Missing Fingers

Pun,

My luck's just run out. I should have listened to you. Fuck. Another victim of the Garimond case - and I was so close. Too close.

You're the only person I trust, and I need you to do the following......

Pun Nayler folded the letter and slipped it in back into his pocket. The second reading had compounded his distress at the letter's contents. He lifted his head and gazed towards Fingers' house. He remembered their last meeting a fortnight ago and Fingers' palpable distress.

Pun felt for the envelope Fingers had handed him before they parted. "The answers are in here," Fingers had claimed "if anything happens to me". Pun had advised Fingers to turn away. "It's not worth it Fingers. You'll end up dead like everyone else." he had countered. Fingers had refused to look away. Life was always secondary thought Pun ruefully.

He returned his attention to his friend's house and the first task on the list. Reluctantly, he opened the car door and clambered out. He had often been the bearer of bad news - it came with the line of work - but never had he been required to deliver such news to personal friends.

He slowly made his way to the wooden front door, pondering his words. He hesitated as he lifted his hand to the knocker. Sighing, he knocked on the door. The door opened, revealing a young woman. Pun shifted his focus from the floor and saw his friend's wife.

"I've got some bad news", he said.

The day had been traumatic for Pun Naylor. After breaking the news to Mrs Hill, he had returned home and into the comforting silence of his study. He himself had never married; the liability of having a spouse in this business was too great. Today was another example of the brutal nature of private investigation. Mrs Hill had not taken the news well. They were close and since Fingers' rehabilitation, they had enjoyed the best years of their marriage. Over the years he had seen many friends lose their loved ones because of secrets they had uncovered.

"Damn Garimonds!" cursed Pun as he reached for the liquor cabinet in the corner of his study. He poured himself another whiskey and returned to his chair. He was unsure how to continue with the list. He had called time on this life a few years back after a particularly distressing case. For five years Pun had been Fingers' right hand man before he was caught in the middle of a feud predating their collaboration. Back then, Clive Jones was the one man you did not cross. Back then, Fingers had crossed him. Back then, Pun had been punished for it. Two weeks he spent in a bare, suffocating cage hidden from daylight, only released for brutal interrogations. It was a miracle he had walked away from it, but he had not done so unscarred.

Soon after, he forgot everything he knew. Information would get you killed, so the less he knew, the longer he lived. However, when the Garimond mystery arose, Fingers had requested Pun's help again. Pun, knowing he no longer had the fire within him, had declined active participation, but became a sounding board for Fingers' musings. He knew enough about the Garimond murders to know that the perpetrators were not some punk kids. This was professionally done and well planned out.

The murders had occurred on an otherwise insignificant day. The Garimond family - mother, father and three kids - had no obvious dealings with any mobs or dangerous organisations. The father was seemingly a hard working middle manager, whilst the mother helped with a friend's business. No one had a bad word about the children.

The evidence of forced entry and numerous ransacked rooms pointed to robbery gone wrong. However, there was a distinct lack of leads amongst the debris of the crime. No finger prints, no weapons and nothing left behind. The local police made negligible progress with the information available. The streets were unusually quiet on this subject and eventually, with no direction to follow, the police admitted defeat and announced that until more information appeared, the investigation would be put on hold

Fingers came onto the case at the behest of a Garimond family friend. Immediately, he was troubled by aspects of the murder which suggested that the events were finely managed. Robbery was possibility, but the value of the items missing compared poorly with the value of the items remaining; as if the burglary was merely an afterthought.

Another troubling aspect was the lack of evidence given the almost random nature of the murders. Finger's knew that unplanned murders often lead perpetrators to panic, and in panic, they nearly always left clues. In this case, there was nothing.

However, the most unsettling facet of the murders were the murders themselves. They were cold and calculated. All of the family members but the father had been dispatched by a single bullet to the head. The father's death had been unimaginably painful, with wounds to areas of the body that would guarantee a prolonged but pointless battle against death. Such accuracy and brutality was suggestive of a professional settling a personal score.

Pun unfolded the now crumpled letter. He had searched it countless times looking for a semblance of a code or a sign of hope, but always finding despair. Pun's eyes descended the lines and settled on the list at the bottom. A tick was marked beside the first item. There were five outstanding items. Pun knew the lengths he would have to go to in order to tick off the other items. His mind was a cauldron of emotion, and he could feel the fear rising. He would have to rediscover a side of him he had consigned to the past. Whether he was capable of doing that, he would soon find out.