The Medium

by David Hatton

  ‘I don’t believe in coincidences. Before me, I see two motives for you taking the life of that grieving mother. The first being that you killed her son and was petrified that she’d find out. Maybe she’d worked out who you really were and you needed to keep her quiet?’

  ‘No that’s not true.’ Elizabeth placed a hand over her gasping mouth. She struggled to catch her breath, shaking her head and sobbing.

  ‘The second motive is that Suzanne Walker was having it away with your husband. You couldn’t handle it. How dare she take what was yours?’

  ‘No that’s not true!’

  ‘You couldn’t stand the thought of her touching your husband. Kissing him. Cuddling. Days out, meals out. When was the last time Robert had wined and dined you? And all this was going on in your holiday home in Portugal. In your bed!’

  ‘Stop! Stop!’ Elizabeth cried. ‘Stop talking about that deceitful slut!’

  The detectives paused. They turned to each other and nodded.

  ‘I think we have all we need for now. We’re closing the interview. Mrs Walker, please can you step outside with us?’

  Elizabeth wiped her eyes, stood up and followed the detectives into the corridor. They walked up towards a white room with a desk. Scott peered around the corridors to ensure they’d face few distractions.

  ‘Elizabeth Walker, we are charging you for causing death by careless driving while under the influence of alcohol and then failing to stop, leading to the death of Jason Walker. We’re also charging you for the murder of Suzanne Walker. You do not need to say anything…’

  Morgan read out her rights but she zoned out. Her tears had dried, her dead eyes stared towards the detectives. Taking an arm each, Morgan and Scott led Elizabeth past reception towards the cells.

  In the waiting room, Michael Walker stared at them, catching the eye of the woman who killed his son. In the distance he heard her wailing and the echo of a metal door slamming shut.

  Light burst through the round-headed windows above. Masonry walls and cast-iron columns surrounded the trains pouring in from all sides of the country. A Mersey Rail carriage pulled up, and out of the automatic doors Jackie Wallace stepped onto the stone platform of Piccadilly Station after a day of interviews, photo ops and a chat with an agent. A hub of retail outlets formed the entrance to the station where Jackie was greeted by journalists, snapping photographs and throwing questions towards the medium.

  ‘Jackie Wallace! Why did you say it was Robert Walker who murdered Suzanne when it was his wife?’

  ‘The messages aren’t always clear from beyond the grave. I think it was pretty close though, don’t you think?’

  ‘Will there be more revelations?’

  ‘I’ve said all I can to the police. I have nothing more to add on the matter at this time.’

  As she passed a newsagent, the country’s most popular tabloids had a photograph of Jackie filling their front pages. The medium lifted up one of the top layers and stroked the image. She lifted a pair of black cat-eye sunglasses and placed them over her eyes before strutting out of the station.

  22.

  “He that unburied lies wants not his hearse. For unto him a tomb’s the Universe.”

  - Sir Thomas Browne (1642)

  The weather matched the widower’s spirits. Hail smacked down onto the roof of a black limousine. Inside, Michael Walker and his parents linked arms on the back seat watching the hearse in front slowly carrying his late wife on her final journey along Nell Lane. A photograph of Suzanne, the last taken while she was away in Egypt with her parents, sat framed on top of the casket, smiling towards following drivers. To either side of the car, acres of green land held the loved ones of Manchester’s former residents, including the remains of the city’s most memorable artist, Laurence Stephen Lowry.

  It took Michael over a week to decide if he was going to attend the service. The police revealed his brother’s affair shortly after his release. He was furious. He went home and smashed the framed photograph of Suzanne onto the floor and tore up memories of the wife he’d previously cherished. It was his father who eventually made him see sense, that Suzanne was a different person after Jason died and was in no fit state to make any rational decisions. He had to admit to himself that his marriage was far from content in those final eighteen months.

  ‘Your brother has been charged with the obstruction of justice,’ Daniel, Michael’s father, updated his son. They wore matching black suits, white shirts and black ties. His white hair had thinned and grey fluff puffed from his chin. ‘He’s on bail until the trial.’

  Daniel’s comments met the silence of Michael and his mother, Isabella, who stared at the coffin. A dark veil hid her tears and the rage bubbling in her bloodshot eyes. Her dyed auburn hair was clipped back beneath her black fedora hat. A black suit jacket hung loosely over her matching skirt and a gold brooch rested over her left breast.

  ‘It’s Elizabeth’s court date tomorrow,’ Michael announced.

  ‘Surely it’s not the trial?’

  ‘No she’ll enter her plea.’

  ‘Hasn’t she already admitted everything?’ Isabella quizzed.

  ‘She’s admitted to the hit and run but not the murder.’

  ‘I’m still so shocked. She was such a lovely girl.’

  ‘Well I don’t want to hear you defending her today of all days, Mum.’

  A sea of colour followed the hearse on Suzanne’s final journey. A multi-coloured trail of cars slithered along the placid path, overshadowed by wilderness shattering leaves over the green mile. The hearse turned left, driving through rustic steel black gates, passing an assortment of engraved stones and granite monuments covered with photographs and flowers. The long winding drive curved around to expose a chapel. Sandstone in texture and neo-gothic in style, the church was nestled within a hub of rustling trees.

  Michael stepped out of the limousine and peered back towards an identical vehicle behind. The door opened and Jane and Theodore stepped out. They bowed their heads towards Michael and his parents, but little else had been said since Michael’s accusations of Ted’s conduct.

  ‘Hi,’ Michael said glumly.

  Isabella walked over and hugged the pair. ‘I can’t imagine what you’re going through.’

  ‘This is the second funeral this week. We buried Pamela the other day. I can’t believe this is happening.’ Theodore choked back his tears and dabbed his eyes with a hanky.

  ‘I’m sorry I didn’t come down. I didn’t know if you’d want to see me.’

  ‘It’s fine, Michael,’ Jane said. ‘You had a lot going on here too. Thank you for the flowers anyway.’

  ‘I just want to say, I don’t believe what I said anymore. Ted, I can’t imagine you…’

  Jane waved her hand. ‘Not today, Michael. Not today. Let’s go and say goodbye to our daughter.’

  The mahogany casket, upheld by six pallbearers, entered the chapel first. On top, Suzanne’s name was spelt out across the engraved lid in yellow tulips. Michael followed, linking arms with his parents. Behind, Jane hobbled through, grasping on to her husband for support. At the back, a silver-haired funeral director carried his top-hat and black cane and closed the pine arched doors behind him. Barber’s Adagio for Strings hummed from the pipes as the family took their seats and the casket landed onto the marble chancel.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, friends and family of Suzanne…’ the celebrant began. She was a slender brunette and known to her friends as Judy. An acquaintance of Suzanne’s parents, Judy had travelled to Manchester to deliver the service. She dressed in a white shirt and black trousers and a silver chain with the words Happy Human stretched across her chest. ‘We are joined here today to celebrate the life of Suzanne. And it should be a celebration. She was taken away from us far too soon, but she’s now without the pain of grief. While we miss her, we should remember the good times we shared with her and allow us to embrace the lessons we learned from her during her short time with us.’

  A vid
eo montage of photographs was projected onto the sandstone wall while Suzanne’s favourite songs streamed through the speakers. Puff Daddy’s Missing You and Tina Turner’s Simply the Best accompanied the memories of their departed friend. Her friends took it in turn to stand up and share anecdotes. For the first time, Michael heard about her rebellious schooldays which she spent drinking in the park. Suzanne’s parents provided a very different picture of the angelic child who could do no wrong. Finally Michael stood up to deliver his eulogy. He stood before the altar. On top, a crucifix remained hidden beneath a black cloth.

  He peered over the crowd before him. Many familiar faces had joined him to say goodbye, but one particular face was missing; Jackie. They hadn’t spoken since their falling-out after Jackie’s boastful TV interview. The press had come in hope of her attendance but instead she left flowers with a simple Thinking of You message. She was at home just around the corner from the cemetery, escaping the attention of the press and preventing herself from overshadowing Suzanne’s day.

  The other person whom Michael had lost touch with was Louise. She too had seen the news and dropped him a message on FaceHub.

  ‘Michael, I’ve been such a cow. Forgive me. I’m so, so sorry to hear about Suzanne. If you ever need a friend, I’m here.’

  He didn’t respond. He wasn’t ready to speak to either of them. Instead he peered over those who had made the journey and began his eulogy.

  ‘Suzanne would have loved to have seen so many of you today. Some of you we haven’t seen in years. She was a real people person, much better than I ever was. She was the heart and soul of the party, while I quietly sat back and watched her wow everyone. Jason’s death took all that away. When Jason died, so did she. The party stopped for Suzanne. The person wondering around disguised as her was far from the woman I married years ago. She’s gone now and wherever she is, she’ll be happier than she has been here. No longer feeling that loss, that horrible stomach churning pain which destroys you every time you wake up and realise that that person is no longer in your life and it wasn’t just some awful nightmare.’

  The arched doors at the back opened, silencing Michael. Light beamed through the archway exposing a silhouette. Placing the back of their hands above their eyebrows, the congregation blocked out the sun to see who had disturbed Michael’s eulogy. They gasped as he stepped closer into the light. Robert tightened his black tie over his white shirt and pulled down on his black waistcoat, before finding an empty pew at the back.

  The flustered crowd turned back to Michael. Any moisture inside his throat dried up. A shelf beneath the pulpit had his handwritten notes, a bottle of water and a copy of the Gideons’ Bible. He opened the bottle and took a swig to lubricate his tonsils, took an intake of breath and continued his speech.

  ‘Suzanne loved a lot of you who are sat here today. She spent a lot of time with each and every one of you. She gave all of herself to you. But had she known that any of you had deceived her, she would have cut you out like that…’ Michael lifted his arm and clicked his fingers. ‘She loved Jason more than anything and she would never forgive those who were responsible for his death, or those who covered it up, and neither will I.’

  Mumblings echoed across the chapel. Shuffling coats glided across the oak benches as the crowd shifted their heads between Michael and his brother. Robert bowed his head, avoiding the stares of his fellow grievers. Their glares were distracted by the stomping of rubber heels hammering the marble tiles as Michael returned to his seat on the front row.

  Reclaiming the stage, Judy returned to the pulpit and closed the ceremony. Eric Clapton’s ‘Tears in Heaven’ escorted Suzanne’s body along a conveyor belt into a dark hole within the stone wall. Red curtains attached to a gold rail gently closed. The audience dispersed and met in the narthex. Outside, flashes of cameras blinded the mourners as they hobbled out of the chapel doors. News spread that Robert Walker had joined the service. He stood beneath a dripping tree; few approached him.

  Michael exited the church and spotted his brother. He stormed over to his delinquent sibling and grabbed his collar. The crowd gasped and gawped at the commotion unfolding before them.

  ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing here? How dare you show your face!’ Michael spat in his brother’s eye and threw him against the trunk.

  ‘I didn’t want any drama. I just wanted to say goodbye, that’s all. I loved her too, you know?’

  ‘You didn’t love her. If you did, you wouldn’t have kept your wife’s little secret. You’re equally responsible for my son’s death and in my eyes you’re still a suspect for my wife’s death. I don’t know how you had the nerve to come here. I loved her. She was my world and I never had any secrets from her. That’s love. You lusted after her and took away the one thing which meant most to her. Now leave before I throw you out.’

  Robert lay on the floor covered in mud. He sneered and lifted himself up. ‘If you loved her, Michael, then why did you allow her to get into my bed?’

  The bridge of Robert’s nose crunched as it collided with his brother’s white knuckles. Blood spurt from his nostrils and dripped from Michael’s hand as he shook away the throbbing pain shooting through his fist. On the floor, Robert hovered between regaining his balance and restraining the eruption from his snout pouring over his white shirt. He composed himself and rose up, clenching his fist to retaliate but his father, Daniel, stood between the warring brothers.

  ‘What the hell are you two doing? Michael, ignore your brother. This is Suzanne’s day, not a day for you to get your revenge or settle some score. Suzanne loved you more than anything,’ Daniel said before turning to his eldest. ‘And you? You have some nerve coming here today and treating your brother this way. You’re no son of mine. Now get out of here. Now!’

  Robert peered over his father’s shoulder to the glares piercing into him. Nobody wanted him there besides the press who continued to taunt the family with their flashes, capturing every second of the drama.

  ‘Fine, piss off then.’ Robert pulled down on his suit jacket and paced up the path towards the cemetery exit. Daniel placed a hand on the back of his youngest son and ushered him back into the chapel. The crowd erupted in applause but Daniel shook his hand. Retrieving a white cotton hanky from his pocket, he cleaned the blood from Michael’s hand and inspected the damage to his knuckles.

  ‘You’ve made quite a mess here, son.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Dad.’ Michael used his remaining hand to wipe his eyes.

  ‘Don’t be. You’re grieving. He shouldn’t have turned up.’

  Together they walked away from the church. As they strolled down the winding path, the rain cleared and sunlight burst through a black cloud, showering the yellow tulips with its rays. A rainbow ripped through the skyline and beneath, the teary Walkers vacated the cemetery.

  They escaped Chorlton and headed towards Didsbury where they held the wake in a local tapas restaurant. The white cottage had transformed into a Mediterranean diner. For one day they hid the flamenco guitars and closed the curtains for the family to celebrate Suzanne’s life with a peaceful ambiance.

  After the meal, the family departed their tables and mingled. Most avoided a difficult conversation with the widower but one of the crowd approached Michael, who stood at the bar in a withdrawn state. The visitor leaned over the bar and ordered them both whiskies.

  ‘It’s a sad day,’ the stranger said.

  ‘You don’t need to tell me that.’

  ‘I’m Greg.’ He held out his hand and after a moment’s stare Michael shook it.

  ‘I’d say nice to meet you but given the circumstances…’

  ‘I understand.’ Greg nodded.

  ‘How did you know Suzanne?’

  ‘We went to school together.’

  ‘She didn’t mention you,’ Michael said, looking him up and down. He looked a little older than Suzanne; his wrinkled forehead, his dark sagging eyes and circular brown specs put him at least a decade above her.
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  ‘She probably didn’t notice me. I fancied her as a teenager but I never plucked up the courage to ask her out.’

  ‘Maybe you should have done. There’s a chance she’d be alive right now if she hadn’t ended up with me.’

  ‘So what’s going on with that medium then?’ Greg stroked his chin.

  ‘She approached me about Suzanne’s body and found her.’

  ‘And you believed her?’

  ‘I don’t usually believe in all that but Jackie has convinced me that there’s more than what we see out there. She’s proven it!’

  ‘And what about Jackie now, do you still see her?’

  ‘No I’ve not seen her since. We had somewhat of a falling out.’ Michael bowed his head as he considered his lost friend.

  ‘Oh right, how come?’

  Michael glanced up towards the stranger. He noticed a thin black wire poking out of his shirt. He grabbed it and caught a small microphone on the end, which had been tucked away beneath his suit jacket.

  ‘What’s this?’ He grabbed the wire.

  ‘It’s a hands-free kit. I was making a call on the way over,’ Greg explained and pulled the microphone back.

  ‘Bollocks. You’re a journo aren’t you?’

  ‘You got me!’ He held up his hands and feigned laughter.

  ‘Get out!’ Michael barked.

  ‘Hey, I’m just doing my job.’

  ‘Get out! Now.’

  The room turned around and a Spanish waiter walked over, stepping in between Michael and the journalist. He placed a hand over the uninvited guest and escorted him towards the exit. Greg paused and walked back to Michael. He lifted into his jacket and pulled out a card, handing it to the widower.

  ‘Listen, if you ever want to talk, here’s my card.’

  The card read Gregory Fieldman – Freelance Journalist. Michael chucked the card into his pocket and downed the whisky that the intruder had bought him. Across the restaurant, Isabella spotted her son’s discomfort and approached him. She stood beside him and rubbed his back.