A Fate Worse Than Death Page 8

  “Don’t try to pretend that either of you has any real purpose. Heaven needs a police force like a giraffe needs a pogo stick. You’re here for some other reason. It’s a reason that has very little to do with law enforcement and very much to do with keeping whatever secrets are hidden inside that mansion on the hill. If I had any doubts about that, the speed with which you arrived just now put them to rest. So what’s the real story? What do you really do?”

  “What we really do is this,” said Lizard Neck, standing up and walking towards me. “We take nosy punks that should know better and keep them closely looked after so they can’t go causing trouble for other people.”

  Both cops then grabbed me again and threw me into a holding cell. As Frying Pan struggled to figure out how to lock it, Lizard Neck looked at me contemptuously.

  “Because, despite what you might think, we actually do have plenty of stuff to do,” he said. “And we can’t go wasting our time with worthless trash like you.”

  “I bet you’ve got plenty of stuff to do. Is there a holdup at the First National Bank of Heaven? Or perhaps you’ve got a kidnapping to investigate?” I said the last bit especially loudly, but I didn’t get a chance to see a reaction. Frying Pan finally figured out how the lock worked, and at that exact moment, the door slammed with a clang.

  * * *

  I don’t know how long I spent in the cell. To be honest, it wasn’t that uncomfortable. There was even a bed made up with soft sheets and plush pillows. I felt pretty certain I was the first person to have taken advantage of these lodgings. So I lay back, relaxed, and considered my surroundings.

  The whole thing was highly peculiar. It was one thing for Sally to set up a police force just to help her keep her secrets to herself, but what was the point of this place? Why construct such an elaborately detailed police headquarters? Even in this cell, the walls were lined with wood paneling, while the floor was an intricate arrangement of parquetry. Surely the decor wasn’t for the benefit of the current occupants. A couple of goons like Lizard Neck and Frying Pan could have been easily housed in a stable.

  Then again, at this particular moment there seemed to be far more important things to worry about—such as, who was the man in Sally’s house? And where did that stairway down which he’d disappeared lead? And would Frying Pan be able to figure out how to unlock the cell door again? I wasn’t sure I would like the answers to any of those questions.

  Some hours later, after a long series of scuffling noises outside, the door did open. Frying Pan stood there, looking like a schoolboy who’d just gotten a scolding. He motioned me out. I was more than happy to oblige him.

  Lizard Neck was standing by the desk, a telephone in his hand. He looked like he’d gotten a thrashing on top of the scolding.

  “Okay, Clarenden,” he said, “I don’t understand how, but apparently you’ve got friends in high places. You’re to be released right away.”

  I thanked both policemen for their kind hospitality and walked calmly to the door. Before I managed to exit the place, Lizard Neck had some parting words.

  “Just remember this, Clarenden. You might have friends, but we’re still the law.”

  “Yeah,” added Frying Pan. “So you better not mess with us again.”

  “Gentlemen,” I said, “you can count on it.” Then I left. It felt good putting distance between myself and the police station. Any cop house, even an ersatz luxury one, is no place to spend the night.

  * * *

  It was evening as I trudged back towards my place. As I approached, I noticed a light just outside my front door. This was odd, as I didn’t recall a streetlamp being there before. As I got closer, I realised it wasn’t a streetlamp. It was a person who shined in the gathering darkness. Obviously, this was no ordinary person. It was an angel, and the name of this particular angel was Jessie.

  “Good evening to you, Angel,” I said. “To what do I owe the pleasure of a second visit in two days?”

  “I have something for you,” she said softly, glancing around to check that we were the only ones on the street. Assured that there were no observers, she reached under her robe and handed me a small bottle. It was the Holy Grail; manna from Heaven; nectar of the gods. The label on the bottle said Gold Star Premium Bourbon.

  I looked lovingly at the gift cradled in my hands. “I am your servant and your slave,” I said. “Whatever you want from me, I am yours to command.”

  She almost smiled at that. “Can we go inside?”

  “After you.” I opened the door for her.

  As she passed through, I couldn’t stop myself from taking one quick nip from the bottle. The alcohol stroked the back of my throat, then dived down into my stomach where it lit a bonfire that radiated through my body. Suitably reinvigorated, I followed her in.

  I ushered Jessie into the kitchen and pulled out two glasses from a cabinet. While I was pouring, I looked up at her and realised she was shaking.

  “Angel, what’s the matter?”

  She looked at me with wide eyes. “It’s Raphael. He’s gone.”

  “Gone?”

  “Gone. Disappeared.”

  I put the bottle down. “Do you know what happened?”

  “Nobody does. His place has been ransacked.”

  “Who could have done something like this? Do you have any idea?”

  She half nodded and half shook her head. Tears were beginning to well in her eyes.

  “You must tell me, Angel,” I insisted. “Could it have anything to do with Sally and a tall man in a dark suit?”

  “What do you mean?” she said. If her eyes were wide before, they were now like two full moons staring out of her face.

  I quickly told her about my encounter with Sally. When I finished, I looked at her. She wasn’t scared any more. She was now absolutely terrified. She let out one short, strangled moan. And then she fell senseless into my arms.

  CHAPTER 8

  I PICKED JESSIE UP AND CARRIED HER into the bedroom. I placed her on the bed and then lay beside her. She didn’t say anything, but she grabbed hold of me and clung on for dear life. Her breath came in gasps, and her whole body shook like a chandelier in a thunderstorm.

  After a short time, she seemed to relax. Her trembling ceased and her breathing became more regular. She still clutched on to me, but there was a new urgency to her grasp. Her face came close. Her eyes were closed as her lips sought mine.

  I untied her robe and lifted it off her. For a seemingly lightweight garment, it felt surprisingly heavy as I tossed it onto the floor. But I had other things on my mind as Jessie wrapped her arms around me and pulled me to her. For the next hour, I finally felt like I really was in Heaven. She might have been an angel but . . . I think you can guess the rest.

  Afterwards, she slept, but I couldn’t. I lay awake, listening to her breathing and wondering. Wondering what, if anything, the disappearance of Raphael had to do with my current case. Wondering why Jessie was so terrified of the mysterious man I had seen at Sally’s house. And, in particular, wondering how long I could resist temptation and ignore the bourbon that sat out in the kitchen.

  At least the answer to the third question was obvious—not long at all. I got out of bed and tiptoed into the kitchen. I downed both glasses and then tried to sneak back into the bedroom, but I wasn’t quiet enough. As I slipped into bed, Jessie rolled over and raised her head.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I can’t sleep, Angel,” I said. “There’s too much on my mind. Too many things that don’t add up, and too many people who aren’t what they claim to be.” I looked pointedly at her as I said it, but as the room was dark, it probably didn’t have the effect I hoped for.

  “Does it have anything to do with Raphael’s disappearance?” she said.

  “I don’t know. It might. Can you tell me about him?”

  Jessie sighed. “I guess he means well. It’s just that he really gets on everyone’s nerves. He’s always trying to set up community groups and
charities that nobody else is the slightest bit interested in.”

  “Including you?”

  “I suppose so. I try to be nice to him, but every so often, well, you just can’t help yourself. When he has an idea, he won’t let it go. Every day he comes up to you. ‘Can you help set up a secondhand clothes collection drive? Will you sponsor me in a read-a-thon? Would you like to become a member of my harp band?’”

  “I would have expected harp bands to be pretty popular in these parts.”

  “I doubt that harp bands will ever be popular in any parts. But look, I really don’t dislike him. I’ll always try my best to be friendly to him, I guess because that’s just the way I am.”

  Just the way she was. So gentle and caring. Her words had all the sincerity of a beauty pageant finalist.

  I said, “I have a confession to make, Angel.”

  “What would you need to confess to me?” As she spoke, I had to admire her. She really had that sweet and innocent act nailed.

  “Do you remember that picture in my office? The one sitting on the desk?”

  “The picture of your wife?”

  “That’s the one. Only she wasn’t my wife.”

  “She wasn’t?” The surprise was genuine. “Then who is she?”

  “I have no idea. The picture came with the frame. I picked it up in a shop yesterday, mainly to decorate the office. The truth is, I’ve never been married. There was no wife. No smooth-talking shoe salesman.”

  “And your arches?”

  “They rise with the best of them.”

  “So what was the point of that story? Why would you deceive me?”

  “What was the point of that story,” I repeated, speaking very slowly for effect. “I can give you a one word answer to that question. Credibility.”

  “That makes no sense. How does telling a lie increase your credibility?” The voice was still soft, but it had acquired a harder edge. One I hadn’t heard before.

  I said, “One of the keys to being a successful private investigator is to be an absolute screwup in pretty much every other aspect of your life. Nobody would trust a detective with a happy home and family. They would have no credibility.”

  “Why not just say you’ve never been married? For a man your age, that seems to represent a certain level of failure.”

  “That’s true, but it’s still not enough. The detective game is a tough business. I can’t afford to go for any half measures. This way, not only do I have a failed relationship in my past, but by keeping the picture of the wife that betrayed and humiliated me, I reveal that I still carry the torch. The clients love that sort of stuff. It allows them to feel superior, no matter the nature of their own problems. Cutting a wretched, broken, and tragic figure is the only way I can maintain the competitive edge I need. And I can assure you, Angel, I really need it.”

  She was silent for a moment. Then she spoke.

  “So why are you confessing this to me now? Aren’t you afraid you’ll lose your credibility with me?”

  “I have no interest in retaining that sort of credibility with you. The reason for this confession is simply to make a point.”

  “What point?” She was still doing her best to sound like a sweet young schoolgirl, but that schoolgirl was growing up fast.

  “When I pull that ex-wife routine on my clients, it’s because I want to give them a particular impression about myself. It’s an act, a character I hide behind so the client can’t find out too much about the real me. Now the most important part about putting on an act like that is making sure you don’t leave any gaps. Every possible aspect of the character must be covered, so nobody can see through it.”

  “That all sounds very clever, but I don’t see why you need to make this point to me.”

  “Because one of the advantages of becoming adept at this act is that it’s much easier for me to see through other people when they try to pull it on me. Especially when they’ve left gaps. Big ones.”

  “What do you mean by that?” In the darkness, I could sense her pulling away from me.

  “Before I saw Sally, I went to the library.”

  She was sitting up now, her head propped on her hands. “You really have a strange style of conversation. Do you always prefer changing the subject, rather than explaining yourself?”

  “Don’t you want to know what I found?”

  “Is it pertinent to anything we’ve talked about so far?”

  “I’ll leave that for you to decide. What I was looking for were historical records. Initially, I was only interested in one particular record, but as I searched I had the chance to see many others, and they revealed some very interesting details.”

  “Such as?”

  “Each of those records represented minutes from the executive meetings of the Heavenly Council. As far as I can tell, this council is comprised of God himself, His sons, St Peter, a number of less significant deities, and you angels. Certain members of the council seem to play a more prominent role in discussions than others. Peter, for instance, plays a relatively minor role, which given his work commitments is no surprise. Sally and Raphael, on the other hand, are both highly involved. However, oddly enough, motions presented by Raphael are rarely successful, while those put forward by Sally are almost never defeated.”

  “That is interesting, but not all that surprising.”

  “You’re right. It isn’t surprising at all. What is surprising is the total lack of involvement by someone who I would have expected to care quite a lot about how Heaven is governed, especially given the comments she made to me only yesterday. I didn’t see your name mentioned in any of the minutes. Not even once.”

  Jessie sat very straight. I could feel her eyes boring into me.

  “I guess there are some matters I’d rather leave to others.”

  “Leave to others like Sally?”

  “I didn’t say I was happy about it. I’d like to be able to go into the council and stand up to Sally. I guess I just don’t have the confidence.”

  She didn’t have the confidence? That didn’t just take the cake. It took the icing and the candles as well. The time for game-playing was over.

  I said, “You don’t have the confidence, and I have the credibility of a goose.”

  Jessie stood up. “Perhaps you’d prefer it if I left.”

  I grabbed her by the waist and pulled her back onto the bed. “You’re not leaving until you tell me the truth. You came to me yesterday, acting all flighty and mysterious, then disappeared when the questions got too difficult. You reappeared tonight and pulled this wilting rose petal act. You did it pretty well, but I‘ve seen it a hundred times before. Now call me a sucker, but I actually believe your fears are genuine and I’d like to help. But until you start giving me some information that vaguely resembles the truth, I don’t see how I can.”

  She sat motionless for a moment, then lay back and put her head on the pillow. “You’re right,” she said. “I have a confession to make too.”

  I didn’t say anything. It was her turn to do the talking.

  “There’s a reason you didn’t see my name in any of those council minutes. It’s because I wasn’t actually at any of the meetings.”

  “An absentee angel?”

  “No.” She paused. Her lips were pressed together tightly, as if she wanted to stop the words escaping. Finally, she forced them out. “An absentee, but not an angel.”

  It was my turn to be genuinely surprised. “What did you say?”

  “You heard,” she said, her voice now as bitter as coffee grounds flavoured with lemon rind. “Would you like me to say it again? I’m not an angel. Are you satisfied now?”

  “If you’re not an angel, who are you?”

  “Just a woman. Just a normal, everyday woman. I lived my life, I died, and I was sent . . . down below.”

  “Why were you sent . . . down below?”

  “I’d prefer not to talk about it. I didn’t live a particularly good life. I did a lot of things I wa
sn’t proud of, and hurt a lot of people. And that’s why they sent me down . . . Oh what’s the point in being precious about it? That’s why they sent me down to Hell, to do my time and endure the punishments of a life ill-spent.”

  “You don’t seem to be enduring much punishment.”

  She started to reply, but I placed a hand over her mouth.

  “Save it,” I said. “This is a story that should be told over a drink.”

  She nodded. “Last drink for a condemned woman.”

  I went back to the kitchen, grabbed the bottle and the glasses, and returned to the bedroom. I poured two glasses and handed one to her. She held it to her lips, and with a delicate flick she downed its contents. A second glass met with a similarly swift fate.

  “So, a funny thing happened on the way to Hell,” I said. She was right. The time for euphemisms was over. I felt a sense of release having finally uttered the word.

  Jessie shivered. “There’s nothing funny about Hell.”

  “It’s really that bad?”

  “The place you lived in before you died. What was it like?”

  “It was a charming place.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh yes. We had a wonderful family called the Bostinos, who looked after everyone and made sure nobody ever misbehaved. They had all these lovely little games they liked to play. Games where if you lost, they’d beat your brains out. Actually, that’s not completely true. If you won, they’d beat your brains out too.”

  “So you think it was pretty rough?”

  “I know it was pretty rough. If a boy didn’t have at least twenty knife scars by his fifth birthday, his sexuality was called into question.”

  She laughed. A cold, hard laugh. “Hell’s worse.”

  “You really think so?”

  “Listen to me, Jimmy. Anything your Bostino family dished out would be like a Christmas party compared to Hell.”

  I finished my glass and poured another for myself. I offered one to her, but she shook her head.

  “What makes Hell so bad?” I said.