list of places she could start, Valerie watched the world go by for some inspiration. People passed her on their way to a gridlocked city, leaving their loved ones at home, some of whom happy to be out of the house while others hating the thought of spending the day as a monotonous slave.
She thought of going to the church, Freddie’s apartment, or even back to the headquarters at Hellman’s, but only as a last resort.
She decided on the apartment.
Arriving at the apartment block made her feel like she was making progress, unlike Lucy’s which felt like a waste of time.
The area was a bit of a dive, the kind of place people lived with little money while still taking pride in their environment. Not dirty, just in need of modernizing.
The door to Freddie’s apartment block wasn’t security locked like Lucy’s was. Valerie recalled the day she helped him move here when he was in a bad place in his life, the weather was gloomy and they had to carry all of his stuff from the car through torrential rain. She would never forget that night.
The apartment was on the first floor at the top of the stairs, and the door was wide open. She wasn’t surprised given the circumstances she’d found Freddie in.
Stepping inside, she closed the door.
Someone had been busy. The place was a mess with broken furniture, empty drawers, and stripped down cupboards. She figured it had to have happened recently as there were no cops here yet. An open apartment door at the top of a staircase wasn’t an easy thing to miss.
Ripped up newspapers covered the coffee table.
One article caught her eye:
Murder in Southbrook
Police today were horrified when a young boy and his babysitter were found dead. It is thought child’s the horrified parents returned home from a night out to find them both beaten to death. The name of the boy, the babysitter and the parents are undisclosed at this time.
A police source states: ‘We believe this tragedy is gang related and are doing everything in our power to find the murderer. If anyone out there has any information whatsoever please call your local police station as soon as possible.’
I remember this. Not surprised it still haunted him.
She dropped the article back on the table and looked around, although she didn’t know what she was looking for. She did notice, however, that all the photos in the apartment were missing from the shelves and walls leaving pale squares on a blue painted background.
Who would want those?
In his kitchen underneath an upturned dining chair, she found his mail. The rest of the kitchen was much the same as the living room with broken pots and damaged pans smashed in heaps across the floor and surfaces.
Bull in a china shop comes to mind.
Most of the mail was junk, circulars and coupons mainly, then something caught her eye: a note from an anonymous sender. She figured it had been hand delivered or pushed under the door because it had no address, just the word ‘Freddie’ scribbled in the centre.
It read:
I CAN HELP YOU WITH MICHAEL. MEET ME AT THE MEMORIAL IN PEOPLE’S PARK AT MIDNIGHT.
There were no other notes in the pile.
Then his phone started ringing.
She let the machine answer.
‘Hello? Freddie are you there?’ It was Lucy. ‘Freddie, come on, answer the phone.’ She sighed. ‘Well I need to see if you’re OK. A woman came to see me this morning called Valerie, she said it was about you but didn’t tell me anything. She just ran out of the building. Freddie, I’m worried. Call me when you can.’
Valerie looked at the answer machine. The screen said ‘Two Messages’. The second one was from Lucy, so she pressed play for the first. A gentle male voice in a southern accent came on: ‘Message for Freddie regarding our conversation in the park. So far I’ve been unable to find out much about Michael’s murderer, but I‘ll keep trying. Call me to go through what I
She thought of going to the church, Freddie’s apartment, or even back to the headquarters at Hellman’s, but only as a last resort.
She decided on the apartment.
Arriving at the apartment block made her feel like she was making progress, unlike Lucy’s which felt like a waste of time.
The area was a bit of a dive, the kind of place people lived with little money while still taking pride in their environment. Not dirty, just in need of modernizing.
The door to Freddie’s apartment block wasn’t security locked like Lucy’s was. Valerie recalled the day she helped him move here when he was in a bad place in his life, the weather was gloomy and they had to carry all of his stuff from the car through torrential rain. She would never forget that night.
The apartment was on the first floor at the top of the stairs, and the door was wide open. She wasn’t surprised given the circumstances she’d found Freddie in.
Stepping inside, she closed the door.
Someone had been busy. The place was a mess with broken furniture, empty drawers, and stripped down cupboards. She figured it had to have happened recently as there were no cops here yet. An open apartment door at the top of a staircase wasn’t an easy thing to miss.
Ripped up newspapers covered the coffee table.
One article caught her eye:
Murder in Southbrook
Police today were horrified when a young boy and his babysitter were found dead. It is thought child’s the horrified parents returned home from a night out to find them both beaten to death. The name of the boy, the babysitter and the parents are undisclosed at this time.
A police source states: ‘We believe this tragedy is gang related and are doing everything in our power to find the murderer. If anyone out there has any information whatsoever please call your local police station as soon as possible.’
I remember this. Not surprised it still haunted him.
She dropped the article back on the table and looked around, although she didn’t know what she was looking for. She did notice, however, that all the photos in the apartment were missing from the shelves and walls leaving pale squares on a blue painted background.
Who would want those?
In his kitchen underneath an upturned dining chair, she found his mail. The rest of the kitchen was much the same as the living room with broken pots and damaged pans smashed in heaps across the floor and surfaces.
Bull in a china shop comes to mind.
Most of the mail was junk, circulars and coupons mainly, then something caught her eye: a note from an anonymous sender. She figured it had been hand delivered or pushed under the door because it had no address, just the word ‘Freddie’ scribbled in the centre.
It read:
I CAN HELP YOU WITH MICHAEL. MEET ME AT THE MEMORIAL IN PEOPLE’S PARK AT MIDNIGHT.
There were no other notes in the pile.
Then his phone started ringing.
She let the machine answer.
‘Hello? Freddie are you there?’ It was Lucy. ‘Freddie, come on, answer the phone.’ She sighed. ‘Well I need to see if you’re OK. A woman came to see me this morning called Valerie, she said it was about you but didn’t tell me anything. She just ran out of the building. Freddie, I’m worried. Call me when you can.’
Valerie looked at the answer machine. The screen said ‘Two Messages’. The second one was from Lucy, so she pressed play for the first. A gentle male voice in a southern accent came on: ‘Message for Freddie regarding our conversation in the park. So far I’ve been unable to find out much about Michael’s murderer, but I‘ll keep trying. Call me to go through what I
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