Working Cases - Episode 11

 

The man in the shadows never returned to the hill village.
I camped up there alone a few days more. I convinced a few farmers to be on the lookout for him. I searched every place he had ever been in; his small shack near the stream at the top of the hill, the farmhouse he had been working at, and the small, old car he had parked near the shack. Except for a few cheap clothes and completely impersonal artifacts, they were all empty.
I talked to the farmer whose farmhouse he had worked in, an old man, strong, like everyone else on the hill.
“He came up here like everyone else who comes up here to stay,” the farmer said . “With almost nothing of his own but the shirt he was wearing, looking for a job. He was a strong man. And fast—I'd never seen a man dig up a field that fast in my entire life.”
I knew how fast he was. I’d seen it myself. He was at peak human condition. This wasn’t some fat, greedy politician sitting in an air-conditioned office. This was a man who could do his dirty work himself, and do it faster than an Olympic-level athlete.
When I asked for a description, the farmer said “He was tall, muscular, dark, goatee, with a scar across his left eye.”
“Wait, what?” it hit me like a brick. Carpenter had said the same thing! He had also said I would need to discover for myself what parts of his statement were true and what parts were false.
“Yeah, really hardworking guy

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. Went by the name Peter when he was here. I suspected it was fake because sometimes you would call out to him and say ‘Peter!’ and he wouldn’t answer. It would take some time for him to remember he was supposed to be Peter.” The farmer chuckled. “But we didn’t bother him. In time, we thought he would come to trust us like every other person who’s come to live here. I was once one of them less noble sort before I climbed the hill twenty-five years ago and decided to change my life. Now I own my own farm.” He took his hat in his hand, “So, you see, when people come up here, we give them the benefit of the doubt. This place changes people for the better.”
“Well, this guy,” I shook my head, “he wasn’t here to change, sir. He was here to hide. And he’s done—and is still doing—some pretty bad things. Now, I would appreciate it if you would come to me if he ever came up here again.”
The farmer nodded. “Of course, of course. Now we know he’s bad news, we’ll arrest him ourselves if he ever comes up here again. I’ll be sure to fetch you. We don’t let those guys get into our community. That’s the beauty of this place; if you're pretending, it’ll fish you out faster than a duck on water.”
I left the hill village after that. It had been four days after I sent Amelia and Gabe down. To be honest, I didn’t really need to stay that long. I was trying to put off facing Amelia for as long as I could. No matter how hard I tried to convince myself I was protecting her, I knew deep down that wasn’t the only reason. I was protecting myself and in the process denying her the right to see through to the end the vision of the man who she had dedicated her life to. I had denied her the right to finish my father’s work, and I couldn’t expect her to forgive me.
I didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed when I walked in to find the office empty. No Amelia anywhere. She was gone.
I was back to dead ends. I didn’t really believe the man would go back to the hill village. No, that was very unlikely. With the kind of power he had, he probably had several places to hide till he was done with whatever he had planned.
It was late evening when I decided to go see Gabe. Keeping in touch with him was the least I could do. Guilt had already begun to set in. The empty office just seemed to echo with my thoughts. Thoughts of Natalie. Of how I killed her. If I hadn’t gone with her to see Carpenter, she would still be alive. If I hadn’t insulted Madame Olivia, I would have been there. There was no reason for her to die. No reason at all. I had killed her by my rash actions.
But as much as I felt the need to sit there and mentally beat myself to death with guilt, I had to get up. Amelia wasn’t here to pick me out of the dump. I owed it to her to at least keep getting myself out of the gutter. “Some other time, mate,” I muttered to my guilt-indulging self, “some other time.”
It was a long drive to Gabe’s little hill that overlooked the sea. He was there, as usual. I got there just as he was about to come down, perhaps, to go spend the night in a friend’s house.
“Hi, Uncle Nick. I was coming to your house.” He said when he saw me.
Gabe rarely slept at my place. It’s not that he wasn’t welcome, but I think he found me too broody and moody to be good company. I couldn’t blame him. “That’s great, Gabe! Come. I’ll take you.”
We skipped down the hill in comfortable silence, making our way to my car. 
Traffic was light on the way home. “How are you holding up Gabe? I mean, how are you?” I asked him.
“I’m fine. I'm worried about Aunt Amelia. She’s not fine. I think she’s angry.”
I winced. “That’s my fault. But, I think it’s for the best, eh?”
He shrugged.
I suddenly felt the urge to ask him something.
“Gabe, you were there in the hill village. You weren’t sitting with us when the man came up. Did-did you see him Gabe?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
My hands began to shake. If Gabe saw him, if he recognized him––– “Did you see his face? Who was he, Gabe?” My voice was hoarse.
His answer hit me like a brick, and with it, everything fell into place.