Finding Sean

By Gail Larsson

When P I Lane Kintyre sets out to find her missing brother Sean and his girlfriend Tobi, it seems she is working on a missing persons case. This perception soon changes when suspicions of kidnapping are cast on Sean. Lane will be tested to the limits as she tries to save the lives of Tobi and Sean, while untangling a twisted tale from the past that reaches into the present with malevolent intent.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gail Larsson
• Release date: Nov 28, 2010
• ISBN: 9781458048226

Book preview

FINDING SEAN

By

Gail Larsson

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Smashwords Edition

License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This novel is a work of fiction. The names and characters in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Although some towns and locations in Finding Sean are totally fictional, several existing localities are referred to in the novel. All individuals, locales, organisations and agencies used in Finding Sean are either fictitious or used fictitiously.

Finding Sean

Copyright 2010 Gail Larsson

http://www.gaillarsson.com.au

The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Cover design and photography by Gail Larsson

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THANKYOU

To everyone who helped me write this book –

I appreciate every bit of encouragement,

love & support.

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Chapter 1

THE COOL AIR smelt of pine needles and dew. A Mopoke owl sat silently in the shadowed heights of an old eucalypt, watching and waiting, confident that nature would provide as it always did.

Below, hidden in the dark shelter of a late model sedan, cap pulled low over her eyes, sat Lane Kintyre. Her attention was focused exclusively on the row of townhouses nudged up against the hillside in a quiet cul-de-sac below her vantage point. Lane’s borrowed surveillance car was screened from the main road by a large stand of pine trees that whispered to the night in the gentle breeze above her.

Concordia Avenue housed a portion of the middle-class families that now populated the estate titled ‘Alpine Rise’. Madison, a bustling town nestled at the foothills of the Snowy Mountains, featured several similar estates, all established to cater for yuppie and executive tastes and salaries. Lane was interested in the second house along the avenue. Constructed of tan brickwork like the others, it uniquely featured cedar window boxes and a quartz-paved driveway.

She stifled a yawn, and looked at her watch. Just over four hours. Four hours of observing and noting the various comings and goings of the well-to-do inhabitants of Concordia Avenue. It was jobs like this one that made her reflect on her sanity when setting up the private investigation business. Along with the boredom, the cold, and the questionable morality of such work. Still the money was good and the demand was high. Who was she to argue with the marketplace?

She had set up ‘Kintyre Information Services’ four years ago after finally tiring of the assorted jobs she had worked since leaving high school. It had occurred to her that the police assigned to the Madison area couldn’t handle the number of enquiries initiated by the public, and following some more formal market research, she had spent almost a year attending an expensive array of investigative, security and business courses. By the time she was ready to start work, her resources were depleted but her enthusiasm intense, and it was this that had carried the business until she had earned some supporting capital.

A blue Land Rover Discovery swept along the road below and slowed to turn into the driveway of Number 14. The porch light reacted to the movement, bathing the front of the house in a soft yellow glow. Lane made a mental note of the sensor light, and raised her binoculars.

A tall slender man in a well-cut grey suit climbed from the cab, stopping for a moment to judge his reflection in the tinted side window. He ran his hand through thinning blond hair, then pulled plastic shopping bags from the rear of the vehicle. He matched the photo supplied by his wife, Elena Leopold.

As her subject entered the house, Lane referred to her floor plan of the house with the aid of a penlight. Judging from the lights being turned on, Leopold was now in the lounge room. She leaned back and waited to see what would happen next.

Thirty minutes passed before a small hatchback pulled in to park behind the Discovery. ‘Rusty’s Crusty Pizzas’ boasted the side stickers in gaudy red and yellow lettering. Lane’s stomach rumbled. A young man retrieved a pizza bag and bottle of wine from the passenger seat. He was dressed in jeans and white t-shirt that showed every rippling muscle in his upper torso. Lane took a series of photos as the front door opened and the pizza-boy slipped inside. Through the telephoto lens, she caught a glimpse of a tall figure in a dressing gown. The door closed quickly.

Lane made brief notes of the activities in her notebook, then grabbed a black backpack from behind the driver’s seat. She quickly checked the contents of the pack, and when satisfied that everything was in order, stepped out into the cool night.

She crept slowly beneath the pines, picking her way across the irregular ground, feeling the crackle of needles beneath her joggers. Her way was lit only by intermittent moonlight peeking between a ponderous cloud-cover. After reaching clear ground, she headed swiftly down the slope towards the townhouses, crossed the bitumen and vaulted over Leopold’s front garden fence. There was a streetlight further along the road, but it didn’t cast enough light to cause her concern. She was well camouflaged in dark clothing. Above the neighbourhood sounds of a crying baby, television babble and low-toned conversations, was the heavy beat of music coming from within the house.

Lane paused at the side of the porch, hearing the clink of glasses from within the living area. The low temperature meant that open windows were unlikely. She would have to access via the front door, which according to the floor plan, led straight through to the living room.

She inched her way slowly towards the door, keeping herself flattened hard against the wall. The sensor was installed a metre in front of the doorway, ready to activate when visitors approached the house. It took Lane minutes to slowly ease her way behind the sensor’s activation range. The light stayed off.

She slipped the pack off her shoulders, senses straining, removing the necessary components and assembling them in a matter of seconds. She prised up the draught-guard of the door with a screwdriver, then slid through a scoped lens attached to a length of cable. The cable was connected to a hand-held monitor hooked into a digital recorder. There was a metre of cable to play with but it wasn’t needed. The picture on the screen was more than enough without getting any closer.

Lane recorded five minutes of imaging, constantly checking her surroundings for fear of detection. She’d heard of extras with your pizza but this was ridiculous. Elena Leopold wouldn’t be laughing.

Covered by the music and distracted attention of the house’s inhabitants, Lane quickly packed her equipment away and crept back off the porch. She took a couple of photos of the vehicles, featuring the number plates. She returned the camera to her pack and did up the catches.

‘Hey, you!’ A dog barked loudly and shockingly close. Lane whipped the backpack across her shoulders and ran. ‘Hey, what’re you doin’?’ She heard the dog jump the fence. A torch was poking around the front yard, the light bouncing off rose bushes and edged lawn. The porch light activated.

Lane bent low and vaulted the side fence. The male voice persisted in its volume. ‘Leopold! Leopold! Wake up! You’re being robbed!’ A door opened and more voices joined in as she pounded across the next yard. A hairy form snapped viciously at her ankles. She struck out with her foot to discourage the tenacious dog, but tripped and fell headlong, bumping her chin against gravel. Panic sent her to her feet. More lights flicked on. ‘Get him, Butcher!’ The man’s voice sounded fainter as Lane crossed another yard, dodging a thick hedge. More lights were coming on along the street as the commotion grew.

Lane jumped a low front fence and was onto the bitumen. She lengthened her stride on the even surface as a car engine started. Butcher made another lunge and grabbed the hem of Lane’s jeans. The dog held on determinedly, dragged along as Lane struggled to keep running. She fumbled in the side pocket of the pack. They’d better be there, she thought. Her sweating fingers located the handful of small paper-wrapped objects. She flung two of them down hard at the road surface, right beside the dog. Two small detonations cracked through the night. Butcher let go with a yelp of surprise. Lane dashed another handful at the road, setting off a staccato of shots. Butcher turned and fled back down the road.

Lane kept running, allowing herself a grin. Throw-downs were great dog discouragers. Generally she liked dogs, but any PI would agree that there were times when the job would be easier if the canine species never existed.

Her relief died quickly as she heard running steps approaching. Shit, it was the pizza boy, and he was gaining fast. She guessed he had been delayed by having to pull on his jeans and shoes. Lane took the next turn to the right, feet pounding to the beat of her heart. The youth was out of sight for a few moments, and she slowed slightly, pulling at a zipper in the lining of her jacket.

The pizza boy rounded the corner and skidded to a halt. The subject of his pursuit was standing in the middle of the road, in front of a streetlight, all features hidden by shadow. All except for the gun, that was. It was directed squarely at him, and he gulped air while digesting this turn of events.

‘Run,’ a rough voice commanded. The youth hesitated. ‘Run!’ This time the pistol was lowered slightly, the bead redirected at the zipper of his jeans, and he needed no further convincing. He fled back towards the intersection, hearing the throb of the Discovery’s engines somewhere nearby. He didn’t even look back to see what the gunman was doing. He didn’t want to know.

Lane raced down the street, her fingers clenched around the gun butt. She vaulted a fence, then slowed to a trot to enter a nature strip that ran behind the last few houses. She tucked the pistol back into her jacket, the black plastic slick with her sweat. She was aware of the law regarding the use of replica firearms, but she preferred them to having to carry the real thing.

Allowing herself a small sigh of relief, she wiped the sweat from her face with her sleeve, and cut back towards the shelter of the reserve.

It was ten o’clock when Lane entered the warmth of her own house. The extended log cabin served as both office and home to the twenty-five year old. The interior décor could only be described as sparse and practical, suffering a lack of attention from the owner that had lasted almost four years. The few items of furniture were well loved, showing wear and age like the favourites that they were. These included a large timber table that sat in the centre of the lounge room, almost groaning under the weight of papers, books and computer equipment. The table was the nerve centre of Lane’s private investigation business, and the only other person who really appreciated it as such was Clay, Lane’s research assistant.

Clay was just out of his teens and spent much of his time studying for an external degree in literature, and the rest of it working for Lane. They got along well together and the irregular hours suited both their lifestyles.

Lane wolfed down a heat-softened burger she’d collected on her way home after dropping the borrowed sedan to its owner, and collecting her own vehicle, then spent the next half-hour downloading digital video and photo images onto standard media. She labelled both sets, placing the originals into a fireproof safe housed in her bedroom. The copy was deposited into an unsealed envelope. Clay would compile an accompanying invoice, which, along with her finalised report, would be hand-delivered to Mrs Leopold early on Monday.

She brewed a pot of coffee, turned on a heater, put on some music and warmed up the laptop. She sat at the desk, arranging her notes when the phone trilled loudly. Lane picked up the phone with one hand while pointing the remote hurriedly at the stereo.

‘Hello?’

‘Hi, Sis!’ greeted a male voice.

‘Well hello, stranger. It’s about time you got ’round to calling. I thought you might have vanished off the face of the earth or something.’ She walked the phone over to her lumpy couch and kicked off her shoes. ‘Where are you?’

‘We’ve been cruising along the Great Ocean Road. The views are fantastic, sis. Weather’s been great. I’ve even managed to catch a few waves.’ It always puzzled Lane that even though Sean had grown up near the snowfields, he’d developed a passion for surfing. ‘Anyway, we’ve stopped over at a quaint little pub at Hawking Bay. We’re going to meet this dude tomorrow who wants to do a photo shoot with Tobi.’

‘Wow, that’s pretty exciting.’ Tobi was Sean’s girlfriend and she had the looks of an Amazon. ‘How’d you manage that?’

‘Well, we were sitting down having lunch, and he just sort of came up and asked if she was interested. Said Tobi was stunning. Which she is. Still seems a bit suss to me. But you know Tobes, can never pass up a chance to get some more exposure, and I guess it means a few extra bucks …’

Lane fingered the raw graze on her chin. ‘Sean, what do you mean suss?’

His answer was vague. ‘I don’t know, just the fact that it all happened by chance. Seems a bit too coincidental.’

‘Well, did he show you any credentials? Maybe you shouldn’t go.’ His unease had transferred directly to her.

‘Don’t sweat it, Sis. Damn, sorry, gotta go.’

‘Sean, just tell me where you’re meeting this guy.’

‘Not sure yet. Look, there’s a mean-looking sonnuva who wants to use the phone. Probably full of booze, by the looks of him. I could teach him some manners, but I don’t want to hurt him.’

Lane grinned distractedly at her brother’s phony bravado. ‘Just be careful, okay? And be sure to call me tomorrow so that I know you’re alright.’

‘That’s a big ten-four. Over and out.’ There was a slight click, and then she was listening to an engaged signal.

She poured herself a mug of coffee, mulling over the conversation. Sean had said he was calling from a public phone, but the line had been distinctly fuzzy, like a mobile connection. And the background had sounded pretty quiet if he’d been calling from a pub at this time of night. And why was she worrying so much about one phone call? Because it was from her brother – ‘nough said.

Lane rubbed her eyes, trying to clear her mind of the thoughts that buzzed inside her head. She could be in bed in thirty minutes if she got stuck into that report.

Chapter 2

WHEN Lane entered her living area the following morning, yawning and dressed in track pants and checked shirt, she was greeted by bright sunlight and the smell of coffee. A skinny young man sporting a long ponytail looked up from the laptop on the table and flashed her a quick smile.

‘Coffee’s brewed,’ he greeted. His eyes narrowed behind rimless glasses. ‘Rough night?’

‘You could say that.’

‘Am I allowed to ask what happened to your chin?’

‘Canine evasion tactics.’ Lane halted on her way to the kitchen as she spotted the glass terrarium that sat beside the computer. ‘Clay, what the hell is in there?’ she asked, peering amongst the moist greenery that filled most of the glass container.

Clayton Bennington-Smith stopped his tapping on the keyboard.

‘Green tree frog,’ he announced. ‘Cute, isn’t he?’

Lane shifted position, still searching the innards of the terrarium. ‘Well, he might be if I could see him.’

Clay pointed a bony finger at a lump of granite against the glass wall. ‘There.’

Lane spotted the small green shape huddled against the grey stone.

‘He’s so small,’ she murmured. ‘Does he have a name?’

‘Neo.’

Lane smiled. ‘He sure is prettier than Leia.’ She was referring to Clay’s hermit crab.

A faint chirping sound came from the laundry.

‘Oh, that’s lunch,’ explained Clay in answer to Lane’s raised eyebrow. ‘Crickets for Neo.’

‘Well, fresh is best,’ she agreed drily. She straightened. ‘Better call Elena Leopold and set up a place where you can meet on Monday to deliver the report. Somewhere her husband isn’t likely to be.’

Shelby Hicks pulled herself upwards, her biceps tight, her expression taut with the strain. Finally her foot found the next toehold and she panted with relief.

‘Good work,’ congratulated Lane from a few metres to her left. They both clung to the climbing wall like stranded flies. They were about six metres off the ground, and neither could say that it felt comfortable.

‘So how’s Sean going?’ puffed Shelby, her round face slick with sweat.

Lane jumped to reach a handhold. Her fingers held the full weight of her body for a second before her other hand grasped a nearby moulded grip. ‘Fine.’ She flicked her lower body to the side and caught a foothold. She rested a moment. ‘He and Tobi are travelling around Victoria. He said on the phone last night that they were going to a photo shoot today. He’s supposed to be calling me today to let me know how it went.’

Shelby scanned the wall above her position. ‘It’s early yet. They’d want full sun for the shoot, wouldn’t they?’ She levered herself up on the foothold, straining for a higher grip on the right hand side.

Lane nodded. It was barely ten o’clock. The climbing gallery was fairly deserted. They didn’t have to hurry their climbs and could talk as they went. Which was lucky. As beginners, they needed lots of rest on the way up.

Shelby looked across at her friend. ‘You seem preoccupied.’

Lane paused. ‘You know, once someone lies to you, it’s hard to trust them again. I just got the feeling …’

‘Give him a chance, girl. If he hasn’t given you any good reason to suspect he’s up to mischief, then he’s not, and you’ve got nothing to worry about. Now make your move.’

Shelby watched the lithe figure bend then flex upwards, grabbing two new holds to gain a comfortable standing position.

‘So how’s that adorable husband of yours?’ asked Lane after regaining her breath. Inwardly, she was analysing if Sean had given her reason to suspect trouble.

‘He’s great. Do you know that we still have sex twice almost every night?’

Lane rested her forehead against the wall.

‘You two make me sick,’ she said, ‘it’s a sin that two people, both dentists of all things, can be so happy and have such a great sex life!’ She looked at her friend in mock anger. ‘You know you’re getting my share, don’t you?’

‘Oh, that’s good coming from someone who’s humping Mr Universe,’ said Shelby in a loud voice.

Lane almost lost her grip from laughing so much. ‘Can you say it any louder?’

‘Last one to the top buys the coffee,’ called Shelby, and they both fell silent as they strained, pushed and pulled their way up the vertical challenge.

Lane heaved the bundle of timber up into the tree, the faint scent of her sweat mingling with the honey of the flowering gum in the spring air. Around her slim waist she wore a leather pouch bulging with tools and fasteners.

‘Can you get up here and help me with this, Tony?’ Her tone was tinged with frustration. It had been a long day and she was beginning to feel it. ‘And bring the cordless drill, will you, please?’

Her bronzed boyfriend of two months stood below, hands on hips, sculpted arms and chest gleaming in the sunlight. Tony was a living example of how to get skin cancer.

‘Is there room for two?’ he asked doubtfully.

‘When has that ever been a problem?’ she grumbled around the three nails clamped between her lips. Quickly she set the first short plank in place, pulling a hammer from her belt.

Tony pulled himself up the trunk, cursing as his track pants hooked themselves on a short branch. He joined her in the crown of the tree, smelling of squashed ants and looking like he wasn’t enjoying his trip away from terra firma.

‘Nice view, isn’t it?’ she asked, thumping a beam into place. Her house was a hundred metres away, nestled amongst a grove of gums and granite tors. From their vantage point they could see across the patch worked valley and towards the lower ranges of the Snowy Mountains.

Tony grunted. A hank of dark hair hung over his eyes as he handed over the drill. ‘What exactly are we building? A cubby house?’ He sounded slightly peeved.

Lane wiped her forehead with the back of a grimy hand, realizing for the fiftieth time they had absolutely nothing in common and the novelty of a purely physical relationship was beginning to wear thin.

She remembered when she and Shelby had pushed themselves to the limit on the treadmills at a local gym while admiring the fabulous body of the young man working in the weights section. Then her friend had fainted. Tony had dropped the dumb-bells immediately and supervised the whole drama. Shelby had gotten a ride in an ambulance, while Lane had scored a date with Tony.

‘It’s a bird-hide.’ She noted Tony’s silence as she fixed another beam into position. ‘You sit in it and watch birds,’ she explained. ‘It’ll be enclosed with canvas flaps at the sides. I’ll be able to take some great photos.’ She expelled the captured images of last night from her mind.

‘Wow,’ he commented without enthusiasm.

‘We’ll have to make sure the floor is level, and we’ll need some sort of ladder for easy access. We should have most of it finished today.’

‘So when’s lunch?’ he asked, running his fingers over his washboard stomach.

Lane was just about to retort when her mobile phone rang. Clay had diverted all calls for the office number to her mobile before he’d finished up for the morning. She swung out on a branch and dropped lightly to the grass below. She scooped the phone from the top of the toolbox.

‘Hello.’ Her brow furrowed with annoyance as she listened. ‘Look, I’m not interested and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t occupy this business line with sales calls.’ She pressed the end button and tossed the phone back onto the box. She could feel her heart thudding in her chest, so sure she had been that it would be Sean calling. The nagging feeling of doubt she had experienced all day was growing into a solid block of worry sitting in her stomach.

She picked up the phone again. Tony started descending from the tree as she dialed her brother’s number. Unavailable. That one word summed up her younger brother when he didn’t want to be a part of something.

‘I’m off to the gym,’ said Tony with a wave as she redialed the number.

Four hours later, Lane had just stepped out of the shower when she heard the familiar throb of a V8 engine surging up the long driveway. She watched through the lounge room window, swathed in a towel, as Tony’s tall figure emerged from the HSV. He wore jeans with a sleeveless shirt, and carried a bottle of wine tucked under his arm.

An hour later they lay on her bed, bodies sheened with the sweat of their lovemaking. Lane dozed for a time, head in the crook of Tony’s arm. Gradually she stirred enough to read the bedside clock. 19:00. Her stomach rumbled and her mouth tasted of sour wine.

While Tony showered, Lane set up the portable barbecue on the verandah and cooked the steaks. Watching the smoke disappear into the twilight sky, she thought of Sean and Tobi and ached to know where they were. Sean had promised to call.

The office phone rang and she jumped. Heart in mouth, she abandoned the steaks, slamming the door in her haste to get to the handset.

‘Lane, it’s Zee.’

‘Oh hi, Sis.’ She didn’t bother to hide her disappointment.

‘What’s the matter? You sound terrible.’

By the time she got off the phone, Tony was asleep on the couch, and the steaks had been reduced to smoking chunks of charcoal.

Chapter 3

WHAT had started out as a Sunday morning tea-party for five kids in the sunny backyard had quickly developed into a full-scale water fight. Small plastic cups and teapots were quickly abandoned in favour of toy saucepans, plastic pots and pet food dishes. Water pistols appeared and the neighbourhood was filled with happy shrieks of sodden children. The mayhem echoed across the pampered lawn and neat garden beds, and into the spotless kitchen of the Seramin family.

Zeehan watched distractedly through the large window as her sons and daughter ran across the yard, yelling and laughing, faces lit with excitement. She couldn’t recall having water fights as a child, and for some reason she felt vaguely cheated.

‘What do you think?’ she asked her husband who was sitting at the dining table finishing his morning coffee. A copy of the local real estate guide lay open on the polished timber surface.

Neil sighed and removed his reading glasses. He rubbed at red-rimmed eyes with soft white fingers, silently cursing his sister-in-law. Lane Kintyre managed to find drama in any situation.

‘I think it’s another prime example of Sean’s irresponsibility combined with Lane’s vivid imagination. Darling, you know what Sean’s like. He’s probably just forgotten to call Lane back. Chances are he’ll call tomorrow with a bad hangover and the panic will be over.’

‘He was supposed to call her yesterday afternoon. Anyway, Sean’s not like that any more,’ protested Zeehan, joining him at the table. ‘He’s turned his life around.’ She placed her own mug of lukewarm coffee on a coaster, stirring the pale liquid with a manicured fingernail. ‘We all have Tobi to thank for that.’

Neil shook his head. ‘I really don’t understand that girl. With the backing of a family like hers, she could do anything she wants.’

Zeehan looked at him. ‘Just what are you trying to say, Neil?’

Neil took her hand in his. ‘Darling, your brother would not be considered the catch of the day by most women. Apart from having been a drug addict and thief, he’s also a lazy good-for-nothing provided for most of the time by his family.’ Zeehan’s face darkened and she pulled her hand away from him. ‘I’m just saying that