Glimmer of the Other

By Heather G. Harris

Chapter 1

I was perched precariously in a birch tree in Mr Michael Mackenzie’s back garden. It was chilly out, and I pulled my green camouflage jacket tighter. I tried my best not to shift around. I was employed for discreet surveillance and falling out of a tree didn’t fit the bill.

I’d been in situ for a good hour before I saw movement in the conservatory. The freshly showered Mr Mackenzie was carrying something large into the glass-covered room. It was a human-sized fox plushie, complete with plush boobs and big eyes framed with eyelashes. The fox plushie had her mouth open as if she were surprised.

I grimaced a little. She was going to be surprised all right. Mr Mackenzie removed the tented towel from his waist and lay down next to Miss Foxy. It wasn’t long before things started getting hot and heavy. I’d definitely seen enough.

I took a short video and several pictures on my phone. Fetish cases are often harder than cheating spouse cases. Mr Mackenzie wasn’t actually cheating on his wife; he just had a kink that he preferred to keep secret. Of course, I was about to blow that out of the water.

Fetishes are a murky area. The newly-wedded Mrs Mackenzie had suspected her husband of cheating on her, but technically he wasn’t. Maybe she’d be okay with her husband getting it on with a fake fox, or maybe it’d be too much for her. But Mr Mackenzie hadn’t done anything wrong. Maybe it’s a good idea to make sure your spouse shares or understands your kinks before you rush down the aisle, but the truth is that I’m no expert. I haven’t had a relationship last longer than a long weekend.

I climbed carefully down the tree. Mr Mackenzie was too busy with Miss Foxy to notice. I went over the back fence, walked down the alley and got into my car, a black Ford Focus. They’re a dime a dozen and she certainly doesn’t stand out, which makes her handy for a private investigator. My dog just about fits inside her too, if he takes up the whole back seat. That’s okay; I don’t often have passengers.

I called Mrs Mackenzie and arranged a meet in fifteen minutes at her local Starbucks. I figured I’d get there in five and would have a chance to order a latte before she arrived.

I parked up front, hopped out and ordered my drink. I was sitting in an armchair when Sarah Mackenzie walked in with a friend. She was twenty-seven, blonde, beautiful and voluptuous; even on a bad day, she was still out of Mr Mackenzie’s league. He was forty-six, mousy and also voluptuous, but not in a good way. He was also pretty wealthy. I couldn’t say what their emotional connection was like, save that she had cried her eyes out when she explained all the reasons she suspected ‘Mick’ of having an affair. The cynic in me wondered how much Mr Mackenzie’s money contributed to her tears.

Mrs Mackenzie’s friend was a brunette, svelte and athletic, and she had a hardness in her eyes that told me she was a no-bullshit type. Mrs Mackenzie had struck me as nice but vapid, and I wondered how they had become friends. I’m nosey like that.

I stood up to greet them. ‘Jinx!’ Mrs Mackenzie wailed. ‘Just tell me … just tell me straight.’ She slumped into the armchair opposite me. I thought, perhaps rather ungenerously, that she was milking the scene somewhat. Some people live for drama.

During my seven years as a PI, I’ve learnt that pictures really are worth a thousand words. I pulled up a well-angled shot on my phone and made sure to show it only to Mrs Mackenzie.

She stood up and let out a dramatic shriek. ‘Oh my God, oh my God ! What the hell is he doing to that … thing?’ She sank back into the armchair. ‘I’m going to faint. I’m going to throw up. I don’t know which way to go.’

Her friend pushed Mrs Mackenzie’s head between her legs. ‘Push against my hand and breathe,’ she instructed. Mrs Mackenzie obeyed.

I waited in silence while Mrs Mackenzie tried to wrap her mind around what she’d seen. She waved her friend’s hand away. ‘I’m all right, Lisa. I’m okay.’ Lie ,my internal radar pinged. She wasn’t okay, and I didn’t blame her.

She shook her head. ‘I’m just – hell!’

‘You’re in shock,’ I offered helpfully.

‘No shit, Sherlock,’ Lisa snarled.

I guessed I wasn’t her favourite person. Deflection – I get it a lot.

‘Show her the picture,’ Mrs Mackenzie said. ‘She’s my cousin. I need someone to know.’ True.

Now their relationship made a little more sense – they weren’t friends, they were family. I showed Lisa the picture. She blinked several times before she paled and sat down. ‘Well,’ she said. ‘Well then.’

‘He’s fucking a fox,’ Mrs Mackenzie said flatly.

‘A plushie fox,’ I explained. ‘It’s not real.’

‘I’ve always liked Mick,’ Lisa said. Lie ,my internal radar told me.‘But this is a bit … different. You really had no idea?’ she asked dubiously. She was trying to be diplomatic, trying not to let her dislike of Mr Mackenzie show.

Mrs Mackenzie shook her head, her eyes glassy and wide. She stared at her hands and picked at her peeling nail varnish. ‘No. He doesn’t even have a soft toy from his childhood. I had no idea he … with … that… Christ!’ True.

It was time for me to make my exit. ‘I’ll leave you to talk things over.’ I stood up. ‘I’ll email through the evidence and my invoice, as discussed.’

Mrs Mackenzie looked up. ‘Thanks, Jinx. It’s not what I expected, but I needed to know. I love him.’ True. Huh, I guess she really did love him. It takes all kinds.

‘No problem. I hope things work out for you.’ I nodded politely to Lisa and made my way out. Another day, another dollar.

It was 4 p.m. I had a debtor trace on the books, but I wasn’t feeling fresh, so I called it a day and headed home. Home is a three-bedroom, semi-detached house on a good street in an even better area. I was born and raised in Buckinghamshire, and I’d inherited my house from my parents when I was eighteen. I’d done very little with it since.

I run my business, Sharp Investigations, from the house. I had toyed with the idea of renting office space, but my operation is too small to need it. I do my job well, but I don’t advertise and I’m run off my feet. I have a basic website and a PO box. Keep off the radar – it was my parents’ watch phrase, and I try to obey it.

I parked outside my house and walked over to my neighbour’s. Mrs Harding looks after my dog when I’m on a job and can’t take him with me. Gato is a three-year-old enthusiastic Great Dane. I’ve had him for just over a year and a half. He’s sleek, black and has a distinctive white blaze across his face. He is a simple creature who loves nothing more than cuddling on the sofa. He’s easy going and friendly, but he despises walks in the rain. The most important thing about him, though, is that he loves me unconditionally; he is one of two creatures left on this Earth that do – though I think Mrs Harding has some affection for me too.

She opened the door, dressed immaculately as always with painted nails that matched her outfit. Today she was in floral coral. Her lined face had sweeps of careful make-up, and she didn’t look her age.

Gato pushed his way past her. ‘Be careful!’ I admonished, as he nearly took out the sixty-two-year-old woman in his hurry. I gave him an enthusiastic body rub in greeting, and he licked my face.

For a moment the grass he was standing on flickered turquoise. I blinked and it returned to its normal shade. Maybe I was more tired than I thought.

‘Hey, pup,’ I greeted him. ‘Did you have a nice day with Mrs Harding?’ He wagged his tail enthusiastically.

Mrs Harding has lived next door for as long as I can remember. Her husband, Sam, died a few years ago, and her daughter, Jane, visits infrequently. Jane is about ten years older than me. She has never married or had kids, and seems to have no inclination towards either. She’s a consultant in A she says she does it because she enjoys the company. She claims she is too old to commit to a dog of her own, but she’s more than happy to care for mine. I enjoy giving her weird and wonderful thank-you gifts. To be honest, mangoes were a pretty poor effort. I’d have to up my game tomorrow.

I waved goodbye and unlocked my front door. Once inside, I slid home two deadbolts, a chain and a Yale lock. The house hasn’t really changed since my parents were alive, save for the added security, and I know I should redecorate. Some shrink or other would say it is indicative of my issues, that I haven’t significantly altered the house since their death. I painted the lounge after their murder to cover the blood stains, and, eventually, I redecorated the master bedroom, but only because of my best friend Lucy’s non-stop pestering. It was another year before I actually moved into that bedroom.

Despite Gato’s play with the postman, he was still frisky, so I swapped my camo jacket for a leather one, grabbed some poo bags and headed out. We had a brisk walk to the park, where Gato peed on virtually every flower he could find.

I tensed as a little white Westie careened towards us, yapping playfully. When the dog got to within three metres, she stopped as if frozen. A low growl emerged from her throat and she started to back away slowly. When she was a little further away, she turned tail and ran.

‘It’s okay,’ I told Gato firmly. ‘We don’t need any other dogs to like you. I like you more than enough for anyone. You’re my best boy.’ I patted him and his tongue lolled out in a doggy smile. He isn’t bothered that he’s a pariah to other dogs but I mind. I feel like the other dogs are bullying my baby in the playground, but there’s nothing I can do about it. Even the finest treats have never enticed another dog close to Gato.

Ignoring the Westie incident, we walked on. An area in the park was cordoned off by the police, and CSI was there. I walked closer and called Gato to heel. I recognised one of the policemen as Detective Steve Marley who had dated one of my friends in high school; the juvenile relationship was brief, so we weren’t bosom buddies. Our paths had crossed during the last few years as I’d given witness evidence in several court cases.

I gave him a nod and a small smile, and he came over. He is tall and willowy, with prematurely greying hair and an open face. I bet he’s a runner. ‘Jinx,’ he greeted me with a friendly smile.

‘Hey, Steve. What’s up?’

He frowned. ‘A stabbing.’ Lie. Why would Steve lie about the nature of a crime? The news report would be out soon enough. Curious.

I whistled. ‘Damn, this neighbourhood is going downhill. Fatal?’ I kept it casual but my heart was racing. However tenuous the connection, I always hoped a new attack might provide clues about my parents’ deaths.

He shook his head. ‘Nah, a few slices to the arm and neck.’ True. ‘The victim said he owed some money to a few different sharks. I’d say one of them got sick of waiting.’

That rang true as well but I didn’t understand why the victim was sliced and not stabbed. What was the difference? Weirder and weirder. ‘Any idea which loan shark?’ I asked.

‘Too early to say.’ Lie . Now that lie I could understand; it was an open investigation, so Steve wasn’t supposed to divulge details of suspects. Besides, people lie all the time. Some people do it for fun. It probably meant nothing, but I noted it all the same.

I wished Steve well and headed back home, a little on edge. Stabbings, even pseudo-stabbings, make me jittery. The image of my parents’ ruined bodies flashed into my mind. You couldn’t call what had happened to them a stabbing – it was a violent and vicious rending of their flesh to the point that I wasn’t able to identify them properly. Identification had required dental records. And yet their deaths had been chalked up to a home invasion gone wrong. My ass.

I pushed it away. Not now. Later. Later I’d dream of them and the tang of blood.

Gato seemed spooked too. Normally he dashes away from me and then runs back, but tonight he was walking close to me and looking around. He stayed by my side until we were nearly home then abruptly turned, hackles raised, and let out a low, menacing growl.

I couldn’t see anything that could be upsetting him and the hairs on my neck stood up. ‘Come on,’ I coaxed, feeling unnerved. ‘We’re nearly home.’

Gato followed me, growling the whole time. He was freaking me out. His eyes were fixed on something that I couldn’t see, but it wasn’t outside the realms of possibility that there was something – someone – out there that couldn’t be seen.

I drew my small knife out of my pocket and flicked out the blade. ‘Whatever you are,’ I said calmly, ‘you can fuck off. We’re not an easy target.’

Gato barked twice to emphasise my words. I watched him move his head as if watching something walk away. He stopped growling. I swallowed hard, shaken but trying to pretend I wasn’t.

Mrs Harding opened her door. ‘Everything okay, Jinx?’ she asked with concern.

I forced a smile onto my face. ‘Fine, Mrs H. Gato just got a little spooked.’

‘Did he?’ She looked around. ‘That’s not like him.’

I shook my head.

Mrs H looked around one last time. ‘Nothing here, Gato,’ she reassured him. He trotted to her and gave a little whine. She stroked his head. ‘All gone. Good boy.’ She patted him and gave me a wry smile. ‘Well, that’s given me the wobbles. I’ll be sure to lock my front door tonight.’

I rolled my eyes. ‘You should lock the doors every night, Mrs H!’ I said, exasperated.

She laughed. ‘You’re right, of course. Good night, Jinx. Sleep well.’

‘You too, Mrs H.’

I switched on all the lights as I went inside, then went into the kitchen and started to make dinner. I also made myself a coffee; caffeine or not, I knew sleep would be a long time coming tonight. All the meditation in the world wasn’t going to chase away the nightmares that would haunt me.

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