Stay Another Day

by Mark Timlin

  ‘Well I pay enough council tax,’ she said as she went into the kitchen. ‘Should have enough coppers if you ask me. Mayor Ken was always going on about it. New bloke’s no different. But you never see any walking about round here. Bloomin’ disgrace if you ask me. Yobs on every corner wearing hoodies. I never go out after dark these days.’ It was obviously an old sore.

  ‘I know love,’ I said sweetly. ‘Believe me, we hear it all the time.’

  ‘Dunning,’ she said over the sound of the electric kettle heating up.

  ‘Beg pardon,’ I said.

  ‘Dunning. Elsie Dunning,’ she said, sticking her head round the kitchen door. ‘Mrs. Though my Bert’s been in the ground for ten years.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said sympathetically. This was certainly a morning for apologies.

  ‘No need to be. He wasn’t worth a light when he was here. I’m better off without. At least I don’t have to listen to him snoring nowadays.’

  I really didn’t have an answer to that.

  27

  Elsie delivered the tea in fine china on a tray complete with a plate of biscuits. Very welcome it was too, at least to me.

  Judith got stuck in to her questions, ignoring the brew. ‘Did you know Mr Campbell well?’ she asked.

  ‘Just to say hello to.’

  ‘Did you see anything on the night he died?’

  ‘No. But I heard a bang around ten as I was going to bed.’

  ‘Did you report it?’

  ‘Don’t you know? Course I did. It’s very quiet here.’

  ‘Did you see anyone around that time. Strangers?’ I interjected.

  ‘No. Like I said, I was getting ready for bed.’

  ‘Did he have a lot of visitors?’ asked Judith.

  ‘I keep telling you, I’ve answered all these questions before. Why are you asking them again?’ Elsie might have been old, but she was far from stupid.

  ‘OK Mrs Dunning,’ I said. ‘We’ll come clean.’

  ‘You’re not coppers,’ she said, looking at each of us in turn, scrutinising us. It was a statement, not a question.

  ‘I used to be,’ I said. ‘This is my daughter Judith. She still is, but not from your local station.’

  ‘I thought there was something about the pair of you,’ said Elsie. ‘In the eyes. And aren’t you a bit old to still be a constable?’ That was for me.

  ‘But I’m on suspension,’ Judith said.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Perverting the course of justice. That’s...’

  It was Elsie’s turn to interrupt. ‘I know what that is,’ she said. ‘I watch telly. The Bill, Prime Suspect. Pity real police ain’t as smart. The ones who’ve been round here are a bit thick if you ask me.’

  I nodded.

  ‘And maybe taking part in the murder of Thomas Campbell,’ Judith went on. ‘That’s why we’re here. I’m trying to clear my name.’

  ‘Did you?’ asked Elsie.

  ‘No,’ said Judith. ‘But someone wants my bosses to think I did.’

  ‘Are you going to hurt me?’ asked Elsie.

  ‘God no,’ I said. ‘Are you going to call the real police?’

  ‘Grass you up?’ she said. ‘No. I haven’t had such excitement since Bert died. More tea?’

  ‘Please,’ I said, smiling at Elsie. ‘I’m gasping.’

  28

  When there was more tea and biscuits on the table we got down to business. I could tell Elsie had more information for us, and she didn’t disappoint.

  ‘I didn’t like those real coppers,’ she said, with a sour purse of her lips. ‘Too clever by half. Thought I was a bit senile I expect.’

  ‘You’re far from that,’ I said.

  ‘Now don’t try and get round me with flannel,’ she said.

  I had to smile. ‘I wouldn’t dream of it Elsie.’

  ‘Wouldn’t even have a cup of tea.’

  ‘They didn’t know what they were missing,’ I said, taking another sip.

  ‘So what is your name?’ she asked me.

  ‘Nick,’ I said. It was good to tell the truth for once.

  ‘You been away? Got a good colour there. That’s another reason I figured you weren’t police.’

  ‘A long holiday,’ I said. ‘In the sun.’

  ‘And you came back for your girl?’ She nodded at Judith.

  ‘That’s what fathers are for.’

  ‘So how can I help?’

  ‘Tell us what you know about Campbell.’

  ‘A bit. He was queer of course. Gay they call it now don’t they? I don’t think he was very gay though. Not like it used to mean.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Miserable little sod, pardon my French. But I wouldn’t wish him being murdered.’

  ‘But you used to speak?’ said Judith.

  ‘Usual stuff. Good morning, nice day, that sort of thing.’

  ‘But not friends?’ Me again.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did he have many friends?’ I asked.

  ‘A few. I keep an eye out.’

  I bet you do, I thought. ‘Anyone in particular?’

  ‘A few. But I tell you what...’

  ‘What?’ I asked.

  ‘Place to find out is a pub round the corner. Elkin Arms. The cottage they call it. Don’t know why.’

  I was sure she did.

  ‘They all go there. There’s always been homos round here.’ No political correctness for our Elsie, I could tell. ‘Ever since the war. Famous ones too. Bloke used to make records over the leather shop. My boy used to buy them. I told him to keep well clear.’

  ‘Joe Meek,’ I said.

  ‘You knew him too?’

  ‘Knew of him.’

  ‘Far from meek though he was. He used to get into a right fuss in the market. Shot his landlady. Nice woman. Then himself. Yes. The Elkin Arms is the place to find out about Mr. Campbell’s friends.’

  ‘He went there?’

  ‘Bound to have.’

  ‘It’s worth a try.’ I looked at my watch. Opening time soon. ‘Did you tell the real police about it?’

  ‘No. Like I said, they looked down their noses at me.’

  ‘Good,’ I said. ‘But of course they might put two and two together.’

  ‘And make sixteen most likely,’ said Elsie. ‘More tea?’

  29

  This time we refused. ‘Thanks for the chat Elsie,’ I said as we got ready to leave. ‘And the tea.’

  ‘Will you let me know what happens?’ she asked.

  ‘Course we will,’ I said.

  ‘And good luck to you both. I’ll say a prayer for you.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Judith, and gave the old lady a kiss on the cheek.

  ‘Take care,’ said Elsie as she shut the door behind us. ‘There’s bad people out there.’

  She didn’t know how prescient her words were.

  Elsie had given us directions to the pub, which was just off Holloway Road. We walked there and the doors were being unlocked as we arrived. The pub was empty except for the barman, who retreated behind the jump as we walked across the wooden floors. It was just a north London pub. Nothing special. No gingham flounces or boy band posters on the walls giving clues to the clientele. The barman was a big geezer in T-shirt and jeans with well defined arm muscles, but his voice belonged to a different bloke altogether – high and sibilant with a pronounced lisp. ‘Help you?’ he asked.

  Judith flashed her warrant and said, ‘Police.’

  He didn’t look impressed.

  ‘We’re here about Thomas Campbell,’ she went on.

  The barman shrugged. ‘Don’t know him. Sorry.’

  ‘We heard he used to frequent your establishment,’ I said.

  ‘Used?�
��

  ‘He’s dead,’ said Judith. ‘Murdered. He lived right round the corner.’

  ‘Sorry to hear it, but...’ The barman shrugged again. ‘Do you want something to drink?’

  ‘Not on duty,’ I said.

  ‘Then, I’ve got to get bottled up,’ and he walked away. Just like that. Walked away.

  ‘Fucking hell,’ I said to Judith. ‘Is that how people treat coppers these days...? Oi, cunt, come here.’ I took the tool I’d bought at the hardware store out of my pocket and banged it on the counter. It was a large nail gun. I punched one into the wood of the bar.

  The barman stood transfixed at my action, his mouth literally hanging open.

  ‘I said come here.’

  And he did, as I punched more nails into the jump. ‘We’re fuckin’ old Bill,’ I said. ‘And you don’t fuckin’ walk away from us when we’re talking to you. It’s not polite.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, looking like he meant it.

  ‘You’ll be fuckin’ sorrier if you’re not careful Doris,’ I said. ‘You can talk to us here or down the nick. Your choice.’

  Bang. Another nail punctured the wood.

  I took his silence to mean he wanted to talk at the pub. Just as well, as we didn’t have a nick to go to.

  ‘And if you tell me lies I’ll have your dick out of your strides and staple it to the bar. Get me?’ Though he might enjoy that, of course.

  The barman nodded.

  ‘Now. Thomas Campbell. Shot dead in his flat a stone’s throw from here just the other day. You know about it don’t you?’

  The barman nodded again.

  ‘He drank here didn’t he?’

  He nodded once more.

  ‘I want to know if he had a boyfriend, a partner, a lover, a significant other. Get me?’

  Another nod.

  ‘Does that mean he did?’

  Nod five.

  ‘So where do I find this mystery man?’

  He finally spoke. ‘Kebab shop by the station. Tiko’s. He works there.’

  ‘Name?’

  ‘Cedric.’

  ‘If you’re having me on...’

  ‘No. Cedric. S’true.’ He stammered a little and I felt bad about scaring him, but needs must.

  ‘OK. Now give us two large Jack Daniels on ice.’

  He did as he was told.

  Fuck duty.

  30

  When we’d finished our drinks, I called the barman over again. ‘Just one thing,’ I said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘We’re going to go look for Cedric now, and I don’t want any phone calls being made to warn him off. Get me?’

  ‘I get you.’

  ‘Make sure you do, or we’ll be back with the good old public health in tow. And you know what that means.’

  ‘I know,’ he still looked terrified.

  ‘Good.’ And we left.

  ‘Think that’ll work?’ said Judith, as we headed towards the station. She’d been silent throughout the whole exchange.

  ‘Always used to.’

  ‘You’re in the dark ages Dad. Times have changed.’

  ‘You can say that again. Nobody seems scared of the police anymore.’

  ‘Like I said, times have changed.’

  We saw the kebab shop, with its gaudy neon sign lit, as we went down the Holloway Road. ‘That’s the place,’ I said, and as I did so, a little geezer came charging out and headed for the station. ‘And that’ll be Cedric I reckon. Looks like someone’s still frightened of cops,’ as I broke into a run.

  We almost collided at the entrance. ‘Cedric,’ I said, as I grabbed him by the arm.

  ‘What? Never heard of him. Let me go.’

  ‘No son,’ I said, dragging him towards the corner of the road next to the station. ‘I just want a word.’

  Judith caught us up as I shoved him against a wall. ‘Still fast on your feet,’ she said to me.

  ‘When I have to be. Now son, we need some information, and no one will get hurt.’

  ‘I’ll call the police,’ he said, in a thick accent it was difficult to place.

  ‘We are the police,’ said Judith, flashing the fake warrant. ‘And you are nicked.’

  He seemed to shrink in front of our eyes.

  ‘Unless,’ I said.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘You tell us what we want to know, and you can get back to the chilli sauce.’

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘You are Cedric then?’ said Judith.

  He nodded. ‘I’ve done nothing wrong.’

  ‘Then why the runner?’

  ‘My friend’s been murdered, and you lot turn up all heavy handed. What do you expect?’

  ‘And no one’s been to see you before?’

  ‘He shook his head. ‘We didn’t live together,’ he said. ‘I’ve got my own place. How did you find out about me?’

  ‘A little bird told us,’ I said

  That didn’t appear to register.

  ‘You didn’t do it did you?’ I asked.

  ‘Christ no. We were together. An item. I loved him.’

  ‘That’s never stopped people killing each other before,’ I said.

  ‘No, honestly. You must believe me.’ I thought he was going to cry.

  ‘I believe you son,’ I said. ‘Like I said, we just want some information.’

  ‘What information?’

  ‘His computer password,’ said Judith. ‘He did have a computer didn’t he?’

  ‘Is that all? Why didn’t you say?’ spluttered Cedric.

  ‘We just did,’ I said.

  ‘And you’ll leave me alone?’ His eyes still looked fearful.

  ‘Never met you,’ I said.

  ‘Minogue,’ he said.

  ‘Minogue,’ I echoed. ‘Like Kylie?’

  ‘That’s it. He was a big fan. Loved her.’

  ‘Why didn’t we think of that?’ said Judith.

  ‘I hope you’re telling us the truth,’ I said.

  ‘Course I am. I just want to be left alone.’

  ‘OK, then,’ I said, letting him go, and smoothing out his jacket. ‘Have a nice day.’

  He ducked under my arm and vanished round the corner.

  ‘Did you believe him?’ said Judith.

  ‘There were Kylie Minogue CDs everywhere in the flat,’ I said. ‘But then there were Dusty Springfield and Liza Minnelli albums too. And loads more. It makes sense. And he was terrified.’

  ‘Well, let’s go and see,’ she said.

  ‘Fine. But what about that bloody barman? I told him not to phone.’

  ‘Leave him,’ she said. ‘Let’s not push our luck.’

  31

  We went to Judith’s flat, which was just as she’d described it to me, a garden flat with an entrance in the basement. I’d never thought that sort of arrangement was safe for a woman living alone, even a copper who was trained to fight. But she was an adult and it was her choice. She booted up the computer and stuck in the memory stick. When the request for a password came up, she typed MINOGUE in capitals. ‘Fingers crossed,’ she said, as the screen burst into a rainbow, cleared and a bunch of file icons appeared.

  ‘Result,’ she said.

  ‘Good old Cedric,’ I said.

  She clicked the pointer on one of the icons, and the screen changed again, revealing a dozen or so miniature photographs.

  ‘Is that what I think it is?’ I said, looking over her shoulder.

  Another click and the first photo filled the screen. It was exactly what I thought it was. Two naked men engaged in sexual activity in an anonymous hotel bedroom. One of them was looking straight at the camera, the other face down on the bed being penetrated from behind. ‘I know him,’ said Judith.


  ‘What personally?’

  ‘No. He’s a premiership footballer. Blimey, he’s always seen about town with some page three dollybird on his arm.’

  ‘Seems like he changed his style,’ I said.

  ‘Go and make us a drink Dad,’ she said, ‘while I look at the rest. You’re making me nervous, hovering over me.’

  ‘What you got?’ I asked.

  ‘Gin, whisky, JD, white rum in the cupboard. Beer, wine and mixers in the fridge.’

  ‘Yes, you are a Sharman,’ I said, and went to see what I could find in the open plan kitchen.

  I made two Malibu and orange juices with ice and a slice. Figured they’d remind me of the island.

  When I got back, Judith was staring at the screen, the notebook in front of her filled with names.

  ‘What’s cooking?’ I asked.

  ‘This is bloody amazing. There’s loads of celebs having it off. Mostly with people they shouldn’t.’ She took her drink and downed a long swig. ‘These pictures are worth a fortune to a blackmailer.’

  ‘Mr Campbell?’

  ‘Well I knew he was a slippery customer. Always had his nose in someone else’s business. That’s what made him such a good snout. But this... ’

  ‘Seen them all?’ I asked.

  ‘Not yet. You sit down and make yourself comfortable.’

  So I did. We both lit up cigarettes and Judith kept going through the photos. ‘Some of these are really sick,’ she said.

  ‘All gay?’ I asked.

  ‘Far from it. All sorts.’

  ‘No children I hope,’ I said, suddenly feeling queasy.

  ‘No, thank Christ. Looks like they’re all above the age of consent, but some of them are barely over the line, I reckon.’

  Then after a few minutes silence, she said, ‘Oh my God. I don’t believe it.’

  ‘What?’ I asked.

  ‘Come see.’

  I got up and went over to her desk. On the screen was a youngish bloke, shagging a dark haired woman on another bed. His head was flung back in full coitus it seemed and he was thrust deep between her legs. ‘What?’ I asked.

  ‘Guess who?’

  ‘No idea.’

  ‘He’s Job.’