Smith Investigation Series Box Set 1 (10 page)

Chapter 6

"OK, wait here," Smith said, opening the car door. I raised my eyebrows. "What? I need to do my thing. See if I can get some intel out if him. Besides, you're not the most diplomatic person."

I waved him off.

"Fine. Go, but don't take too long. Or else ..."

He made a face and got out of the car. In my opinion, he was being weird. Too much secrecy for me.

I checked the rearview mirror. Spike was agitated and fiddling with her phone like her life depended on it.

"OK, what's the deal with that damn phone?" I finally couldn't take it anymore.

"Nothing. I was texting someone." Caught in the act, she hid the phone away, like a student reprimanded in class.

I shook my head. What was it with this team? They all seemed to have a loose screw, especially Spike.

It took all my strength to abstain from giving her the talk of her life. I feared it would just make things worse. Her emotional wellbeing seemed shaky already. "After solving this case," I promised myself.

It was quiet. I never did well with waiting, but today, some stillness could prove to be good for me. I took the opportunity to close my eyes, lean back and just breathe. I wasn't doing well under pressure lately.

I had thought that after coming back to work, I could just jump right in. Like everything would be the same as before.

But it wasn't. I was afraid to admit it even to myself. Something was amiss. Like a squeaky wheel; it wasn't a terminal issue, but it did slow everything down. The background noise was exhausting to my mind.

Truth was hard to bear, so I decided to busy myself with cleaning the only company car Smith Investigations could afford.

It was mind numbing, and after putting up with mine and Spike's agitation, I finally had enough.

"When is Smith going to be finished? I'm going in."

Spike jumped. The look in her eyes made me think of a deer caught in the headlights of a car. What was she caught in?

"You can wait here," I decided to help her out. Maybe some alone time would help her sort herself out.

Her reply failed to come in time, and I didn't want to wait around for it, so I opened the car door and stepped out.

The chilly air outside took my breath away. I had been in the car for longer than I thought. Upon checking my wristwatch, I realized Smith had gone in more than half an hour ago.

"God, I don't need this. I need lunch, a warm bed, a lead on the case, but waiting around for pleasantries? No," I told myself, reasoning that I was right to go in and take matters into my own hands.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the door to the Police station and walked past the officer on duty, directly to the elevators. I knew that Nigel's office was on the third floor. From there, I could find my way around. I didn't need the help of some disinterested government employee.

The elevator seemed to take it upon itself to make my life more miserable.

"I don't have time for this nonsense," I said to myself and headed for the stairs.

On the third floor, I thought I had somehow moved into another building. The feel of it all was just depressing. And cold.

"Great, just what I need."

Walking down the sterile hallway, I checked the few doors on either side of it. All of them were offices, and none of them was the one I was looking for. I decided that asking the young officer in the only office that had the door open was the right thing to do, given the situation.

"Hey, sorry to disturb you. Could you point me to Nigel's office?" I said in my sweetest voice.

"You mean Nigel Barkley? Third door on the left."

"Thanks."

Of course I couldn't find his damn office. I didn't know his last name.

Nodding a thank you, I turned and went back down the hallway. Finally finding the right office, I knocked and pushed the door open.

"Hi. I'm with Smith," I announced myself.

Smith gave me a scolding look, but I didn't budge. He had wasted a great deal of time with nothing to show for it, I thought.

"Dick here didn't tell me someone else was coming," the burly man leaning against his desk said, visibly unhappy with my intrusion.

I couldn't care less. The matter was a pressing one. His discomfort was meaningless in comparison to the reason I was there.

"No worries, I'm not here to stay," I assured him, gesturing to the half empty glasses next to him. "I just wanted to know what the general situation is. About the case, I mean. I'm sure Smith has already explained the whole thing."

He gave Smith a look. It already made me angry.

"Like I told your boss, the matter is more complicated than that." He emphasized the word 'boss', as to show me he was doing me a great courtesy by explaining his reasons to my lowly self. "We have complex investigations on, important cases that cannot be compromised We have some surveillance on a big fish..."

"So, there is a new drug?" I cut him off. Smith gave me the stink eye.

Nigel shook his head with an air of superiority. "I haven't said anything about any new drug. That's confidential police business. Besides, like I said, this is irrelevant to you. We have our own investigations to prioritize. If something comes up on our radars, I'll be the first to let you know. You have my word."

"What's your word worth?" I asked, barely containing my anger.

"Excuse me?"

Smith approached my side in an attempt to settle me, but I wasn't in an understanding mood.

"Does your word weigh more than a life?" I pushed. "Because from what you're saying, you couldn't care less whether we find this woman alive."

"You seem to..."

"I don't seem to anything. What I understand from what you're saying is that you can, but you won't help."

"Rob...," Smith tried to intervene.

"Don't. I'm glad you're entertaining yourself. We all need a bit of unwinding. But not when a woman's life is in the balance."

"They haven't killed her, have they?" Nigel said.

"What's your point?"

"If they have kept her for this long, it means she's working with them. And if she's working with them, it means that they need her. So they won't kill her."

"Oh, that's alright, then. Pass me the bottle, our job is done."

"I see where you're coming from, but you have to understand my situation too." He was talking in his police voice, sounding reassuring when he wasn't actually saying anything.

"You want to catch the big guy, right?"

He nodded.

"Which means you have nothing on him. Yet."

"I wouldn't say that..."

"That's alright, I'm saying it."

Smith exhaled loudly. I ignored him and went on.

"If that's the case, why not use our intel? Compare it with what you already have, and see if you can shoot two birds with one stone?"

I was willing to work with him, trying my hardest to keep civilized. If he appreciated my efforts, it didn't show.

"Judging by what Dick told me, you don't really have anything. There are thousands of dark, windowless vans in the city, not to mention the ones stolen from other cities. How would that help me?"

I looked at Smith, inviting him to join in and help me. He decided to remain neutral and stay out of it.

I decided that this wasn't worth my time so I turned around and started for the door, itching to slam the damn thing in their faces. And, for some reason, some back corner of my mind began playing the memory of DeMarco's discovery. Something about online drug dealing, and meth cocktails. I couldn't pinpoint the reason why my brain considered the memory relevant and I was too pissed to ponder the issue for the moment.

"Stolen from other cities," I mumbled under my breath. Then, the penny dropped.

"You know who's behind this thing, don't you?"

"What?"

Smith tried to physically put himself between me and Nigel. I stepped around him.

"The stolen van. And the online meth. You know who kidnapped Fiona. That's why you mentioned that possibility."

"I'm not sure I'm following you." His mouth was saying one thing, but his face had turned bright red in contrast.

"Let me help you out, then. People don't usually jump to the conclusion that a car could be stolen from another city. Stolen, yes, but not necessarily from another city. You know who we're after. You just don't want to help."

"That's preposterous," Nigel tried, but I wouldn't let him.

"You're after the next big case, aren't you? The one that'll make you a hero, put your name in the paper. The cop that cought the new generation drug dealers."

"I don't know where you got that information, but I won't stand..."

"Me neither. I'll tell you what. You want your name in the paper? I can help with that. By tomorrow, every newspaper will be talking about you and how you're bending over backwards to help find this woman." I didn't care that sarcasm was lost on Nigel.

"Is that a threat?"

"No, surely it isn't," Smith finally spoke, softly.

"Yes," I said.

For a few moments, we stared at each other, daggers of hate mirrored in our eyes. The tension could have been cut with a knife.

Nigel blinked first, his eyes more sensitive from the alcohol he had been enjoying before I walked in.

I took advantage of that second and left his office, slamming the door behind me.

I felt so frustrated that I could've cried.

"What is wrong with me?" I asked myself. I could usually keep my cool, I could win insignificant battles like this one without even breaking a sweat.

Something wasn't right. Something inside me had changed gradually, so slow that I hadn't noticed. Something had breached my impenetrable separation between logic and emotions.

Was I losing my abilities? Had I broken something inside my mind that was vital for my usual objectivity?

Maybe my time spent sulking idly and feeling sorry for myself had softened me. Maybe I shouldn't have come back to work after all.

"No," I argued to myself. I was exactly how I was supposed to be. My reaction had been reasonable given Nigel's attitude. "Desperate times call for desperate measures."

I left the building with a new purpose. If the authorities wouldn't help, we had to keep searching, and find the kidnappers ourselves. "I'll do the work myself, if necessary," I told myself, more frustrated with the outcome of my intervention than anything else.

"We're going back to HQ. We need to look at the footage again," I said, after getting in the car. I didn't know exactly what was my next move, but of one thing I was certain; Fiona needed to be brought home. How will Smith Investigations accomplish this, I hadn't the slightest idea, the mess we were facing looking impossible to solve.

Spike didn't reply immediately.

I had already started driving back when I heard her clearing her throat.

"Rob, I need to go home for a bit. I'll be back in..."

"Oh, come on, Spike. What's the matter with you?"

Surprised by her silence, I glanced in the rearview mirror. She was struggling not to cry.

"What is it?" I asked, my voice sweeter. Had I gotten her so wrong?

"It's my mom. I need to check up on her. The woman that looked after her yesterday can't do it. I need to..."

I exhaled, trying to figure out a way to solve the situation. I felt guilty for pushing her. I had been so absorbed in this investigation that I had become oblivious to her troubles, whatever they were. A mistake that had cost me a brilliant mind that could've helped move the investigation along much faster.

"Alright. Could you call Robert for me?"

She nodded, snuffling. "What do you need me to say?"

"Tell him to look at the footage he isolated for us. See if he can do his magic and find something more. A distinctive mark, an ad painted on the van, a logo, anything."

She repeated my words to him, and then set the phone on the backseat next to her.

"Where to?" I asked.

Chapter 7

Spike lived on the ground floor of an old apartment building. The narrow street was barely enough for two cars to pass each other, so we had to leave ours a few blocks away. By the time she unlocked the front door, we were covered in light snow and shaking from head to toe.

She gave me an apologetic look and stepped aside to make room for me.

Instantly, the cold air of the apartment seeped into my bones. It wasn't the temperature, for it was fairly warm inside, but the feel of the house. It didn't feel like a home.

She walked past me and into a small living room still decorated from the '50s. I stayed in the door, leaning against the frame.

"Hey, Mom. How are you?" Spike asked, barely above a whisper. The woman she was addressing turned in the office chair she was sitting on, the only piece of furniture discordant from the vintage feel of the rest of the room.

"Baby? Is it time for my tea?"

The woman's voice was eerily identical to Spike's, only lacking the strength.

Spike bent to kiss her on the cheek, cradling her mother's head in the palm of her hand.

"I'll go make the tea, alright?"

"Thank you, baby."

When Spike stepped away, her mother looked up at me. She met my eyes, but it felt like she was looking through me.

"Hello," she said, smiling with warmth.

"Hi."

I didn't know what to say. I waited awkwardly for her to speak, unsure if she even realized I was a real person.

"How are you?"

I smiled. "I'm fine, Ma'am."

"Oh, you sound like one of the good ones. Do you like my hair?"

I squinted out of habit, confused by her words.

After a while, her gaze trailed off from me and lost its focus somewhere on the wall to my right.

I did like her hair. It was completely white. Pristine. And it was a pleasant contrast with her young features. She was a beautiful woman, but feeble, like she was about to crumble into pieces at the first wind blow.

"Here you go, Mom. Your tea."

The woman took the cup with trembling hands and brought it up to her lips. She took a sip, held it in her mouth, and then swallowed it slowly. She did the same thing with every sip, at a constant pace, like a robot.

I couldn't take my eyes off her. She was mesmerizing. The entire time, Spike kept her hand on her mother's knee, her lips moving discreetly every time her mother held a sip of tea in her mouth.

After ten sips, the woman lowered her hands in her lap, looked up at me again and smiled. I smiled back.

Spike met my eyes, her face a picture of calm. The room suddenly felt warmer, like something was coming back to life.

"Depression," Spike answered the question I dared not to ask.

"Who are you talking to, baby?"

"I'm talking to the nice lady at the door, Mom."

"She's not one of mine?"

"No, Mom. She's a friend from work. Her name is Robin."

"Nice to meet you, Robin. I'm Hannah."

"Nice to meet you too, Hannah," I said, fighting back tears.

In that moment I realized that the warmth I was feeling was coming from Spike. She brought light into this house. She made it a home. This was where all her energy went, to her mother. The reason I was never able to cold read Spike was that she had nothing to give me behind her mask of happiness. Everything went in here and gave life to this house.

Hannah had started to do her thing again. Sip, hold, swallow, repeat.

"It's her ritual," Spike explained in between mumbling to her mother. "I count to ten for her, so she can swallow."

I had nothing worth saying. This purity of what it really meant to be a human being, of what it meant to care, rendered me speechless. At my age, I had thought I knew everything I needed to know, but Spike had just showed me that there was much more behind the rational world, behind facts and information.

"This is where you run off every day, after lunch with us?"

She nodded. "Mom needs her tea every day, at the same time. It's the only thing constant in her life."

Hannah lowered the cup once more.

"Her depression is so severe, she gets hallucinations. And counting her tea keeps her calm. Some of the things she sees are horrible. I can see it in her eyes."

She sounded powerless and I would have given everything to be able to grant her the ability to save her mother from her nightmares.

"That's why you were so touched by this case?"

"Yes. People think that having any sort of mental impairment is a shame, or that the person should be completely discredited. It's just not right. My mother is perfect. I love her and I wouldn't dare say she was any less than a normal person."

"She is a normal person," I whispered. "Her own kind of normal."

"Thank you."

Spike had tears in her eyes.

"So, how long has she been like this?" I asked stupidly, uncomfortable with the emotional tension around me.

"I don't know. She gradually got worse. It started ten years ago when my baby brother died."

"I'm sorry."

"It's alright. I didn't have time to know him, really. He died when he was three months old. My mother couldn't speak for a week after the funeral."

I felt the silence press on my shoulders. There was a chair near the door, but I felt it would be sinful to use it for my comfort. I remained standing.

"My father started drinking. Not right away, but it eventually got bad. It killed him."

"I'm sorry." There was nothing else that I could say.

Spike smiled weakly, her eyes trained on her mother.

"You're a good kid, Spike. If I had a daughter, I wish she could be like you."

I wanted to say something else, but everything that came to mind sounded pathetic in this situation. The ring of my phone startled me, breaking the surreal comfort of the scene.

"Yes, Robert?"

"Yeah, so, I couldn't find anything else. I tried with every algorithm and method I know. I'll try again, but I just wanted to let you know. Don't get your hopes up. I'm sorry."

I started pacing the room.

"Are you sure there's nothing left to do? Anything that could indicate something, give us a lead?"

"No, Rob. I'm sorry."

The knot that had kept turning in my stomach ever since I had left Nigel's office tightened. I felt nauseous, powerless and angry.

I let out a long breath, trying not to direct that anger at Robert. The kid was doing everything he could.

"OK. We'll talk later."

I hung up, my hands shaking from the frustration, but before I could put the phone in my pocket, it rang again. Smith.

I almost sent it to voice mail.

"What?" I barked, leaving for the hallway.

"He arrested them."

"What?"

"The guys he was surveilling. He arrested them. You were right. He did know who was behind the kidnapping. I'm sorry..."

"What are you saying? Did they find Fiona?"

"He just came out of the interview room. One of the meth heads gave her location up in exchange for a lesser charge."

"Is someone on their way there?"

There was a pause.

"Well?"

"I wanted to tell you first. Someone's leaving this instant."

"Are you kidding me? Send me the address. I'll meet them there." The news made me oscillate between triumph over the police and wanting to choke someone for their incompetence.

I hung up again. Spike was already on her feet.

"You stay here. Call the family. Tell them to go to Nigel's station. We found her!"

"Who is this? Were you looking for me?" Hannah asked. Spike sat back down and grabbed her mother's hand.

"No, Mom. It was a dream."

I left, unable to hold my tears back.