Human Frailty, a Detective Mike Bridger novel (5 page)

He tried to sit up, his head protested and
his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. The ringing got
louder, its piercing screech drilling into the hangover making
itself at home in his head. He followed the sound to the side of
the bed and saw his cell phone vibrating itself across the bare
wooden floorboards.

Picking it up he could see the caller
display showing a private number, reminding him painfully that he
was supposed to be at work. Perhaps that last drink offered last
night was not such a good idea, then when had it ever been a good
idea to mix beer with whiskey.

He pulled himself out of his lethargy and
stood up unsteadily. Jaded memories of last night flashed in the
damaged synapses of his aching brain. Pressing answer, he mumbled
something unintelligible into the mouthpiece.

"Mike Bridger? You
’
re not the person I expected
to hear on the phone this morning". The voice was raspy but
unnaturally chirpy. "The way you were putting them away last night
I'm surprised you
’
re still alive. Have you even been home yet
or did you sleep in the bar?" There was some chuckling followed by
a coughing fit.

"I pulled the weekend duty shift John,
but you already knew that. That
’
s why you’re calling me, what do you
want?"

"I guess it's not every day you get to
celebrate a promotion is it Mike, but you looked as if you were
celebrating for two last night, I don't know how Laura puts up with
you. She must be a saint".

Bridger tried to swallow through his dry
mouth. He remembered Laura had called his cell phone in the very
early hours of the morning. She was ‘just wondering’ when he was
going to be home. He could not remember the excuse he had given
her., but it was then she had turned on him and confronted him in
the cellular world of his mobile phone about being out all night
drinking. He could not really say anything, he could not think of
what to say anyway so he just held his breath and let her
speak.

She had stopped short of accusing him of
having an affair, but he could sense the question unspoken in her
breathy sigh, he was almost glad of the distance that the phone
offered.

'You're an alcoholic wanker' was the last
thing she had said to him as she had cut the connection.

Bridger looked at the cell phone in his hand
now, a very different conversation. He shook his head ruefully,
then he looked over at the door the naked figure had walked
through; guilt was a hard emotion to feel with a hangover.

A few drinks here and there doth not an
alcoholic make, he thought. A sharp stabbing pain shot behind his
eyes and faded into the back of his head in a slight throb.

Hangovers were becoming an occupational
hazard lately and it was only varying degrees of pain that reminded
Bridger how much he had put away the previous night. 'Just the one'
always ended differently, depending on his mood.

"I'm not really in the mood this morning
John, can you get on with it".

Bridger did not need the telephone speaker
to hear the slow intake of breath from Senior Sergeant John Maine
sitting comfortably in the watch-house at the Dunedin Central
Police Station less than four blocks away. He had a way of
projecting his feelings that you could not ignore.

"Listen Mike, you know I would not
pass this sort of thing on to your lot normally, but Matthews
called me from his home and told me to pass it on to you
personally, he knew you were on duty weekend. I wouldn't take any
notice usually but all my boys are busy dealing with the baddies
and the paperwork from last night
’
s
‘
Rumble in the
Jungle
’
".

More memories flashed before him like a
movie trailer. The front door of the Jungle Bar -

trying to get in - a prick of a bouncer - a
group of students - things getting out of hand - a fight he may or
may not have been involved in - faces he may or may not have
recognized in the car loads of blue uniforms arriving shortly
after. He thought it best not to mention this memory.

It was not actually called the Jungle
Bar, being aptly named the Revive Club, but over the years the
locals started calling it the
’
Jungle Bar
’
due to the amount of older woman,
or 'Cougars', that would be prowling around the dance floor looking
to pick off the young and the weak.

Not the sort of place he normally went to,
preferring the civil surroundings of the Duke of Wellington at the
south end of town, a place that modeled itself on the old English
corner Pub. That was much more his style, but needs must.

"Mike, are you still
there?
”

"Yeah John, listen, I need a quick shower
then I will be right in, I need to clear up my head a bit before
thinking of any work".

"Fair enough Mike…, you want me to lay on
the scones and jam, or the paracetamol, it's not often we get a
Detective Sergeant in our office". Bridger could sense the smile in
his voice.

"Shut it John, I will see you shortly".

Bridger sat down on the edge of the large
bed and looked around; he saw his clothes hung on the back of an
expensive leather chair. Both his jeans and t-shirt folded nicely
on the seat.

That is not my work, he thought to
himself.

He looked around the expensively furnished
room. Everything was in its place; he could not see a single pair
of stray underpants or discarded clothing. A very fastidious person
lived here; it certainly was not his place then.

He heard a shower running in the next room.
He pictured the person who would be in there, naked and probably
covered in soap. He felt himself becoming slightly aroused at the
thought. This was Jane's bedroom, in her apartment that she kept
for when she worked late or when she was entertaining. Apparently
she lived a long way out of town.

Jane would be in the shower now, a warm
steamy place Bridger knew he should actually avoid if he was going
to get into work. Selfishly, he also did not want to get into any
deep conversations about why they always ended up in bed together
after a function. Get in and get out.

Jane Little was a lawyer with a local firm,
Jones Allen, and she was Bridger's only addiction. They were not
exactly having an affair, but every so often, once or twice a year,
sometimes more, their paths would cross and they would both have
too much to drink.

It had not taken much that first time, just
a little flattery thrown his way, appealing to his sense of worth;
he had taken a risk and gone with it. She turned out to be very
open in a sexual way. She didn't show any embarrassment when she
had described in his ear what she had wanted to do, and she hadn’t
failed to live up to her promise. He had actually surprised
himself, he wasn’t normally one for rash decisions, but it seemed
to be the most natural thing in the world to follow her home that
first night. Like a siren beckoning a sailor on to the rocks, she
had whispered sweet nothings in his ear, and like a fool, he had
taken a bite of the apple.

Now when he saw her in those situations it
would be like a shot of cocaine to his system, something carnal and
uncontrollable. He knew when he saw Jane he wanted her, on some
base level, more than he did anything.

He tried to remember the last time he had
felt that way about his wife. He still found Laura attractive, more
than attractive if he really thought about it, but she had this way
of making him feel insecure, she always held back as if she had
realized that settling for him had been a mistake but she could not
bring herself to end it. They were probably unfounded emotions, he
knew that Laura had never expressed anything that should make him
feel that way, but he still could not shake the feelings.

With Jane, he felt no expectations to live
up to, no baggage between them. He could relax and enjoy
himself.

Jane had been very accommodating to start
with, never wanting anything more from him than physical pleasure.
They had not spoken about anything deeper than what got them
excited at the time. That suited Bridger as he found himself
craving for the touch of a woman. That part of his relationship
with Laura had soured a long time ago, but then they never seemed
to be a very affectionate couple. Now it seemed that they were only
intimate when they were drunk, and then he felt it was more out of
habit. Jane was a completely different kettle of fish.

Lately though Jane had taken to ringing him
up at odd times, asking him to come over for a drink and a chat. He
thought he knew exactly where that would lead and so was always
making excuses. He was not ready to cut the connection with his
wife, still believing out of stubbornness that they may find common
ground again.

The alcohol had taken away those
excuses last night though, and he had found himself waking this
morning in Jane
’
s now familiar bedroom, still wearing his
boxers, unsure if it had gone any further than sleeping.

He did not want to get into it this morning
so quietly gathered his stuff together, dressed, and slipped out
the front door.

Out in the cold air he rubbed at the stubble
on his chin, took a deep breath and started walking towards the
town centre and the Central Police Station.

Walking into the ‘Senior's office, Bridger
could detect the faint whiff of cigarette smoke. There was no
smoking allowed in the station but that did not apparently apply to
the craggy old Senior Sergeant sitting behind the desk with his
feet up on the wooden surface. It looked to him like a scene from
the Godfather, the Mafia Don holding court with his family, an
ashtray full of used cigarette butts sat on the corner of the desk,
smoke rising lazily into the air. A tumbler full of whiskey was the
only thing he needed to complete the scene.

Bridger's head was thumping, the smell of
cigarette smoke causing his stomach to churn a little. He could see
Maine appraising his appearance with a little amusement.

"Bloody hell Bridger you look worse
than you sounded on the phone. Is that last night
’
s t shirt?
”

"I thought smoking was banned in the
workplace". Bridger managed as a reply.

"I couldn't give a shit about a petty
ban; if I need my fix I will bloody well have it. It was good
enough for us in the old days and it has not changed in my eyes. I
still remember the smoky confines of a public bar, those were the
days". Maine
’
s eyes looked down as he spoke, a slight
wistfulness in his last comment.

"What can I do for you Senior
Sergeant?
”
Bridger said, changing the subject.

Maine's fingers were absently tapping a
piece of paper on the desk. He turned the form towards him and
pushed it forwards.

Focusing his eyes a little Bridger could see
it was a standard police form, one used for recording missing
persons.

Normally a job for the uniforms, Bridger was
thinking to himself, wondering why Matthews wanted him to
attend.

"By the look on your face, you have put your
newfound Detective Sergeant detecting skills to the test and
deducted what I need you to do".

As opposed to the plain old Detective
Constable skills I had yesterday, thought Bridger tiredly.

He gave Maine a tight smile.

"Although it would be a big ask for even
Sherlock Holmes to detect anything through those piss holes in the
snow you call eyes", Maine added, smiling himself.

Bridger was too tired for any banter.
"Matthews asked you to pass on a missing person to
me?
”
he
queried, "It's not something I've had to deal with for a
while".

"I don't normally get a call from an off
duty Inspector asking me to look into something", Maine said, "He
had the details for me, from what I gather from our brief
conversation he has had someone contact him about it and needs it
done ASAP. He wouldn't go into anymore details than that".

"Ok John, if him upstairs has directed it,
then who am I to argue", he said while looking at the partially
completed form.

Marion Watson, 27 yrs old, reported missing
by her mother.

"I owe you one Mike, just go and see what
the story is, go through the motions, then pass it back to me for
follow up. You have not forgotten the motions in your scramble up
the slippery pole have you".

That is all I bloody need, Bridger thought,
as he left the office. He was not planning to do a lot this morning
after his night out the previous evening. There goes the day hiding
behind my desk.

Technically Maine was not Bridger's boss, as
he was in the Criminal Investigation Branch and Maine was one of
the Senior Sergeants in charge of the General Duties Constables,
still finding their feet in the job, so he did not really have any
say in his day-to-day workload.

Bridger had worked under John Maine when he
first arrived in Dunedin as a Constable himself. Maine was an old
school copper, with old school ideas but Bridger actually respected
his abilities, and he thought the feeling was mutual, so they had
an easy working relationship. Maine had a face ravaged by a
lifetime of hard drinking, shift work and cigarette smoke,
something that he was actually quite proud of; Bridger had heard
him heralding the virtues of work hard play hard on a number of
occasions.

If that
is
how he wants to live his life, who
was he to argue, but a bit of moisturizer would not go astray, he
thought to himself, smiling through the pain in his
head.