Monday, 20 January 2014

Find the Lady (part 6)

I consulted the notebook. looking at the different pieces of information DS Powell had found. There were a few interesting things but nothing was conclusive. I made a list of things I need to work out.
First on my list was the crime scene.
I walked to Munster Avenue, having changed into a fiendish disguise at the theatre. To complete strangers, it would have seemed as if a police man was walking up and down the street. But to me, it would as if I was walking up and down the street, mainly because I was.
According to the drunk, who I was going to check out later, my therapist Emma had been dragged from her home and put into a white van. My first move was to check out the door step. There was no doubt that everything I was doing had already been done by the forensics team, but I thought I may as well do it again. There wasn't a car on the drive, so the balance of probability suggested that the other Polonskous wasn't there. I ran up to the door step and had a look around. She'd been identified by the colour of her hair, but when I had a look at the large prickly bush, made up of sticky weed- the type you play with on the field during the summer at school- and there was absolutely no hair whatsoever! I gave the drunk the benefit of the doubt, so my next move was to check out everything else. I ran over to the bushes on the side of the road. Powells scrawly handwriting had dictated that the van had nearly hit the drunk, giving him a motive to report it to the police. Apparently, the van had hit the lamppost. I took a survey of all the lampposts. The only one with a mark that could have been made by a white transit van, as specified in the notebook, was in the wrong place all together. If they were going to place the lady in the back of the van,  then the reversing van would have to hit into a completely different lamppost. Which meant that that detail was wrong. Two details wrong so far. But again, I gave the drunk the benefit of the doubt. The next detail was that it reversed to far, nearly running the drunk over. In fact, it made him fall over one of the small bushes and knock over a mole hill into a pond. I had a look. Firstly, I had a look at the leaves pulled into the garden by the falling drunk. This was the first bit of evidence that stood up. It was entirely possible that the leaves in the garden were pulled there by the drunks feet. Next I looked at the pond. As the notebook said, there was mud in the pond but no sign of where the mud could have come from. I looked up and saw a bunch of security lights. But I continued back to the bush, where in the gutter I could see some bits of the bush, blown there by the wind from the pavement where they'd been deposited by the van pulling forward. I checked the bushes, rooting for where the mud could have come from. And I saw something, shining. That was my first new clue. And I was pleased with it indeed. 

My next move took me to my therapists. Last time I was there, I witnessed the girl on the desk be fired, so I knew the person on the desk now wouldn't know me. Also, he was a man.
"Hello." I said, smiling at him. "I was wondering whether you could book me an appointment with Miss Polonskous."
"I'm sorry sir," he said in that patronising tone that receptionists and PE teachers master so well, "but she's been kidnapped."
I acted shocked. "Oh no! That's terrible! I'll alert the station straight away!" I messed around with my fake radio. "Alright, thank you. The police are on there way to interview you. Is there another part to Miss Polonskous I could talk to?"
"She lives with her sister, is that ok?"
I shook my head. "A boyfriend perhaps?"
"Oh yes. A lovely man. I've got his address somewhere around here." He searched around for the address. "Ah yes. Here we are." He handed me a piece of paper. "You may want to also check out one of her clients. Miles Fletcher. A man was in here the other day complaining about him, telling me all about the problems he'd been causing her."
I walked out. That was a lie. A blatant lie. And I was going to prove it so.

Over the next two weeks, I investigated further. And once I'd finally worked it out, I called Powell.
I was outside the place I expected Polonskous to be at eleven o clock, as I dialled Powells number from the business card in the back of the notebook I'd stolen. He picked up on the fifth ring and I greeted him saying, "Is this DS Powell?" 
"Yes who is this?" He replied, curious. 
"Miles Fletcher, Detective. Who else?" 
"How did you get my phone number?" 
"It on the card in the back of your notebook. Which I'd like to return to you, if that would be ok. Also, I believe I may have some information for you."
"What information?" 
"I can take you to Emma Polonskous, and I can tell you who kidnapped her."
"Tell me who kidnapped her and I'll come."
I said two names, two names I knew well.
"Well I wasn't expecting that." I heard him say.
I gave him an address and he agreed to come. I'd always thought the bits in the detective stories where the detective pulled everyone together to reveal the murderer was a bit far fetched. And now, I was going to be the detective.

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