When Evil Wins

by S. R WOODWARD

  Three hours later the train pulled up in Chorleywood station. He left the carriage and a few moments later two other men left the carriage in his wake, talking quietly to each other, trying not to get too close to him.

  Once out on the street Janus looked around to see if he could spot the sign indicating Shire Lane. He couldn't see one, but from his memory of the map he’d seen on the Internet he knew he ought to turn left and carry on to the next major road junction.

  Ten minutes later he was standing outside the front of Brown's Automotive Services and Sundries. He paused for a moment to collect his thoughts before walking across the forecourt and into the huge display area of the garage.

  “Excuse me,” Janus said to one of the showroom staff. “I would like to talk to the manager, if that’s possible.”

  “If you’re interested in one of these cars then allow me to show you round,” the salesman said starting his sales pitch. This wasn’t a bad job, but decent wages depended upon commission. “We have some great deals on at the moment. And if you have a car you would like to sell, we have some amazing part exchange deals going on. You’ve picked the right time to come and see us.”

  “No, not really,” Janus replied noting a sudden change in the salesman’s demeanour. “I would just like to talk to your boss. It’s a personal matter,” Janus clarified.

  “Okay, sir. If you would come this way then I'm sure Darren will be able to see you in just a little while.” The salesman led Janus to the back of the showroom.

  “Sir, if you would like to sit here I'll let Darren know you're here. Who should I tell him is waiting?”

  “He doesn't know me, but I'm here on behalf of Richard Jameson.”

  “Ah! I'll let him know immediately. And your name?” the salesman asked again.

  “It's Janus Malik,” Janus responded.

  The salesman left Janus sitting on a sofa and went through a door situated at the back of the showroom.

  Within a few minutes the salesman reappeared with a rather rotund and balding man who was dressed in an obviously expensive suit. The fat man walked towards Janus, holding an outstretched hand towards him.

  “Good to meet you.” They shook hands. “I'm Darren and the owner of this little empire you see before you.”

  “Good to meet you too,” Janus said.

  “I hear you know our good friend Mr Jameson. What can I do for you?”

  “Would it be possible to speak in private?” Janus asked.

  “Of course, come this way.” Darren led Janus towards a glass fronted office.

  It can't be Darren Brown, Janus thought, smiling to himself at the ever so similar names the fat man in front of him, and the TV personality had.

  Darren opened the door to the office and showed Janus in.

  “Please sit down, Mr Malik. What is it I can do for you? You're not after one of our cars are you? Because we're more than willing to help in that respect if you are.”

  “Unfortunately not, Mr Brown, if it is Mr Brown?”

  “Yes it is, but please call me Darren. And if it's not cars, then how can I help you?”

  “It's to do with a car you serviced for Richard's wife a month or so ago.”

  “As you can imagine, Mr Malik,” Darren Brown said, starting to be on the defensive, “I'm only the manager and my subordinates usually deal with the day to day running of the place. But I will help where I can, and if I can't, then I will most certainly introduce you to someone who can. What exactly do you want to know?”

  “Liz, Richard's wife, or Richard, I don't exactly know who, brought in their 4x4 MVP, I was just wondering about the circumstances of the service and who signed it off.”

  “Now why would you want to know that, Mr Malik?” Darren questioned, becoming aware that this visit was not going to be along the usual lines of the people who introduced themselves as knowing current clients.

  “You don't know?”

  “I'm not sure I understand where you're coming from at all, Mr Malik,” Darren answered carefully.

  “Oh.” Janus didn’t know how he was going to break the news to the proprietor that one of the vehicles they had serviced had been in a crash due to a possible failure of the power steering. There was no other way but to carry on bluntly. “Richard’s wife was in an accident, an accident which was due to steering failure of some sort.”

  Darren sat in silence for a moment as he digested the news.

  “Is she okay?” Darren was obviously concerned, but whether the concern was to do with his business, or the effects on a customer of his, Janus couldn’t determine.

  “Yes she is. But I would like to know more about the service if that's okay.”

  “Of course it is.” Darren picked up his office phone. “Joan, hi, yes, could you pull the records on the Jameson MPV and bring them to my office, if you please.

  “Mr Malik, this won't take a minute, would you like a coffee in the meantime?”

  “Yes, thanks, I would,” Janus said.

  Darren swivelled around in his chair to the coffee machine that was sitting on a plush sideboard behind him, and poured a coffee into a plastic cup. He handed it to Janus.

  Janus took the coffee and started to sup it. Seconds later Darren's office door opened and Joan entered. She handed a beige folder to her boss.

  “Thanks Joan.” She lingered. “That'll be all thank you.” Darren finished. With that his secretary left.

  Darren opened up the folder and looked at the report.

  “Mr Malik, I am relieved to say that the work the Jamesons had done on their MPV was only minimal and had nothing to do with the steering. I hope I'm not coming across as sounding callous, I certainly don't mean to, Mrs Jameson is a very nice lady and I'm deeply sorry about her accident.”

  “You’re not coming across as callous at all,” Janus responded. “I understand what you mean. But could you explain to me what minimal is, Mr Brown?” Janus said, rather too abruptly and he noticed Darren tense up. Janus quickly corrected himself. “I’m sorry, Mr Brown, it’s just that Mrs Jameson is a very close friend of mine. What work did she have done to the car?”

  Darren relaxed again and flicked through the pages of the report, then looked at Janus. “It was just a minimal service really, tyre pressures, oil, screen wash and brakes. Nothing much more than that in fact.” Darren turned another page. “Oh, and they asked for the emissions to be checked, even though the MOT was not due.”

  “Nothing that required any tinkering really then?” Janus observed.

  “No, especially as the brakes were good; just some air in the tyres and the oil and screen wash topped up. That's probably why Todd was allowed to sign off this vehicle report.”

  “Todd?” Janus asked.

  “Yeah, he's a student on his year out from some college in Australia.”

  “Oh. Can I speak to him?”

  “No, I’m afraid he’s left us. He only joined at the beginning of the year, must have left around three weeks ago now. He did say he wouldn’t be staying long but that wasn’t a problem for us, so we took him on. He said that when the weather had picked up he would be taking up the offer of a lifeguard’s post he’d been given in Perranporth,” Darren said, adding, “I think it was Perranporth. And he’s left before the weather has got any better, but we knew he would be here only temporarily. So it’s no problem.”

  Janus needed to know more; he needed to know what had happened when Todd had handed the keys back to Liz and she had taken the car away. What he really needed to do was to get hold of the report and hope that there was some psychical essence of Todd left on the paper. Something only he could read. But three weeks had gone by and his psychometric ability, the one by which he could divine information just by touching an object, would probably not divulge anything useful, but he had to try.

  “Mr Malik?” Janus refocused on Darren.

  “Sorry I was miles away,” Janus said.

  “That's okay, there's nothing like a daydream to relax the mind. Is ther
e anything else I can do for you?”

  Janus knew he had to get the report just for a few seconds. “If I could have a look at the report, then I'm sure that would answer everything else,” Janus replied.

  “Mr Malik,” Darren Brown started. “This is a confidential document and although I've accepted you on your word, you haven't actually given me any proof that you are who you say you are or any proof that you know Mr Jameson, for that matter. I hope I've been a good judge of character and that the questions I've answered have covered everything you need. These documents do contain other information and it is information I'm not willing to give out.”

  “Yes, of course. Sorry, Darren.”

  Darren Brown's attention was distracted by his secretary waving at him earnestly through the office's glass walls.

  “Excuse me a minute, Mr Malik.” Darren left the office quickly and followed his secretary towards the front of the showroom.

  Janus heard some raised voices filtering through the now open office door. He took one more look at the back of the receding Mr Brown then turned back to the desk. The report was still there, sitting in front of him. He knew this wasn't the ideal situation to pick up the super-sensory chaff, that strange essence, which most living things discarded as they meandered their way through life, but this was going to be his only opportunity.

  He reached over the desk, opened the beige folder and placed his hands gently onto the pages of the report, then closed his eyes.

  At first there was nothing just a muted grey-white panorama, an empty canvas. But as he concentrated harder he slowly began to hear sounds, and as he focused on the sounds they crystallised into voices.

  Janus was standing next to a large four wheel drive vehicle; then he was laughing, handing over some keys, his hands were brown and tanned. He was now looking at the back of the vehicle as it was driven out of the garage and as he looked toward the driver's seat, through the rear window, he saw brownish straight hair. He looked into the rear view mirror and caught a glimpse of some sunglasses.

  Then he was back. He sighed. The vision was broken and disjointed, but he had got more information than he had expected to. Quickly he closed the folder.

  “Mr Malik, I'm sorry about that,” Darren said as he entered his office. “My sales staff were having a bit of trouble removing a couple people who were obviously not interested in buying anything, probably some ne’er-do-well types. Anyway, I believe, Mr Malik, our business is concluded.”

  “If you would allow me one other question, Mr Brown, I would appreciate it.”

  “If it is anything I can answer, I will.”

  “Could you tell me who signed for the car?”

  “I think I can go that far,” Darren opened the folder once again and looked at the customer's signature. “Yes, it was Mrs Jameson.”

  With that last bit of information Janus got up and shook Darren Brown’s hand once again and left the offices of Brown’s Automotive Services and Sundries, for his journey home

  Chapter Forty-four

  Janus arrived home from his excursion to Chorelywood and the Jamesons’ favoured garage. The partial reading he was able to perform on the service report had shown him one thing for certain; it was not Liz who had picked up the Jamesons’ 4x4 and if it wasn’t her, who had signed for it? Liz didn’t have straight hair and she definitely didn’t have brown hair; he ought to know.

  Although he had another piece to the puzzle which showed that Liz's accident and Mandy's death were inextricably linked, it still didn't give him any information as to who the brown haired woman was or even who was behind the accidents, one of them being fatal.

  Furthermore, the spirit of Conan Doyle had told him he was being framed for the deaths and accidents so far. This fact alone had been underlined by a morning raid, a few days before, on his flat by three police officers who had taken him to the police station.

  He needed to figure out who the person was before they could 'rid' him, as the spirit had put it, of all those that had helped him on his way to his success.

  Rid! The thought struck him suddenly; surely this meant that someone else was going to die, but who? It was not Richard, so that could only leave Liz, after a moment's pause he thought, and the reader, the one responsible for giving his work the thumbs up so that Richard would go ahead and publish. But which one was it? Liz or the reader? Richard only went ahead with publishing his work on the reader's say so. It must be the reader, Janus decided. This decision now left him with a very big problem; he didn't know who the reader was. Richard Jameson kept that information strictly to himself, just in case over enthusiastic writers felt the readers may require a little help in making a good decision.

  Janus picked up his mobile phone from his desk and speed dialled Richard. The phone answered, “Richard?” Janus said.

  “Please leave a message,” the voice mail chirped. Richard must be in the hospital, Janus thought, and pressed the button to cancel the call placing his mobile phone back on his desk.

  He had to get in contact with the reader as soon as possible; to warn them. But how could he? He didn't know the name or address. There was no choice, he had to contact the hospital and speak to Richard but which hospital was it? Janus racked his brains trying to recall the conversation he’d had with Richard. He sighed heavily; Richard hadn't told him which hospital he had arranged for Liz.

  Janus needed to act quickly as he had no idea how long the reader had before they became another victim, if his intuition was right; so the sooner he warned them the better. Janus had only one option left; he had to go back to the R.J.P building and search his boss's office for the phone number. Once there he could call the reader and give them an advanced warning, or even better, tell them to get out of their house until the police had arrested the perpetrator.

  Janus took his jacket from the coat stand in his small hallway and ran out of his front door heading for the station at a pace; running would be a lot quicker than waiting for a cab.

  As he shut the front door and started his sprint a car containing two men, started up, and pulled out slowly into the road, following him.

  Chapter Forty-five

  Janus left Piccadilly station running and soon reached the side door to the R.J.P building. It took him a few long moments to get the key into the lock and open the door as the day was already getting dark and the alley at the side of the building was not well lit. Once inside he tapped the numbers to the office’s alarm, disabling it, as he had done on previous occasions.

  Janus ran up the stairs to the third floor, ignoring the lifts, he didn’t have enough time to wait for them. Turning right, at the top of the staircase, he headed for Richard's office. Bursting through the office door he flicked the light switch on illuminating the interior of his boss’s office; then made straight for the filing cabinet. He had no idea how Richard filed his paperwork. He had no idea as to how he would track down his reader; the person he needed to save. No matter, he felt the filing cabinet was the best place to start.

  He pulled open the top drawer of the filing cabinet, it was marked authors.

  Good, Janus thought. He rifled through the paperwork, pulling out files at random. Not one of the author’s details had the reader Richard had assigned to them listed. He pulled open the second drawer, bills and billing. This wasn’t the right drawer either. He pulled out a third drawer, stationers and suppliers. Janus was getting frantic; the situation was not looking good at all.

  Janus went through the remaining drawers from the top of the cabinet to the bottom. There was nothing relating to readers in any of them.

  As he carried on his search Janus became aware of an increasing sense of urgency. He was certain something bad was going to happen and it was going to happen very soon. He had to find his reader's phone number without any further delay. Without result he decided it was time he tried contacting Richard once more. Janus reached for his mobile phone, it wasn't there. He checked all his pockets. He must have dropped it, but then he remembered l
eaving it on the table at home. Quickly he went over to Richard's desk and reached for the phone; then froze.

  Richard's number was in his mobile, he'd only had to put the entry in his phone once, some many months ago and had no idea of what it was now. Janus threw the phone’s receiver at Richard’s desk in frustration.

  Everything was conspiring against him. It was as if his fate and his reader's were predestined and there was nothing he could do about it. Janus stopped trying to collect his thoughts, he needed to calm down. He sat in Richard's chair staring at the desk trying to think of another way round the problem.

  Then he saw it, a card index; he reached for it slowly, hoping that this was what he thought it was. He opened it. The first card in the index announced ‘Readers’. Janus could not believe it, he flicked through and found his name, followed by a genre definition and finally; Reader: Jim Hapstread; Address: 87d Camlet Street, Shoreditch; Phone Number: 0207 299 1873.

  Janus picked up the phone and dialled the number on the card index. Nothing happened. He remembered the phone system at the Sites and Monuments Office where he worked part-time, then tried prefixing the reader's number with digits to get an outside line.

  Nine; no effect, zero; the same, ninety-nine; again no effect. This was ridiculous. Janus slammed the phone down angrily. There was only one option left and that was to get to his reader's address before anything happened. Janus snatched Jim Hapstread's card from the index and made his way out of the building as fast as he could.

  As Janus left the alleyway and ran towards Piccadilly Circus tube station, one of the pedestrians in the street stopped to look at him. Once Janus had turned the corner of Museum Street and was out of sight, the bystander pulled his jacket collar close to his mouth and spoke quietly into it.

  Running through the entrance to Piccadilly tube station Janus stopped for a moment to check the tube map. He would have to jump onto the Bakerloo line and then on to the District line to get to Whitechapel, from there, according to the notices, he would either have to walk to Shoreditch or catch a bus. Janus thought it would be quicker to walk from Whitechapel as he wouldn't have to wait for the vagaries of the temporary bus service to bear fruit.