Duplicity (2 page)

Chapter 2

I arrived home at around 7pm that evening after turning down after court drinks. It had been a long day and I was not able to focus myself on being sociable after the events of the morning, and when I had reached my office in the afternoon, I had experienced some kind of blackout. I think exhaustion may be setting in. I was creating a mental note to make an appointment to see my doctor. I never wrote my appointments down, I always knew where I was expected and when, that way I was never relying on a diary that could easily be lost and mess up my schedule.

I pulled myself lethargically up the steps to my apartment. Our building was a house poorly converted into an upstairs and downstairs apartment. I did not mind that I could hear Mrs Jones’ every move downstairs, because she was such a lovely woman, often bringing me cakes she had baked or lasagne’s, and she didn’t mind, because she was too deaf to hear me! The apartment itself other than the poor conversion was incredible. The views were worth the semi privacy that comes with a thin floor! I loved to wake up on a morning overlooking the park, and my favourite coffee shop was literally a two minute walk away. On top of that, although I did not have any money worries, I was still very sensible with my funds, apart from the Porsche, and the staggering cost of rent that was a must in a place like New York City.

I got to the top of the stairs, and noticed my door was slightly ajar. ‘Odd’ I thought to myself, Mrs Jones had a key for emergencies, but she would never leave my door unlocked. Quietly; I peered around the edge of the door. I could not see anyone, just a box on my kitchen table. I hesitantly walked into the room, becoming very aware of my surroundings.

I edged my way to the box cautiously, slowly removing the lid. And recoiled in horror to the image that would be burned in my mind forever. In the box was a human foot, cut off at the ankle. I was almost sick, but contained myself long enough to read the note that was pinned to it. It read.

Ok, Mr Big Shot Lawyer, Let’s see if you can piece together this puzzle before it’s too late for her…

I recoiled quickly at this point, choking on my own vomit which was beginning to rise from my throat. Who would do this? Why me? My only thought was that I had helped to send someone down and this was their way of repaying me. I had pissed off my share of high up crime families in my time.

I wasn’t sure if I should call the police or not. I examined the box from a distance.
‘Bell View Dairy Farm.” ‘
Cheapskate could have used a new box’ I thought to myself. That place is only a few miles out. I opted to avoid calling the police for now, and pay this dairy farm a visit. Whoever left this for me, wanted me to see it. Not the police. So for now I would just play along with this sick little charade.

The police and I had never really seen eye to eye. This was not uncommon for lawyers and officers, as often we were labelled by law enforcement as unscrupulous beings that would pervert the course of justice in any way we could to make a quick buck. Which I suppose could be true in some cases. But my hatred of them was buried much deeper than that in the dark recesses of my mind.

Around eight months ago I received a knock on the door, it was 7am, and before I even had chance to greet the mysterious early morning caller, I was pushed aside by no less than 6 police officers in their full regalia. A woman had been murdered more than nine miles from my home, and someone had called the feds and tipped them off that they would find evidence relating to the case in my apartment. Desperate for leads on the case, the police took the caller seriously and acted upon it. Sure enough, the woman’s DNA was found in my apartment in the form of her hair.

Believe me, that situation took some effort in getting out of. I was extremely intoxicated the evening of her murder, and so was not in my fully functioning state of mind; however, I think I would remember taking someone’s life! I told the investigating officer I believed this would be an act of malice from a disgruntled family member of someone who had been sent down as a result of my handy work as an attorney. That was very plausible, as the general social behaviours of the people I was often prosecuting were less than desirable.

As for the DNA, most people involved with law or law enforcement of any kind knew of my reputation with women. She was probably one of the women I had seduced in the weeks prior to her departure from this world. The officer looked at me in disgust as I told him this, but it was the only explanation I could think of and I was being completely honest.

I also managed to conjure up a slightly unreliable witness, Julia Stone. Unreliable because as I say I was intoxicated, and I can’t personally remember her from that night, but she seems to remember me, so at least I know I made a good impression on her! I never failed to impress a one night stand, at least to my knowledge anyway.

The officer, Lieutenant Daniel Johnson, had no choice but to drop the case against me, but you could say that he has been keeping a close eye on myself and my work ethic ever since. Which was more than a little annoying. There were days I would go into work and find him sitting outside my office in his car watching me. He was not even trying to be discreet about it; he wanted me to know I was being watched. If I now report a severed foot found in a box on my kitchen table, albeit arriving while I had been at work, it would arouse suspicion with him all over again. I was not interested in being hauled over the coals a second time, for yet another crime I had not committed. Although I did find it somewhat unusual that I continued to find myself in these predicaments.

With all of these things running through my mind, it just confirmed my notion that I best leave the police out of this for now. I snapped some photos on my cell of the box, the foot and the note as I may need them later, and dropped the package into a small outhouse at the back of my building before leaving for the barn, as the outhouse was the only place I could think of that was out of sight, yet cold enough to store a foot for a day or two without it starting to smell too badly and attract unwanted attention. You never consider these things in everyday life, but a foot is unexpectedly heavy.

I paused before getting into my car, what the hell was I doing? I should have been calling the police. No…I was doing this tonight; I needed this thing nipped in the bud as soon as possible, I had a huge murder case coming up next week and needed to be fully focused on it.

Chapter 3

I pulled up to a set of wooden gates with a rusty old sign that read ‘Belle View Farm’ just as darkness was beginning to fall. Memory reminded me that I had made better plans in my time, but never the less, whoever had it in for me, had it in for me bad and I wanted it resolved. I suspected it would be the same person who tipped the police off to the murder evidence, but my notions at this point were futile. I just needed to look around, see if there was anything suspicious, and get out. Just five minutes of my life, how scary could it really be?

The place looked abandoned, decrepit. Even the little farmhouse that stood down the dirt path showed no signs of life or light. The gates were locked. So I clambered over the fence, still wearing my Armani suit. My life had taken a sudden turn, and everything seemed really strange.

I walked first past a barn on my left, with two little out house attached. The door to the barn was simply a gaping hole and the wind howled through it, shaking the tin sheet roof as it did. I decided I would explore here first, for no other reason than it was the first building I came to.

Being in a rush I had forgotten to bring a torch with me, and the inside of the barn was dark, echoic and menacing. I squinted trying to make sense of the black shapes that seemed to curl in on me. I pulled my cell from my pocket to use as a source of light. I shined it around the walls looking for something, anything really. Just to my left I could make out a switch on the wall. With a sigh of relief I flicked it into the on position and the rumble of a generator whirring into action at the other end of that barn startled me. With a few flashes, 6 sparsely spread bulbs came to life, dimly illuminating the place.

I began to look around the old barn. My stomach doing flips as I did, it wasn’t completely terrifying, it brought with it a sort of comfort as it reminded me of a place I used to play as a child, back before my mother passed.

I never spoke much about my mother; no one had ever really cared enough to listen, perhaps that was because I had never let anyone get close enough. In all honesty, I cannot remember all that much about her, which is a terrible thing to admit. I remember small things, the smell of her perfume, how she would kiss me in the mornings, and the way her hair tickled my neck when she hugged me, but other than a few other memories, the rest was a bit of a blur. I can’t even remember why she died. Perhaps on some subconscious level I had chosen to forget as the memory of losing her would be too painful. I never really bought into the whole life after death thing. I was a practical man with a logical way of thinking, like most men, but if there was some truth in it, even a small glimpse of truth, then it was times like this I would most want my mother around me.

I continued to look round the barn, my fears soothed by the remote possibility of my mother’s presence. I could see nothing untoward. The barn was eerie yes, but it was just a barn. I let out a sigh of relief as I walked through the building and toward the conjoined outhouses. I considered at this point that it would have been sensible to bring someone with me, or at least let someone know where I was going, but did I really want to drag someone else into this weird game?

The outhouses must have been used as some kind of abattoir at some point, there were very old blood stains on the cement floor and a table of menacing looking tools placed neatly on the top. ‘A very organized butcher’, I thought to myself.

I peered around the shelving that adorned the walls of the outhouses, they appeared to be laden with jars. I walked over towards the jars, squinting at them trying to see what was inside as the shadows masked their gory content. I physically stepped back when I realized that the contents of the mysterious jars were eyeballs. That sick feeling was coming back as I leaned forward clutching my stomach, trying desperately to prevent myself from vomiting. I ran towards the exit of the outhouse, clearly wanting to spend as little time as possible in there with what appeared to be HUMAN eyeballs.

The walls became artworks of colourful dots, the results of my plummeting blood pressure as I passed through the outhouse and headed towards the door. In a huge pile near my exit lay a stack of flattened boxes. When I looked closer I realized the boxes were the same as the one my ‘gift’ had arrived in. ‘He’s definitely been here then.’ I thought to myself. I wondered if he used it as some kind of sick torture chamber for his victims.

I sat down on the grass outside of the outhouse, leaning against its less than stable frame and tilting my head back for fear I would pass out if I didn’t. The wind blowing against my face cooled me down and soothed my mind a little. I sat for a few moments but knew I needed to get moving if I ever wanted to get home. The twilight had already turned to full blown darkness and made my task all the more uncomfortable.

Stepping back onto the dirt track gave me some comfort, it was the path that led back to my car, however, I soon found my curious mind wandering to that derelict cottage, after a tug of war between my senses and my mind as to whether to take a look or return to my car. My curiosity got the better of me. It always did. Being inquisitive is a good trait for a lawyer, not so good for someone who has a mad man on their tail!

I walked down the path, and flinched with a sudden sharp pain in my calf. I’d almost forgotten about that, I guess my coffee and painkillers were wearing off. When I reached the door, I could see it had been forced open. ‘God, if I die tonight, make sure my bastard of a father doesn’t get my Porsche!’ I thought to myself, taking a deep breath as I pushed open the creaky old door. He probably would, he was my only living relative, but I would prefer Sam used it as a taxi rather than that asshole get hold of it. He had done nothing for me, why should he benefit from my death? It occurred to me I was taking the prospect of my death far too seriously.

The door led straight into the kitchen. I put the torch function on my cell phone again to get a closer look. The kitchen was exactly what you would expect in a farmhouse, a pine table and chairs, dresser full of knick knacks and tea cups and an open fire. All of the ornamental items were covered in cobwebs, it was clear they had not been disturbed for some time, with one exception, the fire. The fire had glowing embers. ‘Someone has been here recently. Most likely in the last 24 hours’, I thought to myself. At this point my mind was screaming for me to turn and run, but my feet would not follow the command. I pushed forward toward the living area into the next room.

Then I saw it, there was another box that sat in the middle of the floor, taunting me. Identical to the previous box. This is what I had been sent here to find. I did not want to open it, but the curiosity got the better of me again. Slowly I removed the lid, revealing 5 human fingers. Each nail delicately painted with ornate flowers. The vomit I had become all too familiar with of late began to rise up again, but I swallowed hard and the feeling disappeared. Perhaps I was becoming accustomed to the gore and depravity of this weirdo.

I noticed a small envelope paper clipped to the box. I unclipped it and tore open the envelope leaving rugged edges which was very out of character for me.

I pulled out the note which was immaculately folded; this guy could have been my brother! The crisp seam of the fold was rather difficult to smooth out, and so the paper remained a little bent while I read it.

You better hurry; time is running out for her.

I want you to discover the truth…

The note was a little unnerving I must admit, but there was something else inside the envelope. The top half emerged from the envelope first as I pulled at it. It was some kind of flyer, I recognized the logo from a long time ago.

St Anne’s Boarding School for Boys.

My boarding school, I knew I recognized the branding. ‘Very strange’ I thought to myself. I felt further away from the answer rather than closer at this point. What on earth could my old boarding school have to do with all of this? I needed to get moving, I had seen enough. I wasn’t sure whether to leave the box or take it with me, but I figured one body part on my property was enough, so I left the box were it was and took the note and flyer with me.

The school where I grew up was a five and a half hour drive away, and in all honesty, it wasn’t a place I wanted to revisit. I did not have the fondest memories of my childhood, but against my better judgement I decided to make the journey; if I left now I could be there by the early hours of morning.

I called my secretary to reschedule all of my appointments for the following day, and off I went on a journey I never dreamed I would have to make. The journey to my past.