Chapter 17 #2
We checked in with Glen on our way out and learned the search teams hadn’t found anything other than the cardigan.
After grabbing a sandwich that sat like lead in our stomachs, we finally pulled into Austin’s street just after noon.
With the fog still thick on the ground, the neighbourhood felt eerily quiet for the middle of the day.
Noting the number of security cameras visible on front doors and garages in the upscale neighbourhood, we quickly scuppered the idea of any actual B & E—a huge relief to me—and settled for taking a general look around the property.
If caught on camera, as I was almost positive we would be, we’d say we were simply double-checking that Chloe hadn’t made her way there. No harm in being thorough, right?
That said, we didn’t want to make it easy for Austin by simply parking in his driveway, so after consulting the map, we took a less direct route, coming at his house via a thoroughfare from the street behind.
The bleak, frigid weather helped. Walking with hoods up and gazes fixed on the pavement wasn’t suspicious, but rather the sensible thing to do.
Ignoring Austin’s front door, we squeezed through a break in the hedge that marked the boundary between his property and the thoroughfare and followed the garden around to the backyard, which was just as lovely as the front.
A large courtyard made for entertaining was accessed by huge bifold doors that ran along the back half of the house, and a covered pool sat in the middle of the yard with a spa pool off to one side.
A rose garden, pruned and bedded down for winter, framed the flagstones, and a louvred roof was retracted to allow maximum light into the interior through the cooler months.
As we peered through one of the bifold doors, Nick blew a low whistle. “Chloe was right. The inside is very, very nice.”
I agreed. The furnishings weren’t flashy, as such, but there was obvious expense in the modern country look and its attention to detail.
Pillowy cushions, plush rugs, classy art, and a well fitted-out cook’s kitchen.
To complete the picture, a full-size grand piano sat in pride of place in the lounge.
“Upcycled from a thrift store, my arse,” I muttered, slipping an arm around his waist as we stared through the glass. “One or two pieces, maybe. But most of this looks straight out of a showroom.”
Nick all but growled. “This fucking weasel is living way above his means, and Chloe’s money would go a long way toward supporting that.”
I stared at the expensive interior and sighed. “It’s a pretty ruthless solution, don’t you think?”
Nick scowled. “It is. Come on.” He took my hand and led me across the flagstone patio area toward the garage. “Come on. Let’s take a look at this granny flat and the renovations Chloe’s supposed to be helping finance.”
On the back wall of the garage, a set of patio doors led onto a small deck. A red light blinked above them and I groaned. “Smile for the camera, sweetheart.”
Nick snorted and we both waved at the thing before stepping onto the deck.
“He’s gonna be mad as a nest of hornets if he’s watching this.” Nick spun me around and planted a lingering kiss on my lips. “Jack off to that, you arsehole.”
I chuckled. “You’re a bad, bad man, Nick Fisher.”
We pressed our noses to the glass doors just as the heaven’s opened and the misty drizzle became pelting rain that quickly soaked the back of my jeans. “And of course it fucking rains,” I complained, zipping my coat to the chin. “Can we make it quick? My balls are lumps of ice as it is.”
“Well, whaddya know?” Nick cupped his hand around his face on the glass to see better. “Doesn’t look like much work has been done on the renovations, if anything.”
He wasn’t wrong. The small space was cluttered with boxes and all but devoid of furnishings bar some outdoor furniture that looked like it had been stored there for the winter.
A tired kitchenette sat in one corner with a tiny bedroom and maybe a bathroom just visible out back.
A roll of what looked like house plans sat on the kitchen countertop, but that was about it.
Unlined walls met concrete floors. No drapes, no light fittings, no rugs.
Nothing to indicate the space had even been touched recently, let alone that it was in the process of being prepared for the arrival of a physically challenged older woman with Parkinson’s.
“I doubt this has been touched since it was built,” I observed.
Nick’s answer was best interpreted as a snarl.
I scowled at my drenched jeans and pulled Nick under the eaves to escape the worst of the downpour. “Okay. So Austin’s stretching the truth at best about the renovations but that doesn’t prove anything. What’s next?”
Nick’s cool stare grew icy. “What’s next is I’m gonna see if I can get a look inside that garage.
” Before I could ask why, he was gone, running down the side of the garage to the window at the far end.
When he got there, he swore. “I fucking knew it. Take a guess what isn’t parked inside or anywhere on the property that we’ve seen? ”
It wasn’t hard. “Chloe’s Toyota.”
Nick jogged back to me. “Austin’s Mercedes is there but that’s it. Fifty bucks says rather than storing her car, the fucker sold it and pocketed the money.”
“Not a chance I’m taking that bet.” I wiped the rain from his face. “I vote we go back and ask the man some hard questions.”
Before he could answer, Nick’s phone rang. He took one look and frowned. “Unknown number. What are the odds it’s our favourite jerk? And how in the hell did he get my number?”
“It was on Chloe’s phone, right?” I reached out a hand. “How about you let me.” He looked about to argue, then nodded, and I plucked the phone from his hand, putting it on speaker.
“What the fuck are you two doing at my house?” Austin shouted.
Nick and I shared a grin. “Thought we’d swing by and check that Chloe hadn’t turned up,” I lied.
“Well, you can get the fuck off my property right now. You’re trespassing.”
“No. We’re looking for Chloe,” I corrected. “Double-checking places she might’ve turned up, something I thought you’d be happy about, worried as you are about her safety and all.”
Austin hesitated.
In a carefully measured tone, I added, “We took a look at those renovations you talked about. You know, the ones Chloe is helping finance. The ones you used that cash withdrawal for—paying tradesmen and such. There’s a long way to go from what we can see.
I’d fire my builder if I was you. If you even have a builder.
It’s a bit like that car of Chloe’s you’ve been storing in your garage. Can’t seem to find it.”
More silence, then, “Get the fuck off my property. Now.”
The phone went dead and I caught Nick’s eye. “He seems a bit upset.”
Nick laughed and pulled me into a hug. “That was awesome. We’ll make an arsehole out of you yet.”
“High praise coming from you.” I was handing his phone back when it rang again. This time it was Jacko.
Nick put the phone to his ear. “I’ll call you back in ten.” He waited for a reply, glanced meaningfully at the camera, and said, “Let’s get out of here.”
With our hoods pulled low against the bucketing rain, we made our way back to the rental car where we stripped out of our coats before tumbling gratefully into the front seats and blasting the heater to warm our shivering bodies.
Before he returned Jacko’s call, Nick checked in with Glen, but there was still no sign of Chloe. Nick’s head fell forward, his body seeming to collapse in on itself. “Goddammit. Where is she, Mads?”
I reached for his hand and kissed the knuckles before holding it in my lap. “One step at a time. Come on. Let’s see what Jacko has to say.”
Nick sat a moment longer, then gave a weak nod.
“Seems you were right to be concerned,” Jacko’s warm honey tone bled through the speakerphone. “Your man appears to be drowning in debt, at least based on credit cards and bank accounts. He also missed a few mortgage payments earlier in the year and was sent warnings from the bank.”
Nick perked up, his whole demeanour coming alive. “So, we were right then.” He squeezed my hand.
“On the button. But there’s more.” Jacko sounded pleased with himself.
“When I tapped some of my unofficial sources, the scale of your man’s problem became clearer.
The man apparently has a fondness for the horses and shoving white powder up his nose.
Rumour has it he’s started selling a bit of it as well.
There’s no police record of it, as Samuel probably told you, so he’s obviously low-key and careful with his clients.
But whatever his sins, Austin Pattinson has been bleeding money for about two years. ”
Nick grunted. “Might explain why he started selling.”
“True,” Jacko agreed. “Although I have another theory about that. But first—” The sound of shuffling papers came through the phone before he continued.
“Tax returns show no legit income other than his teaching salary and no investments. Salary goes in and gets withdrawn soon after, mostly in cash. Credit cards are maxed and—wait for it—rumour has it he’s into the Crow brothers for as much as two hundred thousand dollars, possibly more, although there’s no way to prove that. ”
Nick drew a sharp breath. “The Crows? Holy shit.”
“Who are the Crow brothers?” I interjected.
Nick turned in his seat to face me. “They’re the New Zealand equivalent of the British Kray twins back in the day, only with a bit more class and a fuckton less drama.
Anywhere big money changes hands in New Zealand, the Crow boys are likely to have some skin in the game.
Trouble is, they fly under the radar better than most of their peers.
If you met them at a party, you could be charmed into thinking they were nothing more than a couple of good old boys done well. Nothing to see here, folks.”