by Neil White
I indicated I understood, and Tony went to leave the room.
‘Are all your jumpers about Christmas now?’ I asked.
Tony laughed, looking down at his chest, woollen outlines of holly creeping across his chest. ‘Oh, it’s just Eileen’s little way of keeping other women off me.’ And then I saw him look out of the door. ‘Speaking of women in pursuit, your number-one fan is heading this way.’
I followed his gaze as he went back to his desk, and saw Alice coming towards me. She was smiling at me, but her head was dipped coyly, Diana-style. She was almost laughing by the time she came into the room.
‘Hi, Jack. Are we going anywhere today?’
I watched her eyes, saw the pupils grow large, black dots under long, curling eyelashes.
I held up the disks. ‘I just want to look through these, and then I’m heading up to St Mary’s to speak to the old guy who used to run the youth club. David Watts spent a lot of time there.’
‘Yeah, that’s right. I think he donated some money to it a couple of years ago. They built some new changing rooms with it.’
As Alice sat there, I flicked through the images on the disk, copying the ones that might be useful into a separate folder. There wasn’t that much there: mainly junior-league game reports, and then updates on his progress in London and all the way to his first England cap. The town was proud of him, I had always known that. As I went through the disk, I could feel Alice watching me all the time, leaning forward, playing with her hair.
I was enjoying the attention, any man would. Alice was a pretty woman, with a smile that brightened a room, half sassy, half cute. I had a problem, though. I still saw her as a young girl, the gawky adolescent getting in the way of the quiet moments I had tried to enjoy with her older sister.
When I realised I would have enough information to pad out the feature, I reached for my phone.
‘I’m about to ring a superstar,’ I whispered, flicking my eyebrows.
Alice grinned even more and leant forward as if she might get to hear.
I listened to his phone ringing, and then felt disappointed when his answer machine kicked in.
‘Hello Mr Watts, my name is Jack Garrett and I’m a freelance reporter. I’m writing a story about you based upon your past in Turners Fold, because of the murders that have taken place this week. It would help me if you could ring me,’ and I left my number, ‘so that we can arrange a time for an interview. I’m in Turners Fold now, doing some digging, but I’ll be back in London soon. Look forward to your call. Thanks. Bye.’
When I hung up, I said to Alice, ‘That should be okay.’
David Watts looked out of his window, unsure what to do. His palms were wet, his chest tight and heavy.
Then he heard the phone ring again. He swallowed, nervous, his eyes focused on the answer machine.
The message made his head drop, made his day seem worse. He didn’t think that was possible, but he could feel his life unravelling quickly. Now there was a reporter.
The sound of the message echoed in the room. And the more he thought about it, he realised that there was one person who might know what to do.
He pulled out his phone and called Karen Klavan.
She sounded distant. ‘Are you all right, David?’
‘I’ve just received a telephone call,’ was all he could say at first. His chest was heaving in and out quickly, his heart beating fast. ‘It’s saved on my answer machine.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I don’t know what to do.’
‘What does it say?’
‘Just listen to it,’ he said, and then he played the message to the mouthpiece, let the threat travel all the way to wherever she was. He closed his eyes as it played, tried to tune out from it.
When it finished, he put the phone back to his ear. He could sense the tension even before she spoke, and when she did, she sounded quiet.
‘What the fuck is all that about, David?’
He said nothing for a few seconds, the voice from the answer machine still ringing around his head, and then he put his face in his hands and sat backwards. He stayed like that for a moment, and then his hands came away from his face. He looked up at the ceiling, and then said, ‘This sounds like trouble.’
‘I never had you as one for understatement,’ was her reply. When David stayed quiet, she asked, ‘Who is she?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Don’t fuck me about, David. I’ve just listened to someone who claims that she is shooting footballers, and somehow my biggest asset is dragged into it.’ He could hear her heavy breaths, could sense her anger. ‘If we’re going to deal with it, I’ve got to know.’
He gave a small laugh. ‘It’s nothing.’
‘Bullshit.’ She was shouting down the phone. ‘This is a whole lot more than nothing. I can hear it in your voice. Tell me.’
He didn’t answer for a while, maybe as long as a minute, and every second of it crawled by as he stared at the floor.
‘It’s all about me,’ he said eventually. ‘This whole damn fucking mess is all about me.’ He shook his head. ‘What do we do?’
‘I don’t know until you tell me about it. What is she talking about? Who is she?’
‘She’, David said, his eyes wide, ‘is dead.’
He could hear the confusion in Karen’s voice. ‘No, I’m lost now?’
David took a deep breath. His ready-made speech had deserted him. ‘This isn’t easy to say.’
‘Say it.’
He sighed. ‘A girl died, just before I came down to London, and some people think it was my fault.’
Before Karen could say anything, he said, ‘It wasn’t my fault. It was a long time ago, and I was just the last person to be with her before she was killed.’ He felt his voice grow calm. ‘I didn’t kill her. I didn’t get arrested.’
‘Why haven’t you mentioned this before?’ She sounded quiet, suspicious.
He gave a little laugh. ‘It’s not the sort of thing you mention. “Hi, I’m David Watts, footballer and murder suspect.”’ He sat back. ‘I didn’t mention it because there was nothing to mention. A girl was found dead, and I had been with her not long before. There was no evidence against me. I had half the town as an alibi. The police did their job well. They investigated it, they found the killer, and that was the end of it all. He’s still in prison, the killer, as far as I know. Case closed.’
Karen didn’t respond straight away.
‘Why should I mention it?’ he continued. ‘It was nothing to do with me, and the smell of it would linger around my career like old boots. It would ruin me. The words “alleged rapist and murderer” would always be the subtitle to my headlines, like silent words in brackets after my name.’
‘Rape as well?’
David nodded and looked at the floor. ‘Yes, rape as well. They said the girl was raped before she was killed.’ He sat up, feeling more in control again. ‘Don’t you understand why I kept it quiet?’
‘But what is that call about?’ she asked. ‘If the girl is dead, who was that on the phone? And why would anyone blame you?’
David didn’t respond. Instead, he walked over to the window. He could see the pleasure cruisers on the Thames and he thought how simple it looked out there.
After a few moments of reflection, he heard Karen say, ‘Tell me about it now.’
‘Karen, it’s dead and buried. Leave it.’
‘So why the fuck did you call me?’ She sounded angry again.
‘I don’t know.’ He said it quietly, his voice unsure. ‘I just want to know what to do.’
When she spoke, she sounded calmer, more supportive. ‘David, sit down and tell me about it. You have called me, so you want to tell me. So just do it.’
He looked around the room. It looked the same as ever, but it seemed different, as if the sound of the voice, distorted and electronic, had tainted it somehow.
‘It was my last night before I left Turners Fold,’ he began. ‘You know the story. I was spotted and
signed, and so I left home to play football down here. Anyway, one of the kids in my class lived on a farm on the edge of town, surrounded by fields. We thought it would be cool to have a party in one of the barns. We could make some noise and get no complaints.’
‘Was it a party for you?’
‘It started off that way, like a good luck and goodbye party, but we were all splitting up really, either going to college or staying in town, so it became a party for everyone. We invited the whole school year, and a lot of them turned up. We rigged out the barn with lights and a sound system.’
‘Sounds like Animal House.’
‘Not really. Most of the parents came. Their lives were going to change too. I had to stay in control because I had to do the shaking hands part, getting the good advice from all the old heads. A few of the kids got drunk, but there were a lot of hugs and goodbyes.’
‘Who died?’
‘Annie Paxman,’ he said. ‘She’d been a school nobody for most of the time, studied hard, kept herself quiet. Her dad was a chef at a restaurant somewhere, but it was pub food, so they didn’t have much money. Not many people did, but to Annie it was like she wasn’t bothered. Even the kids from the estate had the latest phones and clothes, but to Annie it was as if friends or fitting in didn’t matter, so she grew up and got good-looking without anyone really noticing. Suddenly, there was this pretty girl in school and most of the lads started to notice her.’
‘Tell me about the night.’
‘Not much to tell. Annie was there. It looked like she’d made an effort. She had some new clothes on and her hair looked great. And her eyes. She had the nicest eyes, like her smile would come spilling out of them. I watched her all night, and then towards the end, I thought, What the hell, and started talking to her. When she said she had to go, I said I would walk with her.’
Despite himself, David smiled at the memory.
‘We didn’t walk far. There was a shortcut into town, and it was a warm night with a bright moon. We only got as far as the edge of the farm. I had taken hold of her hand before we got out of the party, and before we left the farm I kissed her.’
David stopped smiling.
‘There was a door open in the last barn. I tried to get her to go inside.’
‘You wanted to fuck her in a dirty old barn like a farm dog.’ Karen sounded angry.
‘That’s not fair,’ he snarled. ‘It wasn’t like that.’ Then he sighed. ‘I was eighteen years old, for Christ’s sake. I’d have fucked her on the town-hall steps if she’d asked nicely.’
‘So what went wrong?’
He shrugged. ‘She said no, so I wanted to go back to the party. I should have walked her home, or at least got someone to drive her, but I didn’t.’
‘And why didn’t you?’
He took a deep breath and shook his head. ‘Because I just didn’t. Because it was my party, and so I couldn’t just leave it. Because she said she didn’t mind. Because it was a light night, with the sounds of the party carrying her all the way back into town. Because this was Turners Fold, and nothing bad ever happens in Turners Fold. Because, because, because.’
‘Why did she die?’ The question came out bluntly.
David ran his hands through his hair again.
‘Someone got her on the way home,’ he said.
He looked down, watched his feet shuffle on the floor, his hand around the phone wet with perspiration.
‘I should have stayed with her. I know that now, I’ve wished over and over that I did, but I didn’t. She was a mile from home, it was late, it was dark. I should have taken her home. But I didn’t, and I can’t change that.’
His voice softened.
‘A policeman found her. There’s an old pavilion in a park at the top of the town, the aviary. Kids and tramps hang out there. She never got further than that. Someone must have seen her, maybe even followed us. She was raped and strangled, left naked, just her scarf around her throat to keep her warm.’
He felt a tear run down his cheek.
‘I was due to leave early the next day, so I only found out about Annie a couple of days later, when the police called to find out what time I had left her.’ The tears started to come now. ‘The man who did this was drunk and crazy, and he’s still in prison. Some local retard.’
Karen didn’t say anything for a while, trying to take it all in, then asked, unsure, ‘Is that the whole story?’
He nodded. ‘Everything. Sordid and juvenile, but not a crime.’
‘Did the police ever suspect you?’
‘No reason why they should. I suppose they asked around at the party and realised it couldn’t have been me. They caught him the same night. And now some bastard is trying to blackmail me.’ He wiped his eyes. ‘So what do we do now?’
‘We manage it when it gets out, that’s what.’ She sounded quiet, as if she was trying to work out how many ways it could go wrong.
‘It might already be out,’ he said.
‘What do you mean?’
He bit his lip, knowing that what he had to say was going to make it worse. Then he realised that not saying it wouldn’t make it better.
‘There’s a reporter up in Turners Fold,’ he said. ‘On the phone, he said he is looking into my past, and he is connecting it to the shootings.’
Karen went quiet, and then David was surprised to hear her sound brighter.
‘It sounds like a cheap blackmail stunt,’ she said. ‘Someone calls you making demands, and then a reporter calls you afterwards saying he’s looking into you.’ She snorted a laugh. ‘Relax, David. Ignore it, and if he rings back, call the police. At that point we’ll go public. It’s another Wearside Jack, and he got eight years. The thought of that will make them back off.’
‘But what if it gets out?’
‘As you said, the real killer is in prison. Which paper is going to accuse you of anything if the real killer is in prison? I can tell you now that the answer is none will.’
David began to relax, even started to smile. He could see the logic of what Karen was saying. At that moment he even felt he might like her.
‘Karen?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Thanks, that’s all.’
‘Yeah, right,’ and then David heard the phone go dead. She’d gone.
He exhaled loudly. Why had the day turned so complicated?
He sat on the sofa for a few minutes, just watching the light from the Thames shimmer on the ceiling, feeling like he had just won his freedom back.
Then he felt the phone ring in his hand. His mouth went dry, his stomach lurched. He pressed the answer button.
‘Hello?’
There was a pause and he took a deep breath. All he could hear was a clamour, the noise of people and movement. Then he let out a sigh when he heard Emma’s voice.
‘David?’
‘Where are you?’
‘Sorry, David, I can’t really hear you. It’s not a good line. I’m in New York. Just thought I’d give you a call. How are things?’
He thought about her, wondered what she would think if he told her. Then he listened to the echoes behind her, voices and footsteps, a tannoy announcement. It sounded ordinary, everyday. He didn’t want to spoil that for her.
‘I’m okay,’ he shouted. ‘Isn’t it the middle of the night over there?’
‘Yeah, but it’s best to leave the body clock where it is on short stays. Anyway, the city is more beautiful at this time of the morning. I’m going for breakfast soon, and then I’m going shopping.’
‘When are you back?’
‘That’s why I’m calling. They’re putting me on this evening’s flight, so I’ll be back in the morning, your time. I just thought I’d let you know.’
He paused, and then, ‘I miss you, Emma.’
She faltered, as if she hadn’t expected it, and then said, ‘I miss you too. Look, I have to go. I just wanted to hear your voice, that’s all. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
He put his head ba
ck when the phone went silent. His apartment seemed suddenly empty. Then he remembered the reporter saying he was in Turners Fold.
He needed to make one more call.
SEVENTEEN
David tapped his fingers on the arm of the sofa, a thick leather tap. A woman answered, sounding bored. It was a central communications centre. When she asked him why he needed to speak with Detective Inspector Glen Ross, he said quietly, ‘Just tell him it’s about Annie Paxman.’
The phone went quiet as he was put on hold, and then after a couple of minutes he heard a voice he hadn’t heard for a long time. It was easy to remember. DI Glen Ross was a small man, strong and stocky, his hair dyed dark brown to cover his grey, his voice strong and booming.
‘David?’
He paused, imagining the detective in his office, surrounded by honours and photos of dignitaries and celebrities, a reminder of his occasional snatches of fame.
‘DI Ross, long time no see. Is it still Detective Inspector? I thought you might have retired by now.’
There was an audible sigh of relief. ‘You don’t have to say her name to get me to answer. What can I do for you, David?’
‘Don’t you go relaxing. I’m calling about her.’ David put it as simply as he could. ‘She’s come back,’ he said.
There was a pause before Ross responded, ‘What do you mean, “come back”?’
‘What I mean is,’ said David, slow and deliberate, ‘is that I’ve had a call.’ He wiped his forehead, damp with sweat. ‘Is it safe to talk?’
‘Yes.’
David exhaled and said, ‘She wants me to come forward, hold a press conference and tell everyone I killed her.’
‘Are you feeling all right, David?’ Ross said, sounding concerned. A small pause, then, ‘Annie Paxman is dead.’
‘I know that,’ David hissed. ‘It’s someone pretending to be Annie Paxman.’
Glen Ross spluttered a half-laugh, and then went quiet. The silence lingered for a while, and then he said, quieter than before, ‘She’s crazy.’ There was a pause, and then, ‘You’re not going to, are you?’
‘Of course I’m not.’