Human Frailty, a Detective Mike Bridger novel (27 page)

Jo sat there and let her cry.

Beth was standing outside his house. It was
cold; the clouds still hung low in the sky, not letting her
feelings escape into the blueness. That is where they belonged, in
the sky, not inside her, eating her away from the pit of her
bowels. When she was younger she watched the birds, she loved how
they were free. She imagined them taking her feelings and flying
away to a place where those feelings belonged. There were no birds
today.

She knew he lived here, she had seen him go
inside before, because she had followed him home on many occasions.
He did not want her knowing where he lived, but she would know. She
needed to know. He was part of her life; she had opened up to him.
She deserved to know. She had given herself to him, only him. He
had felt so good, he connected with her, understood her, as they
lay there on the cheap carpet that lined the floor of his office.
They could talk about anything. They had talked about everything.
She loved him.

Then he had started talking about Marion.
That bitch. He was obsessed with her.

There was no answer at the door. She had
knocked, banged and kicked, yelling into the frosted glass. The
only movement was the distorted reflection staring back at her. She
actually liked what she saw, an abstract version of her face. She
stood and stared at it, analyzing every curve and slant. This is
what I really look like.

She could not see through the windows, the
shut curtains inside the house blocking the view, but then so were
many in that street. Where the fuck is he, she thought, he would be
with Marion that much she knew.

She looked around desperately, hoping to
catch a glimpse of him, or her. Then that was silly; he was not
likely to be walking along the street with her. Hand in hand, like
some star crossed lovers. Was that what she was, his lover. That
bitch Marion with her claws all over him. That little story he had
fed her about getting even with her just a cover for them to be
together.

"Fuck you Marion", she screamed at the top
of her voice. "Fuck you and all your family to. Perfect little
Marion, got to have it all don't you".

She picked up a rock from the garden and
hurled it through the glass in the front door. Then she moved out
on to the front lawn and threw another one through the front
window, and the one beside that. Sitting on the front lawn, she put
her head in her hands and started to cry uncontrollably. Across the
street a curtain flickered, the person behind it holding a phone to
their ear.

Beth did not notice.

"I'm beyond helping you now Sergeant",
Matthews growled. "You assured me that this Jonas was the only
likely suspect. That you would put this whole mess, to bed and we
would have Marion back. I am not blind or stupid and neither is
Mrs. Watson. Marion is clearly still hanging on a butcher's hook,
in god knows where, waiting for a mad man to figure out what fetish
he wants to play out next. You
’
re not thinking clearly, your decisions have
let you down again".

Fuck you Matthews, you fat lazy bastard,
Bridger thought. "With respect, when have you ever helped me
sir".

"It's not my fucken job to help you
Bridger, you
’
re not the only person under my supervision.
You are supposed to be role model to the younger staff. You have
pushed it to far this time; your alcohol dependence has crossed
over into your work".

"I'm not an alcoholic", Bridger snarled.

"Whatever you want to call it
Sergeant, it’s up to you. You
are
going to have lot of time to think about
it. I am putting you on sick leave as of now. Do not expect to be
back at work either; I am going to push for a disciplinary hearing.
You will be lucky you don't end up handing out parking tickets for
the rest of your life".

Bridger was stunned, things were clearly at
a crisis point and all he could see was his problems mincing about
in his head in a purplish haze. There was no clear direction, no
clear resolution. This fat pompous prick in front of him was not
helping either, he thought. He had no other option but to go on the
offensive.

"I don't know what it is about this Marion,
sir, but I don't think you have been very forthcoming with help.
You wanted me to deal with this as soon as it came in, normally a
job for the wooden tops downstairs. Fill in a report and wait to
see what happens".

"It's a bit more than a missing person now
though isn't it Sergeant", Matthews growled.

"That's my point, Sir; it seems that you
knew it was going to turn out this way. Get the CIB involved at the
first instance, cut out the middle man, less chance of missing
something, less chance of a fuck up".

"If I wanted to avoid a fuck up, Bridger, I
wouldn't have got you involved would I", Matthews said through
clenched teeth. "As it happens the mother of this missing girl is a
friend of Glenn Gallagher and she spoke to him first. He rang me
and asked if I would deal with it. Unfortunately you were the only
one on duty at the time".

Bridger looked at Matthews expecting
something more.

"What is it with you and this
Gallagher, why jump when he says?
”

"That's all you
’
re going to get sergeant,
now get out of my office".

"So is that it, the only explanation
I'm going to get. Am I still on this case or not?
”

"What do you think Sergeant"?

Bridger backed out of the office, his anger
barely contained. Matthews had not mentioned the beating he had
given Jonas so he could not have heard yet. That will not take long
though, he thought, as soon as Jonas completes the process
downstairs he will make a complaint. He had the injuries plainly
displayed on his face. The complaint will have to reported, and
then he would really be for the high jump. There was no backing out
of this one.

Turning around he caught a glimpse of Jo and
Mrs. Watson in the next office. Mrs. Watson was in tears, but she
was talking. Jo was studiously taking notes and offering comfort.
The image of Marion was glowing behind the pair causing them to
cast shadows on the floor. The image reminded Bridger of the shadow
puppets he saw as a boy, shadow shapes created by all sorts of
objects, manipulated to tell a story.

Usually it would be a fairytale involving
good triumphing over evil. The shadows he saw now did not portray
the image sitting on the chairs in front of the computer monitor.
Jo's shadow was cowering under Mrs. Watson's shadow. Mrs. Watson's
shadow was shaking and moving about like a demented witch, an ugly
sister reprimanding a meek sibling, a tormentor, tormenting the
tormented. Bridger stood by the door and listened to what Mrs.
Watson was saying. She was speaking very quietly and her voice was
shaky with sorrow.

"I was so young; you must understand
that, he was my first boyfriend. He was my first for many things.
We told each other we were in love, whatever that is to a silly
young girl. He paid me a lot of attention in the beginning, pursued
me you could say. I guess that is quite flattering somehow, having
a male show me attention. He was so suave in his flashy uniform, a
real heart breaker, and he wanted me. My father was a cold man you
see, he found it hard to show his emotions. He was not abusive or
anything, but he had a quiet menace about him, something I grew up
fearing. So when I found out I was pregnant to this boy, I begged
him to marry me as quickly as possible so I would not have to face
my father
’
s
scorn, or the sanctimonious looks from the neighbors’. Life was
difficult for young unmarried pregnant woman in those days.
Children were labeled bastards and the mothers subjected to a
lifetime of hardships. They had only just introduced the domestic
purposes benefit but I would still have been too young to get it by
a year. We were married on this day, a lifetime ago. I remember it
was cold, my mother was complaining about it; my father was quiet,
which was his way. They both knew about the pregnancy by then. He
was a handsome boy; he looked so dashing in his black suit. I
remember looking at him as the priest was speaking. I was so
scared, but when he looked back at me and smiled, I thought at that
moment that everything would be alright".

Mrs. Watson looked up and saw Bridger
standing in the doorway; she looked away but did not continue to
speak. Instead, she hugged herself tightly and started to rock
slowly back and forth. Jo looked over at Bridger, realizing that
Mrs. Watson needed privacy if she was going to continue she stood
and went over to him.

"Sergeant I think she feels more
comfortable if it
’
s just me in the room", Jo whispered. "I
think she needs to open up about something. If anything it will
help keep her mind off what's happening with her daughter while you
go find her".

Bridger looked back at Jo, her trusting
innocent face. She had no idea of the state of play, all she saw
was his rank and trusted in that completely.

I wish I had your confidence, he thought to
himself. I feel like a pathetic mess of a man now.

"Just keep doing what
you
’
re
doing", Bridger said. "If anything it will keep her mind off Marion
for a while until we have better news. It's all we can
do".

The only thing I can think of doing, he
thought grimly, as he walked away.

Marion did not know how long she had been
dancing for his pleasure. It seemed like an eternity, but what was
time to her now, it was nothing but a distraction until the final
act. Her body was weak with hunger and exhaustion; she had no
control over her movements. The music kept playing repeatedly, as
she circled around the light. She could not place the tune and she
found to her surprise that it was making her angry. She hated not
knowing something. The tune was sitting in the back of her mind
with a name attached but she could quite make it out, however hard
she tried.

The man tied up in front of her, the one he
called father, had not moved or said anything since emerging into
the light. She watched him closely every time she passed by, she
had seen his eyes following her, those eyes, so deep and lost. They
were empty, no glimmer of hope was visible in the darkness of the
pupil, and the spark of life had retreated into his head, out of
view from the outside world. She passed by again and she saw them
move ever so slightly, just the eyes. Like a clowns head you threw
balls in at a sideshow. They were following her movements. It was
enough for her to believe she was not alone in this; another soul
was here, living in torment alongside her.

Maybe they were both dead; then this must be
the anteroom passed through on the way to the gates of hell. It
made sense; no god would put anyone through this before reaching
the salvation of heaven.

Desperately she searched her memories
for the times she had done something in her life that would lead
her on this path if she died. She could not
think of
anything hateful she had done to attract the devils attention. She
was not religious, not really. She had been to Sunday school as a
child but never paid any attention to the lessons, but everybody
knew the teachings of heaven and hell, religious or not.

Maybe that was it; she was not a believer,
so that left her off the list of protected persons. Leaving her
exposed to the reaches of hell.

The music faded out to silence.

The dancing stopped abruptly leaving her
swaying back and forth.

"
I think you
two have had enough time to get reacquainted, it
’
s
time we moved on. Father I hope you liked the way mother
danced.

From what I remember, you never saw that
side of her. Although I only remember the later years, the years
when mother used to dance alone in the room, hugging herself and
humming the tune.

What went on when I was too young to
remember I guess I will never know. If I asked you, it would be all
lies anyway. How can it be anything but lies coming from you,
mother? It is not as if it was any different than I remember.
Nothing can end up as it did without a beginning.

You chose him knowing deep down that he was
going to be the death of you. His lack of self-control must have
been evident even to you. No one can hide their true selves for
long when you know each other intimately.

What I do not understand mother, is that you
chose him for me as well, knowing what he was like.

You made that decision for me. I had no
choice. You put me in harm’s way.

It is your turn to protect
me now mother. You will see to that won't
you"
?

Jo went and sat back down. "Take your time
Mrs. Watson, anything you tell us could be very helpful". Mrs.
Watson looked back at Jo; she had a faraway look in her eyes.

"I didn't know what he was like, not really.
We had only been seeing each other for a few months. You could not
live with anyone before marriage in those days. It was not the
'done' thing. We had nowhere to go... to... well, when we wanted to
be intimate. I always thought that my first time would be special.
It turned out to be a short, uncomfortable, passionless thing in
the back of his smelly old car, parked at the top of signal hill.
Not very romantic, I know, but enough to create a life. It was not
until after we were married and living together, that he let his
true feelings show. He was not earning a lot of money, they were
not paid as well as you are these days, he had only really just
started his job. We lived in a small house in the Leith Valley. It
was always cold in the winter, the sun never showed its face".