by John Gardner
‘Being dramatic,’ he smiled. ‘You know Molly. I’ve told you before, heart, don’t underestimate her. She could take your ears off with a revolver at thirty yards and have you on your back with a flick of the wrist.’ He paused, waiting, and Suzie felt the dreadful events enfold her again, tears welling up. She swallowed and bit her lip in an attempt to stop it trembling.
He reached out and squeezed her shoulder. ‘Heart, I’m so sorry, there’s no easy way to do this.’
She nodded, swallowed again, nodded once more.
‘We have to talk about it, I’m afraid.’
‘I know.’
‘Facts. Did you see the bastard?’
Mute, she shook her head, and as she did so the greatest truth of all sank home. ‘It was me, sir, wasn’t it?’
‘Quite possibly.’ Detective Chief Superintendent Livermore did a little sideways bob of his head. ‘She was very like you, so it’s certainly on the cards.’
‘Why me?’
‘We can’t be sure, but possibly because you were tagged as the investigating officer on the Jo Benton murder. If he’s unstable, and that’s pretty high on my list of probabilities, he could well have taken exception to a woman investigating what he thinks of as his private work. That’s one of a number of likely explanations.’
Pause and she almost automatically started counting. She could see it in his eyes. His manner told her that he was here to deal with important issues, and she didn’t know if she was ready to have serious questions flung at her.
She remembered a lecture during basic training — ‘Handling the Bereaved’. People who have just unexpectedly lost someone very close, through a traffic accident, a sudden illness, even murder, are at their most vulnerable. Try to take advantage of this. People involved will almost certainly give clearer answers when they are questioned close to the event. Also, their first reactions are probably the most truthful ones.
Yes, she was vulnerable. She had no doubt about that.
‘Heart,’ he began once more, ‘I’ve put myself on the line here and we’ve got to make up our minds quickly. Normally you’d be sent on immediate leave, but I’ve got the power to keep you on the team ...’
‘Yes,’ then again, ‘Yes.’ She could hear the anxiety in her own voice.
‘Heart, let me give you a rundown of what’s going on ...’
‘I want to stay on it. I want to get him ...’
He raised a hand. ‘Of course you do, but in the end it’ll be up to me.’ Once more he paused, holding it, waiting and signifying that he wanted her to wait. ‘There’s confusion downstairs. There are two small children — one of them seriously handicapped ...’
‘Ben.’
‘They’re being looked after next door by two ladies who appear to be very competent.’
‘Miss Palmer and Miss Wren.’
‘Right. Now it’s possible that Ben actually saw his mother being killed, so that’s going to be another mental hazard for him, but small children can be resilient. They come through this kind of drama with fewer scars than older kids or adults.’
He looked at her as though he required her to acknowledge what he had just said. Then, after a few seconds, ‘We’ve got your mother and stepfather downstairs.’ He raised his arms from his sides and dropped them back again as if to say they were here, that was a fact and there was little he could do about it.
‘How’s my mother taking it?’
‘As you’d expect, she’s devastated, but putting on a bold front.’ It was a mark of her mother’s strength that she was capable of absorbing a blow like this. When Daddy had died, Helen Mountford had been the strong one, the one who cried only in private and refused to wear her grief on her sleeve.
Of course now the war helped in a strange, abnormal way. Sudden death had become the norm, and the sense of every family being somehow in the front line was making people more stoical.
Her mother’s view, Tommy Livermore told her, was that they should take the children to Newbury and look after them there, until something more permanent could be arranged. ‘At the moment they’re keen for you to go with them, and your brother-in-law as well of course. He’s on his way from Deal.’
‘How’s Vern taken it?’
‘I’ve spoken to the chaplain who broke it to him. In shock of course. But he’ll come through alright. Has to, he’s only got seven days leave. After that it’s back to his squad and the rigours of the Pre-OCTU course.’ Vernon Fox’s immediate concern would be the children. The Fox family were old county people. County and country. Their view would be almost Biblical — ‘Let the dead bury their dead.’ Vernon would say, life must go on. Particularly for his children. Mourning was something Charlotte would not have wanted to go on unchecked. You honour the dead best by living your life well.
Suzie pondered this for a few seconds and drew huge comfort from it.
‘What do you feel?’ the Detective Chief Superintendent asked. ‘About the children going to Newbury?’
She didn’t hesitate. ‘Of course. It’s the obvious thing. Certainly Vernon should go there — quite quickly as well. I don’t think he should be left here for long. Too much to remind him.’ She had surprised herself by her own practical view. ‘How’s my stepfather dealing with it?’
‘Exactly as you would expect. He’s a retired career soldier, and he’s dealing with it in the way we’d expect. Calmly, using common sense, pragmatism. He’s leading with his brain — that make sense?’
For the first time since he’d been in the room she smiled. ‘Not really. I’ve always seen him as a pompous little man.’
‘That’s what he may well be. But he can also be a pompous, experienced little man, Suzie. He really does love your mother, and you should be aware of that. And by extension he loves you, your sister, and your brother.’
‘Is James here as well?’
He shook his head. ‘There’s some aunt, came to your ma for Christmas.’
‘Aunt Alice, yes. She’s a distant cousin of my mother’s.’
‘It’s not all going to be plain sailing. Your ma’s in some shock and your stepfather’s naturally very upset. Now, what of you?’
She took a deep breath, then expelled it as though breathing out all the sorrow that appeared to be flowing through her veins: inhabiting her thoughts. ‘I think it’s my duty to help find whoever did this. It’s what I should do. My job.’
‘Good. Your former senior officer wanted to come down.’
‘Big Toe?’
‘DI Harvey, yes. I’ve told him what your status is now: that you’re working directly for me.’ He gave her a conspiratorial smile, almost a wink. ‘I’ve rather let him think you’ve been consciously working with me for some time, and he sounded a shade sheepish. But he was prepared to leave his wife and children on Christmas Day because he felt he should be at your side: felt it was his duty to be there for one of his officers.’ Touching, she thought. Then, what’s in it for him?
‘I’ve asked him to send WDC Cox to the team.’
‘Shirley?’
‘Yes. I don’t think Harvey’s the happiest man in Camford today. Having two female officers taken from him, plus losing the investigation.’ He put his hand back on her shoulder. ‘Everything’s up to me now. I’ve got to make the final decisions, and nobody can make them for me. It’s up to me whether you stay on this inquiry or go on compassionate leave to Newbury with the children. Up to me if the team stays here or whether we use the local force to do a restricted follow-up on the spot. They know the area better than us.’ Yet another pause, then with a smudge of emotion, ‘Up to me when we arrest some bugger for several murders.’
‘I want to stay on the investigation, sir.’
That pleased him and made it easier. He thought her voice sounded firm, in control, but he couldn’t be completely certain. Nobody could. He really considered that he needed a doctor’s word on how fit she was. He wondered if the local police doctor had any knowledge of psychology. Probably a little, pr
ecious little if he knew anything about it.
He looked her straight in the face, into the big green eyes that didn’t flinch as he waited. He tried to recall what her dossier said, if anything, about staying power. Nobody could know how she might stand up to the strain of chasing a killer, let alone the killer of a sister who’d possibly died because she was mistaken for Suzie. He pondered for less than a minute.
‘Get yourself washed. Put on some warm clothes, pack your case, then come down and see your parents and the children. Try not to break down in front of them, or the kids. Keep a level head. Don’t let the grief get too deeply into your soul. I’m going to see if the team’s got anywhere. Then I’ll make up my mind whether we’re going back to London or not. Okay?’
He had given her all the right reasons for controlling her emotions. Reasons for going on, though he didn’t really have her down as someone whose world appeared to end with the sudden death of a beloved sister. He saw her as someone with reserves of pride, of self-control.
She was someone who could put steel into her own soul.
*
By four thirty the light had all but gone and Golly was ready to set off. He had fought the cold all afternoon, lying low, watching and trying to adjust his eyes to the approaching darkness. In his head he had worked out what to do. He had seen people up near the stand of trees in which he had waited for the lady policeman to be alone.
He reckoned they were already searching, but they wouldn’t know who they were searching for. They’d have to be very clever to know who to look for. So he made his way up the rise, keeping the village to his right so that he would only skirt the graveyard, keeping to the fields on the south of Overchurch.
His breathing was laboured and his heart pounded in his ears, but finally he stood between the graveyard and an open field leading down towards the road that he needed to follow in order to reach and bypass Whitchurch. The climb had warmed him, and he felt the familiar glow, the elation he always felt when he had been successful. When he had obeyed the orders. When he had killed someone.
Eyes like cat’s eyes, he thought. That’s me. See in the dark. He could now; his eyes were fully adjusted. He’d seen clearly enough in the dark on those stairs a couple of years ago. The stairs above Lavender’s flat. It was like a wonderful release from tension. Made him smile.
Back in 1938 he had waited. That time it was for Manny Spellthorne to come up the stairs to the rooms Lavender used for work. Two rooms, the tiny kitchen, bathroom and the little bolthole where Edith the Maid waited. When Lavender came back up the stairs from the street with a mark, Edith the Maid had to hand Lavender a towel and look threatening, which Edith the Maid could do quite easily because she was a big woman.
Edith was never there when Manny came because he wouldn’t have anyone else in the place when he arrived to see Lavender. Golly wasn’t allowed either. It didn’t matter when Miss Baccus came for the rent, or to talk about what they called ‘the fabric’. But nobody else could be there when Manny Spellthorne came for what Lavender called his pound of flesh.
I wish he were dead.
You must always do as you’re told, Golly.
So he was there, Golly waiting on the turn of the stairs that went up to Dawn’s flat.
‘Lose yourself, Golly. About an hour. Go off up the Blue Posts.’
‘Manny Spellthorne coming up then, Lavender?’
‘Just go, Golly. Go.’
And he had slipped out, through her door then off up the stairs instead of down. He had the wire and he had bound the ends tightly. He had his leather gauntlet gloves, and he had the wire ready.
He hoped Dawn wouldn’t bring a client back. But he knew as he stood there in the dark of the stairs, that he could tell Manny’s tread from Dawn’s steps. Manny coughed as well, when he came up. Smoker’s cough. Knew his tread and knew his cough and all, Golly did.
And here he came now. Ready to be rough with Lavender, late on a Monday night when trade was slack.
He was just going into Lavender’s rooms when Golly, light on his plimsolled feet, came behind him, slipped the wire over his head and pulled tight. Manny was dragged backwards, and Golly brought up his knee, hard against Manny’s spine. He pitched through Lavender’s door, grunting and heaving, but Golly had him tight and off balance. Kicked the door closed with his heel. Manny was so taken by surprise that he simply scrabbled at his throat, reaching up with his hands trying to pull the wire away, but the wire was already deep into the flesh of Manny Spellthorne’s throat.
He made two long throaty growls as if he were trying to say something and couldn’t get it out. Like he was trying to clear his throat. Then he died, and Golly was surprised how quickly it had happened. Sixty seconds, seventy-five at most. Wire over his head then around the throat. Very quickly he went from life to death. Like pulling a switch.
At first Golly couldn’t believe he was dead, but he was and Lavender came out of her bedroom, hands over her face. He saw she was going to scream so he shut her up.
It’s what you wanted, Lavender, he said. You said I had to do as I was told. So I did.
‘Jesus!’ Lavender said. Then, ‘Jesus Christ, Golly. He’s dead. You’ve topped him. What am I going to do?’
‘You got plenty of friends with cars.’ Golly had it all worked out. ‘Get one of your friends to come and take him away in a car. Put him on the rubbish tip. Gone. Finished. Dead, Lavender. Ring one of your friends.’
Slowly she came round to the idea.
‘You said anything,’ she talked into the telephone. ‘Said you’d do anything, well this is it. You got to do it for me ... Yes ... That’s it ... Yes, then I will. If you do this, I’ll do it ... Yes ...’
‘He’s coming,’ she told Golly. ‘Got a client coming, going to help. Golly, I can’t stay in here with his body. Can’t look at him no more.’
Manny did look a bit rough, skin a yellow whitish, mouth slack, eyes staring. So Lavender stayed in her bedroom, then left to go home when the man came. She talked to the man first. ‘Nobody else must know, Golly,’ she told him. ‘Nobody at all.’
‘Nobody’ll know, Lavender. Only him.’ Looked at the client, the Mark, and the Mark smiled back.
‘You did this all by yourself, Golly?’ the Mark asked him.
‘Course.’
‘Well, you’re very good at it. Maybe I’ll get a pretty lady to come and whisper in your ear.’ The Mark smiled. He was nice and kind, the Mark. ‘Maybe sometimes a man,’ he told Golly. ‘Sometimes a woman. You’ll get your orders. You’ll do that?’
‘Why should I?’
‘Because if you don’t, Golly, something bad’ll happen to you. Very bad.’ Golly could tell by the Mark’s words and the way he spoke that he was deadly serious about this. He could tell by the man’s eyes that what he meant was if Golly didn’t do as he was told the police would be tipped off and he would be arrested. Put in a hole.
What all that meant was that they’d hang him by the neck and then put him in a hole. ‘That nine o’clock walk with Mr Pierpoint,’ Mickey the Mangle said. ‘You do something really bad, like kill somebody they’ll take you on that nine o’clock walk with Mr Pierpoint.’ Mr Pierpoint was the public hangman. Albert Pierpoint.
Then something strange happened. Golly thought he knew everything about the flats where Lavender lived, but the Mark knew something he had never imagined. There was a front door to the building, and you went into a long, narrow passage and straight up the stairs. Lavender worked out of the rooms on the first of three landings and there was no back entrance. Clients came and went the same way. Up the stairs. But after Lavender had left on that night, the Mark showed him something he had never even suspected.
There were two cupboards in Lavender’s bedroom. One she kept her clothes in and the other had this little chest of drawers in front of it. The Mark pulled the chest of drawers away and opened the cupboard that wasn’t a cupboard. It was the entrance to another corridor that ran almost the length of the buil
ding and ended up at a locked door.
The Mark had the key to the door — ‘Lavender gave it to me,’ he said with a conspiratorial look, putting it in the lock and taking Golly through to another passage that led to more stairs. It came out into a large garage, off Rupert Street and a long way from the building where Lavender worked.
‘There’s not many people know about this place,’ the Mark said. Very useful for parking, and more than useful for us.
The Mark had brought his car right up and close to the locked door and Golly helped get Manny Spellthorne’s body through Lavender’s bedroom, down the stairs. Along the passage and into the car.
‘Nobody around. Quiet as the grave,’ the Mark said, telling Golly to go back through the door so that he could lock him in. Golly, amazed, went back along the passage and closed the cupboard door, dragging the chest of drawers in front of the cupboard again.
It was four o’clock in the morning.
‘Keep your mouth shut.’ The Mark was nasty about it as well. He’d had another dust-up with Lavender before she left.
The next time Golly slept in Lavender’s bedroom he heard the voice — only it was a man’s voice to begin with. Said he had to get more wire. Told him where he’d find it. The week after that he killed a girl with the wire. Out near Ealing Common. Went there on the Tube. Saw her on the platform as she was getting off the train. Knew which one as soon as he saw her. It was night, and he followed her and killed her on the edge of the Common, because that was what the voice had told him to do.
He started to have the bad dreams after that, and then the creatures began to visit him. They were like huge crabs and great big spiders. The spiders had legs as thick as his little finger and, as they shuffled and scuttled over the lino in the bedroom they made drumming noises that got louder and then softer as they drew close. Golly wondered if these creatures were the ones that would do things bad to him if he didn’t do as he was told.
Then the thing he called the Banshee came. Though he didn’t know a Banshee from a speaking clock, this creature was like a big rat that walked on its hind legs and carried a banner. He couldn’t see the Banshee properly, which was just as well because it would do harm if he saw the banner the Banshee carried. It frightened him, particularly when it started to whistle and shriek.