Pawn, page 6
“Crap!” The first thing Rufus saw when he made it up the half dozen steps to his front door was that it was open. Pushed in. And just like that his feeling of safety was completely gone, maybe never to return. His home, the only place he could feel protected, had been violated, and a feeling of horror and disbelief grabbed him. The blood drained from him, he could feel his innards churning, and the sick rising in the pit of his stomach. Soon he knew, if he didn’t control it, there would be a stinking mess everywhere.
It was a nightmare. A series of nightmares. First the car crash, then the machine gun attack, then the suspicious police inspector, and now this. Was nowhere safe any more? How could this be happening to him? Would it never end? So many terrible questions for which he had no answers. He wanted to be sick. He wanted to cry out and scream and shout to the heavens above that it just wasn’t fair. He wanted to run away. And he could do none of those things. All he could do was what he always did. Take his courage in both hands, pray a little to a God that wasn’t listening or didn’t care even if he was, and try to do what normal people were supposed to do. Carry on.
He carried on.
First he examined the evidence to see if there was anything to tell him who had done this or why. But there wasn’t much. Someone had broken in to his home and by the looks of things, they hadn’t been subtle about it. Instead of jimmying the lock the door had simply been pushed in, the deadlock had held as it was supposed to, but the timber around it had splintered and the doorframe had then broken completely away. He had no idea who would do that, especially out in the open on a quiet street during the middle of the day, but whoever it was he was strong.
Smashing a doorframe apart took a lot of force. The sort of force made by a man hurling himself at the door like a battering ram. Quite possibly, since he had a state of the art deadbolt system, several times. It must have made a lot of noise when whoever it was had busted the door down. A lot of noise in a normally very quiet street. And his home was on the high side of the street, the front door and entrance exposed to anybody walking by and the neighbours across the road.
It didn’t make sense. Harris Street was one of the better streets in the township. The sort of street in which things like this just didn’t happen. It wasn’t as if it was near the new comprehensive school full of teenage vandals. Someone must have seen it surely. His neighbours must have heard something. But if they had, where were the police? Looking around though, there was nobody there. He could see the taxi driving off in the distance and no one else at all. Maybe that was the downside of living in such a quiet street. There was no one to see anything.
Fearing the worst Rufus pushed the door open a little with the tips of his fingers to peek inside, worried that whoever had done this might still be inside. After all he hadn’t been gone very long. He needn’t have worried. The man wasn’t there any more, but even through the crack Rufus could see that his house had been burgled. More than burgled. Vandalized.
“Oh Crap!”
Pushing the door the rest of the way open Rufus could finally see all the way into his house and he didn’t want to. Someone had been there. Someone had turned everything upside down, obviously searching for something. And then when they hadn’t found it they’d decided to pretty much destroy the place.
His burglar alarm was no longer on the wall, though it was still attached to part of it. It was just that that part and the grey box of state of the art electronics, were on the far side of the room in pieces. It looked for all the world as though someone had simply ripped the box out of the wall and flung it across the room. Maybe they had.
Stuff was everywhere. Things had been chucked all over the floor, shelves had been emptied and their contents strewn all over the place, and they hadn’t stopped at his main room. Cutlery and crockery, much of it smashed, told him they’d been in the kitchen, though why they’d tossed that stuff all over his lounge he didn’t know. And when they hadn’t found what they’d wanted in plain sight, they’d started ripping things apart. Even his telly had been torn apart. Why? What could anyone possibly find inside a telly? Or a dvd player for that matter? Or stereo speakers? And how could they have done it all in the hour and a half he’d been out, down at the police station?
A sudden feeling of terror hit him as he realised one thing more. They must have been watching him, waiting for him to leave. It was paranoia of course, but he knew it had to be true. There just wouldn’t have been the chance otherwise for someone to simply break in and know he wasn’t at home. So someone had watched him, seen him leave, and taken the opportunity to break in. But who? Why? He didn’t have much to steal and he didn’t know any secrets. He didn’t even have any enemies as far as he knew.
Except that now he did. He had people who wanted to kill him, and more who wanted to rob him blind. That was as good a definition of enemy as he knew.
In time, as he stared at the mess that had once been his home, Rufus realised that there was one more thing he had to do as a law-abiding citizen. And also as someone who at least wanted to be able to claim insurance for his losses. He had to call the police. And that meant the inspector. Again.
Detective Chief Inspector Barns would never believe him, he knew that. He would grill him for hours, again, thinking he was the guilty party, and then he would grill him some more, certain he would confess to something. And when he got nothing, he would start again.
It was all Rufus could do just to keep from breaking down about then.
Was there no end to his suffering?
Chapter Five.
“Inspector Barns.” Far from being surprised that the inspector had come Rufus was only taken aback by the fact that it had taken him so long to get there. The other officers had been there for nearly a couple of hours, taking photos and fingerprinting everything in sight. Somehow Rufus was sure that they’d find nothing. These people had worn gloves. After all, while it might look like the work of kids, he was certain that the person or persons who had done this were professionals. Kids stole things, cash, electronics and anything they could sell. They hit and ran. Whoever had done this had very thoroughly searched the place, though what they thought they would find he couldn’t begin to guess.
“Should you be sitting there?” The inspector had a point, maybe even a good one. Sitting down in the middle of his house, a place that had now become a crime scene, sipping at a cup of coffee, was probably not that professional. But he was sore and he couldn’t stand forever, and the other officers had cleared this particular section of the lounge for him. He told the inspector as much and wasn’t that surprised when he turned to glare at the other officers. Allowing the suspect into his own crime scene. It just wasn’t done. Not on his watch. But at least he didn’t protest too loudly. He had other fish to fry. The accusations were coming. Of that much Rufus was sure.
“So want to tell me about it?” Of course what he really wanted was for Rufus to confess to something. Rufus knew it, the other officers knew it, and in all likelihood the little blue biro he was chewing on knew it.
“I went down to the station to collect my stuff from the car. I came back to this.” It was a simple story. Another chapter in an ongoing tragedy. In the end there wasn’t a lot else to say.
The inspector stared at him strangely, possibly wondering if he was being insolent. Police didn’t like that. But he stuck to his questions instead of getting upset.
“Anyone else staying in the house? Any special friends? Family?” It was the way that he added the last so carefully that told Rufus that the inspector had been doing some checking. But then he’d expected that. And what he’d find when he did.
“I live alone inspector. No one else has a key, not that these people used one.” He indicated the broken doorframe with his free hand. “And as for my family, I haven’t seen them in years.” And he never wanted to see them again considering the way their last encounter had gone. There was a reason he had lived with nightmares all his life. There was a reason his phone was unlisted and his home was registered as belonging to his own private company.
“Really? Because this looks very much like your older brother’s handiwork.” Maybe it did in a way. Daryl was a dedicated smash and grab thief and he loved making a mess. But he didn’t do houses. Not because of any noble concern for the people who might be at home, but simply because there usually wasn’t a lot of money in them. Stores, especially those with good sales and big glass windows he could break, were more his scene, and if he could find someone to beat up in the process, so much the better. Daryl liked hurting people. He had violence in his soul. But greed too.
“There’s not enough here for Daryl to give a toss about. He’s a violent thug but he doesn’t risk getting caught lightly. He wouldn’t do this. Not without a cause. Not without some serious money he could make. Though he’d be happy enough wrecking the place.” Actually if he knew where Rufus lived, he’d have done it just for fun, and then smashed his face in as well and maybe killed him. The two of them had never really been brothers. Their relationship was always one of bully and victim. But then they didn’t see each other, so that worked out well for both of them.
“And your father, what’s he been up to lately?” Rufus sighed as he realised the inspector had been right through his family history, and he wasn’t going to stop asking annoying questions until he’d asked about each and every one of them.
“I don’t know inspector. I haven’t seen my father in more than a decade. Or for that matter, my mother or my older sister. No doubt they’re all up to no good, robbing, extorting, killing, but none of that has anything to do with me.” That was an understatement and then some. He and his family had parted on less than amicable terms, actually his brother had tried to pummel him to a pulp with an axe. He’d never wanted to see them again after that, and they he assumed held the same opinion about him.
“Not even a little art theft? You weren’t tempted?”
“My old man’s been stealing art again has he?” It wasn’t really a question, just another accusation. But at least he now had some idea of why the people in the speeding truck had started shooting at him. Apparently it was an art theft, though whether his family were involved was another matter. “No he wouldn’t ask me. After all the last time we had that conversation it ended badly for both of us.
“Ahh the incident in the park.”
“If by incident you mean attempted murder as Daryl tried to chop me up into tiny pieces with an axe and the rest of my loving family cheered him on”. If he laid the sarcasm on a little more thick than he should have, it was only because he still remembered that day with terrible clarity. It wasn’t something easily forgotten. But at least he had survived it, as he had somehow survived the rest of his childhood. The inspector didn’t get it though. Maybe he hadn’t read the reports.
“Brothers fight all the time.”
“How many of them use an axe?” He could have shown him the scars, but there was no point. It was a matter of record and he could read about it or not as he chose. But Rufus was getting tired by then. Too many shocks in too few days. He couldn’t take much more.
“Look inspector. My father beat me from when I was a young baby. My older brother helped him, my older sister laughed throughout, and my darling mother told me I was a mistake that should never have been born. I was probably the only child you’ll ever hear of who ran away from home, to go to school. I got myself scholarships and went into boarding school at the age of twelve, and barely ever went home after that.” He would never have gone back at all if he could have avoided it. But a twelve year old child, no matter how capable, couldn’t stay away forever. Still it was funny how easily the words came out of his mouth, almost as though it wasn’t him that had suffered all those beatings, that had spent so many weeks and months in the hospitals. Time as they said, healed all wounds. Maybe even his.
“I didn’t miss them, they certainly didn’t miss me.”
“The last time I saw them, I was nineteen, a student in London, and I hadn’t seen them in years. But Daryl came out of nowhere and tried to kill me. My sister had apparently told him that I stole some money or something. She was lying of course, I hadn’t even been near their place in years. I don’t actually know how they found me.” Though he could guess. His mother was always one to spy on people. She kept tabs on everyone she could, mostly so she could blackmail them later. That was her calling, her passion. Blackmail, extortion, and sometimes just for the hell of it, a little manipulation and domestic theatre as she called it.
She loved to destroy people. She loved to watch their lives fall apart, and it didn’t take much. A few lurid photos, even if she had to edit them, the odd call in the middle of the night, some incriminating documents. With just those things she could destroy marriages, end careers, shatter dreams and sometimes, engineer a suicide. And that was her recreation. When there was the chance to get a little money out of it, she was a hundred times worse.
His sister might have been the one to make the accusation, but he was sure it was his mother that had found him that day and stage-managed the entire event. Her evil it had always seemed to him, was far more cunning than the brute violence of his father and brother. Far more dangerous.
“I spent months in the hospital after the attack, suffered loads more reconstructive surgery after that, and then still more months of plastic surgery to hide the surgical scars. It wasn’t the first time they’d beaten me half to death. It wasn’t even the first time they’d put me in hospital, or even on life support.” And though he didn’t say it, it wasn’t the first time he’d been in the emergency room with doctors panicking all around him. But they were always good, and they had saved his life. Of course the doctors could only repair the physical scars, and he knew that the psychological ones would never heal. He knew that, and though he knew he was odd and would never really fit in anywhere in life, he didn’t care that much any more. It was enough that he was safe. In the end that was the only thing that mattered.
“If my family are involved in this mess somehow, the one thing I can promise you inspector is that I have nothing to do with it.” Except that of course he did. If they were involved, then he was apparently high on their hit list. The only question was why? He hadn’t seen them in a decade. He hadn’t heard from them. He hadn’t even heard of them which was unusual. It seemed that Daryl had gotten smarter. Smart enough to stay off the police radar. Before then he had been in the court sections of the papers, on a monthly basis, always for burglary and violence. Only the family barristers had stopped him being sent down for life, several times.
And his father, he was a capable enough robber, and cleverer than Daryl by a good half. But even if the police never seemed to have enough evidence to touch him, they had spent years simply following him around while the reporters seemed to have a never ending source of crimes to write about. Until they met with unfortunate accidents one by one. That seemed to stop them writing, at least about his family. They usually found someone else less dangerous to hound.
So his family had become smarter, or at least more circumspect. That was good. Good for the people they were hopefully no longer hurting as they went about their business. Good for Rufus too. If they were staying down, they didn’t need an errant brother being hospitalised or killed to make the papers.
The question was, was this them? Had they been the ones in the van? And had they found him again? And why? What could he possibly have that they might want?
Rufus had no answers, something that didn’t please the inspector one little bit. But still he answered all his questions as openly and honestly as he could, and if that wasn’t enough, he could do no more.
Except maybe find a new place to live. If it was his family, and if they were coming for him, that would be his only choice. New home, new country probably and a new name. Little else would keep him safe from them.
Of course before then he’d have to find a place to spend the night. When his entire house was beginning to be filled up by people in white paper overalls carrying lots of expensive looking equipment, and more were coming, he guessed he wouldn’t be allowed to stay there. Not tonight anyway, and maybe not for a few more.
One thing was certain, for a domestic burglary the police were taking it very seriously. Which could only mean that they thought it was linked to his attempted murder as well.
Rufus sighed quietly when the inspector left, before reaching for his phone. He hated motels and hotels. But he hated people trying to kill him even more. And there was a decent hotel in town, The Fiddlers. Good safe food, security on the doors, cameras in the halls, a twenty four hour desk. He’d read the security reports when the company had taken on their insurance policy.
He went outside to make the call, not wanting the officers to hear him. It wasn’t that he particularly distrusted them. They were probably good officers. But when his mother was hunting, there was no such thing as a completely trustworthy person.
