‘When was the last occasion?’
‘I, er . . .’
‘A week ago? A month?’
‘I, er, I’m not sure.’
She stares at him for a long time. Cody realises his leg is jumping again and puts his hand on it to keep it under control.
‘What did you do at Christmas? I take it you didn’t go to your parents’ house.’
‘No. I was working.’
‘On Christmas Day?’
‘I drew the short straw.’
‘Yes, but not the whole day, surely? You must have had some downtime, some time to celebrate?’
‘I was . . . I was too tired. I didn’t do much.’
‘And New Year’s?’
‘Same story, I’m afraid. Hazard of the job.’
‘All right, but I hope it’s not always like this. Has there ever been a love interest in your life?’
‘Sure,’ he says. I’m not a total loser. Just ninety per cent of one.
‘Care to tell me about it?’
‘I was engaged. Her name’s Devon.’
‘That’s a pretty name. When did it end?’
‘About nine months ago.’
‘I’m sorry to hear about that. Do you mind telling me why you split up?’
I could, he thinks. I could tell you about the infinite patience she displayed in trying to deal with my sleeplessness and mood swings, and my loss of romantic interest in her. And I could tell you about how I woke up one night thinking she was Waldo, and how I then proceeded to strangle her. I could tell you all that, but of course I’m not going to.
‘It . . . it just wasn’t working.’
‘In what way?’
Oh, can’t you just leave it alone now?
‘The pressures of the job, I suppose.’
‘Yours or hers?’
‘Mine.’
‘I see. From what you’ve told me, there are a lot of negatives to this job of yours.’
‘It can be stressful, sure. But it can also be the best job in the world. I wouldn’t change it for anything.’
Just letting you know, doc, in case there’s any doubt.
‘Not even for the sake of your fiancée?’
Touché. You asked for that one, Cody.
‘That wouldn’t be me. Devon got engaged knowing what she was getting into.’
Falstaff nods. ‘When did things start to go wrong between the two of you? Before or after your encounter with the clowns?’
Here we go.
‘After.’ Then he adds, ‘Months after.’
The time span doesn’t sway Falstaff. ‘Do you think there was a connection?’
Something strange happens to Cody as he tries to come up with an appropriate response. It’s as if the word ‘connection’ causes his brain to start concentrating on those associations. Suddenly he is back in the bedroom with Devon. He has his hands around her throat – no, Waldo’s throat, because this is Waldo’s rubbery visage he can see. The razor-sharp, brown-tinged teeth, the rotting flesh. And he continues to squeeze, even when his mind suddenly transports him to his basement and he’s with the man called Clueless now, but still with Cody’s fingers around his neck, and he is tightening his grip, cutting off the man’s lifeblood and air, whispering to him to die, die, die, you bastard, you fucking—
‘Cody! Are you okay?’
He snaps out of his trance. Sees that his fingers are digging hard into his thighs. He blinks several times.
‘What?’
‘It looked like you zoned out for a few seconds there.’
‘Sorry. Just thinking about your question. A connection? No, I don’t think so.’
It’s a crap answer, an untruthful answer, and Falstaff knows it. But Cody is too thrown to embellish it.
I’m too tired for this shit, he thinks. My head is so screwed up it’s starting to play tricks. The last thing I want to happen when I’m sat in front of a shrink.
Falstaff continues to press. ‘Are you certain about that? You see, it’s the timing that concerns me. You went through an awful ordeal at the hands of those men, and then a few months later your relationship with your fiancée started to fall apart. Quite often, post-traumatic stress can give rise to problems months or even years after the event itself. Do you understand why I’m asking?’
Yes, I’m not a fucking child. Get off my back.
‘Yes, I understand. And no, I still don’t think it’s connected. Break-ups happen. I imagine divorces and separations are probably more common among police officers than in many other professions.’
Falstaff neither denies nor confirms the statistic. She just stares at him for a while, as though trying to look behind his face.
I’ve seen behind a face, he thinks. Literally. I mean literally! I have seen what actually exists behind someone’s face.
Cody’s fingers are digging into his legs again. He takes a deep breath. Lets it out slowly and silently in the hope that Falstaff won’t notice.
But you notice everything, don’t you, doc? You see all my thoughts and fears. I don’t stand a chance here.
She says, ‘There’s something else I’d like to ask you about before we end the session.’
‘Okay.’
She glances at her notes again. ‘You worked on a case last October. A serial killer who was leaving dead birds on his victims.’
‘Yes, I did.’
‘I’ve been given some information about an operation that took place during that investigation, when you volunteered to search an abandoned building down at the docks.’
Bitch!
How could she? Not Falstaff. Blunt. How could she do this to me?
‘Okay,’ he says.
‘The report mentions that you suddenly abandoned the search and raced out of the building.’
Cody remembers it well. He had a panic attack. The clowns were there. Or at least he imagined they were. He lost control and fled the scene.
‘I thought I saw someone. I thought they were trying to evade capture.’
‘You were wearing body cameras and a microphone, is that right?’
‘Yes.’
‘And they didn’t pick up any signs of another person?’
‘No, they didn’t.’
‘And when you left, and a task force went into the building, they didn’t find anyone either, is that correct?’
And then it happens again. Waldo is here, in this room. It’s not Falstaff interrogating him, but Waldo. He is staring out maniacally from behind the desk.
‘I, er, yes. That’s right. But I believed I saw . . .’
‘Yes?’
‘I believed I saw . . .’
‘What did you see?’
I saw you, Waldo. You were there, hiding in the shadows, waiting to cut my face off, just as you’re doing now. You are waiting for me to slip up, to drop my guard, and then you’ll jump across the desk, leap across it like a warty toad, and you’ll land on me and you will open your slimy mouth and—
Cody jumps to his feet. The chair overturns and crashes to the floor.
‘Cody! Cody!’
‘I . . . I . . . I have to go.’
And then he rushes out of the room. Gets out of there fast before he compounds the irreparable damage he has already done to himself. He races down the stairs and past the reception and out onto Rodney Street, and then he leans forward and dry-retches and listens to the roar of his world crashing down around him.
He staggers to the iron railings and grabs hold of them, focusing on the shock of their coldness in the hope that it will restore his senses. A kindly voice behind him asks if he is all right, and he turns to see an elderly woman staring at him with concerned eyes.
‘Yes. Thank you,’ he says.
He manages a weak smile, then points himself towards home and wills his shaky legs to take him there.
A few minutes, he thinks. Just a few minutes in familiar surroundings to calm myself down, to get my shit together again.
&
nbsp; What is the matter with me?
But he knows the answer to this. He has had a panic attack. He is suffering from overload. Too much stimulation of his tortured, exhausted brain, like it is being shotgun-blasted with horrific sensory input.
The walk home takes only a couple of minutes, but it seems like an eternity. It feels as though everyone he passes stares at him in wonder, as though every vehicle on the road slows down for its passengers to rubberneck at the spectacle of him.
He eventually reaches the haven of his building and is alarmed for a second as to why the front door is open. But of course the dental practice is open now. Cody’s own working pattern usually keeps him away from the building in these hours.
He turns the handle of the internal lobby door and steps into the hallway.
And realises something is wrong. Very wrong.
Simon Teller sees Cody and moves towards him. He is tall, handsome and wealthy, and Cody always struggles not to hold those things against him. But he has given Cody a roof over his head, and for that Cody is grateful.
‘Hey, Cody,’ says Teller. ‘Everything okay?’
Is it that obvious? Cody wonders. One glance is all it takes to see how much I’m suffering?
‘Yeah. Why?’
‘Well, I don’t normally see you here this time of day.’
‘Oh. No. I had a local appointment. Thought I’d pick up a couple of things while I was here.’
‘Not another orthodontist, I hope?’
‘What? No.’ He forces out a laugh, but it sounds absurdly false. His focus is too much on other things.
Like the man standing behind Teller, for example.
He does not know this man. Has never seen him before in his life. He is short and bald, and has a large mole in the cleft of his chin. But that’s not what interests Cody.
What concerns Cody is that the man is wearing blue overalls. A bit like those being worn by Clueless the clown.
He isn’t a clown, though. It is clear in his earnest expression and the way he is checking his watch that he takes his job extremely seriously.
Teller seems to detect the man’s impatience. ‘Gotta go,’ he says to Cody. ‘Drop in again for a coffee or something. It’d be good to catch up.’
Cody nods. He watches Teller go, escorting the tradesman.
Leading him towards the door to the basement.
49
Cody finds himself trailing after the two men. He has no alternative.
‘Is there a problem?’ he asks. He tries to sound jovial and not particularly worried, but he is so tired. Pretending seems to involve so much energy.
‘Just the annual boiler service,’ Teller answers. ‘Why? You haven’t had a problem with the heating, have you?’
‘No. All good. To be honest, I’ve never even given a thought as to where the boiler is in this building.’
‘It’s down in the basement. Probably the best place for it. It’s a bit of a noisy old beast.’
‘You know what? In all the time I’ve lived here, I’ve never once been down to the basement.’
‘It’s not very exciting. Bit spooky, actually. Do you want to take a look?’
‘Sure. I can spare a few minutes.’
Teller digs a large bunch of keys out of his pocket and quickly finds the one to unlock the cellar door.
I’ve got one just like that, Cody thinks. The key to my deepest fear.
Teller pulls open the door, finds the light switch, starts to lead the way down. Cody follows behind the two men. When he gets to the whitewashed, windowless chamber below, he finds it difficult to keep his eyes from being drawn towards the only locked door.
‘As you can see,’ Teller says, ‘not much down here.’ He beckons the engineer. ‘Boiler’s through here.’
Cody continues to dog the steps of the others, his head swivelling as he continues to check the closed door.
Clueless must be able to hear us out here, he thinks. His chain prevents him from reaching the door, but he could shout, he could call out. And how will I explain that one?
The heat from the boiler room hits Cody as soon as he reaches the doorway. The boiler itself sits high on one wall, clinging to it and looking down on them. It roars angrily as it sucks gas into its furnace and strains to push scalding liquid through the arteries of the building. Teller seems reluctant to go anywhere near it.
‘Bloomin’ ’eck,’ says the engineer. ‘That certainly is a beast.’
‘Still going strong, though,’ says Teller. ‘We’ll leave you to it.’
He heads out of the room, nodding at Cody to follow him. ‘Never have trusted that thing,’ he whispers. ‘It’s going to blow up one day and take the whole street with it.’
‘Thanks,’ Cody says. ‘I’ll sleep easier at night knowing that.’
Teller shows his bleached teeth, and it’s as if the whole space lights up.
‘Did I tell you this used to be a cellar, back when there was a social club here?’
‘You did.’ He starts to head towards the stairway, hoping that Teller will do likewise.
Teller doesn’t budge. ‘Pity they didn’t leave any booze behind.’ He starts gesturing towards the various rooms. ‘I think that one was where they kept the barrels for the stuff that was on tap. The delivery men used to roll them down from the street above. And that one was where they kept the crates of beer bottles and the wines and spirits. As for this one . . .’
He starts moving towards the closed door. It seems to Cody that every organ in his body starts clenching.
‘I should get to work,’ he says. He takes another couple of steps towards the staircase, but Teller doesn’t take the hint, and Cody knows he cannot leave the orthodontist down here to discover his prisoner.
Teller continues with his guided tour. ‘This room was a small office. For a caretaker, I think. When I moved in, it still had calendars on the wall with pictures of naked women.’
He laughs as he digs out the keys from his pocket again. He selects one, inserts it into the keyhole.
‘It’s okay,’ says Cody. ‘I really have to go now.’
Teller tries to turn the key. It doesn’t move.
‘I’ve got too many bloody keys on this keyring. Hang on.’
He starts flipping through the keys, searching for the one he needs. Cody’s hand slips automatically into his pocket and touches his own key. He wonders if it’s the only one, but he can’t take that chance.
‘Simon. I can’t hang around. My boss will have a fit. And haven’t you got patients to see?’
Teller checks his watch. ‘Shit, yes. Another time, okay? You can have this room if you need more space.’
Cody finds his fake laugh again. ‘If you think I’d be able to relax in an empty basement with only that boiler for company, you’ve got another think coming.’
‘You’ve got a point. Let’s get out of here before the beast gets annoyed at you for saying that.’
As Teller puts his keys back in his pocket, Cody wants to breathe a loud sigh of relief. He allows Teller to go ahead of him up the wooden staircase, mainly so that he can act as an obstruction should Teller be tempted to change his mind and turn around.
Then, before he leaves, Cody takes one final lingering look at that locked door.
50
Cody isn’t even aware of his drive to work. One minute he’s leaving the apartment; the next he’s at Stanley Road police station. His mind is a maelstrom: questions mixed with emotions stirred in with the surreal.
Regrets, he has a few. And yes, they are worth mentioning, because basically he has just fucked up his career prospects. Falstaff will have written him off as a basket case. Okay, she won’t use those words exactly, but that will undoubtedly be the gist of her report. How could it be otherwise? Given the way he disintegrated before her very eyes, how can she possibly recommend that he be allowed to continue in his current role?
So there’s that.
And then there’s what to do about Clueless.
He can’t keep him imprisoned for ever. For one thing, it’s against the law.
What’s happening now? I mean, right now, in the building?
Has he started shouting and screaming for attention? Has the boiler man heard him and reported it to Simon? What if Simon has decided to unlock the door anyway?
That’s going to fuck up not just my career but my liberty. They’ll throw away the key. My own ‘key to freedom’ isn’t going to be much help there.
And yet . . .
Why didn’t Clueless make a racket when he had the chance?
He knew we were just outside the door. He could easily have made his presence felt. Why would he want to remain undetected in that room?
It can only be because of Waldo. Waldo has something on him. He’s able to apply pressure even from a distance. Look at how Clueless went to pieces when his boss spoke to him on the phone. A few words were all it took. That’s how powerful, how formidable Waldo is.
When Cody enters the police station, he senses he is being watched and assessed. He tries to act normal, but coppers have a practised eye for these things, honed from years of observing people struggling to compensate for the effects of alcohol or drugs. He knows his own eyes are weary and bloodshot, his posture a little less upright, his reactions a little slower than usual.
What worries him most is that he may have another episode like the one he experienced with the psychologist. The strain he is under now could easily trigger one.
If Waldo appears any time soon, he thinks, here in this station, then I’m done for.
It’s yet another way in which my career might end.
Face it, man: shit creek is a beauty spot compared to this.
When he gets upstairs to the home of the Major Incident Team, again he feels all eyes are on him. This is the second time he has shown up for work so late, and on this occasion he looks like he’s been through a meat grinder.
His good friend Neil ‘Footlong’ Ferguson is the first to voice his concern. ‘You all right, mate?’
‘Yeah,’ Cody says. ‘You?’
‘Yeah. Only, you’re looking a bit rough. Did you go on a bender without me last night?’
Cody finds a smile. ‘Wouldn’t cheat on you like that, would I? Nah, I just couldn’t sleep.’
Your Deepest Fear Page 21