Chapter Fifteen

Breakfast at Halfway

For the first time in three days, Sandra had a shower. With everything that had happened, the idea of washing had completely slipped her mind until she woke up on the porch couch, wet from spilt tea and tasting like a dead sock. She would remember the bliss of that shower for years to come, and stayed in there as long as she could. Sure, the time spent in there outstripped the water saved by not showering for three days, but she’d had a stressful time. And she smelt bad.

She expected to emerge invigorated and energised, but her expectations were rarely met. Liz, on the other hand, had cooked a huge breakfast, and it was waiting for her along with a pot of coffee as she emerged from the bathroom. The kitchen was tidy and clean. There was food, coffee. She felt civilised. It was slightly awkward.

“How do you feel?” Liz asked as she sat at the table, a feast set out before her.

She sighed, unable to be the beacon of positiveness she wanted to be.

“I feel like shit Liz”, she answered, opting for honesty. “But I feel like clean shit. And after this I will feel like clean, well fed shit, ready to face the shit the rest of the world has to fling at me. And I reckon that’s a good way to start the day.”

Liz smiled a little, as she poured coffee. “Excellent. So what’s the plan?”

Sandra answered between mouthfuls.

“We need to find Stephen Pohler.” Insert scrambled eggs. She was suddenly famished. ”After what Crazy Greek Lady told me last night, I don’t want to go near Richard Pohler until I know everything I can about his family, and Stephen has to be the key to all of that.” Insert bacon. “We need to speak to the staff at Four Legs as well. Somebody must have seen something, or know something.” Mushrooms. “They might even have my bag in lost property.” Garlic spinach. “We only assumed it was stolen or whatever.” Tomato and bacon. “I’ve still got no idea how I ended up in that apartment Liz.” Egg, toast, bacon and mushroom. “That’s at the top of my list.” Coffee. “Jesus Christ Liz this is the best fucking breakfast I’ve had in my life.”

Liz, deliberately munching lightly on a slice of sourdough, smiled. “That’s what I was waiting for. I’d kinda figured the rest out.”

Sandra smiled back, and accidently dribbled as she did. Liz reacted accordingly, choking on her toast as she giggled. Sandra laughed properly for the first time in three days. Food spilled out of her mouth as she did, which only spurred her on further, and broke Liz down as well. Breakfast was put on hold as they laughed themselves stupid, until Sandra had tears rolling down her face and half chewed food on her plate. She scooped it up and ate it again, which only set Liz off once more. Sandra struggled to chew and swallow before joining in.

They were laughing so hard they didn’t notice the knock at the door. They had no idea how long the knocking had been going on for, but it was a loud banging before they heard it. Whoever was there, they’d obviously heard them.

Sandra got up from the table, giggling like an idiot as she staggered down the hall. She was in hysterics, and Liz was only feeding the hysterics as her laughter carried down the corridor. Sandra opened the door in high spirits, and encountered the cold, stern face of Richard Pohler. She giggled, huffed, wheezed, and then stopped. His face sucked every ounce of joy out of her.

“Ah fuck.”

Richard didn’t react. Neither did the two large men in suits standing behind him. She could see it was a beautiful, sunny day outside, and she felt none of it. She looked up at Richard, unsure of what to say. Liz expressed herself as only she could, still giggling and getting carried away with herself.

“If it’s the Mormon’s tell them we’re in a lesbian relationship and we’re only interested in a sister-wife.”

Sandra said nothing, and hid her amusement. Richard did not hide his disdain. Liz did not stop.

“Sandra? Sandra? Saaaaannnndddrrraaaaaaa.” The chair scraped against the floor as she got up, and stomped down the corridor still munching her toast. She saw an old man in a suit, and two other men in suits, and made the natural assumption. “Oh for fucks sake. Look, gentlemen, whatever you’re selling, I don’t care if it’s religion or sofas, we’re not interested, unless it involves a bottle of olive oil and the male cast of True Blood.” She grinned like an idiot at Richard.

Sandra gestured from one to the other.

“Liz, this is Richard Pohler. Richard Pohler, this is my friend, Elizabeth Jones.”

Liz paused, looked from Sandra to Richard, and dropped the toast.

“Get. Fucked.”

Richard pretended she didn’t exist, and addressed Sandra. “I would like to talk to you.”

“Sure”, Sandra said. She stood there, uncomfortable. She then gestured down the house. “Why don’t you come in then? I believe I owe you breakfast. We’re halfway through ours, why don’t you join us?”

He went down the hallway, alone, as Sandra shut the door before his security could follow him. “Just down on the end, have a seat, we’ll be with you in a jiffy.”

He strode to the kitchen without breaking composure, still reeking of power despite the unkempt structure he was in. Liz stopped Sandra before she could follow him.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“He’s come here to find out something. I can’t just tell him to fuck off, he’s come to us Liz.”

“To you.”

“To me, whatever. That gives us the upper hand. Whatever he wants, he’s gonna have to get all Hannibal Lecter on us before we spill anything.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“Quid pro quo, Liz. If he wants stuff from us, then he’s gonna have to give just as good.” Sandra smiled at her own cleverness. Liz wasn’t quite so impressed.

“I don’t like the analogy. Doesn’t really work for me.”

“Yeah, alright.But you know what I mean.”

“I do, it just suggests he wants to eat us.”

“Maybe we want to eat him. Maybe he’s Jodie Foster, and we’re the cannibals.”

“I don’t care San, I’m not into eating people.”

“Okay. Jesus. This is not about cannibalism.”

“You suggested it.”

“Okay. Fine. Can we just to talk to the billionaire in my kitchen.”

“Sure. Let’s go.”

They headed back to the kitchen. Liz continued talking.

“Sounds like a children’s book. ‘There’s a billionaire in my kitchen.’”

“And an arsehole in my fridge.” Sandra followed, and they began giggling again until they emerged into the kitchen, to find Richard sitting at the table, excellent posture, hands firmly but not submissively in his lap, waiting for his hosts.

They stopped laughing.

“Sorry”, Sandra apologised. “Can I get you a coffee?”

“Black. No sugar”, he replied.

Sandra sat opposite him as Liz set the percolator into action.

“Espresso in the limo.” Sandra said.

“Exactly.”

“So. Mr Pohler. What brings you to my fine establishment?” she asked, thinking she knew the answer already. She didn’t.

“I don’t know where my son is”, he replied, “and I’d like you to help me find him.”

Sandra blinked, but since she had decided to be in charge and to give nothing away, that was the only reaction he was ever going to get.

“I don’t understand. I assume you mean Sebastian. You don’t know where he is? You don’t know what has happened to him?”

“I don’t know anything. I haven’t seen him since he took you to your office. He told me he had some business to attend to, and that was the last I saw him.”

“Do you mean you want to know what happened between us, or you actually want me to help you find him?”

“I’m not going to repeat myself.”

“Excuse me if this makes no sense, but why have you come here? Surely you can buy a million private investigators. You practically told me yesterday that you can buy the police.”

“I can do all of that Ms Walker, and have done. I’ve got private investigators, thugs, the police, everyone is looking for my son.”

“So why you are here.”

Richard sat back in his chair, and looked around the kitchen. It was an extension to the original cottage but had still been there for some time, patched together with bits and pieces to make it liveable. Liz leant against the bench, next to the old stove top. Richard’s expression slowly slipped.

“This place reminds me of my first home”, he said. Sandra doubted that.

“Really? I thought you were born into money. Aren’t you the son of wealthy immigrants?”

He looked at her, betrayed no surprise, but smiled that family smile.

“Oh, but you see it wasn’t that simple. It never is. Yes, my parents were wealthy. So were my grandparents, and so on. Old, old money. My father was concerned that we would take it all for granted, so we were given access to all privileges until we were 16, and then we were cut lose. Set free, he called it. Essentially it meant we had no money and had to make it on our own.”

“By us you mean yourself and Stephen.”

“That’s right. Him being the younger by several years meant he watched me struggle. I left school, got a job, made my own way. I rented a place not unlike this, amazingly similar actually, with five other people.”

“When did you get access to the money again?”

“When they died. That was it. On your own until you collect your inheritance. I couldn’t do the same thing to my boys – partly because it never seemed fair, but also because like a monarch in waiting, I was praying for my parent’s death. So I gave my boys a choice – they could stay and work for me, or cut themselves off and give it a go on their own. But they would be welcome back at any time. Sebastian stayed. Richard left.”

“So why come to me?”

“As know, police can be bought. Private Investigators, anyone really. They can be bought by the highest bidder, and I can’t trust anyone. And now that Sebastian is gone I’m beginning to trust the people close to me less and less. But you, Ms Walker, you have been investigating this on your own steam. You have been dragged into this against your will, and you want some answers. Because of this I can trust you. You can’t be bought. For you, this is personal.”

“How do you know I’ve been investigating this?”

“You’re that type of person Ms Walker. And I’ve had you followed. I get updates of everywhere you’ve been, and everything you’ve done.”

“Right. And yesterday, they told you about yesterday?”

“That’s right. You left your office and then spent the afternoon at The Four Legs before moving on to the Library where you researched my family. A little rudimentary, but I suppose it makes sense.”

“And that’s it? That’s all we did.”

“Correct.”

“I see.” Sandra took a deep breath. “First things first Richard. Whoever is following me you can’t trust them. Continue to hire them, don’t let them know something is wrong, but don’t believe what they tell you. I promise you, that’s not all I did yesterday. I can’t tell you what it was that I did do, not yet. But there was much more than what they told you.”

Richard took all of this without missing a beat.

“I see.”

“Have you tried calling Sebastian?”

“That’s a ridiculous question.”

“I need you to do something for me. I need you to try and call him again.”

“Why?”

“Trust me on this. Just do it.”

He did trust her. He reached into his jacket pocket, and as he did so Sandra looked at Liz, who picked up her bag, and rummaged through it. She removed the phone Sandra had taken from Sebastian, and put it in her pocket. Richard selected the number. He put the phone to his ear.

“Is it ringing?” she asked, even though she could hear the ringing from the earpiece.

Richard nodded. It was ringing. Sandra looked at Liz, who shook her head. No vibrating. Liz slightly removed her hand from her pocket to look at the phone. The light was on, but it was definitely not ringing.

She heard it go to a message service. Richard hung up without even bothering to speak to them.

“You see. Nothing.”

“I do. I do. Can you do one more thing for me?”

“Yes.”

“Can you ring your other son’s phone for me? Can you ring Richard’s phone?”

“I don’t understand.”

“I don’t need you to. I just need you to ring it.”

Confused, Richard senior flipped through his contacts, found his other son’s number, and called it. As he did so, the percolator percolated on the stove, bubbling loudly in Richard’s right ear. He held the phone to his left ear, and it began to ring loudly.

Sandra looked at Liz who had swapped the phones, but she didn’t need to. Underneath all the noise she could hear the sounds of The Clash singing Rock the Kasbah.

With coffee in one ear and ringing in the other Richard heard nothing, and hung up. Liz poured Richard his coffee, and he looked at her, confused. “Well.”

“Well Mr Pohler”, said Sandra, satisfied. “We’ll take the case.”