Venus Flytrap: A Joey Netherhill Mystery Thriller

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Prologue

The reporters gathered and the cameras flashed. A middle-aged man in a beautifully fitting Seville-Row suit, starched white shirt and Regimental tie came out of the glass-fronted lobby and stood atop the fanning flight of steps which led to the stone paved forecourt.

He looked nothing like his reputation.

He was accompanied either side by a group of well-dressed, well-muscled adult males whose hairlines almost met their eyebrows. He stopped at a lectern, the top of which was adorned with a tightly packed array of microphones each affixed with their own station’s letters and numbers. He began, his first words lost in echoing feedback. He began again.

‘It is with great regret that I have to report the following. Today DBC launched an X Forty Cougher sub-orbital reusable launch vehicle. There were three crew-members on board including two Venus Program advanced trainees and one experienced pilot. Shortly after an uneventful take-off the vehicle’s transponder ceased transmission. When queried, the pilot failed to respond and all contact was lost thereafter.’

A discordant clamour broke out amongst the listening crowd. The man motioned with his hands for them to calm.

‘At this point in time the Cougher is missing presumed down. An air-sea search is being mounted along the proposed flight-path. There are a couple of points I’d like to make before we throw open for questions. One is that the vehicle is a glide-lander. That means that it requires a dedicated runway to get down safely. The second is that it has only one shot at it. For these reasons I am advised by our engineers that it is very unlikely that the craft has been able to put down safely.’

‘Can the crew bail out?’

‘I’m afraid not.’

‘How about radar?’

‘Neither ourselves nor the military and civil radar networks have any record of its flight.’

‘It just vanished?’

‘It just vanished’

Once more he held up his hands in a request for silence.

‘Again at this point in time all we can do is send our condolences to the families of these brave souls and assure them that we will do all in our power to find them.’

‘Thank you,’

He turned and left amidst a frustrated outcry of unanswered questions.

Chapter 1

It always starts with a client.

Some walk in off the street. Some I have to go and see. Some are still living. A very few are already dead. Most are women. And most of them have the same problems.

My name is Joey Netherhill. I’m a private cop. It’s not my real name. You wouldn’t believe my real name. I don’t think you’d guess it either. My job is to fill the gaps left by undermanned or uninterested police – usually the latter. I boldly go where plod cannot, or doesn’t want to set foot.

I am an ex everything: Marine, policeman, husband, toy-boy, normal human. Each phase of my life, from school through to the Glasgow polis (as they are affectionately known by the local fuckwits) has ended in minor or major disaster. By way of payment, each one has extracted from me a synapse – and so I have paid off my nervous system bit by fucking bit. Now I don’t get excited too easily. This gets me into a lot of undeserved trouble. I don’t have that ‘worry’ thing to keep me safe.

My present occupation as a PI was literally thrust on me by an over-appreciative detective sergeant after I brought him and his now wife (then girlfriend) back together. DS Davy Reid, now probably my only friend in the entire fucking world, was worried out of his skull that she was having an affair behind his back. Is that tautology? Well whatever. At his request I did a bit of digging and following and stuff that PIs do, discovered that she was covering for her wayward brother who was running away from jail time, and that she was still very much attached to our Davy. When I told him, that was the closest I’ve ever come to being kissed by another man.

Now it came to pass that Davy’s Department was full of shit they couldn’t or wouldn’t touch, and he made sure that I was the recipient of this overflow - some of which turned out to be nasty in the extreme.

I hid behind this less-than-apparent anonymity, mainly to avoid my Glasgow wife and her fat brothers. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m well over six foot, well over two hundred pounds, Marine trained, and well able to take care of myself. But if I can run from trouble I will. But if I can’t run, there’s no law I won’t break in confronting the bad guys. And it’s not always my fault that I have to do just that.

In my present life I have a nice little office in a floor in the CBD, and a very good-looking PA who is a former police researcher. Her name is Vanda and she’s brilliant. Vanda handles all of the mundane day-to-day stuff and enlists the help of her lawyer boyfriend Scotty Greene when the going gets too legally tough. She is also an expert hacker and the local police feel her loss.

And did I mention that my little car is an almost-new top of the range Bentley? Yes Bentley! I got one job pretty-well right for a very young and very pretty heiress called Kimberly Prester. It’s part of her vast estate but she’s given the loan of it to me as some sort of reward. I can tell you I’d swap it right now for another sort of reward from her.

But I don’t think that will happen anytime soon. I’ve blotted my little police note-book once too often so far as she’s concerned.

Oh well!

So, this one started the way they all do.

With a dame.

Chapter 2

‘They told me you might be able to help?’ She wasn’t pleading. There was a sadness and resignation in her voice.

‘You are a single parent, aren’t you?’ I had already got a call from HQ. You know? One of those requests you can’t refuse. Bugger it!

‘What’s that got to do with it? I wasn’t when she was born.’ Slight hint of defiance?

‘Didn’t mean to offend, m’am. But the pattern seems to be there.’

‘Look, Mister, she didn’t go bad and out of control because he left. He left because she was bad and out of control from the day she was fucking-well born. He couldn’t handle it. And now neither can I.’

I pressed a button on my intercom. ‘Can you fetch a couple of coffees Vanda?’

‘Sure, boss,’ came the tinny dry reply.

Vanda had brought her in to my office and introduced her as a Sue Morgan. I could see she was uneasy in the presence of this woman. Why? Only another woman could tell you. But her body language said ‘get me out of here’.

She looked about thirtyish. Her face was line-less and far too young looking to have a thirteen year-old daughter. There were signs of old and not-so-old bruises. Her hair was dark and unkempt. Her makeup invisible. She wore a fine cotton dress that you could spit peas through, and a pair of heels that looked as though they had seen one pavement too many.

I made small talk until the cups arrived. This seemed to settle her a bit.

‘Tell me about it,’ I said.

‘She was a defiant little bitch even as a baby,’ she began with a lower lip quiver that told me I wasn’t going to be bullshitted, ‘Terrible-twos was no ample description for her. Even at that age she’d try to hit me and scream for hours if she didn’t get her own way. Child-care was a nightmare - get used to that word, Mister Netherhill. They tried to handle her but gave up after a first term wore them out. They couldn’t stop her striking and scratching the other little-ones. We - we were still ‘we’ then - my boyfriend, Tommy and I tried other places, but the word soon got around. I know the other parents were not at all fucking happy to have her around their kids.’

‘Did you try to get help for her?’

‘Tommy was an apprentice. I was waitressing. We could hardly afford the rent never mind a fucking psychiatrist.’

‘Fair enough.’

‘Fair enough in-fucking-deed. We bought her a kitten to see if she could develop some sort of affinity to it.’

‘Don’t tell me,’ I could see what was coming.

‘You guessed it, Buster. She was four and a climber. The microwave was no problem for her. So that was the end of that ‘bonding’ experiment. It was also the end of my relationship with Tommy. He just upped and off’d. Things just got a whole lot fucking worse for me.’

‘No help from mum or dad?’

‘They tried to cope early on. It chewed them up. They just stopped coming around. I think they became genuinely afraid of her.’

‘Police?’

She laughed and said nothing. ‘I hoped that school would sort her out. She fucking-well set fire to it. They sent her to a ‘special’. She learned nothing there except how to let the older boys interfere with her and grab anything they would give her in return – grab or steal. I’m sure she was having regular sex by ten. I had her on the pill and hoped for the best. By that time she was assaulting me - bashing me regularly. Of course I’d call in the local law. And of course they gave her a stern lecture and did fuck all.’

‘Of course!’

She pulled the hair off her face. It had hidden the scar of a burn.

‘She did that?’ I asked.

‘And more. My home is a fucking pit. She’s trashed everything. She stays out all night - which is really a fucking Godsend. How sick is that? At first she would turn up dishevelled and pissed. The last year or so she returns psychotic. I’m sure she’s on ice now. Fucking horrible stuff.’

‘How can she afford that? Does she steal from you? Does she steal - period?’

‘Mister, she fucks for it.’

Chapter 3

I told her I’d see what I could do. She didn’t look convinced. I took down the usual details and she left with a whimper. What could I do? And why the fuck should I do it? The second question was easy. Our local finest had put this case in the severely hard basket, and they were the ones who wanted me to handle it. Most of the work we got was their ‘overspill’, and say ‘no’ to them was out of the question. I was stuck with it. The guy who phoned me was a DC Banks. Banksie, I knew him from old, told me that he’d been on and off this case for a couple of years. He just said ‘do what you can’. He also said that so far as they (the police) were concerned they’d have to wait until she maimed or killed someone before they could get her off the street. At that time I thought he was having a fucking lend of me. I was soon to find out different.

The ‘what could I do’ bit was still outstanding, but the germ of an idea was forming at the back of my cranium. It was obvious that the law had no way of dealing with this underage tramp. So it stood to reason that any solution to this problem had to lie outside those strict society rules. I had to work in the dark zone.

Sue Morgan’s daughter was Haley. Life had been a constant struggle for poor Sue and with the fall in her fortunes came the fall of the quality of the ‘burbs she lived in. But no matter, now my first objective in this case was to visit her in her dodgy flat in her dodgy part of ‘The Valley’. Why? You’ll find out soon.

It turned out that I was about to be interrupted by a very unpleasant call.

Chapter 4

‘Got a call for you, Hotshot,’ Vanda yelled from her ‘front of house’ office, once again avoiding the inconvenience of pressing a button on her intercom with her newly polished nails. I had visions of them scratching poor Jock Greene’s back.

‘Who?’ I yelled back.

‘Your favourite solicitor,’ she shouted. This was getting out of hand. I guessed who she was talking about and was not one bit happy.

‘Tell her I’m out,’ I said, rising and opening our adjoining door.

‘She’ll just mobile you.’

‘I’ll turn the fucker off.’

‘You’ll do no such thing. You’re supposed to be our fearless Jack Reacher. Frightened of nothing. Nothing my touche! She scares you shitless, doesn’t she?’

‘Put her on,’ I relented with a false sigh.

The solicitor I was apparently afraid of was a woman - Miss Marjorie Pitman. Miss Marjorie fucking Pitman. Miss poo-faced Pitman - the coldest, toughest, school-marmest bitch I’ve ever had the displeasure of being humiliated by. She was the go-to solicitor for the DeMontfords and a senior partner with Pitman Associates. The DeMontfords were a local south coast family with unlimited wealth and very limited morals. For their own particular perverted reasons, they had coerced an innocent young boy - Robby Jones - into marriage with a brother’s daughter, Olivia. Although themselves not well off, the Jones’s has historical friends, and I was hired by one of them - the very same Kimberly Prester I already told you about - to investigate and get to the bottom of the matter. Well that’s another story, but during my digging I was compelled to confront this ‘Rosa Klebb’. And I can tell you that she sent me off with my dick between my legs. It was not a pleasant confrontation.

And now she wanted to talk to me? What little humiliating scheme had she planned for me? I thought about taking a belt from the bottle in my bottom right-hand drawer before picking up that phone.

‘Yup?’ I said with the most monotone and disinterested voice I could muster.

‘Mister Netherhill?’

‘Yea.’

‘Mister Netherhill, we might have a job for you.’

‘Thanks. But no thanks.’

‘Hear me out?’

‘Not interested.’

‘All right. I understand. We did get off on the wrong foot, but I think we could start again,’ she wheedled.

Start again my arse.

Do you have a card? A credit one? I’ll transfer you to my girl, you to your secretary, and I will have five hundred transferred into it immediately.’

‘What’s the catch?’

‘Nothing. We’re paying you for this phone call and that’s all. That should be good money – even for you.’

I ignored the barb. ‘Bull.’ I spat. I almost prefaced it with ‘fucking’.

‘The catch is - if you could call it a catch - that there’s another thousand waiting for you at our London offices. You know where they are, and your cheque will be waiting for you at the front desk,’ she added, matter-of-factly. ‘Why not come along and find out what it’s all about?’

It all sounded innocent enough.

Sounds made by that bitch can be deceiving. I already found that out.

Vanda Ryback had come into my office and was sitting on the corner of my desk grinning like the proverbial.

‘We got bills to pay, Superman,’ she mouthed silently.

‘I’ll transfer you through to the cashier’s department,’ I said into the receiver. I was taking the piss. And Pitman knew it. Vanda bolted back to her own desk. She liked the smell of money.

Chapter 5

The offices of Pitman Associated were situated in the heart of the Temple district of Central London. The location and their Gothic stone construction were there to impress - and humble. I’d had all of that shit before, and I wasn’t going to fall for that trick twice. When I arrived a space was already reserved for me and the Bentley in the basement. A flunky, who was dressed like a doorman to Claridges, lead me to a glitzy-looking lift. There was a fast but still long upward journey to the sixty-fifth floor, then past reception and into Miss Ugly-mug’s glitzy office. I told you that I don’t often get nervous, but let’s just say that I was doubly-cautious in her presence.

She was seated behind a leather inlaid desk which was clear of any rubble except the velum upon which she was writing and the pen she was writing with - which could have bought me a small car. She was dressed as I expected in a power-tailored two-piece pin-stripe, complemented by a cream silk blouse and a neck surrounded by a triple-row of white pearls. The thought passed across from one ear to the other that I could easily choke her with them. She didn’t look up as her PA seated me.

‘With you in a moment, Netherhill,’ she whispered abstractly. She just couldn’t fucking-well help herself. I settled back and began to think of horrible tortures for her. I was supposed to feel as though I was in the headmistress’s office awaiting a detention sentence – or worse. I knew the score. I wasn’t nervous. I already had that fucking cheque for a thousand in my inside pocket. I could walk out if the going got tough.

Usually I wear a shabby suit, a shirt with flying collars, and a pair of scuffed brogues. It’s all part of my Private Eye image. But this morning I dressed up. In a previous case I lost all of my clothes and was redressed by a lady client with the taste I have not. So I now had in reserve a pair of tan chinos, trendy loafers and a choice of either an expensive leather or a Seville Row jacket. I chose the jacket. I looked the biz. Or so I thought.

She looked up, ‘you’ll be wondering why you’re here?’

‘Had crossed my mind.’

‘You don’t waste words, do you?’

‘I only waste people,’ I replied. ‘That’s what I’m paid for.’

‘Mister tough guy, eh?’

‘Only with a tough gal.’

‘You’re quick.’

‘Not always quick enough.’

‘You have scars to prove that, I suppose?’

‘Mostly mental. Some physical. Want to see them?’

‘Some other time, Mister Netherhill. These are business hours.’

‘That hasn’t been a problem before.’

‘I’m sure it hasn’t. But not now. Not today.’

‘OK. Spill.’

‘Spill? I like that.’ She pressed and intercom button on a side desk. ‘Come in Lucy. I want you to take Mister Netherhill here, to Miss Verlander’s office.’

‘You’re sending me to the hired help, eh?’ It was my best work.

‘Now now, Joey. I can’t do everything by myself, can I?’

I felt an ambush coming on.

Chapter 6

Ana Verlander was without any doubt a honey trap. No looking down at a piece of paper for her. She was there to meet me right at the frosted glass door of her legal-looking office. Her name was written on the front. I was impressed. Just like my own? The office was adorned with all the bells, whistles, and gold inlaid books that made it look as though it was occupied by someone who really knew the business. I knew different. I knew the tricks. I also suspected that I was about to be tricked. She was just too good looking not to be dumb.

She had almost jet black hair which had been highlighted with nearly imperceptible umber streaks. It was pulled back into a tight bun which did nothing to diminish her looks. Hiding behind big dark-rimmed glasses were large brown eyes that you could dive into. As she smiled her bright red lips accentuated the whiteness of her perfect teeth. A dark grey suit which covered her white straight-neck T completed the picture.

‘You’re a lot better looking that they said you were, Mister Netherhill,’ was her opening volley.

‘Joey,’ I recoiled.

‘My, you are a big boy, Joey.’

‘So I’ve been told.’ I was stalling to see where this was going.

‘Can I get some details from you, Joey?’

‘Why?’

‘Some things we need to get out of the way if you’re going to work for us. Just standard procedure?’

‘I’ll tell you anything you want to know - except what I don’t want to tell you.’

‘That’s a paraphrase from ‘Love Actually’, isn’t it? That guy Billy Bob said it, didn’t he? One of my favourites too. You and I are going to get on just fine.’

She was too sharp for me so far. Maybe not as dumb as I thought?

‘You got me,’ I cracked a one-sided smile.

‘Shall we begin?’ She did something to her laptop.

‘Shoot away.’

‘Full name?’

‘You already know.’

‘Married?’

‘Nope.’

‘Significant other?’

‘Nope.’

‘New girlfriend?’

‘Nope.’

‘Homosexual?’

‘For fuck’s sake?’

‘I’ll take that as a ‘nope’, she hesitated and looked at her assent diamond encrusted Lady Rolex. ‘Lunch?’

‘OK.’

I was walking right into it, wasn’t I?

But what?

Chapter 7

I had a couple of things to get out of the way, and then I got my head around Miss Sue Morgan’s problem. I phoned to let her know I was coming to see her. She seemed glad to get my call. Very glad. I borrowed Vanda’s car for the journey. I felt my own limo on-loan was