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

by Marina Johnson

  If I could go back in time I wouldn’t look under that drawer, I wouldn’t open that envelope and find my own death certificate. But I know now, and I can’t un-know it.

  I really only have two choices; I either come out in the open and the world will know I’m not really Louise Russell. If I do this it’ll ruin what’s left of Dad’s life, devastate Nick and ruin Mum’s memory.

  Or I keep the secret. And tell no-one, ever.

  I want to keep it a secret, but I don’t know if I can. I need to talk about it. But if I know one thing about secrets it’s that if you tell one person then it’s not a secret anymore.

  Although there is someone I can tell who’ll never tell a soul.

  ‘Sprocket.’ I stroke his ears and he opens his eyes sleepily, ‘I have a secret to tell you.’ Before I can speak he jumps up from the bed barking, spooked by the clang of the letterbox. He races downstairs to see what the postman’s left. I plod down after him and pick up the three letters from the floor. He looks at me expectantly.

  ‘They’re not for you, you wally. They’re letters.’ I wave them at him and he looks at me dumbly, head cocked on one side, tongue hanging out. I leaf through them, they’re not for Dad either. Mr & Mrs Harper, Dad’s next-door neighbours. I’ll pop round with them and if they’re in I’ll let them know how Dad is, he was very friendly with Simon.

  I slip my shoes on, pick up my keys and leave an annoyed Sprocket sitting in the hallway.

  ‘Won’t be long.’ He ignores me, I think he’s sulking.

  I tramp down the drive and round the hedge and up the Harpers’ driveway. Their house isn’t quite as big as Dad’s, but has a lovely big bay window. They’ve probably lived there for thirty odd years and must have been young when they moved in, although they’ve always seemed old to me, yet they’re probably not much older than I am. I have vague memories of them, they always used to come in and see the new year in with Mum and Dad and when Mum died Dad started going to them instead. I think they even came to my wedding; how awful that I can’t remember.

  The curtains are closed across the bay window and there’s no car on the drive. I ring the doorbell just in case and can hear the faint sound of Westminster chimes from within.

  I think I see a shadow moving through the frosted glass in the door, so I ring again.

  The door opens very slowly and a white curly head pops around the door. My first thought is that she must be a midget but as she pulls the door open I realise that she’s in a wheelchair. Dad must have told me why, but I can’t for the life of me remember. I wish I’d properly listened to Dad now. Another regret.

  ‘Hello Louise, nice to see you.’ She smiles showing small yellowing teeth. I’ve never seen someone with skin so pale, baby like.

  ‘Hello.’ I desperately try to remember her name but my memory fails me. ‘The postman put your post through Dad’s door so I’ve just brought it round.’ I hold out the letters to her.

  ‘Oh, thank you, that’s kind of you. Would you like to come in?’ She’s saying the words but I have the definite feeling that she doesn’t want me to accept.

  ‘Oh no, I won’t thanks, got a lot on.’

  ‘I see,’ she sounds relieved. ‘How’s Tom doing?’

  ‘He’s okay, being looked after. They’re still not sure what’s wrong with him, so can’t treat him yet. I’m sure once he’s diagnosed they’ll soon have him better.’

  ‘Oh dear, poor Tom. Simon really misses him you know – he was asking if he’d be able to visit him. I’d visit myself but it’s not so easy now I’m confined to this.’ She taps her hands on the wheelchair.

  ‘Well maybe once they’ve sorted him out. They’re advising family only at the moment,’ I say with a jollity I don’t feel.

  ‘If we can do anything at all just let us know. Simon’ll be home any minute for his lunch so if you think of anything just let us know.’

  ‘I will, thanks. Give Simon my regards.’ As I turn to walk away she’s already closed the door. What an odd sort, bag of nerves, why would you close your curtains in the middle of the day? She must be sitting in semi-darkness. Like a vampire. Maybe that’s why she’s so pale. Simon’s car pulls past me onto their drive and I give a jolly wave that I don’t feel and carry on back into Dad’s.

  I’ve searched the house. For what? I have no idea. May as well go out and have a look in the shed as well, and be done with it.

  ‘Come on Sprocket.’ He looks up at me expectantly and I harness him up and clip his lead on. Don’t want him vanishing into the outback.

  I rummage around amongst assorted debris in the kitchen drawer for the back-door key and wonder why I’m bothering. I suppose I owe it to Dad, he was obsessed with the shed, so I ought to check it. I find a bunch of keys and unlock the door, hoping that one of the bunch is the key to the shed.

  Out in the garden it’s still hot but overcast and oppressive, a promise of rain in the air. The grass is overgrown and needs cutting; a job for Nick next time he comes. The path to the shed is crazy paved but the moss is taking over and will soon have covered all the paving. We pick our way along the path and before we reach the shed I loop Sprocket’s lead over a branch of the apple tree to stop him wandering off while I try the keys.

  Five minutes later and I’ve tried every key on the bunch; not one of them fits. I should have got Nick to get the bolt cutters on it while he was here. I could look in the garage for them, but I don’t have a clue where the key to the garage is either.

  ‘Well, that was a waste of time,’ I say to Sprocket.

  He looks up at me and whines, he’s backed himself as far away from the shed as he can get, and his lead is stretched tight. The sky darkens, and I hear the low rumble of distant thunder. Sprocket growls and I wrap my arms around myself, a sudden chill in the air.

  I have a horrible feeling that I’m not alone; that I’m being watched. I look around the garden, but it’s so overgrown a whole army could be hiding in it.

  I walk over to Sprocket and try to unloop his lead. He’s pulled it so tight I can’t undo it with my fingers and my hands start to shake.

  ‘Come here, Sprock, I can’t undo you.’ He looks up at me but doesn’t move. I yank the lead and he digs his paws into the ground. I feel panic rising and tell myself not to be so stupid, but my fingers won’t work, and I can’t unhook him.

  It grows even darker and Sprocket squashes himself further into the tree trunk, growling and baring his teeth. I stop pretending I’m not frightened and decide to unclip his lead and drag him into the house by his harness. As I lean over him and fumble to unclip him a shadow falls over us and I realise that we’re not alone.

  I slowly straighten up, my stomach is churning, my mouth is dry and I turn around holding the bunch of keys around my knuckles as a weapon. I’m looking straight at a denim shirt stretched across a massive chest. I gulp and crane my neck to look up into the face of Brendan, Dad’s other next-door neighbour.

  ‘Oh, hello.’ his face breaks into a smile. ‘Hope I didn’t make you jump.’

  Relief floods my body and I feel light headed and spaced out.

  ‘I was hoping to catch you,’ he goes on. ‘Wanted a quiet word.’ He bends down to Sprocket and rubs him under the ears. ‘Hello mate, what’s your name?’

  ‘Sprocket,’ I say. Sprocket’s tail is wagging now, whatever was frightening him, it wasn’t Brendan. ‘What did you want a word about?’ I don’t sound very friendly. I don’t feel very friendly.

  ‘Yeah, well, the thing is,’ he looks uncomfortable. ‘Is Tom not well? Only I’ve not seen him for a while and I was just a bit concerned.’

  ‘No, he’s not well. He’s in hospital and they’re keeping him in for a while. For tests. They’re not really sure what’s wrong with him.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that. Poor Tom. Hope they can get him better.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Look. I won’t beat about the bush, I guessed as much. I was thinking – would you like me to cut the grass?
Just while he’s in hospital? Be a shame to let the garden get too overgrown.’

  ‘Oh. Um. I couldn’t ask you to do that, but it’s very kind of you.’

  ‘You didn’t ask, I offered. And it would help me as well.’

  ‘How would it help you?’

  ‘Well, that’s why I wanted a quiet word. The garden’s a security risk to be honest.’

  I look at him doubtfully.

  ‘I used to be in security and this garden makes a nice screen for someone up to no good.’

  Security? He’s the right size for a bouncer.

  ‘I used to run a security company in the Middle East before I semi-retired.’

  So not a bouncer.

  ‘And,’ he goes on, ‘I think someone has been prowling around the garden because I’ve definitely seen someone in here. But they’re clever; I’ve never managed to catch them.’

  ‘Was that when my Dad was here?’

  ‘Yes, a few times.’

  Poor Dad. We didn’t believe him.

  ‘I didn’t say anything to Tom because I didn’t want to alarm him. But I don’t know how they’re getting in. Or out.’

  I make a decision to trust Brendan. I hope I won’t regret it.

  ‘Have you got a crowbar or bolt cutters, Brendan?’

  He looks surprised. ‘Yes. Why?’

  ‘Do you think you could get that padlock off the shed for me?’

  He smiles. ‘Of course, no problem, I’ll go and get some tools.’

  He tramps off across the garden and squeezes through a gap in the bushes into his garden. So that’s how he got in; Dad didn’t imagine seeing him, he just mistook his motives. I hope.

  A few minutes later Brendan reappears with a crowbar in his hand.

  ‘This should do it.’ He inserts the end through the shed hasp. ‘You sure about this?’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  Brendan gets his weight behind the crowbar and the wood cracks and splinters as he levers on it. A loud crack and the padlock and hasp lie on the floor and the door swings open. Sprocket whines.

  ‘Don’t start again.’ I shoot him a warning look and he lies down on the floor as far away from the shed as his lead will allow.

  Right. Let’s see what’s in that shed.

  I step over the padlock and look inside.

  It’s empty.

  Sprocket and I trudge up to the Rise. The threatened rain is still a threat; the sky getting darker and darker, the heat more and more oppressive.

  I don’t know what I expected to find in the shed, but I did expect to find something. But it was completely empty, even the floor was swept clean. The last time I remember seeing it – which was years and years ago – it was a jumble of old lawn mowers and assorted pots and gardening implements, bags of compost and assorted bits and pieces. Where’s it all gone? Brendan had looked at me with a quizzical expression on his face and all I could do was shrug.

  Dad must have cleared it out then forgotten he’d done it.

  Brendan managed to bang the hasp back on and wedge a twig to hold it closed so it didn’t swing open in the wind. He promised to cut the grass although I said he really didn’t need to. He seemed to think he could get his lawn mower through the gap in the hedge, although I have my doubts. But then again, he fits through and he’s massive.

  I look down despondently at Sprocket and he gazes up at me mournfully.

  ‘What are we like eh Sprock? A couple of miseries.’

  I haven’t heard anything from Gareth so I’m guessing he can’t get away from work. I consider texting him but stop myself; don’t want to look too keen. Although I am. Very.

  A giant raindrop lands on my head. Here it comes, we’re going to get drowned. I run for the trees dragging a reluctant Sprocket behind me. I know it’s dangerous and with the luck I’m having I’ll probably get struck by lightning but hey, bring it on.

  We just make it before the heavens open and the rain comes lashing down in stair rods; rain so heavy that I can only just make out a figure running towards me. Is it the Frogham Throttler? Am I about to become the third victim? Sprocket spots him too and despite the rain his tail starts to wag. I let go of the breath that I didn’t realise I was holding.

  ‘Misjudged that!’ Gareth says laughingly as he joins me under the tree, ‘Guessed you’d be here so thought I’d surprise you.’

  I look up at him; his hair is wet and his eyelashes glisten with water. He looks utterly gorgeous.

  He puts his arms around me and pulls me close.

  ‘Are you surprised to see me?’

  ‘I am.’ And Sprocket is too, he runs around us in excited circles and wraps his lead around our legs until we’re tied together.

  I snuggle into him and drink in the smell of musky aftershave and wet shirt.

  ‘We may have to stay like this all night if it doesn’t stop raining.’

  ‘We might,’ I agree.

  ‘Or,’ he says, nuzzling my neck, ‘we might have to make a run for it and go back to yours and get out of these wet clothes.’

  ‘We might.’

  ‘It doesn’t look like it’s going to stop.’

  ‘It doesn’t.’

  ‘I think we should make a run for it.’

  ‘We should.’

  Gareth unwraps the lead from around our legs and untangles Sprocket.

  ‘You ready?’

  ‘I’m ready.’

  ‘RUN!’

  He grabs hold of my hand and we start to run but I can’t keep up with Gareth’s giant strides.

  ‘C’mon! How can you take such small steps?’

  I start to giggle which makes me run even slower. I let go of Sprocket’s lead and he races off home.

  ‘C’mon shortarse get a move on!’

  ‘I’m not short I’m five foot seven,’ I shout as we turn the corner into my street. Sprocket is already sitting outside the front door.

  Gareth suddenly stops, and I nearly fall over him.

  ‘We’re nearly there, keep going!’

  He ignores me and bends down, grabs hold of my legs and swings me over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift.

  ‘Put me down!’ I’m screaming and laughing as he runs down the street with me. He swings me down outside my front door and the three of us stand under the porch listening to the rain pounding down around us.

  Gareth pushes my soaked hair out of my eyes.

  ‘Did I ever tell you I like the dishevelled look?’

  ‘You may have mentioned it.’ Which is just as well since I seem to sport that look more often than not.

  He pulls me close to him and our coats squelch together making the most unromantic farting noise.

  And then we kiss. A long, deep, sweet kiss.

  After what seems like forever we both come up for air.

  ‘Should we go in?’ I suggest.

  ‘I think we should.’

  I manage to retrieve the key from my coat pocket and open the door. We fall into the lounge and collapse in a giggling heap on the sofa. Sprocket then jumps all over us adding muddy paws to our sodden clothes.

  ‘Since when was getting caught in the rain so much fun?’ I can hardly speak for laughing.

  ‘It never was fun until I met you.’ The mood has suddenly changed, the air seems charged. Gareth smooths his hand over my face, wiping away the rain.

  ‘I should arrest you for looking so gorgeous.’ He gives an embarrassed laugh, ‘And I should arrest myself for spouting such a cheesy line.’

  ‘You should, but I’m not complaining.’

  ‘Do you think that you know when you’ve met your soul mate?’ He’s suddenly serious. ‘Because I think I’ve met mine.’

  I stare at him; I so want to believe he means me but feel I should look behind me in case he’s talking to someone else.

  ‘Do you?’ I say stupidly, ‘Who’s your soul mate?’

  ‘You,’ he says, gathering me in his arms. ‘You.’

  ‘Does Sprocket always sleep with you?’<
br />
  ‘Most of the time.’ I lay my head on his chest. ‘Except when he sleeps with random policemen on the sofa downstairs.’

  He laughs. ‘Not my finest moment was it?’

  ‘Oh I don’t know, you passed the test – if you don’t pass the Sprocket test then it’s a no go I’m afraid.’

  Sprocket raises his head from the bottom of the bed, he knows we’re talking about him and he’s not impressed. He’s sulking because he spent last night in the kitchen and not on the bed. Well, there are limits, some things that a dog shouldn’t witness.

  ‘I’m going to have to go. Duty calls.’

  ‘Must you?’

  ‘Fraid so. I don’t want to, believe me. Don’t you have to go to work?’

  ‘Couple of days off,’ I lie, ‘holidays to use up.’

  ‘I’m jealous, wish I could stay here all day. In bed with you.’

  I snuggle closer. ‘You could stay a bit longer.’

  He groans. ‘Don’t tempt me. I need to go back to mine for some clean clothes, I can hardly turn up in last night’s.’

  True. They’re still in a heap on the lounge floor, wet, crumpled and muddy. That sofa’s going to take a bit of cleaning too.

  He reluctantly pulls away from me and slides out of bed.

  ‘Be back in a minute.’

  He reappears minutes later dressed in last night’s crumpled and muddy clothes.

  ‘Nice look,’ I say.

  He pulls a face. ‘They’re still wet too. We should have hung them up to dry.’

  ‘We should. Wasn’t really in the mood for housework though.’

  ‘No, nor me. Much better things to do.’ He grins wolfishly.

  ‘Well Detective Inspector, I do believe you’re flirting with me.’ I say in my best southern belle accent.

  ‘Wish I didn’t have to go.’

  ‘So stay.’

  ‘I can’t. I have to go.’ He leans over the bed and we kiss, neither of us wanting to break away.

  I push him away. ‘Go,’ I say. ‘Go catch the throttler. But come back soon.’

  ‘Just try and stop me.’

  Chapter 15