Page 9 of The Burnt (The Declan Hunt Mysteries #3)

Declan woke to find Charlie snuggled into him. He smiled and buried his face in Charlie’s curly blond hair, inhaling his scent. His reverie was interrupted by his phone which lit up with an incoming call.

Declan eased himself out from under Charlie, grabbed the phone from the bedside table and swiftly crept across the room.

He answered the call, whispering “Just a sec,” then muffled the phone against his chest and made his way down the stairs to the office.

Once the door to the apartment was shut, he continued out to the reception area before saying, “Sorry about that.”

“I don’t even have to guess what’s going on at your place,” the voice of the caller said.

“Hi Gary. Thanks for getting back to me.” Declan flopped his naked body onto the couch.

“I got your message. So, you want the Freddy and Archie Whitcher files.” Gary said.

“I just have to know if there was anything that was missed in the initial investigation. What Archie said to you… My gut says it might lead to a clue we didn’t know existed back then.”

“Or it might mean nothing,” Gary replied.

“That’s true. But I’ll never know unless I follow the lead,” Declan said. “So, can you help me? Can you get me the files?”

“Only if you promise to minimise the chaos that you unleash.”

“Deal.”

Gary laughed. “Good. Meet me at eleven this morning in the restaurant at the Airliner Hotel. It’s just south of the airport.”

“I know the place. And Gary, thanks. I owe you big-time.”

Declan disconnected, then stood up to return to the apartment. When he turned around, Charlie was standing there, naked.

“Sorry,” Declan said. “I was just…”

Charlie shrugged. “It’s fine. After all, it’s a workday and we have no other plans. Do what you gotta do.”

Declan noticed that Charlie had a morning erection. “Well, we don’t open the office for another hour, so I think there’s something I gotta do right now.”

Charlie giggled as Declan chased him back upstairs to the apartment.

* * * *

Three hours later, Declan sat at a table by the window of the Airliner Hotel’s restaurant.

From where he was seated, Declan had a view of the mounted DHC-3 situated by the road.

The decrepit 1950s bush plane clashed with the brutalist modern design of the hotel and the plane’s wings were definitely in need of a good de-icing.

It wasn’t what Declan would have chosen to greet travellers as they made their way to and from the airport.

He’d arrived early, so had ordered a coffee. The waitress, Fran, swung by and also dropped off a piece of dry toast.

“You’ll probably need this. Our coffee’s like battery acid so your stomach’ll appreciate it. Don’t tell the manager I said so.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” he said with a big smile.

She headed off to the kitchen.

Declan looked over at the busboy. He was cute…

probably younger than Charlie. Declan thought about what he had looked like in his twenties.

Had people thought he was cute? He’d never considered it.

Even back then. Everything he’d done, everything he had thought, was about fighting.

Fighting with his father. Fighting with himself.

Fighting with life. He’d been so filled with anger back then.

Joining the police service was the last thing he should have done.

Especially when he’d found out he was to be stationed in his father’s district.

He had thought there were rules against that, like in the army when brothers couldn’t serve together.

But obviously that was just in the movies.

Every muscle in Declan’s body started to tense up.

He remembered the exercises his therapist had taught him.

He closed his eyes and took deep breaths.

In and out. In and out . He visualised his muscles relaxing.

First his toes, then his feet. All the way up his legs to the pelvis, and from his fingertips to his shoulders as he drifted into a trance.

“Excuse me. Would you like to order any food?” Fran interrupted.

He glanced at the clock on the wall. It was a quarter past eleven. He must have drifted off. Where the hell is Gary?

“I’m expecting someone. I’ll give it five more minutes.”

Just then, the door opened. Gary Sawchuck stomped the snow from his boots and made his way to Declan’s table.

Gary looked just as he had more than a decade ago. He was tall, almost two metres in height, with silver-grey hair, dark-brown eyes and a clean-shaven square jaw. Declan had never mentioned it to anyone, but he’d developed a crush on him the first time he’d seen him.

Gary interrupted Declan’s thoughts. “Christ. Three traffic accidents on the way here. It’s like drivers have never been through winter before.”

Gary pulled off his heavy winter coat and slipped it over the back of his chair. He dropped his still-fit frame into the seat across from Declan. Gary turned to the waitress. “Coffee, double cream and sugar, and a menu, please,” he called out.

Fran brought Gary his coffee and a menu. He only glanced at it before ordering the all-day breakfast with bacon and eggs over easy and white toast with lots of butter.

Fran looked at Declan.

“Egg-white omelette, whole-grain toast, hold the butter please.”

She wrote everything down and walked toward the kitchen.

“No wonder you still look in shape,” Gary said. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Same here.”

“So, from what I hear, you’re making a bit of a name for yourself.”

Declan rolled his eyes. “And sometimes it’s a good name.”

Gary laughed then drained half of his coffee in one long gulp. “Let’s cut to the chase. So, what do you want to know?”

Declan leaned in. “Can you tell me what happened at Archie’s place?”

“A 9-1-1 operator got a call from the house. The person on the other end just said ‘police’ and then stopped responding. They passed it on to us and we answered the call. By the time we arrived, Archie was in bad shape. There was blood all over the place.”

Declan interjected, “And you were the first officer on the scene?”

Gary nodded. “As soon as we pulled up, I remembered the house. As strange as it seems, Archie recognised me.”

“It’s hard to forget a face like yours.”

Gary ignored the comment. “He was having trouble breathing. He only lasted a minute after we got there. He passed along his message for you just before he died.”

Declan signalled Fran for a coffee refill. Fran topped up both their mugs then headed back to the kitchen.

Declan asked, “And what exactly was Archie up to these days?”

“He was nothing but a low-end bookie and petty thief.”

Declan looked at Gary. “Do you remember the day we told Archie his son was dead?”

“Yeah.”

“Did that seem like a guy who cared about his kid?”

Gary pondered the question. “Not really. I’d say just the opposite.”

“Exactly. It seems Archie did a one-eighty on his feelings toward Freddy.”

Gary scowled. “And you know this how?”

“I might have gone to the house to take a look around after my dad gave me your message.”

“Wait—you were in the house?” Gary asked.

“Yeah. And Archie had closed up Freddy’s room and made it look like it was just waiting for him to come back.”

“It’s a crime scene, Declan. You don’t just cross the yellow tape!”

“Thanks to a neighbour, there was no tape around the place when I got there.”

“Jesus Christ!”

“Don’t worry,” Declan continued. “I was booted and gloved up. I didn’t compromise the scene. Although the neighbour who tore down the tape saw me and visited me in the house. She had a key and apparently comes and goes, so signs of her were probably already there.”

Gary put his face in his hands. “Who was this?”

“Her name’s Katherine O’Grady,” Declan replied.

“Wait a minute. We interviewed her. What did she say?”

“Did she tell you about the man in the coat?” Declan asked.

“Yes.”

“She didn’t offer much more than that…other than a glass of crème de menthe .”

Sawchuck sighed. “I thought the day you left the force my life would get easier, but you still find ways to complicate things.”

Declan pushed on. “The message Archie gave you—when the police interviewed the neighbours, did they talk to anyone named Milo?”

“Not a one.”

“And the case notes from Freddy, was there any mention of a Milo in them?”

“The file’s pretty thin. It was ruled an accidental death so there isn’t much there.”

Declan stared at Sawchuck. “Can I take a look?”

The waitress came back and set plates of food on the table. “Anything else, gentlemen?”

They both shook their heads and after she departed, the men ate in silence.

After a minute Gary reached into a bag he’d been carrying and tossed a couple of files onto the table.

Declan looked at the covers. The thinner of the two was the report on Freddy Whitcher. The larger was Archie Whitcher’s past.

“You can’t keep them,” Gary said, “but no one’s going to stop you from copying them. I don’t have to tell you that if anyone finds out I’ve shared this with you, the only one who’ll be in more shit than me will be you ’cause I’ll be standing on your shoulders.”

Declan picked up the file and called out to Fran, “Does the hotel have a business centre?”

Gary sighed loudly. “You do have a cell phone with a camera, don’t you?”

Charlie would have thought of that right away.

Declan grabbed for his phone and started shooting.

Sawchuck frowned. “You know, you’re a magnet for stuff like this, whatever this is. And whatever it is, I have a feeling it won’t be nice.”

His gaze burnt into Declan’s skull. “And don’t forget, what rains down on you is also going to soak anyone near you. So keep that in mind.”

* * * *

Gary walked out of the restaurant with the files safely back in his possession. Declan signalled for a coffee refill and began poring over the images he’d taken of Freddy Whitcher’s file, then read over the preliminary police report on Archie.

Declan made a list of questions.

Why did Archie want to send a message to me?

Who is Milo?

Who was the man in the coat on the street? Was he Milo? Did he kill Archie?

Who else would want Archie dead?

Does any of this have anything to do with Freddy’s death?