by Crin Claxton
“Look, mate, I won’t fit all that stuff in my van. It’s only a transit,” Tony said.
“That’s the deal then. If you want that, whatever it is, you take away a transit’s load from my loft.” Smith’s nephew folded his arms.
“But how am I going to get it all down? That ladder’s a death trap. And I’m on my own. Will you help me?”
“No, I will not. What are they thinking of? Sending a boy to do a man’s job. What are you, sixteen? I should have known you were full of it when you came to the door.”
“He thinks you’re a man. Well, he would. He ain’t seen dykes like I have. Hundreds of them, I’ve seen,” Smith muttered.
Tony bit her cheeks. She half wished Smith was still alive, so she could punch him. But that would probably be behaving like a man. Sometimes it was hard to know what to do for the best. Well, she wasn’t having him think she was a teenage boy.
“Actually, I’m not—”
“Don’t tell him you’re a dyke,” Smith barked in Tony’s ear. “Better he thinks you’re a boy. He’s not open-minded like me. He ain’t seen the number of dykes I have. He won’t let you have nothing if he thinks you’re a dyke.”
“Well, what’s it to be?” Smith’s nephew asked.
“What if I did give you a hundred pounds?” Tony thought she could write off a hundred.
“Five hundred. Seven hundred and fifty, a thousand—”
Tony cut him off. “All right then. I’ll take a transit load away, but that’s it.”
*
Tony went back up to the loft feeling bamboozled. She’d definitely have got Maya to go with her if she’d have known she had to cart a transit van’s load of junk out of an attic on her own. Come to think of it, she would have gone round and insisted Jade leave her love nest for half a day and pitch in too. After all, the whole detective agency thing had been her idea. Tony was mildly concerned that she hadn’t managed to make contact with Jade. It was strange she hadn’t returned Tony’s calls. She always had before. Even when Tony had gone back to Amy for the fifth time and they’d had a row about the way Amy was treating Tony. Tony hadn’t liked it at the time, but Jade was proved right in the end.
Maya had half convinced Tony something was wrong, but Tony didn’t have a bad feeling in her gut. It was more likely Jade had disappeared into the parallel universe called “being in lust.” Tony had seen it before with that woman from Brighton. Mind you, that had only been for a week. This had been…Tony did a quick count. She stopped dead a few feet from the stepladder. It had been three weeks. That was a long time.
Maya was a clever woman. Tony could do worse than to listen to her. She had been right there for Tony the previous night. Tony felt humbled thinking about how sensitive and caring Maya had been.
Right then. As soon as she’d nailed the Frankie White case, again, Tony would camp out at Jade’s until she opened the door.
Pulling herself up into the loft, Tony grabbed anything that would fill up the transit fast, and didn’t look too heavy. She rejected the armchair but plumped for the broken wooden chair, and the clotheshorse, which she planned to extend once she got it into the van.
“They’re not going to fetch much.” Deirdre looked down her nose at the offending objects.
Tony scowled at her.
“You’re going about this the wrong way,” Deirdre went on.
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve got to cover the costs. You’ll go out of business.”
Tony couldn’t believe it. “What are you telling me that now for? I’m in the middle of this ridiculous situation. I’m on my own. I don’t count you two because you’re no help whatsoever in the carrying department. And I have to—”
“Yeah, we know,” Deirdre said, picking something out of her nail. “Cart a load of old junk out of this attic; down a rickety, rusty ladder; over moldy old carpet; past an unshaven lay about; across a broken driveway; and into a dirty, dingy, and undoubtedly dangerous vehicle.”
Tony nodded. “Not how I would have put it, but that pretty much sums it up. Yes.”
“And then what are you going to do with the junk?”
“Get rid of it,” Tony said crossly.
“And how are you going to do that?” Deirdre had the air of an overly patient, slightly smug schoolteacher.
“Take it to the tip, of course.”
“And they’re just going to let you do that, are they?”
Tony let out a yell as the realization hit her. “Goddammit. I’m going to have to pay to get rid of this old crap.”
She sank down on the armchair. She wanted to help Frankie, but this was getting ridiculous. She couldn’t afford to pay for everything. She swallowed back a knot in her throat that felt dangerously like a tear. When she looked up, Smith was laughing.
“What’s the matter with you?” Tony snapped. “If you’d done the decent thing in the first place, none of this would be necessary.”
“This is how I react to situations like this. I’m resilient. It’s what made me so popular in the prison service. They called me Laughing Boy.”
Tony had half an idea what the women in Holloway might have called him.
“Don’t let him get to you. Use your head, Tony. What’s in here that you can sell?”
“I see where you’re going. I used to love that program Cash in the Attic. What were they always looking out for?” Tony thought for a moment. “Oh yeah—antiques, collectibles, jewelry, and heirlooms.”
Tony trailed her eyes over the contents of the loft. “Well, I don’t think there’s a huge trade in floral carpet scraps and old empty boxes.”
She remembered the transistor radio. “This Roberts radio might be worth something.” She picked it up and put it near the hatch. “Have you got any jewelry or silver up here?” she asked Smith.
“Most of the stuff in here is old toot, but there is something,” Smith said. “Grab that painting.”
Tony went over to a crude watercolor of ships in a harbor. “Oh, oh. Is it valuable?” She scrutinized it. “Let me guess. I genned up on all the potential valuables, including fine art in my Cash in the Attic viewing days. I recognize the naive brush strokes. Is it an early Lowry?”
“No. My nephew painted it when he was six. Chuck that old rubbish away. Open the box.” Smith pointed to a shoebox that had been underneath the painting.
Tony took off the lid. It was stuffed with bank notes. Smith looked pleased with himself. “I put it up here because what burglar goes poking about in the loft? Serves that lazy bugger right if you have it. He should have cleared all this out years ago.”
Most of the notes were green. Tony pulled one out. It was a pound note. “I haven’t seen one of these for years.”
“What do you mean?” Smith asked.
“They’re not legal tender. We’ve had pound coins for ages.”
Smith’s face fell. “Well, I tried to help you out.”
Tony heaved a sigh. She sat on the old armchair.
Smith studied her.
“What you going to do? You going to walk away? Let Ron Somers get away with it?”
Tony thought about how long Rose had fought for justice. She remembered Rose’s face when Tony had left. Her thank-you card had sounded everything but thankful.
Tony had a little bit of money put by.
“Okay.” She nodded at Smith.
His shoulders lifted. “Thanks for helping me put things right. You’re all right, you know, Tony. For a dyke.”
*
Why would someone give GHB to their partner without their consent? That question had been running through Maya’s mind since she’d spoken to Telitha. Maya knew the drug’s association with sexual abuse, but that was in the context of targeting strangers. She also knew that people used it recreationally. It was basically a rapidly acting central nervous system depressant.
Maya was convinced that Suni was giving Jade drugs. Whether Jade was taking them willingly, Maya didn’t know. Maya had no proof, and she realized
she would need to get some. She hadn’t spoken to Jade, or even Tony yet. Maya wanted to run some ideas first. She kept coming back to the question: what was Suni doing, and why?
Apart from the conversation with Telitha, Maya had no reason to think that Suni was doing anything wrong. It came down to a gut feeling. Maya hadn’t liked her when she’d first met her, but that was hardly evidence of any crime. Maya didn’t approve of the way Suni was with clients. Well, specifically the way Suni was with Jade as a client. But that also wasn’t a crime. Maya needed to be sure she wasn’t painting Suni as a villain just because she didn’t like her. Tony had said, rather bluntly, that Maya saw dysfunction everywhere. Maya hadn’t liked that idea at all. She wasn’t going to discuss the situation with Tony until she had something concrete to say.
Jade had been acting strangely before Suni came along. She hadn’t been sleeping, which she’d explained was because she was being haunted by an unfriendly ghost. Maya had gotten used to people talking about ghosts, but she still found it odd. That early behavior of Jade’s could have been the onset of anxiety, paranoia, or psychosis, and nothing to do with Suni whatsoever.
However, Jade had mentioned dryness and a salty taste in her mouth, and that food tasted different. She had become isolated from Tony, her best friend, which fit with what Telitha had said about Suni trying to keep her from her friends. Maya wished she could talk to the dead ex, Felicia.
Maya realized what she had just thought and laughed. If someone had told her a year previously that she would one day be wishing she could talk to dead people, Maya would have written severe delusion problems in the margin of that person’s notes.
Maya just knew Suni had something to do with Jade’s strange behavior. But what was Suni up to?
In between clients, Maya researched GHB and its effects. She discovered that the average dose took effect in fifteen to thirty minutes and lasted from three to six hours. Low dosages acted as a relaxant, causing low muscle tone and reduced inhibitions. Medium dosages produced feelings of euphoria, increased sex drive, lowered inhibitions, memory lapses, drowsiness, headache, low body temperature, low blood pressure, tremors, nausea, diarrhea, and urinary incontinence. As the dose increased, there was a higher risk of vomiting, sweating, loss of coordination, breathing problems, confusion, agitation, hallucinations, blackouts, seizures, respiratory arrest, and death.
Maya knew that nearly all recreational drugs had potentially serious side effects. People took drugs in small to medium dosages without killing themselves, but she was worried about the damage Jade could be doing to her body. And that was if she knew she was taking the stuff.
Maya thought about the last time she’d seen Jade. She hadn’t complained of nausea or headache. She hadn’t looked high. She did seem confused and agitated.
Maya was missing something, something that nagged at the edges of her mind.
Assuming that Suni was secretly giving Jade substances that affected her behavior, why?
Maya recalled reading an article on drugs used for mind control. With a twist, she realized she had been sitting in the same chair, looking at the same monitor. She had noticed the article when she’d had to use Suni’s computer a couple of months previously. She hadn’t even been sharing an office with Suni then.
Maya quickly did a search on the subject until she found the article. Maya zoned in on one of the drugs mentioned in it: scopolamine. It was known as the zombie drug and, like GHB, featured in cases of sexual abuse. What was especially unpleasant about scopolamine, when used for that purpose, was that it made people submissive and zombie-like. When people recovered from the drug, they had no memory of the time they spent under its influence. She read that it was widely used in Colombia by criminals who sprinkled the colorless, odorless powder into food or drink and then carried out theft, kidnapping, and other crimes.
Medical research on the drug showed that it blocked receptors in the brain so that memories couldn’t be formed. Common side effects were a dry mouth, redness, and itching of the skin. The article said that the effects of high doses of scopolamine included hallucinations, delirium, delusions, paralysis, and stupor.
Maya didn’t know what to think except she was pretty sure Jade was taking drugs or being given them secretly. She needed to talk to Tony.
Tony picked up on the fifth ring.
“Hey, Maya, great to hear from you. Listen, I’m driving.”
“Oh. Are you on hands free?”
“No. I’m in a van. I forgot my headset. Can I call you back?”
“I’ve got a client in a minute. I’ll call you. Listen, Tony, I just want to say—”
“Maya, there’s a police car behind me.” Tony put the phone down abruptly.
Maya sighed out loud. Oh well, she needed to see her two o’clock. Headaches and constipation couldn’t wait. Well, actually, maybe that was the problem. Maya chuckled at her own joke. And then she reminded herself that her patients’ disorders were no laughing matter.
Oh, lighten up. When Maya had been training, she’d often shared little jokes with her fellow students. It was how they coped with the pressures of exams and the rigors on the spirit of becoming a healer. She missed talking to her peers. Getting together at a couple of conferences a year wasn’t enough. Maya had hoped that she could talk to Suni in that way. A knock at the door brought her focus sharply back to the present.
“Come in,” she called.
As the door swung inward, Maya forced her attention on her two o’clock client.
*
Ron Somers’s confession had lain undisturbed in Smith’s attic for the best part of forty years. The magnetic recording tape was in good condition.
At home, Tony plugged the Revox tape machine into a wall socket. Both meters lit up with a yellow light. Tony smiled.
“That means it’s got power,” Smith said.
With Smith’s guidance, Tony then attached the reel recorded in Smith’s living room in 1967 onto the left hand spool. She locked it into place, threaded the tape through the tape heads, and slipped the end of the tape into the slot on the right hand spool.
“Okay, press play and cross your fingers,” Smith said, leaning back against Tony’s favorite armchair.
“Is something exciting going to happen soon?” Deirdre chipped in, stifling a loud and obviously fake yawn. “Quite frankly, the trash at that garbage dump was more interesting than watching you mess about with that thing. Did you see that buff young garbage disposer? I bet he knows how to drive a big rig. I wouldn’t be interested, though, even if he was dead. Sordid scenes are so punk rock. I’m more of a glam rock kind of boy. Spitting’s very overrated.”
Tony looked up from the reel-to-reel recorder. “Shall I press play then?” she asked Smith, who was staring open-mouthed at Deirdre. “Yes, she has that effect on people.”
He turned to Tony. “What? Oh yeah, press play.”
Tony pushed down the big play button. Both spools began to turn, and the tape moved under the heads, transferring from one spool to the other. The recording came out of the machine’s integrated speaker.
There was a click, some shuffling noises that sounded like a chair being moved and then Smith’s voice: “What do you want, beer?”
“Is the pope Catholic? Course I want a beer. Got a Double Diamond?” a medium voice with a strong London accent replied. Tony guessed that was Ron Somers.
“The beer the men drink,” Somers said.
Both men laughed.
Tony looked quizzically at Smith.
“That was an advert in the sixties,” he explained.
“There you go.” Smith’s voice was nearer. There was the sound of another chair being pushed forward.
Somers started laughing. “They got you good, didn’t they?”
“What? Who?” Smith sounded annoyed.
“Jenkins and her gang. ‘Don’t touch the back garden. That’s where I hid the money.’ It’s one way to get your garden dug over.”
“She wrote in her
letter that all the money was buried in her mother’s garden. I had to report that. Had to,” Smith grumbled.
“Jenkins said her mother’s always wanted to plant vegetables. Now she can,” Somers said. “The Forest Hill constabulary aren’t very fond of you, though. Your name’s mud with them.”
Smith hovered over the reel-to-reel machine. “Fast-forward it,” he muttered, looking cross. “The bit where he talks about Frankie White’s not for ages yet.”
Tony laughed. She pressed the fast-forward button. The tape sped through the heads. A speeded up version of the conversation came through the speaker.
After a few minutes, Smith said, “Try it from there.”
Smith was speaking when Tony pressed play. “Have you had your interview with the governor yet?”
“Yeah. All done and dusted. The police have finished with me, and the governor’s happy. Frankie White, rest in peace, eh?”
There was the sound of glasses clinking.
“Cheers,” Somers said and then laughed.
“What?” Smith asked. “Why you laughing now?”
Somers laughed some more. The laugh was low and sinister, a quiet chuckle that didn’t include anyone but himself. After a while, he said, “I hated that woman.”
“Yeah, I know,” Smith said. “Here, pass your glass.”
There was the sound of beer being poured.
“I hate dykes. And she had no shame. She didn’t care who knew it,” Somers said. “Fucking dykes, I hate ’em.”
“There’s hundreds of them in there, hundreds,” Smith said.
“Filth. Every one of them. White got what was coming to her.”
“I suppose so.”
“Suppose so? You bloody know so. You hate dykes as well. I know you do.”
“I didn’t think they were real before I joined the prison service,” Smith said.
Somers laughed. “You’re so stupid. They’re not fairies. That’s the men. Ha! Ha!” Somers fell about at his own joke. Then he sniffed and took a long glug of beer. “Fill it up, mate.”
Somers’s voice came over the sound of more beer being poured. “She needled me, that bitch. But I got her in the end.”