A Vagrant Story (35 page)

“Talk about depressing the end game,” Alex said.

“Whatever. Came all this way I can depress who I want.”

“Save it till we’re done talking to him,” Sierra said.

“Got something to talk about yet?” Rum asked.

“I’m still working with the ‘wing-it’ angle. Unless any of you can think of something to say between the next couple of hundred yards?”

“A few hundred yards,” Alex pined. “All this way and not a drop of advice to offer.”

“Bag and grab sound good to you?”

“Keep it within the box, Rum,” Sierra stated.

Henry hobbled up with a raised index finger. “I have a … thought.” He cleared his throat. “Remember when we were taking to the nurse in Grey Oak’s retirement home? She told us … John’s face would light up every time he saw a picture of his daughter. Well, we have a picture of his daughter.”

“We have a picture of his daughter?” Alex said. “Why the hell do we have a picture of his daughter?”

“Well … the nurse scribbled his ex-wife’s address on the back of the photo then gave it to us. We were … supposed to return the photo as well since she said this is his last one.”

“You got it from the retirement home? I must have been busy getting the snot beat out of me to notice.”

Sierra hummed thoughtfully. “That … could work. Come to think of it, since the photo we have now is the only one he had left … he probably hasn’t seen his daughter’s face in months. If that’s the case we could hold it up to the peep hole and he’d probably tear the door open just to get it back.”

“Or add us to a child-offender list,” Rum said.

“It’s a sound plan so long as he doesn’t panic,” Alex said. “Naturally, had I known about the photo I’d have thought of it first. That was a joke.”

“Fat chance,” Henry said.

“You’re right.”

Sierra brought the group to a halt. “With both the suicide note and the photo of his daughter we have quite the bargaining chip. At this rate we won’t even have to open our mouths.” She held a receiving palm to Alex. “Now just hand them over so we can sort things out.”

“Hand them over? I thought you had them.”

“No. I left them in the bag, and you were carrying the bag. Alex … where’s the bag?”

“The bag?”

“The bag … You know the thing with pockets and straps that should be hanging from your shoulder right now. Why is there no bag hanging from your shoulder, Alex. What’s up with that, Alex? Where’s the bag, Alex?”

“I … gave it back.”

“Come again?”

At this point Sierra pressed closer to his face, but Rum and Henry were quickly closing down too.

“Well,” Alex said, “I did say I would return it if I ever saw the owner again. And well … I saw him again. He was in the mall.”

“We thought you were joking. How in the fuck could anyone take a statement like that seriously?”

The three of them closed in more so with foaming dedication.

“Well, I happened to spot the guy when we were waiting in the shopping centre. I sort of felt … obligated. I mean, what are the chances?”

“Obligated … And in this obligation you never thought to take the important stuff out?”

“Not true. I checked to see if there was anything I needed.” He presented it with pride. “Everything else looked like scrap paper to me.”

“Suicide notes tend to be made of paper.”

“It’s not so bad, maybe the guy I gave it to will decide to pick up our cause. Should be easier for him, he might have a car.”

Flustered by the attempt at humour Rum fell away, pacing into a mild tantrum like state. Henry sighed passively for the same reason with same result.

Sierra remained staring with a keen prying glare. Perhaps somewhere, she hoped, down the back of those lazy eyes of his lay a glimmer of humour to say this was all some convoluted joke. Like Rum and Henry, she fell away, realising a cock-up of this calibre could well be within his characteristic spectrum.

“I’m sorry,” Alex pleaded. “Look, we haven’t lost anything. We can go ahead as planned. He’s right down this street, right now probably looking at us through his window wondering who’s doing all the shouting. He’s right there. All we have to do is walk.”

Sierra sighed. “He does have a point. I suppose John is right down there. Whatever the case, it looks like we’ll have to do it the hard way no matter. Let’s get it over with and beat on Alex when we’re done.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“You … fucking weirdo,” Sierra scolded.

Rum stormed out from his tantrum like pacing and down the opposite direction. “Forget it. Forget about this loser and let’s get the hell out of here. There’s nothing we can do. Let’s go back to Middle Park.”

Sierra grabbed the old man’s arm. “What the hell are you talking about? You’re going say this crap right here? Fuck sake Rum I thought you were over this.”

“There’s nothing we can do.”

“So what if we lost the note and photo. Alex is right, there’s other ways around it.”

“You don’t get it. Open your bloody eyes!”

Rum pointed to the end of the road, to one bungalow similar to all the others positioned over a shoreline dead-end drop. The number mark on the curb out front read number 24, the last house on this part of the street. It was the house they were looking for – John’s house. Only it wasn’t exactly like all the others. Their hearts dropped when they saw it.

Chapter 27

They stood at the end of the driveway looking down, daring to go further for the line of yellow police tape encircling the cottage. Even without it, it was abundantly clear this house had been uninhabited some time. All the lights were off, but by a glimmer from the street lamp they could see a section of the sitting room empty, furniture totally cleared out. Some of the downstairs windows were smashed and disposed beer cans suggested who by.

“We’re too late,” Sierra said. “He cheated. He went early.”

“I’m going in,” Rum said, ducking under the tape.

Glancing about cautiously, Henry followed his lead.

“It is what is,” Alex said from outside the tape. “The place is littered with dead man’s tape.”

Rum wheeled round to address him. “Then where are the cops? Bastards just cordon off the place then feck off to let teenagers have their way?” He kicked an empty beer can to emphasise his point.

“In this city-“

“It’s open,” Henry said, pushing the front door which had been left ajar.

Rum followed Henry inside, speaking back. “Something bad happened here. But it ain’t fresh.” 

All four found themselves divided and wandering the inside as though browsing a display house. It was bare. The furniture, kitchenware, even the carpets had been stripped away to a barren concrete floor.

The reason for the missing furniture had been chalked into the sitting room floor. They all stood gawking down at it, at first unsure what to make of it. But it wasn’t a puzzle. It was what it looked like. It was chalk outline of a human figure, laying on its side, hunched into itself.

“Is that … John?” Sierra said, staring into the empty shape of a missing body.

“He’s … really small,” Henry noted. “Shorter than me.”

“Almost feminine,” Alex added.

Sierra resigned herself back into the hallway, where she sat on the ground, leaning on the wall. Everyone followed suit, gathering about her as if to reconfirm what they’d seen.

“So that’s it?” Sierra said. “This is our rescue? What happened to our New Year deadline?”

“We did this,” Henry said. “Getting robbed must have pushed him over.”

Suddenly, torchlight blasted in through the open front door, glaring in their eyes. An aged, roaring voice followed from its source.

“You junkies! I told you teenagers to stay the hell away! This isn’t a tourist stop. Show some respect!” He paused to asses the four. “You’re not kids. Pathetic. You people come to take pictures?”

Rum shielded his eyes from the glare. “It’s okay. We’re not doing anything. We’re … friends of … John?”

“Friends of John?” the man replied, and let the torchlight disappear. “He had friends?”

Without light in their eyes they could see an aged man of roughly sixty. He wore a short beard off-tracked by his barren head and stood with an arched back. He limped as he entered the hallway.

“Quite an hour to pay your respects.”

“Well … to be honest we’ve never actually met the guy. We just needed to talk to him about something,” Rum answered.

“Well that is honest – appreciate it. Sorry about the alarm, folks, y’see we’ve had a lot of day trippers come round here. As you can tell from the mess it’s also attracted a few unsociable drinkers. Since it happened this house has become something of a tourist destination.”

“Really?” Rum replied. “Suicides aren’t usually so interesting where we come from. They happen all the time and no one notices.”

“Suicide? That ain’t no suicide - it’s a crime scene.”

Sierra jumped to her feet. “A murder!”

“You … didn’t know. By God you don’t know.”

A grim silence fell about the hall as they waited for the old man to speak again.

“Old man,” Rum said, “what did happen to John in there?”

“That ain’t John. It’s his sister, Annette Lucille.”

“Annette Lucille? I know that name, ” Alex said. “It can’t be…”

“Alex?” Sierra spoke up.

“Don’t you have a telly?” the old man asked.

Sierra shrugged.

“She died over seven months ago now. Someone got into the house and managed to drug her. The police said she was kept in a comatose state and abused repeatedly … until the monster finished her.”

“So … it is her,” Alex thought aloud. “Annette Lucille … the serial killer’s first victim.”

Rum, Sierra and Henry shrugged uncomfortably at the allegation and waited for the old man to clarify.

“That’s right. She was murdered by the same serial killer harassing the city till this day. Annette was his first victim, his warm up, if I can say it like that.”

A guilty silence fell over the four bums. It wasn’t easy to feel out of place upon arriving to such a scene. The old man seemed to pick up on it.

“It’s fine that you’re here. It’s just good to see someone who isn’t holding a camera.”

“Why is this place so deserted? Not exactly becoming of a high-profile crime scene.”

“Police spent long enough here. They tore through everything and eventually took everything in the house to forensic labs. They looked so hard eventually they’d nothing to look through anymore. Now they just keep the house cordoned off in case they need it. They keep it cordoned off just in case … but not by much.”

“And leave it for drunken teens to tell ghost stories in? What about the press? Don’t they ever come back?”

“Annette used to be famous for it. Press would run her picture every day. Now she’s just one face in eight. Not much traffic from either police or the press these days. Only people who watch out for this place anymore are those who live around it. We look after the place best we can, but even the flowers are starting to die.”

He bobbed flashlight to a memorial bouquet which they failed to see outside at the end of the driveway. No wonder, it lay mostly covered in snow and looked more like a framed photo tossed among shrivelled leaves.

“It’s winter now,” Alex said. “They’ll sprout again in Spring.”

“I can only hope.”

Sierra made way quietly out the front door to the memorial on the driveway’s end. She sat before the framed photograph, brushing shrubs aside for a better look at the picture.

She could hear the lulled steps of the old man approaching behind. Other, heavier, footfalls reeked of her three companions coming to her side. So they all gathered there in the front of the house, staring silently at the memorial.

“She’s kind of pretty,” Sierra said regarding the photo. “What was she like?”

The old man sighed. “She was sweet. Chatty. A little obnoxious at times but … we didn’t see much of that toward the end. She was sick y’see – cancer. We always thought it would claim her in the end. Now we wish it had.”

“Cancer … so she couldn’t defend herself.”

“The police said that might be why he targeted her. He singled her out just to flex his muscles before moving onto the stronger prey.”

“Coward. He never moved onto stronger prey. All he does is target women when they’re alone.”

“She used to be a strong and assertive person but became such a frail little thing – poor girl. Before the end she rarely left this house - couldn’t risk taking her to hospital so doctors from across the city would visit her home. Most of our communication with her came through them.”