Graveyard Girl_Chapter 2

Chapter 2

It was Friday night. I’d had another rough week with not much to conclude except that the teenage boy case had finally been dropped. Man it felt good. A case solved! Well, technically…not solved. But I liked to imagine I had played a rather important role in his mother finally being convinced of the fact that she could trust her kid. It felt good, and I was celebrating down at the local pub, and ran into some old friends, mostly cops.

But I couldn’t celebrate for long. The good feeling was soon replaced with a feeling of sadness for Bingo, who seemed to be gone for good. I had long since mourned the loss of the family I once had. Sometimes the disappointments of life overwhelmed me. I had learned not to care. Solitude was safer.

I threw back the third Jacks on the rocks. Good ol’ Jack.

Around the bar were a few couples sitting at tables and a group of giggling, tipsy, students at the corner table, obviously celebrating something with tequila shots.

My attention was quickly drawn to the door when it opened and a gust of icy wind blew in. A couple hustled to get inside where it was warmer, a very attractive blonde and a stern looking older guy. He was graying, and wore an inappropriate frown considering the beautiful girl on his arm. He donned a long, black, leather trench coat. He turned to close the door behind him and I noticed a tribal tattoo on the back of his neck. I slammed my whiskey glass down, quietly excused myself from my friends and headed, unseen towards a quiet corner table, slightly hidden behind a large pillar. This was him, the guy that accompanied ‘Ghost girl’ as I had fondly begun to think of her to the Sushi restaurant. I hadn’t seen her all week and her flat seemed deserted. Here was a lead.

The blonde was all over him, clinging to his arm. Obviously drunk. Wait…She looked familiar. I tried to focus on her face through the hazy Jack Daniel’s fog. It was her! It was Mrs. Evans! This was good. I was going to crack this case tonight! But I didn’t have my camera on me.

They sat at a corner table and ordered. He had a red wine and she, a white. They were engrossed in conversation. He reached out his hands and she grasped them. Would they kiss? No…his hands folded over hers and his grip tightened. The look on her face was pained, and unpleasant. She was staring up at him, tears filling her eyes. He was saying something to her and whatever it was, it wasn’t warming her heart.

I gulped down the last of my Bourbon, having observed the scene for some time now. Mrs. Evans was getting progressively drunker and ‘Mr Tattoo’ was pacing himself. He had made a few calls during their little outing and she had stared morosely, arms folded, at a speck on the table.

Finally, they got up and left. I followed as close as I could behind them without being conspicuous. They arrived at his car, a two-seater, late model, black Porsche. As soon as they got into it, I broke into a swift run towards my Ford a block away. I had lost them momentarily, but followed in the general direction they were headed, and caught up with them just in front of the University. They were stopped at a traffic light. I kept the distance of a couple of cars between us, but I could see that he was on his cell phone, and she was staring out of the window. They drove on a few blocks and turned right towards the plots. I wondered where Mr. Evans was, since his wife was out on the town with another man!

They pulled up in front of a large, looming, grey stone house on a sizeable piece of property. Quite an elaborate security system. He had electric gates and motion-sensor cameras facing every direction. I parked in a dark spot across the street from the entrance to his house. I watched them get out of the car and silently make their way into the stone house.

It was about two hours later when Mr Evans called. He was informing me that his wife had been out all night and was curious as to what I had done about cracking the case. I assured him I was close to answers, and he hung up…Satisfied.

At 3am, Mrs. Evans left the house. Her car had been parked around the back of the garage. She pulled off at a breakneck speed and headed home. Okay, I had no pictures, but I knew where the guy lived, and I knew that he was involved with more than one woman at this stage. In the morning I would go into the office and do a scan of his plates and see what came up.


On Sunday morning I heard the church bells ringing, and knew that Mrs. Evans was arm in arm with her husband, three kids in tow at the church. Smiles all around…all was ‘well’.

As I picked up the Sunday paper outside my door, I took a glance around for Bingo, still missing. No sign of him anywhere, no stray cat sounds to be heard. I scanned the paper. Nothing noteworthy in the news today. I thought about the article I had read on the cult activity, and the girl in my building who I suspected might be involved. I suddenly had an irresistible urge to visit the bridge at the pond and see the site of the rituals for myself.

I got there shortly before 10. Obviously the candles and bones had been removed. The symbols on the bridge were still there though. And there it was… I couldn’t believe I hadn’t realized it before. The horse shoe with the snake curling around it, looked like it had been primitively painted on the wall in blood.

What the hell was going on in this town?

Note to self: have a meeting with Lieutenant Brown of the local district precinct, first thing on Monday morning.

*************

By Monday I knew that ‘Mr. Tattoo’s’ real name was Reginald Black. He was a new age Scientologist… and involved in some questionable organizations.

An out-of-towner, he had lived at his current address for the past 6 months…about as long as Mr Evans had suspected his wife of cheating. He was also involved at the University. No criminal record.

I had some paperwork to do, and that afternoon I met with Lieutenant Brown. He seemed to know as much about the cult as I did. Someone had accidentally stumbled upon the ritual spot, and once the reporters and photographers arrived on the scene, it was no longer visited. He knew there were some questionable characters from out of town involved, and that it was larger than a high school gang. Something told me not to divulge too much just yet, so I didn’t give him Black’s name and address.

That night, as I was coming up the stairs to my building, scanning the parking lot downstairs for any signs of a stray cat…there it was again. The howling. The choked, strangled wailing. I stopped outside her door. The same music was playing faintly in the background. Sobbing. I scanned the vicinity, there seemed to be no-one around. I made my way over to my spot at the news-papered up window. She was sitting on the lounge floor, legs crossed in a meditation position, rocking, black candle positioned in front of her. Her back was to me this time. She threw her head back and let out a loud howl. My first instinct was to bash the door in and find out what was wrong. But I waited…and watched. She raised her left hand, and clenched in her fist was a sharp knife…it looked like a medieval dagger. She appeared to be…cutting herself. It was all I could do to keep myself from smashing in that window and stopping her. But this girl was elusive. If I was ever going to find the truth about her possible involvement in cult activity and her identity, I could not intrude on her ritual now. I needed to see this.

The howling and slashing went on for about 5 more minutes. Then there was silence. Eventually she got up…head bowed low and turned off the music. She quietly walked right towards my viewing spot and turned on a light switch at the wall. Her right arm was covered in blood. This was sick. This girl needed help. What was I to do? Call the authorities and have her dragged off to some sanitarium? Maybe for her sake, that was the decent thing to do. But what about this whole picture was decent? I had to find out how she was involved in this whole thing first. I had to know.

********
The next morning I received bad news from Lydia.

“Mr Morris, I have searched the filing cabinet, and I can’t find any missing girl file from eight years ago” she said, nervously twiddling her fingers.

“What do you mean?” I snapped. “I never throw files away. It’s got to be here. It was one of the first cases I took on in this town. What do you mean, you couldn’t find it?” I asked again.

“Well, there are some cases from eight years ago, there was the file on the stakeouts at the high school and…”

“Missing persons Lydia, a young girl. It has to be there, I never take files home. I work on everything in this office. Who has been rummaging around in my office? Do I need to put a lock on my filing cabinets now?”

The walls began to close in on me.

“I can search the archives Mr Morris, I…”

“Don’t bother about the archives!” I cut in, irritated. Nothing is ever archived in my office. My files stay in my office. For purposes of referencing, I never archive anything!”

Beads of sweat began to prickle on my forehead. I searched my jacket pocket for my old handkerchief to wipe my brow.

“Mr Morris if you could give me a file reference or a name…”

“I told you already, I don’t remember the details, that’s why I employed you! You are supposed to keep files on these cases! Just leave my office now, just get out!” I shouted, slamming my fist on the desk.

She began to sob and slipped quickly out of the open door where curious ears were listening in. I was shaking. I had lost my temper with Lydia. But where was that file! I had to know the details of that case!

How could a file just go missing? These things just didn’t happen, unless you had a useless filing clerk, or worse…unless there was a cover-up, or an inside job.

Could this be the case? Could there be more going on here than a mere missing person report and a suspicious looking girl who had the hair on the back of my neck standing on end?

I had to get out of there. What I really needed was a stiff whiskey to calm my nerves, but first I needed to find a house I had visited some 12 years ago. If the file was gone, I would pay her a visit myself and get all her details again, under the guise of doing a follow up, just to see how she was holding up.

I tried to remember where Millie’s mom lived. It was on the other side of the railway tracks, I remembered that much. I drove my car slowly up and down the street, scanning the houses. Not much had changed. Not much ever did in dull towns like Krugersdorp. The houses only looked a little more run down. Most needed work. Paint jobs, roof jobs.

Just then I saw it. It was all coming back to me now. White picket fence, crooked stone path, patio door. Very typical, but recognizable. I parked my car a little way off and observed the house for a moment. I was just about to get out and go and pay the lady a visit when a car came careering around the corner and stopped right outside the house. It was the black Porsche. Two guys hopped out hurriedly. I immediately recognized the shiny dome of the bouncer, reflecting the sunlight, and Reginald Black.

I observed the scene for several minutes, and just when I was about to leave to do some formal investigating, the front door opened. There she was. Millie’s mom. She had aged somewhat in the eight years since I had last seen her. There were those eyes…the same hollow, lifeless eyes as ‘Ghost girl’. She appeared to know these guys really well. Black handed her an envelope and waved them goodbye as they headed back to the car and sped off.

Everything proved to be more confusing and mysterious by the day. I needed answers.

I headed back to the office and thankfully, Lydia was on lunch. I did a residence check on Millie’s mom. Her name was not listed. The house was in the name of one Mr Reginald Black. Imagine that! I picked up the phone and called Lieutenant Brown. I told him all I knew. He thanked me for the information and said he would give me a call later that night.

I was getting closer to answers and I needed a drink. It was shortly after four when I headed for the pub. I ran into an old cop friend of mine. We sat there and talked about arbitrary things for a while. His kid had passed away about a year ago, and he often drowned his sorrows here. His marriage was on the rocks as a result, so he had a lot to talk about. I never gave advice. I was no good at advice anyway. If I wanted to be a shrink I would have become a barman. He was happy to ramble on; I suppose I was just a ‘sounding board’ to air his troubled tales of woe.

I never discussed my past with him. This was strictly a one-way friendship. My divorce and the embarrassments of the big city were something I preferred to keep to myself. Dead and buried. Small town life suited me just fine. No-one knew who I was. I could hide here.

At the end of the evening, however, I managed to ask him something that I had been toying with all night.

“What do you know about cults Harry?”

“You talking about the shit going down at Cemetery Pond?” he drawled.

“I guess”…

“Well”, he went on, “I do know that there are people at the University involved. I suspected it from the start, before they found the sodding evidence…” he drawled, before gulping back the rest of his beer and quickly ordering the next.

“That out-of-towner that arrived on the scene…Rich bloke. He knew too many people here to be a real ‘out-of-towner’ – if you know what I mean”.

“What do you mean, Harry?” I probed.

“He knows too many women Rod….Beautiful women. He didn’t need much time before he was hooking up with all of them. I think he used to live here…Years ago, before he went overseas, and decided to settle back down here again…”

“And what makes you think he’s involved in this cult matter?” I asked.

“He’s into that weird Voodoo shit he picked up in the States. I’ve overheard him, Rod…And I’ve watched him with the ladies. They seem to be spellbound by him”.

I found it fascinating that Harry seemed to have so much information and so many thoughts on the issue. Then again, he was out there every day, on the streets. Small town. I should use him as a source of information more often.

As I threw back the last of the golden liquid in my glass and stood up to go, Harry was slurring something about the cats that had gone missing in Krugersdorp in the last month.

“…you watch Rod…it’s them” he slurred, swaying back on his barstool then hovering over his beer. “I know a bunch of weird Satanists when I see them…”

I left him there and I wondered if he was right. I couldn’t make much sense out of him now, but I would have to get hold of him during office hours tomorrow.

Cats. Could Bingo possibly…? I thought about Ghost girl, how I had seen her with Black at the Sushi restaurant with that pendant around her neck. I needed to pay her a visit, ask her some questions about my cat. She had had plenty of opportunity to nab him since he was always wandering around. Maybe I could get some answers on some other things too…Like Reginald Black; how she was involved with him. She would probably not admit to much…I wondered how her mother was involved. If indeed, this was Millie. Did she know her daughter was in town, right under her nose?

I walked the block to my car, I liked to park a little away from the pub…gave me a chance to stretch my legs and walk off some of the booze before driving home.

I suddenly developed an eerie sense that I was being watched. It felt as though a pair eyes were smoldering into my very soul. The hair stood up on the back of my neck. I glanced around scanning the street. I turned around and made a mental note of the people around, while walking backwards. It was a Tuesday night, certainly nothing much going on. A couple of cars parked outside the pub, not many people on the street, the cold weather was forcing people to stay indoors.

As I turned back around, there they were, just out of nowhere. There were three of them, all masked. They moved towards me, side by side. I stopped, dead.

“What!” I demanded. The middle guy lifted his hand, holding something black. A gun? I raised my arms to protect my head and the guy on the left fisted me in the stomach. I doubled over, feeling the air rush out of my lungs. Something hard crashed into my skull. The pain was indescribable. My vision blurred and I felt a warm liquid trickling down my face. The ground suddenly rushed up and I felt myself hit the pavement hard. Everything went black.

***********

I heard loud screeching sounds, strangely echoing…like I was in a tunnel. I tried opening my eyes but the light split my head in half. I thought it would be better if I just kept them shut for a bit. Just until I could bear to…I closed them again, drifting off…