Taking a green pen from a neat, multi-coloured
row on a flip-up table attached to the inside of his van, Vance made an all-clear
note on a clipboard’s sheaf of paper. Carefully folding the top leaf of paper
over, he held it in place with an elastic band. There was something comforting
about the analogue process, unlike the cool, impersonal digital recording
equipment. His laptop’s screen threw a pale glow onto Vance’s face, the
clipboard and Marvin the Rat who sat on the table edge, rubbing his front paws
over his snout. There was a distinct possibility that somewhere in the Police
Department Technical Surveillance Unit’s regulations, pet rats were banned from
government vehicles. Vance hadn’t bothered to check. He also hadn’t sought
permission to take a pee against a nearby tree. If the target in the bugged
apartment could seek relief, so could his eavesdropper. He liked the 17th
Century term for someone who stood under the rain-protecting eaves of a house,
against the wall, away from the “drop” of water in order to listen to those
inside. Better than his nickname at the station: Lenny the Lurker.
Breaking the tip off a KitKat
wafer, he placed it under Marvin’s nose. The pair sat quietly munching, both
watching the digital audio waveforms flickering up, down and across the screen as
the target clattered in his kitchen before switching on a TV crime series.
Noise activated software cut out the dead air when no one made a sound. When
the software switched off, so did he.
One week earlier, he’d slipped
Marvin back into his cage with an apple core, taken a canvas bag bearing a
cable TV company’s logo, and broken into the target’s apartment. A few quality
pieces of furniture competed for space with a bachelor’s flotsam – discarded
gym gear, a trail bike with a puncture, three empty wine bottles. Vance needed
an object that was least likely to be moved. In one corner, a slightly shabby
teddy bear had been converted into a side light. Cutting the bear’s lower seam,
Vance switched on a thumb nail sized microphone and inserted it into the
stuffing. “Next time I’ll buy you dinner first.” He patted the bear’s head and
closed the door softly.
Tonight, the audio waveforms only
quivered in excitement when the higher pitch of a TV advertisement interrupted
the program. Then knock, knock. Two sharp jumps on the laptop screen. The
apartment door squeaked open.
“It’s late,” the target said.
“I’ve got a watch,” said the
visitor.
Vance narrowed his eyes, moving
closer to the screen as if it was a window. He thought he knew that voice. The
door squeaked shut. Were they both in the room? Vance regretted not planting a
camera.
Something broke. Too heavy for
glass. Ceramic. The target groaned. “What did you do that for?” There was sound
of sweeping, with shards of pottery being collected and spilled into a garbage bin.
“I’ll keep breaking things ‘til I
find the money,” said the visitor.
“The shipment only arrived at the
hospital this morning. We need 24 hours to see if they spot the drugs are
counterfeit. Once they start dispensing them we’re clear. You’ll get your
money.”
“No time to wait. You have two
minutes. I’m booked on the 10am flight to Honkers.”
Vance’s head snapped up. That pretentious,
ex-pat term for Hong Kong. The only person who ever used it without irony was
his brother. He had recognised the voice. James.
The target’s own voice became
strained. “Put that away.”
“One minute.”
“Let’s be reason…”
Vance had heard enough silencers
to identify the metallic spitting sound. A thud. One body down. Then the sound
of furniture being overturned. James was ransacking the apartment. Next the
bear hit something very hard or vice versa. Vance hovered the cursor over the
recording button. It would take him seconds to erase the file. A technical
hitch, he’d explain. Blame it on the bear. He’d confront James as he came out
of the apartment. Demand answers.
Rising on his hind legs, Marvin
sniffed the air. That’s all I need, thought Vance. A rat with a conscience. The
counterfeit drugs at the hospital were the catch. If I hit “delete” on the
audio and I say I didn’t hear what the men said, then how would I know about
the drugs?
The apartment door squeaked shut.
No, he couldn’t face James now. He needed time to think. He was a senior
constable in rank only. He’d never arrested anyone and he’d lost his police
issue handcuffs soon after graduation. A car’s engine kicked in and the vehicle
pulled away. Vance’s hand hit the release on the sliding side door. Too late,
all he could see were tail lights.
Vance slid the door shut. Another
problem. Which hospital? How many might die while he dithered. Marvin sniffed
the air again. “Some plan,” said Vance aloud. Did rats understand irony? “So … I’m
meant to throw them off the scent.” Reaching for the police two-way radio
resting by the laptop, he called it in – all the details except his brother’s
current address. The address he gave was a year out of date.
The sky was brightening as Vance parked
outside the suburban bungalow. There were lights in the kitchen windows and a
newspaper on the front lawn. Walking up the driveway, he rehearsed his demands.
Say which hospital, say which drugs, say who else was involved and he’d give
James six hours’ head start. That’s if the real
police didn’t get here sooner. A pair of headlights like searchlights silhouetted
him. He froze, breathed deeply and turned.
James was clambering out of a
taxi, dragging a roll-on suitcase. “What’s wrong?” he called.
The taxi reversed, leaving them
standing metres apart. Vance approached, hands clenching and unclenching.
“Change of heart, you callous prick? Murder a man, peddle fake drugs, and now
you’ve come back with a guilty conscience?”
“Are you mad? Murder? When?’
“Last night.”
“Jesus, man, I just got off an
overnight flight from Honkers. I’ve been working there all week. Check it out.
Are you playing copper at last?”
So, thought Vance, it wasn’t
James’ voice. Let’s see. I’ve provided false and misleading information to my
colleagues, I’ve attempted to pervert the course of justice, I’ve left patients
at an unknown hospital in danger, I’ve allowed a murderer to escape, and I’ve
destroyed my relationship with my brother.
“On the bright side,” said James,
throwing his arm over Vance’s shoulders and guiding him to the front door.
“You’re here in time for breakfast.”
# # #
Copyright 2017 GREG FLYNN
