by R. S. Higham
“You okay going alone?” He asked, not really offering to go, he banked on Mike saying yes.
“No I changed my mind, come with me.” Mike stared at him as seriously as his face could hold it.
“You’re joking, right?” Greg wasn’t so sure, he still had a lot to learn about Mike even though they had been partners for a little over six months.
“Nope. Sergeant says –assist me.” Mike laughed.
“Whoever made you Sergeant needs his head checking.” He said, still believing Mike was serious.
“Her head.”
“That figures. “ Greg started pulling on his damp anorak, sighing with every breath.
“I’m joking. Stay here, stay warm, you’re ill after all.” Mike winked at him and Greg smiled.
“I owe you one.”
“Too right.”
“And I am ill!”
Mike jogged up the stone staircase that ran through the apartment building, his wet, muddy feet slipping at various intervals. The handrail was made of rubber and underneath it was an endless stream of bubble-gum, all hard, some crumbling, some pink, most white. “Yep, a right dump.” He thought. It reminded him of his school days. The corridors that led to the rooms were carpeted an old fashioned red with green flowers, or spots or something that time and stomping feet had faded. James’s home was number 12.
“No thirteen.” Mike spotted. “Do they still do that?”
He knocked his knuckles against the door and a man answered, flustered and in only his underwear.
“Good, er, night, sir.” He prepared his throat for his more formal cop voice. “-I do apologize for the hour. I’m Sergeant Michael Sullivan, I need to ask you a few questions, may I come in?”
“Yeah, I suppose.” James led him in. Closing the door behind him he asked; “what’s this about, Officer?”
“Well, James –it is James, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Well, James –may I sit here?”
“Please.”
“A man was murdered last night, now I just need to know your whereabouts when it happened. Between 11PM and 12AM can you tell me exactly what you were doing and where?” He asked.
James was an intelligent man, a police officer wouldn’t be snooping around someone’s house unless they had reasons to believe you were present at the crime scene, and James was. He couldn’t tell him he was at home, he had to be smart about this.
“I was outside an apartment block waiting for a… a friend.” He said.
“Which apartment block?” Mike asked.
“Oh I don’t remember now, he asked me to wait for him there, but I’ve never been there before.”
“You didn’t go inside then?” He asked him.
“What if someone saw me inside? It was the middle of the night surely no one was awake, but obviously someone was because someone had seen me and told the cops.”
“I went to look for him inside when he didn’t show up on time, but it was completely empty, so I left, then I had a phone call from him asking to meet up elsewhere.” James said. “You're doing great.”
“I see, say what were you doing meeting up with a ‘friend’ in the middle of the night?” The policeman asked.
“Come on James, use that creative brain of yours, you’re a writer for Pete’s sake you can think of something believable.”
“We go night fishing.” “Shit did I really just say that?” He visibly cringed.
“Well I’ll have to speak to this friend of yours, what’s his name and address?” He asked.
“His name is Stacey, I don’t know his last name, or address –“ “And this guy’s supposed to be your friend?” “We only just got talking really, we bonded over the night fishing interest. But I have his mobile number.” “Can he see the sweat soaking through my vest? I can’t stop my hands from shaking.”
“Sound like real good buds, I’ll get in touch with this Stacey and then I’ll ask you to come down to the station to write a statement, since it’s past eleven at night and I’m in a good mood I’ll let you come down tomorrow, I got your name, I got your address and I’m cosy with the landlord so anything I need regarding information about you he can supply. Got that? You’re not officially a suspect yet, but remember this is a homicide investigation. If you do anything that I deem suspicious we’ll have little choice but to detain you.” “Something about this guy ain’t right.” Mike got up and walked over to the door “I’ll let myself out.”
12
James clenched his fists until his uncut fingernails dug into the palms of his hands. The police on his back was the last thing he needed. It was Stacey’s fault, he killed him. It was just unfortunate that someone had spotted him outside.
“The police officer said I wasn’t a suspect, that’s a good sign. I didn’t kill that man, I’m innocent of that. But I’m an accessory, I was there, I saw it, and I didn’t report it… Report it? James you wanted it! I’m looking at prison time here, oh God I’m going to prison.”
“No!” He yelled and picked up a table lamp, he threw it against the wall adjacent to the door and it smashed into pieces. He then dragged his hand along the kitchen counter knocking everything onto the floor and pounded his fists onto the now empty space. “I can’t let that happen!”
A neighbour banged on the wall and shouted at him to keep it down and that he’d phone the police if he didn’t.
“Phone them, go on, phone them, I dare you!” James shouted back and rocked his fridge so that it banged against the wall. He left his apartment and stumbled down the stairs, he went over to the janitor’s cupboard, locked. No matter, he forced his shoulder into it. Three, four, it swung open. Sat there, a beam of light illuminating it, was an axe. James stroked his fingers on the rough wooden handle, he needed to release his anger, somehow.
With his new friend slung over his shoulder James made his way out of the building, the Tuesday night air– or was it Wednesday now? Doesn’t matter, the midnight sky was black and the air was like a frozen blanket that wrapped around him and chilled his body. There wasn’t a cloud up there which made the temperature drop lower than usual, somewhere in the minuses, and James didn’t have a coat or gloves or scarf, just a thin cotton top with a vest beneath it and some navy blue jeans. The snow was frozen solid but had been cleared around the entrance to Mayflower park right in the centre of the city, the gate was locked but the gap beneath it was big enough for the average man to squeeze through. Tramps often slept in the park at night due to this structural error.
Once inside he set up shop on a bench that was perched in front of a group of trees. He put his axe down, the thing was growing heavy, and caught his breath. “What are you doing James? Have you lost your mind?” “Shut up! I need to do this, if I don’t I might hurt someone, anyone. I might kill again.” “But you didn’t kill anyone!” He told himself, his conscience in two parts. He shrugged his thoughts away and stumbled over to the cluster of trees. He lifted the heavy axe above his head and brought it down, the bark snapping under each blow. He lifted his arms up for another, and down, and another, and down his muscles straining already, he brought it down again, the vibrations shooting up his arms and into his teeth. The tree shook and moaned and coughed with every swing until its back bent too far and it fell, snapping and breaking in half. James perched on the thin stump and caught his breath. Each tree was planted on April 1st 1990 by the New Hatton council on the day the park was opened. His hands, not used to manual labour, blistered and the skin rubbed off of them, green bits of wood and moss started collecting on the sticky new skin, not to mention his biceps burnt like crazy. He folded up on the ground, his anger only half drained but he had no more strength to continue, his hands stung just holding the axe. He flopped on his back. The cool, wet grass soothed his head and arms. Sleep deluged him.
“James.” A familiar voice roused him. His lazy eyelids fluttered, irritated by the bright sunlight.
“Huh?” He managed.
“What are you
doing?” It was officer Mike Sullivan.
“What’s happening?”
“That’s what I’d like to know. Did you do this?”
James’s head spun as he tried to look in the direction officer Sullivan had pointed, his feeble attempt at standing knocked him back on his bottom.
“How much did you drink last night?”
“Nothing.”
“Funny.”
“I mean it.”
Mike sighed, either disbelieving or despairing, it was hard to tell which. “Can you tell me anything about last night? Why did you come here and do this?”
“I have no idea.”
The park was starting to fill with early visitors, mostly old people and parents with young children, Mike decided it was best to get him out of there. “I’m taking you to the station, we can talk properly there.”
“You’re arresting me?”
“You’re looking at vandalism charges here, not mention carrying a very large weapon into a public park.”
James began to protest but he stopped himself, he knew the officer wouldn’t change his mind.
Mike bungled the unsteady James into the back of his cruiser and drove slowly to the station, the last thing he wanted was vomit on the upholstery.
No one so much as lifted their eyes when he came in, he marched through the sea of desks to his own space in the office at the back of the room and sat James down, his pallor was subsiding and the confusion had transcended into shame.
“We’re alone now, you can tell me what happened.”
“I have been telling you I don’t know.”
“Well you better start remembering.”
James sighed. He didn’t answer, there was no point. Everything from being at home to waking up in the park was gone, it was a black hole.
“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about last night, I think now would be a good time for that statement of yours.”
“I said I didn’t see anything! There was no one in the building and I was only there for a few minutes!” James clenched his fists and unclenched them repeatedly. Mike sat back and watched him. His hand movements, his facial movements; he was sure he was guilty of something.
“Are you stressed, James?” He asked.
“Yes, actually. My job is… getting to me.”
“Can I ask what it is you do?”
“I’m a writer.” James said. He looked up at Mike.
“A writer? Now, that is interesting. What do you write about?” He asked.
James went to speak but stopped himself, telling the police Sergeant he writes about murder and gore might not be the best idea.
“Fiction… I have two books published.” “Please don’t ask which books…”
“Maybe I’ve read one.” Mike smiled.
“I doubt it.”
“Look James I’m going to cut to the chase. I think what you need to do is speak to a professional about this. I’m not an expert but it seems to me like you aren’t coping with… something. If you won’t tell me maybe you’d talk to a therapist.”
“No, no therapists.” James said.
“Just hear me out.”
“I said no therapists. Charge me for the damages and let me go.”
“I don’t think you’re doing yourself any favours, James.” Mike said. “And you still need to write your statement.”
“I’ll write the statement and then you let me go. Right?”
Mike sighed, he was wary to let him go, then he had a brain wave. “James you wouldn’t mind leaving a DNA sample for us, would you?”
“Like I said, I have nothing to hide.”
Mike cringed at his candidness, he was hoping for a hesitation, but he wouldn’t confuse arrogance with innocence. “Thanks, and James if this happens again I’ll have no option but to make a formal arrest.” He said, at the back of his mind knowing that this probably wouldn’t be the last time he saw him.
* * * * *
James paid the taxi driver and trudged into the building knocking the snow off his feet as he entered. The janitor was looking bemusedly into his closet. James kept his head down and powered up the stairs. He rooted in his pocket for the key but there was none; he tried the door, unlocked. At first he thought he’d been robbed, the smashed lamp and his kitchenware all over the floor, then a flashback hit him “I did this didn’t I? I liked that lamp.”
“Helluva mess in here!” A familiar voice called from the living room. James turned the corner, Stacey was sat with his feet on the coffee table.
“Stacey? How do you know where I live?” James asked. He bent down to pick some of the things up off the floor, keeping his eyes on Stacey as he did so.
“You told me, dummy. Don’t you remember?” Stacey turned to him, grinning with those awful black teeth.
“There’s a lot I don’t remember.” He said. “The police came round, Stacey. I sent them your way.”
“You did what!?” He jumped up, crushing his beer can in his hand.
“Someone spotted me outside the apartment, so I told the police I was waiting for you then you phoned me and told me to meet somewhere else, then I left.” James recited.
“You didn’t tell ‘em what I done?” He asked, releasing his grip on the can.
“No, Hell no. I think I got him off our backs, but I did give him your number, I had no choice. So expect a call.”
“I can handle them.” The two of them sat down in the living room, Stacey opened another beer and passed one to James. “You ain’t starting to regret anything now, are ya?” He asked.
“Regret? Is that a joke, I wish I’d never met you.” He laughed, Stacy laughed too.
“Write anythin’ yet?”
“Hardly, one murder isn’t enough for a book, it just isn’t. I need a real murderer, a serial murderer. Someone who the readers will hate. I tried writing a little story about a deformed hillbilly who gets revenge on an old school bully. Audrey- my publisher didn’t like it though.”
“Better not tell me I was the inspiration.” Stacey went to laugh but it turned into a phlegmy cough. “You’re thinkin’ about doin’ it again aren’t ya?”
“I… don’t know….” James stared at his hands.
“Why quit now when you just got started? We got away with it once we can get away with it twice.”
The lines in James’s brow deepened.
13
Kate was collecting the last few glasses from the tables at Red’s, her shift was nearly over. She watched the second hand tick over twelve. “A minute to go!” She thought. It was seven A.M when she hung up her apron and left the suffocating bar. The cold was refreshing after a long night shift, the glare of the sun was strong but after spending the last six hours working in dim artificial lights she was glad of it. She inhaled the cold air til it burnt her nose and throat. “Manny will still be sleeping. Can’t wake him.” He teeth sunk into her lip as she decided what to do. If she went to Manny’s apartment and woke him up he’d be sure to give her another shiner, but there wasn’t many other places she could go. There was a place Kate had slept night after night for three years when she was nineteen, which was ten years ago next month, a three story abandoned house on Richmond, but if it hadn’t been demolished or fallen down on its own by now ten years of homeless inhabitants would have soiled it beyond a tolerable level. The smell had become something of a hideous memory crossed with a nostalgic attachment.
“Jimmy.” She burst, stopping suddenly in the street. “He’ll take me in” Now if she could only remember the name of the building. Sea View? Nah, Ocean something, she knew it was up this road and the building was clear in her mind. She kept on walking up the gradual slope towards the apartments, the ground was wet but not slippery although her shoes were hardly suited for winter, little black pumps, they were all she had for work. The building wasn’t instantly recognizable as she thought it would be, most of the apartment blocks look the same on this street, but the one that matched closest with her memory of it had a familiar na
me printed up the side; there weren’t many with a name like ‘Ocean Apartments’. She pushed the glass doors open and wiped her feet on the mat, the hard floor was littered with muddy footprints “didn’t see the mat, hm?” The blonde waitress squeaked over to reception and asked the man which number flat James Jones lives in, it was 12.The third floor. When she reached the top, panting slightly, she hurried over brimming with anticipation but slowed when she heard voices from inside.
She waited for a moment, then put her ear to the door.
“You want another drink?” She caught, her brow creased, was there someone else in there? Maybe she’d heard wrong. Kate pushed harder against the door, glancing at the stairwell in case someone had been watching her.
“I think I’ll just stay in tonight. You?” The voice started again, it was definitely James’s. “No, no way, not tonight, Stacey.”
“Stacey? A woman?” Her fist paused in front of the door. She knocked. Dead silence emanated from inside, as if someone was trying not to make a sound, then the sound of footsteps coming closer to her rang out. The door opened a fraction, just enough to see two eyes scoping her out. Then it swung open.
“Kate! What are you doing here?” James asked, grinning and pulling her in.
“I just thought I’d swing by.” He led her to the living room. “I’m sorry if it’s not a good–“
“It’s a perfect time and a nice surprise! I didn’t think you’d remember where I lived. Can I get you a drink?”
She sensed urgency in his voice. “Sure.”
“Orange? Soda?...”
“Just a glass of water.” She tried to hold her tongue, who he had been talking to was hardly any of her business, but a niggling feeling in the pit of her stomach yearned to know. “Are you sure I didn’t interrupt anything?” she ventured. “Cause I’m sure I heard you speaking to someone.” She flashed him a big, friendly smile but didn’t get one back. He stared silently into the fridge.
“You said orange, right?”
“Yeah.” Kate thought of going to Manny’s, maybe this was a bad idea, the atmosphere was less than welcoming here, but what was she expecting? She had only spoken to him a handful of times.