Death's Privilege

by Darryl Donaghue

Mark sighed heavily. ‘There’s no fooling her. Listen, I can stay in tonight if you want? We can talk about this.’

  ‘No. I just want you to tell me nothing’s going on.’ Sarah didn't want to start controlling his behaviour, she wanted to know she could trust him.

  ‘Nothing’s going on. I don’t know how this woman’s got my bank details, but they certainly didn’t come from me.’ Mark’s phone vibrated. He looked at the screen and cancelled the call.

  ‘Who was that?’

  ‘Just the guys. I should get moving.’

  ‘Why didn’t you answer it?’

  ‘Because I don't need to speak to them. I’m going to see them in about half hour anyway. Sarah, please. I get your suspicion, I do, and I want you to find out just how this woman got hold of those numbers, but I’ve told you what little I know. I’ll check the accounts and make sure nothing’s missing. I’ll mention the name to the boys tonight and see if it’s anyone they recognise. Has she mentioned me by name?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And she said I beat her? Can you really see me doing that?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It’s weird, I’ll give you that. I understand why you think I’m having an affair, but the guy she’s describing just isn’t me. Listen, I’ve got to get ready.’

  ‘Promise me.’

  ‘I promise.’

  Mark went upstairs. Sarah sat on the sofa trying to believe him. She needed to know more, needed to be satisfied he was telling the truth. She could hear his footsteps in the bedroom. She listened. He was pacing. She listened closer. He was talking to someone on the phone.

  Twenty-Two

  Sarah sat in The Duckbill Pub and looked across the road at The Candy Club. The first floor window seat gave her a clear view of the front door. It had gone 22:00 and she felt ridiculous sitting there, but just needed to know. Leilani had said she’d be working all week and she needed to know if Mark’s night out with the boys was an excuse to see her.

  Heather had come over to sit in with the twins. She’d asked what it was all about and Sarah promised she’d explain when they had time for a coffee and have a sisterly chat. Heather expressed her concerns, and Sarah could tell her patience was wearing thin.

  Sarah wore a comfy dark grey hoody and stretchy blue jeans. There was a time when she wouldn’t have been seen outside the house in a hoody. Between cultural ideas of hood-clad youth on street corners and a greater interest in her appearance, comfier clothing had stayed in the house. Her attitude had changed in her thirties and now, even though she liked to look her best, at this particular moment she couldn’t care less what other people thought. Her hair felt dry and undernourished. She twirled it round her fingers looking for spilt ends and finding none. Soon it’ll be grey and falling out. You’ll be happy for just a split end or two. The server brought her a glass of red. Her stomach was in knots, but she needed to eat something. She reopened the menu and ordered the wild salmon and seasonal vegetables. That morning’s egg McMuffin still hung around in the form of a queasy sensation at the bottom of her stomach. She was determined to have a wider range of colours on her plate for dinner; brown and yellow food was out. All she needed was a jazz piano and she was certain it would have been the most sophisticated stakeout in police history.

  Sarah took her phone out. She’d been meaning to call her mother, and now seemed like a good time to do it. She’d always been there when things turned bleak, and now that life felt like it was starting to fall apart, Sarah knew she’d know the right things to say. It rang for a while, before that familiar comforting voice answered.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hi, it’s me. How’ve you been? Just calling for a catch up.’

  ‘Nice to hear from you. All the same old with me. Still going and all that. Postman’s retired, about time too, if you ask me. They make them work till their deaths these days. We’ve got some new young fella, who’s nice enough, but always comes a little later. I imagine that’s a trend that’ll continue. Aside from that, all’s the same. The new priest’s a nice chap, not quite the same as Michael, but Michael’s a tough act to follow.’ She laughed. Sarah knew how close her mother had been to Michael. His murder was devastating to the community of Sunbury, especially to the older generation. ‘God rest his soul. At least he’s looking over us from above. That’s one more angel we’ve got in our corner. I sometimes imagine him standing next to your father, wondering what they’d say. Glad they’re not down here with us, the way this world is going. How’re you? When am I going to see my beautiful granddaughters again?’

  She knew Sarah wasn’t religious. She didn’t like her daughter’s position, but had grown to accept it. ‘We’ll visit soon. Things are a little busy at work.’ Life always got in the way of visiting family. This weekend became next weekend, and, when things were busy, it didn’t seem like much to put it off. Whenever Sarah spoke to her mother, all those excuses felt silly. Their conversations usually ended with Sarah feeling excited and energised about staying in touch more, and visiting regularly, a feeling soon extinguished by the humdrum of daily life.

  ‘And how’s Mark’s business? Moving to Alco Polco anytime soon?’

  ‘It’s Acapulco, Mum. And no, I don’t think Acapulco jumps out as anyone’s idea of paradise anymore. He’s had some interest from investors, though. Things aren’t really great at home.’ The only way to get it out was to blurt it out. They were close, and had always talked things through together, but it was difficult for Sarah to admit her marriage wasn’t perfect. It had always been good, the fairy tale she’d been promised, and the fact it looked like that was slipping away was hard to come to terms with.

  ‘What do you mean, dear?’

  ‘Just things with Mark. We’ve been arguing.’

  ‘That’s just married life, Sarah. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.’

  ‘I think he’s having an affair.’

  ‘An affair? Mark?’ She laughed a little. ‘He doesn’t seem the type. You’ve got a keeper there. What makes you think he’s been having an affair?’ She’d always approved of Mark, but occasionally hinted that Sarah could have done better. When her mother said, doesn’t seem the type Sarah knew she meant who’d take him?

  ‘A woman came into work with his bank details, reporting a fraud, saying she’d been seeing the owner of that account. I asked him about it and he clammed up. I could just tell something was up.’

  Her mother took a few minutes to reply, probably trying to figure out how someone making a fraud report at the police station could be linked to her daughter’s husband. ‘If I can’t believe he’s having an affair, I very much doubt he’s stealing from someone.’

  ‘I hope not.’ Sarah kept an eye on The Candy Club. The server brought over her food and placed it on the table.

  ‘Try not to think on it too much. These situations can often seem frightening, but tend to all blow over in time. I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation. As long you don’t become one of those crazy wives who ends up hiring someone to follow their husband around, I think you’ll be fine.’

  They said their goodbyes and Sarah ended the call. She took a moment to think about what she was doing. Had one of her friends told her she’d spent an evening following her husband around, Sarah would have thought it extreme. That was back when things were beautiful. Back when her marriage was going to last forever. Back when her husband supported her career, kept no secrets and didn’t scurry upstairs to make surreptitious phone calls. And back when strange women didn’t know his personal account numbers. She’d never once checked his phone, his emails or questioned anything he did, yet here she was staring out of a window late at night, wondering if he was meeting another woman behind her back.

  It began to rain. The wide-shouldered man who’d waved them through the other night stood by the door. A woman stood a few feet in front of him, dressed in the same white shirt, white suit, with the Security Industy Authority badge holder strapped around her arm. She spoke into her radio.
So far, no punters had arrived.

  Someone walked along the other side of the road. The rain made it hard to see. She leant over as close to the window as possible. He had a familiar stride and she was certain she recognised him, even with his head down against the driving rain. He looked up as he approached the door staff and she caught his face. Her heart jumped as she saw Joel Johnson shaking hands with the door staff before being led down an alleyway beside the club.

  Dales had driven around in circles. His shift had ended hours ago. His dinner, a half-eaten chicken wrap from the twenty-four-hour Tesco, sat on the passenger seat next to the file of Dibbles’s runners photos. He drove down Talbot Road, turned left along The Crescent and came out on Alexandra Avenue. He eyeballed everyone: commuters returning home, dog walkers, and kids on the street corner; he didn’t recognise any of them. This was Dibbles’ patch and his boys would be out plying their illicit trade somewhere.

  He turned the corner onto Bell Lane. A familiar male in his mid-twenties walked towards him on the other side of the road. He opened the file and sifted through the photos until the same face looked back up at him. Dales glanced in his mirror; the male kept walking. He drove in a loop until he was in front of him again and stopped the car in the middle of the road. He stepped out, not saying a word until he had his hands on him.

  ‘Get the fuck off me, man.’ The male struggled. He was wiry, a whippet not a fighter. Dales’ tempered grip latched him in place.

  ‘Settle down. I just need you to do something for me.’

  ‘Do something for you? I ain’t no rent boy. You a cop?’

  ‘I’m looking for a friend. You’re going to help me find him.’ Producing police identification before engaging with the public wasn’t an aspect of current procedure Dales had chosen to adopt.

  ‘I don’t know none of your friends.’

  Dales held his arm tighter and patted him down until he found his phone.

  ‘Whatcha doin’?’

  ‘Call Dibbles.’

  ‘I don’t know—’

  Dales twisted his wrist, causing his whole body to move. ‘Getting tired of hearing about what you don’t know, let’s talk about some things you do. You know I can break your wrist and you know making the call will encourage me not to.’ He put the phone in his right hand.

  ‘A’ight, a’ight.’ He took the phone and in a few swipes, Dales could hear it ringing. ‘Hello. Got someone who wants to talk to you. I don’t know.’ He looked up at Dales as best he could from his twisted position. ‘Who are ya?’

  ‘Detective sergeant Dales. Tell him I’m calling in my favour.’

  The pub closed long before Joel came back out. Sarah stood sheltered from the rain at a bus stop further along the road. Wind shot through the street chilling her damp hair, and her jeans were soaked from her frantic run across the road. The pounding rain showed no sign of stopping and with her battery down to a red sliver, the chances of calling a cab home were getting remote. She needed to stay. She needed to find out why Joel was suddenly familiar with the door staff and going in through The Candy Club’s back entrance. The best way was to confront him as he left.

  She folded her arms and stamped her feet to stave off the cold. A cab pulled up outside. Three men came out and got in the backseat. Still no Joel, although cabs began coming more often as closing time approached. Surely it can’t be much longer. Another cab slowed down and there he was. Joel came outside and waved at the driver from the shelter of the doorway before stepping out onto the pavement. He raised his hand, shielding what he could of the rain, and opened the back door. Sarah ran towards the cab and managed to open the other door before it drove away.

  ‘What the hell?’ The cabbie turned around as she sat in the backseat. ‘Who the hell are you?’

  Joel twisted his body towards her, looking ready to defend himself if necessary. His face changed as he recognised who it was, from tense to absolute fear.

  ‘It’s okay. We know each other.’ Sarah was a little out of breath from the short but urgent run.

  The cab driver turned as far as he could towards Joel. ‘You know this woman?’

  ‘Yeah. I do.’

  ‘Alright. Nearly gave me a heart attack.’ He put the car into gear and drove away.

  Joel relaxed a little and Sarah got her breath back. She’d waited around for him so long, but hadn’t thought what to say when she saw him. Maybe he just wanted to see some strippers and this is about to be the most embarrassing conversation I’ll ever have.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ He looked a little angry, like his parents had arrived a little too early to collect him from the park.

  ‘Just about to ask you the same question.’

  ‘You spying on me?’

  ‘No.’ She was conscious that cab drivers had little else to do all night aside from listen to their passengers’ conversations. The cabbie gave them a glance in his rear view mirror and smiled on one side of his mouth. I’m not his psycho girlfriend, you know.

  ‘Then what? You’ve just burst into my cab in the middle of the night. One-word answers aren’t going to cut it.’

  They pulled up at the lights. The rain lashed down on the roof and the strong wind gently rocked the car. Sarah didn’t want to have the conversation here. Careless conversations had been the death of many a good investigation and she imagined two coppers talking about Mavenswood’s seedy underworld would be far more interesting than anything the cabbie’s colleagues had to say back at the taxi rank.

  ‘I’ve got some things to tell you. About what we’re working on. There’s more to it.’

  ‘And it can’t wait until we’re back at work?’

  ‘No. It can’t.’

  Joel’s flat was modest. Sarah had expected it to be more glamorous, more masculine and minimalist. Maybe black leather sofas and furniture, with white walls and some monochrome photos on the wall. Something suitable for a successful playboy in his late twenties. Instead, it was a plain. They sat in the lounge on brown sofas and surrounded by blank cream walls. There was a photo of an old, portly lady with greying hair with her arm around a mid-teens Joel on a side table next to the armchair.

  ‘Is that Mummy Johnson?’

  ‘It was.’

  He looked distant for a moment. ‘So, now we’re alone. What’s all this about? What were you doing there tonight?’

  Sarah wanted to ask him the same question, but that wouldn’t have got her anywhere. Joel was a proud man and firing questions at him about his nightly activities was apt to encourage his silence. ‘I was watching the club. Leilani is linked to something. Something personal. I wanted to see if someone was going in and out.’

  Joel waited for her to continue for a few awkward moments. ‘And this was sanctioned surveillance?’

  ‘I happened to be having dinner across the road. And it’s not entirely work related.’

  ‘Wait, wait, wait. Something personal? Watching the club off duty? This doesn’t sound like you. What’s going on?’

  He wasn’t about to let her get away with glossing over it. She’d burst into his cab in the middle of the night; the least she could do was offer an explanation as to why. ‘It all starts with Leilani. The girl from The Candy Club? She came to the station to report her lover had assaulted her. She didn’t want to make a formal complaint, just wanted it logged in case it got worse.’

  ‘Leilani? A victim of DV?’

  ‘Yeah. Why is that so strange?’

  ‘Go on. I’ll let you finish.’ He looked edgy. His hands fidgeted in his lap and his right foot slid behind the left, crossing on the floor.

  ‘Leilani refused to give me a name, but did provide bank details for her abuser.’

  ‘Bank details?’

  ‘He’d been taking money from her.’

  ‘In the most traceable way possible?’

  ‘I asked her about that, she put it down to arrogance. The bank details belonged to my husband.’

  Joel put his head in his hands.
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br />   ‘We went to The Candy Club the other night and …. And, well, we know what happened. The next day, someone sent an email to my account. With photos. Of us. I went back there and, given the angle and the approximate distance, it’s likely they were taken from behind the curtain on the stage. Someone backstage at the club took those shots and, although they didn’t come with a demand, the only reason I can think of is to blackmail us.’

  She logged into her email account on her phone and handed it to him. The battery died while he was looking at them, but his sour expression told her he’d seen enough.

  ‘Listen, I’ve got to—’ He stood up and put his hands on the side of his head. ‘You need to listen. Leilani’s no victim.’

  ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘To everything.’ He sat back down and let out a long sigh. ‘I know Leilani. Knew her before that night at The Candy Club. I met her online. A dating site: True Connections. I kept meeting the same kind of women in bars, so thought I’d try a different tack.’ He was rambling. Sarah was eager for him to get to the point, but whatever he had to say, it was clearly hard for him to deal with and impatience on her part would only hinder that process. ‘We went out a couple of times. She didn’t use that name. She went by Naomi. I guess using false names when online dating is a common precaution. She took me back to The Candy Club. To one of the private rooms in the back. We drank and she must have put something in my drink, as I passed out.

  ‘I don’t remember a thing. Didn’t need to. She’d recorded it all, so I know exactly what happened in that room. Some things you can’t unsee, you know.’

  ‘If we’re going to deal with this woman, we need to be honest about everything.’ Sarah was tired of being lied to.

  ‘Wait. I’m getting there.’ Joel held his hand up, asking for patience. His confidence subsided. When they’d met, she’d thought he was unshakable. Her work colleague and her opposite in so many ways. ‘I lay there. I don’t remember removing my clothes, but I was face down and naked. My head was to the side, resting on my hands, as if waiting for a massage. A girl came in, wearing far less than she should have been, and went to work.’