The PI Without Answers

It was late at night when Nathan Heron jogged lightly through the park. He stayed close to the fence as he searched the cars parked along the street and cast occasional glances to the houses across the road, paying particular attention to windows where the lights were on. Spotting the familiar dull red Volkswagen he checked to ensure no one was looking before climbing over the fence and tapping the passenger side window. The driver leaned over, opened the door and Nathan climbed in.

‘Any update, anything?’ Nathan asked quickly as he caught his breath, wondering how unfit his associate must think him.

Stephen Aslop sighed and let the camera drop to his lap. ‘I have asked you to text me; I will let you know what is up. If you’re going to insist on doing this you need to let me know first because every bloody time you nip out here for an update you risk giving me– us away,’ Stephen punctuating every syllable through clenched teeth. ‘What if she opens the door and sees you climbing that fence. Because that’s it, game’s up.’

Telling ones client to fuck off could not have been an easy thing to do but Stephen looked like he had been saving that rant for awhile and appeared quite satisfied with himself afterwards. Nathan had not considered the impact he was having on his PIs job, thinking Stephen would perhaps appreciate some company in these long lonely hours, but the truth however was that Nathan didn’t really care, there were other things on his mind.

‘So…’ Nathan said tentatively to give the impression that he felt adequately told off.

‘Right, well I’ve got some good snaps; both of them hand in hand, she pecked him on the cheek, he had his arm over her shoulders. Again, though, not got a clear one of him. Don’t know what it is with this guy, it’s like he knows I’m there and he always manages to keep his head turned away. Here,’ Stephen showed him the pictures stored on his camera.

Nathan remembered the first time he’d seen images like those and the feelings that came up; mostly pain like a cold shard of ice stabbing him in the heart, but also, bizarrely, a sense of relief and vindication. After the months of fierce arguing it actually felt good to know he was right, he could finally come to terms with the truth instead of enduring constant uncertainty. It still hurt however, seeing his wife with another man.

‘And this…’ Nathan pointed at one of the pictures where the stranger appeared to be groping her.

‘She pretended to stumble into him so he could… well…’ the PI shrugged indifferently, the picture spoke for itself. ‘That B&B’s a hundred a night by the way, if you’re wanting to know,’ Stephen changed the subject.

Nathan did want to know, her nights away were costing him money.

Stephen readied his camera and resumed his vigil. ‘They’ve been in there for a couple hours now. Up on the second, curtains wide open and lights on. Either getting careless or she wants to get caught.’

‘You’ve seen them at the window?’

‘Yeah, couple times now. She’s had a glass of red in hand, full each time too. She’s either a really slow drinker or he’s just plying her with booze.’ He was about to say something else but abruptly stopped. Nathan wondered if Stephen momentarily forgot he was with a client and not a colleague and was about to say something tasteless. Whatever it was, given the PI’s experience, it would have probably been quite right.

‘I’m just waiting for him to go past the window so I can finally get a good mug shot,’ Stephen shook his head in exasperation, ‘this guy’s really starting to piss me off.’

A picture of this man was essential for Nathan. It would ensure he could hold onto his fortune in its entirety because when the divorce went to court, and it surely would, he wanted to keep all that was his. The problem however was that they couldn’t present the images they had presently to a courtroom as his wife’s defence team could, in light of her man being similar to Nathan in height and hair, claim that it was he, Nathan, in the picture trying to pass himself off as an extra marital lover and considering how much Nathan had to lose, the tactic was not implausible. The pictures his PI had gathered thus far would, ironically, do more harm than good to Nathan’s case.

‘Oh, here’s something,’ Stephen said, priming his camera.

Nathan leaned forward, taking care not to nudge his PI and throw off the shot. His wife, Emily York-Heron, was at the window brandishing a glass of wine just as Stephen had said. She sparkled with jewellery he had bought for her over the years and never seen since, her favourite wraparound red dress was all dishevelled and she must have spent at least an hour with those curlers of hers judging by her heavily styled hair.

Emily set her hand bag, which matched her dress, down on the window sill and pulled out her phone. She looked like she was checking her messages. Nathan’s phone vibrated suddenly.

‘Jesus,’ he muttered, pulling it out. A message from Emsie Babez, as he had his wife entered on his phone, flashed up. Nathan made a mental note to change that entry to Fuck Bitch before reading the message:

“Thnkn of u”

‘She just text you?’ Stephen asked rather amused.

‘Yeah, she’s thinking of me.’

‘Uh huh.’

Nathan deleted the message and watched Emily put her phone back. She sipped her wine and turned away from the window.

‘So how come you haven’t got this guy’s name yet?’

Stephen sighed again; this was clearly the source of some professional chagrin.

‘He always uses an alias and she always flips the bill, as I’m sure you know. I’ve tried following that bastard but he has the nasty habit of vanishing on me whenever I get close.’ Stephen suddenly straightened, ‘we’re in luck... we are in luck my friend,’ he said, snapping away excitedly.

An arm briefly came into view. Emily was visibly flirting; her expression was all innocent and coquettish. Nathan felt a stab of sorrow; he remembered when she used to flirt with him like that. His insides ached to think about it. There was a part of him, however hard he had tried to suppress it, that still loved her.

The man in the window then grabbed the phone from Emily’s bag and pulled away. She sipped her drink calmly until the stranger threw the phone at her, hitting her cheek. The glass fell from her hand and bounced off the window, red wine splashed upward. He grabbed her hair in both hands and shook her. Emily struggled but was no match and he then smacked her head off the window frame, the glass wobbled.

‘What the fuck?’

‘Bloody Hell,’ Stephen exclaimed, still snapping away.

Nathan suddenly saw something he couldn’t understand, it lasted no longer than a heartbeat. The stranger tried to get a better grip of Emily’s head and as he did so Nathan saw that at the end of his right sleeve was not a hand but something else. It disappeared from view when Emily’s hair fell down over it. With the new grip the stranger had, he thrust her head hard into the window frame, again and again.

‘Oh-fuck-oh-fuck-oh-fuck,’ Nathan repeated in disbelief, shifting frantically in his seat.

‘Shouldn’t we call the police?’ he yelled at Stephen in the small confines of the car which caused his PI to yell back.

‘Yes, call them. I’m getting evidence – do this guy for G.B.H.’

It occurred to Nathan right then that his PI was a coward and of no practical use. Pushing that observation to the side he dialled 999 on his mobile and set it to loudspeaker. ‘You make the call,’ Nathan ordered leaving his mobile on the dashboard.

‘What,’ Stephen snapped.

Nathan leapt out of the car and charged across the street. He looked up hoping Emily had fought the stranger off but they were no longer at the window. What happened? A light went on in the adjacent room and a shadow dashed across the closed curtains. The silhouette made no sense. Running up to the B&B’s front door he tried the handle but it was locked.

‘Hay, HAY,’ Nathan yelled as he thumped the door.

There was no sound or movement within. He kicked the door furiously until the wood split at the hinges and he shoulder barged his way inside. It was dark and, in his haste to find the stairs, Nathan bumped his hip against the reception desk. He winced and gripped his side. The door to the dining area was wide open, as were the blinds, and the room was bathed in orange street light. The tables had been laid out for the next morning and Nathan quickly searched the room for something he could use. The cutlery wasn’t very practical but on a shelf next to a large wicker basket filled with cereal boxes sat a sturdy looking letter opener. Nathan grabbed it and ran back into the hall and, carefully avoiding the reception desk, continued up the stairs.

A smash of glass came from above. Nathan strived harder but he couldn’t get there quickly enough. Adrenalin pumped through every inch of him. There were two doors on the second floor landing; one had a hint of light underneath. Nathan tried the handle, it was open. He ran through to the bedroom where he expected a fight but there was none to be had. The scene before him took a moment to sink in; it was a long way from what he’d expected.

Emily sat in front of the dresser, brushing her hair with long slow strokes and calmly singing to herself, a tune Nathan had never from her heard before. He saw her face in the dressers mirror; she wasn’t upset or frightened, there were no signs of violence - she was, as ever, perfectly beautiful. Nathan remembered Stockholm syndrome and wondered if she was affected with something similar; it would explain her disconcerting calm.

It wasn’t a far fetched idea because the bed was such a sight; he barely glanced at it before turning away and hunching down in shock and disgust. He put a hand over his mouth to stifle a gag. Stephen was right; the man Emily was seeing was similar to Nathan in hair, height and frame. This man was lying on the bed in no less than four separate pieces and whilst the body lay facing upward the head, which had been completely removed, faced down. The pulped and tattered neck spewed dark gore onto the pillow. The torso was torn open, right down the middle exposing chunks of bloodied organ and shattered bone and all that connected to the lower half of the body was what was left of the twisted spine. The bed was completely saturated in blood, so much so that the valance all round was dripping red on the floor.

‘Wha-the fuck!’ Nathan croaked as he struggled not to vomit.

‘I’ve been waiting,’ Emily said as she calmly laid down the hairbrush and started applying lipstick – not that she needed any (or that that should be her immediate priority).

‘Jesus Christ! Baby wh... what h... happened here?’ Nathan asked, pointing to the bed.

‘Transformation,’ Emily said nonchalantly, concentrating on her lower lip.

‘Trans... the fuck are you talking about?’

Emily gently put the lid back on her lipstick, placed the tube back in her handbag and looked her husband’s reflection right in the eye in a manner that said she was proud of him.

‘I’m glad we have this time together, you and I. Before the others. We have so much to discuss.’

‘Emily,’ Nathan screeched waving his right arm at the bed, ‘are you seeing this?’

‘Yes, I see it,’ she said patiently.

‘How... the fuck?’

‘I told you.’

‘I... you... you’ve got to get out of here. There’s a detective outside, we’ve got the police on the way. Oh hell... Emsie, baby, how... why?’

‘There will come a time, Nathan, when you will regret not having killed him tonight,’ said Emily in a silky voice.

Nathan straightened up slowly so the nausea wouldn’t topple him and he stepped toward the bed. The dead man really did have the same hair as he. Nathan carefully reached toward the head, he was about to turn it over when his wife spoke softly.

‘I wouldn’t do that,’ she said, working on her eye shadow.

Nathan covered his mouth again and stepped away. This wasn’t right, it was all wrong. Based on this crime scene alone he could easily get a divorce. But, the feelings he had for her. If things could only have stayed like they were.

‘You need to get out of here. The police will be here soon and-’

Emily smiled, ‘No, they won’t. We have time.’

This was madness. He couldn’t still love her, not after what she did to... the man that fucked her behind his back! No. Too much was happening all at once. The thought of hiding the body fleetingly crossed his mind but the mess was impossible.

The detective had his phone and would no doubt have already contacted the authorities. Nathan ran to the window and saw the dull red Volkswagen. Stephen was not looking up at him; the PI was watching something else. There was a man jogging lightly through the park, he stopped near Stephens’s car and quickly looked around before climbing over the fence and tapping the passenger window. The door opened and he climbed inside.

Emily stood up and poured herself a glass of wine. ‘We will of course need your manuscript, there are changes to make.’

‘Who’s we?’ Nathan asked as he stepped away from the window. He wanted to sit but the end of the bloodied bed was perhaps not the best place.

‘The things we have to show you, Nathan. People will know your name; they will chant it with such adulation. You will be famous in ways you will never comprehend.’

‘What are you talking about baby?’ Nathans voice cracked. He wondered if he was on the edge of a nervous breakdown.

Emily walked over to the window, set down her handbag and pulled out her phone.

‘What are you doing?’

She typed on her phone and placed it back in the bag.

‘Thinking of you,’ she said silkily.

She turned to him and they stood in silence.

Something changed. Ever since he had burst in on her, Emily had done nothing his wife would have done. Nathans guts twisted and a cold realisation hit him: This was not his wife. An explosion of anger flooded through Nathan’s system and he struggled to control it.

‘Show me the text you just sent,’ he demanded.

Emily smiled coyly and sipped her drink.

‘Don’t dick around woman, what did you just send?’

‘I told you,’ she purred, savouring another mouthful of wine.

Nathan dived forward and grabbed the phone from her bag. He unlocked the keypad and quickly scrolled through the menus until he got to the sent items in her mailbox. Nathan held his breath. The last message had been sent to him; it read:

“Thnkn of u”

There were no other messages for that night. If Nathan had received that message back in Stephen’s crappy Volkswagen the how could she have just sent it? Nathan threw the phone at the thing posing as Emily. It struck her cheek; she dropped the wine glass which bounced off the window, its contents splashed up in the air. Shaking with rage Nathan lunged forward, grabbed her hair and smacked her head off the window.

‘What the fuck are you?’ Nathan screamed.

Emily struggled but only half-heartedly, like she was acting.

‘Oh please sir, don’t hurt me,’ she said in a churlish tone.

Nathan stopped to get a better grip then he struck her repeatedly against the window frame. Then it happened.