A Confusion of Murders: There's murder on his mind...

by Marina Johnson

  ‘Me too. But not likely – the fact that she never turned up for the meeting was most unlike her. Someone went round to her house and ended up calling the police when they couldn’t contact her.’

  ‘I know she was living with someone for a few years but that broke up about six months ago I think. Which was probably why she contacted me. Wanted to hook up with old friends. Maybe she’s gone off on holiday and not told anyone.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  But neither of us really thinks so.

  Dad opens the front door and Sprocket and I follow him through to the lounge. There’s something different in this room but I can’t quite place what it is. The furniture’s the same, the oodles of ornaments are the same, but something’s askew. I can smell lavender furniture polish and I remember that Jean’s been in today. Friday is housework day.

  Dad is engrossed in the news which gives me an opportunity to study him. He looks quite pale and tired and I think he’s lost weight. I wish I could do something to make everything alright again. I ask him if he’s seen the report about the missing woman. I wonder whether to tell him I knew her. Know her.

  ‘Yes,’ he says, ‘saw it on the afternoon news. What’s the world coming to eh? They haven’t found the other one yet either. It’s not looking good.’ I’m grateful that he sounds quite coherent.

  I agree with him and we chat about it and I tell him about the television crews in the precinct. I even get a laugh out of him when I tell him about Ralph giving up smoking. He really does seem like his old self tonight and the conversation flows easily.

  And then it hits me, the something that’s different. The wall above the fireplace has always been full of family photographs: Mum and Dad’s wedding and anniversary photos, Nick and I as babies, toddlers, teenagers, adults. You could document our family’s lives from those photos.

  The pictures are all still there but in different places; they’ve all been moved. I can see the wallpaper is slightly faded in places where they’ve been moved around.

  I open my mouth to ask Dad why he’s moved them, then stop myself. He can move them around if he likes, he doesn’t have to explain himself to me.

  Sprocket scratches at the lounge door so I clip his lead back on and take him through to the kitchen.

  ‘Won’t be long Dad.’ I don’t think Dad has even heard me as he’s engrossed in the television. We go out of the back door and I wander around the garden with Sprocket while he finds a suitable spot. When he’s finished I carry on down the garden towards the shed.

  The shed looks just the same as the last time I looked at it and the padlock looks the same as well. Dad hasn’t changed it. Sprocket starts to whine as we get closer and I pull at his lead but can’t get him to go any closer than about two feet away. He’s such a wimp sometimes, maybe there’s a mouse in there, or even a rat.

  ‘See – even that dog of yours knows there’s something wrong with that shed.’ Dad has followed me outside and I jump as he speaks.

  ‘Blimey Dad you frightened the life out of me.’ I laugh.

  ‘I want Nick to cut that padlock off. It’s not mine you know. It’s his.’ He nods in the direction of Brendan’s house. ‘Next door.’

  ‘You could do with some more plants in those pots Dad, a bit of colour,’ I say to distract him. I wander over to three large tubs that have dying bedding plants in them. ‘Something for the summer.’ I’m surprised when Dad follows me and lets the subject of the shed drop.

  ‘Hmm.’ he pulls a few leaves off the plants. ‘They do look a bit sorry for themselves. These were your mother’s pride and joy. She was the one that did the planting, had green fingers she did.’ It’s the first time he’s mentioned Mum in weeks. In the dark days after she died he couldn’t even say her name without choking up, none of us could. Gradually he started talking about her again and thinking back he would often mention her, ‘your mother this’ or ‘your mother would have liked this.’ She was still a big part of his life. He always expected to go before her; I don’t know why he thought that, but he did. He used to say that he knew Nick and I would look after her when he’d gone and that was a comfort to him. A massive heart attack that none of us were expecting and Mum was gone. Not even a chance to say goodbye.

  He’s studying the leaves, lost in thought. When Mum died we were all reeling with shock; the three of us were grieving yet Dad seemed so strong and capable like he always was, that Nick and I leaned on him. He supported us, and we should have supported him. Poor Dad. Mum was his whole life, his soul mate, we should have helped him more. I don’t know how but looking back I didn’t do enough, I didn’t understand his devastation.

  ‘I could take you to the garden centre tomorrow – get some more plants then go and have a bit of lunch at the Swan, what do you think?’

  Dad visibly brightens, ‘That’s not a bad idea, be a change of scenery from being stuck here.’ I know this is a bit of dig at me because he’s can’t drive himself. But he says it with a smile, so I think I’m forgiven.

  ‘I’ll pick you up about ten?’

  ‘Yes.’ Dad looks almost cheerful, ‘I’ll look forward to that.’

  We trundle back indoors, and I feel a glimmer of hope; if he can be so normal most of the time perhaps he’ll be okay. Maybe he’s just been going through a bad patch.

  Dad fills the kettle and puts it on to boil, he walks over to Sprocket who’s lying on the doormat.

  ‘Does he want a biscuit? Will he eat a custard cream?’

  ‘I’m sure he will, Dad, he’ll eat anything.’

  Dad gets the biscuit tin out of the cupboard and looks at Sprocket who immediately guesses that food is on offer. In seconds he’s sitting in front of Dad expectantly.

  Dad holds out a custard cream and I pray that Sprocket doesn’t bite his hand off and spoil the moment. Sprocket takes it from him daintily and swallows it whole.

  ‘Good boy.’ Dad pats Sprocket on the head. ‘There’s a good boy.’

  I really think everything’s going to be alright.

  Chapter 7

  The alarm goes off and I wake to the sound of the eight o’clock news. I lie in bed and watch the sunlight filtering through the curtains, the dappled pattern giving the room an underwater look. I enjoy the feeling of peace, the weight of a snoring Sprocket across my feet. It’s the first time in weeks I’ve slept all night without waking; the first time I haven’t woken before the alarm’s gone off.

  I’m feeling optimistic after my visit to Dad yesterday; he seemed so like his old self. I’m looking forward to today and once we’ve had lunch I’m going to help him plant his pots up with new plants.

  The newsreader is repeating the news of Glenda’s disappearance and for a moment I feel guilty for feeling happy when who knows what’s happened to her.

  I shower and dress and take Sprocket for a quick walk around the block before I leave for Dads. It’s going to be a lovely day, the sun is out, and the air is warm, summer’s arrived, again. I lift my face to the sun as I walk along enjoying the warmth.

  We get back and I change out of my trainers and go and fetch my handbag. Sprocket’s no fool, he knows that I’m going out, so he lies under the kitchen table, right at the back.

  ‘Come on, you big baby,’ I say dragging him out from under the table by the scruff of his neck. ‘I’ll come back and get you after we’ve been to the garden centre and you can come to the Swan. We can sit in the garden.’ He’s having none of it and looks at me accusingly, leaving the proffered treat on the floor.

  Honestly, talk about spoilt, worse than a kid.

  I arrive at Dad’s at bang on ten o’clock. I expect he’ll be waiting in the hallway with his jacket on ready to go.

  I’m surprised to find the front door is ajar; I go in but Dad’s not waiting in the hallway he’s at the top of the stairs. He doesn’t have his jacket on, but he does have the chest of drawers from his bedroom balanced precariously at the top of the stairs.

  ‘DAD,’ I shout, ‘What are you d
oing?’

  ‘Oh hello,’ he says with a big smile on his face. ‘Just getting rid of this to make way for the equipment.’

  ‘WHAT?’

  ‘Stand back. It’s coming down.’ He gets behind the chest of drawers ready to push. I bound up the stairs two at a time and somehow manage to stop the chest of drawers from crashing down the stairs. Dad looks bewildered and I shout at him.

  ‘WHAT ARE YOU DOING?’

  ‘I have to get rid of...

  I cut him off. ‘It’s going back in the bedroom. NOW.’ With strength I didn’t know I had I push it back towards the bedroom, it’s old and heavy, probably built to withstand bombing.

  ‘Help me Dad, help me push it back,’ I bark at him. Dad meekly does as I say, and I feel horrible for shouting at him. We get it through the doorway into his bedroom and I stop to catch my breath. I look around in disbelief, unable to process what I’m seeing. The bed has been stripped, the stripes of the bare mattress on show. The room is a shell with just furniture and nothing else, no bedding, no ornaments, gone are the books that are usually piled on the bedside cabinet, the curtains have been taken down from the window. How can I have not noticed that when I got out of the car? Because I wasn’t looking that’s why. I was in my own little happy bubble which has now well and truly exploded. I want to cry.

  ‘Where is everything Dad? What have you done with it all?’

  ‘Oh, it’s out in the back garden.’ He says brightly. ‘Going to burn it all later, have no need for it now. They’re moving the intelligence equipment in soon, so I need to get all this stuff out. Get rid of it all.’ He looks really pleased with himself.

  Dear God, what am I going to do? I wish Nick was here.

  ‘Well,’ I need to humour him and distract him, ‘how about we have a cup of tea and a breather before we get on with it?’ He looks doubtful. ‘I’m sure you’re allowed a tea break,’ I add.

  ‘Okay. But we’d better not stop for too long though.’

  I practically push Dad through the doorway and down the stairs. We go through to the kitchen and Dad settles himself at the table.

  ‘So,’ I say as I fill the kettle, ‘did you realise that you’d left your front door open Dad? It was open when I got here.’ I put the kettle on to boil.

  ‘Was it?’ he looks confused. ‘I haven’t been out the front today. I took everything out of the back door.’ I look through the kitchen window; clothes, books, ornaments and lamps are heaped in a massive pile on the patio.

  ‘Do you think you might have left it open all night?’ I ask with a sinking feeling.

  ‘Ah yes, of course. I forgot. I went out last night to check on the street. There was definitely something going on and I walked down to the end of the street for a recce. Didn’t see anything but I think they were hiding. They know I’m onto them you see.’

  So, the door’s been open all night. I wonder how many times that’s happened. I pour Dad a cup of tea and put it on the table for him. I’m at a loss, I really don’t know what to do.

  Then I see it, looking through the doorway into the hallway I can see the telephone table and seat. The telephone is an old-fashioned cream one with big buttons, it’s been there for years. It’s now in pieces; every part has been carefully unscrewed and prized apart and if it wasn’t for the number buttons it wouldn’t even look like a telephone. I put my cup down and walk into the hallway for a closer look. It’s been unplugged from the wall; the telephone socket has been unscrewed and there’s a pile of tiny cut up pieces of multi-coloured wire beneath it.

  ‘Did a good job, didn’t I?’ Dad’s standing behind me with his tea in his hand. ‘The commander stood on the stairs and watched me, he didn’t think I could do it, but I showed him. Took me a while but I showed him.’

  ‘Who’s the commander Dad?’

  ‘MI5 Commander. Orders from the top.’

  ‘Why dismantle the phone?’

  ‘To stop them from listening in. They can tap phones you know. I’ve done all of the phone sockets in the house and next I’m doing the electric sockets because they can tap those too, although not many people know that.’

  ‘You can’t do that Dad, you’ll electrocute yourself.’

  ‘Oh, you’ve no need to worry, I’m protected. They protect me.’ He pats me on the arm. ‘Because they’ve told me.’ He leans closer and whispers, ‘I’m special. That’s why I’ve been chosen.’

  This is so much worse. And I thought he was getting better.

  ‘Well, you’ve obviously had a busy night Dad, sit down and I’ll pour you another cup of tea.’ We go back into the kitchen.

  ‘Okay, one more won’t hurt I suppose.’ he settles himself at the table.

  I take my phone out of my pocket and text Nick:

  Emergency call me now

  He rings almost immediately, ‘Hello Lou, what’s up?’ I can tell by the echo that he’s on hands free in his car.

  ‘Need to talk to you,’ I shout, ‘where are you?’

  ‘On my way to yours, thought I’d surprise you. Should be with you in about half an hour.’

  Thank God for that.

  ‘ I’m at Dad’s. Bit of a situation, can you come here instead?’

  ‘What’s wrong? What’s happened?’

  ‘I’ll explain when you get here. Can you do me a favour on the way? You’ve still got my house key, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yeah, Why?’

  ‘Can you call in at mine and pick Sprocket up and take him to Linda’s for me?’

  ‘Yeah, sure. Text me her address. Are you okay?’

  ‘I’m fine.’ No, I’m not. ‘Just hurry up and get here.’

  I hang up and text him Linda’s address then text Linda asking her to have Sprocket and that I’ll explain later.

  I persuade Dad to come into the lounge and wait for Nick to arrive before we clear his bedroom of furniture. He’s agreed and is settled in his armchair watching a house makeover programme.

  It’s clear to me that we can’t leave Dad on his own anymore; Nick and I will have to take turns in staying here overnight and we’re going to have to sort something out for the daytime too.

  I’m going to ring the Mental Health team first thing on Monday morning and ask for Dad’s appointment to be brought forward.

  ‘Turn that up, will you?’ Dad barks at me.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Turn it up,’ he says, nodding at the television. ‘I can’t hear it.’

  ‘Oh, okay.’ I pick up the remote control and point it at the TV.

  ‘No, not that one, THAT one,’ he says pointing at the TV.

  ‘I am,’ I say, confused, pointing the remote control.

  ‘NO! Not the television. Turn up that one.’

  I look at him blankly. I have no idea what he’s talking about.

  He looks at me exasperated.

  ‘Turn up the mystery voice.’

  ‘What mystery voice?’

  He sighs. ‘The mystery voice on the television. Turn it up so I can hear it properly.’

  ‘What’s the mystery voice?’

  ‘Sshh....’ he flaps his hand at me. ‘I can’t hear what it’s saying.’

  Hurry up Nick.

  Nick finally arrives an hour after our telephone call. Dad has deteriorated dreadfully; he keeps leaning over the coffee table next to him and talking as if he’s having a conversation with someone. Every now and then he’ll look over at me and I have the feeling that he’s talking about me. I can’t make out what he’s saying but every so often he’ll laugh as if he’s heard something funny. He hasn’t spoken to me at all since the mystery voice conversation and when I’ve spoken to him he hasn’t answered.

  As soon as I hear Nick’s car I dash out to the hallway to let him in, so I can fill him in on what’s happening.

  ‘I’ve dropped Sprocket off at Linda’s, she seemed a bit chattier this time,’ he says with a smile. I close the lounge door behind me, so Dad can’t hear us.

  ‘I’m frightened N
ick,’ I say. ‘Dad’s so much worse and I don’t know what we should do.’ I bring him up to date on the morning’s events and I can see that he can’t quite believe it.

  ‘Is he really so much worse?’

  ‘Yes,’ I say, opening the lounge door. ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

  ‘Hello Dad,’ says Nick in a jolly voice as he walks in. ‘How are you feeling.’

  Dad is talking to the invisible person, but he stops and looks up in surprise.

  ‘Well, hello Commander,’ he says getting to his feet. ‘This is a surprise I must say.’ Dad salutes Nick.

  We can’t wait until Monday for help.

  I ring the number of the Mental Health team and write down the out of office hours given out on the recording. I’m not hopeful that they’re going to be any help on a Saturday but we’re desperate. I can hear Nick and Dad’s footsteps upstairs and the faint sound of their voices.

  I ring the out of hours number and wait, after what seems like an hour but is surely only minutes, a woman answers. I give her Dad’s details and patient number.

  ‘How can I help?’ she says. I tell her Dad has an appointment for three weeks’ time, then I tell her of the events today. She listens without comment then says, ‘please hold for a moment.’ Five minutes go by and I begin to think I’ve been cut off when suddenly she’s back.

  ‘Okay, Miss Russell. The Mental Health team will be coming out to you today, but I can’t give you a time at the moment, but they will be coming. I’m going to give you their mobile number to ring if your father should worsen but if you can be patient they will be with you later.’

  Thank God, someone is going to help. I thank her profusely and hang up.

  I can hear Nick and Dad coming down the stairs so go out into the hallway.

  ‘I’m going to make some lunch, any requests?’ I say in a jolly holly sticks voice.

  Nick looks ashen.

  ‘Anything, don’t mind,’ says Nick. ‘Not really hungry.’

  ‘I’ll have a ham sandwich if that’s okay, Commander?’ Dad looks at Nick with his eyebrows raised. Nick just nods. I don’t think he can speak. At least Dad seems to be hearing what I’m saying now.