Hidden Justice

by J K Ellem

  She kept low, edged along the wall until she found a wrought iron gate with a latch. It was unlocked.

  Annie glanced over her shoulder. The sanctuary of the tree line was a hundred yards or so behind her. She could cover the distance quickly if needed.

  She lifted the latch, pushed the gate inwards and stepped through.

  Inside the grounds the mansion loomed over her, a huge stone facade with tall windows and closed drapes. There was a small courtyard with low hedges, manicured foliage and a gravel pathway leading to the house and another along the side. Her running shoes crunched underfoot as she made her way around the perimeter, glancing up at the tall windows, almost half expecting a face to be looking down at her through a gap in the drapes.

  Annie stopped dead in her tracks, held her breath. Looking up she was certain she’d heard something near the roof. She shivered and pulled her collar up. It seemed colder. The atmosphere had a malevolent feel to it like something evil lived there.

  A bank of clouds covered the moon and Annie was suddenly plunged into darkness. Her heart sped up a notch and her throat tightened.

  She strained to listen again, ignoring the creepy sensation she felt. Nothing.

  Annie continued until she reached the rear section of the mansion. There was a large octagonal conservatory made of glass and timber that opened up from the rear of the building, the interior dark and still. A large swimming pool occupied most of the rear area of the property.

  She stepped back and searched the roof line, trying to see any signs of life inside the house, maybe a light on in a room.

  As she looked up at the sky, the clouds scattered across the face of the moon and once again everything was bathed in pale shades of gray light.

  Annie felt a different kind of uneasiness now, like she was being watched.

  Time to leave. Time to get the hell out of here. Something about the place felt wrong.

  She turned back and started to retrace her steps. It was then she heard it, a faint whirring sound that came from above, somewhere near the roof. She squatted down in the shadows, trying to make herself infinitely small, her heart thumping like a racehorse.

  As she watched, the darkness above the roof moved, a slight distortion in the backdrop of stars as something passed overhead. The sound increased in pitch and volume, a whining noise now.

  Something came into focus, a small shape, not solid, but spindly. It moved in the straight line across the sky and out over the back wall. Then it was gone.

  Annie stood, and sprinted back through the wrought-iron gate and towards the edge of the cliffs. She could make out the shape better now as it moved away from her and out over the ocean.

  She watched the object dip down before finally disappearing. Annie could just make out the lighthouse on Moors Island in the background, tendrils of fog slowly engulfing it.

  12

  Shaw was up early Saturday morning, just after dawn. He’d slept peacefully, putting it down to the fresh ocean air and the soothing sound of the waves. It hadn’t bothered him what Teddy Hanson had said yesterday about leaving town. Just a college jock blowing off a bit of sexual frustration. Shaw hadn’t pressed Annie about their past relationship either. If she wanted to tell him, she would.

  He showered and dressed and sure enough, at 7.00 a.m. sharp there was a knock at the door. He found a large covered breakfast tray sitting on the front step. Glancing up he saw a maid walking back up the path, heading toward the main house.

  Shaw brought the tray inside and set it on the bench. Inside he found a vacuum pack of ground coffee with an unbroken seal and set about making coffee. He also found a covered plate with eggs, bacon, grits and a basket of warm bread rolls. The smell of hot food instantly aroused his hunger.

  Shaw sat outside at a small table at the rear of the guest house and drank his coffee and ate his eggs, content to just watch the waves of the ocean as the sun began its ascent.

  It felt good to be eating outside again instead of in a roadside diner or cafe. The air was cold and fresh, tinged with salt and the dusty smell of the sand.

  While Shaw enjoyed travelling with no plan, waking up each morning, wondering what the day would bring or what was around the next bend in the road or hidden in the next town, lately there were times when he thought about staying in one place for a while. Not to settle down or anything serious. There was so much of the country he still wanted to see, to experience. Different climates, different landscapes and seasons, different people. Settling down, getting married, having a mortgage were not for him. He made a promise to himself that for at least twelve months he wouldn’t set down roots, that he would not tie himself down. It was important to him that, if needed, he could just pick up his rucksack and walk out the door and not look back. Freedom and his independence meant more to him than anything else right now in his life. He didn’t care for money either. Sure he had enough in his bank account to fund his nomadic lifestyle but money had never motivated him. If it had, then he wouldn’t have joined the Secret Service. Wouldn’t have fought so hard to make it into the elite close-quarter protection detail. Would he take a bullet for someone else? Would he put his life on the line, his body in front of someone in harm’s way and shield them even if it meant risking his own life?

  He wasn’t so sure anymore.

  There was a time when he would have, no hesitation. Maybe it was just patriotic bravado. He didn’t like the politicians that he was assigned to protect, never had. What appealed to him though was the ideal that they represented. Freedom. Democracy. Patriotism. Ideals and a way of life that were being challenged everyday by people who had no respect or whose ideals were so far-fetched and extreme compared to his own.

  Shaw took a deep breath as he watched the peaceful ebb and flow of the ocean and the raspy foamy wash of the waves. He could get used to this.

  He wasn’t a “water person”. Didn’t like being on it. Didn’t like being under it. Yet, as he looked out at the pale blue sky, the stretch of ocean and the constant pull of the waves, he felt relaxed for the first time in a long time.

  Then there was a knock on the door.

  Shaw glanced at his watch. What seemed like a few peaceful minutes was actually two hours that had slipped by. Shaw got up and walked around the outside of the guest house.

  Abby Brenner stood at the front door. Her eyes gave Shaw more than a cursory once over. “I’ve got some errands to run in town, then I’m meeting some friends for brunch. Just wanted to know if you wanted to come for a ride?”

  Shaw stood there for a moment thinking how Abby had emphasized the last word in the sentence. She wore just feint traces of make-up this morning, more natural this time, not so contrasting as yesterday. She had a mischievous look in her eyes as she twirled the car keys in one hand. She wore ankle boots, cut-off jean shorts that were a little too short, and an unbuttoned linen shirt tied in a knot at the front, with not much else on underneath. The Rolex had been replaced with a rose gold iWatch, white leather strap. Shaw understood how men, married or otherwise could fall under her spell. She was a temptress and she knew it, too.

  “Sure,” he replied. ‘I’ll wait until you get dressed.”

  Abby gave a sarcastic smile and tossed Shaw the keys. “You’re driving.”

  “There’s a party tonight,” Abby said.

  Shaw was behind the wheel keeping the impatient Mustang just under the speed limit as they drove into town, the top down, the wind in his face. “And?” he replied, expecting the obvious.

  “And, I want you to come, with me, as my guest.”

  Shaw thought for a moment. “I don’t do parties.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? Do parties?”

  Shaw checked the rear mirror. The traffic was light. “I find them a waste of time. Just a bunch of people standing around drinking, comparing salaries, bank balances, talking crap.”

  Abby turned and stared at Shaw over the top of her sunglasses.

  “Is that what you think rich peo
ple do?” Abby laughed. “Sit around and compare bank balances?”

  Shaw nodded.

  “Well, it’s not going to be that kind of party for starters. It will be at the Hanson place. They throw a party every year at the start of summer break.

  A total lack of interest had become mild curiosity for Shaw. “As in Teddy Hanson?”

  Abby nodded. “His parents don’t care. He invites everyone and they basically take over the family estate. His parents won’t be there for another week so he gets free reign of the place until then.”

  “And you want me to come with you?” Shaw said skeptically. “To the same guy’s house who I threatened? The same guy that hurt you.”

  Abby shrugged. “It was nothing, really.”

  Shaw couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Abby could do better, a lot better than the moron Shaw had confronted in the parking lot. Teddy Hanson was a thug, a bulked-up college bully who preyed on women. Shaw really didn’t want to go.

  He had a better idea.

  ‘Thanks, but no thanks,” Shaw replied. He wanted to tell Abby not to socialize with them, to find better friends but it wasn’t his place. He didn’t want to lecture her on her life. It was her choice, maybe a bad choice, but still hers to make.

  “Suit yourself,” Abby said placing her arm on the door frame and tossing her head, the wind washing her blonde hair over her face.

  “Just be careful, Abby.” Shaw kept his eyes on the road. “They don’t seem like nice people.”

  Abby smiled and placed her hand on Shaw’s knee and squeezed. “I can take care of myself. But I appreciate the concern.” Abby was touched by Shaw’s concern.

  Shaw moved his knee.

  “Maybe you should come and protect me then,” Abby replied, “make sure nothing bad happens.”

  Shaw could tell she was mocking him slightly. “I think people need protecting from you, not the other way around,” he confessed.

  Abby laughed. “Good, that’s how I like it.”

  As he drove, Shaw kept thinking about yesterday, about the confrontation with Teddy Hanson in the parking lot. It didn’t sit well with him. Shaw was protective by nature, especially of those who were vulnerable. Some people needed protecting, some didn’t. Shaw knew predators when he saw them, and Teddy Hanson was a predator, no doubt about it. He was someone who bullied and intimidated people, especially women, into submission. And he likely surrounded himself with wingmen who fed his ego with votes of approval.

  Bullies moved like a pack of wolves, surrounded by their own kind. Shaw imagined that Teddy was the ring leader who loved the attention and tended to surround himself most of the time with an entourage of weak-minded men who craved the attention that Teddy bestowed on them. They all wanted to be like Teddy so they did whatever he told them, no matter what. They were easily impressed and desperate to please. But it wasn’t a concern for Shaw. He didn’t want to get involved but had a distinct feeling Teddy Hanson would somehow involve him.

  “Let me know if you change your mind,” Abby said.

  “I won’t be changing my mind.”

  Abby told Shaw to drop her off in the middle of town. She told Shaw to take the car and look around town and pick her up around lunchtime at the bistro across the street. Shaw didn’t mind, it gave him purpose and it felt good to be her chaperone.

  He pulled up at the curb.

  Abby turned to Shaw before she got out. “I like having you around, Ben. You make me feel safe, knowing that you’re here, that you’re looking out for me.”

  “I’m sorry, it’s none of my business, Abby, what you do.”

  “Nonsense,” she replied. She leaned across, her alluring scent enveloping Shaw and kissed him on the cheek, then rubbed away the lipstick with her thumb. “I think it’s sweet.” She climbed out of the car and gave Shaw a sultry look. “Nothing bad is going to happen to me.” There was a flash of her smile, a twirl of blonde hair and then she was gone.

  Shaw waited for a moment, contemplating where he should go first. Then he remembered the building he saw yesterday and put the car in gear.

  13

  The phone call had come at around 8.00 a.m, but Annie Haywood didn’t mind. Judith Goodall, a retired school teacher who worked Saturday mornings in the library, had come down with a terrible migraine. It had kept her up all night. She was apologetic on the phone and asked Annie if it wasn’t too much trouble if she could open the library for the morning session – 9am until 12 noon.

  Annie said she didn’t mind, Saturday mornings in the library were dead anyway.

  That was until a man walked in the front door and stood looking around near the counter while Annie was sandwiched between the shelves at the back, and didn’t hear him come in.

  When she finally emerged, she got the fright of her life. The bell sat silently on the counter. It was the same man she’d seen walk by the library yesterday. Inquisitive eyes, cordial smile, a sense of expectation. He was looking for something.

  Shaw glanced at the bell on the counter. “I don’t like ringing bells,” he said. “Something about Pavlov’s dogs I find disturbing.”

  Annie smiled. Nice sense of humor. “Can I help you?” Annie said as she moved cautiously behind the counter.

  The man smiled, “I was wondering if you could.”

  “If I can, I will,” Annie offered.

  “I’m doing some research on the town, old news stories, just wondering if there are any old newspaper records.”

  “What in particular are you looking for?”

  “Edward Brenner, a local, went missing a few years back. Went out sailing on his boat and disappeared.”

  Annie nodded slowly. “Before my time, but I know of the incident.” Annie was curious why this man, a stranger, who obviously wasn’t a local would want to know about Edward Brenner. “Are you a journalist?” Annie asked. “Because I’m sure there would be some material on the Internet.”

  “No, not a journalist, just curious,” Shaw replied. “I’d like to know what happened, it sounded interesting. I was more after local stories, local knowledge rather than trolling the Internet.”

  Annie could tell that the man was guarded, not offering more.

  “We keep digitized copies of the local papers, news reports and the like. You could start with that.” Annie nodded at a computer terminal at a desk nearby. “You’re more than welcome to use the computer. It has Internet access as well.”

  Shaw thanked her and sat down at the computer while Annie went back to re-stacking the shelves. She didn’t stray too far, though. She deliberately worked her way around between the rows of shelves so she could keep an eye on him over the tops of the books or through a gap made from a strategically withdrawn hardcover.

  It didn’t take Shaw long to locate local newspaper articles that had been saved in the library database. The database was easy to navigate and the local newspapers where filed in chronological order. He searched back four years then started forward. It was taking too long to locate any mention of Edward Brenner. Opening a separate tab he started an Internet search and within moments found an obscure mention of a missing sailboat and Edward Brenner in a local news article. The article was scant, hardly worthwhile other than that it was a local man who was missing at sea. There were no photos, just a mention in a side column. But it had a date. Shaw should have asked Abby but he thought it would have been too insensitive.

  Shaw went back to the library database and scrolled a week before the date of the reported disappearance then slowly scrolled forward. Pages of news print slid past the screen as he scanned the front page then a few pages into each edition. Surely, it would be front page news in the local newspapers when one of its wealthiest residents vanished on their sailboat.

  “Bingo,” Shaw said a little too loudly. He looked over his shoulder, couldn’t see the librarian, but he could sense her lurking somewhere amongst the maze of stacked shelves.

  The newspaper was dated three days after Edward Brenner had set sail. The
family had waited three days before notifying the Coast Guard and the police before they thought something was wrong, obviously waiting to see if he would return. But he didn’t. On the front page was a photo of Edward Brenner standing at the wheel of his sailboat, Wind Dancer, a Catalina 445. Tall, wiry, late sixties perhaps, rugged features, angular jaw jutting proudly, eyes fixed at an imaginary horizon. The perfect picture of a stoic mariner ready to face whatever perils the ocean threw at him. No doubt the photo was a family memento, removed from a picture frame off some wall and provided to the local newspaper.

  Edward Brenner, an otherwise cautious, determined and meticulous man, had not informed the Harbormaster nor the Coast Guard of his sailing plans. Mrs. Brenner, the article said, just remembered her husband rising early on that day, and leaving before dawn. He did mention to her a few days before of his intention to go sailing on that day. Mrs. Brenner also told the reporter that Edward had a dentist appointment the very next day. But when he didn’t return, she just put it down to the fact that Edward Brenner had forgotten and had decided to stay out at sea for a few days. He had done that before, anchored for the night in some inlet or cove and slept on the boat. A Catalina 445 was a serious ocean-going vessel, more than capable of sailing far and wide.

  The news article went on to explain that the weather reports indicated nothing suspicious. Light breezes and calm seas were the order of the day. The crew of The Grenfell, a local fishing trawler, remembered spotting Wind Dancer sailing two miles offshore at around 6 a.m. tacking easterly towards the open ocean, the stars and stripes rippling at the bow. It had its night navigation lights on in the muted dawn light and was under full sail but the skipper of The Grenfell couldn’t remember seeing anyone behind the twin helm or on deck.

  Shaw scrolled down further. There was another picture, a basic map of the coastline and ocean with a dotted line starting at Erin’s Bay then ending abruptly at a black cross, the approximate location of where the Wind Dancer had been last sighted by another sailing boat that was heading into port. This was further out to sea an hour later. Once again, the skipper of that sailing boat saw no one at the helm nor on the deck of the Wind Dancer. It was like the sailing boat had been set to automatic pilot.