I chewed on the inside of my cheek at his words.
‘To start with, you haven’t asked a question, and secondly, are you a psychologist, detective? Have you studied this exemplary man’s family background, his childhood, his school years, his conduct at work?’
‘Well… no—’
‘Then I’ll kindly invite you not to slander my client. I can see your incompetence in finding the suspect has led you to clutch at straws. Now, do you have a murder weapon?’
‘No, but we’ve an idea of the weapon used.’
‘And? Do you suspect my client to be in possession of said weapon?’
‘It’s unlikely. You’ll be hard-pressed to find one around here,’ he said, sitting back.
‘But not impossible,’ added Detective Lightman.
‘I highly doubt my client has been hunting down a rare weapon to murder his employer. Come on, detectives, you’ll have to do better than that. Mr Chester here is an upstanding citizen with no record and a stable job for the past few years. What else do you have? Because that will never stick with the CPS.’ Now he sat back in his chair. I could see him smiling in the mirror.
‘He has a motive,’ said Green.
Mr Mercier chuckled. ‘Go on, then, convince me of said motive.’
‘Mr Chester stood to inherit the shop and the flat above. Is that enough motive for you?’
‘Oh, nice work, detectives.’ He clapped his hands slowly. ‘I’d get that tossed out in thirty seconds flat. Mr Chester was unaware of the inheritance he was to receive upon Mr Phillips’s death. It was written into the will that he should receive notification of the inheritance upon his thirtieth birthday and not a moment earlier, should Mr Phillips still be living. Also, I can get statements from both witnesses to the will within the hour, should you need them. I do believe one of the witnesses is a colleague of yours.’
Both detectives blew their cheeks out.
‘I think that’ll be it for now,’ said Green.
‘Great! If you have any more questions for my client, I suggest you call my office. I know you have my number somewhere, but here’s another card for you.’ Mercier retrieved a card from his inside pocket and slid it with one finger over to the detectives, then he ushered me out of the room to where Mum was waiting for us.
‘How did it go?’ she asked, standing up.
‘As expected, there’s nothing to worry about, Mrs Chester. I’m taking care of everything.’
‘Thank you, Mr Mercier. I’m glad we’ve got you on my boy’s side.’ Her body turned to me. ‘Say thank you to the man,’ she said.
‘Thank you, Mr Mercier.’
He held out his hand for me to shake. I stared at it for a moment. No one had ever wanted to shake my hand before. Not even at Dad’s funeral. Everyone had shaken Grandad’s hand, but not mine. I wouldn’t have wanted too then, anyway, but still.
Mum cleared her throat pulling me back from my memory.
I shook his hand and offered my thanks again.
‘Right, let’s get you home,’ she said, and we made our way out with Mr Mercier trailing behind us.
‘Actually, Mum, I really should check on the shop. Make sure everything is okay.’
‘Oh, good idea. I’ll join you.’
I stopped in my tracks, twiddling my hands in front of me. ‘If you don’t mind, Mum, I’d rather go on my own… I need a minute to myself.’
She stopped, too, and turned around. ‘Oh.’ She sounded disappointed with the way her tone sloped downwards. ‘Sure thing. I’ll… umm… just head home, then.’
‘I’ll drop you off, Mrs Chester,’ Mr Mercier said from behind me.
‘Thanks, that’s truly kind of you. Alright John-Michael, off you trot.’
I watched them disappear to Mr Mercier’s car before embarking down the pavement, towards the antique shop. I had a plan to retrieve the guns from the safe and get them home without incident.
As I walked there, I thought about the weeks leading up to Mr Phillips’s death. I blamed myself. It was obvious now he had been in trouble, and he had let on something bad was going to happen. I wished I’d had the nuance at the time to fit all the pieces together instead of being consumed by the search for my missing puzzle piece.
I weaved up and down the side streets and alleyways in an attempt to avoid the townsfolk. It may have taken me longer to get there, but at least I could avoid being seen. To return home, I would need to use the tiny alley between the hardware store and greengrocers, and I’d have to be extra careful. Since Mr Phillips’s death, news had spread fast, and I was their number one suspect, regardless of the police’s attempts to find out more about the true killer.
I managed to get to the back of the shop without incident and took the case containing the guns from the safe. I searched the shop for something to carry it in and found an old army khaki canvass shoulder bag. I fastened the buckles as tight as they would go and put the bag across my body.
I held on to it tightly as I went back into the open. The interview had taken longer than I’d thought; the sun had started to set, but at least the wind had died down.
The early evening was quiet. Too quiet.
I rounded the back of the houses, behind the shops, then did a U-turn to exit via the alley near the chemist. I had to get onto the high street so I could cross over to the greengrocers.
I poked my head out and scanned the street.
My stomach dropped.
He was back. The Suit was back. Except he no longer wore a suit. He’d changed his clothes to a checked shirt which was tucked into a pair of jeans. Despite his disguise, I knew it was him; I’d never forget the face that haunted me. The face that danced in front of my own whenever I looked in the mirror.
I leant against the wall and held the bag tighter.
I’d hoped he’d gone back to wherever he’d come from. Surely The Suit had to be aware the police were looking for him. Perhaps he didn’t care. Perhaps that’s why he’d swapped his outfit.
What was I going to do? He was in my way and now the guns were out in the open.
I couldn’t go back the other way. I’d be too near the police station. I’d be in the open for too long. If PC Williams spotted me, he might stop me and demand to know what I was carrying.
Then he would know I’d lied. Everyone would.
I checked again. The Suit was leant casually against the hardware shop, his knee tucked so his foot was touching the wall.
You can do this, John-Michael, I told myself. Keep calm and stay cool.
I needed a distraction. But what?
I stuck my head out again. A white transit van had pulled up at the greengrocers, blocking my view.
Crap! Now, what would I do? I’d have to go back to the shop and wait it out.
As I turned, a phrase Mum had said popped into my head: ‘Why should we skulk off like wounded animals?’
She was right; I had to be brave. I was the Mirror Man. I’d spent years under the radar. Why would now be any different?
Two large men in suits jumped from the van, and I recognised them immediately. I’d seen them near The Suit shortly after Mr Phillips’s death. Were they going to put me in the van, take me somewhere?
The Suit bowed his head and pulled deeper into the shadows.
I watched intently. They didn’t so much as glance at him as they entered the greengrocers. The Suit was now like me: unassuming, invisible. They weren’t with him at all. In fact, he seemed wary of them.
I knew then I could accomplish my mission. I pulled the collar up on my jacket and got ready to run.
First, I needed a car to pass so I could run behind it and get to the transit van.
I poised, ready to run, almost bouncing on my heels.
An old Ford trundled along. I counted.
One.
Two.
Three.
Go.
I crouched as I ran and pressed the bag close to my body with my elbow.
I made it to the doors at the
back of the van and exhaled the breath I’d been holding. I was one step closer to where I needed to be.
The van door slammed.
The engine spluttered to life.
Oh no! I had to move now, or face being stood in the street, unprotected.
It started to move.
I darted off, like a greyhound being released from the starting gate and didn’t dare turn back, scared of what might be lurking behind me. I sprinted until stars danced in front of my eyes and I had to stop to get my breathing under control before continuing home.
Chapter Twenty-two
In the days leading up to Mr Phillips’s funeral, I became a little obsessed with The Suit. I had to find out who he was, where he’d come from, and most of all, why no one else had seen him. Plus, I had to do something. The police investigation had ground to a halt, and I couldn’t let Mr Phillips’s killer go unpunished.
I would get into the same mindset as him, see if I could figure out all the answers to the questions I had. And that meant I had to become him. I was the Mirror Man, after all.
The first thing I did was go out and get a suit similar to his. There weren’t any decent shops here. I had to travel to Doncaster on the bus to visit Ray Allen’s. I bought myself an off-the-peg, two-tone suit in burgundy and another one in silvery-grey. When I’d described The Suit’s outfit to the assistant, he told me the name was two-tone.
Mum didn’t mind being in the antique shop on her own; she enjoyed working there. It was the first time she’d been employed and had a wage packet. She hoped to save up and go abroad one day, she told me.
I minded, though, so I had Grandad stay in the shop with her that day. The next day, however, I planned to get my hair cut to the same style as The Suit’s. The town barber seemed to be the only person who wasn’t bothered that the rest of the town suspected me of murder.
I left Mum in the shop, telling her I would be no more than ten minutes and that if she was concerned about anything to come get me.
As the barber finished up, I saw The Suit again through the reflection in the mirror in front of me. He was walking past the shopfront without a care in the world. I couldn’t get my head around why no one else had spotted him before now. I mean, they had to have. He stuck out like a sore thumb before he changed his clothes. It made me wonder if he was invisible to everyone else, no matter what he was wearing.
I quickly paid, tossing the coins on the counter. Despite the way he made me feel, I had to take the chance to follow him. At last, I would be able to find out exactly who he was and where he’d been hiding. I’d tell the police, then this whole nightmare would be over.
My heart pounded. Anticipation ran through me. I caught up with him until I was only feet away. That’s when I noticed he was carrying an object in his hand. It was long, slender, and curved at one end.
What the—
I stopped.
Mum. The shop.
Turning on my heel, I sprinted back to Claude’s Antiques.
‘Mum, are you alright?’ I yelled as I clattered through the door.
‘Of course, I am. You’ve only been gone ten minutes. You’ll never guess what I’ve sold.’
‘Wait,’ I said dashing past her.
I approached the back door; it had been prised open.
The only place the intruder had been was the office in a failed attempt to break into the safes.
‘Mum, didn’t you hear anything?’ I demanded to know as she appeared behind me.
‘Well, no I was talking to this couple about—’ She suddenly changed her tone. ‘We need to go to the police.’
‘They won’t be interested, Mum, I’m a murderer in their eyes! Why do you think we’ve had hardly any walk-ins?’
‘We all know that’s not true, JC. And I’ve sold the extending table and chairs today. Anyway, that’s not the point. You’ve done nothing wrong.’ She paced up and down the shop floor, wringing her hands. ‘What if it was this “Suit” fella trying to rob the place again?’
There was no ‘What if.’ I knew it was him.
‘Even if it was, it seems as though he’s too clever for them to catch,’ I told her. ‘He must be a professional.’
Mum growled and stopped pacing to cross her arms protectively over her chest.
‘I’m off to change the locks.’ I told her. ‘Lock the front door and don’t let anyone in.’
‘Fine.’
As I worked, Mum lingered behind me, muttering to herself.
‘Right. Hurry up. We’re going down there—now.’
I straightened from the lock. ‘Where?’
‘The police station, JC. Come on, hurry.’
‘Seriously?’
She raised an eyebrow at me in the reflection on the glass of the door. ‘Yes, seriously.’
Mum marched all the way to the police station with me trailing behind, struggling to keep up. Anger radiated from her, and the police were about to be on the receiving end of it.
‘I want to speak to Detective Green or Lightman—now,’ she said to the officer manning the counter. Loitering slightly behind Mum, I watched their interaction via the window on a door behind the counter that seemingly led to an office.
‘I’m sorry, Mrs…’
‘Chester.’
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Chester, but they’re off duty.’
She slammed her hand on the counter. ‘Off duty? Likely story. I want to speak to someone who’s investigating Mr Phillips’s murder.’
‘Ah, the imaginary friend case?’ The officer started laughing.
‘What? He is not imaginary,’ she said between clenched teeth. ‘He’s just broken into my boy’s shop!’
He hummed. ‘And what evidence do you have of this?’
‘The back door was wide open.’
‘Were you in the shop at the time?’
‘Yes, I—’
‘And did you hear or see the so-called burglar?’
Mum sputtered. ‘What are you suggesting?’
‘Answer my question, Mrs Chester.’
‘I… Well, no, I didn’t. But the man is smart, he—’
The officer raised a silencing hand in front of Mum’s face. ‘And was anything stolen?’
‘No,’ Mum growled. ‘But—’
‘Then why,’ the officer interrupted, ‘are you here?’
‘We need protection from that maniac!’
‘I’ll get right on that, Mrs Chester.’ The officer’s chin dipped towards his newspaper which lay open in front of him. He picked up a pen and filled in a few squares on the day’s crossword.
Mum’s fists clenched at her sides. ‘Oh, if you weren’t a man in blue, I’d—’
‘Do not finish that sentence, Mrs Chester…’ the officer warned and dropped his pen. ‘You and your son need to go home and stop wasting police time. You probably left the back door open yourselves and forgot, but you’ve allowed yourself to become deluded by the boy’s stories.’
‘Deluded?!’ Mum spat, but the officer continued.
‘Good afternoon, Mrs Chester.’
For a moment, Mum just silently seethed. ‘You haven’t heard the last of me,’ she finally said, then turned back to me. ‘Come on, son, let’s go.’
We left to the sounds of chortling as the officer filled in another who’d shown up.
I’d been right. They weren’t interested in the slightest. Mum was furious. She huffed and puffed all the way back to the shop.
Chapter Twenty-three
The day of Mr Phillips’s funeral arrived; a day I’d been dreading.
I wanted to get out and clear my mind beforehand, so I went to sit on my favourite bench, not because I wanted to follow anyone, but because I’d always been happy when I sat there.
I wasn’t going to find that happiness today, however, as I noticed a figure sat there. I knew that bench was for anybody, and obviously other people used it—their names were written all over it—but I’d never had to share it with anyone else.
As
I got closer, I noticed it was Tab Hunter, and my heart sank further. I didn’t want to listen to his ramblings, and what if he spoke to me? What would I say? Would he accuse me of murder too?
I sat down as far away as I could from him on the small bench. His bike had been leant against the back. In front of him was a plastic bag. I couldn’t see what was in it. He stank of cigarette smoke, and he was mumbling incoherently.
I looked at my watch and decided I would stay for five minutes. I didn’t want to get up straight away, or he would know I was leaving because of him.
I’d missed most people going to work, and the street was more or less empty except for Tab Hunter and me. I leant back against the bench and heard him clear his throat. I ignored him, but he did it again, louder this time, as though he was trying to get my attention.
I hung my head and swiftly turned to my right to glance at him as quick as I could through my lashes.
‘Ay-up, lad,’ he said.
I looked to my left to see if he was talking to someone else, but there was no one there.
He chuckled. ‘Yes, I’m talking to you, lad.’
‘Oh, okay. Hi, mister…’ I said, not really knowing what else to say and wondering if I should get up and leave now. I’d never seen him talk to anyone before.
‘I’ve seen you about,’ he said, then rustled about in his plastic bag. Next, he clicked a lighter. It seemed he had retrieved a tab end from his plastic bag. I had always wondered where he kept them. He must have had hundreds in there.
‘You don’t like looking at people, do you?’ he asked me.
‘No, not really,’ I said. ‘I haven’t been able to look at people since…’ I’d been able to look at The Suit, though that was through sheer force. Then I’d been able to look at Fred, but it had faded away after that awful day. ‘… since I was young. I don’t mind looking at people through reflections, though’ I told him. ‘I’m trying to work on it.’
He hummed. ‘I’ve noticed that, laddie. Now, you listen to me. Don’t let anyone tell you what you’ve been doing or how you act is wrong, do you hear me?’ He raised his voice at the end, making me flinch away from him. I’d never heard Tab Hunter string a full sentence together before.
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