Day 244 – Half Hour Hitman – Part 17

Word count: 627

Fortrose slammed the door as he came home. From the kitchen a faint air of cooking wafted, but he wasn’t interested. The pile of shopping by the stairs hardly bothered him. His wife must have spent thousands. Shoes, dresses: it was her monthly thing. Her time of the month frustration rent. He hated her doing it, he could see her waste everything he had achieved. If it didn’t go on clothes it went on new sofas, bedsheets, new lamps and fittings, new wallpaper, new kitchenware. It was all about upgrading, improving…. nothing would ever be bought to last, but merely bought to serve for a fleeting purpose.

It had been a tough afternoon. Maxwell had pretty much ordered him to go home for the rest of the day, but he had remained until the bitter end of five o’clock. Over and over again the case plagued in his mind. Andy… such a young man. Happy, free. In every picture they had on file he was smiling. There was nothing outwardly wrong with him. He had no reason to be depressed, to be even vaguely unhappy with his life. Something was seriously wrong with this case, why was he not spotting it? But on the way home, doubts began to creep into his mind and poison all the positiveness inside him. What if he was wrong? He had been before? What if the boy had just been mugged, murdered by accident and dumped in some canal? What if he just wanted to escape London life and had headed off to a strange solitary commune somewhere in the North of Scotland? He wasn’t in his life, he could not know every aspect of this man’s life, his thoughts and his feelings?

Fortrose stomped upstairs. His wife probably didn’t even know he was home by now. The bedroom was laden with clothes she had tried on, a new perfume hung in the air. He turned the shower on in the en-suite and sat down on the bed. He was exhausted. The shower puffed out steam into the bed, but he barely noticed. He liberated his neck from his tie and shirt collar and fell back on the mattress. He knew he would get into trouble if he creased the new designer items, but right now he just couldn’t care less.

Andy. He needed to know more about this man. He needed to see his friends, meet his mother again. It had been months and months since his disappearance now. No bodies. No contact. Someone must know something. In his head he made a plan to visit the man’s girlfriend in the morning. They had been close, apparently, but not on the borderline of marriage. A comfortable relationship, by all accounts.

The shower was starting to make that odd high pitch squealing noise it made when the pressure was too high. It awoke him to the real world and he took off the rest of his clothes and made his way into the warmth. It was comforting, soothing. He immersed himself in the water and found his headache disappearing.

Ring. Ring.

His phone. He turned off the shower and grabbed a towel from behind the door. The phone was somewhere the midden of his clothes. He rifled through and picked it, putting the loudspeaker to his wet, dripping ear.

“Hello, D.I Fortrose speaking.”

His greeting was met with heavy breathing.

“Hello?”

Panting, this person was running.

“Hello, who is this?”

Fortrose instinctively brushed the curtains aside and scanned out the window at the road below. There was no one suspicious outside.

“Keep the faith, Fortrose. Keep the faith. You’ll know more soon.”

The deep voice cut off just as snow began to drift from the brooding sky above.

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~ by S.G. Mark on June 7, 2012.

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