said that she had spoken to her brother two days before his death, but not that she’d seen him. Why wouldn’t she mention that?

  It seemed obvious that they were exchanging money. But why did they have to do it in person? Was it because it was a large amount?

  And why in Tetbury, far from where they both now lived?

  Just what had they been doing?

  ◆◆◆

  It was dark when Lucia called.

  He was surprised to hear from her on two accounts: one, she had never called in the past, she had always just turned up at his door; and two, that she was calling him at all. Not that there had been anything particularly wrong with the relationship; it was more the sense that they had both entered into it with the understanding that it wasn’t built to last. It was just a bit of fun.

  But when he answered, a dart of worry pierced him.

  She was crying.

  “Lucia?”

  Sobbing. From the way the sounds she was making echoed, she was in a large place.

  “Lucia? What is it?”

  “S-s-s-sutton?”

  A muffled noise, and then a male voice, one he didn’t recognise. He was breathing heavily, as if after hard effort.

  “We’re at the Elemental Distribution Warehouse, Mr Mills. Unless you want me to stick a few knives into her pretty neck, I suggest you hurry over. I wouldn’t suggest involving the police. By the time they crossed the car park, I’d be gone, and Lucia here would be nothing but a lump of cold meat. See ya.”

  And the line went dead.

  ◆◆◆

  CHAPTER 23

  Tuesday, 7th June

  The barrier at the gatehouse was already up when he arrived.

  Sutton drove through with the sense that this was a bad place for him. This was his third visit, and each one had more unpleasant than the last. His most recent visit, the exterior lights had been on, but this time he didn’t even have that to guide him. The large building was completely dark, in a sea of darkness.

  But when he pulled up he could see that the door to the side entrance was open.

  He parked twenty feet from it and got out. There wasn’t enough summer in the air to make the nights comfortable; the wind was on the abrasive side. He breathed deeply. He could smell something…an animalistic scent. Perhaps the pheromones that accompany violence. There was only one person that wanted to hurt him…at least at that moment. Sutton guessed that he had gone to his apartment to wait for him, but Lucia had turned up instead; another one of her surprise visits. A few lines of conversation, to establish who she was, and then the idea had gotten into his head that she could be used to lure Sutton to somewhere better suited for a confrontation. Home turf. Because Sutton was big enough to be a worry. And a predator always feels more comfortable in their own territory.

  Sutton went in through the side entrance.

  He mounted the narrow stairs in the dark. He tried to move quietly but guessed that there wasn’t much point: he was expected, and there had to be security cameras everywhere. The narrow stairs creaked, but the sound was dampened.

  At the top, the mezzanine floor, and the large windows that looked out over the warehouse. It was mostly dark, but for soft emergency lighting in strategic points around its perimeter. They illuminated small pockets near doorways, in case of fire. But the tall racking might have been dr
aped in black canvas, they were so indistinct.

  He could see no one. Elemental Distribution might have been shut down, with its owner in police custody, Sutton didn’t know. Either way, there was nobody at work in the main warehouse.

  He went through the doorway into the offices.

  The orange office was dark, but he could just about make out the door at the back of the room…and just about make out that it was slightly ajar. When is a door not a door? When it’s ajar. He moved toward it, put a hand on it, pushed it open.

  The first thing: sobbing.

  The door swung silently open. A lamp was on in the back corner; it had been turned toward the wall to mute the light. But it threw enough of it back into the room for Sutton to clearly see what awaited him.

  Lucia.

  Tied to a chair.

  With Adrian Dunbar standing behind her, and holding a knife to her throat.

  “Mr Mills,” he said, and smiled. “Welcome.”

  ◆◆◆

  Adrian Dunbar looked like nothing more than what he really was, and certainly nothing like his father: a good looking student from a well-to-do family. He was young, in his early twenties, of average height; slim, well-dressed, and presentable. He had dark hair, thick and long at the front, short at the sides, a haircut now worn by most men, as the fashion. His face was smooth and unlined. He looked younger than he was: a boyish face. He had dimples in his cheeks. He looked like he had never worried about anything in his whole life; like he had never pined and lamented and been denied anything. Such stresses usually left a mark or two on a person’s face, no matter the age. His eyes were small; they made his cheeks look bigger, rounder.

  He had large hunting knives in both hands.

  Lucia was a direct contrast to him: blonde, thin, terrified, her face so contorted with misery that it was almost unrecognisable.

  Lucia.

  I’m sorry.

  Sutton felt the growing anger spread throughout his chest, his limbs, his head.

  But he didn’t let it show on his face. He didn’t move. He stood staring at Adrian Dunbar, trying to work out what was the best way to end this without Lucia getting hurt.

  “If you could take a seat at the end of the table,” the younger Dunbar said, smiling. “I think we’d all be more comfortable.”

  Sutton looked at the chair, then pulled it out and sat on it.

  “Good,” Adrian said. “In case you are in any doubt, I know all about your part in my father’s incarceration.”

  “And what part is that?”

  “You set him up.”

  “I don’t –“

  “Ah, ah, ah!” Adrian warned, pressing the point of the knife into the underside of Lucia’s jaw. “Be careful how you respond. Lying will get your lady killed. Only the truth will set her free. So weigh those words, Mr Mills. Because a wrong one will cost you dearly.”

  Sutton had to do some quick calculations.

  “Alright,” he said equably. “Why don’t you tell me the truth as you know it, and I’ll corroborate it.”

  Adrian laughed softly, and pointed the knife at him. As if to say oh you, you are a one. Like they were old friends, and this was an old game.

  “You are a slippery cunt,” Adrian said, as if he already knew it. “Fine. I’ll tell you what I’ve found out. Then see if you can persuade me that I’m wrong.”

  Adrian paused a moment, and then continued:

  “My father told me that you helped him with his investigation into The Rumbler.”

  “True,” Sutton said.

  “The Rumbler was actually two men, one of whom is already dead. The other one is now in police custody.”

  “Also true.”

  “They caught him at the airport. About to flee the country. They brought him here to try and find out where he’d hidden the money he’d stolen. But he wouldn’t give it up. They started to doubt the level of his involvement. So they called you.”

  “Correct.”

  “And you brought the police with you.”

  Sutton didn’t answer.

  Adrian grew impatient.

  “Well?”

  “I don’t want to contradict you, with that knife so close to the lady’s throat.”

  Adrian looked down at it, as if he had forgotten it was there.

  “Fine,” he said, and took it away from her neck. A spot of blood welled up from the point of the knife. Lucia closed her eyes: denying this terrible reality. “You can contradict me if you like. I won’t hurt her. For now.”

  Sutton said, “why would I bring the police with me?”

  Adrian shrugged.

  “I have no idea.”

  “Your father was paying me to help. There was the insinuation that more money would be offered, further down the line. If I called the police, I’d be cutting off my nose to spite my face. Why would I do that? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Maybe you were under investigation. Maybe they were following you.”

  “Well, I’d hardly know about that, would I?”

  “Were you under investigation?”

  Sutton shrugged.

  “I have no idea.”

  “Alright. Answer me this then: why aren’t you in jail with the rest of them? Why are you out, walking around, when my father is in a cell?”

  “Again, I don’t know. You’d have to talk to the lead detective about that.”

  “You fucking liar!” Adrian shouted, the knife stabbing the air in his direction. “I see it! I see what’s going on! They let you out because you’re working with them!”

  “Is that what your father told you?”

  Adrian took a moment to calm down.

  “My father doesn’t know what’s going on. Not now, not ever. He’s always had this kind of…blindness, about people. He can’t understand their motivations, what makes them tick, why they do the things they do, sometimes totally irrational things. It’s beyond him. You need imagination, and he hasn’t got any.”

  “And you do?”

  Adrian nodded vigorously.

  “Too fucking right I do. As soon as he told me about you, I knew you had to be the one responsible. There was nobody else. It’s no coincidence that the day after they start working with you, the police get involved.”

  “Maybe the police already knew about your father’s group.”

  “No!”

  “Maybe they already knew about William Mackenzie. Maybe they were watching him. Had you considered that?”

  “No!”

  “But do you see what I’m getting at? There could be a dozen reasons why it’s not me. Your father doesn’t think it’s me. Does he? I know you said he lacks imagination, but he must have a good sense of people, or he wouldn’t be as successful as he is. So I’d trust what he says.”

  “He’s not fucking successful,” Adrian said scornfully. “He’s not even a businessman. Not really. He inherited his money. He’s got so much of it that it would take a concerted effort to bankrupt himself. And he’s got so many people around him employed to look after his money, that he’d have to persuade them to stop looking after it for him to default. He hasn’t got a clue what’s going on. He’s fucking old. And he lives in a fucking bubble. That’s why he can’t see through you.”

  “And why he can’t understand you?”

  Adrian’s eyes grew wary.

  “What?”

  “Because you’re not well.”

  Adrian came around to stand in front of Lucia. He was bristling with anger.

  “What did you fucking say?”

  “I know what you did. What you’ve done.”

  “What are you –“

  “The people you’ve killed.”

  Adrian looked surprised…but he also looked delighted. Nobody likes to work hard in the shadows; they want to stand on stage and be applauded.

  “How do you know?”

  “What your father and his friends don’t understand is,” Sutton said, “that The Rumbler didn’t just hack into people�
�s computers. Sometimes, he went out and followed people around. Sometimes he even took photos.”

  Now Adrian looked uncertain.

  “Photos?”

  “You’ve been careless, Adrian. Very very careless. You’re a sick boy. No wonder your father is disgusted by you. And disappointed. Did he really talk to you after the police took him into custody? Or did you have to find out all the details from the family solicitor?”

  “You fucking prick, I’m going to cut her tits off and then I’m going to shove them in your mouth –“

  “I wouldn’t do that,” Sutton said. “Not before you’ve seen what I’ve got to show you.”

  “What?”

  “It’s in my wallet. Can I get it out to show you?”

  Adrian was intrigued, despite himself.

  “What?”

  “A photograph.”

  “Why would I want to see a photograph?”

  “Because it’s a picture of you.”

  Adrian debated, and then pointed the knife at him and said, “slowly.”

  Sutton carefully reached into his pocket. He produced his wallet, and held it up for Adrian to see.

  “Throw it to me,” Adrian said, cautiously, advancing down the table toward him. “But gently.”

  There were no pictures. It was a gamble. A bluff. But even an empty bluff was better than nothing at all. He was creating opportunity out of thin air, and that takes gumption.

  As Sutton opened the wallet, he said, “there are more photos. My friend has them. If I don’t call him in the next twenty minutes he’ll send them to the police. I wonder what your daddy will think then? He may not have any imagination, but after he sees these then he’ll know you’re a fucking sociopath.”

  “You shut up –“

  Sutton threw the wallet to Adrian while he was distracted. Adrian immediately stopped talking. He tracked its flight. He couldn’t help himself. It’s an automatic response, some kind of genetic hold over from the Jurassic period: movement is important. Movement is predators, or movement is prey. Movement is life or death.

  And this situation was as carnal as they come.

  Sutton had purposely aimed the wallet high, and halfway through its journey, he bounced off his chair, keeping low, arrowing toward Adrian.