The Thomas Blume Series

Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Digging up the past.

I managed to stay mostly responsible … meaning I had no hangover the following morning, or maybe there was already so much poison in my body I couldn’t notice anymore. I was tired though. Still, I woke with a mission and wasted very little time. Within ten minutes I was sipping coffee and eating a fried egg sandwich as I typed the address I’d learned the previous night. It was a program I frequently used but was not supposed to have access to. The software was similar to a Police database but offered forensic investigators, or individuals with enough cash, access to a shocking array of information data mined from online purchases, credit card transactions, and government records. Although frightening for criminals with something to hide, it was a godsend for a cop, even an ex-cop.

The results loaded quickly. The house belonged to an Elizabeth Ellington. The name rang no bells and the internet offered hundreds of confusing results, but, as I replayed the events of the first two nights, a startling thought occurred to me. Anthony Taylor’s suicide now seemed like something that had happened in a faraway place. I’d switched lanes, leaving the guilt behind, for now.

Getting active helped. Re-opening my family’s case and trying to solve this new mystery. Almost like being a cop again.

It was a good feeling, and I clung to it as tightly as possible. It was all I had.

The adrenaline of turning over a new leaf was still there when I took a shower. The old water heater was performing at its usual lackluster level, but I didn’t mind the coolness that blasted from the spout. It woke me up.

I headed down to Amir’s restaurant an hour later, knowing it was the perfect time to catch him before he opened. Amir liked to come in half an hour early to get things prepped for the day. Though I suspected he just liked enjoying a moment of stillness before the first customers arrived. No one could blame him, the man always seemed busy.

He poured us coffee, which we drank at his ritzy little bar while his staff readied the place for the early lunch crowd. They all played their parts seamlessly with little need for direction. Amir was obviously a skilled manager who had trained his loyal staff well., perhaps due to his uncanny ability to read a person’s truths. Amir didn’t waste his time asking me if I had been drinking over the last few days. I assumed he saw a still-developing change in me. These big changes rarely happened overnight. We shared some small talk—about the damned rain and how the police had not returned to ask me more questions about Anthony. I was working my way up to the real reason I had come by.

“So, I get this is a large town,” I said. “Very large. But I also know you run a very successful business and are one of the friendliest men I have ever known.”

“Why are you buttering me up?” Amir asked, hiking an eyebrow. His bushy black hair and dark brows gave him a fierce appearance, belying his amiable nature.

“No butter. Just pretext,” I said.

“For what?”

“I was wondering if you might happen to know a woman named Elizabeth Ellington.”

Amir gave me a skeptical look. “It just so happens that I do. At least on paper. Several papers, in fact, she’s quite well known in local circles. A topic on everyone’s lips, or it was. Why do you ask?”

“Can you keep it confidential?” I asked.

“Yeah…as long as you haven’t done anything you shouldn’t.”

“No. Nothing like that.” I mumbled, wondering what kind of man he took me for. I then proceeded to tell him about the events of the previous three nights; the mysterious woman coming and leaving, the tail across town and the suburban house. When I reached the end, he seemed as puzzled as me, but there was something there, a thoughtfulness. He knew something more, I could tell. My cop senses were firing.

“What?” I asked, noticing his expression.

“Elizabeth Ellington is sort of a legend around here,” Amir replied, his brows knotted. “She’s a recluse …a shut-in. It’s odd she would be out and about. The only time people see her around is late at night when she goes grocery shopping at those twenty-four-hour shops. She’s been that way for … I don’t know … probably the last ten years.”

“Why is she like that?” I asked, curiosity growing. “Anti-social?”

“Her husband died of cancer … don’t remember what kind. And about two months later, her young son went missing after school.”

Amir’s mention of a lost child sparked bitter sensations, sickly feelings scraping at the corners of my mind, and churning my belly. I pushed them down, focused.

“Did the police ever find him?” I asked. A lot of times kids just wandered off and lost track of time, distracted by friends or a ballgame in the neighborhood park. On the force, it always felt good to bring home a wayward child, it was always the ones we didn’t find that wore on your soul.

Amir shook his head. “Not a trace, as far as I can remember. It was too much for Elizabeth, too much for anyone. To lose a child and a spouse in such a short time …” Amir grew silent and looked up at me with regret, like he wished he could take back his words, but since he couldn’t he continued. “She just sort of shut down, I guess. She and her husband were borderline rich, so it made headlines in the local newspapers. Tragic stuff.”

“Sure is, but why the hell would she want to speak to me?”

Amir shrugged. “She must have heard there’s a New York cop in town. Just about everyone here in London with a badge looked into her son’s disappearance and got nowhere.”

“Huh,” I said, thoughts swirling.

“Look, I’ve got to get to work. Keep me informed on this, will you?”

“Sure.”

Elizabeth Ellington’s story called to me. There had to be something missing, clues overlooked, evidence unseen. The dots ready for connecting, waiting to be tracked down. Luckily, that was my specialty. Or it used to be. Finally, I found a bit of rhyme and reason to my presence in London, a familiar buzz of ambition fueled by a new case. Especially one that didn’t involve unfaithful spouses or domestic issues.

I finished my coffee in three hot gulps and headed out to pick up some essential supplies.

Momentum was building, and I was more fired up than I had been in months. Things seemed to be getting back on track for me. For once, I didn’t even mind the chill wind and overcast skies.

A lost child, an unsolved case and a distraught parent. All of it in London. The details were eerily familiar. As was the burning drive to find answers.