American Crow (4 page)

Chapter Five

'the photo'

Chelsea. West London.

Late Afternoon.

H
enry Deacon’s home was a four-floor terraced building with a
classic black and white tiled porch, black scrollwork railings set above a
basement, which was serviced by two small rectangular windows situated either
side of a half-dozen steps.

It looked clean and well-maintained and
just like all the other expensive houses skirting the tree-lined square, where
a sprinkling of residents were reading newspapers in the sun or exercising
their well-manicured dogs.

I took a deep breath and knocked on the
door feeling out of place, wondering what sort of welcome someone like me would
receive in this sort of neighbourhood.

A well-dressed housekeeper opened the
door before I had a chance to pull my hand away. I took a step back and she
offered me a wary smile, creasing the thick make-up around her eyes.

‘The name’s Blake, I...’

‘Oh yes...’

She beckoned me in with a deft gesture of
the hand, then guided me straight upstairs to Olivia’s room without saying
another word. I say room, it was more like a self-contained flat in truth, and
reasonably organized too for a teenager, though I’m sure that was down to the
hired help and not her own efforts.

The housekeeper forced another polite
smile then slowly made her way downstairs, as if she was reluctant to leave me
up there alone. I scanned the contents inside…

Before me was a freshly made king-sized
bed and an expensive-looking dresser to my right with a mass of hair and beauty
products on show. To my left were a row of built-in cupboards faced with full-length
mirrors and an archway leading to another room.

I walked over to the other side and slid
back a door. Inside were an array of clothes of varying fashion and a
collection of shoes lined up neatly along the floor.

I strolled through the doorway. It led to
a lounge space with a small sofa, containing a fold-out bed which I assumed
friends or hopeful boyfriends could use on a sleep over.

I scanned the walls. There were two or three
tiers of shelving filled with C.D’s, photos, and various books on art and music
as you’d expect with her particular interests. I eyed them for a while trying
to get more of a feel for her personality, then picked up a newish-looking
photo album from a coffee table, and sat down on the sofa to flick though it.

Quickly I discovered that the photos the
banker had given me were hopelessly out of date. The guy was obviously in
denial. Since leaving school Olivia had revamped her image big time. Vamp being
the operative word.

Gone were the pastel cardigans, summery
skirts and knee-length dresses of innocent youth, and in came tight leather
minis and torn tee-shirts of the newly found rebel. Out went the soft pink
blush to the cheeks and bright red lipsticks and in came a scattering of
piercings and heavy black eyeliner.

No wonder Henry was worried. His pretty
little girl had transformed herself into something resembling a whoring punk,
just like her friend Izzy. By sending her away from her friends, he was hoping
to change all that. Bad move. Now it was back-firing big time and he knew it.
No wonder he was so deflated. He was the emotional architect of his own
downfall...

I slid out a couple of recent pictures
from the sleeve to replace the misty-eyed ones her father had given me, then
found a date on the back of one, marked July of last year. She was probably
still sporting the same look in the U.S I thought, and if anything might look
even more radical, now she was away from her father’s prying gaze.

And who knows what sort of trouble that
might attract, boyfriend or not. There were a lot of bad guys out there who
just loved some fresh-out-of-school chick, dressed as a whore. A lot…

I walked back to the bedroom and turned
my attentions to the drawers in the main dresser. Inside, I found nothing of
value.

Next I checked the bed side-tables.
Nothing remarkable in the first few drawers either…just the usual girly stuff.
Anything private or controversial would be well-hidden I’d imagine too,
especially with a snooping housekeeper tidying up behind her and willing to
tell tales for an extra buck.

It wasn’t until I checked out the final
drawer though, that I found something that made me sit bolt upright. Sandwiched
between a couple of blank A4 notepads was a dog-eared photo, which looked to
have been taken on a family holiday.

I held it up to the light to see it more
clearly. It looked like a snap of Deacon’s late wife and his daughter on a
skiing trip, which I assumed was probably his wife’s last from what Henry had
said back in the park.

I studied it closer and felt an unnerving
chill grip me. The angle of the shot made Olivia look the dead spit of Laura,
save her face being a little narrower and her blonde hair tied up in a French
plait. Other than that they could have been twins. I closed my eyes then saw
Laura suspended in the water again. This time she was smiling.

‘Fuck...’

I threw the picture back into the drawer
and slammed it shut hoping that it would sever the emotion at source. It
didn’t. I took a moment to compose myself, then finally hauled myself up and
headed out of the bedroom to broaden my search trying to keep focused.

The next door revealed just a bathroom
and was pretty bare save a solitary tooth brush in a glass on the sink. I
stepped out and tried the door at the end of the landing. It was locked. I
tried the handle a few times annoyed; making sure the mechanism wasn’t stiff.

A few seconds later I heard the
housekeeper head back up the stairs, as if she had been listening out the whole
time from below.

‘Can I help you, Mister Blake?’ she said
sternly, halfway up.

‘Just having a look around...’ I said
lightly, waiting for the offer of a first name.

It wasn’t forthcoming.

‘Sometimes the smallest things can help
locate a person, that’s all,’ I continued, trying to fill in the uncomfortable
silence. ‘What’s in here anyway?’

She smiled diplomatically, but I could
see the agitation in her eyes, as if she felt territorial about the place while
Henry was away, or was trying to hide something of importance. She walked up a
few more steps slowly like some smarting matron.

‘
That
, is Mr Deacon’s bedroom.’

‘Yes...’ I tendered with a big unspoken
‘so what’ attached to the end of it.

‘He doesn’t let anyone go in there when
he’s not around. Not even for private investigators...’

I looked her up and down pondering
whether to insist or not, then decided to leave it.

‘Right you are...’

‘I’m making some coffee. Would you like
some?’ she said, changing the subject and her tone, in an attempt to redirect
the conversation as well as distract me in the process.

‘Sure...’

I checked another couple of rooms on the
way, both of which were pretty sparse, then followed the housekeeper downstairs
to a large open-plan kitchen where I watched her place a posh-looking kettle on
the hob.

I scanned my surroundings, hands in
pockets as it boiled slowly, devoid of conversation. Feeling uncomfortable, I
eventually got up and wandered through to a plush dining room, then a study, then
out again into an antique-filled sitting-room where I found further framed
pictures of Deacon’s family, one matching the photo I’d uncovered upstairs,
which was proudly displayed above the fireplace in an elaborate frame.

I stared at it for a moment, Laura’s face
trying to hijack the girl’s once more.

‘Coffee’s ready,’ the housekeeper
announced, breaking the trance.    

Unnerved, I wandered back through then
took the mug from the outstretched hand and smiled politely.

‘Does Henry have any other close family?’
I asked eventually.

‘He has a brother who lives up north,
whom he sees occasionally, but Olivia really is the only close family he has
left now. She’s the apple of his eye. After losing Sandy, you know…’

She sipped her coffee and I saw her eyes
glaze with emotion.

‘What’s your take on events?’ I probed
gently, wanting to keep the focus on the girl. ‘I mean, what’s Olivia really
like? Do you think she could have engineered her own disappearance?’

‘She’s an intelligent girl, resourceful,
and can be quite a handful at times, but I’m not sure that...’

‘And she’s still at that rebellious stage
you think?’ I pressed.

‘She will always be at
that
rebellious stage, Mr Blake,’ the housekeeper replied sharply. ‘She was always
getting up to mischief even as a young’un. You know, getting dirty, falling out
of trees. I’ve lost count of the torn clothes I’ve sewn up over the years. All
in all, she’s a bit of a tomboy really.’

I took a generous gulp of the strong
coffee and forced a sympathetic smile, hoping it would open her up some more.

‘I found out today that the last time she
made contact was five and a half weeks ago, which is not as bad as six, and
that she’s almost certainly met a boy over there.’

The housekeeper exhaled with relief.

‘Thank god for that…So you think…?’

‘That perhaps she’s just eloped, gone
AWOL on purpose? Yes...’

‘Mr Deacon dotes on her a little too much
at times, so yes, I can believe that she may have done that then on
reflection...’

‘Has there been any other time when she’s
disappeared?’ I continued.

‘Sure, but nothing longer than a day or
two. I just think going abroad alone has brought out the rebel in her even
more, and if I’m honest…’

‘Go on…’

‘That there is some anger being directed
towards Henry still, because the skiing holiday was his idea, and Sandy didn’t
want to go at the time.’

I nodded slowly absorbing the
information, satisfied at how the pieces were beginning to fit snugly together,
then strolled through to a plant-filled conservatory where I reflected on the
case some more as I stared at the darkening clouds racing overhead.

Olivia Deacon had still to grieve over
her mother, of that I was certain. And when you found out the root cause for
people’s disappearances, it made it that little bit easier to step inside their
heads and get a feel for where they might have gone…

Emotionally, the girl had dumped her
father and found a boyfriend to replace him, to make herself feel that little
bit better. She was bound to feel vulnerable over there at times, yet
temporarily secure in this new relationship of hers, especially if she was in
love.

And the boy was going to hold a lot of
power over her because of it. The last thing she’d want to happen, was to have
to come back and face the music. The big question was, what sort of kid had she
fallen for? And would he abuse the trust she’d placed in him if he had the
chance?

I drained my coffee and headed back out
onto the streets, my head buzzing. If I got into the U.S without any trouble, I
was confident I’d track them both down pretty quickly and find out whether
there were any other parties involved.

I zipped up my jacket and jogged back to
the bike as a heavy rain shower came down suddenly, hoping for once that the
case was what it appeared to be on the surface and that the gnawing feeling in
my guts was simply down to the photo I’d seen back at Deacon’s place, and not
that poisonous spider, edging ever closer…

Chapter Six

 'the crossing'

Ontario, Canada. Late evening.

I
felt as if I’d been shoved through an industrial-sized
blender, twice. All in all, I’d been on the go for twenty-four hours since
leaving London, and now I was not only tired, but seriously uncomfortable as
well.

It had to be at least minus-twenty
outside and the clothes I’d brought just weren’t man enough for this part of
the world. In the short time I’d been out of the game, I’d got slack.

And I’d been crammed into my
‘accommodation’ a few miles north of the U.S border in the middle of a vast pine
forest at some location previously organized by Lenny. Everything had run like
clockwork up until that point. But that didn’t make me feel any better right
now, in the situation I found myself in. It felt as if I’d been incarcerated
alive in someone’s deep freezer…

Earlier that evening, I’d been picked up
by some distant nephew of Lenny’s from the snow-covered airport at Thunder Bay,
which made me relax at first until I was driven to the forested backwater at
dusk and greeted by a truck driver called Jed who looked like he pushed over
trees for a living.

He’d cracked a smile through his thick,
gingery beard as I’d stepped out of the car, then a wider one as he and Max had
unbolted the large chassis skirt of his polished Freightliner Century.

When the trucker pointed out that my
temporary home was actually underneath the rig and saw my face, his laughter
filled the clearing as if he actually got some sort of kick from stowing people
there.

After the long flight, the joke was
certainly lost on me that was for sure. I’d just stared at him as Lenny’s words
came back to haunt me…

“Everything will be organized...” he’d
announced smugly back at the office.

I knew it was a bloody stitch-up there
and then. I should have listened to my gut. I was hoping for a fake passport
and an easy ride in the back of a hay truck sipping a coke, or flown covertly
over the border to some secret landing strip like a drugs baron. I couldn’t
have been more wrong... 

After the truck’s skirt had been
released, I quickly discovered that its massive fuel tank was indeed a fake
one, having been transformed into a compact stowaway area for one medium-sized
human being to be transported in, while the real tank had been reduced in size
and moved further in, out of view.

Only a guard with a keen eye would spot
the difference Jed had reassured, as he’d released the false panel. Now in
truth, I was more worried about dying from carbon monoxide fumes and freezing
my balls off, than getting caught at the border. I’d been used to expecting the
unusual from Lenny, but travelling in a damned gas tank? That was a first even
for him...

After an hour or so, I heard Jed
thankfully work his way down through the gears. The border had to be close now
I thought. Not that I could tell from my metal sarcophagus. I was completely in
Jed’s hands. Ten minutes later when I felt the truck grind to a halt, and heard
the muffled voices of border guards, I knew we had.

‘Where you headed, sir?’ a young sounding
guard enquired close by.

‘The Twin Cities, Officer, to drop off
these girders at a construction site. Then I’m heading down to Mankato to see
some friends of mine for a few days,’ the trucker said boldly, sounding
calm. 

‘Really?’ the officer responded as if
half-distracted.

‘Sure. I’ve got the delivery information
right here if you want to have a look.’

Pause. I held my breath trying not to
cough. The diesel fumes had been unbearable at times and were still lingering
in my throat.

‘Do you mind if we take a closer look?’
the reply came back after some conferring with an older, more authoritative
voice.

‘Of course,’ Jed replied calmly again,
still playing it cool.

I heard the crunch of footsteps in the
snow and tensed up. They stomped closer then faded again and I imagined the
officers inspecting the entire truck inch by inch, clipboards in hand.

Then a flicker of torch-light shot
underneath the rig...For a split second it filtered into the dark chamber I was
in through the breathing holes. I tensed and tried not to move, trying to breath
as shallow as I could. Finally, the footsteps returned to the cab where they
came to a halt once more.

‘Are these skirts removable, sir?’ the
first voice probed suddenly.

Shit. That was the last thing I wanted to
hear...

‘I suppose if you have the right tools,
yes, Officer.’ Jed replied bluntly. ‘Never done it myself though…’

Silence. The border guard was obviously
mulling it over. I was starting to smell a tip off. Hell, what if they had
sniffer dogs too? It would be game over before it had even started. I would be
handed over to the relevant authorities and that would be that.

I should have listened to my intuition
after Lenny’s call, just said no when I had the chance. I’d be sat back in the
caravan now, staring out of the window and enjoying a quiet drink listening to
some tunes…

‘Can you pull over there please, sir,
we’d like to have a closer look?’

Now I was hoping that Jed had a damned
good poker face. I tensed, trying to ignore the itch I couldn’t reach without
moving.

‘Sure thing. I’m ahead of schedule
anyways so have plenty of time,’ Jed replied lightly.

Nicely done. Sounded convincing. The
engine rumbled into life once again and I shook in the tank uncomfortably. Then
I heard the breaks release and felt the truck trundle another hundred metres or
so, into what I assumed was an investigation bay for the extended check.

Now I could hear additional voices, some
that sounded weary, others that sounded fresh and busy as if they’d only just
come on duty. More footsteps arrived and circled the rig. I listened anxiously
to the sound of hydraulic ratchets being applied to the panel on the passenger
side where the tank was located.

I shifted my head slightly trying to ease
the cramp in my neck then heard a loud creaking, then a few thumps as the panel
was finally released from its housing. Several probing lights lazered their way
under the cab suddenly. I scrunched up tighter, like a foetus in a tin can,
hoping to remain undetected...

‘See anything?’ a different voice asked
firmly, sounding more attentative than the last.

‘Nope. Look’s clean.’

‘Why don’t we bring the dogs over to
check the back? They’re just about finished with the rig Vernon’s looking at?’
the original voice questioned, sounding eager to double-check.

The older man interrupted them.

‘Na, let’s call it a day on this one,
guys. I’m hungry anyways. It’s getting to the end of our shift and the wife’s
cooking meatballs tonight.’

Silence.

‘Okay...screw the panel back on,’ the
younger voice eventually ordered as if against his better judgement.

I exhaled silently then listened to the
whirring of nuts being screwed back into place, then Jed returning to the
vehicle and starting the engine up again.

‘Have a nice evening, Officers,’ he said
nonchalantly.

I liked his style.

‘And you, sir,’ the younger one replied,
as Jed released the breaks and pulled away into America.

After another half-hour of cold, fumes
and being shaken around like a nut in its shell, I was ready to kick my way out
of the damned tank and throw myself into the road. Then just as I decided I
couldn’t take a minute longer, I felt everything slow again, the rig pull up
for a second time.

I exhaled heavily and for a moment felt a
surge of claustrophobia grab at me, desperate to escape my oily confines,
desperate to move my body and shake off the cramp that was now clamping around
every single muscle.

It took around fifteen minutes for them
to take the skirt off again, then a few minutes more to release the false panel
above me from the tank. When it eventually lifted, I felt as if I were indeed
being resurrected from the dead like a pharaoh.

I blinked and stared at the two blurred
faces in the torchlight, then lay there for a moment as flurry of thick
snowflakes landed on my numb face.      

‘How do you feel?’ Jed asked, scratching
his sizeable beard.

‘Not great if I’m honest. Next time I
think I’ll just take my chances and jump the fence.’ 

The trucker laughed, more out of relief
than anything I thought, before Max, who’d obviously come over the border independently,
leaned over and gave me a hand up. I staggered slowly out from underneath the
truck, then straightened my back, grimacing.

‘Thanks, Max.’

‘Close one that, Blake. We were lucky they
didn’t do a dog search. They would have found you guaranteed.’

I looked at both of them and pulled my
scarf up over my mouth, trying to keep out the biting wind.

‘Someone up there was looking down on us,
that was for sure,’ Jed added, fixing me with his manly stare. ‘In fact, I
can’t remember the last time we got the full treatment. Makes me wonder if
someone grassed us up back in England?’

‘Well, it wasn’t
me
or anyone my
end, okay? I said, trying to get my circulation going again. ‘Lenny runs a
tight operation I can assure you.’

‘Well someone did, I reckons,’ the
trucker said, bristling with suspicion. I don’t get paid enough to put up with
shit like that. You’re the last I’m shipping for a while, I can tell ya...’

Max placed a hand on his shoulder trying
to calm the vibe.

‘Maybe we’ve just been doing too many
trips lately, Jed, we need to lay low for a bit?’

The trucker grunted his approval and
raised a thumb in the air.

‘Knows a good diner along the highway,
just off the Fifty-Two. I could do with re-fuelling myself. How about youz? Got
your stomach back, English guy?’

I walked towards the cab, trying to shake
off the ride still.

‘I could eat a roast dinner in a force
nine, me. Lead the way...’

Jed looked at me quizzically then started
to bolt the chassis skirt back on with the help of the kid. I got in the cab
and helped myself to one of his cigarettes trying to warm up, much to his
displeasure judging from the intermittent looks he was shooting me. Not that I
cared in that moment. He was paid to do a job like I was, and it certainly
wasn’t fixing bodywork back on...

I tried to let it go, but the trucker’s
bad attitude kept gnawing away at me. The ride had nearly bloody killed me.
What in the hell was he getting all worked up about? I wasn’t moaning about
it...

Fifteen minutes later, the panel was on
and we were hammering down the interstate towards a brightly lit diner called
‘Mickey’s’, beckoning us in the distance like some sparkling winter oasis.

Unfortunately, I soon discovered that it
was just Jed and I for dinner, Max having decided it wasn’t prudent to hang
around in case we were being tailed, leaving just myself and my new Neanderthal
buddy for a ‘romantic’ dinner for two. I stared out of the window beginning to
wish I was back in England, that I hadn’t been sweet-talked into doing another
fucked-up job for Lenny.

As we neared, Jed licked his lips, picked
up his C.B radio, and put out a call.

‘This is Firefly, putting out the signal
for anyone circling around Mickey’s off the Fifty-Two, who fancy’s a gallon of
the black stuff, come-on-back.’

I looked at him and just about managed to
suppress my amusement. I’d got the feeling already that humour wasn’t his
strong point, and that he wouldn’t appreciate any sort of ridicule no matter
how humorous. The guy was like some cardboard cut-out from an eighties trucking
movie. In fact, I think I’d done enough already to wind him up by helping
myself to one of his cigarettes.

In my tired state, any sort of argument
was the last thing I wanted too. I needed to relax and recharge big time. When
a reply eventually crackled through, I looked away and had to swallow my
laughter. 

‘This is Lady Phoenix,’ a female voice
responded finally, sounding like Dolly Parton on steroids.

‘Been a while handsome...’

‘Yeah, been west, luggin lumber for the
last month, Sweet Cheeks. Need to get reacquainted with your lovin’ I reckons.’

She offered a flirtatious
laugh.  

‘See you over there, hunk. I’m right
behind ya.’

Jed turned to me and cracked a smile that
plain unsettled me, then adjusted his crutch and pulled off the highway,
fantasizing obviously about being pulled off himself I imagined.

A few minutes later, the tyres were
crunching their way across the frozen grit towards an old railway carriage that
had been converted into a brightly-lit cafe. Jed jumped down from the cab and
called up to me through the open door.

‘Come on, let’s go…they does the best
waffles money can buy this end of the Mississippi.’