Ashes to ashes

The smell of tangerine and musk hung in the air thanks to the low wind while Fros ran back to the house, grabbed her keys and jumped into the car. For a while the smell was so clear she could follow it with a bag over her head. And then she turned onto a street blocked by traffic.

“Bugger,” she muttered and made to turn back but it was too late. There were already three cars lined behind her. Fros peered ahead but there was no sign of either Peter, not that she expected it, or the cause of the jam. There was nothing to do but sit and wait, and seethe.

The wind picked up as traffic began moving, forcing Fros to pull her window all the way down and start sniffing. The smell was becoming weaker. Fros gritted her teeth. She had no idea what she would do even if she managed to find Peter who clearly did not wish to be found. The topic of his wishes, however, could wait until she found him and asked him what the hell he thought he was doing jumping through windows and running away like that after everything she and Tal had done for him.

Traffic slowed down again and the smell changed direction. Now it was coming from the street ahead. It was also coming from the one that went off to the right, which revealed the cause of the jam.

Fros cursed when she saw the dozen or so people sitting and lying on the tarmac with two men in police uniforms milling around. Two of the people on the tarmac held a banner proclaiming something about the climate but Fros had neither the desire nor the patience to read all of it. The smell of tangerine and musk was more potent in that direction, which meant Peter had either come from that direction or gone into that direction after paying her the weirdest visit in history. And she couldn’t follow him because she was stuck in his stupid car because of some stupid protest.

“I told them walking was easier,” she hissed at the windscreen and slapped the wheel. Jumping out of the car and running through the protesters was an option but it wasn’t the best one. This option would attract attention and Fros did not need attention right now. So she gritted her teeth and kept crawling after the red Peugeot with the grazed left wing.

The driver of a car further ahead jumped out and started shouting at the policemen and gesturing at the protesters. The nearest policeman said something to the man, who was pointing at the line of cars and then nodded at the protesters. The other policeman told his colleague something. He hesitated but eventually nodded and leaned over the protester at the end of the line. The protester did not react to the policeman’s words, whatever they were. The gesticulating driver picked a more direct approach – he grabbed the next protester by the collar and started pulling him to the curb. Another driver – an impressively built lady – got out of her car and went to help him.

“Hooray for angry drivers,” Fros murmured as the line of cars started crawling along the freed lane. One of the protesters dragged off the street tried to crawl back. The policemen stopped her and gestured to the line to keep moving. Fros moved, deep in thought.

Peter had woken up. This should have made her happy – and it should have made her call Tal to let him know – but it hadn’t. It had worried her and his appearance at the end of her street had worried her even more. As far as she remembered, he had nothing to apologise to her about and yet here he had stood, mouthing “I’m sorry.” Alternatively, she may have imagined it, which made a lot more sense, Fros decided as she punched Tal’s number into her phone.

“I saw him,” she said without introductions and crawled another few inches forward, sniffing the air. “He came to my street but didn’t come to the house.”

“How did he look?” Tal said so urgently the words almost tripped each other over.

“He looked alive and sane.” There was an ongoing debate in Fros’s mind on that last point but Tal could use the good news. The debate could wait. “And he smelled like himself.”

Tal exhaled audibly. Fros waited, sniffing again. The smell still lingered but it was getting obscured by all the other smells typical of a traffic jam – the exhaust fumes, the multitude of tyres and all the smells of all the occupants of the cars even if the weather was not conducive to open windows, mercifully. As she inhaled another portion of the smelly air she detected a new addition to the cocktail. A surprising one.

“Okay, did you see which way he went?” Tal said.

“I’ve got to go, Tal,” Fros said as her throat tightened with anticipation. “I’ll call you later.”

“What? Wait, you can’t just—”

She could and she did. The phone flew to the passenger seat and Fros stepped on the accelerator as the road finally cleared.

The further she went in the direction that the new smell was coming from, the fewer cars she saw. A fire engine passed her on its way in the same direction confirming her suspicions even though she did not need the confirmation. By this time, the smell was overwhelming her nose. Tal called four times before he gave up but Fros had no time to pick up and explain. Fros had a trail to follow although if asked why she thought there was a connection between Peter and the smell of smoke she’d sensed in the jam, she would have had trouble coming up with an explanation that made sense beyond “That’s where his smell came from.”

The road ended at a narrow alley currently blocked by two police cars and the fire engine. A house at the far end of the alley was burning high and bright, like an oversized and badly misplaced log. An extra dry log, judging by the cracking and popping. This was not surprising given that all the houses in the alley were old and decrepit, and looked and smelled abandoned. Of course Peter would hide here. It made perfect sense.

Fros got out of the car and walked up to the trio of policemen who were keeping what few people had strolled up to watch the fire at a distance from the blaze that the firefighters were attacking with torrents of foamy water that smelled of chemicals that did little to alleviate the effects of the smell of smoke on her nostrils.

“Hey there,” she said as sweetly as she could in the circumstances, which included a shot nose and higher than usual levels of agitation. First that protest and now a fire. Fros briefly considered the chances of Peter organising the protest to prevent her from catching up with him. The idea stayed in her head for three whole seconds before getting dismissed on the sound grounds that Peter couldn’t have had time to organise a protest at that specific location at such a short notice. The idea that he was connected to the fire remained.

“Please stay where you are,” the policeman she had addressed said with a nod.

“I will. I just wanted to ask if you knew anything about the fire.” She pulled out her ID wallet, opened it and turned it to the policeman. “I’m investigating a missing person and I have information she was spotted in this part of town.”

The policeman hesitated for a second and stepped towards her.

“We have no information about any inhabitants,” he said.

“How did you know about the fire?”

“Anonymous call,” he said and raised his arm as a lanky teenager stepped forwards, obviously crossing an invisible line while he shot the fire with his phone. “Sir, step back, please. Thank you.”

“Was it a man or a woman?” Fros asked. “The anonymous call.”

“A man, I think,” the policeman said. “What’s the name of the missing person?”

“Peterson,” Fros said and almost blushed at her poor imagination. “Jane Peterson.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell,” the policeman said conversationally.

“The relatives don’t want the police involved,” Fros said and regretted it instantly when the friendly light in the policeman’s eyes dimmed. “You know how some people are. Anyway, thanks and good luck.”

“Yeah, you too,” the man said and turned back to the audience.

“Just one more thing,” Fros said and tossed her head back the moment he turned so her hair swung and fell over her back and shoulders like a soft silken curtain – or so she hoped, feeling cheap and also feeling out of time and patience for finesse. “It’s a lot to ask, I know, but could you perhaps call me if you find any human remains inside? When it’s safe to go inside, that is.”

She smiled and offered him a business card. “You see, I’m new to the business and this is one of my first cases. I could use some help.” The smile widened while Fros considered her chances. She didn’t have a lot of experience in charming men into co-operation but if she didn’t try that, she would have to follow the investigation from the distance of both space and time.

For what seemed like half an eternity the policeman sized her up, to his credit focusing on her face rather than other parts. Then he took the card.

“Fang in Fang? That’s an odd name.”

“It was my partner’s idea,” Fros said with a shrug that masked the happy little dance she was doing in her mind. “She said it was catchy and would make people wonder what it meant.”

“And what does it mean? Please, madam, step back. Thank you.”

“It means when we sink our teeth into a case we don’t let go until we solve it,” Fros said and laughed. The sound came out strained and Fros cleared her throat to mask the strain.

The policeman allowed himself half a smile and put the card in his trouser pocket.

“Okay, I’ll call you in case we find any remains but I doubt it. No one’s lived here in years except passing by squatters and addicts looking for a spot.”

“Thank you,” Fros said leaning forward as if decency was the only thing keeping her from hugging him. She no longer felt cheap. It was only cheap if it didn’t work. “I really appreciate it.”

By the time she left, the smell of tangerine and musk had completely dissipated and the smell of smoke was being replaced by the smell of charred wood and burned paint. There was no smell of burned flesh but Fros couldn’t trust her nose fully yet. It had taken in too much smoke.

Tal intercepted her in the parking lot. He was lurking by the entrance although lurking was too delicate a word for what he was doing, which was pacing up and down, and looking up immediately when he heard the car approach.

“Where the hell were you? Where’s Peter? What happened?” The verbal onslaught began as soon as she hit the brakes. “What happened?”

Fros got out of the car and locked it.

“Nothing happened,” she said and started towards the door to the main building, Tal on her heels. “I tried to follow his smell but there was a bloody traffic jam because of a bloody climate protest and I lost the bloody trail because the wind picked up just then. But I found a burning house.”

Tal stopped.

“What?”

Fros turned.

“A burning house. Abandoned. I asked one of the policemen there to give me a call in case they found human remains. If Peter hid there, for example,” she added under her breath.

Tal’s eyes shone brighter.

“That’s great. That means we have a lead or whatever this is called. Do we?”

Fros shook her head.

“I don’t know what we have but I’m tired and my nose hurts. I need a herbal bath or something. And some food since I can’t get any meaningful amount of sleep these days,” she grumbled as she dragged her feet up the stairs. “Did you find anything about that embezzling?”

“What? Who cares? Tell me how he looked.”

“I care because we have a business to run here. He looked fine as far as I could tell. He never came to the house, he just stood at the end of the street.” And he had apologised or she had imagined him apologising. And since there was nothing Fros could remember worth apologising for, it had to be something he intended to do, but sharing this with Tal would be the equivalent of pouring a generous amount of oil on an already lively fire.

“Okay, so he may be fine but he has other plans,” Tal said more to himself than her.

“What other plans? Avenging his death?” She lowered her voice as they walked into the Fang and Fang offices. Fros continued to her office grateful that Jules’s door was closed.

“Maybe. Why not?” Tal had followed her in, leaned on the door and crossed his arms. “Did you notice anything else?”

Fros slumped into her chair and massaged the bridge of her nose fully aware this wasn’t going to help.

“Tal, I told you everything. There’s nothing more. He came, he stood, he left. I tried to follow him and lost the trail. Now, could you please get me a sandwich or a pie or anything with meat in it?”

Tal waited a few seconds, frowning at her, but when Fros failed to share any untold secrets about Peter’s surprising appearance he uncrossed his arms.

“Okay, at least we know he’s alive.”

“Yes. So, about that embezzling. Anything?”

Tal stopped with a hand on the door handle.

“Yeah, yeah, he was skimming off his clients’ accounts. It’s a slow way to steal a lot of money but it’s a safe way. A few pennies here, a few pennies there – they tend to accumulate over time.”

“And how much has accumulated in Silverman’s pocket?” Fros asked, forcing her mind to focus on work. It took some effort.

“I haven’t made any calculations,” Tal said with a face that suggested she was being rude for even asking. “I only noted the discrepancies since you were looking for proof of embezzling. Well, you have it now, so maybe I could go home.”

“To what? To an empty bed?” Fros said more sharply than she planned. “Notice the unintended innuendo.”

“I did, thanks. I’ll go get you your sandwich before you faint.”

“And then maybe you could help me find something slightly more substantial than a sandwich.”

Tal waved a hand without turning as he left the room, almost bumping into Tom.

Fros groaned on the inside.

“Have you got a minute?” Tom asked. Today, the shortbread smell was sharper, mixed with something vaguely familiar that Fros was too tired to put a finger on.

“Of course, come in.”

Tom did. He planted himself opposite her and gave her a crooked smile.

“Jennifer Peterson is missing.”

“Missing?”

“Well,” he said, “The house is empty and has been since yesterday. Her car is gone and, according to the cleaning lady I kind of bribed, so is a suitcase and clothes.”

“And we care about this because?” Her ears were ringing and her head had resumed the bad tooth-style pulsing.

Tom leaned over the desk and propped his hands on it.

“Because if we ever needed conclusive proof that she’s the one who murdered her husband, now we have it. Who leaves like that?”

“Anyone who wants to have a bit of time off, Tom. I see what you mean. I just don’t necessarily agree with it. And it’s proof of nothing. Unless you stumble on a rose bush and uncover a dog’s corpse this case is done. In fact I could use your help with another one.”

As she clapped herself on the mental shoulder for hatching this brilliant plan that would take Tom’s mind off the case she’d messed up, her stomach growled loudly.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. The shortbread smell intensified and no wonder – the window was closed. Fros swallowed.

Tom sat in the visitor chair.

“What’s the case?”

“Embezzling,” she said. “And the suspect’s dead. Killed quite sadistically.”

Tom’s eyebrows shot up in excitement he didn’t even try to hide.

“The accountant? I saw it on the news. Of course I want to help with that. What do we know so far?”

“Well, we know he was skimming off client accounts as Tal put it. Do you think you could work with him to come up with some sort of a total? Also, if you could dig a little deeper in case he dug a little deeper into a client’s account and they decided to retaliate, that would be great.”

It would have to be a very deep digging to justify the way Will Silverman had died but you never knew. Bad habits were hard to kick and it looked like Silverman had had a pretty bad habit.

“And I will… Oh, thank you,” she said when Tal walked in with a pork pie, freshly microwaved because he had obviously forgotten she’d rather eat her food cold than microwaved. By this point, however, Fros was nearing the dangerously hungry stage. She bit into the pie. “This is Tal,” she said with her mouth full and pointed.

“Nice to meet you. It looks like we’ll be working together,” Tom said as he stood and offered his hand to Tal who looked at it, then at Fros, at whom he scowled. Fros shrugged and continued eating.

“We need to know how much he stole,” she said between the final two bites of the pie. “And I need another one of these, after which I’ll go talk to Silverman’s wife to see if there was anything else dirty in his life.” She brushed a pie crumb off her hand and stood.

“Okay. I’ll call you as soon as I have something to report,” Tom said promptly and followed her out of her office. Tal trailed them, his eyes boring a hole in the back of Fros’s neck.

“Thanks,” she said and nodded at them both, pointedly ignoring the meaningful look Tal directed her way. “I’ll see you two tomorrow.”

“Fros!” Tal was desperate. “It’s past seven. Do you really want us to do this now?”

A glance at the windows of the common room told her it was dark outside. It had been for hours and Fros hadn’t noticed.

“No, of course not. Start tomorrow. I’m going to get my pie,” she added with another nod and a look at Tal as meaningful as his own. Tal’s meaning had been that he couldn’t care less about dead accountants and their illegal practices. Her meaning was that he would do what he was told or he’d be sent to his room without dinner for his own safety. Fros could only hope she’d get that across.

“Okay. See you,” Tom said, oblivious to the meaningful look exchange. “We’ll call when we find something.”

“Great. I appreciate the when.”