The Runner

by P. R. Black

  ‘You don’t look shocked, mind. What do you know about me?’

  ‘I’m not here to talk about that stuff,’ Freya said. ‘I don’t think it’s going to make anyone feel better.’

  ‘Bollocks,’ Carol said, brightly. ‘There’s something you want. I don’t know you too well, but I do know you. Hey, Glenn – is she this bad a liar when she tells you she loves you?’

  ‘She’s a brilliant liar,’ he said. ‘She convinces me every time.’

  Carol cackled again. ‘I do like him. He’ll do. He might be just what you need, girl. So… tell me a story, kid. What’s been happening with you?’

  ‘So far, so boring,’ Freya said. ‘I’m still at the call centre. It’s steady enough.’

  ‘Thought you might be one of the clever ones,’ Carol said. ‘You were quiet, I remember that much about you. Whenever they brought you along. I thought you were one of these deep characters. Read a lot, you know. Might go on to do something with your life, if only you’d raise your voice. I think it turned out that you were just very dull. You seem to have a bit more of a spark about you now, though. Not shy, are you?’

  ‘We all change.’

  ‘That’s the truth. So. You going to say what you want then?’

  ‘Is the idea of me getting engaged not enough?’

  ‘Yes, yes. On top of that. What do you want?’

  Glenn leaned forward. Before Freya could stop him, he said: ‘Look, Ms Ramirez, I don’t want to take up your time. We’re here to learn more about a man you knew. Years ago. His name was Gareth Solomon.’

  If the name had any effect on Carol Ramirez, she covered it up with something that might have been a cough, or a “hem”. She leaned back and folded her arms, shifting her gaze between Freya and Glenn. ‘Gareth Solomon, you say. That’s not what people call him.’

  ‘The Woodcutter, then, if you like.’

  ‘Know him personally, do you, son?’

  ‘I’ve never had the pleasure.’

  ‘I did.’ She grinned. ‘It’s been a while since people asked me about him. The powers that be aren’t too keen on me talking about that guy.’

  ‘Which powers that be?’ Glenn asked.

  Carol gestured vaguely around the walls. ‘Oh, all of them. But mostly the force I used to work for. Have you ever heard of a man called Bernard Galvin?’

  ‘That rings a bell,’ Freya said.

  ‘I bet it does. He’s a bit before your time. But he was the Dirty Harry of his day. Hmm. Blank looks… I forget, time’s getting on. You might not know who Dirty Harry is. Hey, is Clint Eastwood still alive?’

  ‘Was he your boss?’ Freya asked. ‘Bernard Galvin, not Clint Eastwood.’

  ‘He was everyone’s boss. He ran the Woodcutter inquiry. You might want to look it up. My name’s all over it, so they tell me. On the internet. They never let me go on the internet. Imagine that – you just call up a name or a face and it tells you everything you could ever want to know about them. When I was your age we had a thing called Teletext, and that seemed like space age stuff when it came out.’

  ‘You were saying about Bernard Galvin?’ Glenn asked.

  ‘I was taking my time, son.’ She didn’t look at Glenn with quite so much amusement, now. The look was back; the still, fixed glare. Twin stars in negative. Freya wondered what it must have been like to have been arrested by this woman. ‘Bernard Galvin was the hero cop who pulled Gareth in. Made the arrest personally. June Caton-Bell, that’s another name to look up. That’s the name of the last one. The one they arrested Gareth Solomon over. Anyway, old Bernard quite likes me being in here. Don’t get me wrong – I deserve to be in here. But it’s all good for Bernard. All good for his inquiry. He’s the powers that be. Still is, for all I know. If he’s still alive.’

  ‘Why’s it good news for him?’

  ‘Because I can prove him wrong, that’s why. I can prove that Gareth Solomon didn’t kill June Caton-Bell.’

  ‘Seriously?’ Glenn said.

  ‘Serious as you like. A lot of people said Gareth and me were boyfriend and girlfriend… You know, like you two are. But it’s not as simple as that. We couldn’t last, we both knew that. We were both into slightly different things. He liked the old tiesy-upsy. I liked… well, different things.’

  There was a pause. Freya filled it. ‘Different things like… what?’

  ‘Sure you want to know? You both look so young. Oh well, better out than in. Have you ever seen the scene of a crime?’

  Neither of her visitors answered.

  ‘Sometimes you used to see photos. I saw lots. I had access to the Black Room, where they kept all the meaty ones. I don’t know what it is about it exactly, but maybe I could put it like… You know when you go to a crime scene, the atmosphere is like… church. That solemn way, you know? Like you can’t laugh. Did you ever laugh in church? Did either of you go to church?’

  ‘Once or twice,’ Glenn said.

  ‘Then you must have laughed. When you were in with your friends, at school. Lamb of God, this. Body and blood, that. I know about body and blood, all right. First time I saw a dead person, their skin had turned black like liquorice, and they had swollen to about twice the size you would expect. They looked ripe. Smelled it, too. You ever see a body like that?’

  Freya shook her head.

  ‘With murders it’s worse. It’s like when you see trees uprooted, after a storm. The storm’s gone by the time we show up, usually, but when you see the trees all slanted, and parts of a house here and there, and cars on their sides… it suggests the power to you. It suggests the storm. I can’t explain it any better than that. So, when one day I came into a house where an old lady had been strangled, by her own son, it turned out… Well. I can’t tell you.’ She wiggled her eyebrows. She licked her lips.

  ‘Turned you on,’ Freya said, before she could fully process it. ‘Is that what you mean? It turned you on.’

  ‘Got it in one. We’ve all got a thing, I suppose. Something that tickles you, right where you live. That’s mine. I can say this to you. I’m not bothered that you know. It’s the drugs, I suppose.’

  Freya felt a storm of revulsion convulsing her breast, and also… disappointment? Something more subtle? She saw the fantasy father again, the man she’d go to the seaside with. The man who would skim stones with her, and buy her an ice cream. A man who had gone dark again; a grinning shadow, with piercing eyes. She shook her head. She didn’t want to believe it. ‘That’s not right.’

  ‘Oh, it’s absolutely awful and disgusting,’ Carol said, nodding fervently. ‘No question, there.’

  The door opened, and Nurse Patterson came in. ‘Everything OK, Carol?’

  ‘Everything’s fine,’ Carol said brightly. ‘Me and my family are just catching up.’

  ‘Just five minutes more. You’ve got an art class today, remember.’

  ‘Of course.’ Carol smiled pleasantly. ‘I’m enjoying the chat, though. It’s been good.’

  ‘I’ll be back in five minutes,’ Nurse Patterson said, before going out again.

  Carol said out of the corner of her mouth, ‘We’ll need to whisper.’

  ‘When did you meet Gareth Solomon?’ Freya asked.

  ‘There was a ruck at the pub he had been working in. He helped me deal with a tricky customer – a young guy who’d been throwing bottles around. I didn’t need the help, truth be told. Gareth was more keen than anything else. It’s the closest you get to normal attraction in people like us. We got talking, we got together… It was a fleeting thing, he was clear about that. But he gave me something no other man could. He said, he could show me a body. And he did.’

  ‘When was this?’ Glenn asked. His throat clicked as he spoke.

  ‘I told you. Round about the time of the last Woodcutter case. The one they caught him for: June Caton-Bell. Lovely-looking girl, to go by the pictures. Less so when I saw her.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Freya said, trying to keep her voice low. ‘You saw the body? H
e took you to see the body?’

  ‘Yep. Right there under the stars. You ever seen fresh blood by torchlight? Already had the flies setting on it, but so bright. Stained all the greenery. Hell of a contrast, under torchlight. Red and green. Black and silver. Doesn’t look unnatural, though. Yeah, he knew where the body was. He took me out there. And that’s when we did it, for the last time. You two are engaged, so you’ll know… When you hit that peak with another person. You can’t fake it. If you take away the body at the scene, we could have been normal lovers… Normal people. Doing something absolutely wonderful. Two bodies welded together. Maybe entwined is a better word, branches twisted together in a knot. We might never have separated. But Jesus Christ, the mess that was made of that girl. Whoever did that… You had to look closely to tell it was a person at all. Chopped to pieces. Then chopped into more pieces. Family-sized tin of tomatoes, with a couple of eyeballs in there. Splat! The strength it must have took… the sheer rage. For all we knew, he was still there, somewhere. Maybe he was watching us – who knows?’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ Glenn said. His mouth was twitching; he was close to something, a breakthrough. He could barely contain a sense of excitement; she laid a hand on his twitchy arm, to soften his voice. Maybe this is his thing, she thought. ‘You’re saying that Gareth Solomon knew where June Caton-Bell’s body was, in the woods? He took you out there. You were together at the scene, on the spot. But you say he didn’t kill her? You know this?’

  ‘Know it for a fact. Gareth Solomon didn’t kill that girl.’ Carol smiled.

  ‘How?’

  ‘Because he was with me the entire day. We didn’t leave the house. We had a nice late lunch, had a couple of drinks, and that’s when he told me. He knew where June Caton-Bell’s body was. He didn’t go anywhere that day; I can tell you that for a fact. Dawn till dusk. The only time he went to the woods, he was with me. And there’s no chance he stole away anywhere. He didn’t sneak out for a quick five minutes, kidnap her sixty miles away, then come back.’

  ‘But she was killed that night,’ Glenn said. ‘The night the woman saw him going into his van. She was killed that night. The body was found a couple of hours after she was killed. How could he know where the body was if he didn’t kill her?’

  ‘I can’t tell you that. He’s the only one who can answer that. But I can tell you that he didn’t kill her. No word of a lie.’

  Freya said: ‘You could clear him. You could have cleared him in court.’

  ‘True, but they’d already banged me up in here, by that point. Fully certified, doolally. And they were bang to rights. I mean, I was fucking, right at the scene of a murder. With the prime suspect, it turned out. Stepping back out of myself, I would have to say that’s pretty messed up. On a par with actually having chopped a girl up. Wouldn’t you agree?’

  ‘You were sectioned – when?’

  ‘I burned the house a few days after Gareth was arrested. And to be fair, they were already investigating me. It seems our internal investigations bureau had a decent file on me. It all started when some nosy bugger got curious about the amount of time I was looking at old crime scene photos. And you’d have to be a weirdo to look at those, wouldn’t you, son?’

  Glenn didn’t seem to be aware of any irony in Carol’s remark. ‘Is it possible you were sectioned to take you out of the inquiry? To make sure you didn’t testify in court?’

  ‘Got it in one. Bernard Galvin needed a result. Five murders on his patch, he was under pressure. Bit of ego in there, too. You don’t run a team of detectives without it. Imagine being the guy remembered as the copper who didn’t catch the Woodcutter. Imagine that? He fitted Gareth up for June Caton-Bell. No question. But it does beg a question why Gareth knew where the body was going to be, possibly even before the body got there. Doesn’t it?’

  ‘What do you reckon?’ Freya said, checking her watch. ‘He wasn’t the Woodcutter? Who was?’

  ‘No idea, Stacey. None at all. But I wouldn’t rule out Gareth as having been the Woodcutter. That’d be silly. I think he knows who killed June Caton-Bell. I think he knew they were planning to do it, whoever they were. So he didn’t kill her – he couldn’t have. But he probably knows who did.’

  ‘He must know who the real killer is,’ Glenn said.

  ‘Sure he does. And he might have done some of the murders. After all, he told me where the other bodies were.’

  ‘You what?’ Freya said.

  ‘Oh yeah. Look for where the water goes two ways. I’ll say this about Gareth Solomon – he might have been the Woodcutter. He might not. Someone else might have done all the killings. They might not.’ She yawned. ‘Now, I’m getting bored. Was that what you wanted, Stacey? That good enough? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll have a hit of the good stuff.’

  She lunged. Freya and Glenn sprung to their feet, both chairs falling back against the floor. But Carol Ramirez did not spring at them. She bit her hand, hard, in the meat between thumb and forefinger. A rill of blood spilled out. Then she clawed her cheeks. Although the nails had been clipped back to the quick, they still split the tanned-hide texture of her cheeks in fine red lines.

  By this time the door had burst open, and two strong male nurses came in, with Nurse Patterson’s pumps thundering behind them.

  ‘That’s it, boys!’ Carol said, as they took hold of her arms, and forced her to the floor. ‘Any second now! Let’s have the good stuff! I’ll show you a vein, if you like!’

  ‘Leave,’ said Nurse Patterson to Freya and Glenn, her face flushed. ‘Right now.’

  36

  On the path back towards the main gate, Glenn practically danced around Freya.

  ‘Have you ever seen anything like that? She was in control, it seemed. Totally compos mentis. All in order and above board. Then at the end… My God.’

  ‘Is this exciting for you, or something?’

  ‘Yeah! Well… Not regarding her.’ Glenn relented a little. ‘That was bad news. But we got some stuff out of her. It proves it, doesn’t it? Your dad didn’t kill June Caton-Bell. This seems beyond doubt, now. The cops covered up what happened!’

  ‘I know that.’ Freya shook her head. ‘I helped blag our way in, all right? I get that. But what happened in there was my fault. For all we know she’s been Tasered or something. People can die in restraint. It’s partly my fault.’

  ‘Freya, don’t worry about it. You didn’t provoke anything in there. You just asked some questions, and you got what sounds like the truth. People would kill for that sort of lead, you know, in our profession. This could be life-changing. For you, me, your dad…’

  ‘This wasn’t a path I wanted to follow. That’s all. I know it was my idea. But now we’ve gotten through that, I’ll never do it again.’

  Glenn kept quiet, and ground his teeth on the way back down the path towards the main gate. ‘Why so glum?’ he asked. ‘We got something good out of her, didn’t we?’

  ‘Got something? Maybe so. But what we did today was morally wrong. The woman was upset. And that’s before we take into account her massive mental health problems.’

  ‘She’s an attention seeker. Might have had psychosis, diagnosis of mild schizophrenia… But I’d say it’s a personality disorder she’s got. And one or two of her doctors over the years have agreed. Bad, not mad.’

  Freya stopped. ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘I may have seen her medical notes.’

  ‘How, exactly?’

  ‘I told you before… I’ve got my sources, same as you.’

  ‘I think we went too far with that. I’m stating for the record, this was a bit much.’

  Now it was Glenn’s turn to look annoyed. He folded his arms, and actually pouted. ‘Oh, don’t start, Freya. You set it up. You could have raised your very noble protest at any point – could have called it off at the last minute. But you didn’t. You wanted to find out something, same as me, and you did. Maybe you can do your agonising when you type up your next think piece for som
e horrendous right-wing rag.’

  ‘Yeah. I’ll leave you to type up your exaggerated man-of-action blog.’

  ‘Exaggerated? What are you talking about?’

  ‘I read it last night. How you “gave a warning shout”, and threw yourself forward when I was being pursued by a shadowy figure. Gave me a laugh, I have to admit. I was waiting for you to tell your readers how you carried me to safety in your big strong arms.’

  ‘That’s what happened… Listen, you were there. You remember it differently, that’s your problem. What do you want, exactly? Star billing? Maybe save that for your articles with Mick Harvie.’

  ‘Yeah, I will.’ She sighed. ‘Look… I’m sorry. Let’s not fight about it. For the record, this wasn’t good. It crossed a line. We should be wary of it next time. We’re the goodies, aren’t we?’

  Glenn refused the olive branch, and continued to pout. ‘I’ll try to be worthy of your high ideals in future.’

  ‘Don’t patronise me. You never told me about your girlfriend, though it’s obvious enough why you didn’t.’

  ‘My girlfriend’s none of your business.’

  ‘Well, I slept with you, and she gave me a makeover with a hot and sour seafood soup the other night, so you’ve kind of made her my business.’

  ‘I think we need to leave this for a while.’ He looked on the verge of tears; he had a crumpled aspect, like a derelict building the day before demolition. Freya saw for the first time that he was exhausted.

  ‘Listen,’ she said, softly, laying a hand on his shoulder. ‘We came here to find something out. My motivation’s different to yours. This is for my father. Now, we’ve just heard that he is weird – on a weird scale of one to ten, he’s an eight or a nine. Ten being a serial killer. And even before we found that out, everyone I’ve spoken to about him has told me that the guy’s bad news, and I can believe that. A glib, slippery charmer, who takes what he wants and leaves. A drifter. A womaniser. I’m proof of that. But I think it’s possible that he isn’t a murderer. The only evidence that points to him having killed someone is fabricated. We know that, now. You want to attach a noble cause to what we did today – that’s it.’