“And if I don’t help you?” I wanted him to spell things out for me.
“You really need me to say it? Senior officers way above my pay grade have got a hard-on for you. Take the piss for too long and you make enemies. They’re keen to make an example of you.”
I didn’t doubt it. I changed the subject back to Kayleigh Mainprize. “Her father’s worried, right?”
“As you’d expect him to be.”
“Maybe you could set up a chat with him for me?” Coleman didn’t have an answer. I was beginning to get the upper hand, pushing him in a direction he didn’t want to go. “I assume he won’t have too much difficulty getting hold of a mobile in prison.”
“I thought you said you weren’t an investigator.” He paused. “Maybe Halberg didn’t fully understand what I told her.”
“She speaks better English than both of us.” He didn’t deny it. “I’ll give you a theory, shall I, given that I’ve spoken to Kayleigh’s girlfriend? Maybe Kayleigh’s found herself in a situation she can’t get out of. Maybe it relates to her father. How am I doing so far?” Coleman stayed silent. “Kayleigh’s on and off the ferries all the time and we both know the security there isn’t all it should be. Maybe she was persuaded by someone to take over some items with her, drop them off with a guy at the bar she works at. Maybe someone leaned on her via her father in prison.” Still nothing from Coleman. “Maybe it was a test run, maybe it was something more serious, I don’t know, but am I getting warm here?” He didn’t answer, no doubt running the calculation about how much to tell me. Weighing up how much he could trust me. Or control me.
“It’s a fair theory,” he eventually conceded. “But let’s not forget a serious crime has been committed here.”
“It’s not black and white.”
“It never is with you. You think you’re better than the law?”
“You’re putting words into my mouth.”
“We want Kayleigh Mainprize and we want the hand luggage we know she brought into the country.”
“You and Halberg have tried to play me from the start.”
“Don’t see things that aren’t there.”
“Nothing wrong with my eyesight. You might think I’m some of kind of weird hermit you can manipulate, but I can access the Internet and do my research.” I wasn’t buying it. “You’re happy to burn a young girl for this?” I said to him. “Because her father is in prison and you can use her as a stepping stone?”
“Don’t be naive.”
“I’m not the one who’s being naive here.”
Coleman took a deep breath, not rising to the bait. “Maybe that’s always been your problem, but you’ve never realized it? Am I being clear enough here? It’s time to put yourself first, Joe, and stop chasing lost causes.”
Maybe it was true, not that I was going to admit as much. “I do things for the right reasons.” I cut the call, put the handset back in my pocket, and walked over to the ticket office. I couldn’t lie to myself; the rucksack felt just that little bit heavier on my shoulder after Coleman’s words. He wasn’t wrong that I’d pulled enough shit over the years for it to catch up with me, an ongoing irritation to the police during the course of doing my job. But this was different. This was none of my doing. I hadn’t asked to involve myself, and he wasn’t prepared to help further. I didn’t really owe anyone anything. I was being asked to offer up a young woman in exchange for guarantees about my own freedom.
I watched as a counter in the office came free, the man behind the plexiglass tapping his pen on the desk, beckoning me forward. Kayleigh and Isa wanted to go travelling, disappear and reinvent themselves. What was to stop me doing the same? Coleman had told me to put myself first. It came down to me or them, and I’d made my decision. I sent Isa a quick text message before walking over to the desk, the decision made.
***
I walked out of the bar I’d been beaten in the previous night, the wheels set in motion. Isa had replied to my text message, saying Kayleigh had agreed to meet. I’d set the time and place. I’d insisted on it. They couldn’t argue. I was the one carrying the rucksack and all the risk.
Sitting down on a bench, I waited. The area had a different feel by day. I watched as tourists posed for photographs, guided walks and coach parties passing through, all viewing from a safe distance. I didn’t have to wait long; Anita Halberg arrived on time.
“What happened to you, Mr. Geraghty?”
“Turns out the bar owner isn’t keen on making new friends.”
“You’ve spoken to him?”
“The conversation was a bit one-sided for my liking, to be honest.” I’m sure Halberg smiled at the update. She told me I’d done the right thing by calling her. “I’m glad you think so.”
She sat down next to me. “You might think my city is pretty liberal, but we’re not that liberal.”
“You’ve been watching this place?”
“We’re aware of it,” she said. “And the owner.” Halberg took her mobile out, checking for new messages before giving up and talking to me again. “So you and Coleman are friends really?”
“I wouldn’t say that. It’s complicated.”
“I thought this was mutually beneficial.”
“That’s the theory.”
Halberg shook her head. “What are you doing with your life, Mr. Geraghty?”
It was a good question, one I didn’t have an answer for. “It’s complicated back home,” I settled for saying.
“It seems it’s always complicated for you. Sometimes things are just black and white.”
I stood up, flexing my leg. Halberg was wrong about things being black and white. Things were nearly always gray in my world, no such certainty. I paced in a small circle, glancing at the bar. “I spoke with one of the workers. You probably know Isa, seeing as she’s Kayleigh Mainprize’s girlfriend?” Halberg didn’t answer.
We both watched as a car pulled up, four men in dark clothing getting out. The leader headed straight for Halberg, but my Dutch wasn’t good enough to follow the conversation. It was clear she was in charge, issuing the orders to them. I watched in silence as the men made their way inside the bar. It didn’t take them long. They were back outside within a couple of minutes, the rucksack concealed within an evidence bag. It was held out to Halberg for her to look at. Another conversation in Dutch I couldn’t understand followed, but the tone was clear. They were all pissed off. Halberg looked at the Jiffy bag. I’d taken the liberty of writing Martin’s name and address on the front of it.
“There was no sign of Kayleigh Mainprize inside,” Halberg said, turning to me. “The officers searched for her.”
I didn’t reply. The men headed back to the car, quickly pulling away.
“What’s going on?”
“I don’t know.”
“I won’t let it drop.”
“That’s up to you.”
Halberg stared at me, barely able to contain her anger. “We’re done, Mr. Geraghty. Go off and find yourself a purpose again, that’s my advice to you. You should also think about doing it in another city, as you don’t want to come to my attention again.”
I did as I was told, walking off with my hands in my pockets, one last glance at the bar. Heading down the side of it, I looked at the emergency door I’d been thrown out of, the back street opening up into a network leading away from the main area.
The police had taken some drugs off the streets with the added bonus of wiping out a dangerous establishment. I wouldn’t shed any tears for Martin. The police would crawl all over him for a time, and it was a fair bet that plenty of nasty secrets would come to light. It would keep them busy enough. Maybe Halberg would look for Kayleigh and Isa, but if she had any sense, she’d take the easy win. It was still a result. She’d eventually see it was a good day’s work. Coleman would have to swallow it down.
&
nbsp; I headed into the cafe, scanning the room. Isa and Kayleigh were sitting in the far corner. I headed across to them and handed over the tickets I’d bought earlier at Centraal. I told them to travel light and stay away long enough to let things settle down here. Kayleigh didn’t deserve to suffer because of her father.
I wished them well and returned to my bike, looked around. Life went on. Coleman could do what he liked. If he wanted to make life awkward for me, I’d return the sentiment with interest. Maybe Halberg was right and being a private investigator was in my blood, but for now, I just wanted to go home.
Our Evie
Ricki Thomas
Hidden behind net curtains, the shimmering dawn sun blinding her momentarily, the neighbor gasped when she spotted Mary next door asleep on the bench at the bottom of her garden. She often mentioned it was her favorite place in the world, but not to sleep. The icy dew and sharp shards of dew-tipped grass; the old woman must be freezing.
Then Brian appeared, thundering along the path with clenched fists, ranting words she couldn’t hear. Shocked, she tensed as he shook his wife awake, trampling carrots underfoot, and dragged her toward their home. The poor woman seemed distressed, confused, and stumbled to keep up with him.
The neighbor had always been suspicious of Brian. Lazy, unkempt and utterly miserable. A drinker to boot. What with dear Mary being so sweet. Her decision made, she picked up the phone and dialed 999.
***
Luke glanced around the incident room at the hardened officers, tired after the weekend and whingeing about having to work, and felt like he’d come home. He recognized some faces, knew a couple of names, and they all seemed to know of him despite largely ignoring him. Every step of promotion took bribery of some sort, and for Luke this was the distribution of bacon sandwiches to those who wanted, given with the cheeky smile he had mastered. A full-fledged detective at last, working with experienced tough lads on cases that required intelligence and commitment. After a lifetime of dreams, he was finally on his way to the top.
A door slammed somewhere outside the room and a hush descended, the no-shit-taken detective inspector striding through with a snarl. She nodded to Luke, her stiff updo unmoving. “You must be Hamby. My office. Now.”
He followed her, pleased to shut out the sniggering detectives behind him. “Don’t mind them. They’ll make your life uncomfortable for a couple of weeks and get bored.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Sitting, she shuffled through the files on her desk and chucked a buff one his way. “It’s an odd situation. Old lady was reported by a neighbor who’s concerned about spousal abuse.”
Irritable, he clasped his hands firmly to keep calm. He’d studied hard to be a detective because he was bored with mundane cases. “Surely that’s a matter for social services.”
“The uniforms had to respond, the witness saw him manhandling her. They arranged for social care to be contacted as she seemed quite agitated, but she denies her husband is violent.”
“They always do.”
She glared, silencing him. “The reason we’re involved is because she was babbling about a woman named Evie McGrath, who went missing in 1950 in suspicious circumstances. Her body was never found and the case is still open. Anyway, she insists Evie was her mother, said she’s buried in the garden, but the officers couldn’t find anything to back up her story.”
“What am I after, solving a cold case?”
“Just take a statement, ask her what she’s on about, and rule it out.”
Luke scowled, wondering if they were playing a newbie prank on him. He ate his sandwich, reviewed the basic details on the woman and her husband, and set off, reaching their cottage in the picturesque village just after lunch. Mary led him to the kitchen, chattering mindlessly about this and that. Luke was mesmerized by her skillful knifework on some tiny twisted vegetables, hacking away signs of dirt or insect infestation… pleased she wasn’t preparing dinner for him. “You grow them yourself?”
She grinned proudly. “It’s what I’m best at.” He considered how bad her worst talent would be. “Those officers yesterday didn’t tell me to expect another visit.”
“It’s your lucky day.” He grinned, playing to her harmless flirting. “Do you want to tell me what’s been happening with your husband?”
“What do you mean?”
“We’ve had reports that he’s mistreating you.”
“Piffle,” she said, peeling the few rescued carrots with more vigor. “He’s got a mouth on him, that’s all. I can handle him well enough.”
Luke was unsettled by the strange twinkle in her eye. Squinting against the brightness, he peered through the window at the stunning garden, the deep greens, leaves starting to turn now that the weather was colder. “That bench out there, what a lovely place to sit.”
She dropped the carrot, her mood spinning on a knife edge. “A stream runs at the bottom of the garden and I love to listen to the water, the wind in the trees. Brian doesn’t like me doing so and hustles me back inside. But I feel less lonely there, with nature’s song and my mother’s whispering voice.”
Luke thought of a hundred nutty-as-a-fruitcake jokes, but kept a straight face. “Tell me about your mother.”
“She’s buried out there, I’m sure of it. I hear her singing at night. You policemen need to dig her up.”
“And ruin your vegetables?”
Her stare made him wilt, and he replaced the playful smile with an expression of concern he didn’t feel. The woman was clearly in the early stages of dementia; she should be seeing a doctor, not a copper. A commotion came from the hallway, an inebriated man staggering against first one wall, then the other. “Who are you?” he growled. “What are you doing here?” Shaking an angry but useless arm.
“Brian, control yourself. This is Policeperson Something-or-other, and this is my husband Brian.”
“Called out the loony police, have they?” Brian glowered at Mary, eyes flaming.
“Mr. Clark, I understand you’ve lived here for over twenty years. Do you know anything about a woman named Evie McGrath?”
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Snorting, Brian grasped a book from the side table and shoved it at the bemused officer. “This is where she gets her rubbish. From this pile of trash. Here, keep it, I don’t want this crap in my house.”
Mary grabbed wildly at the thin book, bending the tattered pages further. “Give it back.”
“Let go, Mary,” Brian shouted as if she were a mile away. Luke made his escape. But, as the car’s engine chugged to life, the notorious paperback landed beside him on the passenger seat and Luke watched Brian storming back inside. “I said keep the bloody thing, it’s putting ridiculous ideas in her head.” The door slammed and Luke heard the drunken caveman screaming at his wife.
He drove away, questioning his lifelong wish to be a detective. Eager to breathe clean air. And going over his visit to the strange cottage.
“I’ve had enough of your amateur dramatics. Give the stupid book to PC Plod here and get me some sodding lunch,” Brian had said to Mary as he was leaving.
Humiliated, she shrank back to the carrots, but not before Luke noticed the defiant, withering glare she’d given her moronic husband. The tense undercurrent raged, suggesting more than he’d witnessed, but this mismatched couple’s relationship problems were nothing to do with him. He shook himself uncomfortably and kept driving, not wanting to see the oddballs or the spooky house ever again.
***
Barely sober, Brian grumbled at Mary in his boorish manner before heading back to the pub and, once the house was spotless, she shuffled up to the bedroom her grandmother had used.
Mary hated to sleep there, the dark and gloomy room that was a relic of years past. Murky floral wallpaper yellowed with age and curling at the corners, and paintwork a dreary forest green. Not to mention the atmo
sphere, a malevolent hangover from the cruel woman. The rusting iron bed had been there for as long as she could remember. It was where the harridan had died.
Mary’s grandmother had raised her after her parents died, but had been vicious, beating her into behaving, quelling any inkling of an individual streak. She’d encouraged her education, but not if it got in the way of the many chores the child was burdened with. Meeting Brian had been a blessing, but her grandmother had gone crazy, demanding Mary stop the fledgling romance.
Instead, Brian had a stronger personality than Gertie had expected, and he whisked Mary into marriage and a new home, far away from the dragon. Those halcyon years as they raised their family had been wonderful and, although they worked endlessly, life was always cheerful and loving.
Then one by one the children left home and, pleading illness coupled with loneliness, Gertie insisted they return to the family home. With a heavy heart and sore, scabbed hands from keeping house while her husband got drunk and grandmother lazed around moaning and groaning, Mary settled into being a nobody.
Sadly, Gertie’s dominant behavior had an effect on Brian. She would never make demands on him the way she did Mary, cosseting him like a spoiled prince who could do no wrong. Over the years he changed, and not for the better. By the time her grandmother died, Mary had become timid and submissive, and Brian lorded over her with menacing eyes and a filthy mouth.
Snapping out of her memories, Mary sank onto the foul bed, the unsettling creaks increasing the sensation of evil eyes watching, haunting her. She wanted to sleep in the marital bed again, on a mattress that didn’t sag, with pretty floral bed covers. But Brian had banished her, told her she didn’t deserve the comfort.
In some ways it worked, for nowadays Brian sounded like a freight train rumbling through the night, an alcohol-enhanced roar, and the chance of a good night’s sleep away from him was marginally more important than the fluffy duvet. Knowing her place in life, Mary settled under the unwelcoming covers and slept.
***
Disappointed that his first day as a detective had been no more exciting than working as a regular constable, Luke was equally disturbed that his social life was nonexistent. Another night of a few beers on the sofa in front of mind-numbing television, channel-switching between mouthfuls of takeout fried rice.
The Book of Extraordinary Amateur Sleuth and Private Eye Stories Page 23
