48

  Nairo rubbed her exhausted eyes and looked up at the sound of the office door opening. Ridley came bustling in, dripping wet, hugging a paper bag under his coat like a small child.

  “Was he there? Did you get any?” Nairo said, pushing files aside to make space.

  Ridley grinned at her and set the bag down.

  “The rumours were true, Abu No Tongue has returned to the city!”

  “Did you manage to get any meat?” Nairo asked as she grabbed a couple of plates and cups from the kitchen.

  “Naa,” Ridley said, unfurling the paper bag. “It was all gone by the time I got there, but even if it wasn't, we’d never be able to afford it.”

  “How much is lamb going for now?” Nairo asked as she set the plates down.

  “Goat," Ridley corrected. "About three months factory wages for a kilo,” Ridley replied.

  “Wow,” Nairo said. “Guess meat is off the menu still.”

  “But, Abu was doing meat dripping baps with cheese and chilli sauce!” Ridley reached into the bag and withdrew a hefty white roll, soaked in fat, dripping with melted cheese and Abu No Tongue’s famous chilli sauce.

  The smell was amazing. Nairo hadn’t smelt sizzling meat in so long. She held her plate up, and Ridley placed the bun down and poured a hefty portion of spicy chips next to it. Nairo gently picked the bun up. The goat fat had compromised the integrity of the roll, and it oozed and almost melted through her fingers. Speed was key to enjoying this meal. She tucked her hair out of the way and took as big a bite as she could manage of the roll. She hadn't ever had goat, but it tasted exactly how she remembered lamb. Meaty, rich, and a little barnyardy. She didn’t even care about how greasy the fat was, it tasted too damn good to worry. She chased the bite of bap with a few chips that had been coated in some sort of spicy powder. After a few more bites, the heat of the sauce and powder had made Nairo’s eyes water and her cheeks redden. Stoically, she continued on, dousing the flames in her mouth with rum.

  “That was so good!” Ridley sighed as swallowed the last mouthful of his bun, licking his fingers, before lighting a smoke.

  “That was the best thing I’ve eaten since we had those chicken skewers over by the Foundries,” Nairo agreed.

  “You still think they were chicken?” Ridley asked, a wicked grin on his face.

  “They were!” Nairo protested, and Ridley laughed.

  “Naa, that meal right there is going up next to the fish head soup.”

  “No way!” Nairo said, shaking her head. “Not even close.”

  “Okay, not next to but underneath.”

  “Fair enough,” Nairo said, popping her last chip into her mouth.

  “So what did you get on Hess?” Ridley asked Nairo. “Anything new?”

  “No,” Nairo said, licking her fingers clean. “I’ve read and re-read every scrap of paper we have on him. There’s nothing to suggest a solid connection between Shumacker and Hess. Or Hess and any of the victims. He wasn’t killed in a similar way. There’s nothing to link him with any of this.”

  Ridley tutted and blew a smoke ring.

  “So why was Quinn looking into him?” Ridley wondered aloud.

  “Maybe we’re approaching this wrong?” Nairo said.

  “What d’you mean?”

  “We’re being too specific, wondering why Quinn was looking into Hess. But why does any PI look into someone?”

  “Coz they’re nosy bastards?” Ridley replied.

  “No… well yeah sometimes. But because someone has paid them to. Think about it: Hess was brutally murdered, and his killers were never found. Maybe someone in his family commissioned Quinn to look back into his murder.”

  “A decade later?” Ridley said skeptically.

  Nairo shrugged.

  “We know they’re wealthy. Maybe they’ve been trying this whole time to find justice and Quinn was just the latest PI they’ve employed.”

  “Sounds like a stretch Sarge,” Ridley said.

  “I know, but what else do we have?”

  “In this case? Nothing but rumours and leaps of logic.” Ridley chuckled dryly and rolled his smoke around his fingertips. “Anything in those files with a next of kin or an address?”

  “Yes. By the looks of it, only his father is still around. His mother died during childbirth, and he had no siblings. His first stepmother divorced his father when Hess was still a child, and the other one died a few years back.”

  “Where’s his father now?”

  “The Morecamb estate,” Nairo replied.

  “Where’s that?”

  “On the edge of the city up North. Not too far from here.”

  Ridley sighed and eased himself up, holding his side.

  “How’s the wound?” Nairo asked as she watched him gingerly put weight on his left leg.

  “Only hurts when I’m awake,” Ridley said with a crooked grin. “Come on Sarge, let’s go bother an old man about his dead son.”

  “It doesn’t sound so fun when you put it like that,” Nairo said as she grabbed her coat.

  *

  It took almost an hour to reach the Morecamb estates. Traffic in the Northern quarter was abysmal at the best of times, and with the flooding from the rain their carriage was at a crawl for almost the entire journey out of the city. The country lanes were hardly any better. Trees had fallen and lakes had formed in dips in the road, meaning their carriage had to double back twice and their horse almost became stuck in a particularly deep patch of mud.

  They finally arrived as the light began to fade. The Morecamb estate was a grand old house from a bygone era, when this whole area had been a farmstead and orchard. Now, it was run down and miserable looking. The wood had cracked everywhere, what little stone had been used was tarnished and faded, the grounds were unkempt and overgrown, and the place had the air of something that had long been forgotten about.

  “This the place?” Ridley asked, looking around at the state of it.

  “Apparently,” Nairo said.

  “Not exactly where I would have expected a fancy city lawyer to retire to.”

  Ridley pushed the gate open, and they threaded their way carefully through the overgrown grass, the wind whipping up and sending a chill through them. Nairo tightened her coat around her and looked up at the grey clouds. They stopped at the tall door to manor estate. Ridley raised a fist and knocked.

  “You reckon he’s home?” Ridley asked when there was no response.

  “He’s seventy two, I wouldn't expect him to be anywhere else but at home,” Nairo replied, knocking again.

  Ridley stepped back from the door and looked up at the grimey windows. Everything was dark and there were no signs of life.

  “You sure this is the right place? It looks abandoned…”

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  “Who are you?”

  Nairo and Ridley both jumped and turned to see a whip-thin young woman in a frock and apron glaring at them suspiciously.

  “Who are you?” Ridley shot back.

  “I asked first,” the woman said, crossing her arms.

  “Touche,” Ridley said.

  “I’m Sally Nairo and this is Ridley, we’re investigators looking for Howard Hess,” Nairo said, stepping away from the door.

  “Mr. Hess isn’t expecting guests,” the woman said suspiciously.

  “No he ain't, but here we are,” Ridley said with a shrug. “It’s important that we speak to him. It’s about his son.”

  The woman let out an involuntary gasp and covered her mouth. She composed herself and shook her head.

  “Mr. Hess does not like unexpected visitors. He’ll be upset for a week again.”

  “We just need ten minutes of his time,” Nairo said. "Please?"

  The woman wrung her hands fretfully before nodding and motioning for them to follow her. She picked up the bucket of laundry she had been carrying and led them down the back of the garden towards a turgid lake on the estate's grounds.

  “Mr. Hess doesn’t live in the big house?” Ridley asked.

  “No. Mr. Hess rents the guesthouse by the lake,” the woman replied.

  “Rents?” Nairo said.

  “That’s right. I believe the estate is owned by a distant cousin or such of Mr. Hess.”

  “And you are?” Nairo asked her as they trudged downhill towards a small wooden cabin on the lakeside.

  “Heather Dewey, if it pleases you, I help Mr. Hess out a couple of times a week. Cleaning, cooking, laundry, that sort of thing.”

  Up close, the log cabin looked as rundown and destitute as the rest of the property. Most of the wooden logs had sagged and cracked. The windows were filthy, and there were weeds and vines creeping across almost every inch of the cabin. The roof looked like it had collapsed at some point and then been shoddily repaired. The wind kicked up fiercely across the small lake, and the cabin rocked slightly under its force.

  “Now before you go in there, please try not to upset Mr. Hess,” Heather said. “His health has been very fragile recently, and if he goes getting upset, I’ll be up the hospital for another week with him.”

  “We’ll try not to upset him,” Nairo said.

  “Is he sick?” Ridley asked.

  “He’s old,” Heather said bluntly. “His mind is starting to go. He doesn’t remember things well and he gets confused, which makes him agitated, which makes my life miserable. Half the time he doesn’t even remember who I am!”

  “Great, he’ll make an outstanding source then, won’t he?” Ridley muttered sourly.

  Heather pursed her lips and then knocked on the cabin door.

  “Mr. Hess! You’ve got visitors. They say they’re investigators.”

  Heather pushed open the door to the dimly lit cabin, and Nairo and Ridley followed her in. The cabin was bathed in near darkness. A single candle meekly illuminated the gloom. Inside was so sparse it could hardly be thought of as a place someone lived. There was hardly a scrap of furniture, just a rickety little single bed, a few drawers, a trunk, and a desk on the bare wooden floorboards. The cabin creaked miserably, the logs of its wall so deformed that the wind blew straight through in places, whipping dust and leaves around the frigid room. Mr. Hess sat by the window overlooking the lake. Years of grime caked the window pane, discolouring it yellow, and bathing the old man in a sickly shade. He was sitting, hunched in a wheelchair, a heavy blanket across his lap, staring unblinkingly with his pale grey eyes. He had thick grey hair and was still clean shaven but that was the only sign of virility left in him. He was thin to the point of emaciation, his skin was wrinkled and dry, and his body had the hunch of a man who had nothing left but time, and even that was growing shorter.

  “Mr. Hess?” Heather repeated.

  With great reluctance, Howard Hess turned his head to look at them.

  “I have no guests today Mary,” Mr. Hess said, his voice a papery rasp.

  “I’m not Mary, Mr. Hess, I’m Heather, remember? Mary left six months ago.” Heather smiled tiredly at Nairo and Ridley. “They’re investigators, sir, they wanted to ask you some questions.”

  Mr. Hess looked at them curiously as if seeing them for the first time, and Nairo got a glimmer of the sharp intellect the former lawyer must have once possessed.

  “Do I need my lawyer present?” Mr. Hess asked.

  “Can you afford one?” Ridley replied, looking around the desolate cabin.

  “Ridley!” Nairo snapped before turning to Mr. Hess. “No sir, you’re not under caution, and we’re not police officers. We’re Private Investigators working on a case we hoped you could help us with.”

  Mr. Hess waved a tired hand to Heather and then motioned for Nairo to continue once Heather had left.

  “What possible help could an old cripple be to you, Miss…?”

  “Nairo,” she said, taking out her notepad, while Ridley sidled around the room subtly checking the place out. “It’s actually concerning your son, Hubert, Mr. Hess.”

  At the mention of his son’s name, the man’s face morphed from exhaustion to a mix of anger and disgust.

  “I should have known,” Mr. Hess spat bitterly. “That boy will continue to embarrass me until I rot under the earth.”

  “Mr. Hess, we wanted to…”

  “The kindest thing to ever happen was that my first wife, his mother, died giving birth to that monster,” Mr. Hess said, his nose and lips curling into a vicious snarl. “She never had to see what he became.”

  Nairo looked at Ridley, who had stopped his snooping to cock an eyebrow in surprise at the venom in the old man’s voice.

  “So what has he done now?” Mr. Hess said to Nairo haughtily.

  “He’s dead, Mr. Hess.” Nairo said gently.

  Mr. Hess blinked. His lip quivered in poorly hidden fright, and then he nodded, waving his hand dismissively.

  “Of course… yes… I know that. Served him right too. Stars know what he had done to deserve it… but I’m sure he did!” Mr. Hess fell into a hushed mutter as he looked out of the window again, blinking heavily, looking suddenly unsure.

  Nairo looked at Ridley, who shrugged, his face clearly saying this was a waste of time.

  “Mr. Hess, do you have any idea why your son was murdered?” Nairo asked him, speaking softly.

  Mr. Hess looked at her out of the corner of his eye and shook his head.

  “No I don’t. I haven’t spoken to Hubert since… a very long time, and I prefer to keep it that way.”

  “Do you know a detective by the name of Quinn?” Nairo asked.

  “Who?” Mr. Hess said.

  “Did you hire someone to find out why your son got turned into a shish kebab?” Ridley snapped, losing his patience with the old man.

  “Why would I do that?” Mr. Hess exclaimed, looking over his shoulder at Ridley as if it were the most absurd idea he had ever heard.

  “I don’t know, justice or something,” Ridley said, shrugging his shoulders.

  “Ha justice! Now there’s the biggest load of codswallop I ever swallowed!” Mr. Hess snorted. “Justice! Justice? What is justice? Hmm? Is it just to do what you’re told? To follow orders? To do well at school, make all the right friends, do favours, never put a toe out of line, keep your beak white, mind yourself, and prosper quietly, only to have the very fruit of your own loins throw your name in the gutter?” Frothing, white spittle flecked Mr. Hess’ lips. “For him to turn into some degenerate low life. Some gutter trash. Cavorting with low-bred women and assorting with thugs. My boy! My Hubert!”

  “Mr. Hess…” Nairo said, panicking slightly as the old man’s face went an unhealthy shade of purple. “Mr. Hess, please calm down…”

  “The shame! The utter humiliation!” Mr. Hess croaked, tears glistening in his eyes as the outrage left him and his body deflated into decrepit shame. “He’s a monster,” Mr. Hess whispered, looking frightened. “The things he’s done… Those people he hurt… the women he’s hurt… the things he has done!” Mr. Hess was gripping the arms of his wheelchair so tight that his knuckles turned white and popped audibly. “My son is evil!” Mr. Hess croaked before descending into a fit of coughs so violent his entire body shook.

  “Heather!” Nairo shouted as she ran to the door. “Heather!”

  The young nurse came running down the slope.

  “Oh dear! What’s happened? Mr. Hess? Mr. Hess are you alright?” Heather ran to pour the old man some water and then reached for a brown bottle of some sort of ointment.

  Ridley stayed where he was. He lit a smoke and watched the old man dispassionately from the shadows.

  “I asked you to not upset him!” Heather snapped at them as she gently fed Mr. Hess some water. “I think it’s time for you to leave. Don't worry Mr. Hess this is the last time these detectives will bother you.” She turned them furious. "I told the other detective last time not to bother him again! Why can't you people just leave a sick old man alone?""

  Ridley stopped on his way to the door and looked at her.

  "Who?"

  "The other detective," she said.

  "What was his name?" Ridley asked.

  "What? I don't know... Quill or something."

  "Quinn?" Ridley said.

  "Yes, that was it. He upset Mr. Hess frightfully last time he was here. And like I told him, I'm saying the same to you, I'll call the police if you come back here!"

  Nairo snapped shut her notepad and nodded at Ridley for them to leave. They walked out and back up the hill to their carriage.

  “Well that was a waste of time,” Nairo said, grumpily stuffing her notepad into her pocket. "But Quinn was here."

  “Yeah…” Ridley said, his voice disinterested, his brows furrowed in thought.

  “What?” Nairo said.

  “What?” Ridley replied.

  “What have you figured out?”

  “Figured out? Nothing. Just…”

  “Something doesn’t feel right in your guts,” Nairo said, frowning.

  “Yeah…”

  “This whole bloody case, your guts haven’t felt right. Are you sure you don’t have a worm again?”

  “Maybe…” Ridley said, climbing into the carriage.

  Nairo blew a strand of loose hair out of her face, knowing it wasn’t worth bothering him when he was like this. Better to let his brain tick over and then make fun of him later. It was more satisfying that way.

  “Marm, a scroll just came in for you,” the driver said, passing back a roll of parchment.

  Nairo unfurled her and suddenly grew very excited.

  “What?” Ridley said, noticing her reaction.

  “Driver, take us to the coroner’s office!”

  “The autopsy?” Ridley asked, sitting up.

  “Drake’s got answers for us!”

  Ridley stuck his head through the window between driver and fare.

  “Extra three gold in it if you don’t stop for anything, mate! And don’t spare the rod!”