Human Frailty, a Detective Mike Bridger novel (7 page)

"Yes I suppose he did", he said aloud, while
thinking of his own father, dead at the age of 60, still working a
full day. Did he have a good go at it, or did he waste it toiling
away at work for no other reason than to have some sort of promised
retirement that he would never enjoy.

Bridger sipped at his tea as his mood
darkened. Death and taxes were the only certainty in life.

He did not like to ask, but thought Mrs.
Watson looked to be in her 60's. There would have been a bit of an
age gap between her and the late husband, he thought.

"Well that's enough of that", Mrs. Watson
was saying, "I think we had better get onto my daughter
Marion".

Bridger got out his notebook and pen and
waited for her to speak.

"I know you probably think I'm being silly
Sergeant but Marion is all I have left, I know she is twenty seven
now and should have her own life but I rely on her for so much
these days. She knows that, which is why I think she has gone
missing. I haven't heard from her and she didn't show up for her
exam on Friday".

"Exam?
”
queried Bridger.

"Marion is a Masters student at the
university, she had an exam. Her tutor rang me to see where she was
when she did not show up. I guess he thought she still lived here
with me".

"Where does she live Mrs.
Watson?
”

"She moved out about six months ago, It was
a shock to me, she seemed so happy at home. Of course, she had
rules and boundaries, it was only proper. She said she wanted to be
closer to the university, I know it was so she could spend more
time with that boy. Mat something...; I do not remember his last
name. To be honest I rather switched off when she spoke about him.
He was the reason I have not called earlier, I thought she would be
off with him somewhere and forgot to tell me. She would be much
better off at home".

Mrs. Watson started to rant a little as
Bridger was just starting to drift away in his own thoughts.

Twenty-seven sounded a bit late to be just
moving out of home, he was thinking. Sounds like a bit of a mummies
girl.

Mrs. Watson continued, "This boyfriend
Mat, he spends far too much time at Marion's flat. He
is
always there
when I pop in on Marion, and that
is
only on the odd occasion that I
can make it out of the house, but I bet he is there all the time.
He has a look about him that makes me uneasy. You know the look
Sergeant; the way he looks at you with those beady eyes. I have
seen that look before and it always means trouble. No I
don
’
t think
he's at all the type of boy Marion should be seeing” Mrs. Watson
was shaking her head vigorously as she spoke, the jowls below her
chin were swaying back and forth making Bridger feel slightly
nauseous watching them.

Mrs. Watson continued to speak.”Mat’s
friends…, well they are all thugs and lay-about types as well. You
would not know what went on when they were all hanging about
Marion's flat."

The way Mrs. Watson's demeanor changed when
she was talking about these boys made Bridger think she did not
trust the male species much.

"I told her my reservations about him, let
her know I disapproved. Marion had to concentrate on her studies
not boys", Mrs. Watson continued. "She would never be allowed to
spend that sort of time on boys if she lived at home".

She did well to stick it out for as long as
she did, thought Bridger, old mum here sounds a bit
controlling.

Mrs. Watson’s monologue was starting to
drill into his headache and Bridger found himself drifting off
again in a subconscious effort to relieve the pain. He suddenly
realized he had been staring at the floor. He did not know how long
he had averted his attention but the change in Mrs. Watson's voice
brought him out of his daze.

"Are you all right Sergeant? Would you
like another cup of tea?
”

He politely declined, "Perhaps we could talk
about when Marion was seen last".

The crux of the matter was that Marion had
not arrived on Friday morning for her exam. Marion would never miss
an exam; she knew how important her education was to her mother.
Mrs. Watson had also not been able to contact her daughter on her
mobile or at that flat of hers.

Today being early Saturday morning, Bridger
could think of numerous good reasons that she could not contact
Marion, but none of them he felt was appropriate to share with her
mother.

He stood up and stretched his now stiff
back. “Mrs. Watson, your daughter is twenty seven; it's only been
twenty four hours. I bet she calls you later on with an excuse for
the exam. You'll see".

"Sergeant, Marion's exam was last week; I
have not seen or heard from her for over seven days".

Shit, thought Bridger, that changes things a
little.

"Where does she live Mrs. Watson? I'm sure
she will be at home if the police checked her flat", he said,
trying to convince himself as well as Mrs. Watson.

Mrs. Watson furnished him with an address
for the flat and names of her friends and then saw him to the
door.

"Let me know as soon as possible will you
Sergeant, I am extremely worried".

"As soon as I track her down Mrs. Watson, I
will let you know".

Bridger got back into the car; he could see
Mrs. Watson standing behind her lace curtains in the window,
watching him from the safety of her living room. He left the window
slightly down, glad to be back in the fresh air. He could either go
to the address and make some inquiries, or fill in the forms and
pass it on as John Maine had suggested. He looked at his notebook;
he had hardly written anything on the page, subconsciously placing
little importance in the report.

Despite the fact that no one had seen her
for a week, Marion was 27, not a child. It sounded like she moved
out to get some more out of life, she was hardly likely to tell her
mother everything now she was out of her immediate control. Mrs.
Watson was nothing, if not a bit strange. However, was she the type
to worry over nothing? His foggy mind could not put together a good
argument either way.

He could not think of any reason Matthews
would want CIB involvement in a missing 27 year old at this early
stage. There was no reason to suspect foul play. Passing it on and
then going back to the office sounded very appealing in addition,
him right now. He thought of the chocolate milk he had in the
office fridge. In his state, anything but work, sounded very
appealing and chocolate milk was the elixir of life to a
hangover.

As he switched on the car, Shane Carter's
voice leaked out of the speakers, singing about having 'Skin to
Wear'. The lyrics formed a disturbing picture in his head. He knew
he would have to make those inquiries, just for peace of mind. He
did not really think somebody was out there wearing Marion's skin,
but if anybody was wearing her skin, he hoped it was still
Marion.

Chocolate milk would just have to wait.

He watched her often in the last few days,
lying there in the darkness, naked. She was exquisite, just like
mother. She did not even have to audition for the part.

It had taken her a while to wake up after he
took her. He had feared he had put too much on the rag, used too
much to knock her out. Sitting, watching, waiting for her to awake
from her slumber he had grown anxious, if she had not woken, he
would never be able to lay his darkness to rest. She was the only
one who could make it happen, the only one; there would be no other
as perfect. He felt strongly about her, had felt strongly about her
from the first time he saw her. She was his mother as he remembered
her.

Then she woke.

He had watched her in the room waiting to
see what she would do. His excitement built. He actually felt sorry
for her in a way, not being able to clean her, take care of her. He
could only feed her enough to keep her alive; she had to suffer as
well. Mother was in no way innocent in all of this. Mother started
this, so mother would finish it.

Taking her was only half of what he had
planned though. When he went to look at her, he had to stop himself
telling her what she was to do, what part she was going to play.
What was to happen to put it right, but then she would already know
what she had done, wouldn't she?

Mother was going to pay a high price to rid
him of this darkness, to shut it out of his life forever.

He looked at the photo in his hand, a small
black and white, showing a pretty and petite woman of about twenty
one, she was dressed in what he guessed was her wedding dress and
was standing next to a man of about the same age. He had a casual
black suit on; it did not even fit him properly, not caring on his
wedding day either. Nevertheless, they both had smiles on their
faces, one smiling for the life she thought she was going to lead
and the other smiling for the life he was going to give her, safe
in the sanctity of marriage. It was strange seeing his parents like
that; the only image he had of them in his mind did not have those
smiles attached.

He had freed her from the chain earlier on
in the day in preparation. He had stood there trying not to lose it
in the corner, as he felt the inevitable drawing closer. It was
going to be so perfect.

She had cowered away from him when he
unlocked her shackles; she went and sat sniveling in the corner. It
had brought back memories of mother crying herself to sleep after
one of his father
’
s lessons. He almost told her then, but
stopped himself at the last moment. She had wet herself, right
there in front of him, showing her innermost fear in such a natural
act.

He had felt a burst of twisted pleasure, a
cruel pleasure in someone else's suffering brought on by his own
actions. Was this how father had felt? He nearly vomited at the
thought; dry retching into his mouth, a bitter taste of bile stung
the back of his throat. He had fled the room at that point, not
even hearing the sound of her anguish behind him.

Composing himself, needing to focus on the
task, he tried to think of the preparations he still needed to
complete. She could wait, she would find out soon enough and then
she would put it right. He could get on with his life. He just had
to wait until dark.

Bridger had decided on the side of caution,
and he had gone to Marion's address if only to put his tired mind
at rest.

Arriving in the unkempt street in the heart
of the student area, there was an eerie quiet feeling, like an
empty battlefield after the troops had withdrawn to regroup. He
looked at all the surrounding houses, windows and doors shut tight,
curtains drawn, shutting out the world and hiding the casualties
inside. It was a typical early Saturday morning after a busy night
in the life a student.

He walked up the short concrete path
and onto the veranda. Knocking on the glass-paneled door, he got no
answer. Peering through the frosted glass, he could detect no
movement either. Yellowing lace curtains obscured his view as He
looked through the front windows, before moving to the side of the
house. Stacks of old roofing iron and timber
choked
the narrow path, like battlements in the trenches. In his state he
was not about to clamber over the unstable looking pile.

Mrs. Watson was right, she was not home, but
there were signs of recent occupation. The letterbox was clear of
junk mail for a start, which was more than he could say for the
mess on the front lawn of one of the neighboring properties.
Marion's flat was tidy compared to most of the street.

Why she would choose to live in the student
area was beyond him. Street after street of unkempt houses, old
pieces of furniture scattered around the front yards. The house
next door had a hand painted sign above the door which read,
'Passion Pit' and underneath in smaller writing, 'For all your
pleasure needs'.

Very original, he thought.

Although there was no signs of life in the
entire street, he knew from experience that there would be a party
on at any of these houses on any given night, each occupant taking
a different degree course which all had different time
requirements. These parties were the stuff of legend throughout the
university world and occasionally the rest of the country. Parties
organized or not, had a way of getting out of hand in the student
area of Dunedin. Couches set on fire in the middle of the street,
riotous behavior. Whatever a decent child from a decent upbringing
needed to get out of their system before they knuckled down to
responsible jobs, they did in the six or so streets that surrounded
him.

Just recently, a roof on one of these houses
had collapsed under the weight of drunken students jumping up and
down while watching a student union endorsed keg party.

Not that it would have taken much, he
thought, looking at the houses that surrounded him.

The Landlords did not seem to put a lot of
effort into the upkeep of their investment resulting in a general
air of decay. It was the perfect environment for higher
learning.

The Masters student living in amongst the
first years though, it did not seem right somehow, most mature
students moved up in the world after the first few drunken years of
a degree. He could not see anyone in his or her right minds wanting
to study in the dead of winter in a house that most likely had no
insulation and leaked like a sieve. However, Marion might just be
making up for what she missed when she lived at home with her
mother. Who knew? He was never one to know what went on in a
female's mind.