Authors: Simon Leigh
Out of Promises (6 page)
The day after the fire, Matherson had called the brothers into his office. Preston’s nerves were getting the better of him while Sharpe stayed relaxed.
Matherson had given Sharpe a promotion to his right hand man after the job, welcoming him into his inner circle. Preston got nothing, not even a thank you or a job well done. Matherson never explained his reasons.
They’d explained Nicky’s death by saying Rodriguez killed him and they shot Rodriguez for it. It was risky, but plausible enough to convince Matherson.
Matherson said, ‘I’ve called you in here because we have a problem.’
Preston grew even more uneasy.
‘News has come to me from my source in the police that the amount of bodies they have doesn’t match our records of who should have been in there. Someone is missing.’
Sharpe asked, ‘Any idea who, Mr. Matherson?’
‘No. But I’ll find them. How hard can it be to burn down a fucking building and kill everyone inside? You’ve both failed me.’ He walked over to them.
Preston opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted.
‘If this was any other job, you’d both be dead along with Rodriguez and Nicky. Understand?’
‘Yes, Mr. Matherson,’ said Sharpe.
‘Sir?’ asked Preston.
‘What?’
‘I’d like to know why I’ve not been moved up the ladder.’
Sharpe looked at him, shaking his head. Of all the times to bring it up.
‘I don’t have to explain myself to you. Who the hell do you think you are? Get out of my sight. Both of you.’
At 06:00, on Wednesday 8
th
December, Father McGregor strolled along the street a happy man with his short black hair gently blowing in the wind, his glasses resting on his nose, and his bible tucked under his arm. He loved early mornings, especially mornings like this one with the sun gently rising and the air fresh. Life was good.
As was the norm for him on approach to Saint Patrick’s church, he found the front door wide open. This happened so frequently, he didn’t even react to it as he walked inside and straight into the room with the spiral stairs. At first glance, everything was as usual, but at second glance, he noticed something peculiar on the floor, something sparkling. He picked it up, holding it close to his eye. It looked like a Swiss army knife, but it couldn’t be because it had keys of various sizes and shapes and a logo of an open winged eagle engraved on the side. Technology wasn’t his strong point – he didn’t even have a cell phone – so he just put it in his pocket and walked back into the hall scratching his head, stopping at a series of dark red footprints blinking at him, leading from the altar to the front door.
He followed them along the centre aisle, soon finding the source.
‘Freddie?’ he gasped.
The blood from Freddie’s face had dried, turning his clothes into a sticky matted mess. Father McGregor turned away, covering his mouth to suppress a vomit.
He ran through the church and out through the door.
The sun was higher over the horizon now, dazzling him. Holding his hand up to shield his eyes from the light, he quickly scanned the area for a public phone box. There were none and his house was too far away.
He had no choice but to knock on people’s doors.
The first house he found was one that belonged to a frequent visitor of the church. At seventy years old, Irene Hex had lived opposite for the last twenty three years and her award winning garden was something she took great pride in.
She answered the door fresh and alert, even at this time in the morning. ‘Father McGregor? Is everything OK?’
Shaking and pale, he stood in her doorway. ‘Irene, I need to use your phone. Something terrible has happened.’
‘By all means, whatever is the matter?’
Valerie had watched Freddie grow up from a ten year old boy to a twenty seven year old man with a family. Granted, the family had problems, but it was still a family and it was something she envied.
He wanted out of the business and she wanted to help him. He hadn’t listened to her advice in that hospital room when she told him to get out when he could. But the longer he stayed there, the more danger his family was in. Add Matherson’s paranoia to the mix and things more difficult than ever.
Valerie’s image of the business had changed from the extortionate, money making sex trade and illegal imports organization it once was to a thug’s gang with more needless beatings and murders that didn’t need to happen, none of it anything to be proud of, but it had honour. At least it was supposed to have honour.
Opening her eyes to sunshine peering through her blinds, she struggled to come to grips with yesterday’s events.
You will kill Jackson if you don’t do as I say.
‘God dammit, it was real.’
Forcing herself out of bed, she jumped in the shower.
Her apartment was small, but it was what she wanted. Matherson had offered her something bigger and she’d declined. She found it cosy, not wanting to rattle around in an oversize excessive box. The large walk-in shower was what swayed her decision. It was beautiful and she enjoyed having the room to move around in it.
Jackson had also refused his father’s offer of an apartment, opting to rent one as he didn’t like being tied down to one place for too long. Valerie could understand that, but it wasn’t for her. She’d only move if she had to.
She stood under the hot stream of running water feeling dirty.
He touched me! That son of a bitch touched me.
As she washed her body, she pressed harder, forcing the sponge into her pores, removing any trace of his hands and breath. Over and over, she scrubbed with such vigour that her skin hurt. She felt unclean, worthless. She gave up.
Jackson, helpless and beaten played on her mind. Her friend, once strong, reduced to nothing. And Freddie, her other friend, dead with half of his head missing.
Her life was falling apart before her eyes and it seemed there was nothing she could do about it, but she still had a chance to save Jackson. How she was going to though, she didn’t know. She just sat on the wet floor of the shower, and began to cry.
When she finally managed to get out of the shower, she put on a robe and sat on her bed, looking at herself through a long, five foot mirror hanging on the wall, not liking the woman before her.
Enough.
It was time to wake up and get the job done.
She dressed in a black blouse, blue jeans and a brown leather jacket and left the apartment, without her weapon.
In the car, she drove aimlessly for thirty minutes wondering where to go when she thought of driving to Freddie’s ex-girlfriend’s home. She could to talk with her and tell her what happened last night. In her efforts to do something helpful, it sounded like a good idea.
Plus, she might have some useful information.
Freddie’s ex-girlfriend’s name was Lucy Decker. She and Valerie had never met, but Valerie felt like she knew her well, like a close friend. Often Freddie would speak of her, showing pictures of their happier times together. She was the love of his life.
Standing there outside the building’s security door, Valerie soon realized she had no idea what she was going to say. Her mind was blank.
Is nothing easy anymore?
She pressed the button for Lucy’s apartment on the seventh anyway, just hoping something would come to mind.
‘Hello?’ said a tired woman’s voice through the intercom, smooth, but croaky at the same time: the sound of a stressed mother.
Valerie’s voice quivered unintentionally. She was nervous. ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘My name is Valerie Lambert.’
‘Uh huh?’
‘Can I speak to you? It’s about Freddie.’
With the sigh of a knowledgeable woman, Lucy said: ‘What’s he got himself into now? You’re lucky I’m awake this early you know.’
‘Can I please come up?’
The door buzzed and she walked in.
Walking to the apartment seemed to take forever. As she hated elevators, she chose to take the stairs to the seventh floor, passing windows on each level that looked out onto the parking lot, growing increasingly uncomfortable as she wandered deeper into the rabbit hole.
At Lucy’s door, she checked her hair and clothes to make sure she looked presentable before taking in a deep breath and knocking.
Lucy answered wearing a sky blue bath robe. She was a good looking woman with long brown hair, green eyes and a slim, athletic figure. Valerie stared at her, holding back the tears.
‘Want to come in?’ Lucy asked, moving back to clear a path.
Valerie nodded and stepped inside without saying a word.
The living room was of medium size with a brown leather sofa in front of a flat screen TV, clean, with few children’s toys on the floor. A picture on the wall above the fireplace showed the Chinese character for
Fortune
with the English translation written underneath. There were also a lot of pictures of their little girl, Chloe, on the shelves and walls and it was easy to tell that even though Lucy and Freddie no longer lived together, they still wanted what was best for their daughter.
Valerie found a copy of the photo that Freddie had shown her, back when the two of them were happy together, back when life was easier.
Still shaking, Valerie said, ‘We need to talk, Lucy. It’s about Freddie.’
‘What’s wrong with him now?’
She seized up, saying nothing.
‘He should be here by now. He promised me he’d take Chloe to school. She never sees him anymore, you know.’
She still said nothing, just standing in the middle of the living room, a mute.
Say something, Valerie.
The voice of a little girl came from behind her: Chloe. She was four years old and dressed in white pyjamas with little red flowers on them and a teddy bear in her arms.
She said, ‘Mommy.’
‘It’s OK, sweetie,’ said Lucy. ‘Go back to your room and get dressed for kindergarten. This is Valerie, she’s one of Mommy’s friends.’
‘I thought it was daddy.’
Listening to this little girl pine for her father broke Valerie’s heart. Tears broke through, trickling down her face leaving snail trails behind.
She turned away and quickly walked out of the apartment.
‘Hey!’ yelled Lucy. ‘Wait.’
Valerie left the building and got in her car, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand as she sat behind the wheel.
You stupid bitch. What are you doing?
Up on the seventh floor, Lucy was watching her through the large windows joining the stairs to each floor.
Starting the engine, she left the area.
Detective Niles Baker, a tall thirty five year old with short brown hair endured the many torments that being in the police force brought, especially with his top lip covered in a fuzzy, caterpillar. Colleagues mocked him with names like Natasha, which he expected, but he didn’t care, he enjoyed the banter and could give back as much as he could take.
He’d been with the Southbrook Police Department for eight years since spending three years with the Bridgewater P.D. farther south.
His suit flapped in the breeze as he walked through the barrier that had been erected around Saint Patrick’s church and towards Officer Anderson, a thirty eight year old, six foot four giant with a young face and a slight squint, earning him the name Columbo from his colleagues; another cop joke added to the list of many.
‘So what have we got?’ Baker asked.
‘Sir, it’s not pleasant.’
‘OK. So what have we got?’
‘Well, Father McGregor started the day as usual until he found a male in his mid to late twenties tied to the cross behind the altar of the church with a hole in his head. Poor guy almost fainted I hear. We haven’t been able to speak to him yet. We think he knows the vic.’
‘And the vic is?’
‘Father McGregor was too unstable to speak.’
‘OK, thanks Columbo. I’ll take a look inside.’ He turned and walked towards the church.
Inside, Freddie’s body was still on the cross and the crime scene guys were there doing their thing: taking pictures, dusting for prints, taking samples etc., before taking the body down and disturbing anything.
Baker looked around for Father McGregor, who wasn’t anywhere to be seen in the main hall or in the room to the left of the main door with the spiral stairs, the previously locked cupboard now wide open having been emptied.
A photographer was taking pictures of the blood in the centre aisle.
Baker asked her, ‘What can you tell me?’
‘Not a lot so far. Just that the victim has been shot in the face. Tests show it happened between eight and eleven last night.’ She pointed up towards the body and continued: ‘The exact weapon is unknown at this time. We’re still looking. I will say this though, there doesn’t seem to be any shell casings around, so either the killer knows what he’s doing or he used a revolver. You know, the ones with the round chamber that don’t eject shell casings. We did find the bullet. There was also an SUV parked outside that we think belonged to the victim. It’s been taken back to the station. The plates were fake.’
‘Well let me know when you find something useful.’
The photographer nodded. ‘Sir.’
‘Oh, one more thing, where’s Father McGregor?’
‘He was asked to wait outside while we dealt with the scene. I think he’s at one of the houses across the street. Irene Hex is the owner’s name. It was her phone he used to call us.’
‘OK, thanks.’
Baker walked outside into the sunlight with an oncoming chill. Snow clouds teased in the distance.
Columbo was still alert at the barrier.
‘Hey, Columbo, which house is Irene Hex’s?’
He pointed across the road to a set of three houses. ‘The one in the middle.’
With a nod, Baker left him and crossed the road to the house with the tidy garden where various flowers bordered well fed grass turning what was once a boring scene into something out of this world.
When he knocked on the door, a small old lady with curly white hair answered, standing in his shadow and looking up at him with a smile.
‘Mrs Hex?’
‘Yes?’ she said through whistling teeth.
‘I’m Detective Baker.’ He held up his badge. ‘I believe Father McGregor is here and I need to talk to him.’
‘Yes, yes, come on in please. He’s in the living room to the left drinking some tea. I made it,’ she said proudly. ‘Would you like a cup?’
Baker smiled. ‘No, thank you, Mrs Hex.’
He found Father McGregor sitting on the edge of a flower decorated sofa staring into space with a cup of tea resting on his lap. The rest of the living room was also florally decorated with pictures of various flowers hanging on the walls and the air smelled fresh. A certificate for Southbrook Garden of The Year hung on the wall. It was almost too much.
Irene Hex in Wonderland.
‘Father McGregor, my name is Detective Baker,’ he said, showing his badge. ‘I’d like to speak with you regarding the incident this morning.’
‘Yes, erm, of course.’
Baker sat in a chair opposite.
Irene joined them, sitting on the chair arm.
Taking out his notepad and a pen, Baker began: ‘I understand this isn’t easy, but it’s vital we get as much information as possible to stop it happening again.’
Father McGregor lifted his head from the warm cup on his knees. ‘What would you like to know?’
‘Can you tell me what happened?’
After taking a moment to remember, he said: ‘Well, I was walking to the church this morning as I do every morning. I found the main door open, and not for the first time. This is a nice area and nothing ever happens here so I walked inside without any idea something was wrong. Then I saw it.’ Shaking, he placed his cup on the coffee table in the centre, spilling some.
Irene was braced, ready to pounce on any spillage, tissues in hand.
‘I found the body tied to the cross. Whoever did it must have used the rope from my storage cupboard. The blood had dried on his face. It was awful. There were also some footprints running along the centre aisle.’
Baker made notes: Footprints? Killer left no other clues, no casings and used storage cupboard.
‘Around what time was this?’
‘I’d say it was around six twenty, six thirty.’
‘Did you know the victim?’
‘Not exactly. I know his ex-girlfriend, Lucy. She confided in me many times during a rough period in their lives.’
‘Lucy who?’
‘Lucy Decker.’
‘What was the victim’s name?’
‘Frederick Mason, she always referred to him as Freddie.’
‘And what are these problems mentioned?’
‘I think that’s something you should speak to her about. Please, it’s not my place to be telling you this. She can tell you more than I can. She lives with their daughter at this address.’ He wrote it down on a piece of paper and handed it to Baker.
Baker asked, ‘If you hadn’t met Freddie in person, how did you know what he looked like?’
‘She showed me many pictures of them together, back when they were very happy.’
Baker stood up and Irene stood with him.
‘OK,’ he said. ‘Thank you for your cooperation. Please don’t go too far as we may need to speak with you again in the future.’
‘Of course, detective. Please find this person.’
‘We will.’