Seeing Red

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Seeing Red Page 21

by Roger Ormerod


  ‘Is he still here? Let’s get some cars out of the way. The Jag along here a bit — I’ll do that. Paul, if you’ll just back up.’

  ‘Phil,’ I said, ‘I’ve got to have time.’

  ‘You’ve had enough time. We’ve heard enough from you. Just go.’

  ‘It’s good advice,’ said Timmis. ‘There’s nothing you can do here.’

  I looked to Angie for support. She, of all people, had to realise what the graffiti must mean. But she was unresponsive, and looked away.

  ‘Now,’ said Timmis.

  He took my elbow again. Now I realised that Timmis usually got his way. Weight and strength carried me forward, and I stumbled, like a drunkard being escorted. Sheer pride forced me into shaking myself free. ‘All right.’ And into climbing with some remnant of dignity up into the Rover. Numbly, I started the engine. I could see nothing through the windscreen. The sun was so low and afire that it cast a sheen of blood in front of my eyes. Or maybe it was mine.

  ‘Wait, you fool!’ Timmis shouted.

  I wound down a side window. He had run to the caravan and grabbed the jacking-tool from its clip. He’d waved to Evan to come and wind up the portable wheel, while he himself started on the corner supports. Impatient now to be away from there, I gritted my teeth and revved the engine. Behind me, somewhere, Phil was shouting as he manoeuvred vehicles this way and that to give me free passage. There was a stink of hot oil and petrol.

  Timmis straightened. ‘Right hand down, and you’re free. Then go, Mr Kyle, and keep going.’

  I crunched offside wheels through charred timber. The red sheen melted from the windscreen, and I saw my way clear, vehicles huddled and human shapes watching my progress. The caravan followed me neatly beneath the brick archway and onto the drive. There I stopped, switched off, and reached for my pipe.

  It took two minutes, and then I was calm, with everything lined up in my mind, and I knew I could no longer leave. I started up the engine, took a large arc that included a few yards of lawn, and came back nose-in to the arch. I stopped, took out the ignition key and put the headlights on full beam. I climbed back to the ground.

  There had been a commiserating group in the light from the side door, where Angie was sitting now on the top step, her face in her hands. They all turned, facing the fierce light, and I walked out from it with Timmis striding towards me looking purposeful.

  ‘One word out of you!’ he said, his fists bunched at his sides.

  ‘I’m going to have my say, Sergeant, and nobody’s going to drive out of this yard till I do.’

  He walked over to his Land Rover and climbed inside, the microphone to his lips. I turned back to the side door.

  They could have walked away from me into the house. Phil could have summoned Boggis and Clancy from the shadows. But the stark, dramatic light caught them — that and my own intensity I suppose.

  ‘The threats,’ I said, picking up from where I’d left off. ‘They started when I arrived here and showed interest. And why? Can anybody tell me why? Because from that time there wasn’t much chance of anybody getting at the inside of the garage door. There I was, a few yards away, living in a caravan and hearing every sound. Not a chance. Then, in the end, when it was obvious I wasn’t going away, and Angie wouldn’t budge, there was only one thing to do. That was to set the lab and garage on fire and hope it’d burn off the paint from the garage door. That might destroy those dangerous words, Lesbian Cow.’

  Rena began to edge away towards her car, Paul looking after her but not following.

  ‘And then we get a nice little twist,’ I said. ‘Funny, when you come to think about it. I’d been playing around with a spray-can, and written my name on the inside of the door. But it didn’t show, because I was using a green paint that was very close to the green that Gledwyn Griffiths had used to spray on the inside of the door. And all the while — because it had to have been there before I did my bit — there was that other comment about a Lesbian Cow, and on the same surface. But I couldn’t see that either. So the fire revealed the words that it was intended to destroy, because the graffiti were done in metallic paint in both cases, and Gledwyn had used a plain paint for his door.’

  I paused, waiting for comment. Nothing. I might as well have been talking to myself.

  ‘All right. Does anybody know what that means?’

  ‘Damned if I do,’ said Paul, but Evan was nodding, nodding.

  ‘Evan’s got it,’ I said. ‘But he would. It means that somebody had sprayed on Lesbian Cow, and must have thought it was visible. It wasn’t. But he assumed that the fact that he couldn’t see it didn’t mean a thing. As far as he was concerned it was grey on grey, but he’d know that for anybody else it could look like green on yellow or green on red. It means, you see, that he was colour blind on red and green. All that trouble to hide something that nobody could see! Oh dear me.’

  I looked round. Timmis was suddenly a massive presence at my elbow, but now he had no intention of interfering.

  ‘Who knows somebody who’s colour blind?’ I demanded walking forward, scanning their faces. I poked a finger towards Paul. ‘You, Paul?’

  He took a step back. ‘Not me! My father...’

  ‘We know about your father. But not you?’

  ‘Come in the car, honey,’ said Rena, her head out of a side window. ‘Don’t talk to the man.’

  He glared at her, and stood his ground. ‘Not me,’ he repeated.

  ‘But of course not,’ I agreed. ‘I can prove it, as it happens, with genetic charts. Ask Evan,’ who was nodding in agreement.

  ‘But what about Gledwyn?’ I asked. ‘We’re talking now about a bit of practice with a spray-can. Words that came to the mind: Lesbian Cow. Can anybody here really imagine Gledwyn using those words?’

  Rena blew cigarette smoke out of the car window, her voice following it. ‘I can imagine it. He’d do anything.’

  ‘For God’s sake!’ said Paul. Everybody else ignored her. While a silence built up I stuffed my pipe, wondering how best to go on. Angie had lifted her head. Her lips were slightly parted. Phil stood beside her, reaching down with one hand to her shoulder.

  ‘Let’s try it from another angle,’ I suggested. ‘I’d decided that the car that killed Carla, Lynne’s friend, was the Escort that Gledwyn had been using. He used it to go to Aberystwyth to see Paul, with Neville driving him. There’d been a resin-bonded repair on the wing, and I managed to get some chips of paint out of cracks, some red and some green. It’d been a re-sprayed car, you see, originally green and called Green Dragon by one of the previous owners, then sprayed red. I asked Lynne to check them for me, and the green chips showed two shades, slightly different. That meant, to me, that the wing had been re-sprayed green, but the re-spray colour wasn’t exactly a match for the original. Do you see what that means? The wing of a red car had been repaired to hide the damage — and re-sprayed green. You get the point? Our colour blind friend again. And blatantly giving himself away, but not knowing it.’

  ‘That’s fine, as far as it goes,’ said Evan judicially. ‘But it’d have to be a pretty severe case of red-green blindness. I could give you percentage figures...’

  ‘Let’s assume, shall we?’ asked Timmis heavily. ‘I’m accepting it.’ He stared blandly at me. ‘So far.’

  ‘I hadn’t finished that bit,’ I complained. ‘The point was — and Lynne told me this, but I missed it — that the original car colour was a metallic green paint. So was the re-spray. I’d had the idea, you see, that Gledwyn had been involved with Carla’s death, and that Lynne had helped him make up a matching colour by using her instruments. But Gledwyn hadn’t got the facilities for mixing metallic colours, and Gledwyn wouldn’t use such words as Lesbian Cow. I was pushing Lynne, though, and she knew what I was thinking. Gledwyn, that’s what I was thinking. So I was pushing her...and she died.’

  I stopped. Angie raised her head. Phil’s hand fell from her shoulder as she moved it.

  ‘I blamed mysel
f,’ I said in disgusted anger. ‘I did — but I’m not now. I thought I’d driven her to suicide…’

  ‘Keep to the point,’ Timmis growled.

  ‘It is the bloody point!’ I shouted. ‘Whatever I might have thought, Lynne knew it couldn’t have been Gledwyn who’d re-sprayed the car wing. It was a metallic colour, and she’d realised what that meant. That the re-spraying hadn’t been done by somebody using the lab instruments and mixing pigments — it’d been done by somebody who’d bought a can of spray paint from the do-it-yourself shop, somebody who believed the car was painted a colour called Fern Green, and they thought that because it was called Green Dragon. And because the registration document said it was green. Lynne knew who that person had to be, in fact she had that person with her when I phoned her the last time. There was no reason for suicide, but a damned good one for murder, and so easy with only five feet of walkway separating her door from the balcony rail.’

  There was silence. Somebody drew in a hissing breath but did not speak. Timmis raised his head. Clancy and Boggis stared impassively at the vanishing glory of the sky. I sighed. Eyes fastened on me.

  ‘There was the lock on the garage door, you see. Broken, by force. It was broken because the garage was the best place for the repairs to be done in the week while Gledwyn was at Blackpool. But Gledwyn came back a day early. Gledwyn walked up his drive alone, which I know because Lynne told me she dropped him at the drive entrance. I thought perhaps she hadn’t told me the truth, but now I believe she did. If she’d come up to the house, she would have seen Carla’s killer working on the Escort, and she would have seen at once that one wing had been sprayed green on a red car. In that event, she wouldn’t have remained alive as long as she did. But Gledwyn saw — and knew. He would notice the light on in the garage and investigate. Perhaps the last spray coat was being put on — in any event there’d be all the evidence, empty spray-cans around, the containers for the resin-bonded mixture, the mixing trays, the wet-or-dry emery paper, the smell of acetone. Maybe, even, with his special glasses on, he’d see the wing was sprayed a different colour from the rest. But in any case, he’d know.’

  I stopped, not really wishing to go on. The rest should’ve been obvious. Paul had moved to his car and was standing by the open door, Rena plucking at his elbow.

  ‘Then what?’ he asked harshly.

  ‘What would he do?’ I demanded. ‘But you wouldn’t know, Paul. You never really understood him. Evan — can you guess? No, don’t go away, we might need you.’ He’d been moving towards the paddock. Angie hadn’t noticed, and flashed him a quick look of reproach. ‘Evan?’ I asked.

  ‘Gledwyn? Given that situation...I reckon he’d be furious. Outraged.’

  ‘My thoughts exactly,’ I said. ‘Do you think he’d be outraged, Neville?’

  Neville was fumbling with a cigarette, and dropped it. ‘Well...I guess...well, sure he would. Uncle Gledwyn...but I never saw him lose his temper.’

  ‘No? Perhaps you were lucky. That night he would. And guess what he’d do about it? He’d probably heard by that time about Carla’s death. It would all come together in his mind. I can see him...see him getting into that Escort, and though he hadn’t driven for years, driving it out of there...’ I turned and pointed towards the spot where the garage had been. ‘...over empty spray-cans — the lot — on his way to the police station to show the sergeant here.’ I stopped.

  ‘You can’t stop there!’ cried Angie.

  I glanced at Timmis. He nodded. I went on: ‘But he didn’t make it very far past the traffic signal. Perhaps the murderer had driven after him and forced him into taking it too fast. Or got in front, and Gledwyn confused braking lights as headlights. I don’t know. I only know...’ I stopped again, then turned to Timmis. ‘Shouldn’t Angie go inside? It’s getting cool.’

  A pause. His eyes clouded. ‘Of course.’ Cleared his throat, as he got the point. ‘Certainly.’

  ‘No,’ she said angrily, shaking her head, hair flying. ‘Get on with it.’

  ‘It’s best...’

  ‘I must know, Harry.’

  And I saw that she had to, if she was ever going to see it through.

  I said, forcing myself onwards against the ring of dark, expectant eyes: ‘The car turned over. It didn’t set on fire. Very few do. It lay on its back, and by this time our friend knew that he’d used the wrong colour for spraying the wing, because even Gledwyn had noticed it. So that evidence had to be destroyed. Petrol would be dripping from the tank. I found this.’

  I took the melted piece of plastic from my pocket and held it up.

  ‘The remains of a zip lighter. All you’d need to do would be flick it on and toss it in. That’s what he did. Without,’ I said flatly, ‘even checking whether Gledwyn was still alive.’

  Rena screamed. For once she’d done the right thing. I thought that it saved Angie. Rena’s hysteria caught at Angie’s sympathy, and it held her past that moment. But her face was a mask, wild with stark eyes, and her fingers clawed at her knees.

  ‘He’s now sporting a gold Dunhill,’ I muttered.

  ‘Is there much more?’ Timmis demanded hollowly.

  ‘We’re looking for somebody who’s colour blind, but who went to some trouble to persuade me otherwise.’ I took out the envelope with Evan’s genetic charts on it, and passed it over to Timmis. ‘I should’ve known all along. It was written on here.’

  The Range Rover’s headlights, having been on full-blast with no charge, were beginning to fade.

  ‘Bring it over here,’ I said, nodding towards the car. Timmis frowned at me. ‘You too, Evan,’ I added. ‘We might need you.’

  The three of us bent in the headlight stream. I pointed.

  ‘The top one,’ I said. ‘Evan drew that for me, to show me how Gledwyn’s colour blindness came from his mother. You understand the symbols, Sergeant?’

  ‘Sure. The one with the arrow for male, the one with a cross for female.’

  ‘You can see from that — Gledwyn’s sister had a fifty/fifty chance of being a latent carrier of it. Here, let’s do it again.’ I used the top of the bonnet. ‘Remember, Gledwyn had a sister.’

  ‘So, who does that give you, in place of Gledwyn, now?’

  ‘Neville!’ Evan whispered at my elbow.

  ‘That’s Gledwyn’s sister now, only she’s become a mother. What does that make Neville? It makes him a fifty/fifty chance of being a colour blind murderer. He’s colour blind, yet he chatted to me about red and yellow poles. But he knew, rather than saw, because he’d told his assistant to use red ones one place and yellow ones another.’

  We had been speaking softly to each other. You could almost hear the ears creaking into cocked position. I was giving Timmis warning, but I reckoned he was ahead of me. He glanced round. A dark shape loomed beyond the caravan, another in the paddock.

  ‘So what d’you reckon happened that Saturday night?’ he asked, walking me back to the group. ‘When Carla died.’

  ‘I reckon,’ I said to them all, ‘that Neville drove back here from Aberystwyth, cold and fed up and hungry, his uncle left him flat, so he drove away. But not home, as he told me, and not in his Metro, as he’d have me believe. His Metro was in the garage, locked away. There was a lock on it at that time. Gledwyn marched through the house and straight through to Lynne’s office, and threw the keys at the wall. The garage key was on that bunch. Neville couldn’t get at his own car, so he used the Escort. He didn’t even get out of it. But he didn’t drive home. He’d had a rotten day, and he’d want comfort and sympathy. Lynne, he’d want. But Lynne wasn’t there. She was in her office, where he wouldn’t notice her, and Gledwyn was tearing up his speech, and then Lynne was out the side crying, and Gledwyn crept back — and saw her out there weeping, so crept away again for a while...so...’

  ‘You’re wandering off the point,’ said Timmis severely.

  I was, because I didn’t want to get to it. I cleared my throat. ‘So Neville drove to Lynne’s flat.
And on the way he came across Carla, standing by her car and waving, and ran her down. Then what would he do? Drive to Lynne’s, shocked and horrified. And find her not there. Drive home to his own place. Hide the Escort for the night — he hadn’t got a garage of his own — and then return here the next day, to use Gledwyn’s garage, knowing he was away.’

  Silence. They waited. Neville stood, frozen, glazed eyes staring at me.

  ‘But then he made a terrible mistake,’ I said. ‘He got all his repair stuff together and he tried out a spray-can. Somebody who can’t tell red from green isn’t going to worry when it doesn’t show up. Lesbian Cow. Think what that means. We know it was critical to him, because he began to worry about anybody seeing it. Here was a chap, writing the first thing that came into his head. He’d caused the death of Carla. He had to tell himself it was her fault, even that she deserved it. By that time it would’ve grown into a great rumbling accusation against her. The trouble she’d caused him by getting herself killed. The rotten cow, he’d think. But why Lesbian Cow? Because that was what he thought of Carla. Things had been growing cool between him and Lynne. He didn’t know — he’d never see — that she was in love with Gledwyn. What! Lynne and that old fool, he’d think, if the thought ever crossed his mind.’

  ‘I should think so, too!’ put in Rena, and Paul snarled at her.

  ‘So he had to discover the reason for this coolness, and there was Carla and Lynne, too friendly by half, round at each other’s places. His assumption had to be that Carla had persuaded Lynne into a lesbian relationship. And so: Lesbian Cow. His hatred centred on those two words. But they’d give him away, he thought. Anybody seeing them might be able to reason it through to Carla. So he thought.’

  Neville croaked: ‘No!’ Nobody looked at him.

  I went on: ‘So he drove towards Lynne’s flat that night, and suddenly there was Carla, in his headlights, his hated rival standing there and waving at him, presented to him. Then,’ I said wearily, ‘he simply put his foot down and drove straight at her. As hard as he could go.’

 

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