Human Frailty, a Detective Mike Bridger novel (15 page)

Was that what she was, a victim? Could a
missing person be a victim? Bridger hoped he was wrong in the
terminology he was using. It was a hope that had no foundation in
reality. It really did seem that Marion had just disappeared off
the face of the earth. That would make her a victim in anyone's
books.

Looking at the whiteboard in front of him,
he had quickly outlined the enquiry underway. He had almost
forgotten it was now his job to lead this enquiry; somebody had
done this for him last week. He had placed an A4 picture of Marion
at the top, drawn various lines off the picture leading to
enquiries completed and enquiries yet to complete.

They could disregard the completed enquiries
he thought, it all leads to nothing, just background stuff really.
The boyfriend Mat would be next and he would be the one to do that
interview. Later they had to visit the Playhouse Theatre and speak
to this Jonas. Bridger was skeptical whether that would lead to
anything but every avenue had to be covered.

He would have to put out a release to the
media in due course now that they had all but confirmed that she
was missing. He would also have to explain where they were at with
the enquiry when he attended the crime meeting in the morning so he
wanted to make sure he had everything under control.

It looked like another late one this
evening, the thought sitting on his mind while he tried to think
how to explain it to Laura. He still needed to let her know what he
was doing if only to avoid an argument later.

Sighing he picked up his phone, the direct
approach would have to do it. There was no answer on her cell phone
but she was probably still in a meeting or something. Leaving an
insubstantial message he finished by saying he would text her if
anything changed.

Sitting across the desk from him was a male
who looked around thirty, trying his best to look like the typical
mature student, neatly trimmed beard, thick rimmed glasses, woolen
jersey, fawn colored trousers, finished off with a pair of brown
leather shoes that looked suspiciously like the boat shoes he used
to wear in the nineteen eighties.

After explaining in more detail the reason
he needed to speak with him, Bridger began.

"So Mat what course are you taking at
the university?
”

"I'm not a student, I'm a mechanic", Mat
replied, "I work at Mueller Motors on King Edward Street".

So much for first appearances, Bridger
thought, normally priding himself on his observations of
people.

"How old are you
Mat?
”

"I’m Thirty two".

Trying to be younger, thought Bridger.

"So how do you know
Marion?
”

"What, you think, cause she's at Uni and I'm
just a mechanic that I'm not her type".

"Sorry Mat, I didn't mean it that way",
Bridger said, adjusting his tone slightly.

Somebody is a bit insecure and touchy, he
thought, writing a note on the pad in front of him to follow up on
the state of this relationship.

"You're seeing Marion, is that
right?
”

"Yeah, we have been going out for about 6
months. One of my ex flat mates introduced us, well sort of, Marion
used to visit her and I, sort of, just butted in. You know when you
meet someone and she just seems so right, well that was Marion. It
felt like I had known her all my life".

"What was your flat
mate
’
s
name?
”

"Lucy it was, she moved out soon after we
got together, she said it was because she had found somewhere
closer to Uni, but I think it was because whenever Marion came
round she would have competition for her attention. She couldn’t
handle it and got a bit jealous".

Bridger wondered what went on in someone's
life to be living in a flatting situation at the age of 32.

"When was the last time you saw
her?
”

"Who..., Lucy?
”

"I think it's best if we concentrate on
Marion now Mat".

"Yeah sorry, just get a bit nervous around
you lot..., sorry, I mean the police".

"That's okay Mat, you're not under any
suspicion, and you
’
re just here to help". However, it also
depends on what you have to tell us though, Bridger was
thinking.

"Yeah..., Marion..., I saw her on the day I
was going skiing with my mates, that was Friday, week before last.
I was leaving mid morning so she left after breakfast to go back to
her flat. She couldn't come with me cause she had an exam or
something".

"How was she getting
home?
”

"Walking, she walked everywhere. She didn't
have a car".

Bridger silently noted the use of the
word 'didn't' as opposed to 'doesn't'. "What was she
wearing?
”

"I'm not sure now; it was a while ago...
Maybe her grey polar fleece, jeans... and she would definitely have
been wearing her sexy boots, she wore them everywhere, hardly ever
took them off". Mat was grinning at Bridger as if trying to imply
something.

"You're not taking this very seriously Mat,
Marion's missing as far as we know and we need to ask these
questions".

"Yeah sorry..., you're right", Mat said as
his face became paler, finally realizing the seriousness of the
situation.

The rest of the interview went in a more
formal manner.

Returning to the office Bridger was
reviewing in his mind what Mat had told him. It was not much to be
exact. According to Mat they were both happy in their relationship,
short that it was, although he suspected that Mat felt a bit
insecure that Marion was such a high achiever and he just a
mechanic. He had provided the names of the friends he was skiing
with, they would apparently confirm he had been where he said he
was. He had given permission to search his flat, although Bridger
had sold that one to him by telling him that they just needed a
quick look for formality sake.

Mat was typical of an undereducated male,
slightly intimidated in the face of authority or someone of higher
intelligence, unsure of his place in the world, wanting to give a
good impression but putting his foot in it in the process. A male
feeling slightly emasculated by the role he fulfilled in the modern
world.

Did he think he was capable of harming
Marion, Bridger could not tell, but one thing he did know was that
at this stage Mat was the only suspect he had. It was not a very
good start to his first enquiry. Maybe he should not write off the
enquiry at the theatre to soon, it might throw up some much needed
luck.

"
This is how
it's going to work, I'm going to ask you some questions, and you’re
going to answer them. After that, I am going to tell you a story. A
story that you could have been a part of, but you were not. This
story will bring you right up to date, then it will end, right here
in this room. I have already written the ending, you will follow
the script; there will be no room for improvisation on your part.
Tomorrow we will begin
".

He pressed stop on the recording device; he
thought he had delivered that little speech with the gravitas it
deserved. All he had to do was to splice it into the live feed and
start the loop. Of course, he had distorted his voice; he could not
run the risk of anyone recognizing him when this was underway. It
would take a while for this to play out.

Pushing play, he looked at the monitor, he
could see her head rise up as his voice flowed through the speaker,
she looked confused at first, but by the third or fourth loop of
his speech, she was once again struggling against her bonds.

Good, he thought to himself, she would be in
the right mood tomorrow for her first curtain call.

Standing up and scratching his tired eyes he
smiled to himself, it had been a long few weeks. He had moved
quickly once he had realised that what he had planned would be
possible. Everything was now in place, he had constructed the set
meticulously, his best creation yet.

It was not hard to set up the live feed; all
he needed was a computer and an Internet connection. The world
would be watching as he righted the wrongs of the past. That would
make it so much sweeter. The world that only looked at him as
broken and damaged as a child, the world that had then promised to
give him so much just too cruelly take it away. The darkness was
dictating his life from where it had set up camp inside his mind.
Tomorrows forecast was predicting a storm of such proportions that
nothing would be able to stand up to it. The demon was in for a
rough ride on his way back to hell.

He went through to the next room to check on
his leading man. He found him still lying on the floor sniveling,
the pathetic little shit. Ben had not really moved since landing
his role, choosing instead to get into character early and spend
his time practicing his method acting. Ben's interpretation of a
pathetic, cowardly, scared little man was breathtaking. He had
taken it to the extreme. He would play an excellent role when the
time came. It was exactly what he wanted from him. Moving up close
to him, he whispered in his ear. "Tomorrow father, you will find
out what you have done to me, how I have lived my life with the
legacy you left me. How I have suffered, how I have battled with
the demon you invited into my life. Tomorrow the final act will
play out, I will be free..., and you will be dying. It will not be
quick, it will take a while, you will not enjoy it.... Mother is
here to see to that".

Ben just stared back, an uncomprehending
look in his glassy eyes. He looked stoned or drugged, snot
dribbling from his nose. A small amount of dried blood caked on his
forehead.

What a waster you turned out to be, Dad, he
thought, as he shut the door behind him and went it into the early
evening, whistling a tune as he went.

Mat Simpson's flat was nothing out of the
ordinary, a wooden bungalow similar to the neighbor’s house and the
one after that. He lived alone now his flatmate had moved on. It
was a typical male environment. Xbox in front of the large screen
telly, pictures of semi naked girls torn out of an FHM magazine
decorated the peeling wallpaper; their thoughts hidden behind their
fixed smiles were the only thing left to the imagination.

"The pictures are probably holding most of
the wallpaper on", Grant had commented seeing the general state of
disrepair.

There was a musty smell in most of the rooms
except for the kitchen, which smelt strongly of stale cooking fat.
They had found a few items of women's clothing in his bedroom, a
bra and tights lying next to his still unpacked rucksack. Mat had
confirmed that they belonged to Marion. A pair of well-used skis
was propped up against the wall.

Mat looked more relaxed in his own
environment and they did not find any evidence of foul play having
occurred in the house. It was beginning to look as Bridger had
expected a dead end. The only thing he found was a few remnants of
a cannabis cigarette in an ashtray on the kitchen table.

"Personal use", Mat had pleaded, his nervous
look returning.

Bridger was not interested anyway. Time
would have been that he would have invoked a drug search using the
now defunct Misuse of Drugs Act to search for more evidence of drug
use. Nowadays apart from having better things to do, he had not
schooled himself up on the new Search and Surveillance Act enough
to remember what his obligations would have been.

Mat's lucky day, Bridger thought, but it is
not mine.

Returning to the office, Bridger's mood
darkened on seeing an email from Matthews demanding a full account
of the enquiry at tomorrow’s crime meeting.

"Arrogant tosser, why can't he just come and
see me, or phone me on my cell", anger was bleeding out of his
voice.

"What's that Sarge?
”
Jo queried.

"That bloody Matthews upstairs. He sends me
an email demanding things. What if I did not check my emails, I bet
he would still blame me for not completing his directions…
Tosser".

Jo stood there open mouthed, unsure of what
to say.

Bridger saw her expression. "Sorry Jo, I
know I shouldn't speak like that in front of you, it puts you in a
difficult position".

Jo mumbled something about needing the
toilet and left the office.

Bridger sat down in one of the chairs and
looked around the now empty office. A wave of tiredness washed over
him and he yawned.

One more enquiry to do, he thought
glumly.

Jo drew the short straw and was to accompany
Bridger to the Playhouse, the others were quite happy to leave them
to it and scarper out the door to whatever passed as their personal
lives.

He knew Grant was married although had no
children, he would be out with his wife again, in some forest
somewhere pedaling through the mud.

Fun for some he thought, but not his cup of
tea.

Becky was still single as far as he knew; he
did not delve much into her personal life these days, still a bit
embarrassed. He remembered a drunken Christmas party long ago, a
drunken kiss that went no further, pulling away at the last moment,
both of them looking at each other, wanting to say something, but
they left it unsaid. Come Monday morning they had said nothing
about what happened and they had said nothing since.

John was still single and was out playing
the field most nights, if you believed the stories he spouted.