Cruel Comfort (Evan Buckley Thrillers Book 1) (2 page)

Evan was dragged from his fitful
sleep by someone hammering on his office door. Inside his head some bastard
with a jackhammer was bouncing off the sides of his skull and now somebody was
doing their best to break his door down. His first reaction was that the guy
from the motel - Hugh McIntyre - had found him already, but he knew that wasn't
remotely possible.

He crawled out of his sleeping bag
and slowly stood up. He put out a hand to steady himself. He felt like he was
still drunk. Kicking the sleeping bag into the corner he crossed to the door.

'Who is it? What do you want?'

'Police. Open up.'

That wasn't the answer he was
expecting. Perhaps the motel owner had reported the damage to his door and
McIntyre had given them his licence number. He unlocked the door and looked out
at the two men standing in the corridor.

There was a short, fat one in front
and a taller one half hidden behind him. He saw the one in front look him up
and down and felt acutely aware of his crumpled clothing and the stale smell of
whisky and sweat that must be wafting out from the room. On cue, Fatso sniffed
suspiciously at the air.

'Evan Buckley?' he asked

'Yes, that's me. What can I do for
you?'

'You could invite us in to start
with, unless you want everyone in the building to listen in.'

'Sorry. Of course. Come in.'

Evan stepped aside to let them
squeeze pass. He saw the empty whisky bottle and two glasses still on the desk
at about the same time they did. It wasn't a large office, so they couldn’t
miss his sleeping bag lying in the corner either, looking like someone had just
crawled out of it.

'Nice professional setup you've got
here,' Butterball said and wrinkled his nose. 'Do you mind if I open the
window; let in a bit of fresh air?' He didn't wait for an answer. 'Had a party
in here last night did you? Been sleeping it off?'

'Do you mind telling me what this is
about, Detective...'

'Ryder.' More like
Detective
Donut
, Evan thought. 'We'd like to ask you some questions, Mr Buckley.'

'Sure, go ahead, why not.'

'Do you know a Mr Kevin Stanton'

That was the second surprise in less
than five minutes. Faint alarm bells started to go off in Evan’s head. 'Yes,
why?'

'We'll get to that in a minute. Can
you tell us what your relationship is with Mr Stanton?'

'He's a client.'

'A client.' He managed to make it
sound like something to be ashamed of.

'And what exactly do you do for your
client
, Mr Stanton?' Ryder said, flashing a cold smile at Evan.

'Why do I get the impression you
know all the answers before you ask the questions?'

'Just answer the question please.'

'Actually that's between me and Mr
Stanton.'

Ryder gave him a long suffering look
but didn't press it. Seeing as he knew the answer anyway, he didn't need to.

'Okay. Can you tell us when the last
time you saw him was?'

'Last night. Here, in my office.’ He
pointed to the glasses on the desk. ‘If you want to dust one of those glasses
you keep staring at so disapprovingly, you'll find it's covered with his
fingerprints.

'So you were having a party, were
you? Do you do that with all your clients?'

'Not a party, just a few drinks.'

The detective made a show of
sniffing the air. 'More than a few by the look - and smell - of things.'

Evan sighed wearily at the
relentless jibes. His head was pounding; that was punishment enough. He didn’t
need any of this. 'Is this going anywhere, Detective?'

'Not for Mr Stanton it isn't. I'm
sorry to have to tell you that Mr Stanton committed suicide last night.'

Evan took a step backwards as if
he’d been slapped and dropped heavily into his chair. He felt suddenly cold. He
shook his head in disbelief. It couldn't be true. Stanton hadn't been suicidal
when he went home. Something must have happened at home. Ryder was saying
something else, his mouth turned down in disgust.

'Sorry, what was that?'

'I said, it appears that Mr Stanton
had spent the evening drinking heavily. We now know that at least some of that
was done here with you.' There was more than a hint of accusation in his voice.
'He then seems to have gone home where he spent some time looking at
pornographic images on his computer.'

Evan groaned inwardly. His heart was
pounding. His mouth was dry and he needed a drink of water. He didn't want to
hear what was coming.

'Not just the everyday porn your
average Joe can get off the internet, either.
Bespoke
, you could call
it. Pictures of his own loving wife being screwed stupid by another man.' It
was a full blown accusation now. 'And when he'd had enough of that, he went out
to the garage and hanged himself.'

He almost shouted the
hanged
himself
, and then paused to allow time for the full, dreadful implications
of his words to sink in.

'Which is where his wife found him
this morning. Luckily for us, she became hysterical and ran straight to the
neighbors. She was so distressed, poor thing, she didn't think to go into his
study and remove the evidence that pointed to her starring role in this sorry
little tale.'

Evan sat there completely
dumbfounded, unable to think clearly, although one thought was all too clear -
he should never have given Stanton the memory stick with the photos.

'It was also in his study that we
found your business card,' Ryder continued. He managed to make
business card
sound dirty too as if it was one of the ones you see pinned up in public phone
booths. 'And seeing as we're detectives we sort of worked it out.'

He held up his hand and flicked out
a not very clean little finger that looked like a short, fat sausage. 'One;
here's a depressed man who just hung himself after looking at pictures of his
wife screwing around.' He flicked out a second, sausage-like finger. 'And two,
what have we got here - some low rent peeper's business card. So, yes, Mr
Buckley, we do already know the nature of the
work
that you did for Mr
Stanton. Although how anyone can call what you do work is beyond me. I bet you
even charge the poor saps for ruining their lives.'

He was so worked up that flecks of
spittle showered Evan as he spoke. Ryder stood in front of him, looking down at
him in his chair, daring him to contradict his words. The look of disgust on
his face made Evan want to punch it, but he knew he had to keep his temper
under control. They would've liked nothing better than an excuse to work him
over and toss him into the cells. Ryder wasn't finished yet.

'That's why we came down here to
this stinking shithole that you call an office this morning. To get
confirmation from the horse's mouth - more like the horse's ass if you ask me -
and to see if you can provide any further information. If you're not too busy
snapping dirty pictures, of course.'

'I can tell you who the man in the
photos with his wife is.'

'We already know that.’ Ryder
snapped. ‘You might be the lowest type of bottom feeder, but at least you know
how to use a camera. We got his licence plate from one of your pictures. We'll
be talking to Mr McIntyre shortly.'

'I hope you give him just as hard a
time as you've given me.' It was out before he could stop it. Evan could have
bitten his own tongue off. He sounded so pathetic.

Ryder put his hands on his hips and snorted.
'Hard time - who are you kidding. I've called you a few names, that's all. At
least I don't go round ruining people's lives. Christ, haven't you got any
pride?'

Evan wished he could have argued.
Unfortunately it sounded too much like the voice he heard inside his own head
every day. 'Are you sure it was suicide? He didn't seem suicidal in the
slightest when he left here.'

'How the hell would you know? You
were as drunk as he was.' Ryder shouted, his face reddening. He cracked his
knuckles loudly. 'To answer your question, there is absolutely no evidence
whatsoever of foul play. I'm afraid he topped himself,' - he emphasized the
words - 'because he couldn't face life after looking at your pictures. I know
it would make you feel a whole lot better if he hadn't committed suicide, but
he did.'

Evan thought he'd finished, but he
hadn't. 'And it's your fault,’ – he jabbed his finger into Evan’s face – ‘so
you better start learning to live with it.'

Evan pictured himself grabbing the
finger in his face and snapping it at the knuckle. It helped. 'Did he leave a
note?'

'Yeah, he left a note. His tramp of
a wife threw it in the trash but we dug it out. It was torn but it wasn't
difficult to read seeing as it was only one word in nice big capital letters –
BITC – we figured the rest out.'

He must have known it was you who
was going to be investigating
.

Ryder and his partner, who hadn't
said a word the whole time, turned to go. But Ryder just couldn't let it go. He
hesitated at the door.

'I just can't understand why anyone
would want to spend their lives doing this shit.’ He made a sweeping arm
gesture taking in the whole room. ‘Helping people ruin their lives day in day
out. Why don't you do something to help people for a change? Find missing kids
or something worthwhile like that.'

Something snapped inside Evan. A
sudden surge of heat flushed through his body and he felt a rush of blood to his
head making it feel like it was going to explode. Ryder had touched a raw nerve
and he couldn't stop himself. He jumped up from the chair and lunged at the fat
detective, screaming into his face.

'You sanctimonious bastard. You have
no idea what you're talking about. You know absolutely nothing about me.'

Ryder's partner stepped between them
and put his hand on Evan's chest. It was a big hand and he was a big man, broad
in the shoulders, narrow in the waist. His eyes held Evan’s. 'That's enough.
Calm down now.'

'Calm down! I've had to listen to
this holier-than-thou, fat prick insult me from the moment he walked in and now
he tells me I should spend my life doing something useful. He wouldn't know
what useful was if it bit him in the ass.'

'I don't know what you're getting so
riled up about,' Ryder said from behind his partner. 'You do what you do, you
gotta expect people to hate you.'

'Do either of you two idiots know
the first thing about me? My name doesn't ring any bells? Come on, you're the
great detectives.'

'I don't know what you're talking
about,' Ryder said again. 'Why the hell would we know anything about a lowlife
like you.'

Evan lunged again, but Ryder's
partner pushed him back. 'Five years ago. Sarah Buckley. My wife. Disappeared
off the face of the planet. Ring any bells yet?'

Ryder looked at him like he was
talking gibberish. There was a faint glimmer of recognition in his partner's
eyes. 'I seem to remember something about that,' he said.

'Well, allow me to refresh your
memories a little. One day, out of the blue, she disappeared without trace. I
reported her missing. You lot were about as much use as a one-legged man in an
ass kicking contest. What was worse was you didn't give a damn either. Back
then I had a proper job, but I couldn't stand just sitting around waiting for
lazy idiots like him,' Evan said, jabbing a finger at Ryder, 'with their heads
up their fat asses doing sweet F.A.'

'You better watch your mouth,
Buckley,' Ryder said. But Evan was too far gone to stop now.

'Or what, you fat bastard? Or what?‘
He was almost screaming now, a red mist engulfing him. ‘I packed in my real job
so that I could start doing yours. And no, I didn't find her, but at least I
tried, which is more than you did. And I'm still trying, and I'll keep on
trying.'

He paused to gulp some air into his
heaving lungs. He could feel himself shaking against the other detective’s
hand. 'So when some useless tub of lard comes in here and spends ten minutes
being abusive before he tells me to do something useful with my life, I get a
little uptight.' He spat the last word into Ryder's face over his partner's
shoulder, and pushed harder into the hand on his chest.

'On top of all that I still have to
pay the bills, and that means I have to do whatever my
clients
pay me to
do, however distasteful the sainted Detective Ryder might find it. It's called
the real world, and you should go there some time. See how you get on without a
badge to hide behind.'

He sagged visibly; the outburst had
drained him completely. Ryder's partner could see the fury had gone and he
dropped his hand from Evan's chest.

'Okay, okay, we're going to leave
now. If you can think of anything that might be useful, or you just want to
talk, give me a call. The name's Guillory.' He gave Evan his card and they left.