American Crow (3 page)

Chapter Four

'henry and izzy'

St James's Park.

Midday.

H
enry Deacon looked completely different to the man I’d
imagined. He had a soft, sullen face the colour of dough, dull grey eyes that
were hard to read and a lopsided mouth, lending itself more to a whisper than
to a kiss. A slight slouch completed the awkwardness, which would have
engendered sympathy from most with any empathy to give.

As he walked from the cafe in my
direction, I thought that it wasn’t a look befitting someone in charge of a
whole load of people, and a whole load of money either. There was something
vulnerable about the way he carried himself as if he had the worries of the whole
bloody world on his shoulders.

God, he didn’t even know his daughter was
in any sort of trouble yet. Maybe he was just that depressive sort who needed
something to worry about? There were plenty of them out there who’d paid for my
services already...

I watched him carefully as he took a seat
outside the cafe overlooking the pond. He sipped his coffee carefully as he
worked his way through a sheaf of notes he’d pulled from a battered leather
satchel. I held back for a little longer, double-checking that he hadn’t been
followed, or more importantly that I hadn’t...

“Don’t assume you’re the only one doing
the watching, son,” my old man used to say when he’d lumbered me with some
tedious surveillance job as a kid. And most of the time he was right. Sometimes
there were other parties involved, hidden agendas and complications you just
weren’t aware of from the start, which you were then going to get shafted for
when the dust had finally settled.       

When the banker started fidgeting, I made
my move from a few metres away, where I’d been quietly standing feeding some
inquisitive ducks like a brainless tourist. I pulled up a chair opposite,
pushed up my shades, then looked him straight in the eyes so he knew who he was
dealing with, as was my way.

I watched him tense, like a lot of
clients do at first when they’re expecting some nerdy investigator and don’t
get it.

‘The name’s, Blake,’ I said extending my
tattooed hand. I work for Baxters.’

‘Thank you for coming,’ he blurted nervously,
‘I could certainly do with some help right now. And from someone who knows what
they’re doing...’

I saw a flicker of desperation in his
eyes, the look I’ve seen a thousand times when a guy is cornered and has no one
to turn to.

‘So your daughter, Olivia...she’s gone
walkabouts?’ I said trying to lighten the talk.

‘Indeed. Usually we speak every other day
or so, even when she’s away somewhere. It’s been nigh on six weeks now. There’s
been no contact at all. It’s truly out of character.’

‘And she’s in the U.S, Lenny says?’

‘Yes. She wants to study history of art
in London, so I organized it for her to help out at a gallery in Minneapolis
where I know people. I thought it would help inspire her, do her the world of
good to go and check out a different art scene for once, away from her doting
father. It can be difficult just the two of us sometimes, you know…’

I studied his face for a moment as I
absorbed his words, not wanting to connect with his pain. She was a teenager.
It’s what they did. They rebelled. It had only been a few months since she’d
left. Get a grip I thought. She was probably having the time of her life,
fallen in love for the first time, and was just lost in the
bubble.      

‘So, tell me about your last conversation
with her?’ I said diplomatically.

‘She seemed happy. They were getting
ready to change the exhibition at the gallery. She was helping out and
revelling in the excitement of it all.’ He sighed. ‘That seems like a long time
ago now.’

‘And she didn’t say anything else about any
troubles out there, any problems?’

‘None.’

Henry took several more sips of what must
have been a cold cappuccino by now and stared at the table in sombre
reflection.

‘And what about her friends, contacts on
Facebook, Twitter and stuff like that? Surely someone must know something about
her last movements?’ I pushed.

‘I’ve spoken to her closest ones, Ben and
Izzy. They say that she hasn’t been on any social networking sites for quite a
while...the last entry was about three days after we last spoke.’

‘Mobile?’

‘No answer.’

‘Who was looking after her in
Minneapolis? Your friends from the gallery?’

‘She was staying with a woman called,
Chrisse O’Reilly. She’s the sister of the gallery’s director. His name’s Walter
Finch. He sorted everything for us. He’s an old college friend of mine from way
back. I’ve spoken regularly with both of them to see if Olivia has comeback or
made any sort of contact, and neither of them has heard a thing.’

I ignored his deflated body language and
continued with the questioning.

‘And Lenny said that you hired a couple
of private detectives that end too?’

‘Yes, just over a month ago. One from
Minneapolis, the other from Minnetonka. The first took my money for a week then
said the trail had gone dead, the other just took my money and never got back
to me at all. I went over there and filled out some missing-persons forms with
the police recently, spoke to a female detective called Herring who deals with
these sort of cases, but it’s all gone quiet. My Olivia’s…well, just plain
vanished it seems.’

The last words were saturated with
emotion, ejected in a near-whisper. I eyed him sternly. The guy was a worrier
that much was clear. He didn’t have enough information yet to be so
pessimistic. But he was a ready to shelve out some big bucks to put his
obsessive mind at rest, so for now I would put up with him.

‘I’ll find her, Henry, whether she’s in
any sort of trouble or not, okay?’

‘Okay…’

He glanced at me then drained the rest of
his coffee. I could see that he didn’t even want to contemplate the worst-case
scenario, not that it would come to that when he finally got his reality check,
when she surfaced alive and well.  

‘Now these friends, can you give me their
addresses, telephone numbers, or a place of study or work? It would be good to
talk to them before I leave tomorrow.’

He leaned over and pulled out a plastic
wallet from his bag and slid it across the table. I glanced at the contents and
the photos clipped to some of the papers. His daughter was a slender blonde with
inquisitive grey eyes like his, and a blush of healthy colour on her rounded
cheeks. The sort of daughter every man would be proud of. I suppressed my
nausea at the similarity to Laura and forced a painful smile.

‘Everything you need to know about Olivia,
including some recent photos. It’s all in there,’ he continued. ‘My work and
mobile numbers are there as well. You’re welcome to check over Olivia’s room at
my place in Chelsea too. The address is on the first page. Mrs Kendle, my
housekeeper, should be there to let you in, if you can get there before six
today.’

I nodded. Housekeeper. Very posh.

‘And can I ask, where’s the mother in all
of this, Henry? I’m getting the feeling she’s not on the scene anymore.’

The banker looked at me mournfully.

‘She died in a skiing accident a couple
of years ago.’

I nodded
sympathetically.    

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

I stood up, keen to get on with the
investigation.

‘As soon as I’ve got something concrete
I’ll get back to you.’

He looked at me like some underfed puppy.

‘Thank you, Blake.’

‘Try not to worry...okay.’

I turned and headed off at a good pace. A
few hundred metres down the path I took a right turn and walked onto a wooden
bridge which spanned one of the larger ponds in the park, then stood there for
a while thinking about the case whilst admiring the sea of daffodils covering
both banks.

Laura had loved nature. That had become
clear in the short time we’d been in contact. She’d said that she’d wanted to
work in conservation eventually. She would have been good at that...

I felt some sick rise up into the back of
my throat and swallowed it back down. A burst of sunlight cut through the
clouds as if she’d heard me in the heavens and drawn close suddenly. I enjoyed
its warmth on my skin as my stomach tightened again, then sat down on a nearby
bench and flicked through the papers Henry had given me, trying to ignore the
feeling of broken glass in my guts.

Quickly I found the numbers of Olivia’s
two closest friends and punched their numbers into my phone and dialled. The
one for Ben Jackson rang and clicked through to a stupid voicemail message. The
other for Izzy, was answered straight away.

‘Hello?’

Her voice was young and feminine.

‘Hi Izzy. I’m a friend of Henry Deacon’s.
Olivia’s father. He took the liberty of giving me your number. I hope you don’t
mind me ringing you cold, but I’m trying to find out if she’s okay. Do you know
anything at all?’

‘You’re not another of those annoying private
detectives, are you?’ She replied sharply, ‘because if you are, I’ve already
spoken to the one from America, as well as to the police here, and told them
everything I know. Everything.’

‘Well, I’m not some stiff snooper type
who peers through a hole in a newspaper, let’s put it like that,’ I said,
amused at the notion. ‘The name’s Blake.’

‘And you’re
not
a cop?’

Her tone was still defensive. I laughed.

‘That’s the last thing I would be, Izzy.
Look can we meet for a drink? I’ll even pay for it, and if you want me to piss
off after a few questions then I will, alright?’

‘Where are you?’ she said, mellowing.

‘Central London, but I can get anywhere
pretty damned quick if you tell me where and when.’

‘Well, I work at a tattoo studio in
Camberwell called ‘Skin’. It’s just up from the green on the left on the road
heading towards Peckham. I can spare ten minutes if you want to drop by in the
next hour or so, as I’m taking a late lunch. But that’s all I can spare.’

‘You’re on. I’ll be there in half an
hour.’

*

Izzy didn’t look how I
imagined either. Maybe this was going to be the trend for the whole job I
thought. Or maybe I was just losing my touch. Usually, I was good at fitting a
voice to a name, but she was just the opposite of what I’d conjured up in my mind.
She was no homely girl-next-door-type. She was covered in ink as befitting her
job. I should have realized.

When I walked through the door she was
sitting behind a counter, thumbing through some plastic folders where people
could choose their designs. Her black hair was part-pulled up into a fierce
pony tail on the top of her head, and the few remaining strands left to dangle
loosely over her shoulders as if she’d got up late and couldn’t be bothered. I
liked her look...

‘So you’re the mysterious new detective
then?’ she said sarcastically, looking up.

‘Just Blake will do...’

She eyed me up and down, intrigued. I was
wearing faded black jeans, an original Clash tee-shirt, and an old black bomber
jacket that had been sown up more times than I could remember.

‘Is that your first or second name?’ she
said with a cold smile.

‘Both.’

She raised an eyebrow and pointed over to
the customers’ seats by the window. I decided to accept to make her feel in
control.

‘So that dick of a father is employing
you
now, uh?’

I liked her assessment.

‘Kind of.’

‘But you’re not the usual sort of private
detective?’

‘No, I work in a different way. I look
after my contacts and respect their privacy.’

She looked at me unsure.

‘And I bet Henry’s paying you a fortune,
right?’

‘Lots of cash thanks, that’s the other
reason I’m doing it. Look, I couldn’t give a toss about some high-flying
banker, I just want to find this friend of yours, take a picture of her to
prove that she’s alive then be on my way. If she’s wanting time out from her
father then that’s fine by me too, so don’t worry about grassing your mate up.
I won’t be telling Henry any exact locations. I don’t like sneaks myself. My
main motivation is to insure that she’s okay,’ I lied. ‘Plain and simple…’

I threw a couple of fifty pound notes on
the counter.

‘These are for you anyway, if you want to
help. I’m more than happy to cover your time...’

She stuffed the money into her bra, not
that she needed one.

‘I like you, Blake.’

‘I like me too.’

‘He’s the reason she went away, you
know.’

Interesting.

‘Go on...’ I probed.

‘She said that she might go AWOL for a
bit when she got over there.’

‘Did she now?’

‘He runs her bloody life with a rod of
iron, Henry does. He smothers her, if you hadn’t gathered that already...has done
since her mother died. And she’s just had enough of it. Thought that if she
agreed to go away, it would be a good opportunity to have some time alone where
he wouldn’t be able to harass her for once.’

‘Really?’

‘Really...She might not even come back you
know, if things work out.’

‘I would have done the same,’ I replied,
thinking that the girl didn’t know much about America to think that possible.

I wasn’t surprised at the revelation too.
Henry didn’t seem like the controlling sort, but I’d learnt early on not to
judge a book by its cover. 

‘Look, Blake. I really don’t know where
she is, okay. All I know is that she met some new guy over there and that she’s
probably very happy right now, wherever she is...’

Bingo.

‘When did you hear from her last, Izzy?’

‘I got a Facebook message around five and
a half weeks ago. Since then, she’s gone off-line big time. Probably having too
much of a good time, the cow.’

I smiled warmly, stood up and placed my
hand boldly over hers playing it cocky, like I’d done countless times before
when working an informant. She looked up and eyed me warily, but didn’t shy
away.

‘You’re a very attractive girl, Izzy.’

‘My boyfriend seems to think so,’ she
said with a flirtatious smile.

I squeezed gently.

‘Does he get jealous?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good...I like a bit of competition.’

I felt a stirring down below and tried to
suppress it.

‘My Gary would beat anyone to a pulp if
he thought someone was cracking onto me. He can be vicious like that.’

‘Would he now...’ I thought, amused at
the notion.

‘What’s the name of this new bloke of
Olivia’s then?’ I said working her some more.

‘I’m not sure.’

She was lying.

‘You’re a real delight, Izzy,’ I said,
seeing the innocent face that had existed before it had been punctured with
studs.

She blushed ever so slightly.

‘Fancy a cup of tea? Marion’s on lunch at
the moment, so we’ve got time for a quick one...if you fancy a
quick
one
that is?’

‘Marion?’

‘The tattoo artist here.’

‘I don’t mind
one
, if you do...’ I
said, looking into her hungry grey eyes.

Her gaze lowered to the floor as if she
was thinking about it, then slowly came back up and locked onto mine, telling
me all that I needed to know.

‘Well, do you want to help me make the
tea
then?’ she said coyly, working it ever so slightly like I had.

‘Sure...’

She lifted the counter and beckoned me
through to the back room via a black curtain. Inside was a small storage
cupboard doubling up for a kitchen. She reached up for a tin and I moved in
behind her. She froze as if surprised at the direct approach then seemed to
relax.

‘That’s a bit cheeky, isn’t it?’ she said
playfully.

‘Oh yes, I think it is a bit...’

I waited for her to get cold feet, like
those young teasing types do sometimes. She didn’t.

My hand went down to her crutch and
released the buttons one by one, testing the water. She dropped the tin she’d
been holding and grabbed my other hand, which had now worked its way up inside
her top and was massaging her modest cleavage.

‘If he ever found out, he’d kill me you
know...’

‘I would do the same if you were mine,’ I
said, thinking she couldn’t have been much older than her missing friend.

She eased her jeans down below her hips
for me and I kissed her neck. I wasn’t surprised to discover that she wasn’t
wearing any knickers either. She was that carefree sort. Just my type. My mouth
went to her right ear and whispered some cheap flattery. She seemed to like
that too and growled a little louder.

‘I wouldn’t let him touch you, you
know...if he tried to hurt you. You’re far too precious. Worth fighting for, I
reckon…’ 

Something seemed to ignite in her and she
thrust her buttocks towards me in response, moaning and grinding, and hungry
for a response of equal measure. I looked down and stared at the detailed
Celtic knot-work tattooed skilfully across her hips and tried to control
myself. She was far too young, far too like my Laura...

‘Go on, do it,’ she urged, digging her
nails in the front of my thighs. ‘Do it…’

‘Who’s Olivia’s boyfriend, Izzy?’ I said,
kissing her neck slowly.

She moaned some more.  

‘Some local guy over there.’

‘Who?’ I pushed as she ground into me
harder.

‘He’s...he’s called...Ethan I think. I
don’t know his second name...Sorry.’

A hand reached for my fly. I pulled back
a little, knowing I was getting close to the point of no return myself.

‘Second name?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Yes.’

‘How old?’ I said.

She moaned.

‘How old?’ I said slipping a hand between
her legs.

She arched her back in pleasure and
grabbed my neck from behind.

‘Seven or eight years older...I think.’

‘Go on...’ 

‘Olivia said he’s in his mid-twenties, I
think.’

My fingers explored further, deeper.

‘You got a picture?’

She groaned loudly then shuddered.

‘He’s...cute.’

‘Can you show me?’

She winced with pleasure.

‘I deleted it.’

‘You being straight with me?’ I
whispered.

‘Yes...’ she said, shuddering again.

‘Okay.’

 I withdrew my hand and pulled back
further.

‘No...’ she murmured, her head lowering
in frustration.

‘I want to Izzy, trust me...’

She turned, looking bewildered.

‘Look, I’m married, okay…’ I lied. 

‘I didn’t see the ring,’ she said
sounding annoyed.

‘We’re not the traditional sort.’

‘It doesn’t stop most men...’ she said
softly, moving in for the kiss again.

‘I’m not most men,’ I said, edging away.
‘Trust me, Izzy, I want to...’

‘Tea then?’ she said exasperated.

I looked at her flushed face as she
picked up the tin, then thought about Laura again and felt nauseous.

‘Milk…sugar?’

‘Sorry, I’ve got to go,’ I said swishing
the curtain to one side.

‘Did I do something wrong?’ she said, calling
out after me.

‘No, Izzy...you didn’t,’ I replied,
heading out onto the street.

 I jumped on my bike feeling
unnerved, then after a few seconds turned the key. The girl had been roughly
the same build and height as Laura, her eyes just as inquisitive and
bright. 

I shook my head and pulled out into the
busy Camberwell traffic then drove up to the lights and waited on the red. At
least I’d got a result. A name. I just felt bad about working the girl that was
all. It had been a while since I’d done that, and with someone so young, but
you had to play people. It opened them up, and opened doors that would normally
have remain closed. And sometimes that was all there was between finding
someone alive at the end of the trail, or in pieces.

The lights turned green and I sped off
sharply, weaving in and out of the cars ahead as I chewed over the case, then
my life at the same speed. I’d find this Olivia Deacon wherever she was, and
maybe that in itself would make me feel a little bit more human again, make me
feel better about failing Laura at a time when we should have been celebrating
a new start together.

I thought about the trash can of empty
bottles outside the trailer for a moment and felt angry at letting myself go.
Things had to change or I was going to end up following Laura to the grave
pretty damned quickly.

Perhaps the case was just what I needed
to clean the slate and Lenny had intuited that before he’d offered it to me. Or
maybe, I thought cynically, it was going to be a bitch of a job and Lenny knew
that to, knew that I was the only one on the firm who was prepared to get their
hands dirty, who’d place themselves in extreme danger, just to get the right
result...