Desired by Shadow (A Shadow Walkers Novel) (15 page)

“A few weeks ago my little brother went missing. He’s only eleven. Our parents died a long time ago, we’d been living with our grandmother but she passed away last year so it was the two of us. And he’s a good kid. Never got into trouble, always came home after school when he was supposed to…” Her voice trailed off. “I’m sorry, it’s—”

Damn it to hell, she sounded all choked up. Monroe jumped up from the chair. “Let me get you a glass of water.” Practically ran the few steps to the tiny kitchen. Had to wash the glass before he could turn on the water. Maybe she’d have composed herself by the time he finished. If she was crying, she’d have to go back to her own flat for a tissue, he didn’t have any to offer her. In fact he’d used the last of the toilet paper this morning. A dirty shirt would have to fill in if needed to dry her eyes.

“Amy, go on.” Hoping he’d cleaned all the crud off the glass, he handed the water to her.

“Thank you.”

She drank half in two gulps, and he watched her wipe the back of her hand across her mouth. The pixie had full lips; he could imagine kissing her. It had been too long since he’d been with a woman. At this rate he’d be humping her leg in no time.

“Anyway, three weeks ago today, my brother Mark didn’t come home from school. I work two jobs. One in the mornings and one at night so I can be there when he gets back in the afternoon. I figured he lost track of time at the library so I was concerned but knew I’d find him asleep in bed when I got home from work. Only he wasn’t.” Pausing, she drank the rest of the glass of water.

“Can I get you some more?”

“Oh, yes please.”

Fetching another glass, the wish for a beer popped in his brain. Probably wouldn’t be very neighborly to ask her if she had any. Thinking about it for a minute, he decided against it. “Didn’t you file a missing persons report? I’m sure the police would be better suited to helping you.”

“I did. The nice man said he’d try and help but wasn’t optimistic. Said there have been a great deal of missing people and they can’t keep up with the cases.”

“I’m sorry, but it it’s true. There are a lot of people missing. Maybe he ran away?”

Wrong thing to say by the way her cheeks turned pink, eyes flashing to a dark grey and she raised her voice at him. Sassy woman pushed his buttons.

“Mark didn’t run away! Something’s happened to him. Look I don’t have much money, but it looks to me like you could use someone to clean this place and pop round the market to pick up some groceries. And do your laundry. You smell. Your flat smells. So what do you say?”

The pixie brat had the nerve to smile at him after she told him he stunk. “Given the fact, I was booted from the force and I thought I’d open up me own private investigation firm, looks like you’re my first client. Better do something or I might never leave this flat again.”

They worked out a small fee. In addition, Amy would clean his place once a week, do the shopping if he left a list along with money and take care of his laundry. Hope she knew where to rent a backhoe, she’d need it along with gloves and a nose plug to clean it the first time. Tomorrow after lunch she’d face the garbage dump known as his place.

“Thank you Monroe. I know you’ll find Mark for me. Leave a grocery list and money on the counter, and I’ll take care of the shopping first. Then I’ll start on the cleaning and laundry.”

“I can’t promise things will turn out okay but I’ll do my best.” Walking Amy to the door, he shut it behind her and thought in the meantime he’d better go get something to eat. Screw grocery shopping. Much better idea to hit the pub for a meal and couple of pints.

Saturday, November 4
^th

Monroe rolled out of bed, cranked up the tunes and hit the shower. Hot water cascaded down his shoulders, sliding down his spine to his feet. Yep, the crud was an inch thick in here. He grimaced. Nope not gonna let the disgusting bathroom ruin his mood. After today, it would be livable again. The tiny soap shard gave a last gasp and vanished down the drain. Oh well, he was clean enough.

Shaking the water from his hair, he stepped out of the shower, snagging a semi-clean towel off. A black sweater from the closet, a black tee shirt balled up in the corner by the dresser and a pair of jeans and yep, he was practically in what he thought of as his new uniform. Would be going commando again since all his skivvies were dirty but bonus, one pair of clean socks hiding behind his old university sweater. Shoving his feet into his boots, he banged the few kitchen cabinets open, peered into a fridge that smelled like a garbage dump, pulled the last brew from the counter, popped the top, and flopped on the couch to write out a list for Amy.

Chugging back half the can, he wrote out a grocery list. Slapping money on the counter next to the list, he grimaced at the hazmat location better known as his flat. She’d need a strong stomach to clean this pigsty. Grinning, he downed the rest of his beer, pulled a jacket on and made for the street to find out what had happened to her brother, Mark.
Note to self, stop on the way home, pick up more drinks.

Glancing at the school photo, Monroe scowled. The kid looked much younger than eleven. Dressed in a clean navy blue uniform, his hair smoothed down—he certainly didn’t look like a delinquent.

Monroe jogged to the Mercedes. First he’d start with the kid’s school, Tollcross Primary, then the library, friends, hangouts and on from there. But before he ran all over town, he needed sustenance. He grabbed a couple of hand pies, crisps and a Coke from the corner mart to eat on the way. The gray stone building had stood for over one hundred years educating the little buggers. Not that he had anything against kids, just didn’t want any of his own.

Shoving the Benz into a parking spot, he took the steps two at a time. The smell of a school never seemed to change. As it invaded his nostrils, he remembered his own illustrious escapades. The smack of ruler to skin was a lesson he and most of his mates never learned. Kids had the day off today, but administration folks were working. Shaking his head, he found the head teacher and enquired after Mark. The classrooms were small, maybe twenty children. He was directed to a cheerful room with Gaelic words posted on the walls. A conservative-looking man in his late forties stood as Monroe approached. He felt like a kid again, in trouble with the teacher. Schooling his face, he stuck out his hand. “Monroe MacDonald, investigator. Wondering if I could have a few minutes of your time, ask you some questions about Mark Weaver?”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. MacDonald. I’m Ailean Ross. Ah, yes, young Mark. Sad story, him missing and all.”

The teacher had brown hair liberally laced with gray. Those little wankers would make anyone old before their time. There’s a fate worse than death—teaching. Shuddering, he assessed the teacher. The guy had intelligent brown eyes and was dressed in khakis and a sweater with patches on the elbows. Ailean was slender, probably five foot seven and he had the beaten-down look of someone who’s given up and is trying to make it through the day.

“His sister hired me to look into the boy’s disappearance.”

Ailean gestured to a normal sized chair next to his desk, “Please, sit. I’m not sure what else I can tell you. I already told the police everything I know.”

Monroe sat, pulled out his notes and began questioning the teacher. After gathering all the information the guy could remember, he stood to leave. “Thank you Mr. Ross. You’ve been most helpful.”

“Of course. I wish you the best of luck finding young Mark. So many lads these days decide to run off and end up on the streets.”

And there was part of the problem. Everyone nowadays assumed when a kid disappeared that they’d gotten into trouble, become a delinquent. Hell, he was guilty of the same thinking. But this kid, he should have been an honor student, blowing stuff up at science fairs and winning chess matches, not missing.

Feet tapping on the worn floors, Monroe left the building. He had two good friends of Mark’s to talk to and the library. The kid didn’t have any other hangouts.

Punching the button for the heated seats and steering wheel, Monroe stopped mid-motion. Wait a minute. He wracked his brain. Maybe he needed to lighten up on the whiskey he carried around in a flask, it was affecting his memory. In the year since he’d been working missing persons cases he’d found more questions than answers. Though the same Corporation kept popping up. He’d run into one roadblock after another digging into them. Somebody had some serious stacks. Now that he was on his own, well, some of those official rules wouldn’t hamper his investigtaions. Shamus had mentioned the name of a foster home last week…
What the hell was the name of the place?
Stabbing the buttons on the mobile, he fidgeted with the radio while waiting for Shamus to pick up.

“Hey mate, how goes it?” Monroe leaned back enjoying the heat seeping into his body. Whoever had invented ass warmers should be made a bloody Saint.

They did the meet and greet, and Monroe got down to business. “remember that domestic you worked last week? The big place?”

He listened, nodding. “Right. Where was it? I think something strange is going on at some of these foster homes.”

“Want me to check it out seeing as how you’re Mr. Private Eye now?” Shamus smirked on the other end.

“Naw, I’m good. Going to head over and check it out now.”

“Hey mate? You’re not official anymore so make sure you call it in if you find anything, you feel me?”

Rolling his eyes, he shot back a suitable reply. “Sure partner. Catch you later.”

Disconnecting, he turned his baby in the direction of The Wallace School for Children. Traffic was light. Rolling to a stop in front of the building, illegally parked, he hoped there wouldn’t be a ticket waiting for him. Parking wherever he wanted as a cop had been a nice bene.

Taking the steps two at a time, he pushed the doors open and looked around for someone in charge. It was quiet. That was cocked up. Shouldn’t there be brats running around making noise? He spotted an office off to the right. The discreet sign read
Administration
. Rapping on the door, he turned the knob. “Hello, anybody there?”

A rustling from behind some boxes had him looking to the far corner of the room. A woman stood, smoothing her tweed suit and running a hand over her short mud colored hair.

“You startled me. I’m afraid we’re closed today, you’ll need to come back next week.” She stared at him with an expectant look.

“Ms.?” he prompted.

“Mrs. Potts. And you are?” She pushed her glasses up her nose to stare down at him.

Old battleax. “Monroe MacDonald, investigator. It’s awfully quiet. What’d you do, gag all the little tykes and lock them in their rooms?”

Mrs. Potts scowled at him. Good. When they were angry, they said more than they should.

She straightened up. “We would do no such thing to our lovely wards. It just so happens we’ve been very fortunate and don’t currently have any children here at the school.” She turned, dismissing him, filing paperwork from a huge stack reaching from the floor to his shoulder. If that towering stack fell—what a way to go, death by paperwork. Chuckling at his morbidity, he slapped Mark’s photo on the desk. Dust motes floated up in the air, swirling in the pale sunlight filtering in through the curtains. “Have you seen this child? He’s been missing for a month now.”

The frumpy woman picked up the photo, holding it between her thumb and forefinger. She glanced at it and handed it back to him. “I’m sorry but I haven’t seen him. Now if you’ll excuse me I have a lot to do.”

Reaching into his pocket to hand her his card, he stopped. Something stunk to high heaven here, and if he left his contact information it might tip off whoever was behind everything. “Yes, I’ll let myself out. Thanks for your time,” The rest of the holdings of this corporation would need to be looked into. He’d stake-out the place to make sure he was right but at this point Monroe felt the wrongness in his gut.

Walking down the hallway out into the frigid cold day, Monroe got into his car and pointed it home. Nailing a parking spot in front of his building, he grabbed the whisky and Guinness he’d stopped for on the way, careful of his purchases.

Opening the door to the flat, he stopped dead in the doorway.
Okay shut your yap before you look like a complete idiot.
Spotless. Maybe he should wipe his boots before walking in. Kicking his shoes off in the entryway, Monroe walked to the kitchen to put away his purchases. Inside various cabinets he found food. Actual, edible things to eat. He opened the fridge and lo and behold, milk, eggs, OJ, cheese, veg, and even a few frozen dinners. Damn. Amy was amazing. Who knew the sink actually gleamed? The counters weren’t sticky and whadda ya know, the top of the stove was brown not black after all. Whoa. There on the counter sat a gleaming, sparkling coffee pot. No way. He could’ve sworn his sludge-filled pot should be labeled hazardous waste. A freshly washed mug, spoon, and hello, coffee all ready for him. How the hell she’d gotten everything so clean was beyond him. Might oughta be a bit embarrassed but naw, he was too psyched over the clean smell to worry she thought him a total slob.