Cut To The Bone

by Sally Spedding

  "No-one’s to go near that spot!" Constable Jarvis bellowed. "Forensics will need to take a look." With that he produced a length of blue and white POLICE tape and secured it to two decorative boulders.

  "What a dreadful end to the day." whined Yvonne Dunkley who’d normally be singing her Hugo Wolf songs. She comforted Louis whilst straightening his bow tie and complaining about the times they lived in. How a young boy of impressionable age shouldn't be witness to such terrible things. Louis thanked her, letting her fetch him another glass of wine. Sweeter than the first.

  The Fawn followed the procession towards the ambulance, still unsteady on her bare feet, pushing Gunther Zeller's hand away from her left buttock as the vehicle's doors slammed shut and the soirée party dispersed to their cars or their driveways. Louis glimpsed Honey Girl and the oboist speed away without so much as a backwards glance. Without even their leathers on, while the Maggot, staring after them from The Fawn's bedroom window, turned away as the sky suddenly darkened and the thunder deepened.

  *

  "Just a few questions if we may." Jarvis leant against the kitchen table, iPad again at the ready, while PC Truelove stayed near The Fawn. Her lipstick remarkably red. “Is your husband around?"

  "I'll go.” Louis crunched up his crisps’ packet and pushed it into the full pedal bin. "He's upstairs."

  Not true. Everywhere was empty. The family bathroom, box room, five bedrooms with en-suites. The vast airing cupboard…

  Louis ran to that same front window where The Maggot had stood. His heartbeat uneven.

  "Is he there?" The Fawn called from the foot of the stairs.

  "Nope, and his Discovery's gone."

  "Oh my God!"

  Louis returned to a jumble of voices, with no-one making any sense, least of all her. "Maybe he's upset," he volunteered. "After all, he'd planned this soirée for ages."

  Her look of pride also held anxiety.

  "Yes. That's what it is. How silly of me to think anything else. Thank you, son."

  That last word brought a twitch of a smile to his lips, soon suppressed as she filled the electric kettle and set out four mugs. "Tea or coffee, anyone?"

  The officers conferred then declined. Jarvis pocketed his iPad, saying, “when Dr. Perelman does come back, we'd like to know if he noticed anything unusual in that brook prior to this evening. Perhaps when he last mowed or strimmed near there." He patted Louis' head for the second time. "We'll be in touch. Meanwhile, look after your mother.”

  “I always do.”

  "Just one thing," Jane Truelove stalled by the front door. "My colleague here hadn’t mentioned this next bit of news for a very good reason, and we'll be putting in a complaint to the BBC’s local radio station first thing tomorrow."

  "What bit of news?" The Fawn re-hung the mugs on the mug tree.

  "There's another young lad about your son's age been missing since last Thursday after school. He's from Sunnyview in North Barton.”

  "The children's home?" Louis propped himself up against the fridge, his face inscrutable.

  "Correct. Toby Lake. Keen fisherman, always taking himself off, sometimes for two nights at a time. Why we didn't want to run the story yet, in case he got scared. Stayed away longer and found himself in more trouble."

  "He was scared stiff of Mrs Parsons there," Louis volunteered, thinking the rod and shoes must have since been nicked, and regretting having mentioned Lakey's name to The Fawn.

  “Was?”

  “Is. She’s always nagging him about something."

  "Know him well, do you?" Jarvis asked. "I gather he's in your form at school."

  A nod. “You could have a laugh with him."

  "Could?" Quizzed the pig again…

  Fuck.

  "I mean ‘can.’ He's cool."

  "If he makes contact, let us know, OK?"

  Louis nodded again, and with that, both visitors let themselves out, and the thudding of their car doors coincided with another rumble of thunder.

  *

  By nine o'clock, with still no sign of his not-real dad, the back lawn stood empty save for the Yamaha stranded like some black sarcophagus against the hostile sky. Louis also noticed cocktail sticks with cheese squares still attached, lying askew; the odd silverskin onion and anchovies where paper plates had been suddenly dropped.

  He offered up a prayer, not for Jez's soul, or Toby Lake. Instead, for a Great Misfortune to befall Darshan Patel which would take him out for good. For Jarvis and the other uniforms to fail, and finally for him, Louis Claus Perelman to find the one answer he needed.

  "Surely that's not too much to ask?" he added. "And while you're at it, God, get a fucking move on."

  When finished, he noticed The Fawn's head stuck out of the study window where he'd heard her make no end of fruitless phone calls.

  "Louis? What are you doing out there?”

  “Praying.”

  “I've heated up some soup," she said, still sounding drunk. He loped into the house and skipped over the Yamaha's extension lead as lightning ripped the sky open over Dingle Wood. The tomato soup was the same colour as that hair which had popped out of the sludge. Most lay spooled on the kitchen table.

  The Fawn sat at the end, her face whiter than ever. Her eye make-up on her cheeks.

  "It's like some terrible nightmare, isn't it?” She burbled. “And your Dad going off like that..."

  Feeling generous, Louis let the Dad bit go.

  "He'll be back," he reassured her. "Besides, east west, home's best."

  "Who said that?"

  "Frau Zeller. They’re thinking of bunking off back to Frankfurt."

  "You don't think that corpse belonged to the Martin boy, do you?" she quizzed. "Or even the Summerview lad? I mean, it hardly seemed an adult’s weight." She drank from her soup bowl leaving a vampirish rim around her lips. Louis ignored his.

  "I bet Jez Martin went with some pusher,” he said. “You know how it is over there. As for Lakey, well, he's always showed up before. Hey, Mum?" His big brown eyes suddenly fixed on her. "Remember that forty quid I mentioned? Well, I actually need it now."

  Silence.

  "Then that'll be it. Keep 'em off my back."

  “Who’s them?”

  “I’ve already told you. Tossers from school.”

  She pulled her handbag towards her, opened her wallet and tried not to focus on baby Louis who stared out at her from under his grubby plastic cover. He spotted his photo and peered over her shoulder.

  "How old was I there?"

  "Five months. I don’t know why you keep asking."

  "Did you mind having a Caesarean for me? I mean, did it hurt?"

  He didn’t like the way she paused. He’d obviously caught her on the hop.

  "Er… No, course not. Often it's the only way."

  She didn’t sound convincing at all.

  "But you're size eight shoes."

  "The surgeon advised it. Now let me concentrate..."

  “I’ve never noticed any scar.”

  “He said my type of skin would heal well.”

  She scrabbled in the wallet’s folds amongst memos to herself and a crumpled letter from Louis himself to Father Christmas, asking for a camera. If the Grubs found out, he'd have zilch cred.

  "You're lucky I went to the bank as well this morning," she said as if glad of a diversion.

  "Why d'you still keep that rubbish?"

  "As a souvenir, I suppose."

  "Of what?"

  Jacquie loo
ked up at him as if a stranger. “Never mind.”

  "It's mine. I want it."

  "Have this instead."

  She passed him the four tenners and he stuffed them in his pocket with a growing resentment that they'd soon be greasing Patel's hot, pink palm.

  "I'll pay you back once I'm a copper. Ta."

  She returned to the kitchen to pour the last of the soup into his untouched bowl.

  "Jez Martin had red hair, didn't he?" she said suddenly.

  "What's that supposed to mean?" Louis had followed her. Was close enough to place his hands round her fatty neck.

  "I’m thinking of the brook. There was definitely red hair showing."

  "Could have been a scarf."

  "In this hot weather? "

  Louis felt that vinegary wine from earlier, zapping his head. "Look, d'you really want something to think about? Your Dave’s knobbing the bint who played the flute tonight. Get it?"

  Her eyes couldn’t get much bigger.

  "Knobbing? Bint?"

  She stood up, hands spread out along the table edge to stop herself keeling over. "I don't understand."

  Liar.

  "So what are you going to do about it, eh?" he taunted. "They're probably at it now. In out, in out…"

  "How dare you! You horrible, horrible boy."

  "Yep, that's me. But you called me ‘son’ not long ago. Remember?”

  *

  Ten minutes later, still in control, and smartly poised in his police officer's uniform, Louis’ hand was on the back door latch.

  "Hey, look, I'm a copper now, just like I said."

  He ran the gauntlet of The Fawn's disbelief, or was it something else in her eyes? But he didn't care. He closed the door behind him and set his sights instead on number seven Meadow Hill.

  27

  Each window of the Patel’s house was lit up, and PC Perelman noticed more people than usual circulating in its flock-walled front rooms. There was Mr and Mrs plus a pair of equally brown crusts he'd not seen before, but no sign of the one he wanted.

  Louis’ eyes strayed to a brand new Suzuki scooter propped up against the garage door. Its chrome glinted orange highlights from the nearby street lamp, reminding him of his stolen phone, as he picked his way between two white vans proclaiming A1 Sandwiches For All Occasions. Kosher and Halal a speciality, plus an address in a local industrial estate. He gave both wheels a sly kick as he went to the front door.

  The Maggot often quoted the Meadow Hill purchasers' Covenants which banned white vans, boats or caravans from parking on the drives. But like the Murrays who always resurrected their humungous, cream Kestrel every summer, this lot were taking the piss. However, his uniform might make them think twice...

  Another crack of lightning with thunder exploding over the whole sky. Louis rang the bell and, while waiting, saw The Fawn's bedroom curtains being pulled across and her light switched off.

  "Is Darshan in, please?" He enquired in his best voice when plump Mrs Patel draped in a yellow sari, opened the door, accompanied by the smell of spices. "Sorry if it's late, but I do need to see him."

  When the woman saw the uniform and the scuffed trainers, she supressed a smile. Louis looked down at his feet, realising his mistake.

  Shit.

  In front of these dot-heads too.

  "I'll get him for you,” said his enemy’s mother. “He's on his exercise bike. Wait a moment."

  She then peered in the direction of number 14. "By the way, is everything alright at home? It’s just that an ambulance was leaving as we arrived back. A police car as well. Frau Zeller said they both came from yours."

  "We're fine thanks." Thinking nosy bitch. Aware of other Patels now taking a gape. "Some yobs turned up in our garden,” he lied. “One of them banged his head, that’s all."

  "Well, it's a relief to know you good people are alright." She turned to face the stairs and called out, "Darshaan, it's Louis for you." Then to her visitor, "do come in. We've just finished supper."

  He maintained his smile. The quicker this took, the better, but she wasn’t finished yet. "Did Constable Jarvis visit you this morning?"

  "No. Why?"

  "Well, he asked Darshan about Jez Martin. It did upset us. And he called in again this afternoon with Mrs Martin herself, would you believe? And a drawing of a boy none of us recognised, done by her young daughter."

  Louis faked concern while cursing the sly little bint.

  “We may all have been out the back, preparing for our soirée,” he said.

  "And have you heard about poor Toby Lake?" persisted those fat, red lips. "Darshan went fishing with him in the country park last summer."

  "I know. It's bad. Mum and Dad are grounding me till it's all sorted. They're worried I'll be next."

  "We feel the same about Darshan, but now he's got his new scooter, how do we keep him in? Ah, here he is."

  Louis watched the older boy's dark legs come down the stairs, halting at the bottom as if he might suddenly change his mind. With a blue sweatband round his head, he looked a right knob. But his fancy iPhone was another matter.

  "Hi," said Louis once his yellow mother had gone. "Alright'?"

  The boy glared.

  "I'm busy. And what's with the police officer's outfit? Eh?"

  Louis advanced. His extra height helped.

  "Never you mind." Pinching the other's skinny arm, making him wince. "Where's that key you nicked from my blazer?"

  "Dough first, eh?"

  Louis delved into his trouser pocket and stuffed the bank notes down the waistband of Patel's shorts. The other lad laid his phone on the stairs then bent down to extract the tiny key from inside his left trainer.

  "I held the sword and he did run on it..." he muttered, handing it over.

  "What's that supposed to mean?" Louis closed his fist over the key's familiar shape.

  "Strato's speech at the end of Julius Caesar. Dongo."

  Louis' death stare had been well-honed.

  "You push for more dough, and you won't be able to ride your poncy little scooter any more. And stick to your fucking story about us swimming, or else..."

  "I have. I mean I will... "

  "Have?" Louis pinched him again even harder. A scorpion-like grip, with his dick beginning to move.

  "That copper asked me about your movements."

  “So? What did you spill?"

  "That you’d been diving. Anyhow, what's with that Lisa you said you were seeing? She a junker? That it?"

  Louis let go as Mrs Patel appeared with a tray of iced cakes destined for the lounge. He beamed his farewells while the teenager hung back like a dark shadow, and big blobs of rain began to fall.

  *

  Louis let himself into number 14 and made straight for The Maggot’s study, where he soon located his broken, silent Orange mobile hidden beneath a pile of Student Assessment forms.

  Once in his bedroom, he reached up to one of his fitted wardrobe’s topmost compartments to lift out his Secrets metal box. Like greeting an old friend, he thought, feeling its houndstooth-check lid; the faux- leather corners, as he inserted the key and opened its lid.

  The ripe smell of death caught him off guard, but he soon sorted out the decaying relics, replacing them with his defunct phone then turning the key. He bore the box downstairs and into the back garden where the rain hit his helmet as he ran over the slippery lawn towards the black water. Having stepped over the police cordon, he flung the box at the brook’s rain-pocked surface, where it bobbed along for a little while
before sliding out of sight.

  *

  Louis stared out at the Yamaha piano still abandoned on the darkening lawn. He tried to work out how far the extra water in Wrecker's Brook would carry his rejects including Toby Lake. Further than here, he hoped, seeing the police cordon swaying in the rising wind.

  Damn Jez Martin.

  The pest had to fetch up on his patch, didn’t he? After all the trouble he'd taken to lie low. He hung the damp uniform on a hanger, letting his fingers trail across the chrome buttons, the raised emblem on the helmet. No underpants as usual, and the cool badge felt good at the end of his dick with all the raised silver bits in the right places. Within seven seconds he’d empowered it, hoping Patel's anxiety had become raw fear. Suddenly, anything was possible.

  Having peeled back the new duvet The Fawn had chosen, with its naff spaceship floating in a navy blue outer space, he propped up his pillows with the intention of accessing Professor Renshaw's treatise again, when he caught sight of a long buff envelope. And his name.

  LOUIS.

  Its bulk suggested cash.

  Dream on…

  The letter whose handwriting he recognised, was attached to three typed sheets, all headed with the name PARKSIDE MATERNITY HOME. Brook Drive, Swindon, dated April 1st 1997.

  10th July 2013.

  Louis,

  I've decided it's best for everyone if I go away for a while, but can't say where. Meanwhile, I’ll be putting the Meadow Hill house on the market and your mother can then decide what to do. Unfortunately, being merely my partner, she had no share of the mortgage, so there’ll be no percentage from the proceeds of the sale.

  Her choice, but I have set aside your remaining school fees until your sixteenth birthday to ensure at least a good education for you. They've already been transferred to her account. However, I can’t guarantee that expense thereafter.

  Something else. In answer to your many questions I enclose several Case Notes regarding your birth which will no doubt provide you with interesting reading. Before you absorb this information, there are several issues which I’ll now impart in the hope that you will continue to refer to Jacquie as your real mother after all she has done for you...