but quietly.” She took him to a cubicle that was enclosed on the left and right with a red velvet partition. There was no door and at the back of room sat a security guard. If it was the same security man from the other night he didn’t seem to recognise Arbogast. When he sat with his back against the wall Hanom straddled him with her legs on either side of him, knees down on the seat. As she writhed over him he had to struggle to focus his attention.
“I have a police mobile in my jacket pocket. I will leave the jacket here so take the phone. That way we’ll be able to talk and I’ll be able to find you – we can trace your movements but only if the handset is on.” Hanom was still dancing and Arbogast coughed to try and hide his embarrassment.
Hanom was following every word now, “Where is my daughter? What has happened to Mary Clark?” she was bent over Arbogast now and had taken off her bra.
Arbogast tried to look turned on, for appearances sake, although under the circumstances this was no great feat. “She’s OK,” he said, “but in hospital. She says she doesn’t know what happened but I think she knows more. Will you help me?”
She stood up and smiled at him, bending over to kiss on the cheek, “I have no choice – please get me out.” He paid her the money and left as the stags partied on. Everyone was too busy to notice Hanom going back into the corridor and taking the phone from the inside of the black suit jacket which had been dumped on the floor.
11
February 18 th 2010
He met her at the Adelphi at 2:53. He was smoking a cigarette and she tried to disguise herself with a large brimmed hat with a dark band around it and a long overcoat. She asked for a light but she only wanted to see his tie. A man with a hat and cane was watching. He looked a bit like an aged Charlie Chaplin but they hadn’t seen him, yet. They hailed a cab and left. They didn’t notice the man with the cane stub out his cigarette and follow on behind. Two others watched him leave too, but that was another story. In the cab they talked about this and that, about a man called Reardon and another called Jake but they were skirting around the issue. ‘Right at the next corner,’ he said. He hadn’t told her where they were going and she wanted to know. ‘The Green Cat,’ on Saughton Street he said. She thought he wouldn’t like it there but he said that was only when he wasn’t expected. The green neon sign outside meant they had arrived and as they entered the car left. He took her arm and led her to a table but they didn’t see what the mirror saw: a limping man, with a Charlie Chaplin cane. The piano jingled on but no-one really listened. As they ordered they should have seen the cane, the lunging limp and the man who was taking his hat off but they were still making small talk, no time for the outside world. The piano played on. She hadn’t eaten all day so she ordered a glass of milk – hot, while he wanted a steak sandwich, rare, and a glass of beer. She hadn’t looked at the menu. And still they didn’t see him. He was looking now, looking all around. He had come for a reason but they didn’t know what it was yet, although we did. He asked about money but she didn’t know. Charlie Chaplin left the bar; his back was aching, too much for one day but it hadn’t ended yet, not for them. He’d found them and soon he would bring the others back... the Killers.
It was 3:00am. Arbogast smiled as he watched The Killers, a Film Noir from 1946 starring Burt Lancaster and Ava Gardner. It was Lancaster’s first movie. He loved this scene most of all. It was subtle for its time. If you watched the main characters and their small talk you would miss the bigger picture. It all happened in the background. ‘It’s all in the background,’ he thought, ‘what’s happening in this case that I can’t see – the connection that’s missing? Where’s my limping man, my missing link?’
“I have a police mobile in my jacket pocket. I will leave the jacket here so take the phone. That way we’ll be able to talk and I’ll be able to find you – we can trace your movements but only if the handset is on.” Hanom was still dancing and Arbogast coughed to try and hide his embarrassment.
Hanom was following every word now, “Where is my daughter? What has happened to Mary Clark?” she was bent over Arbogast now and had taken off her bra.
Arbogast tried to look turned on, for appearances sake, although under the circumstances this was no great feat. “She’s OK,” he said, “but in hospital. She says she doesn’t know what happened but I think she knows more. Will you help me?”
She stood up and smiled at him, bending over to kiss on the cheek, “I have no choice – please get me out.” He paid her the money and left as the stags partied on. Everyone was too busy to notice Hanom going back into the corridor and taking the phone from the inside of the black suit jacket which had been dumped on the floor.
11
February 18 th 2010
He met her at the Adelphi at 2:53. He was smoking a cigarette and she tried to disguise herself with a large brimmed hat with a dark band around it and a long overcoat. She asked for a light but she only wanted to see his tie. A man with a hat and cane was watching. He looked a bit like an aged Charlie Chaplin but they hadn’t seen him, yet. They hailed a cab and left. They didn’t notice the man with the cane stub out his cigarette and follow on behind. Two others watched him leave too, but that was another story. In the cab they talked about this and that, about a man called Reardon and another called Jake but they were skirting around the issue. ‘Right at the next corner,’ he said. He hadn’t told her where they were going and she wanted to know. ‘The Green Cat,’ on Saughton Street he said. She thought he wouldn’t like it there but he said that was only when he wasn’t expected. The green neon sign outside meant they had arrived and as they entered the car left. He took her arm and led her to a table but they didn’t see what the mirror saw: a limping man, with a Charlie Chaplin cane. The piano jingled on but no-one really listened. As they ordered they should have seen the cane, the lunging limp and the man who was taking his hat off but they were still making small talk, no time for the outside world. The piano played on. She hadn’t eaten all day so she ordered a glass of milk – hot, while he wanted a steak sandwich, rare, and a glass of beer. She hadn’t looked at the menu. And still they didn’t see him. He was looking now, looking all around. He had come for a reason but they didn’t know what it was yet, although we did. He asked about money but she didn’t know. Charlie Chaplin left the bar; his back was aching, too much for one day but it hadn’t ended yet, not for them. He’d found them and soon he would bring the others back... the Killers.
It was 3:00am. Arbogast smiled as he watched The Killers, a Film Noir from 1946 starring Burt Lancaster and Ava Gardner. It was Lancaster’s first movie. He loved this scene most of all. It was subtle for its time. If you watched the main characters and their small talk you would miss the bigger picture. It all happened in the background. ‘It’s all in the background,’ he thought, ‘what’s happening in this case that I can’t see – the connection that’s missing? Where’s my limping man, my missing link?’
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