Synopsis
Everyone has a secret. Some people take theirs to the grave. Some hold their desires inside for a lifetime. Some stew on their secret all their life, and then they get revenge.
I know your secret is a suspenseful crime novel. Melbourne homicide detective Alan James Kendal and his partner Detective Claire Ambroso have to locate a missing teenage girl. The case hots up when he is introduced to a medium. She seems to hold all the knowledge of the case except a few minor details, like, why did Kendal find an empty bullet shell that had a note inside that read, ‘I was paid to miss.’
I KNOW YOUR SECRET
Mark Stewart
‘Whatever is hidden will be revealed’
I Know Your Secret
ISBN: 978-0-9807773-6-9
Cover design. Joe@twonineteen.com.au www.twonineteen.com.au
www.markstewart.com.au email mark_stewart777@hotmail.com
Copyright. I Know Your Secret 2011 Mark Stewart. All rights reserved. No part of this story may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the author. This story is fictitious and a product of the author’s imagination. Resemblance to any actual person living or dead is purely coincidental
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This EBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This EBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.
PROLOG
THE DOOR to the small apartment on the third floor was opened. In seconds it had been shut using no effort.
A man wearing smart casual attire, carrying a rectangular shaped black leather case, stood at the closed door for several seconds, listening. The only noise that could be heard was the old digital clock when it flipped the minutes.
Walking the length of the hallway the sniper’s footprints scarcely registered a dent in the shag pile carpet. He wasn’t a tall man. His shadow portrayed the fact when it swept the newly painted wall. No evidence, no noise that was what this sniper was known for. His reputation as a hired gun was well worked. Travelling the world for another hit didn’t pose a problem. He had received a phone call outlining the job.
Travel to Melbourne Australia and shoot the homicide detective known as Alan James Kendal.
The intruder didn’t pay any attention nor did his stride faulter when he moved past the expensive painting that was hanging on the wall. Burglary wasn’t what he had been paid to do. He glanced at his watch and smirked. When it was time for him to leave the room there would be no evidence to uncover. That was what he was good at. That was what he was paid to do.
The man stepped up to the apartment window and looked out through the glass. The recent drizzle had formed trails in the dust. The sniper needed to find the exact place his victim would be standing when he was shot. A lapse of concentration on the sniper’s behalf had to be avoided at all costs.
The ducted heating unit rumbled to life to mask any noise he may have accidently made. The leading edge of the stack of papers on the antique mahogany coloured coffee table vibrated in the warming breeze. The man looked to have nerves of steel as he pressed onwards to his goal and victory. He had yet to fail any job that he was given.
The man crouched at the window sill and viewed the outside world from the third floor. He checked his watch again. A smirk crossed his thin lips before disappearing in a look that was cold hard steel. His eyes were as lifeless as a shark’s. He didn’t care for the person he was to shoot. He wasn’t interested in the fact he may or may not have a family. The motto he lived by was easy to remember. Ask no questions and do exactly what you were paid to do, nothing more; nothing less.
The sniper opened the black leather case. He viewed the contents as if it were a long lost love that he had spent months searching for. He gently stroked the weapon as it lay in the dark blue velvet cloth. He then expertly built the expensive hunting rifle and attached the telescopic sight. He pulled three bullets from his top pocket and raised the first one up to eye level. Twisting the bullet between his thumb and forefinger he made full use of the light that shone through the window to detect any flaws in the bullet’s structure and metal casing. He grunted a whisper and placed the bullet back into his pocket. He repeated the performance with the second bullet. It twisted more perfectly than the first. Giving a sharp smirk he loaded it into the rifle’s chamber. The man scoured a neat round circle the size of a saucer in the window with the use of a glasscutter in the double glazed window and lifted the glass away. He placed a white square handkerchief on the carpet then carefully wrapped the round glass fragments. He stowed the fragile parcel in a compartment in the case and pushed his rifle barrel through the hole.
Looking through the gun sight the sniper focused on a child skipping as she and her mother went about their daily errands totally unaware that they were being watched. He then switched the sight and stared at the media sitting and drinking coffee out of their paper mugs. Everyone was waiting for the detective to step from the courthouse. The traffic was light for that time of day. Not quite peak hour. Eventually a small delivery truck rumbled past, followed by a police car and a woman on a motorbike.
The sniper re-checked his watch and sat back on his knees to wait. He was acting as if his nerves were as cold as ice water in a snowstorm. His over confidence was evident when he broke out into a soft whistle to a tune that was unrecognizable.
The courthouse across the soon-to-be busy street erupted and spewed people as the main door was thrown open. The media and the police were too busy watching the man in a black duffel coat to notice the end of the rifle. The sniper was intent on his job as he honed his gaze into the anchorwomen from the media as they jostled into position. A bouquet of microphones had been set up and the group of one hundred people had hastily gathered in a single mob at bottom of the stairs.
The sniper wore a poker face. He rested his eye against the telescopic sight and continued his wait. He spied his target standing in the entrance of the courthouse. He was smiling at the throng of people waiting for him to step up to the microphones. That would be the perfect time in which to pull the trigger. The cop would be facing him square on. All he had to do was to wait.
Walking from the courthouse, the cop known as Detective Alan Kendal, spelt with one ‘L’ not two, waved at the crowd. His long black duffel coat flapped lazily as he descended the twelve stairs to the plateau above the footpath.
The sniper settled, and looked comfortable by spreading his weight evenly on both feet. He watched with keen interest as the cop straightened his tie and then step up to the microphones. He was wearing a grin that was wider than his broad shoulders. Kendal was looking about the news media totally unaware that he was about to be shot.
The sniper re-focused the gun sight for a clearer view and honed in on his target down to the millimeter. He was waiting for the precise moment when the cop was completely vulnerable. A slight move to the right by a media woman asking a question would be ideal. When the time was exactly ripe he would strike without a second thought. He would never give the moment a revised second of his time. He had no remorse, no conscience. His index finger slid over the gun’s trigger and constricted slightly. A nerve twitched under his eye, but his trigger finger was like a finger on a marble statue.
The crowd shifted slightly as the man in the duffel coat prepared to address the media. He looked relaxed. Now was the perfect opportunity. The sniper applied more pressure on the trigger. The only thing that was missing was that someone on the cop’s right to ask a question.
The sniper inhaled deeply. The oxygen seemed to relax him further. His face showed no compassion or regret. His hands had never trembled from the amount of money that he had been given. He was completely comfortable in what he was about to do. He lined up the rifle’s telescopic sight and focused on the exact spot where he intended the bullet to penetrate flesh. Kendal shifted the angle of his body to the woman on his right.
The time was indeed ripe.
Detective Kendal signaled the woman to ask the question that was on her mind.
The sniper exhaled and squeezed off one round. He only needed one bullet; never two.
There was a flash and a muffled pop.
The victim spun in tight circles and went down, hitting the concrete hard. Women screamed. Men yelled. The crowd broke up and ran like ants in all directions totally confused in which way to go. How easy would it have been to shoot another dozen or two?
The sniper didn’t hesitate longer than he should. He retracted the rifle from the window and in seconds had packed his kit away in the black rectangular leather case. He stood and, as slick and quiet as a cat, crossed the carpet again, opened and shut the front door and stepped into the lift. He reached out, turned the maintenance key that enabled the lift doors to shut and waited for the doors to close. He wasn’t about to go down and mingle with the mayhem, he was heading for the roof where he had an almost invisible steel cable strung from building to building. His escape route was well planned, ready and waiting.
He heard typing coming from the next room. Had he been filmed? Had he been discovered when he had his back to the front door? His mind raced at what to do. He couldn’t take the chance of being discovered. This had never happened in the past. He certainly didn’t want to view the world from a prison cell. His life was too perfect. In a heartbeat the sniper bit his bottom lip in a show of nervousness, placed the black case on the floor of the lift and silently pulled his knife from its sheath hidden under his arm. As he stepped from the lift he switched the lift key to the off position. Then he hugged the wall as he snuck up on the noise.
The writer’s fingers swept the keyboard. As the words flowed across the monitor the noise of bone stabbing the keys grew louder. The front door to the room had been carelessly left open. He could easily sneak inside the room and up to the person sitting at the computer keyboard without his knowledge and be back inside the lift and halfway to the roof in ten to fifteen seconds. The author would never know his fate.
The writer’s shoulders stooped closer as each one of her fingers hit each key and then moved to the next in a blistering pace. Faster and faster the writer forced her fingers to move. Sweat formed on her brow from shear concentration. She was totally oblivious to the shadow on the wall staring at her back. The sniper smirked at the realization that any noise he made would go unheard.
The many chapters of the author’s first book had been re-written too many times. The cursor started the last page pushing the writer’s name (Myriad Jones) to the next line as it raced towards the finish. Victory was in the writer’s grasp. Her fingers were a blur as they pounded and stabbed the keys. The words formed quickly on the monitor. No hesitation. This was her masterpiece. The woman had broken the writer’s block. The author ploughed on. She had turned the corner and was now in the final stretch. The winning ribbon was close. The smell of victory hovered above her head like a crown, a crown she couldn’t wait to wear.
The overhead incandescent light globe picked out the cold sharp blade of the knife as it was lifted high in the air. The marriage between the warm globe and the blade could never be.
The sniper’s breathing was deep and relaxed. He looked to be in complete control. Wild shadows danced on the wall behind the writer who kept increasing the speed of the stabbing of the keys, totally unaware that she was at the last few moments of her life. She wouldn’t live to hear how her masterpiece was selling.
Her final few breaths were unguarded, open for all to see.
The knife came down again and again cutting flesh and snapping bone.
CHAPTER ONE
DETECTIVE ALAN James Kendal could hear the force of the current as it sped past his dive mask. He plummeted deeper into the sinkhole, into the alien watery world away from the noise. He knew when he touched the sandy bottom some thirty metres below the surface, silence would rein supreme.
Kendal was tethered to a nylon rope that had been anchored to the bottom of the sinkhole at the entrance to Port Philip bay. The channel was clear of any arriving ships as they navigated their way towards the Port of Melbourne. The Captain of the ship that he was tethered to warned him not to be long. They would have to away anchor if a cargo ship entered through the heads.
The bottom of the sink hole had a consistency that was made up of mud, silt and sand. The sides of the hole that was no larger than a small room was as smooth as the curtains that hung in Kendal’s house. The rip had seen to that over the many decades. The massive underwater torch Kendal was holding illuminated a shape at the edge of the light beam. He unclipped his safety line and left the taught rope, venturing into the void. As Kendal slowly swam parallel a full metre off the bottom, more shapes loomed out of the ink coloured water. The shapes were what he was searching for. The information that had been dropped onto his desk at police headquarters was right on the money. He had casually read the missing person report and filed the information in his mind.
Kendal slowed to a crawl and sifted loose sand by a swift sweep of his gloved hand for any evidence as he ventured closer to the first shape. The eyes of the corpse were staring through him. They looked shocked, but the face looked strangely at peace. The female corpse was one of the missing girls he had read about. He looked around the pit and counted four drowned souls, each one a young female. Kendal floated above the bottom of the sinkhole soaking his mind of the area and the gruesome scene. He wondered how scared each of the girls would have been? The group of four wore the same black full-length wet suit. Each had a single air tank strapped to their backs that at closer inspection looked to be in perfect working order. He tested his theory by allowing a small amount of air to escape each of the tanks. He watched the air bubbles rise to the surface. As he searched the area around the feet of the girls he unearthed four face masks. Each one looked to be brand new. Why then had the girls drowned? Yet each girl had their mouthpiece out of their mouth. They hadn’t been shot with a spear gun and he could find no knife marks. The only theory he could go by was that they had panicked for some reason.
A study of the missing person folio would clear up who they were. Sadness tried to overtake him. He didn’t allow the emotion to drift too far into his consciousness. He had a job to do. If he lost his nerve some thirty metres below the surface he would end up like the girls.
Kendal unclipped a thin nylon line from his belt and secured one end to the steel chain that had been draped around the first dead girl like a poorly fitted dress. He then swam over to the other girls in turn and repeated the procedure. He glanced one last time at the dead girls and slowly ascended the thirty metres to the surface.
He broke surface and witnessed a wall of fog sweeping the sea. It was closing in fast. Wide eyed he turned to look for the boat. Under his feet a black shape as large as a car was slowly circling. He ducked his head under the glass smooth water and watched it as it slowly turned back towards him. Fear tried to tug at his brain. Kendal pulled the hunting knife from its sheath that was hanging from his weight belt and braced for the attack. For the last time, he broke the surface for a breath and opened his eyes to a woman’s grin.
“Alan, you were asleep. Did you have another one of those dreams?”
Kendal rubbed his open palms over his eyes and stared at the picture perfect woman hovering over him. Even after all the years that they had been married he still thought she was a stunning looking woman. “Marg, up to now that was the most vivid dream I’ve ever had. Dead girls at the bottom of the sea, and a shark in an attack mode then there was the heat that I felt when the bullet went through my shoulder. That thought leads me into thinking that whoever shot me deliberately missed.”
“Maybe you need to see someone?”
“Like who, a shrink?”
Kendal’s wife looked alarmed. “I hope you don’t, for one moment, think you’re crazy?”
“I’m not even close to the edge.”
“How can you say the sniper meant to miss?”
“A sniper rarely misses. By rights I should’ve been dead. Logically speaking that is.”
“Don’t talk like that. You being a detective were bad enough,” said Marg placing her hands on her hips. She was glaring down on her husband through murderous eyes.
“Marg don’t fret. The more I think about why I was only shot in the shoulder, the more I believe I was only meant to be wounded.”
“Alan, if you’re right then why and by whom?”
“As yet I have no answers to your questions.”
“I hope you’re right,” said Marg, looking a little perplexed. “In all the years you’ve been in the police force, not once have you ever been shot.”
“I reckon I am dead right,” said Kendal.
“I hope he never tries again.”
“I’m sure he won’t.”
Marg shook her head and seemed to calm. She smirked and punched her husband’s good arm.
Kendal loved the way she played little games. He lived for them. It helped to keep his mind separate from the constant crime and the gruesome scenes. He especially loved the spinning game, Tegan and Tani, his thirteen and eight-year-old daughters loved to play. They were the competitive ones. Tegan and her sister were always practicing. Most times Tegan was the winner. Spin three times and explain how to get out of a locked room with only using what they had seen. It was a humorous game he had invented when they were little. They played the game so much, as they grew older the game seemed to be part of the family.
Marg bent forward and kissed her husband on the cheek. He moved over to the edge of the recliner rocker which allowed her enough room to sit. “Alan, do you remember any details of the shooting? The surgeon said things might be a little sketchy if not be blotted out.”
Kendal noted that she looked devastated. He sat up and looked her in the eyes. “I remember everything. Stop worrying, I’m fine.”
“You don’t look it.”
He chuckled and patted his wife’s hand. “I’ll be fine. Where are the kids? I thought they’d be staring at me while I was asleep.”
“You were talking in your sleep so I ushered them out of the room. They’re loitering outside. They weren’t sure if you’d want to see them.”
“I sure do.”
“Before I call them in, I’ve an envelope for you.”
Kendal focused on his beautiful grinning Italian wife. The way she looked at times made his knees weak and his heart skip a beat.
“Al, it’s a black envelope.”
“Let’s see it.”
“Really, Alan, I thought by now you’d want to see the back of that man. He’s nothing but trouble.”
“Why? He’s not the one who shot at me.”
“How do you know? You said he was a thug and connected to the underworld. I think you should have nothing to do with the man.”
“I class GP as a friend. Think about it. If he wanted to see me in the ground he would have shot me when we first met on the wharf. He had the perfect opportunity. Instead he offered to help clean the streets of Melbourne. He also was a great help in the last case.”
“What was the name you called it?” said Marg.
“Heart of a spider.”
“I still think you should have nothing to do with the man.”
“He went out of his way to protect you and the kids from the gun fight.”
“I’m thankful for that. I have a gut feeling that in spite of him masquerading as a friend you shouldn’t trust him. What sort of man hides his face when you look at him?”
“A man that doesn’t trust a soul.”
“I rest my case.”
“Don’t worry. He’s okay.”
Marg folded her arms. “Sometimes Alan J Kendal you upset me so much.” She pushed her nose in the air and stormed out of the door.
Kendal smirked and opened the black envelope. “Hi friend, I’m sorry to hear that you were shot. Hope you feel good. We’ll meet soon. Regards GP.”
No sooner had Kendal finished reading the get-well card when a torrent of arms and legs burst into the room. Marg brought up the rear. “Tegan, Tani it’s good to see you.”
“We’re all happy that you were only shot in the shoulder,” said Tani.
“That statement means a lot to me,” said Kendal, looking at his wife.
Marg stooped and whispered in his ear. “Sorry for being angry. I was concerned to the max when I heard the news report that a well-known cop had been shot. Since then my nerves have been on the edge.”
Kendal kissed her earlobe. “All’s well. As a matter of fact I’m coming home. I told the hospital nurses the food is lousy and to leave me be and get the discharge papers ready.”
“You told them,” said Marg, looking slightly scornful.
“I ordered them to discharge me.”
“When?” Tegan asked.
“As soon as you allow me to get dressed.”
CHAPTER TWO
KENDAL STEPPED through the door of his two storey house and was greeted by his mother-in-law’s shark eyes.
“The man of the house has arrived,” she spat.
“What have I done?”
“It must be amnesia from being shot. Let me refresh your mind you rose garden murderer you.”
“At least you’re alive to tell me off.”
The old woman shook her fist under his nose, stormed upstairs and slammed her bedroom door shut.
“In no time she’ll be gone to live in her new house,” said Marg. “Don’t worry, Mum will forgive you, eventually.”
“Are you sure?”
“I hope so.”
Kendal crossed the floor and sat in a chair. He pushed his arm sling to one side and massaged his hurt shoulder. “Good, sooner she leaves this house the better we’ll get on.”
The phone in the study shrilled off its hook. Kendal moved to stand. Marg ushered him back into the chair. She answered it on the fourth ring. Kendal watched her nod a few times and then marched towards him.
“Captain Hughes is on the phone.” Marg placed the cordless phone in her husband’s hand and sat on the arm of the chair.
“Kendal, Captain Hughes here. How are you feeling? How’s the arm?”
“You didn’t ring me especially to ask how I’m travelling. What’s up?”
“You’re right. I thought you might be bored sitting in your chair watching the television, healing. I need you to come into Police Headquarters ASAP.”
“Cap, I’m on my way.”
“Before you hang up there’s one more thing I would like you to do seeing how you’re one of my top detectives.”
“I know, stop calling you Cap.”
“I knew you were a good detective.”
“It’s only a nickname.”
“I don’t care for the reason. Spread the word that I don’t like it. Correction, I detest it. If you and Claire Ambroso weren’t such A1 detectives, I’d complain about all this to the commissioner.”
Kendal smirked. “Right Cap. The only thing is I’m not sure if it’s possible to erase the nickname. If you need to point the blame at someone over your plight you need look no further than your predecessor. It’s his fault the nickname has stuck like glue.”
“I wish he hadn’t have come from the army. You and everyone else in this building make my life a living hell.”
Kendal chuckled and hung up the phone. “Marg, I need you to drive me into the station.” He swiped the car keys to the un-marked police car that had been parked in the front yard and headed for the front door.
Marg followed and closed the door in her wake. Slipping behind the wheel she brought the car’s engine to life. “Why would Captain Hughes ask you to go into the police station? He knows you just arrived home from the hospital.”
“I’ve no idea, he didn’t say.”
“Maybe he has a medal waiting to surprise you. God knows you deserve it.” Marg’s voice had a note of excitement attached to it.
“I doubt it,” said Kendal giving a fake chuckle.
CHAPTER THREE
“I’M HAPPY you weren’t seriously hurt,” said Captain Hughes. He was watching Kendal escort Marg across the large office to a seat and waited for him to sit in the other. “I have to be blunt,” he added.
“Sure Cap, what gives?”
The big man in the grey suit glanced at Marg before settling his stare directly at Kendal. He lifted a manila folder out of the draw then dropping it onto the desk top he apologized to Kendal’s wife. “The folder’s your next case. The father of a missing street kid is in the next office.”
“Kid’s name is Sam,” said Kendal, opening the folder and glancing at the first page.
“Do you remember her?”
“Yes I do. After our little chat I’ve been keeping my eye out for her. Sam decided to turn her back on the idea of following her brother home and went straight back to the streets of Melbourne.”
“I want you to talk to the girl’s father.”
“I’d prefer if we didn’t meet,” said Kendal.
Captain Hughes pushed back on his chair. Then he leaned forward over the table. His eyebrows shot up to a point. “I don’t care what you want you’ll go talk to the bloke.”
“Why me?” snapped Kendal.
“You and Ambroso were the last to see the street kid alive. Before you say a word that might damage your reputation on being a good detective, let me advise you that I’m still cleaning up the pool mess with the commissioner after that incident, and the so called, chat you and Sam had. If it wasn’t for you successfully hunting down Patrick in those fire games he was playing, I’m sure the commissioner wouldn’t be in such a good mood. Take my advice and accept the case.”
“Back tracking to the pool incident,” said Kendal. “Sam refused to talk. She volunteered to go for a swim.”
“I told the big brass those exact words,” said Hughes.
“They believed you?”
Captain Hughes snorted. “Like I said, the case is yours.”
“I’m not into finding lost souls. Handball the case to Philips, he’s the expert in tracking down lost street kids.”
“I don’t care if you have to play with dolls. Find the kid,” taunted Hughes. “The case will give you something to think about other than your mother- in-law. I know for a fact she’s been giving you grief over the loss of her favourite rose bushes.”
“I wonder who told you that?” said Kendal glancing sideways at his wife.
Marg looked away to study the painting of a ship in a storm hanging on the wall.
Cap Hughes said. “There had been five reported disappearances of young girls over an eight week period. The girls were all aged between thirteen and fifteen. I thought seeing how you were on light duties for the next week, you could be handed the case without a complaint.” There was mischievous glint in Hughes’ eyes. “I’ve been handed the case and was told; (correction,) ordered to put the best team on the job. Kendal, you and Ambroso are the best two-man team I got. I also said to the girl’s father I would do my best to find her alive. I have a sneak feeling she was the last to disappear.”
“I don’t want the trail of the sniper who shot me to turn cold,” said Kendal. “Besides, Claire will say no.”
“I’m sure a person of your intelligence can do both cases and convince Ambroso to change her mind.”
Kendal stood, ushering Marg towards the office door. He turned to face Captain Hughes. “Why me exactly? I’ve already mentioned Philips is the expert at finding missing girls.”
“I know that. Sam’s father, who is in the next office, fears that the reason for you being shot had something to do with his daughter, Sam’s, disappearance. He and his wife blame themselves.”
“It’s not their fault.”
“Go tell that to the father. Don’t forget to track down Ambroso.”
“She’s retired.”
Hughes snorted. “I don’t give a flying crap about her handing in her notice. Get Ambroso out of retirement. I still have her paper work on my desk. I never processed it. Here, catch her badge. Don’t come back without her.”
CHAPTER FOUR
KENDAL ESCORTED Marg to the tearoom. “I apologize to you for being in the meeting. I did try to have a week off.”
“Al it’s okay. Sam is more important. After you’ve found her we’ll have that week.”
“You’re an extremely understanding woman. I won’t be long,” he said confidently. “Then as the good Captain said, we have to talk to Claire.”
“What’s this, we, have to? You have to talk to her not me.”
“Okay, now that’s settled, I’ll need you to drive me to her house. Once we’ve found her I’ll do the talking.”
Marg grinned like a schoolgirl who had cheated on her exam and got away with it.
Kendal swiveled on his heels and walked in the direction of interview room one. He wasn’t sure of what to expect. As he passed the main desk he slipped out of his cloth sling and threw it at the constable behind the counter. “File it under lost and found.” He smirked at the rookie cop’s startled expression and opened the door.
A tall rough edged man wearing faded blue jeans and a white singlet was standing looking out of the window. He faced the door when he heard it open.
Kendal’s memory soaked up the man’s description like a dry sponge. He came to the conclusion that he was a typical truckie who had the world on his shoulders. “I’m Detective Kendal,” he said extending his arm.
The man walked over and held out his hand. “I’m Jeff Arnold.”
Both men shook hands in a business-like manner. Kendal showed the man a chair as he sat at the table in the center of the room.
“I’m a man that doesn’t mix words,” said Arnold, starting the conversation. “I know the reason why you were shot.”
“Unless you witnessed the actual scene, then that’s not possible?”
Arnold opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted.
“Where were you when I was shot?”
“I was in Perth.”
“Can you prove that statement?”
“I have fuel dockets and transport delivery dockets that say where I was.”
“Did you mastermind the shooting?”
“No.”
“Did you pay the sniper?”
“No.”
“Look, Arnold, I’m a busy man, state your business. The clock is ticking and I don’t want to waste my time entertaining you.”
“Mr. Kendal believe me I’m not here to waste your time.”
“Detective Kendal will do nicely.”
“Detective, I can tell you’ve summed me up and have decided you don’t like me. I can live with that.”
“Can you?”
“Yes. I don’t really care about what you think of me.”
“I’ve been told why you’re here. I want you to say why you are here?”
“I’ve no one else to turn to.”
“Answer my question.”
“Please, I’m begging you to help me.”
“You don’t strike me as the begging type,” said Kendal.
“You’re right. I have never asked anyone for help in my life.”
“This conversation is going round in circles.”
The man was looking through the eyes of a loving father who had nowhere else to go. His back was against the wall and the whole building was collapsing on top of him.
Kendal started to tap his fingers on the table top. “Let’s move on.” He looked directly into the eyes of the man sitting opposite him. “May I call you Jeff?”
“My friends call me Listening man, or LM for short.”
“Meaning?” said Kendal. An interested expression creased his forehead.
“I’m an interstate truckie. I talk to and listen to other truckie’s over the CB radio. Then I try to help them find a solution to their problems.”
Kendal folded his arms and showed a soft expression. “Sounds like you might be busy.”
“There’s a lot of truckie’s that have problems out there.”
“I have no doubt on that statement. Have you spread the word that your daughter is missing? Such as school friends, relatives, any one that she may see regularly?” asked Kendal.
“Yes.”
“Is there any feedback on her whereabouts?”
“None.”
“Have you rung the school Sam has been enrolled in to explain what has happened?”
“Yes I have. I’ve rung them every day.”
“What’s there response?”
“They’ve taken no responsibility. They said there’s not much they can do except report her truancy to the police.”
“Have you been on face book to ask if anyone has seen her?”
The man’s face reddened. “I don’t know how to use that web site.”
“Have you tried to discover if Sam places information on the site? Kids love it.”
”I don’t use the home computer. I hate the thing.”
“What about your wife, she might be able to find Sam’s password.”
“I think she’s tried.”
Kendal glared at the man. “For someone who is desperate to find his daughter you don’t seem to be trying too hard. If my daughter was missing I would find her password or someone who knows her and get them to open up the internet page. I’d shake the core of the earth to find even the smallest clue to where she was.”
LM stood, hovering over Kendal.
“Sit down.”
LM seemed to hesitate before sitting back on the seat. “I’m not sure what you think of me, Sir. I assure you that I’m trying every road to find Sam.”
“Have you spoken to Brandt, your son, he might know of Sam’s password or where-a-bouts?”
“He’s not talking to me.”
Kendal rubbed his chin and mumbled a few incoherent words before speaking in a tone that was laced with authority. “Sam was hanging around with the Night Creepers. Have you spoken to them?”
“No. Who are they?”
“They’re the gang of street kids Sam was living with. She confessed their name to me the last time we met.”
“That’s why I need you. Up to three seconds ago, I have never heard the name. Detective Kendal, I’m desperate for your help. I’ve no one else to help me. I help others by listening to their problems. Now it is I who needs the help. That’s why I conjured up the idea of saying that I know who shot you. I needed something to convince Captain Hughes that you were the only one who could help me find Sam.”
Kendal grunted, and as he shook his head in disbelief he dug his mobile phone from his pocket and dialed his daughter’s number. On the third ring a young girl’s voice answered. “Dad, what’s up? I’m in class.”
“Tegan, if you get caught by the teacher tell her to talk to me. I need you to ask around the school if anyone knows of Sam Arnold, the teenage runaway. If you can discover her password she uses to gain access to her face book account; if she has one; or any info that can help uncover her hiding place her father would be extremely happy.”
“Okay,” whispered Tegan.
Kendal slipped his mobile phone back into his pocket, then leaning forward in his chair, said. “Has there been a ransom note?”
“No not that I’m aware of.”
“That’s good news.”
“How do you figure?”
“That means there’s a good chance that Sam is hiding amongst the Night Creepers.”
“She did ring home and said that you pushed her into a pool.”
“She volunteered to go for a swim. She wanted me to join in, but I was content to be her life guard.”
LM narrowed his eyes. “As you said before, let’s move on. I’m not here to point my finger at any wrong doing. The only thing my wife and I want is for Sam to be found, alive.”
“Where’s your wife now?”
“She’s at home looking after my son.”
“Where’s home?”
“Riddles Creek.”
Kendal said. “You reported that Sam did ring home?”
“Yes, she said the next train was due to depart Southern Cross Station in five minutes and that she was going to be on it. My wife and I expected the train to arrive at 12:57pm. I was at the Riddles Creek train station waiting.”
“Did the train arrive on time?”
“No, it was three minutes late. The train pulled into the station one hour after midday. 1:00pm.”
“Sam wasn’t on the train?”
LM shook his head.
“I wonder why the train was three minutes late?”
An uncomfortable silence descended on the room. Kendal waited for the man opposite him to look up. “For what it’s worth I’m sorry that Sam is missing. I’ll do all I can to find her. Deep down I always believed she was a good kid.”
“Thank you, but please, I mean no offence when I correct you on a minor point. Sam is still a good kid.” LM stood and extended his hand before heading out of the door.
Kendal watched him leave. He was rubbing his chin pondering the sincerity of the man.
CHAPTER FIVE
KENDAL STOOD on the top stair that led down to the beach securely holding his wife’s left hand. The beach was almost deserted due to the fact that the temperature had yet to yield to the early summer date. “Nice day for a walk,” he mentioned, casually waving his hand.
“Cut the small talk,” said Marg. She had her free hand covering her eyes from the slight glare of the sun off the water. She was scouring the beach in both directions. “The walk is not why we’re here.”
“Let’s go home, this isn’t fair.”
“You heard what Captain Hughes wants you to do. You have to do it.”
“I’d rather have another round of Fire Games. Somewhere out there in a Melbourne suburb there has to be another person as insane as that bloke.” Kendal’s deep voice sounded cold and un-caring.
“If there is I hope he stays away from our kids,” said Marg. “That was too close for my liking.”
Kendal gently squeezed Marg’s hand. If nothing else he hoped the act would reassure her that everything was going to be alright. Soon he would apprehend the sniper that shot him then he’d reunite Sam with her parents. It was a simple case. He looked away as he smirked. Hughes had given him a babysitting case. He had played on the bullet wound long enough. How he longed for a real mystery. All things considered he actually enjoyed hunting Patrick.
Marg spied a figure jogging along the beach. She poked her husband in the ribs and pointed. Kendal watched; intrigued at how the woman never flinched or lost her speed as the white wash tried to sweep her out to sea. She was wearing tight black shorts and a pink singlet.
“That woman belongs on the catwalk,” mumbled Kendal.
Marg squeezed his hand as the jogger slowed a short distance from the steps. “She looks fit.”
“Fit enough to jog five K’s for breakfast and the same before tea.”
The athletic shaped woman stopped, brushed her black wet hair from her face then looked at the two watching her. “Fella, you look like a cop,” she spat.
“What’s it to you?” Kendal immediately received a second nudge in the ribs from his wife.
“Sounds to me you’re looking for a fight?”
“Maybe I am.”
“Alan, you’re not scared to ask?” snapped Marg.
Kendal raised his good arm and grinned. “I’m a detective, why would I be scared of a woman jogger?”
Marg rolled her eyes and shook her head.
“Okay, I’ll ask. If that woman starts to yell I want it on the record that I warned you of her pendulum mood swings.”
The jogger ran up the stairs and stared Kendal in the eyes. “What do you want, Sugar?”
“How’s the leg after being shot?”
“I know you’re not here to ask me a question like that.” The woman smirked. “How’s the arm?”
“I’ll live. Before you ask, I’ve felt worse.”
“I’m happy for you. Is your presence here social or business?”
Kendal looked out across the sea and studied a small boat anchored out in the channel of Port Philip bay. A figure looked to be throwing something black and heavy into the water.
“I think you’re stalling,” said the jogger.
“No I’m not.”
“Then cough up the reason that you’ve come here for.”
“We need your help,” said Kendal.
“Who needs my help?”
“Come on Claire, don’t make me beg.”
“Miss Ambroso to you.”
Kendal moved his gaze back onto the small boat. Off to his left he spied a cargo ship ploughing through the water towards them. The ship looked low in the water. He estimated the ship’s time of arrival was around the ten to fifteen minute mark. The question, why wasn’t the boat preparing to leave the channel, flashed through Kendal’s mind. He instinctively slipped his hand into his pocket. He was more than ready to talk to the coast guard over the incident when foam came from the rear of the small craft as it moved off to the other side of the bay. Kendal automatically lined up two points of sight just in case he wanted to check out the place where they had been at a later date. “The Police force needs you,” he said without looking at the woman.
“You’ve forgotten. I’m retired.”
“That’s what I said to Hughes.”
“What did he say?”
Kendal focused on the sweaty woman who was now standing at arm’s length and leaning against the wooden railing. “I don’t think you need to hear his words.”
“I repeat my earlier question,” said Claire, placing her hands on her hips.
“What was the question again? I’ve forgotten.”
“You forget something. That is highly unlikely. You have a memory like an elephant.”
Kendal smirked. “I surrender. You and Marg win. I need your help.”
Claire broke out into a broad grin. “Kiss me and I’ll think about it.” She puckered her lips and closed her eyes.
Marg grinned at her husband’s back step expression. He leant forward. Claire grabbed his neck and swung him in close. As their lips were a hairs width from each other Kendal twisted his head to one side. Her breath swept his cheek.
“Claire, I’m married.”
She let go of a school girl giggle. “I know that, I was at your wedding.” She poked him in the stomach and hugged Marg. “Partner, was that so hard?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“Enough shenanigans,” said Kendal.
“Tell me, are you having weird dreams again?”
“Why would you say that?”
‘The way you were studying the bay, for a moment I thought you had tripped out of reality or it’s those dream sequences you get when there’s a new case looming.”
“Something like that,” said Kendal.
“Claire, you’re right. Al wakes in the dead of night and walks about the room mumbling about the dream he had. He then sits down on the edge of the bed and writes it all down. In the morning he reads all about his dream.”
“Sugar, don’t get me wrong on this, a shrink might help,” said Claire.
Kendal glared at his partner. “Forget the shrink idea, we’ve work to do.”
“I’m going shopping,” said Marg. She kissed her best friend, Claire, and her husband and walked off to the car. “I’ll see you two for tea. Don’t be late,” she called.
CHAPTER SIX
KENDAL INSTRUCTED Claire to drive to the exact place he was shot. She parked outside the courthouse. For several seconds Kendal sat in silence.
Claire opened the car door and looked sideways at her partner. “Are you coming or do you want to sit in the car all day?”
The two detectives stepped from the car and watched as business men and women in formal wear walk past totally uninterested in the two plain clothed cops.
Kendal froze and started to sway from side to side. He clung to the frame of the car door as if it were a crutch.
“What’s up, Sugar?” said Claire. “You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Worse,” he mumbled. His grip tightened as he swayed like a drunkard. His face drained to the colour of white paper. Kendal leaned harder on the car for as much support as he could find.
“Surely a big bloke like you can stride to the top of the stairs?”
Kendal shook his head slowly.
Claire gave him a lazy grin, walked round the car and, slipping her arm around his waist, said. “I should have brought my camera. This is indeed a momentous occasion.”
Kendal was half dragged and half carried to the top of the court house stairs. His breathing altered sharply the closer he stepped to the exact place where he was shot. A tell tale sign that he was almost there was the three drops of dried blood that had been left for the rain to clean. Then his breathing quickened to shallow and super fast.
“You’re serious aren’t you,” said Claire, losing her smile.
Kendal didn’t have the strength to even nod. All he could focus on was that he knew he had to move his two metre frame over to where he was shot. Then if he could manage to stand on the blood spots he knew he would be able to put the ordeal behind him. Till then he would be a mess. All logic had flowed out of his mind. He had to focus and accomplish what he needed to heal his emotions. He certainly didn’t need to talk to a shrink. He needed to stand on the dried blood. That was what was going to get him through. He wasn’t going to allow anyone to argue the point. The longer he took the worse it was going to be. All he knew that if he didn’t stand exactly where he was shot then he would be written off as a cop.
Kendal took a step and buckled under his weight. He looked up at his partner as he slipped to the ground. “I think I’m having a panic attack.” His voice was that quiet his words were almost lost in the shouting from the street. His whole body was trembling.
“Mister, are okay. Do you want me to call an ambulance?” said a woman pushing a pram. She had stopped jogging and was staring.
Claire gave the innocent bystander a look that portrayed a person who was swearing inside her mind for her to leave the area or I’ll arrest you on a loitering charge. Kendal had seen the look too many times.
The woman swore under her breath and jogged away.
Kendal crawled on all fours, reached out his hand and touched a blood stain that was the size of a twenty cent piece. He vomited near the blood stain then slowly climbed to his feet using his knees as a ladder. He stood half bent looking directly in the eyes of his Partner. He saw for the first time a sincere caring grin.
“If you can’t get through this they’ll retire you,” whispered Claire. “I’d hate to lose a partner over a stupid reason.”
“You’re right.”
“What’s that I hear? You actually agree on something I said?”
Kendal smirked at her sarcasm. If nothing else it helped him to break the panic cycle that was tumbling through his mind. The pause allowed his brain to slip back in charge. “Yes. If I don’t get over this I’m finished as a detective.” He forced his foot to stand on the blood stain. He held Claire at arm’s length and stood straight. He then closed his eyes and breathed, slow and deep. A full minute passed before he opened his eyes, stepped off the blood stain, walked several paces away then returned.
Claire watched his antics as Kendal waited for the panic inside his mind to disperse then it was gone.
“Are you finished?”
Kendal looked at Claire in the eyes. “Thanks for being here to help me. If you breathe a word of this to anyone there’s going to be trouble.”
“What will you do, arrest me?”
“Funny.”
“Kiss me and I’ll forget all this happened.”
Kendal leaned in towards Claire. She mirrored his move. He smirked and whispered in her ear. “No. We have a job to do. Let’s go. We have wasted enough time.” He straightened his clothes and brushed the dirt from his trousers. As he walked off with Claire following and shaking her head, he glanced over his shoulder at the blood stains. For a heartbeat he paused. Satisfied that having been shot would never again entertain his thoughts, the two detectives walked towards the building opposite the court house.
Claire stepped up to his side and attempted to put her arm around his.
He smiled and pushed her gently away. “I’m fine, thanks for caring.”
“Do you think I care?”
“Yes. I saw it in your eyes.”
“The look was only from the detective side of me.”
Kendal ignored her taunt. He knew that it wasn’t, but decided to keep the secret to himself. He rubbed his shoulder where the bullet had entered and looked about the area. “I can still see what was happening when I was shot. Two blokes wearing suit and tie were cycling past. They heard nothing and didn’t stop. A seven year-old girl who had been given an ice-cream was licking the end. The news media were bunching together, waiting for me at the bottom of the steps. They scattered like ten pins in a bowling alley as I went down.” Kendal smirked. “That’ll teach them for hanging around outside a court house.”
Claire shook her head. “I don’t think anything would stop them, and where’s my kiss?”
“You missed out, as usual. Come on partner, that rooftop across the street must have been where the sniper had been crouching.”
“We think he must have been in an apartment.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m ninety nine percent certain.”
“Did he leave any clues?”
“The only evidence we uncovered, if you could call it that, was a small hole in the glass window.”
“No dirt in the room, no other evidence?”
“There was nothing.”
“Nothing?” echoed Kendal. “That in itself is interesting.”
They made their way across the street, entered the building through the revolving door and sprinted for the lift. They stepped out onto the roof of the eleven storey building. The sun was at its highest. Kendal and Claire pulled sunglasses from their pockets and walked briskly to the edge and peered over the low wall at the street below. Claire was by his side with her hand out.
“I’m not going to jump,” snapped Kendal, looking at her with contempt.
“I know that.” She pulled her hand away, flashing a cursory grin. “Why are we on the roof?”
“The sniper would have been an expert at his craft. He would have come up here to escape.”
“If what you’re thinking is true, why are you alive and what makes you so sure he didn’t vanish in the mingling crowd?”
“Did you happen to see a man walk away holding a case?”
“Not that I can recall.”
Kendal smirked and tapped the black cap Claire was wearing. “I’m sure you would’ve seen a calm figure walking away. He would’ve stood out from the crowd.”
“Hence he would probably head for the roof to escape.”
“The numbers add up. To answer your question, why am I still alive; I haven’t discovered the answer yet?”
Kendal looked down on the court house steps. He knew it would amount to nothing, but he needed his mind to soak in what the sniper may have seen after he viewed his deed. “Look about and see if there’s evidence,” he said.
“The boys in blue have been all over this roof top. They found nothing,” said Claire.
Kendal gazed along the low wall to his left then to his right. A small shiny object glistened as sunlight ricocheted off the object. Claire brought up the rear as they closed in. Kendal crouched and picked up a single bullet that had been placed in an indent in the concrete rooftop. He lifted it to eye level. “If there was a thorough search then how do you explain this?”
Claire shrugged. “I’m sure the cops wouldn’t have missed an easy find.”
“Was it cloudy when the search was conducted?”
“I think so.”
“That could explain it. I might have missed it too if it weren’t for the sun. Either that or it was planted after the search.”
“Why would someone plant a bullet casing after the shooting?”
“To be found,” said Kendal.
“Or we’re chasing a crooked cop,” said Claire.
“Anything is possible at this early stage. Let’s walk to the other side of the building.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
MARG PULLED a shopping trolley out of the trolley bay at the entrance of a medium sized supermarket and headed down the first aisle.
A man in a wide brimmed hat, wearing a long brown duffel coat entered soon after and shadowed her. From a short distance he watched her every move, stopping and starting whenever Marg did. By the time her trolley was half full and she had turned down aisle nine he made his move.
Marg seemed oblivious to the fact that her every step had been scrutinized or that she was being followed from the moment she parked her car. As she gently placed a packet of six light globes in the trolley a hand shot out and held her wrist tight. Before she had a chance to look around or to contemplate a word for someone to help the man wearing the wide brimmed hat had leaned forward and was whispering in her ear.
“Don’t scream or doing anything that might alarm the shop detective in the next aisle. Please, whatever you do don’t try to look at my face. If you agree, we’ll both live to walk out of here. I wouldn’t want your death on my hands over something as trivial as seeing my face.”
Marg gave a short sharp nod and knitted her lips.
“You know me as GP.”
Again Marg nodded.
“I’ve a message for your husband.”
“What happened to the black envelope idea of communicating?” whispered Marg.
“I thought I’d live a tad more dangerous. Besides, the post would be too slow.”
“After you’ve told me the message, please leave.”
“That was too easy.”
“Did you expect something else?”
“I’m not sure. After the gun shooting when we last met here, I wasn’t sure what to expect.”
“That I’d be curious and welcome you with open arms? Or invite you for dinner?”
GP grunted. “None of the above.”
“I would prefer if you stayed away from my family.”
“I’m a friend you can trust.”
“Are you?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll refrain from saying another word. The jury is still out on that question.”
“You sound a tad ruffled.”
“You could say that I’m a little anxious of you being around my family, especially Alan.”
“Detective Kendal, spelt using only one ‘L’ seems to be managing my presence okay.”
Marg snapped a whispered reply. “Each to his own.”
“Fair comment. It’s time I went the undercover cop has past this aisle three times already. Each time she stared at us talking was longer than the last. Before I exit this fine establishment I’d like you to give your husband important information. The girl, Sam, the one that’s missing, had boarded a train to Riddles Creek. Tell him she never arrived. Also tell him be careful. I’ll be in touch.”
Without another word the man made a swift exit. By the time Marg had reached the end of the aisle he had vanished. She faked a grin at the undercover cop, turned the corner and walked down the next aisle to continue her shopping.
Download this book for your ebook reader.
(Pages 1-37 show above.)