Room 15: a gripping psychological mystery thriller

by Charles Harris

  So, an anti-austerity gangster! He has hidden depths. ‘You think this could be political?’ I ask.

  ‘Shit, politics? Nah, not Amy. She just wanted to have herself a life. Came here, drank, danced. Had a good time.’

  ‘The two of them.’ I say this like it’s a fact, but he doesn’t react, looks at me like he’s waiting for more. I go on, ‘The two nurses.’

  ‘No,’ he says. He puts his drink down. ‘No two nurses. Only her.’

  ‘You expect me to believe that?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘I know perfectly well there was another nurse and you’re not telling me something.’

  I’ve pushed too far this time. He bangs his hand fiercely on the arm of the sofa, raising a cloud of dust, like he wants to hit someone rather than something. And then he goes quiet and I feel the danger. I decide this is a good time to call an end to the meeting, so I drain my glass and stand up.

  ‘There’s a second nurse. Whoever killed Amy Matthews was trying to kill her too.’

  ‘I don’t know nothing about no second nurse,’ he says, calming down. ‘Did you ask Tina about her last night?’

  Tina’s a new name. Another fragment of lost memory to file away. ‘Tina,’ I say, waiting for him to give me more, but nothing comes. ‘I need to talk to Tina again.’

  ‘She was in, last I looked.’ Rahman’s switched personalities again and is being worryingly conversational once more. I place my empty glass down on the bare floor.

  ‘If you find anything out,’ I say, ‘give me a call.’

  I know he won’t. I start to turn and the bearded one shifts across to stop me, while the other two raise their chins. But Rahman grunts and the man with the beard moves out of my way.

  In the corridor there’s no sign of Becks. I’m guessing he hasn’t found the red-haired trannie. Was this Tina? The sub-basement is the one remaining place we haven’t looked. I take the stairs down. It’s dark and smells of dust and mould but I see nothing but locked storerooms and another set of stairs.

  Limping up as fast as I can, I push open a fire door, only to find myself back in the street.

  16

  It must have been a Saturday or during the school holidays that Paul brought home a villain he’d picked up. I never found out why – maybe he wanted to interrogate him on the quiet, away from the station. Anyway, Paul brought him home, but then he had to go out on an urgent call. My mother wasn’t back yet, she still worked in those days, so he handcuffed the man to a radiator in the kitchen and told me I was in charge, aged nine.

  I was half excited, half petrified. I really believed I was all that stood between this crook and escape. The afternoon was cloudy and cold. The prisoner was a bear of an Irishman, long grey hair in a ponytail, smelling oddly of moss and sandalwood, with eyes that darted, watching me wherever I went. I carefully moved all the kitchen knives out into the sitting room and offered him a cup of tea, though aware he probably would have preferred beer or gin, and then nervously placed the mug of stewed tea near his free hand. The man thanked me effusively and drank with a great deal of noise, as I hovered anxiously in the doorway. Keeping within running distance of the knives should I need them.

  I found out later from Paul that he was an old lag who wouldn’t have hurt a fly. He’d been sleeping rough, had shoplifted a hairdryer from Boots in full view of the staff, and no doubt wanted to be sent back to prison so he could get a warm bed for the winter. But to me he was Hannibal Lecter, hunched there, staring at this frightened nine-year-old boy.

  Twenty metres down the street, I see Becks waiting by his car. The sky has started to grow lighter while I was inside talking to Rahman and with the approach of day, the temperature has dropped.

  ‘Where the hell were you, man?’ he says. ‘I looked all through the club for you. The three Lithuanians have disappeared too.’

  I file this away for future consideration. If he recognised the East Europeans as Lithuanians, that must mean we’ve been investigating them. Meanwhile, however, he has spotted the redhead. She left the club five minutes ago, heading down the road in a rush. I put all other questions to one side. She’s the only thing that looks remotely like a lead and we’ve lost her.

  I say simply, ‘You drive – I’ll look.’

  The Vauxhall’s wheels skid on the ice then find their grip and Becks eases the car round. I rub my neck, massaging slowly. It feels good.

  Becks looks across. ‘Does it still hurt?’

  I say nothing and we turn away from the illegal into Fortress Road. It’s empty of traffic, just fading patches of lamplight and two lone pedestrians, hunched and hurrying. As Becks drives, I check my phone contacts. I find the name Rahman on my work mobile. There’s no Tina though, so I look on my personal phone and her name’s there, which is unusual if she’s a source. The rules are clear. A Covert Human Intelligence Source should be officially logged in. So did I not declare Tina as a CHIS? And if not, why not?

  I try her number, but she doesn’t answer; then I spot a movement on the far pavement. ‘Passing the estate agents,’ I say. ‘On the right.’

  She’s pulled on a tight faux designer label coat and is walking urgently, braced against the cold, trying to keep her balance in her heels. When the car draws level, I open the window. Close up, the coat doesn’t look as expensive as I first thought.

  ‘Like that, is it?’ she says without slowing down.

  ‘Like what, Tina?’

  As she walks, she roots for something in her pink lurex evening bag, then gives up as if it wasn’t important in the first place. ‘You looked straight through me.’ She flutters a hand.

  There’s no point in trying to soften the blow, so I simply say, ‘She’s dead, Tina.’ And I wait.

  Tina stares ahead as if she hasn’t heard, but I know she has. Then she stops. I’m afraid she’s going to fall over, so I open the car door, but she waves me away.

  ‘No, no, no, no,’ she says and I’m not sure if she’s saying no to Amy’s death or me. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says, making an effort to be brave. She’s probably around my age, late twenties, early thirties, with an eccentric wiry toughness. And she looks very scared. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I can’t tell you.’

  ‘Ross, this is me. Tina.’

  I suggest it might be good to sit in the car.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ she says but doesn’t move.

  ‘She was shot,’ I say.

  ‘Oh Christ. I knew it.’ She fans herself with her hand. ‘You didn’t get to her in time?’

  You didn’t get to her in time. Her words are almost exactly the same as Rahman’s. She finds a packet of Winston Blue in her bag and holds out a Clix. ‘Light me,’ she says and I get out of the car.

  As I take the lighter, her hand’s trembling. ‘Has he killed Crystal too? Am I next?’

  Crystal? Is that the other nurse? I try it out for size. ‘Crystal? I don’t know about Crystal yet. She might still be alive.’

  I watch for Tina’s reaction, but her face is shaded by her hand as she draws on the cigarette. I tell her a few sanitised facts about Amy Matthews’ death and she keeps glancing at me and at Becks. Then she reaches out and touches my arm and says, ‘It’s not your fault. I know you tried.’ Her touch is soft, almost reassuring.

  ‘Get in,’ I say, opening the rear door.

  She hesitates. ‘I get bad vibes from policemen in cars, darling.’

  ‘You’re safe with us,’ Becks says from the driving seat.

  She jerks back as if he slapped her. ‘Who is he?’

  ‘He works for me. He’s on my team.’

  Becks leans over. ‘It’s okay.’ He smiles at Tina and she seems to warm to his rough charm. She puts one foot into the car, looks again at my bandaged hand and pauses like she might run, like a nervous cat.

  ‘Be honest with me.’

  ‘I’ll tell you the truth,’ I say. ‘I promise.’

  She gets in. I rejoin Becks in the front, jerking the door closed and f
eel the energy rise again. The universe is on our side. I tell Tina to give Becks her home address and after a moment’s deliberation she does, and he pulls away from the kerb. It’s not far. I twist round to look at her. ‘You said, “Has he killed Crystal too?” Who? Has who killed Crystal?’

  ‘I don’t know any more than you told me last night.’

  ‘If you want me to protect you, you’ve got to be honest with me.’

  ‘I’ve told you everything. I told you everything last night.’ She’s trying to pull off her tight pale leather gloves, tugging at each finger ineffectually.

  ‘I could put you back out there alone, Tina, and leave you. Okay? I don’t have to help you.’

  Tina stops tugging. ‘Why are you threatening me? You know I’d tell you whatever you want. You know that.’

  Despite my doubts, I believe her. She looks open, too open for her own good. A part of me wants to shock her. To bully her into protecting herself.

  ‘Someone tried to knife me last night when I was in hospital.’

  ‘You were in hospital?’

  ‘Listen…’ I say.

  I try to put all my thoughts together in some kind of order. How much can I trust her? She’s waiting and I don’t know if I’m going to tell her until I do. ‘I can’t remember anything about last night.’

  I realise Becks too is hearing this for the first time. He shifts in his seat but says nothing, his face unreadable in the early dawn light.

  ‘I’ve had nights like that.’ Tina gives a twisted smile, which fades when I don’t smile back.

  ‘I can’t remember anything for the last year and a half. I don’t remember you.’

  ‘I don’t understand. How did you remember me just now?’

  ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘You don’t remember me at all?’

  ‘No. As far as I know, I saw you for the first time in Lonely’s a few minutes ago.’

  Tina inspects a broken red nail, her face working silently. Her powder glistens and through the foundation I can see the early betrayal of a five o’clock shadow. She looks more vulnerable than ever but at the same time more stubborn.

  ‘But you know him?’ She glances at the back of Becks’ head.

  ‘Yes,’ I lie. He’s staring at the road as he drives, lips pursed. ‘His name’s Becks. I told you, he works for me. What did I say last night?’

  I take out my notebook. I don’t want to break the interrogation. And a cruel logical part of me is aware that I don’t want her to feel too safe. She needs to feel afraid – to feel she needs me.

  ‘I don’t know. You just said you had to find Crystal and Amy. You said you were afraid for them... This is weird. You really can’t remember?’

  ‘Why did I say they were in danger?’

  Becks turns into a side road and stops by a terrace of redbrick houses, converted into flats. Tina digs into her clutch bag and takes out a handkerchief with an embroidered rose. She dabs at her eyes. ‘I’m sorry, my mind is everywhere. I keep thinking of Amy and… Can I go now? I feel very visible sitting here.’

  ‘Did Amy have a partner? A lover?’

  ‘No, no one.’

  ‘An ex still hanging around?’

  Tina shakes her head. ‘Long-term relationships weren’t her style.’

  ‘Did Crystal?’

  ‘I don’t even really know Crystal. I mean, I’m assuming Crystal’s her real name, but you never know…’ She meanders, stops, gathers herself. Wipes a spyhole in the side window where it’s been misting up. We all watch a dark car cruising slowly down the road towards us. It passes without stopping.

  ‘What do you know about her?’

  ‘I told you, sweet fuck all. She’s a nurse, too. Quiet. Not very bright. But friendly. Gave me advice when I was trying to find out about operations. You know, there’s all kinds of medical stuff I need to be prepared for when I–’

  ‘What happened last night?’

  ‘Last night?’ Tina makes an effort to control her nerves. Flaps air at her cheeks. ‘Okay,’ she says. ‘I’m going to be a grown-up. Deep breath. Think positive thoughts. I came into the club just as they were opening up. I don’t know when exactly. I don’t wear a watch. It spoils the line. I’ve got thin wrists for… for a trannie, but still somehow all the women’s watches…’ She’s wandering again.

  ‘When?’

  ‘A bit before seven, I’d guess. Early anyway. I needed a drink. My doctor had been in a foul mood and still didn’t think I was ready and then–’

  ‘And Amy Matthews?’ Becks breaks in, without turning round. There’s an edge to his voice I’ve not heard before. I presume he’s still processing the fact that I didn’t tell him about my memory gap. He’s not a man who hides his feelings.

  ‘Amy wasn’t there at first. She came in shortly after me.’

  ‘Crystal?’

  ‘Crystal? No…’

  ‘Did Amy look scared?’

  ‘Scared? Maybe. She was wired. I tried to make a little joke, to lighten the atmosphere, and she looked like she was somewhere else. I said, what have you been taking and she said, nothing, really nothing, it was just this evening things would either go really well or totally screw up–’

  ‘What would go well?’

  ‘She didn’t say.’

  Becks is growing impatient. ‘Did she meet anyone? A man?’

  ‘No. She simply left. That’s what she’s like… Was like.’ Tina sniffs. ‘She’d be all over you like your best ever friend and then two minutes later she’d go quiet, pick up her handbag and disappear. It used to piss me off but–’

  I interrupt brusquely. ‘When did I come in?’

  Tina clears her throat. ‘You arrived about half an hour later, or a bit more. A little after seven thirty, I suppose. Give or take a bit. You said she was in danger, they both were, and you looked like it too. I’ve never seen you so wound up. You said “he” was looking for Amy and Crystal. No, you didn’t say who “he” was.’ She glances up at me. ‘That’s all I know. Can I go in now?’

  She becomes suddenly aware of her handkerchief and pushes it deep into her clutch bag. ‘Did you find her mobile?’ she asks suddenly.

  ‘No. Why?’

  ‘I don’t know. That was important. The mobile. You had to know if she had her mobile.’

  ‘Have you tried phoning her yourself?’ Becks looks at Tina in the mirror.

  ‘What do you think? Anyway, she didn’t answer. Of course, now I know…’

  I ask Tina to show me her phone contacts and, as I expected, Amy’s is the number I dialled on my personal mobile last night. But there is no number for Crystal. We’re going round in circles. I flick back through my notes in frustration.

  ‘When you asked about Crystal, you said, “Am I next?” Why would you be next?’

  ‘I don’t know. You told me not to talk to anyone from the police. You scared me.’

  ‘Why would I say that? This “he” – was he a copper?’

  ‘I don’t know. I really don’t know.’ She rubs her wrist automatically. It’s a strange childlike movement. I nod to tell her she can leave, and Becks starts the engine. Then before she can go, I hold Tina’s arm.

  ‘What really happened last night?’ I ask one last time.

  ‘Last night? I’ve been telling you.’

  ‘Something else happened, didn’t it? Something else that frightened you. Tina, I’ll do what I can to help you, but you’ve got to help me.’

  She jumps a little at my voice. ‘It was you. You frightened me. You came in looking awful and desperate. You put the fear of God into me.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake. So you’re saying all you know is that I told you Amy and Crystal were in danger and that’s all that scared you. I don’t believe you.’

  ‘Yes, look, I’m sorry I can’t help more. I’m useless. I just told you where they lived and you rushed off.’ She starts to open the door.

  ‘Where they lived?’ I grab the handle to stop her. ‘Not where Matthews had gone?
Not the hotel?’

  ‘Hotel?’

  ‘The Aviva Hotel? In King’s Cross?’

  ‘I don’t know about any hotel. You wanted to know where Amy lived. With Crystal. They shared the rent on a small council flat. I told you their home address–’

  I cut across her. ‘You know Crystal’s home address?’

  Tina nods rapidly. ‘I gave it to you last night.’

  17

  What is a policeman without memory? My hands tingle with the fear of it. It’s like falling a very long way and there is nothing to catch me, to keep me sane, except for the hiss of the tyres, those black hairs on the nape of Becks’ neck as he drives as fast as he dares back towards Camden Road and the pain in my neck and leg that remind me of what’s real. A minute ago, Tina was getting out of the car. I’d said, ‘Why the fuck didn’t you tell us you knew where Crystal lived.’

  ‘You never asked.’ She closed the car door and hesitated. ‘I’m frightened to go up to my flat.’

  ‘Stay inside, don’t answer the door and turn off your mobile.’ At this she looked even more scared and I added, ‘Just to be safe.’

  Then she said, ‘I trust you.’

  This took me by surprise. ‘Why do you trust me?’

  She fluttered a hand, making the keys jingle. ‘You really don’t remember, do you?’

  But Becks was already putting the Vauxhall into gear and accelerating away.

  One thing I do remember is the Gordon Road Estates. They lie between the grime of Euston station and the elegant Nash terraces of Regent’s Park, overshadowed by a line of tower blocks that defend central London from the north. Everything about them is a mix-up. You’ve got black and white, rich and poor. Lawyers and accountants live next to the unemployed grandchildren of Irish railway builders. And recently, it seems, two nurses: Amy Matthews and Crystal. Right now I catch sight of the taller blocks to the south of us, glinting in the early daylight, and they still look agonisingly far off.