Little Treasures 6 Part III

 Hilda closed her office door, sat down at her desk and waited for the police to arrive. She took a drag on her cigarette and opened the top drawer. Once Stella Thomas told them that the war hero gardener-cum-busdriver had drugged her and hidden her away in his lair, with a view to doing God knew what to her when he came back from doing God knew what to her sister, Hilda's career would be over. Then there would be the criminal charges, but that wouldn't be enough for a family like the Thomases. The mother would launch her own investigation, and in the course of doing the grunt work for their lawsuit, her lawyers would dig up all sorts of things that were better left buried. Hilda closed her eyes and saw the twisted look on her father's face the day she came out to him. She didn't want to be there to compare it to the looks on the faces of the locals when word got out that the second bedroom in her rented cottage had never been slept in. 

Finn ran an ivory comb through June's hair for the hundredth time, then took two steps back to appraise his work.

'There now, isn't that better? I'll never understand why your mother weighs you down with ribbons and frippery.'

Finn tilted his head.

'You're luck I noticed you now, before anyone had time to corrupt you. That's what people do when someone has something they want, they corrupt them. Back when I was your age, I was the smartest kid in my neighbourhood, and everyone knew it.'

Finn stood back and appraised his work again.

'Know what they did about it?'

He dropped one of June's satin ribbons on the concrete floor and ground it beneath his boot.

'Told me to act like everyone else. Whenever one of the little bastards picked on me, it was always MY fault for not fitting in. Even when they did this...'

Finn pulled back his top lip and revealed a cavernous, infected space.

'I could've done something with my life. Been more successful than all those backwoods idiots combined, but they corrupted me, and now I'm cutting lawns for slave wages so rich kids don't get their pretty clothes covered in grass stains.'

He smiled.

'I hated them for years, the teachers, the kids, my Ma, but then I saw you and realised that all that pain had prepared me for my purpose in life. See, you were born with a gift too, but it's a far more delicate one than mine. That's why I was lead here to protect you.'

A neighbour of Finn's had reported seeing the Thomas girl being carried into Finn's house not ten minutes earlier, but despite being reasonably certain Finn would be nabbed before he got the chance to do any real damage, Sergeant McInerney wondered whether he might just close out the day with a murder after all. In ten years on the force, nine years and eleven months of that time in the city, he'd never encountered a force like Dahlia Thomas. The headmistress had shown him into an empty office and left him alone with the woman as soon as he got there, and McInerney didn't blame her a bit. Far from the ice-cold beauty he'd been prepared for, in her present state Mrs. Thomas gave off twice the heat and was a thousand times more frightening than a mob-ordered attack.

'We'll have your little girl back in your arms in no time, Mrs. Thomas, I'm sure of it.'

'You'd better be right, for HER sake.'

Finn tucked his handkerchief back into his pocket.

'There really isn't anything to worry about, June. I'm going to take very good care of you. I'm going to keep you down here, where it's safe, away from friends, and movies, and make-up, and boys, and all the other things that might corrupt you. I'm going to keep you with me until the world is ready for you. When it is, I'll know.'

Hilda closed her desk drawer. She took a deep breath and felt a little calmer. The cops would probably have the girl back within the hour, then the worst Hilda could expect would be a meeting with the board. As for Finn's predecessor, well, Hilda was the acting school secretary until the real one returned from her "appendectomy," and a weekly contribution to the old man's retirement fund should keep him quiet. 

Seven officers beat down the door of forty-six Jessup Street and immediately spread out to search the place. They found a man on a cot, flat on his back with his gut hanging over his belt and his mouth wide open, as if he were trying to catch sugar plumbs in his sleep. An officer prodded him with a night stick and ordered him to get up. The man opened his eyes and began to shake all over, a malady that increased ten-fold when a tall, thin man wearing a cheap coat that screamed detective walked into the room.

'What's going on here?'

'I was just about to ask you the same thing. Where's the girl?'

The man's eyelids fluttered.

'The girl?'

'The Thomas girl. Where is she?'

'I'm terribly sorry but I don't know who you're talking about.'

'What's your name?'

'Henry Albertson.'

'Where's Finn?'

'Finn? You mean Ewan Finn?'

'I don't mean Huckleberry Finn.'

'He's my tennant. I'm his landlord. He rents the place from me.'

'We all know how the rental system works, how is it that you're here and he's not?'

Albertson licked his lips.

'I came here this early this morning to collect the rent, like I always do on a Friday, and he offered me a drink. I thought it was odd, because he's not usually the friendliest of fellows, but I do like the occasional drop of...'

Officer Daily nodded at Alberston's gut.

'Only on occasions ending in Y, I suppose? What happened next?'

'I came in, sat down, after that it's all a blank.'

Daily pulled a pen out of his pocket and used it to pick up a dripping piece of rag laying next to the pillow.

'I shouldn't wonder. There's enough chloroform here to knock out a thoroughbred. You must be tougher than you look. Do you remember hearing anything unusual, say, an unfamiliar voice, before you sat down?'

'Yes!' Albertson shot up off the bed then promptly crashed back down to Earth.

'I...oh dear...I heard a young woman's voice. I asked him if he had company, because I frown on that sort of thing here, but he told me he was listening to a play on the radio. Oh, my.'

Daily cut him off.

'Does he have family?'

'Not that I know of, but there's his former landlady. They were plenty close. I telephoned her for a character reference before he moved in. One can't be too careful when dealing with bachelors.'

Daily smirked.

'No kidding.'

Mary Powell's boarding house sat on a narrow plot of land at the very end of a street full of similar houses two towns over. It had been known to accommodate up to six men at a time, most of them returned soldiers. When her husband came back from Japan a drooling, muttering quadraplegic, Mary carved out a life putting broken men back together again and, as long as there was room, no one was turned away. Mary took her time opening the door and, when she did eventually appear, it was obvious that her benevolence did not extend to cops.

'Yes?'

Daily held up his badge and smiled.

'Mary Powell?'

She looked him up and down.

'MRS Powell. What can I do for you?'

'Detective Roger Daily, homicide. I'd like to ask you a few questions about an old tennant of yours, Ewan Finn. May we come in?'

'You can ask just fin from there.'

Daily gestured toward a trail of boot prints leading to the door.

'Someone's been hiking through the mud. Do you always allow your lodgers to clomp through the house in dirty shoes?'

'They served our country, so I figure I can forgive a few bad habits. Persecuting the ill and innocent's more your sorta thing.'

'When was the last time you saw him?'

'Over a year ago.'

'You don't keep in touch? From what I hear, the two of you were like family.'

'You heard wrong. Anything else you'd like to know?'

'Yes, as a matter of fact.' Daily pointed to a raised, purple mark on the woman's neck. 'How'd you get that or, more to the point, who gave it to you?'

Mary pulled up the collar of her jacket.

'Come back with a warrant.'

Daily took a piece of paper out of his jacket and held it up. Mary sighed and opened the screen door.

'Search every inch of the place. Turn it upside down if you have to.' 

Daily shrugged at Mary. 

'These men have a habit of leaving a mess sometimes. I'm sure you can find it in your heart to forgive them just this once.'

He took her arm and lead her past a bewildered looking man in a wheelchair.

'Why don't you give me a tour of your lovely home?'

When the man in Mary's bed turned out to be a one-armed nineteen-year-old and the one in her closet turned out to be the owner of the muddied footwear outside, Daily let Mary go in disgust and headed back downstairs.

'It's for God to judge you, not me.'

'Damn right it is!' Mary followed him. 'Who or what I do is nobody's business but mine. And you can tell Finn that I don't NEED him anymore. I get my lovin' ABOVE ground now!'

Daily stopped dead at the bottom of the stairs and looked up.

'What was that last part again?'

A little old lady was standing by Finn's mailbox when Daily got there. 

'Oh, thank goodness you're here! I was worried you wouldn't come back.'

Daily took off his hat.

'Everything's under control, Ma'am. You can go home now.'

'Oh, but there's something I need to tell you! I wanted to tell you before, but my daughter told me I was imagining things, but I wasn't, I really wasn't. I know what I saw!'

Daily gave all the men but the one at his side the signal to go back in the house. 

'What did you see, Ma'am?'

'That cleaner, from the girl's school. He was carrying a big bundle over his shoulder, wrapped up in an army blanket. My Skipper went missing last month and he had something to do with it, I just know it!'

'Your Skipper?'

'My Jack Russell.'

'You saw the cleaner take the blanket into the house?'

The old lady shook her head vehemently.

'No, no, not HIS house - the one on the other side.'

Daily patted her on the arm.

'What was your name, Ma'am?'

'Mrs. Olivia Anne Feeney, nee Jones.'

Daily smiled.

'Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Feeney. Officer Willett here is going to take you back home now, and I'm sure he'd like a nice cup of tea after his long drive.'

Seven officers opened the door at Forty-Four Jessup Street and found a dark, empty home reeking of abandonment. The occupant had left with nothing but their clothes, and clearly weren't intending to return in the forseeable future, judging by the thick, sticky film of dust and cobwebs covering every surface. The stench that hung in the air was enough to put off even the most desperate of transients.

'I guess finding the bastard asleep upstairs would be too much to ask,' Daily sighed.

But when he entered the second floor bedroom on the right, that was exactly what he found. Finn was laying spread-eagle on a dirt clodded rug, cocooned in the army blanket the old lady described, sleeping as soundly as a baby, hands clasped against his cheek. Daily kicked him as hard as he could. 

'Police, Mr. Finn, wake up!'

Finn stretched, rubbed his eyes, then sat up. 

'What can I do for you officer?'

'It's Detective, and you can save your breath; the older girl told us how you lead her to the boiler room and knocked her out, and your neighbour saw you carting the little girl in here. What have you done with her?'

'You must mean Mrs. Feeney. Poor woman's always seeing things. Senile, you know. She once told me she came home from grocery shopping and found her head husband having tea with Custer in her living room.'

'And what about Stella Thomas? I suppose she imagined you dousing her face with chloroform?'

Finn's smile widened.

'Perhaps the question you should be asking, DETECTIVE, is when did she grow eyes in the back of her head?'

Daily had faced far bigger men, even reduced more than a few of them to tears, so it wouldn't take long to persuade a wet rat like Finn. He leaned over, getting ready to geab him by the shirtfront and yank him to his feet, then he saw something. A greyish-white speck, just above Finn's breast pocket.

'Check his fingernails!' Daily barked.

The officer standing nearest to the bed did as ordered, not entirely sure of what he was looking for. Then he found it. Under Finn's right index fingernail was a speck the same colour as the one on his pocket, only this one was bigger, and had been pushed into the corner of the nail, possibly during the act of scrubbing away evidence.

'Does this place have a basement?'

'No, sir,' said the officer.

'Search every cupboard, drawer, crawl space, and crack you can find. Empty every goddamned shelf!'

Daily shoved Finn away, and Finn's bony bulk crashed to the floor, cushioned slightly by the rug. It wasn't the thud that made Daily's ears prick up and Finn's smile disappear: it was the echo that followed.

'GET HIM OFF THERE!'

Two officers got Finn to his feet again and dragged him over to the corner of the room while Daily rolled up the rug.

'Son of a bitch.'

Hilda put down the phone and opened her desk drawer again. The police would be arriving any minute now, and it would all be over. 

Sergeant McInerney shot to his feet when a young officer approached him.

'What's the situation?'

'Sir, could I see you outside, please?'

McInerney saw the officer's sickly complexion and excused himself, trotting down the stairs before Dahlia could protest. 

'What are we dealing with here?'

'It's Finn. They've found something.'

Dahlia thrust open the doors.

'Tell me what you know this instant.'

'I've been called away, Ma'am, but Officer Willett here will...'

'I won't allow myself to be patronised a moment longer! What is happening?'

'Ma'am, I need you to stay calm.'

'WHERE IS MY CHILD?'

Suddenly, it was raining glass and in standing between the two men, Dahlia had inadvertently positioned herself directly in the deluges path. McInerney pulled her aside and sent Willett back into the building while he looked Dahlia over. He took hold of her wrist.

'We need to get you to hospital.'

Dahlia plucked out a long shard of glass without flinching and held it up. A piece of the headmistress's brain wobbled before her eyes.

'Nonsense, I'm quite alright.'

Willett returned to find Dahlia in McInerney's arms.