Page 6 of The Burnt (The Declan Hunt Mysteries #3)

Declan was about to get out of his van, but changed his mind when he saw a woman heading toward Archie’s place.

She had come from the property next door and based on the light coat she was wearing, it didn’t look like she expected to be outside for long.

She pulled down all of the yellow police tape surrounding the scene, rolled it into a bundle then stuffed it into Archie’s garbage can.

She brushed off her hands, then headed back to her house and went inside.

She’s got balls. She probably thinks that the police tape reflects poorly on her house. Maybe she’s thinking of selling.

If there were any police watching, they certainly didn’t seem concerned about the neighbour’s actions.

Declan smiled.

Well, if it’s not easily identifiable as a crime scene, no reason not to go in.

He drove halfway down the block and parked the van, then reached behind his seat and grabbed a box of printer paper he’d accidentally left in the back.

Declan opened it, and removed a couple of packs of paper.

He replaced them with a few items he pulled from the glove compartment, then carried the box back toward Archie’s place.

If anyone asked what he was doing, he’d tell them it was an evening delivery for Mr Whitcher.

Declan checked to see if any other neighbours were out, but there was no sign of anyone.

He carefully made his way up the icy driveway then followed the walkway to the side door of the house.

He tried the handle of the outer screen door with his gloved hand and was relieved to find that it was unlocked.

Declan took another quick look around to make sure no one was watching, then tried his luck with the wooden inner door.

The wood around the lock was slightly splintered as if the door had been forced open at one time.

When?

He turned the knob and gently applied his weight to the door and the lock eased its way out of its hole and dropped to the floor inside.

Someone else has already been here.

He took one last look around, pushed the door open and entered.

Declan set the box on the floor, took out a small flashlight and flicked it on.

A quick look at the door lock from the inside told him that the damage wasn’t recent.

The door had been forced open a long time ago.

Where the screws used to be, there were now just ragged holes.

The lock had just been shoved back into place for show.

“You lazy bugger.” Obviously, Archie hadn’t been too concerned about his security. Maybe he should have been.

Declan removed a pair of disposable booties from the box. He slid them over his shoes, then walked up the half-flight of stairs into the main floor hallway. He pulled out his phone and photographed as he went.

The place smelled of cigarette smoke and greasy cooking. He poked his nose into the kitchen. There was a day’s worth of dishes in the sink. Declan was surprised there wasn’t more.

He walked down the hall. All the doors were open, except one. He started with what he thought might be Archie’s bedroom. The bed was unmade and some clothes had been tossed onto a chair in the corner. On the single nightstand was an ashtray.

Bad move, Archie. You don’t want to burn, do you? he thought as he remembered Freddy.

Behind the ashtray stood an old bedside lamp and beside it, a four-by-five framed picture of Freddy.

Declan picked it up. It was different than the school photo of the boy that Declan had back in his office.

Both photos showed Freddy from the waist up, but this was more informal.

In this picture, Freddy was laughing and wore a brightly coloured T-shirt. He looked more alive.

Before placing the photo back on the nightstand, Declan took a picture of it.

How could your dad do what he did to you? And why did he keep a reminder of it so close?

Declan doubted if his own father had ever had a picture of him on his bedside table.

He left Archie’s room and headed down the hall, past the bathroom, to the room with the closed door. Declan grabbed the doorknob, turned the handle and walked inside.

It was a bedroom, and plain, like the other rooms. The only difference between this room and the rest of the house was that this one was tidy.

The bed was made and there was a small stuffed bear leaning up against the pillow.

On the nightstand was a red toy car and a picture of a woman holding a baby.

He picked up the picture and turned it over in his hand.

He opened the frame to look at the back of the picture. In small neat print were the words

Marsha and Freddy—three days old .

He placed it back in the frame and put the photo back on the nightstand. The room was a shrine to a kid that Archie had supposedly hated. Something didn’t fit.

A voice cut through the darkness. “And who the fuck are you?”

Declan spun to look back through the door to the hallway. The woman who had been ripping down the police tape stood in front of him. This time she was holding an old shotgun and it was pointed at his chest.

“Do you have to point that thing at me? Guns make me nervous,” Declan said.

In truth, guns didn’t make him nervous. Scared people with guns did.

“I’ll be the one askin’ the questions here,” she said.

“Okay. And I’ll be the one answering them.”

“Let’s start with who the hell are you and what the fuck are you doin’ in Archie’s house?”

“I’m Declan Hunt. I’m a private investigator. I used to be a cop. I was the guy who found the body of Archie’s kid, Freddy.”

The gun in the woman’s hand started to waver. Given the lightness of her build, Declan figured that she was noticing the weight of the gun. He hoped that it didn’t cause her to do anything stupid, like accidentally pull the trigger.

“You still haven’t told me what you’re doin’ here.”

She braced the gun against her shoulder and sighted down the barrel. If she’d never used a shotgun before, she was doing a damned good job of pretending she had.

Declan put his hands in the air. “I heard from the police today. They told me that Archie had been killed. But before he died, he passed on a message to the cops that was meant for me.”

She pondered this for a moment. “Do the cops usually act as your messenger service?”

“Sometimes. Did you see a big cop here today? Three stripes on his coat sleeve?”

She nodded. “Grey-haired? Seems to like givin’ orders? Yeah, he interviewed me. I think he said his name was Sawchuck.”

“He was my partner when I was on the force. He’s the one that gave me the message.”

“That doesn’t explain why you’d break into the scene of the crime,” she persisted.

Declan smiled. “I wouldn’t know it was a crime scene, would I? Someone tore down all the police tape.”

She scowled. “It makes the neighbourhood look bad. They don’t need the tape to investigate, do they? Now back to you. How do I know that you’re who you say you are? For all I know you’re the guy who killed Archie.”

Declan took a deep breath. “I can prove who I am. Let me show you my PI licence.”

She stared at him for a moment then flicked on the bedroom light. “Okay, but move slowly and I wanna see your hands at all times. And I’m not puttin’ down the gun.”

Declan kept both hands in the air as he slowly turned so that his back pants pocket was visible.

“I’m going to carefully take my wallet out now,” he said.

He turned back to face her as he extracted his laminated ID card from the wallet and handed it to her. She had a good look at the licence.

“Now do you believe me?” Declan asked.

“Seems legit,” she replied as she handed it back.

“Look,” he said, “I’m just as curious about who killed Archie as you are. I just want to ask a few questions, then I promise I’ll get out of here.”

The woman lowered the gun. “Well, if we’re gonna do this, we’re not gonna do it here.”

Declan nodded. “That’s probably for the best, it being a crime scene and all.”

“We’ll go back to my house. And no funny business.”

“I promise,” Declan said. “There’s just a few things I have to do so no one knows I’ve been here.”

“Whatever. Do what you have to do, Columbo.”

Declan turned off the bedroom light and closed the door. At the side entrance to the house, he took a few minutes to put the lock back in its rightful place from the inside, then picked up his box of supplies. As the two left by the front door, she pulled out a key from her pocket.

“Here. Hold this,” she said handing Declan the gun. She pulled the door tight with one hand and locked the door behind her with the other.

She pointed to the gun. “I’ll take that back now, if you don’t mind.

Not that it matters. It’s not loaded anyway.

It belonged to Archie, although he never liked guns.

That one was his father’s. He gave it to me in case any trouble came by while he was…

away. I’m Katherine, by the way. Katherine O’Grady. ”

“Nice to meet you, Katherine O’Grady.”

Declan followed her across the snow-covered lawn. He scanned the windows of the neighbours’ houses to see if anyone was spying on them, but most had their curtains drawn against the cold January evening.

Katherine opened her door and invited Declan in. “Make sure you take off your booties,” she said.

She led him into her kitchen and propped the gun in the corner. “I’ll put that away later. You drink?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

She stepped out of the room and returned in a few moments with two small glasses and a bottle of emerald-green liquid.

“ Crème de menthe ?” she asked.

“That would be nice,” Declan lied.

“Have a seat,” she said as she sat down across from Declan and poured two drinks.

Declan took a sip and tried not to wince.

“Katherine, it looks like you knew Archie well.”

“You could say that. I looked after his house when he was in jail, then looked after him when he got out.”

“Was he in jail a lot?”

“Oh, you know. Whenever he needed some money, he’d go and do somethin’ stupid and get caught.”