Pretend We're Dead

by Mark Timlin

  ‘Nine.’

  ‘I thought I might have a lie in…’

  ‘Forget it, party animal. I want you out of that bed right now. I’ve got to change the sheets.’

  ‘Give me a break,’ I said.

  ‘I am. Remember the knife.’

  ‘Can I just finish my coffee?’

  ‘Sure you can, sweetie pie. But don’t dawdle.’

  ‘Jesus, is this what our marriage is going to be like?’

  She shrugged, and I knew that I wasn’t going to win. But for some reason I didn’t care. I just swallowed the aspirin and drank my coffee, got up and headed for the bathroom, showered and shaved and came back feeling much better. I dressed in a Levi’s checked shirt and jeans, and Dawn, God bless her, put a plate of bacon and eggs, sausage, beans, tomatoes and toast on the table for me.

  ‘You’re a star,’ I said.

  She winked, and I dived into the food.

  With my second cup of coffee and my first Silk Cut of the day I watched Redemption Cometh. Dawn sat on the sofa next to me and smoked half my cigarette.

  The programme was a revelation. If not exactly Revelation. The name of the church was the Tabernacle of the Sepulchre of the Virgin Mary and Little Baby Jesus.

  ‘Jesus,’ I said as the pre-show credits rolled, echoing the name. ‘Is this for real?’

  ‘Seems so,’ said Dawn. ‘They take it very seriously anyway.’

  ‘I bet they do,’ I said.

  The show opened with a squeaky-clean heavenly choir about two hundred strong, standing on a dark blue set decorated with stars that winked and blinked in the background, singing ‘My Eyes Have Seen The Glory’. When they finished, the studio audience went potty, then pottier still when Brother Julius made his first appearance. I recognized Julius Rose from the photo, but might not have if Tony Taffler hadn’t told me he’d grown a beard. The brother was still tall and well built, but his hair had thinned just a little. He was wearing a white three-piece suit with a darker shirt and tie.

  ‘John Travolta,’ said Dawn.

  ‘Are the Bee Gees on later?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t think so. But if they’re not, they’re the only ones who aren’t. Now shush, listen to this.’

  Brother Julius was going into one. The first of several rants that punctuated the show. He stood at a dark wooden lectern with a huge Bible open in front of him. There was no messing with our Jules. Hellfire and damnation were his points of reference, and he never let anyone in the audience forget it. The first sermon was on the danger of drugs. Quite amusing I thought, if what Tony Taffler had told us about his previous occupation was true, and I had no reason to doubt it. Old Julius really got into it too. Foaming at the mouth, beating on the lectern and all.

  ‘Does he heal the sick and raise the dead?’ I asked Dawn. ‘Make cripples walk and turn water into wine?’

  ‘Wait and see.’

  And of course he did. Not raise the dead or do the business with the water, but as soon as his talk about drugs had finished and the choir had sung ‘Jerusalem’, he came back in a freshly pressed suit and mingled with the masses.

  He picked up a radio microphone and walked into the audience, who followed his every move with their eyes. The front row consisted of about twenty-five people of both sexes and all ages, in wheelchairs.

  ‘Knew it,’ I said, and lit another cigarette.

  Brother Julius was calling on Jesus, and suddenly zeroed in on one particular wheelchair-bound punter. She was in her early twenties, dark haired, and pretty well twisted up from what I could see. Brother Julius knelt before her and asked her name.

  ‘Tasmin,’ she said.

  ‘A very beautiful name,’ said Brother Julius. ‘How long have you been like this?’

  ‘Forever.’ The young woman’s voice was barely a whisper.

  ‘Then, my daughter, we shall have to change that. With the help of the blessed Mary and Jesus.’ And he touched her lightly on the shoulder. The audience was silent as he did so. Nothing happened for ten long seconds, then the girl appeared to have a minor fit. I leaned forward to look as her twisted body began to straighten in front of my eyes. She put out her arms in front of her, and with Brother Julius’s help she placed her feet on the floor in front of her chair, and with extreme care stood up. Julius stood back and she took two or three faltering steps before the congregation erupted in wild applause and the camera cut away.

  ‘Christ,’ I said. ‘That was very good.’

  ‘Fake?’ asked Dawn.

  ‘What do you think?’

  She shrugged.

  Then we went to the real business of the night. The first exhortation for money.

  In a filmed clip, Brother Julius appeared to be in a Hollywood producer’s idea of the Garden of Gethsemane. The grass was lush and green, the sky was blue, and the sun looked as if it had been polished. A stream tinkled pleasantly in the background, and little birdies twittered in the treetops. This time Jules was dressed in a long, flowing, white robe with gold detail, and an invisible choir hummed something melancholy behind the soundtrack.

  ‘Brothers and sisters of the Tabernacle,’ Brother Julius said in ringing tones. ‘The work we do is necessary work to save the sinners of the world. Necessary, but expensive.’ The choir hummed louder. ‘And once again I must ask for your help. We need funds to go out into the wilderness to rescue the lambs of God that have gone astray.’

  ‘He’s good,’ I said. ‘I’ll give him that.’

  ‘I ask you, no, I beg you to dig deeply into your purses and pockets and send your donations to the Tabernacle of the Sepulchre of the Virgin Mary and Little Baby Jesus,’ Brother Julius continued. ‘Every penny that you give goes towards helping those who have turned away from the Saviour. And every penny is vital.’

  On the screen appeared the address of the church. It was, as Tony Taffler had said, in Pembridge Square. I made a note of it.

  ‘Jesus loves you, brothers and sisters,’ said Brother Julius, as the choir burst into ‘Rock Of Ages’. ‘Show Jesus how much you love him in return. Send as much as you can. And God bless you.’

  Fade to black.

  I turned off the video then. I’d seen enough.

  ‘There’s more,’ said Dawn.

  ‘I’m sure there is.’

  ‘He makes a deaf man hear again.’

  ‘Course he does.’

  ‘And he tells an old lady where her lost wedding ring is.’

  ‘I’d expect nothing less.’

  ‘You think he’s a fraud?’

  ‘Don’t you?’

  ‘He’s got something,’ she said.

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘So what do we do?’

  ‘Pay him a visit, I think.’

  Then the phone rang.

  It was Chris Kennedy-Sloane.

  ‘How did it go last night?’

  ‘It went,’ I said. I think I’d said that before.

  ‘Angela got her picture in the Mail this morning.’

  ‘Good.’ I neglected to tell him that she almost got her name on an arrest sheet for threatening behaviour with a deadly weapon.

  ‘I spoke to her just now. She says you acted like a perfect gentleman.’

  ‘So I did. And hold that thought. I might need it as a reference one day.’ And I winked at Dawn.

  ‘Thanks, Nick. You did me a favour there.’

  ‘A pleasure.’

  ‘How’s the other thing going?’

  ‘Jay Harrison?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Slow.’

  ‘I’ve just had Lamar Quinn on the blower from LA. He wants a report.’

  ‘There’s nothing much to report.’

  ‘Are you getting anywhere with it?’

  ‘I’m doing my best.’

 
‘Are you sure?’ His tone had changed from one of gratitude to criticism.

  ‘I’m on the case twenty-four hours a day. Except when I’m moonlighting for you. And that reminds me. You owe me a monkey plus exes for last night.’ I told him how much I’d spent and got a strangled gasp as a reply. ‘And Quinn’s advance ran out yesterday,’ I said, ramming my advantage home. ‘I need more money from him too.’

  ‘You amaze me.’

  ‘Does he want me to carry on? I can always pack the case in and take a holiday you know.’

  ‘Course he does. But he wants some results too. He’s calling me back later.’

  ‘Fine. Tell him I might have some news tomorrow. I’m following up some leads that your mates the Tafflers gave me. But remember this thing is twenty years old, for Chrissake. What does he want? A miracle?’

  Saying that made me think of Brother Julius. Maybe with his help that’s what I’d get.

  ‘OK, Nick,’ said Kennedy-Sloane. ‘Don’t throw a wobbler. I’ll get you a cheque today.’

  ‘Have it biked over,’ I said. ‘And don’t forget my exes.’ And I put down the phone.

  ‘Problems?’ asked Dawn.

  ‘No. Chris just needs a firm hand now and again. Otherwise he gets out of line and tries to throw his weight around.’

  19

  We drove up to Kensington, and I parked the Chevy on a vacant meter in Pembridge Place. I took the photo of Julius Rose, Billy Sayer, Jay Harrison and Kim Major with me in a brown envelope.

  Dawn and I walked in the summer warmth of the morning up to the square. The Tabernacle of the Sepulchre of the Virgin Mary and Little Baby Jesus’s headquarters were in a terrace of half a dozen huge, three-storey, cream-painted houses on the west side.

  ‘Impressive,’ I said.

  ‘Very nice,’ Dawn agreed.

  ‘Let’s go and see if we can find Brother Julius,’ I said.

  The main entrance to the tabernacle was guarded by a heavy-looking number in a grey suit with a portable phone hooked on his belt.

  ‘May I help you?’ he asked in an American accent as we climbed the three steps to the front door.

  ‘Brother Julius,’ I said.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’d like to see him.’

  ‘Do you have an appointment?’

  ‘Sadly no. We came on the off-chance.’

  ‘Then it’s impossible at this time,’ said the heavy. ‘His schedule prohibits it.’

  He pronounced it ‘skeddule’.

  ‘I’m sure he could find us a moment in his busy day.’

  ‘I’m sorry. If you care to leave your names…’

  ‘Mr and Mrs Sharman. I wonder if you’d mind letting him know we’re here.’

  ‘Mr Sharman, I’m sorry, but Brother Julius has appointments the whole day.’

  ‘You don’t understand,’ I said. ‘This is urgent.’ I’ll always remember once being told that I had an inflated idea of my own importance. Which I freely admit I do. And of course the whole deal had already been around for twenty years or so. Which made it anything but urgent really. But the geezer got right up my nose, with his suit and his military haircut and his portable dog.

  I reached over and tapped it. ‘Now what I want you to do is get on that, or go yourself, and tell Brother Julius that Nick Sharman is here. And he wants to talk to him about Jay Harrison. Get that – J-A-Y-H-A-double R-I-S-O-N. Jay Harrison. If you don’t, I’ll be forced to get the police to talk to him, and I’m sure he wouldn’t want a squad car parked outside his nice church all afternoon, would he?’

  It was a bluff of course, but the heavy wasn’t to know that.

  The heavy looked me up and down and nodded, went into the doorway, drew the phone like a pistol, tapped out seven numbers and spoke to someone in a whisper so that Dawn and I couldn’t hear. He paused, made an affirmative noise, said something else and came back looking like he’d lost a fiver and found a threepenny bit.

  ‘He’ll see you now,’ he said grudgingly. ‘I’m to take you in.’

  ‘Lead on, Macduff,’ I said.

  He went through the big, glass front door into the air conditioned hush of a large foyer decorated in muted pastels, with huge vases of cut flowers everywhere and a painting in lurid reds, blues and gold of the Virgin Mary and little baby Jesus on the wall.

  ‘It’ll never get into the Royal Academy,’ I said to Dawn, and she took my hand and squeezed it.

  The heavy led us along a series of corridors until we came to a plain wooden door. He knocked and we entered. Inside was a wood-panelled office. Tastefully furnished, with a huge desk in front of the single window. Brother Julius sat behind the desk still dressed in his white suit, but this time with a pale blue button-down shirt and a dark tie. Next to the desk stood a huge geezer in a sweatsuit. He was young with long blond hair cut into a pudding basin, and looked something like Brian Jones. Before he died.

  ‘Mr and Mrs Sharman,’ said the heavy.

  ‘Thank you, Brother Thomas,’ said Brother Julius who rose to greet us. The heavy backed out of the room, closing the door gently behind him. Brother Julius shook Dawn’s hand first, then mine. His grip was firm, smooth and dry, just like I’d imagined a TV evangelist’s would be.

  ‘Welcome, Mr and Mrs Sharman,’ he said. ‘My name is Brother Julius. This is my associate Brother Anthony.’ Brother Anthony made no attempt to shake hands. ‘I hope you don’t mind him being present during our meeting.’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Please do sit down.’ And Brother Julius indicated two comfortable-looking armchairs, one each side of the desk.

  Dawn sat on one, smoothing her skirt down over her thighs. I took the other.

  ‘You mentioned Jay Harrison,’ said Brother Julius.

  ‘I did.’

  ‘Why would you think that that name would mean anything to me?’

  ‘It obviously did.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because it got us in here, and Brother Thomas was adamant that you had appointments all day.’

  ‘He’s been told to always say that. I get a lot of callers. My flock is extensive, and I just don’t have time to see them all. But you haven’t answered my question. Why did you think the name Jay Harrison would mean anything to me? Apart, of course, from the fact he was a singer who died. I take it that is the Jay Harrison that you refer to.’

  ‘You take it right.’

  ‘I remember him. But I still don’t understand why you mentioned his name. What possible connection could there be between us?’

  ‘You knew him,’ I said.

  ‘Did I?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘A little bird told me.’

  Brother Julius looked puzzled. It was a perfect performance. Once again, exactly what I’d expect from a TV evangelist. ‘I don’t think so. And I’m sure I’d remember. Jay Harrison was very famous as I recall. I’m afraid your little bird was singing flat.’

  I liked the way he said that. A real crim’s way of putting it. Our Brother here was certainly not all he pretended to be. ‘You recall perfectly,’ I said. ‘It’s a shame you can’t recall knowing him.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘Early seventy-two. Just before he died.’

  ‘I met so many people in those days. Before I received the calling.’

  He was beginning to get on my nerves. ‘I’m sure you must have. Doing what you did would bring you into contact with vast amounts of people.’

  ‘Doing what I did? And what exactly was that?’

  ‘Don’t you remember that either? Your memory is certainly far from perfect.’

  ‘You tell me.’ The smooth exterior was beginning to slip, just a little.

  ‘Dealing drugs.’

  The room was so
quiet, I imagined I could hear my watch ticking.

  ‘I beg your pardon,’ said Brother Julius.

  ‘You heard. Flogging opium to the masses. Almost exactly what you’re doing now with all this.’ I gestured round the room, taking in the office, the church, the whole nine yards.

  ‘And who says I was dealing drugs?’

  ‘Someone I met who knew you at the time.’

  ‘The same little bird as before?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Name?’

  ‘I don’t think so. I protect my sources.’

  ‘And I protect myself, Mr Sharman. I have taken the precaution of recording this interview, and I have Brother Anthony here as my witness. You have slandered me, and if you continue to do so you will hear from my legal representatives.’

  I held up one hand. It was perfectly steady, which was a miracle considering the way I felt. ‘Look at me shake,’ I said.

  ‘You obviously think you are a very amusing man, Mr Sharman,’ said Brother Julius. ‘An opinion I do not share.’

  ‘I’m crushed,’ I said. ‘How’s Billy?’

  The room went very silent again. ‘Who?’ said Brother Julius.

  ‘Billy Sayer. Your old chum.’

  ‘Once again the name means nothing to me.’

  ‘Jesus, Bro. You want to get one of those memory books. Except you’d probably forget where you put it. Jay Harrison, Billy Sayer. Old mates one and all, and you can’t remember them. It’s a shame.’

  ‘I won’t continue with this,’ said Brother Julius.

  ‘There’s a rumour going round that Jay Harrison isn’t dead,’ I said. ‘Any opinions on that one?’

  He didn’t answer, but instead said, ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I thought you’d never ask. I’m a private detective looking into Jay Harrison’s alleged death.’ I emphasized the word ‘alleged’. ‘I thought you might be able to help.’

  ‘I’ve told you I know nothing of the man. This interview is terminated.’

  ‘I wonder if the police would take that for an answer.’

  ‘You’re bluffing.’

  Of course I was. Just like I had been when I’d mentioned them to Brother Thomas. But it was all extra seasoning for the pot.

  I shrugged.