The Devil's Reflection

by Colin Davy

  “Unless you’re closer than you think to the reason for Deb’s death?”

  “Hardly,” he said. “It’s possible somebody thinks we’re closer than we really are. Someone close but not that close. It could be anybody.” She sighed in response and looked at the floor. “Do you still see sinister shadows hanging over the docks?” he asked

  “Even more than I did,” she said. “The shadows are darkening and I’m worried about you, Gary.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” he said. “It’s you we should worry about. You’re a rich woman. “Are you sure the phantoms you see are aimed at me, and not you. They could be mercenary-type ghouls with a spread sheet.”

  She shook her head. “No, Gary, it’s you they’re targeting, please take it seriously and watch your every step.”.

  “Maria,” he said softly. “There’s no reason anyone would attack me.”

  She looked up at him. “Have you looked in the mirror lately?”

  “That’s different,” he said. “Ghosts don’t wear kicking boots.”

  “You hope.”

  “Does the letter writer have to be a man?” he said. “Could the writer be Gail?”

  “I don’t think so,” she said. “She’s angry and belligerent, but I can’t see the point of her taking the spotlight off Deb’s death; it’s the opposite of what she wants.”

  “True,” he said. “Unless she did it.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  “No,” he said. “It’s what I want to be true, rather than what I think is true. Gail claims she dropped Debbie here on Sunday night and left. She must have a solid alibi afterwards or the police would take more interest.”

  “You’re assuming they’re not?”

  “I am, but we could have a witness after all.”

  “Oh?” She perked up, but remained pale and drawn, her eyes dark against the pallor of her face.

  Piss holes in the snow, he thought. “Are you feeling alright?” he asked again. She didn’t look well and her eyes had lost their shine.

  “I’ve got a headache,” she said. “The aftermath of the migraine.”

  He tried to hide his surprise. “I thought that was a diplomatic headache,” he said. “William isn’t your greatest fan.”

  Her smile flickered on, but died almost immediately. “I guessed that, but it was a genuine excuse. Did I miss much?”

  “Possibly,” he said. ”I’ve discovered new information.” He told her of William’s complaints against his ex-partner and his view he might a useful witness.

  “That’s yet to be decided,” she said. “He might just be tugging your todger.” When she looked up, a touch of colour had returned to her cheeks.

  He gave a mock frown. “I think he was telling the truth,” he said.

  “Really?”

  “I’m sure he was.”

  She looked unconvinced.

  He smiled. “You doubt me?”

  When her smile returned, she looked a fraction better. “You know I don’t,” she said. “But how do you plan to locate William’s ex?”

  “My cunning plan is to visit the Red Lion tonight,” he said. “It’s the man’s local.”

  She shook her head. “Not as cunning as you suspect, Gary. Why not phone him? I assume William gave you his number.”

  “He did, but I’d like to meet him face-to-face,” he said. “A strange man phoning out the blue is guaranteed to make him cautious. William’s hardly a recommendation if they split in a big bust-up. He’ll probably put the phone straight down on me.”

  She looked doubtful. “Do you have you a picture or a good description of this Scott?”

  “Neither to be honest,” he said. “But he’s got a deceitful heart according to William.”

  “Oh, Gary,” she said. “That won’t get you far. You intend to walk into a strange pub with that battered face, asking if anyone is called Scott before engaging them in a heavy conversation about a police investigation? We may have to reset your face again when you come back.”

  “Hmm … you have a point.”

  “Would it be better if I rang?” she asked.

  He felt conflicted and perhaps a little jealous. “What if the man wants to meet you?” he asked. “William thinks he was bisexual. How about e-mail instead?”

  “That’s worse than phoning, surely,” she said. “You could be any age, any sex, any ethnic background, and almost guaranteed to be a con-artist.”

  He sighed. “You’re right.”

  “If Tom’s still here, why not ask him first?

  “Tom” he asked. “Are you serious? I’ve spoken to him twice before without getting anywhere? Why make it three times?”

  “Because he’s had time to reflect, and because you’ll be asking a specific question,” she said patiently. “You’re asking about a regular visitor with a name. I suspect he knows more about the building and its inmates than anyone else. He’s clearly been here a long time and has his share of curiosity.”

  “You mean he’s nosey?”

  “Well …”

  “I suppose he is,” he said. “I expect he knows who’s shagging whom. Fascinating but not relevant. As for William, he complained his boyfriend didn’t visit enough.”

  “Maybe,” she said. “But what can you lose?”

  He smiled. “That’s what William would say?”

  Although she looked briefly puzzled, he decided not to elaborate. “Why not try the mobile number you have first,” she said. “If you’re out of luck, try Tom next before risking your film-star looks again.”

  She wasn’t being fair, she was bringing in logic. There was no point complaining about her being a puppet master, or about her manipulating strings if she cheated like that. “Go on, Gary, she said. “Just do what you’re told for once.”

  “OK,” he said, taking his mobile from his pocket and fishing out the piece of paper William had given him. It was an unfamiliar number and he took it slowly, but after getting an unavailable tone, he cancelled and tried again. He was no more successful the second time. “No,” he said. “It’s out of service. That leaves the other options.”

  She nodded and rose quickly to her feet. “Tom beckons,” she said. “And I’m feeling well enough to totter with you as far as the gatehouse.”

  He took her up on the offer, and on the way, he told her all he knew about the mystery boyfriend of William’s. Unfortunately, when they arrived at the gate-house. Tom had already left. “He does have a home to go to,” the girl there said with a smile. She was tall, thin, dark-skinned, and spoke with a pronounced Birmingham accent. “Is it urgent?”

  “Not really” he said. “But-”

  “Yes,” Maria said over him. “Although, it’s important rather than urgent.”

  “I have a mobile number for him,” the girl said. “He lives in West Derby, so he should be home by now. I’ll give him a call if you like.”

  Gary stepped back, leaving it to Maria to take over. Taking the chance, she gave the girl a bright smile. “We live in room 151,” she said. “Could you give him a ring if you’re not too busy”

  “Oh!” the girl called. “Of course, I can. You must be Maria, Tom told me all about it. I’m so sorry for your loss, how are you coping?”

  She sighed. “As well as can be expected,” she said. “Is it OK to disturb Tom at home?”

  The girl’s smile widened. “No problem.” Picking up the gatehouse phone, she pressed a button. After putting it to her ear, she gave a nod and passed it over to Maria. “It’s on speaker phone,” she said.

  It was answered by the unmistakable voice of Tom Maddison. “Hi,” Maria said, “Sorry to bother you at home, Mr Maddison, but can we pick your brains again.”

  “Of course, you can, Maria, and call me Tom. I hope it’s not bad news.”

  “No,” she said. “It’s only a small logistical problem, don’t worry. It’s about a regular visitor to one of our neighbours.”

  “Go on,” he said. “I’ll help if I can.”<
br />
  “Thanks,” she said. “Our neighbour, William, lives on the floor above, and he’s given us a name, a description and a mobile number for his ex-partner, but the man must have changed his phone recently because it’s out of commission. We wondered if you knew anything about him?”

  There a short silence. “He had quite a few visitors,” he said. “Can you be more specific?”

  Without a word, she passed the phone to Gary. “He was called Scott,” he said. “He was white, tall, heavily built, and had a moustache.” After another short pause, Tom’s voice returned. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t have a lot to do with that crowd. The description doesn’t ring a bell, but Miriam might know because she usually handled them.”

  “Miriam?”

  “That’s me,” the girl beside them said.

  He nodded and smiled at her. “Thanks anyway Tom, I’ll ask her.”

  “Best of luck,” he said.

  “Thanks,”

  Taking the phone from his hand, the girl replaced it on the console, before turning back to wait expectantly.

  “Did you hear that?” Maria asked her. “I don’t suppose …”

  The girl frowned for the first time. “There was a man fitting that description who used to visit,” she said, “I remember him because he was a real grouch, and sometimes a bit … a bit abrupt.” She looked across at if seeking permission to carry on. When Maria gave a quick nod, she continued. “He used to come with a jovial Jamaican woman and she was nice, but lately he’s been here on his own.” At Gary’s heavy frown, she turned to him. “He used to look a bit furtive,” she said softly. “A sort of haunted look, do you know what I mean?”

  “I think so,” Maria said. “But could there be more than one Scott who used to visit?”

  “I suppose there could be,” Miriam said. “But I only know the one Scott. Sorry.”

  “Miriam,” Maria asked. “Was the Jamaican woman called Sophie?”

  “That’s it,” she said. “I’m sure that was her name. She came on her own last time, sometime last week.”

  “Was Scott here a week yesterday?” Gary asked. “That was a Sunday.”

  She nodded. “We alternate the shifts,” she said. “I was early last week and Tom was late.” Her frown reappeared and she thought for a while. “I think the man you described was here then,” she said. “But I’m not a hundred percent sure.”

  “How about from one to ten?” Maria asked. “How sure are you?”

  She screwed up her face. “Eight?”

  “Thanks, Miriam,” Maria said. “I think you’ve answered the question.” Gary feared she had done, and he wished he’d asked this girl earlier. Tom had been so intent on helping, he’d proved a hindrance. He hadn’t lied, but he hadn’t told the whole truth … very similar to the response of everyone else he’d questioned.

  After a quick farewell and more thanks, they returned to the flat in silence. Only when they reached the safety of their room, did Gary broach the subject.

  “Wow!” he said. “That’s one way to get to the truth,” he said. “You don’t need me to investigate anything.”

  “Yes, I do,” she said. “I don’t know how you’ll do it, but I know you will.”

  “Even if it’s by accident?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “Suddenly things are falling into place. I sensed it hinged around you, either directly or as a conduit.”

  “Your imagination’s in overdrive today.”

  “It’s not imagination,” she said. “My prophesies are coming true.”

  Prophesies, plural? He wondered. Did she mean their partnership was becoming permanent too? If so, he couldn’t deny it looked possible. “You believe Scott is the key now?” he asked.

  “Obviously.”

  “Then I need to check.” He sighed. “But how?”

  “Why not ask him?”

  “How?” he asked. “Excuse me, Scott, do you happen to be living a double life as a bisexual male unbeknown to your pregnant wife? And did you kill Maria’s sister that evening? What’s he going to say?” He shook his head. “Now you mention it, Gary, it’s yes to both, and you’d better include the Jack the Ripper crimes too because I commute to Whitechapel in the school holidays.”

  She didn’t seem amused. “It’s not definite proof of anything yet,” she said,” but it’s pretty damning. If he’s gay or bisexual, he might admit it, then we can ask him about that Sunday evening,” She frowned. “Don’t look at me that way, I admit he might be reluctant.”

  “Reluctant? Are you kidding? If he’s kept it quiet all his life, he’s not likely to confess to me now. Especially with his wife six months pregnant.”

  “You don’t know,” she said. “Getting it off his chest might come as a relief.”

  She was being optimistic, but she was right about there not being definitive proof. But the circumstantial evidence was mounting. And he suspected Maria was way ahead of him in that respect. Had Dr Watson shot the hound of the Baskervilles while Sherlock Holmes was busily twiddling his fingers? “We’ve an appointment with Scott and Sophie tomorrow night,” he said. “That could be uncomfortable.”

  This time she did smile, but there was definitely no amusement in it. “I don’t care about his sexuality, Gary, but what about his wife? It’s not fair to say anything tomorrow, or even to bring up the subject unless we’re certain. There could be another Scott who visits regularly.”

  “With a similar physical description?”

  “We don’t know for sure,” she said.

  “And a wife of Jamaican extraction?”

  “That Scott is the one we know we know about,” she said. “William’s ex could be a completely different one, his mobile number is different.”

  “You’re clutching at straws,” he said, “You don’t really think there are two different visitors called Scott, and with a wife called Sophie?” he asked.

  She didn’t reply.

  “So, what do we do?” he asked.

  Taking a long breath, she sat and stared at him.

  “OK,” he said. “I need to talk to him as soon as possible. That’s what you want, isn’t it? Mate to mate.”

  Her face remained impassive, but he could read her eyes. “Are you scared you’ll lose a mate if you make a false accusation?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Not really,” he said. “If I’m wrong, he’ll probably call me a twat and we’ll move on. He might even manufacture a film quote.”

  “Then do it now,” she said. “Before you change your mind. We can’t turn up tomorrow at the pub without sorting this out.”

  “I know.” Checking his watch, he found it was just after seven. If Scott was at home, he’d have to be very careful what he said, but if he was out somewhere on his own, he might talk more freely. Only one way to find out. As he pulled out his phone, Maria came to put her arm around him. “You’ll need to convince him you know the truth,” she said. “That way, lying is pointless.”

  “I will,” he said. “I thought I knew him, but perhaps I never did.”

  “Gary?” she asked. “How did Scott avoid you when he visited his friend upstairs? Surely, he was taking a risk you’d meet on the stairs? A small one, but a real one.”

  He shrugged. “Not if he took the lift, I never use it.” He gave a quick smile. “And I don’t go out a lot.”

  “Oh.” She nodded quickly. “I suppose so.”

  Taking a deep breath, he tried to recover his composure, things were moving too fast. He rang the number and Scott answered after only two rings. “Hello, Gaz, how’s things?”

  “Not so good,” he said. “Can we talk?”

  “Sure,” he said. “I began at the age of ten months, but you took a lot longer, didn’t you?”

  “I did, Scott, but we need to talk privately. It’s important.”

  “What’s it about?” Scott’s voice had lost the previous certainty now. “Is there something going on, Gaz?”

  “That’s what we need to
talk about.” He paused briefly. “William’s told me everything.”

  “What!”

  Gary’s heart sank, it was a cry of despair rather than a bemused question. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” he said soothingly. “Here, in private, you need a day off school.”

  After a short silence, he wondered if Scott had hung up until he heard music playing in the background. “Scott?” he asked.

  The reply was soft, barely audible above the music. “Have you said anything to Sophie?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “I’ll be at your flat at ten tomorrow,” he said. “Make sure you’re on your own.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The next morning, Gary woke abruptly, knowing he’d had the weird dream again. This time, it was different, but no less intense. Instead of being naked, he’d worn a wet suit, the material enclosing rather than warming, and he’d seen no one else. Despite the chill in the dream, he was drenched in sweat when he woke, and he threw off the sheet to lie panting in exhaustion. Although he’d slept lightly, the dream seeped away as he tried to recall it.

  Although a shower solved the perspiration problem, it didn’t clear his mind. He was sure he missing something, an important element to this whole mystery. Yet it was Maria who seemed the more fretful at breakfast. “Are you sure you don’t want me here when Scott arrives?” she asked.

  “Best not,” he said, aware he was speaking from instinct rather than reason.

  “If you’re sure?”

  He wasn’t, but he’d go with his gut feeling. She’d never met Scott because his friend’s mystery illness and school duties had interfered. Had that been an early sign of a guilty conscience on his friend’s part? Perhaps, but he’d assume coincidence for now. In any case, Scott would be more comfortable without her presence.

  When she rose to her feet and hurried over to open the French windows, he sensed her agitation again. “It’ll be alright,” he said. “We’ll have a heart-to heart, and if he was here that Sunday evening, I’ll ask him about his connection to Debbie. You don’t suspect him of being directly involved in her death, do you?”