Fear No Evil (Debbie Johnson)

by Debbie Johnson

  ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘I see. You mean, dead Geneva isn’t here… did you think she would be?’

  ‘There was a chance. Violent death, young person, building already in the grip of some kind of supernatural force. We thought she might be, especially when Tim started talking about the crazy shit.’

  ‘Yeah. I see what you mean. But that was probably just due to being permanently stoned and eating nothing but orange liquid. I’m sure Tim sees crazy shit all the time, even when he has his eyes shut.’

  I was a bit disappointed with myself for being so slow on the uptake. After all Dan had told me, all I’d learned – all I’d actually seen with my own eyes – I still hadn’t figured out what they suspected. I’d been so busy fiddling with the soft furnishings I hadn’t realised they were looking for a more direct route to our star witness. Which would have been useful.

  ‘Don’t beat yourself up,’ said Dan as we jogged down the next flight. ‘We didn’t mention it, so why should you know? That’d be like us expecting to see you suddenly start to dismantle the room with your pocket burglary kit. You do your thing, we do ours.’

  My ‘yeah but’ never made it out of my mouth. Which was probably a good thing, as nobody likes a whiner. The words froze on my lips. And I mean literally froze.

  The temperature plummeted to something that Captain Oates would fancy a stroll in, and the fine hairs on the back of my hand, gripping the stair rail, stood up from the skin. A patch of frost appeared in one corner of the landing window, then spread over the rest of the pane, like a white spiderweb on one of those time-lapse nature videos. I heard a high-pitched wailing sound, the same noise street cats make at four in the morning that makes you dream about dying babies, then laughter. It wasn’t Dan. It wasn’t me. And it sure as hell wasn’t Justin.

  Dan was stock-still next to me, yelling for Justin, so chilled, the words came out in shuddered shouts with a stammer on the ‘J’.

  We galloped down the stairs, taking them two and three at a time, until we rounded the corner to the next landing. We were too late. Justin was lying at the bottom of the steps, his face flat to the concrete, blood pooling round the bald dome of his head.

  Chapter 30

  I paced the waiting room at the General Hospital, looking around for something to kick. A bin, a cat, a passing porter who looked at me funny. Nothing. I scuffed my trainers on the lino and sat down heavily on the moulded plastic chairs.

  The ambulance had been there within minutes, and Justin was taken, all guns blazing, to the Accident and Emergency Unit. He hadn’t regained consciousness, and his big round face looked as pale as the moon. Dan had gone in with him, and I was waiting. For what felt like days, but in fact had been only an hour.

  An old man with no teeth, wearing a filthy overcoat liberally sprinkled with eau de piss, was grinning at me from the next row down. God knows why he was there – apart from the obvious lifestyle issues. I gave him my best glare, which seemed to cheer him up even more, and went to ram coins into the drinks machine. I clearly needed some caffeine to calm myself down.

  The plastic cup fell slightly off-balance into the dispenser, filled to the brim with scalding hot liquid. I tried to pick it up with my fingernails, found it impossible and grabbed it, squashing the boiling plastic until the coffee spilled over onto my hands.

  ‘Shit!’ I yelled, pulling them back and sucking my fingers. I hoped they had a burns unit here. Sponsored by Kenco.

  ‘Let me get that for you,’ said Dan, appearing behind me and edging me out of the way. He picked up the cup with presumably Teflon-coated fingers, and offered it to me.

  I looked up at his face, searching for evidence that he’d been in there giving Justin the last rites.

  ‘It’s okay,’ he said quickly, putting the cup back down and taking me into his arms. I froze for a second, tense and angry and still quite keen on finding something to kick, then relaxed into his body, resting my head on his chest.

  He stroked my hair, and kissed the top of my head once before pulling away.

  ‘He’s going to be all right. It was a nasty scalp wound, and he’ll have enough stitches on there to look like Frankenstein’s monster, but there’s nothing more than a concussion. They’ll do some more scans later to check for hairline fractures, but he’s okay.’

  I felt relief swamp through me, and closed my eyes for a beat while I said a quick thank you to the big guy upstairs. By which I mean God, but possibly also the chief of staff at the A&E.

  ‘Right. Well. Good. He looks like the kind of bloke who has a hard head. Betty’s on the way.’

  ‘That’s good. Betty will help by just being here. She always does. Now, I really need some fresh air. Walk with me,’ he said, following the signs to the electric doors at the exit. I followed just behind, sipping the coffee, now cool enough to only leave me with second-degree burns.

  ‘See you later, dimples!’ the old tramp shouted. I gave him the finger behind Dan’s back – I wasn’t sure he’d approve of me abusing one of God’s less fortunate children. I wasn’t sure I did either, but it hadn’t been a good day. That was becoming an alarming pattern.

  The sun was still blazing down outside, more like a summer’s day in St Tropez than early Autumn in England. Maybe it was global warming, and there’d be tsunamis washing their way down Old Hall Street within days. Dan was leaning against a railing, one leg propped up behind him, watching the smokers wheel their drip stands outside for a fag break. He inhaled Liverpool’s very special brand of fresh air – cigarette smoke and car fumes.

  Maybe it put him off, because he didn’t light up like I’d expected. He looked serious and sad and was rubbing his face with his hands, as though he was trying to wash away the stress of the last hour.

  ‘I really, really hate hospitals,’ he said quietly. He looked as shaken up as I’d ever seen him, and remembered the conversation I’d had with my dad.

  ‘Is that because of your sister?’ I said, leaning back next to him, close enough so the sides of our bodies were just touching. There’s something about a near-death experience that makes you crave human contact; a combination of adrenaline and emotion. I’d be off to Stano’s to pull a fireman later if I carried on feeling like this.

  He blew out a big, long sigh, and thought for a moment before he replied.

  ‘Yes. I suppose it is. Emily. She was ill for so long, hospitals felt like a second home. One you didn’t like very much.’

  ‘What happened with her?’ I said. Maybe it wasn’t the right time, but he’d started it. Sort of.

  ‘Motor neurone disease. She was only thirty-nine, and female – so she beat the odds to get it at all. It took her two years to die, and all the time her body was shutting down around her mind. While she still could, she asked me to help her end it. So I did.’

  Wow. That was a biggie. For anybody – never mind a Catholic priest. I could see why that had caused a conflict of interest. I didn’t think he’d mentioned the full story to my dad, or he’d have had views on it. So did I.

  ‘You did the right thing,’ I said, taking hold of the hand he had resting on his thigh.

  He looked down at me and smiled. Not in a happy way.

  ‘You think so? Even with your upbringing?’

  ‘I do,’ I replied. ‘No doubt in my mind at all. I’d want the same. The whole human race plays God, all the time. That’s why places like this exist. We don’t sit down and wait for God when we’ve had a heart attack, do we? We call 999. You were dealing with the flip side of that.’

  ‘I wish it was that simple, Jayne, I really do. But it went against everything I believed in, everything our parents believed in. Everything I’d learned and everything I’d preached. After that, I couldn’t go back to my parishioners, telling them to bear their burdens bravely, all the time knowing I’d… murdered Emily.’

  ‘No. That wasn’t murder,’ I said, casting around in my brain for a phrase that might mean something to him. ‘You sent her to God, a bit earlier than he expecte
d, that’s all. Your motives were pure, and that’s what counts.’

  I wasn’t entirely convinced about the ‘pure motives’ defence, but I’ve used it for years and it works for me. Dan probably wasn’t such a simple soul.

  He squeezed my hand and smiled again. Not quite kid-who’s-just-seen-an-ice-cream-van happy, but better than his last attempt.

  ‘You know what,’ he said, ‘underneath all that sarcasm of yours, there’s a really nice person desperate to get out, isn’t there?’

  ‘No. I’m a total bitch. Anyway… what happened there today? Do you know?’

  He nodded, looked ahead. Kept hold of my hand. Which was nice. Maybe I’d be able to give the firefighters a night off after all.

  ‘It was the demon. The children, playing with us. Justin said he was going down the stairs and suddenly felt a sharp push in his back. It sensed us in the building, and was warning us off. Either that or just having a bit of fun.’

  ‘Fun? For fuck’s sake… God, I’m so angry, Dan. I want to go back there right now and kick its scaly demon butt.’

  I pondered the image for a second. ‘Is it scaly?’ I asked. Maybe I’d seen too many horror movies. ‘Does it have a butt?’

  ‘It doesn’t have a body. That’s why it borrows them. And I know you’re angry – I am too. But we can’t go back there right now. We’re not ready. I promise you, we will be – and we will do some figurative butt-kicking, when the time is right. Justin will be first in the queue – he’s spitting mad himself.’

  ‘Why? Because it spoiled his otherwise classic good looks?’

  ‘Because it caught him off guard. He usually knows when these things are coming. This time he didn’t, and he’s pissed off. As well as concussed.’

  As we spoke, a black Aston Martin pulled him beside us. It was sleek and shiny and as beautiful as a hunk of metal can get. Even the smokers paused mid-drag to stare. The door opened and Will climbed out, waving to us.

  ‘How is he?’ he asked. ‘What happened?’

  ‘He’s fine, Will. He’s going to be okay. Jayne can fill you in. I’m going back inside,’ said Dan. ‘Thanks for coming.’

  He gave Will a manly nod of thanks, and left us. I was still gawping at the car.

  ‘You’ll get clamped if you leave it there,’ I said. ‘And you’ll never get that back from the pound.’

  He probably had spares at home anyway. Will Deerborne didn’t live in the same world as the rest of us, financially.

  ‘I won’t get clamped. Don’t worry. I’m so glad Justin’s all right. Now tell me what happened – did it have anything to do with Geneva’s room? And did you find any clues about the father?’

  I walked over to the car, stuck my head in the passenger side. God, it smelled gorgeous – fresh from the showroom, and no air fresheners in the shape of Christmas trees hanging from the mirror either.

  ‘How did you know about that?’ I asked, looking up at him.

  ‘Dan told me. Team meeting yesterday while you were otherwise engaged with Theresa.’

  I nodded. Typical. I miss all the good coffee.

  ‘We went to see Geneva’s room. Nothing doing there, just a lot of used condoms and tomato soup. Then as we left, Justin got shoved down the stairs by the… butt-less child demon-thingy. He’s okay, don’t worry. Looked worse than it was.’

  Will sat in the driver’s seat and I got in next to him. He’d lost the colour from his skiing tan, and looked like he needed a shot of his posh whisky sometime soon. I knew exactly what was going through his mind.

  ‘Come on. No time for self-pity today, Will. Justin’s going to live to scowl another day – and it was nothing to do with you. Now, give me a lift to my office. I’ve got work to do, and I’m sure you need to get back to buying and selling small countries or whatever.’

  ‘Just an island or two, actually,’ he said. ‘Slow day.’

  He gave me a wan smile and turned the key in the ignition. As we zoomed out of the car park, we passed the old bloke from the waiting area. He leered in at us and I gave him my best royal wave. It was appropriate. I already felt like I was hitching a ride with Prince William.

  Chapter 31

  I got into the office and all but collapsed against the door as I closed it behind me. The adrenaline was still flowing through my veins and I craved the cool, calm quiet of my own territory.

  I sat down on the visitors’ chair and looked around me. No headless women in white wailing round, but the filing cabinet had been dusted. My ghostly cleaning lady had been hard at it again. I couldn’t knock her work ethic.

  ‘Thanks,’ I muttered. You should always make time for good manners, as Sister Margaret Mary taught us. And if you didn’t, Jesus would hit you on the knuckles with a wooden ruler.

  I was glad I didn’t have a couch, or I’d have lay down and fallen asleep. I still felt like I had Justin’s blood on my hands, which I didn’t. And even though I now knew he was going to be all right, my nerves hadn’t quite caught up with my brain as yet. I felt fried.

  I pulled out my phone and dialled Wigwam. He wasn’t near enough to kick, but he was always on hand to abuse. For some bizarre reason I felt angry with him. Maybe I was just angry with the world, and I knew Wigwam had done enough bad things during his life to deserve my vitriol, even if this particular drama wasn’t his fault. Police logic. It made perfect sense to me.

  He answered, and launched into a mini-rant of his own.

  ‘Theresa’s been a right pain in the fucking arse since she saw you – what were you saying to her? I think she’s in bloody love with you.’

  ‘And what’s wrong with that? Better than the fuck-ups she’s hanging round with now, you arsehole. Bothers you if you’re not the only gay in the village, does it?’

  Silence. Possibly a stifled giggle.

  ‘No. I don’t give a toss. But she’s had a hard time and I don’t want it any harder for her. Eugene tolerates me, but we all know homosexuals are an abomination, don’t we? Now stop talking shite – have you found out who got Geneva up the duff yet?’

  ‘No. But I will. That’s why I’m phoning. Where would she hide something? Growing up with the shower of bastards she called family, she must have learned a few tricks.’

  ‘Have you tried the bog?’

  ‘Of course I bloody have! And the light switches and the drawers and the extractor fan and under the effing mattress. There must be somewhere else. Geneva might have been a Casey, but she was still female – there’s no way she wouldn’t have a photo or a love letter or a hotel room receipt tucked away as a memento. Now make yourself useful and think.’

  He was quiet again, apart from a vague background humming. I couldn’t have sworn to it, but it could have been ‘Hips Don’t Lie’ by Shakira. The bootylicious sound of Wigwam thinking.

  ‘There was this time,’ he said eventually, ‘with Theresa’s mother. You know about her, don’t you? Druggie. We tried to get her cleaned up, but it was like trying to keep seagull shit off the Liver Birds. The woman was chronic. We used to raid the house every week or so, looking for gear. We tried to do it when the kids were out of the way, Geneva was always round there, or Theresa was always round at theirs, they lived next to each other. But Geneva did this thing – she used to hide. Nosing round, like, listening to conversations she had no right hearing.’

  Lorraine had mentioned that as well. Sneaky little tyke to have round the house – especially a Casey house. Maybe in a different life Geneva would have made a grade A, kick-ass girl detective.

  ‘So one day we’re in the bathroom, and we’re taking it to bits and putting it back together again, like we did all the time. Felt like I had a job with a plumber’s yard for a while there. She had the stuff in bags, taped flat to the bath, covered with the bath panel. We only knew ’cos she left a bit of the plastic peeping out the corner, the stupid cow. So we got it off, got the stash, and—’

  ‘I don’t want to know. Just let me imagine you flushed it all down the toilet like the respo
nsible citizens you aren’t. And Geneva saw all this, did she?’

  ‘She did,’ he replied. ‘She was in the airing cupboard, watching us through the wooden slats. Must have been about eight or nine at the time, but I guarantee she’ll never have forgotten – it’ll have been tucked away in that brain of hers. Any use?’

  ‘I’ll tell you when I’ve dismantled her bath,’ I replied, and snapped the phone shut.

  As soon as I closed it, it rang. Tish.

  ‘How’s Justin?’ she said. I could hear glasses clinking and music in the background. She was in the pub.

  ‘He’s fine. He’ll just be even uglier when he gets out. Where are you? Top-level business meeting?’

  ‘No. Quick pint with the Divine Richard then home for make-up sex. The interlude with Adam was pleasant, but Richard’s the real deal when it comes to bonking. It’s been weeks, I’m going to drain him dry. I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.’

  ‘Please don’t,’ I said. ‘It may make me ill. How’s your research going?’

  ‘Brilliant. It’s going to get me on the front pages of every paper in the country.’

  ‘Well, that’s good to know. That was obviously my main aim in getting you involved in all this. Anything you’d care to share?’

  ‘Not at this stage, no. But soon, promise. Out of interest, who else was there when Justin got hurt?’

  ‘Me, him, Dan and our friendly neighbourhood demon. Thing. God, I can’t get used to saying that. I’d feel much better if there was someone I could—’

  ‘Kick the shit out of?’ she suggested.

  ‘Yes. That. Let me ask you something – Geneva Connelly told her cousin, and bessie mate, that she’d met The One. What do you reckon? She would’ve left trace of it somewhere, wouldn’t she?’