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

by Marina Johnson

  ‘He doesn’t. He doesn’t have a clue who I am. He knew who you were though. I’m obviously forgettable.’ My voice is thick, I feel like I’m choking.

  I’m also disgusted with myself for making it all about me. Dad’s ill and I know he’s not in his right mind but a childish, brattish part of me just keeps on asking why does he know Nick but not me? Does he love Nick more? Has he always just tolerated me? It’s not fair, a childish part of me cries.

  I know I’m being ridiculous and Dad can’t help it, but it hurts.

  ‘He’s very confused – he’s in a strange place with strange people. Remember he thought I was the commander so he didn’t know who I was either.’

  ‘I know. Ignore me, I’m just being pathetic. ‘It’s probably the weather. It’s too hot.’

  ‘Too hot? We’ve had a couple of days of sunshine and you’re moaning it’s too hot. You’ll be saying we need rain next. Anyway, just forget about it, I’m sure next time we go he’ll know who you are.’

  Why does it matter so much? I give myself a mental slap. Dad’s ill and the important thing is that he gets better.

  ‘Sounds like they have lots planned for tomorrow,’ says Nick, changing the subject.

  They do, x-ray of Dad’s head to make sure there’s no physical injury that could be causing his symptoms, MRI scan and assorted blood and urine tests. He’ll also be seen by a psychiatrist. It is a relief now he’s in there and being looked after, no more worrying about nocturnal outings or the possibility of electrocuting himself. He even showed us his room, or rather he showed Nick, I just trailed along behind them. It wasn’t too bad, it had a bed, wardrobe, desk and chair. They said we could bring his television in if we like, there was an aerial socket. He even had his own bathroom.

  We spoke to his appointed nurse on our way out, out of Dad’s earshot. He’s called Gus, he seemed very gentle and sort of unhurried. He said he helped Dad to get dressed this morning and helped him to shave which I thought was a bit strange as Dad’s always managed on his own. He’s always looked well turned out and clean shaven when I’ve visited him, and he never had anyone to help him at home.

  ‘He doesn’t seem to mind being in there,’ Nick goes on, ‘which surprises me ‘cos I never thought he’d leave his house willingly.’

  ‘Nor me,’ I say, ‘talking of which we’d better let Jean know that she doesn’t need to go to Dad’s tomorrow. I’ll ring her later. You know she’ll want to visit Dad. What should I tell her?’

  ‘The sister said just us two for the time being while Dad’s settling in, so you’d better put her off.’

  ‘She won’t like it.’

  No she won’t but that’s too bad. I haven’t really forgiven her for that accusing look. I’ll drop you off then I’m going to get back to London.’

  ‘Okay, no worries.’

  ‘Sorry I can’t stay longer but I’ve got a job tomorrow. I’ll be back either Friday night or Saturday morning.’

  ‘Well I think Dad will be in there a while. I asked sister how long patients usually stay and she said as long as they need to. She said the one in Dad’s room before him had been in there for four months.’

  ‘Christ. Hope they can get Dad better quicker than that.’

  ‘If they can make him better. If he doesn’t get worse.’

  ‘That’s it, Lou. Look on the bright side.’

  ‘Sorry,’ I say glumly.

  ‘Come on Lou, buck up. We’ve got to stay positive or you know what’ll happen?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘We’ll end up in there with him.’

  Nick goes back to London in torrential rain; we hadn’t even got back to my house before it began. Big, fat raindrops that quickly turned into a downpour.

  ‘See,’ said Nick, ‘you wished that on us with your whinging.’ He was only joking though. I think.

  I’m looking out of the living room window waiting for it to stop then I’m going to take Sprocket out for a walk as he’s bouncing around the room being hyper-dog. Nick seems to have that effect on him. Might call for Linda on the way too.

  ‘Hey, what’re all those people doing up there?’

  There’s a small crowd of people milling around at the opening to the Rise. We tramp across the churned-up field sploshing through the mud in our wellies.

  ‘There’s a tape across – is there some sort of race on? I don’t remember hearing anything about a race or marathon.’

  ‘Crap weather for it,’ says Linda.

  As we get closer I can see that the tape is blue and has writing on it.

  ‘It’s not a race,’ I say, walking a bit faster, ‘that’s police tape.’

  We join the crowd of people behind the Police – do not cross tape which is stretched right across the entrance to the field.

  I hop around trying to see above their heads but can’t get a clear view as heads keep bobbing around in the way. I see two police cars parked on the grass and a large white van is pulling up next to them. The ground is already like a mud bath with all the people sloshing around and churning it up. Two policemen are patrolling alongside the tape making sure no-one crosses, their smart uniform trousers plastered in mud.

  ‘Hey officer! Can you tell us what’s going on?’ someone shouts.

  ‘Stay behind the tape please,’ is the only response.

  ‘Isn’t that the Truth over there?’ says Linda, ‘Look. Over there by the trees?’

  I look over to where Linda’s pointing and see a dejected looking Truth standing under a tree, talking to a policeman. Lulu is trotting around them in an agitated fashion, jumping up at the Truth every so often.

  ‘It is. Wonder what’s he doing there?’

  The policeman has his hand on Norman’s shoulder and is talking to him; Norman has his hand over his mouth and keeps shaking his head.

  A murmur ripples through the crowd and everyone watches as two men emerge from the white van carrying a large white package. They walk past Norman and into the trees and undergrowth on the edge of the Rise.

  ‘That’s a tent,’ says a loud voice, ‘Look!’

  It is indeed a tent, not with guy ropes though, more an instant pop up tent. A white, square tent. The sort of tent they put over bodies.

  Another car pulls up, a large unmarked black car.

  A square shaped WPC gets out of the driver’s side and a tall man, who I recognise as Detective Inspector Peters, gets out of the passenger door and they make their way over to the white tent.

  ‘Looks like the big guns have arrived,’ says Linda.

  ‘That’s the one that interviewed me at work.’

  Linda narrows her eyes to get a better look. ‘He looks a bit like Bryan Ferry.’

  The crowd surges forward to look and a man to the side of me nearly knocks me over.

  Six-foot-tall, bald, wearing a grubby white T shirt stretched over a bulging gut, all topped off with ‘Shamus’ tattooed in the middle of a roll of fat on the back of his neck.

  I hear a noise and look down to see a nasty looking Jack Russell growling and snarling at Sprocket. Sprocket looks at him for a moment, blinks, then ignores him.

  ‘Shut up, you little fucker,’ snaps Shamus, whipping the lead towards himself. The Jack Russell’s eyes bulge for a moment; it draws a rasping breath when the choker chain releases.

  I catch Linda’s eye. ‘Shall we move further down?’

  She nods, and we detach ourselves and move further down the police tape, away from the main crowd, away from bulging neck Shamus.

  ‘He was nice, wasn’t he?’

  ‘Lovely. Frogham’s finest. Glad you stood your ground though Sprocket.’ A mud splattered Sprocket looks up at me at the mention of his name. He’s going to need a bath when we get home.

  ‘They’re arresting him!’ shouts Shamus. ‘Always knew he was a fucking weirdo!’

  A sort of jeering goes up from the crowd as we watch Norman being escorted to a police car. He gets into the back of the car and Lulu jumps up after him.
The WPC gets in the front but then the rear door flies opens, and Norman almost falls out. We watch as he vomits all over his own feet. More shouts go up from the crowd, although I can’t make out what they’re saying.

  ‘Christ it’s like a lynch mob,’ I say. ‘Poor Norman, as if he’d harm a fly.’

  ‘Norman?’ Linda looks at me with raised eyebrows.

  ‘Long story, tell you about it sometime.’

  The jeering has now grown to shouts of ‘weirdo’ and ‘paedo’ amongst other things.

  We watch Norman wipe his shoes on the grass then he gets back into the car and is driven off.

  ‘Eew, bet it’s not very pleasant in there,’ says Linda pulling a face. ‘Although I’m pretty sure if you were being arrested they wouldn’t let you take your dog with you in the police car.’

  ‘Course they wouldn’t,’ I nod towards Shamus who seems to be leading the shouting, ‘but you can’t educate pork.’

  A chant of ‘paedo, paedo’ being led by Shamus is now gaining strength and volume, he’s stomping around, fist pumping the air and his face is getting redder and redder.

  Two PCs make their way over to Shamus and start talking to him, I can hear him shouting at them and watch as he jabs a finger in one of the PC’s chest. In one swift movement the PC draws his baton and has the baton across Shamus’s throat while the other PC has grabbed Shamus’s arm and twisted it up his back. I must admit that I’m impressed with his speedy response. A brief struggle plays out which ends with Shamus screaming about police brutality before being marched across the field to a police car. As he’s shoved non-too gently into the back of the police car he shouts to his tall skinny mate who’s holding the Jack Russell’s lead, to look after his dog.

  ‘See, they didn’t let him take his dog.’ Linda smirks.

  We watch as he’s driven off. His skinny mate also watches and as the police car disappears from sight he drops the dog lead in the mud and wanders off. The Jack Russell stands still for a moment sniffing the air then trots off after him dragging the lead behind him.

  With their ringleader gone the crowd begins to break up and wander off leaving just a handful who linger and move closer to the police tape. I spot a familiar figure heading towards the white police van.

  ‘Hey Rupert!’ I call, ‘over here!’

  Rupert turns and comes towards us.

  ‘Hello Louise,’ he booms, ‘and this is?’ He looks at Linda.

  ‘Hi, I’m Linda, nice to meet you.’

  ‘Charmed m’dear, charmed.’ Rupert almost bows. ‘Now then ladies, can you fill me in on what’s going on.’

  ‘We were hoping you could tell us Rupert,’ I say. ‘How did you hear about this? This isn’t your neck of the woods.’

  ‘I have my sources, that’s all I can say. Now, I hear that someone found a body when they were walking their dog.’ He lowers his voice and moves closer. ‘Apparently, the heavy rain washed the soil away and the dog got hold of a shoe and tried to drag it out of the ground.’

  Poor Norman. He’s not having much luck; no wonder he was sick.

  ‘Do you know who it is?’ Please don’t let it be Glenda.

  ‘No, the police are being very tight lipped. But I’m guessing it’s the missing woman, the first one. From what I can glean from my source the body’s quite decomposed, so she must have been dead for a while.’ He roots around in his jacket pocket and produces a Dictaphone. ‘Going to see what I can get out of the local plod – no doubt there’ll be a press conference tomorrow morning, but I like to get a head start.’

  ‘That Detective Inspector Peters is in the tent,’ I say.

  ‘Is he? Hmm, interesting. Maybe I’ll renew our acquaintance.’

  Rupert buttons his jacket up and attempts to smooth his thick white hair back. ‘Wish me luck ladies.’ He winks and tramps across the field splashing mud everywhere.

  ‘He’s very charming – not how I imagined a reporter to be.’

  I laugh. ‘No he’s not, but that’s his secret weapon. He is a sweetheart though, he does actually have scruples, unlike Ralph.’

  ‘But seriously, if it’s that missing woman, how awful. I hope Glenda’s okay.’

  ‘It doesn’t bear thinking about. Someone here in Frogham is a murderer or maybe even a serial killer. Makes you think doesn’t it?

  ‘It does. I often come up here on my own and walk Henry, but I don’t think I will anymore. Not until they catch this nutter anyway.’

  ‘Nor me.’ I shudder.

  ‘Let’s go home,’ says Linda. ‘Come to mine and we’ll do a double dog bath. Get the mud off these dirty hounds.’

  Sprocket and Henry turn their muddy faces towards us and sniff.

  They know.

  Chapter 9

  There’s a buzz of excitement in the office; at last, some actual real news to put in the paper. Shame that someone had to die for it.

  ‘So,’ says Ralph, sucking on a pencil, ‘it’s definitely that Suzanne woman?’

  ‘Yes Ralph the police issued a statement this morning, she’s been formally identified. Apparently,’ Rupert continues, ‘she had to be identified by dental records which is why it’s taken so long. At least her parents have been spared identifying her.’

  ‘Poor cow. Do they know how she died?’

  ‘Post Mortem inconclusive, have to do more tests. Might be a while.’

  ‘Horrible.’ Lucy shudders. ‘Where has she been all these weeks?’

  ‘God knows, whoever did it must have hidden her somewhere.’ I feel quite sick – what if the same fate awaits Glenda?

  ‘I heard some weirdo with a dog found her, is that right?’ asks Ian.

  Rupert consults his notebook, ‘Norman Shuttleworth, age 53, single.’

  ‘He’s not a weirdo,’ I butt in. ‘I know him and he’s a very nice man and I’m sure he’d rather not have found her.’ I wonder why I’m sticking up for Norman.

  ‘Oh okay. Sorry.’ Ian looks a bit shamefaced.

  ‘I wanted to get an interview with him, but the police have told him not to speak about what he found. If we don’t get anything else, we’ll just have to run with what we’ve got.’

  ‘Hmm, so as you know him Louise – do you reckon he’d talk to you? Off the record? We could quote you as an unidentified source.’

  I just look at Ralph.

  ‘Oh, Okay, perhaps not. Rupert, keep me posted.’ He doesn’t even look shamefaced about it.

  ‘Louise, before you sit down can you come into my office for a minute?’

  I’m immediately suspicious. The only time I got invited into Ralph’s office was when I came for an interview for the job. I follow him and am surprised when he asks me to shut the door. Am I about to get the sack? Cutbacks maybe. Perhaps I should have agreed to speak to the Truth after all.

  ‘Sit yourself down.’

  I perch gingerly on the threadbare swivel chair and await my fate, must be the sack.

  ‘Right then girl, do you want to tell me what’s going on?’ Ralph says munching on a boiled sweet. Not very PC, is he? Girl, honestly.

  ‘There’s nothing going on that I know of.’

  ‘Don’t give me that. You’ve been as miserable as sin and something’s wrong and I want to know what it is. You look like you’re not eating either. It’s not the job is it? You’re not thinking of leaving, are you? Because it goes without saying that I don’t want you to leave but I can’t afford to give you a pay rise.’

  I was going to give the stock answer that nothing is wrong but somehow, I find myself telling him. All of it. Dad, MI5, the lot.

  He listens without comment then draws a deep breath. ‘I wish you’d told me, we could have helped with time off and stuff. Do you want some time off? Compassionate leave?’

  ‘No thanks, I’d rather be here to be honest, I’ll only brood at home.’

  ‘Okay, but if you change your mind you only have to ask. Now, no more bottling it up -you need anything, you ask. Right?’

  Feeling une
xpectedly choked at his concern I fight to stay composed.

  ‘Yes, I will,’ I say in a very small voice.

  ‘My old mum went mental,’ he goes on, ‘fucking awful it was, wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. I know what you’re going through and the only advice I can give is don’t be too hard on yourself.’

  ‘Thanks Ralph.’ I get up to leave. ‘How is your mum now?’

  ‘She died a couple of years back.’ He looks down at the desk. ‘Was a blessing really, her last few years were pretty awful, not just for her but for us as well. But do you know what the worst thing was? At the end she didn’t even know her own face in the mirror and I prayed for her to die. But when she did I was devastated. I didn’t care that she didn’t know who I was, I just wanted her not to be dead. I thought I’d be relieved, but I wasn’t.’

  ‘Oh, Ralph, I’m so sorry.’

  He won’t look at me and says gruffly, ‘Go on get back to work, I’m not running a bleeding charity y’know.’

  I knew there was a heart in there somewhere.

  ‘Salt and vinegar?’

  ‘No thanks.’

  Maria expertly wraps six portions of chips and puts them in a plastic bag.

  ‘You all got the munchies today?’

  I laugh. ‘I think we have. Thanks Maria.’

  It probably says something about my diet that I’m on first name terms with the chip shop owner. I quick march back to the office before the chips go cold, the smell of them tormenting me. I decided to treat myself to a bag of chips for lunch and of course everyone else wanted some too. On my way in I nearly collide with Lev who’s coming out of the office in a hurry.

  ‘Oh, Lev, didn’t see you there, you made me jump.’

  ‘Is bill, left on your desk.’ he mumbles, keeping his head down. He has a baseball cap on and doesn’t seem to want to look at me.

  ‘Okay, thanks.’

  He puts a hand up and pulls his hat lower.

  ‘You okay Lev?’

  Before he can answer Ian shouts from the office.