Authors: Simon Leigh
Out of Promises (16 page)
On approach, Ada’s gate opened right away.
Slowly, Bill drove along the eerily quiet driveway. The gardeners were now gone and the place was deadly quiet, not even a bird chirping.
‘I don’t like this,’ said Valerie.
‘Yeah, it is a bit creepy ain’t it?’
‘Something’s happened here.’
‘Just relax. The gardeners probably just finished what they were doing.’
They continued along, pulling up to the house as they had earlier, only this time with no lady to greet them.
There were no lights on inside or outside the house.
Valerie opened her door. ‘I’ll check the windows,’ she said and headed over to the right, poking her head through each one.
Bill took the left.
Neither of them saw anything.
‘Suggestions?’ Bill asked.
She nodded, opening the main door a crack and stepping inside.
The lobby was deserted too.
‘Hello?’ she shouted.
No answer.
Moving deeper into the house and keeping each other at arm’s length, they began with the kitchen door beside the staircase, standing on each side.
Bill readied himself to push it open, weapon drawn: a revolver, not the hand cannon the killer used, but a smaller Smith and Wesson Model 60 with a five round capacity. It was silver with a black grip and a small barrel of less than two inches. Originating in the United States, the weapon is mainly used by the South Korean police, but Bill enjoyed his revolvers and purchased it himself. Valerie watched him check the chamber, wishing she had her own weapon with her.
‘Ready?’ he whispered.
Truth was, she wasn’t ready, just sucking it up and bracing herself.
Before he could even touch the door, a bullet smashed through, missing him by inches. He hit the deck and Valerie pressed herself against the wall as a deafening tirade of rounds pierced the air, slamming into the wall beside the front door.
‘That you, Bill?’ shouted the voice in the kitchen.
On the ground, he belly crawled over to a breathless Valerie, her heart pounding against her chest wall. ‘Who the fuck is that?’ she yelled.
‘I think its Freddie’s murderer.’
Please no. Anybody but him.
Bill yelled, ‘Hey, where’s Ada Trent?’
‘Come in and have a look.’
He moved towards the door and Valerie pulled him back. ‘Are you crazy?’
‘Goodbye, Bill,’ said the voice one last time before a door closed inside the kitchen.
‘He’s gone, I’m going in.’
She pulled him back again. ‘How can you be so dumb? You think he would just leave like that?’
‘We’ll never know unless we have a look.’
‘Come on, let’s get out of here,’ she pleaded. ‘I can’t deal with him again.’
‘I thought you had to find Freddie’s murderer?’
‘I do, but not like this.’
‘Valerie.’ He put his arm on her shoulder. ‘You wait here.’
Through one of the bullet holes, he checked to see if there was anybody in sight, and then entered.
Valerie didn’t get it. Why take a chance like that?
‘I’ve found Ada,’ he shouted from inside.
She walked in.
The kitchen was spotless. A real working kitchen. Way too big for Ada with large metal cookers and a granite bench in the centre. It also had Ada Trent lying face down in a pool of her own blood with a large hole in her head.
‘Oh my God,’ she screamed, reliving the memory of last night.
‘I think Fraser had a hand in this,’ Bill said.
‘What do we do now?’
‘We leave.’ He took her hand and left the kitchen, pulling her through to the lobby.
She had walked fast to keep up with him.
Yanking her hand from his, she shouted ‘Bill, will you wait!’
‘We need to leave!’ he shouted.
‘Why?’
‘Something bad will happen, I can feel it.’
A loud smash came from upstairs.
‘What the hell was that?’
‘No idea. But I don’t want to find out. Come on. We need to leave, now!’
She agreed and they ran to the car.
He started the engine and floored it.
Halfway along the driveway, Valerie looked back at the house at a woman (Lenka) climbing out of a top floor window above a lower roof, jumping onto the grass and running after them, weapon raised.
‘Bill, get a move on. Someone’s behind us.’
Valerie ducked as a bullet smashed through the rear window and out through the front.
‘Get your head down!’ he yelled.
Seconds later, she was thrown onto the dash as Bill slammed on the brakes. ‘What are you doing?’ she asked, turning to face the front gate where Cyrus, revolver in hand, blocked their path.
They were trapped.
Valerie was frozen with fear.
Bill put the car in reverse, backing away as Cyrus fired. The metal ping as the bullet hit the car was nothing compared to the loud boom from the weapon itself.
Sliding on the grass, he evaded shots from two directions, heading along the wall until there were no more shots.
He stopped the car. ‘We need to climb the wall,’ he said. ‘And Valerie, stay close OK?’
She was too afraid to move.
‘Valerie, get out of the car! We need to go.’
She didn’t move.
‘Valerie!’ he yelled, shaking her.
With a nod, she jumped out.
Running along the boundary, they came to a low part where two sections joined.
She looked back. ‘They’re not chasing us. Why?’
Bill bent his knees and placed his hands together to make a platform for her to step on and climb over. ‘I’ll give you a boost and you climb over.’
‘What about you?’
‘Just go, I’ll be fine.’
She stepped back and sprung off Bill’s hands and up over the wall, hitting the ground on the other side.
‘Bill?’ she shouted, hopefully watching the ridge.
No answer.
She screamed for him, ‘Bill!’
Still nothing.
Gunshots fired.
Come on, Bill.
Then everything turned to silence.
She was alone.
She fell to her knees and started crying.
The wind picked up, not too much, but enough to send a chilly breeze flowing across her skin. Cars passed by without stopping and nobody took any notice of her on the sidewalk, alone and desperate. If she was honest, she didn’t care if anyone stopped or not, preferably not. She thought of going back over the wall to help him then thought against it. It was suicide and he could be dead. The only person who she thought was on her side was now gone.
For ten minutes, she knelt on her aching legs, not bothering to move, feeling like she’d lost everything. She felt her world falling apart. Freddie was dead, Ada was dead, and as far as she knew, Jackson’s life was on the line. She felt like adding Bill to that list. With nowhere to go and no idea of what she could do now, she closed her eyes.
‘Come on, missy. Don’t cry.’
The words were like a whisper on the breeze.
‘Val?’
Opening her teary eyes, she saw Bill standing outside the driver’s side of the car.
Bill?
She got up.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘We need to leave. I’ve got some scotch at the office.’
She ran to the car and climbed into the passenger side.
With his weapon clenched by his side, Baker watched through the window, waiting for the best opportunity to make a move, the dwindling light impairing his ability to recognise a face.
The slam of the black sedan’s door sent birds flapping from the trees. The heavy crunch of seventeen year old charred residue made Baker’s heart pound with each step heard, growing louder until coming to an end outside the entrance where the newcomer stopped, looking around and inhaling deeply.
Baker moved to the entrance, waiting out of sight.
The man entered.
Weapon raised, Baker stepped behind him. ‘Don’t move.’
The guy held his arms up. ‘You got me.’
‘McGowan?’
Detective McGowan, a veteran of the police force. He held a thick head of greying hair and a scar across his left eye, an officer for many years before taking his detective exam five years ago, not ranking any higher. Not through lack of interest, he just didn’t want to; he felt comfortable where he was, satisfied to be clearing the scum from the streets. He was also a young officer during the Northbrook incident and knew better than anybody what happened here.
‘Hello, Baker,’ he said.
Baker holstered his weapon. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘You’re on tracker and I have some information for you.’
Baker reached into his pocket for his cell and waved it at him. ‘I have a phone you know.’
‘I was curious. I wanted to see the place again after all these years.’
‘That’s a little morbid.’
‘Well, you’re here.’
‘I’m here working Freddie Mason’s case.’
‘You should have told someone you were coming here.’
‘Like I said, I have a phone.’
‘You were meeting someone, right?’
‘What?’
‘There are two sets of footprints in the ash,’ he said, sliding his foot over the ground. ‘See. It’s no secret you have someone undercover. It’s not the first time you’ve been unavailable. Rumours begin and people put two and two together.’
Baker’s operation went way above McGowan’s pay grade. It went above his own. He was given the job of infiltrating Matherson’s business regardless of his rank, his undercover knowledge in Bridgewater made him the ideal man to get someone inside. If it wasn’t for Baker, there wouldn’t be much of a case on Matherson. Simple as that.
But he couldn’t deny that McGowan’s knowledge unsettled him.
Baker said, ‘I hear there was a lot of corruption in the force when this place went to hell?’
McGowan raised an eyebrow. ‘That’s right, but not anymore I hope.’
They both knew better.
Baker said, ‘Let’s hope not.’
‘What exactly are you saying?’
‘Nothing. Just curious how a tragedy like this managed to go on without being formally investigated.’
‘Hey, I’m doing my job,’ McGowan snapped, looking around. ‘This place is a shithole. I was naïve back then and tried to arrange a proper investigation when this happened, you know, but it was almost impossible. Every hurdle got higher, and everybody seemed to be on the wrong side. Plus I was only a rookie officer, I had no influence.’
‘OK, McGowan. I just want to make sure we understand each other. I want this case closed, and soon, before that son of a bitch kills anybody else.’
‘You and me both.’
‘So what did you find out all those years ago?’
‘Not a lot, only that a man and child managed to escape. We did find a body out back in the woods, a kid who made it out before dying of his burns.’
‘I just can’t believe someone would do this. Why is this place even still standing?’
‘Nobody ever traced the owner and eventually it was forgotten about and left for nature to take care of.’
‘Julius Matherson was the owner. He ordered it torched.’
‘My god. Any evidence?’
Baker shook his head. ‘Not yet.’
They continued deeper into the home.
Baker said, ‘Terrible things happened here. I dread to think what it was like.’
‘I can still feel what I felt the last time. The burning smell, the dead bodies scattered around. Some were in the corridors and some died in their sleep.’
Baker said nothing.
‘Your undercover told you about Freddie, Matherson, and this place didn’t he?’
‘Give it a rest. But, you know, it makes sense that Freddie could be the kid you said managed to escape, right?’
‘Do you think Freddie was involved with Matherson?’
‘I saw Freddie’s ex earlier, Lucy Decker. She told me he was working for a criminal. She didn’t know who, but I think it was Matherson. She told me that their son and his babysitter were murdered four years ago because of his work.’
‘I remember that. This is all starting to make sense. It’s about time people answered for this atrocity. But I still don’t understand what brought you here.’
Baker ignored him and reversed the conversation, ‘You said you’re here because you had information for me?’
McGowan held his hands up. ‘You got me.’
Baker frowned. ‘I don’t like being followed.’
‘I don’t like being kept out of the loop.’
They continued through the empty, darkened halls. McGowan was happy to be free to look around without restraint after all this time.
Each room they passed told a different story: kids scrambling to escape, screaming, dying.
At the canteen, they looked at what remained. Nobody spoke for a while. What could they say? The place was a death infested mess.
Baker held up the badly charred photo album in the evidence bag. ‘Have a look at that,’ he said, passing it to McGowan.
He lifted it, seeing only parts of photos with more of it crumbling in his hands. ‘Who could do that to a child? To anyone?’
‘The same person who could burn down a children’s home with children still inside.’
‘You think Matherson knew about it?’
‘I wouldn’t put it past him.’ Baker’s phone started ringing. He held it up to McGowan. ‘See how easy it is.’
McGowan ignored him.
Baker walked away and answered. ‘All right, what is it?’
McGowan walked around the canteen. He couldn’t hear the conversation as Baker had covered his mouth, speaking in a low voice. It made him feel out of place, like an outcast.
When the call finished, Baker turned to him and said, ‘You remember Han Wong’s murder in Amber Heights?’
‘Yes. That’s when I got this,’ he said, pointing to the scar on his eye. ‘I was attacked in an alley. Some punk jumped the barrier, I confronted him and he hit me.’
Baker smiled. ‘Anyway, the bullet that was pulled from the wall above the alley has been matched with the bullet that killed Freddie. We couldn’t match it to a weapon as ballistics didn’t bring anything up, which means the weapon was never registered. But we believe it could have been sold by Fosters and Co. One of only two arms dealers around back then that specialized in revolvers, and the only one still active.’
‘No fingerprints in the church?’
‘Lots, it’s going to take some time.’
‘Why has it taken until now to trace the bullet back to that shop?’
‘I wouldn’t like to say. Come on, we’re going to Fosters and Co. arms dealers.’
