Page 19 of The Burnt
“I promise.”
Declan paused. “Do you believe me?”
Charlie looked Declan in the eye. “I believe you’ll try. And, for now, I guess that’s gotta be good enough.”
Chapter Eight
Declan woke to find Charlie snuggled into him. He smiled and buried his face in Charlie’s curly blond hair, inhaling his scent. His reverie was interrupted by his phone which lit up with an incoming call.
Declan eased himself out from under Charlie, grabbed the phone from the bedside table and swiftly crept across the room. He answered the call, whispering “Just a sec,” then muffled the phone against his chest and made his way down the stairs to the office. Once the door to the apartment was shut, he continued out to the reception area before saying, “Sorry about that.”
“I don’t even have to guess what’s going on at your place,” the voice of the caller said.
“Hi Gary. Thanks for getting back to me.” Declan flopped his naked body onto the couch.
“I got your message. So, you want the Freddy and Archie Whitcher files.” Gary said.
“I just have to know if there was anything that was missed in the initial investigation. What Archie said to you… My gut says it might lead to a clue we didn’t know existed back then.”
“Or it might mean nothing,” Gary replied.
“That’s true. But I’ll never know unless I follow the lead,” Declan said. “So, can you help me? Can you get me the files?”
“Only if you promise to minimise the chaos that you unleash.”
“Deal.”
Gary laughed. “Good. Meet me at eleven this morning in the restaurant at the Airliner Hotel. It’s just south of the airport.”
“I know the place. And Gary, thanks. I owe you big-time.”
Declan disconnected, then stood up to return to the apartment. When he turned around, Charlie was standing there, naked.
“Sorry,” Declan said. “I was just…”
Charlie shrugged. “It’s fine. After all, it’s a workday and we have no other plans. Do what you gotta do.”
Declan noticed that Charlie had a morning erection. “Well, we don’t open the office for another hour, so I think there’s something I gotta do right now.”
Charlie giggled as Declan chased him back upstairs to the apartment.
* * * *
Three hours later, Declan sat at a table by the window of the Airliner Hotel’s restaurant. From where he was seated, Declan had a view of the mounted DHC-3 situated by the road. The decrepit 1950s bush plane clashed with the brutalist modern design of the hotel and the plane’s wings were definitely in need of a good de-icing. It wasn’t what Declan would have chosen to greet travellers as they made their way to and from the airport.
He’d arrived early, so had ordered a coffee. The waitress, Fran, swung by and also dropped off a piece of dry toast.
“You’ll probably need this. Our coffee’s like battery acid so your stomach’ll appreciate it. Don’t tell the manager I said so.”
“Your secret’s safe with me,” he said with a big smile.
She headed off to the kitchen.
Declan looked over at the busboy. He was cute…probably younger than Charlie. Declan thought about whathehad looked like in his twenties. Had people thought he was cute? He’d never considered it. Even back then. Everything he’d done, everything he had thought, was about fighting. Fighting with his father. Fighting with himself. Fighting with life. He’d been so filled withanger back then. Joining the police service was the last thing he should have done. Especially when he’d found out he was to be stationed in his father’s district. He had thought there were rules against that, like in the army when brothers couldn’t serve together. But obviously that was just in the movies.
Every muscle in Declan’s body started to tense up. He remembered the exercises his therapist had taught him. He closed his eyes and took deep breaths.In and out. In and out. He visualised his muscles relaxing. First his toes, then his feet. All the way up his legs to the pelvis, and from his fingertips to his shoulders as he drifted into a trance.
“Excuse me. Would you like to order any food?” Fran interrupted.
