Give No Quarter

Crime Fiction by Jo Ayker

Kelly and I caught the missing person case on Monday night and spent the next two days investigating. Then we went to visit Helen Thompson in her suburban home.

Helen had dinner with her husband Michael on Sunday evening. She got up and went to work the next morning without waking him. When she returned from work at the end of the day, he was no longer there. His wallet, clothes, and their shared valuable items were all gone.

“You got it all wrong. He didn’t abandon me,” Helen told us.

She was in her late forties. I could tell she had been attractive. She had a heart-shaped face framed by blonde hair. But what had once been smooth and lustrous was now poofy and dull.

“Could you think of where he might have gone?” Kelly asked.

“He must have been taken by force,” Helen said. “Whoever took him also took his stuff, so they can fool you into thinking he left of his own accord.”

Right, I thought.

“What does Michael do for a living?”

“He’s an artist.”

I almost laughed out loud. Who would abduct an artist? Helen was in denial. It was obvious Michael Thompson had decided he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life with Helen here. He had packed up his stuff and was gone for good.

Kelly’s face was painstakingly serious, which told me she was thinking the same thing. She was leaning against the jamb of the living room door, facing Helen on the couch. I perched on a desk. It shifted under my weight, but it didn’t give way.

“Does he earn a lot of… Is he a famous artist?” Kelly asked.

“No. His works have appeared in a few children’s books. That’s about it.”

“Would you say money has been tight?”

“We get by,” Helen said stoically.

Kelly scratched one eyebrow. “Does Michael have any enemy?”

“No, no. Everyone loves him.”

“Someone too much?” I couldn’t help but cut in. Kelly shot me a look.

To our surprise, Helen sighed and nodded. “Yeah. He has his share of affairs. He is a man. What do you expect? But he loves me. He would never leave me.”

“Helen,” I said as gently as possible, “Michael was seen in the train station, with a woman on his arm and a suitcase in his other hand.”

“You are mistaken,” she said firmly.

I looked down and shook my head at my shoes. The swirl pattern on the carpet made my head spin.

“Are these his drawings?” Kelly nodded toward the desk.

“Yes. See what I mean? They are his treasure. He would never leave them behind.”

I reached behind and took the sheaf of paper. They were pencil sketches. I flipped through them. None of them was near completion. They were depressing, incomprehensible, and to my untrained eye, ugly as hell.

“No clue I can see.” I passed the sketches to Kelly. The desk rocked backward and forward as I did so.

“So what have you done to look for him?” Helen asked impatiently. “It’s been three days.”

“Ma’am,” I said wearily, “he took everything that belonged to him, and then some. He left. Simple as that.”

I regretted the words as soon as they left my mouth. Heartbreaks were never simple.

“No. You aren’t listening. It was all a feint. Mike is in trouble. He left against his will.”

I wanted to shake her. How could anyone be so blind?

“We will keep an eye out,” I said, although it was Helen who needed to see. I came off the desk. “But I might as well tell you, we have more urgent…” I trailed off.

Kelly was staring at the desk where my ass had been a moment ago.

“What?”

“Is this where Michael draws?” she asked.

Helen nodded.

Kelly dropped the stack of drawings back on the desk. It wobbled a little.

“How could anyone use that? And drawing is delicate work. Wouldn’t you say?”

No one spoke.

The desk was an old affair. It was made of wood, full of stains and scratches. Kelly squatted down next to it. After a second, I followed her.

“See that?” She pointed to the right back leg which was a hair shorter than the others.

“So?”

“Move the desk, Flynn.”

I lifted it out of the way. The desk legs had made four square dents on the carpet, but not to the same degree. The impression the right back leg had left was faint. Within that square, we could see a deeper circular dent.

I pulled out my wallet. “A dollar?” I asked Kelly.

“Try a quarter.”

I took out a quarter dollar and put it on the circle. It fitted perfectly.

“What are you doing?” Helen asked us.

I put the desk back in place. Kelly nudged it with her hip. It didn’t budge. My coin had stabilized the desk.

“What does this mean?” Helen asked, her voice anxious.

Kelly closed her eyes and sighed. Then she took a deep breath and stood up to face Helen. I felt so tired all of a sudden I wanted to sit down.

“Ma’am,” she began, “your husband has put a quarter under that desk leg to hold it steady, so he could draw without any sudden shift disrupting his work. Now that quarter is gone. You understand what that means?”

Helen said nothing. I retrieved my quarter and joined them.

“It was hidden under the back corner of the desk. No one could have known it was there except for your husband. He took it away. He left nothing behind. Not even a quarter. Michael isn’t coming back.”

Helen opened her mouth. But no sound came out.

“I’m so sorry,” Kelly said and headed for the door.

I left my quarter on the desk for Helen. To this day, I don’t know if it was a kind gesture or the cruelest act of all. Then I followed Kelly out.

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Bio: Jo Ayker currently works as an auditor in Beijing after having studied math in upstate New York and forensic science in London. Her stories have appeared on Close to the Bone and The Yard: Crime Blog. You can read another adventure of Kelly and Flynn along with Jo’s story “Gone”, HERE

Read more flash fiction on The Yard: Crime Blog

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