The Thomas Blume Series

Chapter 4

Chapter Four

A comfortable betrayal.

A few days after Turner and Hooch came by my office and tried to suffocate me with a guilt trip about Anthony Taylor, I got another loud knock on my door. I was taking practice shots with my new camera, getting used to the zoom, flash, and adjusting the settings.

A hangover fogged my brain, a souvenir from the night before. It had been a long, rough session—one of those where the memories of lost loved ones took the form of demonic poltergeists, haunting my apartment and forcing me to remain in limbo between sleep and consciousness.

The door was my enemy. I scowled at it, somehow certain that this would be the two cops again. Maybe they found my name somewhere else in Anthony’s personal belongings.

I almost didn’t answer it but figured that would be stupid. The apartment couldn’t hide me forever. A wooden door wouldn’t hold back cops for long. I’d proven that at the hotel. Not that I was a cop any longer.

To my relief, a short but muscular man in his forties stood in the hallway, not the two cops. He had intense eyes and thinning midnight black hair, matching his closely cropped beard. Most people would have been alarmed by his intimidating appearance, but I knew differently. Amir Mazra was one of the kindest and most insightful men I’d met in London. He owned the restaurant below and originally hailed from Iran or Oman or Jordan, somewhere. He never had told me, and I knew next to nothing about that part of the world. About the Middle East.

“Hey Amir,” I said.

“Thomas. Come on. Let’s have lunch.”

“Downstairs?” I asked, looking to the floor. “No offense, but I smell it every day. It’s delicious, but I’ve had my fill.”

“Fine,” he said. “Let’s go out. Your choice.”

“What’s the occasion?” I asked.

He thought about this for a moment and answered slowly. “I haven’t seen much of you lately,” he said. “And when I have, it’s usually watching you go past the fire escape window, stumbling up the steps.”

“Is this an intervention?” I asked him, laughing without humor.

“No. It is an invitation to lunch from a man that hopes you see him as a friend.”

I nodded, reminded of how well Amir was able to push bullshit to the side and get straight to the heart of the matter. In a way, he was the only living connection I had to the city.

“Steak?” I said, suddenly realizing that I was, in fact, starving.

“Fine, but turn the lights off,” Amir said. “Don’t waste electricity.”

I looked back into my office and flicked the switch. “You’re my landlord,” I said, “not my Mommy.”

“Yes, but saving money on electricity will help you stop taking crappy jobs like the one with Anthony Taylor.”

“You heard about that, huh?”

He nodded. “Come on. Let’s eat.”

“You’re not the only one with problems,” Amir said, as we finished a very average meal. He leaned back, sipping from a glass of water while I considered something stronger than the bottle of beer in my hand.

“You have something on your mind other than me, Amir?”

“It’s just my son, Jamal, you know. He’s a good boy, smart, too smart. I love him very much, he means the world to me, despite all of the trouble he causes.”

“Jamal in trouble, that doesn’t sound right. He’s a good kid, keeps his head down from what I hear.”

“At school, yes, Jamal is a model student. He is always respectful and helpful, excellent grades. His trouble is much bigger than most kid his age. Did you know I had to take away his computer?”

“You know Amir … most kids his age … they get curious …”

Amir shook his head and chuckled. “It’s not that, no. I wish it were. I got a warning letter from the ISP, Blume.”

“Your internet provider?”

“Most teenagers, they use the internet to chat with friends, watch silly videos, look at pictures … not my Jamal. He’s always been good with computers, I just didn’t realize how good.”

“He’s been misbehaving?”

Amir nodded solemnly. “Turns out he got involved with some online group. Some kind of digital activists or hackers, I believe. They challenge each other to see how far they can go, how many levels of security they can infiltrate. It’s all fun and games until the police come knocking at the door.”

“Tell me about it,” I said “But I didn’t realize Jamal was a hacker. That takes smarts. Maybe he could use his tech skills for something better, get him designing software, solving problems.”

Amir nodded. “But how?”

“You’re asking me for advice?” I teased. “A washed-up detective who can’t even find a cheating spouse without screwing things up?”

“A fine detective,” Amir corrected. “If you give yourself a chance.”

I sighed. “The hackers’ world is a couple of generations beyond me, but, back on the force, I worked with some guys in Computer Division, Cybercrimes. I can put the feelers out, get some advice.”

“That would be appreciated, and for the record, it’s not your fault, what happened with Taylor.”

“Whatever. I’m done with domestic cases,” I said, getting to the crux of things. The comment was random, a stark change of subject, but I knew why Amir had wanted to have lunch. He was checking up on me, plain and simple.

“Good,” Amir said. “I’m glad. But can I ask why?”

“Well, what if my little discovery did push Taylor to kill himself? Without the work I did for him, would he ever have gotten the proof?”

“Without you, he would have gone to someone else. You can’t do that to yourself. Why pile on more guilt? You’re carrying enough of that already, don’t let it poison you. Besides, I thought you came to London to relieve the grief, figure things out. Not to add to it.”

“Yeah, that was the plan.”

A young waiter came by and took our plates. He also brought me a third beer. Amir glanced at it sadly but waited for the waiter to leave before asking, “Thomas, are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“That’s a very bad lie.”

“You’d prefer a good one?"

“I’d prefer the truth. Why do you continue to do this to yourself? All you do is drink and look at those pictures of Sarah and little Tommy. Neither of those things will bring them back, so why do you put yourself through this?”

“I have to.”

“The tragedy of all this, my friend, is that you don’t. Go home to New York, find help. There’s nothing for you in London anymore.”

I swallowed some beer, washing down the last bite of steak, and looked Amir in the eyes. “I need to know who did this to them.”

“And all this excessive drinking? You think this will help your investigation?”

I grimaced. “I sleep better when I’m loaded,” I said, avoiding his sympathetic stare. “The dreams seem to go away. And when I’m awake, the memories don’t hurt as bad if I’m drinking.”

“So, this isn’t a purposeful self-destruction? You are self-medicating?”

“You could say that.”

He looked to me with the unconditionally loyal eyes of a close friend. Ever since I had saved his sister, Amir had treated me like family. He joked that we had become soul brothers because I had unintentionally followed him across the globe when business had brought him to London. “I didn’t know you were a doctor, Thomas,” he finally said.

I frowned, knowing he was right. I’d never solve Sarah or my son’s case if I kept drinking the days away. “I think I have been purposefully putting it off,” I muttered.

“What’s that?”

“I’ve just been reviewing these case files over and over again. I haven’t been making any forward progress. You’re right. If I want to find the killer I need to kick the drinking, shape myself up. Then I can start for real.”

Amir sighed, disappointed. “And then where will you be? Still obsessed with your past. Do you think Sarah would want to see you this way? No, she would want you to move on. Focus on your present; your future.”

Not that I had much future. At least not in London. Even if the cops didn’t deport me, the money would run out soon. I needed to figure out how to earn some real cash. Still, the thought of letting Sarah and Tommy’s case grow cold made me hate myself. “No,” I shook my head. “This is too important.”

“Why?” Amir demanded. “Why is it important to chase the killers of the dead? What do you hope to accomplish?”

“Justice.”

“You don’t want justice, you want revenge. And with revenge, you will find only more pain and more guilt.”

“What would you have me do, huh?” I asked, raising my voice. “Sit on my ass?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, patting his hands through the air, telling me to keep it down. “You seem incapable of helping yourself. Maybe you should try helping others.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean use the talents God gave to you. You’re a brilliant detective, Thomas. My sister owes her life to you. That is a gift I will never forget. Use your skills to help the living. Become a proper investigator.”

I sneered. “I’m not a detective anymore. Even if I wanted to do what you’re suggesting, I don’t have any authority. Especially not out here.”

“Fine,” Amir sank back in his seat, draping one arm along the back of the booth.

“You’re right about the drinking though,” I admitted. “I’ll get dry.”

“You mean that?”

“Yes, and because I’m spilling all of this crap to you, I leave you in charge of holding me accountable.”

“I look forward to it,” Amir said. “Now, go ahead and finish your beer. If I’m being held accountable, it will be the last one you have in quite some time.”

“Fair enough,” I said, grasping the glass and taking a huge gulp.

I don’t think either of us believed a word.