Time To Die
Page 23
Bert felt a chill of unease. The bright spring weather left him exposed under the gaze of the surrounding houses, and he hesitated as he stepped onto the pavement. A crawling itch behind his right ear drove him onwards, and he tipped his hat over his forehead as he strode down the narrow alleyway. It acted as a cut-through between the house to his side and the one in front, affording him a clear view into the rear of the house with the twitching curtains. Bert peeped into the scrubby back garden, furnished with a homemade wooden tree house and glass house devoid of plants. The overgrown grass and lack of toys suggested the two-storey home was bereft of children. The tree house consisted of what appeared to be a hastily nailed together floor, supported by three rickety walls and a roof.
Bert ducked from view as a pot-bellied man exited the back door. His vest had seen better days, and even from over the fence, Bert could see it was stained with the remains of his lunch. The grey hairs running through his mop of sandy hair suggested he was at least late fifties. Peppered sideburns crept down his jaws, met by a patch of stubble. Pot-belly man waddled down the path humming happily. He hitched up his baggy jeans before beginning the ascent up the wooden steps of the dingy tree house. Bert cringed as the man’s pants crept back down with every step he took, revealing the crack of his considerable backside. But it was of no concern to pot-belly man as he struggled to climb the ladder. His binoculars swung with each step, attached on a cord around his thick neck. Once inside, he pulled up a chair and stared expectantly through his binoculars. For a moment, Bert thought the man was bird watching, until it became apparent he was staring directly into the top window of the house next door. Bert rolled a cigarette, trying to look innocuous as he heard the hum of a car motor pulling up behind the Mercedes. As the car door slammed, pot-belly man beamed a smile, shifting in his chair as he leaned forward for a better view. What on earth? Bert thought, as the watcher’s thick fingers single-handedly undid his belt buckle. Unable to see the focus of his excitement, Bert crept down the alley for a better view. But it was no use; although the room next door had no curtains or blinds, he was unable to see from his vantage point. Bert sucked the last of his cigarette and flicked it on the ground. He had other ways of finding out.
He returned to his mother’s car, averting his eyes from the unsavoury activity in the tree house. Just how was he going to speak to him? It wasn’t as if he could knock on his door and offer a reading. But like everything in Bert’s life, the cards would guide him into finding a way.
The answer came the following morning as Bert ventured out with his van. He took the country lanes, rather than the main road that led him into town. They served not only as a useful short cut, but as excellent cover from the sharp-eyed locals on the lookout for suspicious activity. He tried to have confidence in his mission, but it was difficult to blend in when you were driving a rusted orange VW splodged with bird droppings.
He did not see the bicycle shoot out of the side road until it was too late. Bert stamped on the brakes, sending the van screeching to a halt, but the man he had watched the day before hit the panel with a thunk, before skidding off his bike onto the verge.
Bert clambered out of the van, wondering if this was a random accident or all part of a greater plan. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked, reluctant to offer his hand. He hesitated, and then remembered his gloves before pulling them on and reaching out to help.
‘I … I don’t know what happened, I think my brakes failed.’ Pot-belly man spoke in a scouse accent, groaning as he climbed to his feet. He brushed away the pebbles embedded in his face, each one blooming a pinprick of blood in its wake. He shook the dust from the knees of his baggy jeans, and then straightened up to inspect the damage to the van. Shaking his head, he stared at his mangled bike. ‘That could have been me under there. Have I damaged your van?’
Bert looked at the gnarled metal of his bike partially lodged under the bumper. ‘That’s all right, it doesn’t matter.’ He tried to contain the tingle of excitement sparking inside him. The perfect opportunity had landed in his lap, and it would be worth a dent in the van to get the man alone. ‘Just hold on while I pull it out,’ he said, wrenching at the handlebars and pulling it free. The wheel was completely buckled, and he leaned what was left of the bike against the van, and turned to survey the man’s injuries.
‘Can I call you an ambulance?’ Bert said, half-heartedly. ‘Your elbow’s bleeding.’
The man looked down at his elbow, the skin patterned with freshly forming blood patches. ‘No, thanks mate, I don’t need the ozzy. I’d better be getting back before it gets dark.’ Taking the bike, he stifled a groan as he limped forwards.
Bert put his hands on the handlebars of the bent-up bike. ‘Let me run you home, I insist.’
‘That’s proper kind of you. The name’s Geoffrey by the way. I’d shake your hand but it’s a bit sore like.’
Bert decided against offering his own name in return. ‘No problem. Come in for a drink, you look like you’re about to faint.’
Bert slid back the side door of the van and Geoffrey climbed inside, looking around in amazement as Bert flicked on the lights and showed him a seat.
Geoffrey squeezed in behind the jutting Formica table, resting his belly under the wood. Bowing his head, he clasped his hand to his jaw as he sat slumped with a sigh.
Bert handed Geoffrey a large brandy, mentally offsetting the costs against what was to come.
‘Nice one, mate. I’m not holding you up, am I?’ Geoffrey said, swirling the brandy in the chipped enamel cup.
‘Not at all, I’ve finished my work for today,’ Bert said, faking his cheeriest smile.
‘Oh, I thought maybe you were retired. Things ’aven’t been the same for me since I was made redundant.’
Bert nodded sympathetically. ‘I’m a tarot card reader. I have clients up and down the country. Would you like me to read your cards?’ Bert did not wait for a response as he plucked the musty deck of cards from his jacket pocket and placed them on the faded yellow Formica table.
Geoffrey frowned, but Bert knew that even if he did not believe in such things, he would not want to hurt his new friend’s feelings while he was being so hospitable; particularly when he was willing to ignore the dent on the front of the van.
‘Sure why not,’ Geoffrey said, ‘me sister’s into all this, she goes to the spiritualist church and everything.’
‘And what about you?’ Bert said, licking his cracked lips as he shuffled the cards.
‘No disrespect, mate, but I don’t believe in all that stuff. Still, each to their own, eh?’
Bert laid down the cards and picked up the brandy bottle, clinking it against Geoffrey’s ceramic cup. ‘Here, have another drink.’
Bert felt the raven draw near as he rifled through Geoffrey’s past. As cine-camera images flashed to the forefront of his mind, he recounted Geoffrey’s early days as a mechanic in Liverpool, before he hurt his back and moved to Haven to be near his sister. He got a job as a factory packer and came close to marrying, but being made redundant caused his fiancée to break off the engagement. Geoffrey had since resigned himself to living alone.
Geoffrey shook his head in amazement. ‘This is a wind-up. You’ve been speaking to my sister, haven’t you?’
Bert raised an eyebrow in his direction. ‘If that were the case I wouldn’t be able to forecast what you’ve been up to of an evening now, would I?’
Geoffrey giggled, the brandy bringing a bloom to his cheeks. ‘Oh yeah? And what would that be?’
Bert replied in a low voice, as he eyed the man with some disdain. ‘I know that you like to spy on the woman next door.’
‘Sexy Mandy? So would you if you’d seen her. Phwoar, she’s dynamite!’
Bert was astounded. The man wasn’t even ashamed of his actions.
‘She’s married,’ Bert said. Even from a distance he had seen the flash of gold on her finger.
‘I know, lucky bastard. I don’t know what he did to deserve her. She�
��s a right little goer,’ Geoffrey chuckled, apparently none the wiser to his drinking buddy’s disgust.
‘It’s voyeurism,’ Bert said, his words measured. Now was not the time for anger.
But Geoffrey did not hear him. ‘Last night she had on a black PVC bra, a fishnet vest and PVC pants. She goes shopping for all this gear then tries it on for her auld fella when he gets home from work. It’s better than watching Television X!’
‘It sounds like my predictions have been true. Let’s look into your future.’
‘Sure thing, mate, let me know if I score a night with that bird from next door.’
Bert steeled himself as he watched the last moments of Geoffrey’s life unravel before him. Ironically, the sequence that led to his death occurred after another evening of watching Mandy perform for her husband. Bert tightened his lips, reining in his smile.
‘You’re going to break your neck climbing down from that tree house,’ he said. Tipping off the man was the last thing he wanted to do, but giving the warning was all part of the reading and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
But Geoffrey burst out laughing, his large belly vibrating against the table. ‘Thanks, mate, you’ve given me a right giggle there. Next thing you’ll be telling me wanking makes me blind. I feel much better now, but I think it’s time I made a move.’
Bert stared with his mouth open, speechless for the first time. He didn’t believe him. He warned the fool and he didn’t believe him.
* * *
[#]
* * *
Bert had learned from Geoffrey that he lived alone, and like many people living alone, he was a creature of habit. Every night at five he popped out to the chip shop for his tea. He was home by half five, and in the tree house by a quarter to six, to watch Mandy trying on her wares. Perhaps she knew what was happening, or perhaps she was not expecting someone to be watching her from that height. As the cards had shown, the tree house provided a direct view through the curtainless windows of her bedroom. But there was no excuse for Geoffrey’s behaviour, and Bert would enjoy watching the fulfilling of the prophecy.
It was not difficult to slide into the unlocked back garden through the frail wooden gate. Geoffrey would be too busy waiting for Mandy to come home to notice Bert’s intrusion. Bert positioned himself behind the mossy garden shed, smiling to himself as he cast his eyes over the ladder reaching up to the tree. The wooden steps were as rotten as he had envisaged, and would not hold Geoffrey’s considerable bulk when he waddled down tonight. All he had to do was watch, if only to know his forthcoming reward was secure. Bert froze as he heard a rattling sound from the side of the house. The metallic rattling sound got closer and was followed by Geoffrey’s whistle as he walked towards the tree house carrying a stepladder over his shoulder. Bert dug his nails into the palms of his hands. Damn him! He must have taken in some of the reading after all.
The steps creaked as Geoffrey climbed, muttering to himself as the binoculars swung from around his neck. ‘C’mon girlie, let’s see what you’re wearing tonight … or rather not wearing,’ he giggled.
As time went on, Bert edged closer to the tree house, his mind in turmoil. With a short push of the stepladder Geoffrey would end up dead. Bert’s eyes followed the trajectory. It would come to rest on the glass house, which would make a hell of a crash as Geoffrey’s body made impact. Bert dug his long nails into the back of his neck as he scratched the growing itch. The rampant next-door neighbours were sure to be alerted by the noise. Would he get away on time? He mulled it over. He could force Geoffrey into climbing down the wooden steps by taking away the metal stepladder, but that would put him on his guard, and he was a big man. Bert thought of Geoffrey’s wide knuckles being slammed into his face, his gorilla hands wrapping around his neck, choking the life out of him.
‘Fuck! What’ll I do? What’ll I do?’ he rasped into the cool evening air, searching the skies for his beloved ravens. But the question was taken away as heavy footsteps creaked on the ladder above him.
‘Who’s there?’ Geoffrey asked, his feet clanking against the metal steps as he made his descent.
‘Shit shit shit!’ Bert tore into the back of his neck, violently scratching in fear and frustration. He would not get away on time now. Another couple of steps and Geoffrey would be upon him. There was only one thing to do.
If Bert had been able to think clearly he would have seen the comical expression on Geoffrey’s face as their eyes met. That in turn would have presented him with another option; one that suggested Bert himself had come for a viewing. Geoffrey’s back gate held no lock and as he had already given him an invite, he may have laughed and waved him up. But he never got the chance, as Bert rushed forward and pushed the stepladder back with all his might. As he turned to run, a mighty yell and a crash splintered the air, and Bert craned his neck to see Geoffrey feverishly gripping the ladder as he crashed on his greenhouse below. The glass, now dripping with blood, served as an efficient executioner. As Bert ran to the safety of his van, his thoughts were not for the man bleeding his last among the splintered glass, but the benefits he would receive from fulfilling another prophecy.
Chapter Forty-Five
As Jennifer hung her coat in the CID office her main priorities were firstly not to think about her father, and secondly to progress her case. Another body was going to turn up and it was going to be soon. She had felt it from the moment she woke up. The feeling of dread encompassed her, and though Will asked what was wrong, she found it impossible to put into words. Like a thick blanket of fog, it hung in the fibres of her clothes, in each strand of her hair. She scratched the nape of her neck with her pen as she read through her case file. It was hard to concentrate with the Raven in the back of her mind. Her case load was growing, but she had little time to dedicate to it. She was about to be dragged away from her paperwork yet again as Will grabbed the car keys from a hook on the wall and quickly scribbled his name on the log book to sign it out.
‘Ethan’s asked us to attend a sudden death,’ Will said. ‘MIT are already on scene.’
Jennifer raised one eyebrow. ‘Lexton MIT? Why the sudden change of heart?’
‘I think they’re trying to build bridges. We may as well go over there and check it out. There’s mention of a tarot card reader.’
Jennifer didn’t need asking twice.
* * *
[#]
DC Hardwick took a bite from his Mars Bar and ambled over to Jennifer, giving Will a courteous nod. ‘We meet again. Sounds like your spooky fortune teller is getting around, doesn’t it?’
They were standing in the back garden of someone called Geoffrey Pike, and Jennifer was in no mood for jokes. ‘Can you tell me what’s going on?’
DC Hardwick scrunched up his wrapper and threw it on the ground. ‘Seems pretty straightforward to me. Middle-aged man, lives on his own. He’s got police history a mile long for sexual offences, flashing, and a regular peeping Tom. He seems to have been up in his tree house peeping on the new next-door neighbour.’ DC Hardwick looked at Will. ‘Oh man, if you’d seen her, you’d understand why. She is hot!’ he said, squeezing a pair of imaginary breasts in front of him.
Jennifer folded her arms. ‘How do you know he was spying on her?’
‘It doesn’t take a genius to work that out. Firstly he has a set of binoculars around his neck, secondly his trousers weren’t done up all the way, and thirdly he has a stash of porn and tissues up there. I reckon he was coming down the ladder, his trousers came loose, he lost his grip and it tipped all the way from there,’ he said, gesturing from the tree house to the greenhouse, ‘over to there. Shard of glass in his windpipe, goodnight Vienna.’
Jennifer wanted to quip that his detective training did not go to waste given he was able to count to three, but she was at the scene of a possible murder, and that was no laughing matter.
‘No signs of anyone else present, any foul play?’ she said, pushing her hands into her jacket pockets.
‘Nope. The back door of the house was unlocked, and there’s cash, a laptop and other things lying around. The crime scene investigators are doing their bit but as far as I’m concerned it’s non-suspicious.’
‘I thought you said there was a fortune teller involved,’ Will said.
DC Hardwick raised his eyebrows. ‘Didn’t you read the incident?’
‘No, we came straight over.’
‘His sister found the body. She told the call taker that Geoffrey had come off his bike last week, and some bloke in a van gave him a lift home. But before he did, he read his fortune, said he was going to break his neck or something.’
Jennifer interjected. ‘Did his sister know what he was up to?’
‘If she did she never let on.’
‘What about the husband of this woman next door? Does he have an alibi?’
‘Yeah, he was shagging his missus,’ DC Hardwick broke into laughter.
Will joined in the laughter and Jennifer silenced him with a glare. This was the work of the Raven as far as Jennifer was concerned, but she had to explore all avenues. ‘This husband, he could have seen what Geoffrey was up to and knocked him off the ladder.’