Authors: Simon Leigh
Out of Promises (15 page)
Tucked away on a side street and hidden from the hustle of everyday life, Fosters and Co. was one of very few arms dealers left in town.
At 16:00, Valerie and Bill walked through the door to the sound of a cheerful high pitched bell, out of place with the chilly mood of the store. Valerie had never been in a place like this before as Matherson supplied what she needed in that respect, usually by a drop off point in an isolated area.
They passed thick glass cabinets full of various rifles, machine guns, and accessories. The handguns were kept in another glass cabinet which doubled as the counter, mainly housing revolvers. The walls were green with signs that said: Ammunition and Ten Day Waiting Period.
A small, balding fifty something man with glasses and a brown wool tank top leaned on the opposite side of the counter reading what looked like a guns n’ ammo magazine.
Bill walked up to him, checking out his nametag. ‘Hello, Fraser.’
Keeping his head down, he lifted his eyes over his glasses. ‘Hi, what can I do for you? ’
Bill placed the lock pick on the counter. ‘Do you know who that belonged to?’
Fraser looked at him like he was stupid. ‘Could be anybody. We sell more than one of some things.’
Bill showed his ID. ‘Could you find out for me?’
‘I could, but you would have to explain why.’
‘This is evidence in a murder enquiry,’ said Valerie. ‘Find out who it belonged to please.’
Fraser’s brow was moist and a bead of sweat came through, not enough to notice on a normal day, but with the store’s light shining down, it stood out like rain on a window.
He said, ‘Won’t be easy.’
Leaning over the counter, Valerie said, ‘Are you involved somehow?’
‘What?’
Bill interrupted, ‘The eagle must be a rare thing people ask for, don’t you reckon?’
‘No, I don’t reckon. We’ve sold plenty in the past. It’s a nice design and one of our top sellers.’
‘All right, so how about checking the serial number?’ He took it from Fraser’s hand and pointed at the numbers embedded on the underside. They were small, but not unreadable. ‘Look, see how easy that would be?’
‘I’ll have a look, but it could take some time. Do you know when it was purchased?’
‘Not a clue.’
‘All right, give me a minute. The computer’s in the back.’
He left them and walked through a door at the rear of the shop.
Valerie looked around. A camera was watching them. ‘I don’t trust him, Bill.’
Excitement grew inside of Cyrus like an itch he couldn’t scratch. Combine that with the thought of what treasures lay ahead and he was left gagging for more of what he felt in the church.
The most frustrating thing was coming to Valerie’s door only to find it locked.
After checking his pockets for his picklock, which he couldn’t find, he stepped back, looked around to make sure the area was safe, and forced his foot into the door to reveal her living room.
He scurried in, closing the door behind him.
Breathless, with a wide smile across his face, he stood against the door, proud of himself for getting into Valerie Lambert’s apartment.
Her mail sat at his feet, which he picked up.
What’s Valerie been up to?
It was mainly bills and advertising flyers, but one letter took his eye that just had her address – no name. Inside was a piece of paper with the numbers: five, five, five, six, five, three, and seven. With no clue as to the meaning, he pocketed it and made a move for a better look around.
The room that interested him the most was the bedroom, so that’s where he started.
Standing in front of her bed, he imagined having sex with her in front of the large mirror. With a huge smirk, he moved to her chest of drawers where he found fragrance bottles standing in a neat line surrounded by makeup. Lifting one to his nose, the sweet, fruity smell made him crazy. He pocketed that with the letter and turned his attention to her drawers where he found the mother lode: her underwear, sending his mind into overdrive.
I could do things to her.
He pocketed some of that, too, adding to his growing list of items.
Next came her closet, begging to be opened.
There was very little inside: two sweaters and a black blouse as well as a long, low cut, red dress which he brought out and laid it on the bed. Standing and watching for a moment, he was hypnotized by the beauty he could see in his mind.
For now, he turned away and entered her bathroom.
The shower took up most of the room and he thought of her naked, washing herself in hot soapy water.
With his excitement just about on tipping point, he searched the medicine cabinet above the sink, looking at himself through the long mirror on the wall. This, he found, tipped him over the edge. He turned around and walked back into the bedroom to the red dress on the bed. Unbuckling his belt, pulled down his pants and masturbated on her bed.
After he’d finished and felt satisfied, he left everything where it was and began a search in the living room for info on Matherson. He searched her cupboards and found nothing. He searched her drawers and found nothing. Her place was just boring to him now and he felt annoyed that he didn’t have the thing he wanted most: Valerie.
Where have you gone?
Her gun was on the coffee table, a Beretta. He picked it up, emptied the clip and put it in his other pocket.
Eventually, after searching anywhere he could think of, he gave up and left the apartment.
His contacts were growing, his business was growing and the time for his organization to thrive has almost arrived. He just needed to pick off what was left of Matherson.
The wheelchair glistened in the setting sun as he sat outside on the patio in the chill, enjoying one of few peaceful moments of relaxation, feeling content that his plan was working.
He called Cyrus.
‘Did you find anything in Valerie’s apartment?’
‘No, there’s nothing there.’
‘OK, Fraser called. He’s stalling them at the moment. Go and see Ada Trent. I’m sending some guys there to meet you. It’s time we tied up a few loose ends.’
Leaving an officer outside Freddie’s apartment door, Baker pushed the door and walked inside. It was his favourite technique, go in yourself with backup just outside.
What a shithole.
With gloves on, he looked everywhere Valerie had looked earlier, coming across the newspaper cutting related to Michael’s death.
Lucy wasn’t joking about him being obsessed.
There was very little else to work with. The whole place had been trashed and whatever clues there were had vanished. He opened the apartment door and asked the officer outside to come in. ‘Get the CSI’s.’
‘Yes sir,’ he said and left the room.
Baker stayed inside for another look, almost clutching at straws. He moved into the bedroom, treading carefully. The place was larger than he expected, with a bittersweet smell in the air from empty aftershave bottles that had been smashed against the wall, biting into the back of his throat almost making him gag. He had to leave for some air. The CSI guys would find something better than he could, although he was frustrated at being back to square one.
His phone rang. ‘Baker.’
‘I have information for you. Meet me at Northbrook children’s home.’
The phone went dead.
He recognized the voice; he’d heard it many times over the last few years.
It was his man undercover.
Over at Fosters and Co., an impatient Valerie and Bill were waiting for Fraser’s return, the camera irritating Valerie while Bill seemed oblivious to it.
‘Do you think he’ll find anything?’ she asked.
‘I wouldn’t think so. I’d be surprised if he’s even looking.’
Growing evermore edgy the longer they stayed there, she decided to do something. She walked around the counter to the door and banged on it, loud. ‘Fraser, what the hell is taking so long?’
‘You think he’s running?’
‘He’d better wish he wasn’t.’
The door opened and Fraser walked out with a look of self-satisfaction about him. ‘Sorry it took so long, there was a lot to go through.’
‘And?’
‘I couldn’t find anything to help you.’
‘Bullshit,’ said Bill. ‘I’m going to look for myself.’ He marched over when his cell vibrated. ‘Dammit. Hello?’
‘It’s Ada Trent. I’ve found some information about the tape. Come and see me as soon as possible. I’ll be going out soon and when it gets dark, I don’t open the gates to anyone.’
‘All right, we’ll be there in twenty minutes,’ he said and cancelled the call.
‘Who was that?’ asked Valerie.
‘Ada, she said she has info on the tape.’
Fraser smiled broadly until he found Valerie glaring back at him. ‘We’re not finished here, Fraser.’
‘Val, we don’t have time. We can come back.’
Northbrook children’s home was a burnt out wreck. The building was still standing, but parts had caved in from the smothering fire. The walls and floors were black and covered in weeds and broken glass and the air was damp with the stench of death still lingering.
Baker stood in the entrance, taking in the sight before him. The darkening blue sky seeped through the crumbled ceiling beyond hanging wires above charred corridors.
Farther into the massacre, he tried to imagine what it must have been like back then, back when the place was full of children, happy and playful. If only he knew. He imagined the children, trapped and surrounded by an ever growing inferno feeding its way towards them before feasting.
He shivered.
‘Not what you expected is it?’
Baker’s pistol was a Glock 22, standard police issue for Southbrook P.D. and most law enforcement organizations around. Its reliability and versatility built a strong case for the police firearm of choice, and Baker liked it.
Grabbing it from its holster, he spun around to face his inside man standing in a suit, casually leaning against a door frame.
‘Relax,’ said his man. ‘Bit spooked were you? There are no ghosts left here.’
Baker holstered his weapon. ‘What have you got?’
‘Nice to see you too.’
‘Quit the small talk, Leach.’
‘Don’t use that name.’
‘I’m taking a risk meeting you here. You know they have a tracker on my car?’
‘Just your car?’
‘No, all of the police cars.’
‘So tell them you were following a lead. I think I’ve earned your time by now. I’m risking my life too.’
‘Hey, you agreed to this assignment. I worked my ass off when I was undercover in Bridgewater getting the right information on Matherson. Don’t mess this up.’
‘Mess this up? You think I’d give all these years to mess it up? You tell me this shit every time we meet.’
Baker sighed. ‘So why here?’
Opening his arms wide, palms up, as if he was making a grand opening, Leach said, ‘This is where Freddie grew up. What better place to meet?’
Baker raised an eyebrow. ‘Freddie from this morning? Freddie Mason?’
He nodded.
‘What’s this place got to do with him?’
‘Lots of kids and staff died the night of the fire, but not Freddie. Wonder why...,’ he drifted off.
‘Get to the point.’
‘Follow me,’ he said, heading for the staff room.
Baker followed, kicking ash and dust up around him.
‘Freddie escaped and none other than Julius Matherson ordered this place burned to the ground. This place was owned by one of his companies. But as usual there was a lack of evidence.’
Baker walked beside him, listening.
‘Freddie joined the organization that night. Matherson took him in, but he didn’t work out too well in the end.’ He stopped at the staff room door. ‘You remember the boy and babysitter dying a few years back?’
Baker nodded.
‘Well, in the course of Freddie’s work with Matherson, something happened and somebody wanted retribution, apparently. Therefore murdering his only son and almost kidnapping his daughter. Do you see? This is where it all started for Freddie.’
He pushed open the staff room door, creaking as it grazed across the ground, pushing back more ash.
The desk was the only thing still standing, albeit battered and ravaged.
Leach walked around to the back of the desk and picked up a photo album. ‘Look,’ he said, laying it on the desk.
‘How did you know about that?’
‘Never mind how, just look.’
Baker flicked through each page. Some pages crumbled, others displayed the horrific pictures of what the children endured back then. Baker’s image of a happy children’s home was erased, replaced by this: a paedophile’s dreamland.
‘Oh my God.’
‘Yes, this is the truth of what happened back then. Freddie found this album and ran away, thus beginning his life with Matherson.’
Baker took an evidence bag from his pocket and placed the album gently inside. ‘Why wasn’t this collected back then?’
Leach shrugged his shoulders. ‘Who can say? The answer is probably buried with the bodies now.’
‘Why wasn’t this place demolished?’
‘Shh. Do you hear that?’
A car was approaching.
They ran to a window.
‘Who is it? Were you followed?’
‘No. Nobody knew I was coming. It must be the tracker.’
‘I’m out of here.’ He turned and ran back down the corridor.
Baker yelled, ‘Wait a second,’ but he was gone.
The car approached the home. Baker drew his weapon.