Chapter Seventeen

The Other Pohler

Stephen was taller than his brother, fitter and considerably younger. He seemed to be the antithesis of Richard – not so much the black sheep of the family, as the better looking, more friendly sheep.

“Hi, are you Stephen Pohler?” Sandra asked, as the door was gently opened.

The man in the doorway looked at the two women curiously, trying to size them up. They didn’t look like sales. They could be charity workers. But if they knew his name, then they must be –

“Are you the new people in number 37?” he asked, proving Sandra right that planning was a waste of time. She had been thinking about this moment, and this time she thought it was important to be honest, and to let him know what was going on. It seemed fair given the grave circumstances, and probably more likely to get an honest answer about his family.

“Yes, that’s exactly right”, Liz said before Sandra could say anything, and shouldered passed to shake his hand. “I’m Heather, and this is Alex. It’s so nice to meet you.”

She shook his hand vigorously, and he seemed quite convivial about the over-the-top neighbourliness now exploding from Liz like a clusterbomb of political niceties. He smiled and turned to shake Sandra’s hand. Sandra paused momentarily, exceptionally annoyed at Liz for not reading her mind correctly, perhaps for the first time in the their long friendship. Ah fuckit, it’s too late now.

“Hi, I’m Alex.. Alex Mc..McCandleitch. McCanditch. I know, strange name, don’t tell me, ha ha ha, I’ve heard them all.” She laughed pathetically and shook. He smiled politely back.

Jesus you suck at this.

“Why don’t you two come in and we can get this meeting underway.”

“Sure, thanks”, said Ultra-Friendly Liz, and made her way past him and into the house. Sandra followed, awkwardly. He shut the door behind them, and followed them into the living area.

“Just take a seat anywhere on the end”, he gestured towards the large couches in the large living area. “I was just in the middle of something, I’ll be back in moment.”

He left for another room, probably his office Sandra assumed. The room they were in was a large open living area, with a big TV on one wall, and decorated with bookshelves and photo frames. There was a dining area in the same space, and a wall of windows that looked out to a decked area with an expanse of lawn and garden deep enough to hide the back fence. Next to the dining area was, yet again, a huge kitchen. Sandra wondered how these people came by the money to procure places such as these. Right about now though she wasn’t overly concerned with it – her primary interest was Liz’s cavalier approach to the situation.

“Trustworthy”, Liz snorted, and started poking at things on shelves and tables.

“Liz”, Sandra snapped through clenched teeth. “Liz – what the fuck?”

“What? You wanted to get in, we’re in. You didn’t want a plan, we didn’t have a plan. Worked out alright I reckon.”

“This was not how I wanted to do this.”

“What’s the matter? You don’t like the name Alex? What’s wrong with Alex?”

“What? There’s nothing wrong with Alex, it’s a nice name.”

“Nice – it’s an awesome name. I always wanted to be an Alex. Liz always felt too... regal, you know? Alexandra. Doesn’t feel regal, feels... epic. Memorable. Historic. You should be glad I gave you that.”

“Heather is your middle name. It makes sense to call you Heather, I'm not going to forget it. Where did you get Alex from?”

“I couldn’t call you Beatrice. He’d get suspicious.”

“Look. Heather", Sandra said, concerned. Liz just smiled back.

“Yes Alex.”

“We could be in some real trouble here.”

“Bullshit, look”, she picked up some pictures that were on a nearby table. “He’s got a wife, he’s got kids, look – two boys and a girl. Aren’t they pretty? Awww. He’s a family man. Perfectly friendly.”

They heard a door shut down the hallway, and footsteps. Liz put the picture back quickly. Sandra spoke quietly through guarded teeth.

“You talk. Your call. Your fault.”

Stephen returned, smiling charmingly.

“Sorry about that ladies, it’s just that you’re early and caught me in the middle of something.”

They both made ‘no that’s fine’ noises and gestures, spoke over each other and knocked hands at one point. They both hoped that whatever they were early for, they were really early. Stephen didn’t seem to notice.

“Can I offer you ladies a drink, since we have bit of time on our hands. Tea? Coffee? Beer? I was thinking about having a beer myself if you want one”, he continued to talk as he turned into the kitchen.

“Yeah great thanks”, Liz said and followed him. Sandra stayed in the living area, looking at the photos. Yep, definitely a family man. The house was big, he was certainly well off – denying his inheritance and losing The Scratching Post hadn’t done him any major damage it seemed. Pretty wife, nuclear children, photos of them playing in the park, playing football, it was like an ad for Kodak.

“Wow, that’s one hell of an espresso machine”, she hear Liz say from the kitchen in a horrible flirty lifestyle-TV-show-host-voice. Sandra peaked around the corner. It was a hell of an espresso machine. It wasn’t big, it was just designed like a chrome plated art deco steam punk robot had been built to make coffee, and then compacted to a reasonable size to fit on a bench.

Stephen turned around from the fridge.

“That’s a bit of a classic that one. I’m pretty pleased with it.” He carried the beer over to the bench at the back of the kitchen and opened them.

“What do you mean quite pleased with it?” Liz asked, stroking it like a pet. A steel, caffeinated pet that woke you up good in the morning. Sandra was enthralled. Despite her love for coffee it was also a stunning piece of design.

“That’s what I do”, he said, as he turned around. “I design exclusive appliances. Percolators, toasters, kettles, espresso machines. I do commissioned designs, so the filthy rich have whatever bizarre taste and they hire me to design the machinery to suit that taste. So to speak. Cheers.”

He clinked his bottle against theirs, and they drank together.

“That’s a job?” Sandra was shocked that such a thing existed.

“I didn’t know until I started”, he smiled. “I suppose invented the job really. Came up with an idea, went out and flogged it until I struck the right vein, and I was good at it so I was able to keep finding work. Sometimes I approach clients with ideas, sometimes they approach me. Shall we sit?” he gestured to the lounge area, and they took his suggestion. He followed, and sat after they did.

“Are you one of those guys who gives talks about power and success?” Liz asked, half flirty-joking half convinced that there was no other explanation for this man’s excess of positive energy. Particularly given his genetics.

But he just laughed again. Still, Sandra though, if I did what he did, I’d be laughing all the time too. Prick. Nice guy, but prick.

“No, no, that’s not my scene”, he said. “No, I just do the designing. I’m lucky, I know that.”

Sandra was equally stunned and annoyed. This man was not what she’d expected and didn’t like the idea of deceiving him at all. Liz, on the other hand, seemed to be in her element.

“Wow, you are lucky”, she said. “And good for you for knowing it. So have you done this since, like, ever?”

“No, no, I’ve done lots of things. I’m actually a lot older than I look, my kids keep me young.”

Prick.

“So how does someone end up doing what you do? What else have you done? Have you done like sales or hospitality maybe? Travelled much?”

“Oh, a little bit of this, a little bit of that. You know, life stuff.”

“I wish I did know, but I’m only 21”, (hidden glare from Sandra), “and I’ve got so much to do I don’t know where to start.” Jesus Liz, can you turn it up to 11?

If he was suspicious of her bullshit, he didn’t let on.

“Well, Heather, all I can say is don’t make too many plans. Play it by ear. You never know what life will throw at you. Don’t be afraid to do what you want.”

“Right. Good advice. I bet there’s a wealth of experience to go with that.”

“You do are curious aren’t you?”

“I’m studying anthropology.”

“And what does that have to with my experience?”

“My thesis is street anthropology.”

“Street anthropology?”

“Yeah. Like the way a street functions as a detached community, the tribalistic inclinations of locality, combined experiential knowledge, that sort of thing.”

“Wow, sounds fascinating.”

“Yeah, I’m planning on talking to everyone on the street at some point.”

“Really?”

“Well, our experiences make us what we are, and as a street you have a collective of experience, and how that experience influences the way in which the street interacts and functions as a social ecology. I’m planning on coining Street Anthropology.”

“That’s really interesting Heather. And to be doing a thesis at 21, not bad at all.”

“I’m advanced”, smile, giggle. Poke out the boobs. Jesus, Sandra thought, her bullshit was good, but –

“Why don’t you tell me who you really are”, Stephen said, his expression not really changing much but his tone certainly less jovial. Liz took a few seconds to respond.

“…What? What do you mean? Stephen, come on.”

“No, enough of the bullshit girls. I don’t think you’ve told me a single truthful thing since I opened that front door. Who are you?”

“We’re from number 37. What are you talking about?”

“There is no number 37. The street ends at 33.”

“God dammit Liz”, Sandra exploded. “You pushed it too far. You can’t pretend to be all smart and clever and then poke your boobs out and giggle.”

“I didn’t see you putting in any effort.”

“I was too fascinated by the train wreck.”

Stephen stopped them both

“Shuttup. Both of you. Shut up. There is no number 37. There was no meeting. You’re obviously not Heather. And I’m guessing you’re not Alex.”

She shook her head. Stephen stayed calm. Eerily calm. Every now and then he would take a sip of beer, as if he was quietly enjoying the moment but never letting on exactly what he was up to.

“You’re going to tell me who you are, why you are here, and what your business is.”

Liz stood up.

“I think it’s time we left.”

Stephen didn’t move. He just said:

“I don’t think so.”

It was enough to make her sit down. They were both silent. Stephen sipped his beer, and looked at the two of them. Sandra suddenly had a horrifying thought. Two people were dead. Two people whose father had most likely screwed this man over in the past. Sure, he seemed like a quiet family man, but his blood line were dark, deceiving people. There was not telling what they were capable of. All it really took was the right catalyst, the right nudge.

It suddenly occurred to her that they may have wandered into the house of the murderer, drunk his beer and tipped him off to boot.