Lock Nut

by JL Merrow

  Hazel sniffed and nodded. Phil seemed to be doing a sterling job of searching through cupboards, so I left him to it. “How are you doing?” I asked her.

  “It’s all so h-horrible. First Mum and now—” She choked.

  “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

  Hazel took a couple of deep breaths and tucked a strand of lank hair behind one ear. “He . . . he took some pills. From Mum’s cabinet. I don’t know what they were, but I heard him being . . . being sick, and thought he’d just drunk too much—he had a bottle of Mum’s gin—but then I saw the pill bottle and . . .”

  “You called the ambulance?” I finished for her, as she seemed to have run out of words.

  Hazel nodded again, tight-lipped. “Why didn’t he talk to me? I could have helped . . .”

  “Have you got any idea why he did it?”

  “I— No. That is, he left a note. But it didn’t make sense.”

  “Can I have a look?”

  “The police took it. They wouldn’t say w-why. Why would they do that?” The lip quivered again, and this time I did give her a hug. She snuffled briefly into my shoulder, then pulled back as Phil put a couple of steaming mugs on the table. “I’ll . . . I’ll get some biscuits.”

  “I’ll do it,” Phil said, and fetched the tin.

  Hazel snagged a Rich Tea and dunked it in her hot chocolate before taking a dainty bite. It seemed to calm her down.

  “Can you remember what the note said?” I asked gently, taking a bourbon cream to show willing.

  “I took a picture. On my phone.” She fumbled in her hoodie pocket, dropped her phone on the floor, picked it up—thankfully intact—and handed it over.

  It wasn’t easy, as, understandably, the focus wasn’t great, but through zooming in and swiping from side to side, I managed to make out what it said:

  I’m sorry. It’s all my fault. I never meant anything bad to happen.

  It was signed, Axe.

  Bloody. Hell. No wonder the police had wanted a closer look.

  Phil leaned forward. “Have you got any idea what it means?”

  “No.” Hazel cradled her mug in hands that had retreated into the sleeves of her hoodie. I realised with a jolt that it was probably Axel’s.

  Unless it was Pete’s, of course. “You don’t know what he might be feeling guilty about?”

  She shook her head. “He’s been so . . . I mean, he’s always like that, but ever since Jonathan left, he’s been more.”

  I struggled to unravel that. “More . . . withdrawn? Unhappy?” It seemed a fair guess, based on what I’d seen of Axel.

  “Yes.” She nodded eagerly. “We always used to . . . to talk, even if it wasn’t about anything much. But the last few weeks he’s been different.”

  “Different in what way?” Phil asked.

  I thought we’d covered that already, but Hazel scrunched up her face like she was thinking about it. “Um. It sounds horrible, but—but they said he’s going to be all right. He will be all right, won’t he?”

  “If that’s what they said,” Phil told her in his comforting-the-clients voice. I was impressed. I’d still been trying to work out what she’d been on about.

  “Well . . . and you mustn’t tell anyone, but . . . he’s been really nasty, sometimes. Spiteful.” Hazel went bright red and ducked her head to stare into her hot chocolate.

  I was getting a bad feeling about this.

  “How close was your brother to Jonathan?” Phil went on, his tone giving nothing away.

  “Very close. Axe was devastated when he left. And then when he . . .” She hugged herself again. “It’s all so horrible.”

  “Do you think he might have confided in anyone else?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. Not Mum. Dad, maybe? Or Aunty Loos? He will get well again, won’t he?”

  There was a sharp knock on the kitchen door, and then PC Pleasant strode in without waiting for an answer. “I’ve heard from the hospital. Your brother’s in a stable condition, and he should make a full recovery.”

  Me and Phil exchanged glances. It was so bloody well timed she had to have been listening at the door.

  “Will you be all right if I leave you now?” she went on. “I’ve been told to get back to the station if you’re okay.”

  More like she wanted to get home and get some kip, but you could hardly blame her.

  “Yes. I’m fine.” Hunched in on herself and avoiding PC Pleasant’s eye, Hazel didn’t look fine. She waited until the kitchen was a copper-free zone and then grabbed my arm. “You’ll stay, won’t you? At least until Pete gets back?”

  “Uh, yeah. If you want. Sure you wouldn’t rather have your dad, though?”

  “He’ll want to stay at the hospital.”

  “He’s there now?” I guess it made sense. If it was my kid in the hospital, I’d want to be there. It still felt weird, him leaving Hazel all on her own to worry.

  “I think so. They said they’d call him. And I left a voice mail.”

  “He hasn’t got back to you?” Not even to tell the poor girl her brother was out of danger?

  Hazel shook her head.

  “Right. No problem. When’s Pete coming back?”

  “Um. His shift doesn’t finish until 6 a.m.” She bit her lip. “You should go. I’ll be fine.”

  No, she wouldn’t be. “You sure you don’t want to give your dad another call?”

  “He won’t come.” She stared at the wall for a moment, while I swapped worried glances with Phil. Then she went on, “He’s not really my dad, you know. Just Axel’s.”

  Oh. That . . . explained a couple of things.

  Poor Hazel. Here was me getting my knickers in a twist over having two dads, and by the sound of it, she didn’t even have one.

  I was suddenly deeply pissed off with the police for carting off her mum and leaving the poor kid in a situation where she was begging a couple of virtual strangers to keep her company. Okay, so she was legally an adult, but that didn’t change anything. Christ knows I wasn’t exactly independent at nineteen.

  “Any other family around here?” I asked. “What about your auntie?”

  “She’s probably at the hospital with Dad. I don’t want to bother her.”

  “What about mates? Pete can’t be your only old school friend around here.”

  Please, God.

  “The others all went to uni.”

  Well, crap. “How come you didn’t? A smart girl like you.”

  “Mum reckoned it was a waste of money. And I didn’t want to leave Pete. His mum and dad had just died. But you don’t have to stay. I’ll be fine, really.”

  “We’re staying,” I said firmly. “You’ve got Pete in your spare room, right? Chuck us a spare blanket or two, and me and Phil can fight over who gets the sofa.”

  “I’m sure Pete wouldn’t mind you borrowing his room for the night. He doesn’t go straight to bed when he gets back from work anyway.”

  “Yeah? That’ll be perfect for us, then.”

  “But there’s only one bed— Oh.” She turned pink. “I’ll go and change the sheets.”

  “Oops,” I said wryly after she’d scarpered upstairs. “I think I just outed us as a couple.”

  Phil huffed. “If she’s got a problem with any kind of relationship at all, she’s not her mother’s daughter.”

  We waited. I yawned. “Think she needs a hand?”

  “Wouldn’t hurt to check.”

  One weary trudge up the stairs later, we found Hazel sitting on Axel’s bed, hugging a well-loved stuffed hippo with a desolate air. Hazel, that is, not the hippo, which only looked moderately distressed.

  “All right, love?” I asked gently.

  She jumped and got up, putting the hippo down carefully on Axel’s pillow. “Sorry. I’ve done the bed. I should’ve . . .”

  “Nah, no worries. Are you going to be able to get some sleep if we all turn in now?”

  “It was sleeping pills he took,” she said suddenly.
“Mum got prescribed them after Jonathan left.”

  “Temazepam?” Phil asked. “That’s the most common prescription. They’re not as deadly as a lot of people think.”

  “Oh.”

  “He’ll be fine,” I said, because the hospital had said he would be, and really, what else could I say?

  We all turned in. The spare room bed was one of those nonstandard ones that’s bigger than a single but not quite a double. It must’ve been a bugger to buy sheets for, but at least it meant me and Phil’s shoulders could both fit in at the same time without too much aggro.

  I’d like to say I lay awake for hours, pondering on the pressures of life and family murders that could lead a young lad to try to do himself in, but it’d been a bloody busy day and I was knackered. I went out like a light. It barely seemed like five minutes later when I was woken up by voices outside our door.

  I waited until they’d faded away into the distance before getting up for a much-needed pee.

  Phil had woken up too by then. “Pete back?”

  “Sounds like it.” I pulled on my clothes from last night, just in case it turned out to be Hazel’s dad instead— okay, so it was early, but 6:30 a.m. wasn’t that unfeasible for a house call in the circs. “Gotta go see a man about a dog.”

  I made it to the bathroom without bumping into anyone, then wandered downstairs to put the kettle on and say Good morning, sorry we nicked your room to Pete. I was only fifty percent successful—the kettle being present and correct, but Pete, not so much—so I wandered back upstairs again. “Think Pete’s holed up in Hazel’s room. Pun not intended. I guess we’re on our own for breakfast.”

  It was well weird, making ourselves breakfast in Lilah’s kitchen without the lady herself present or even aware we were there. Then again, she had said we’d be welcome—Christ, had that really been only yesterday morning?

  She had a well-stocked fridge, so I made bacon and eggs, which I reckoned we were owed for the overnight stay, not to mention the early wake-up call. Hazel and Pete put in an appearance just as the bacon started to crisp up, so I made them a couple of butties. She needed a bit of good old comfort food. Pete needed the calories.

  They sat down next to each other at the kitchen table, so me and Phil took the chairs opposite.

  Phil waited until Pete had had his first mouthful before clearing his throat. “While we’re here, I’ve got a couple of questions for you.”

  “What about?” Pete asked, looking trapped.

  “There’s no point you covering for Oliver now. So if there’s something you didn’t tell us the other night that might have a bearing on things, now’s the time to say. Did you know Jonathan and Oliver were having an affair?”

  Pete froze and stared at his bacon butty as if he was worried it was about to bite him back. “I don’t know anything about that.”

  I didn’t believe him this time, either.

  Phil let it slide. “Have you got any idea what Axel’s note might have been about?”

  “Who, me? I hardly know him. Think I spend all my time hanging round fifteen-year-olds?”

  Said with all the lofty maturity of a bloke who hadn’t even finished his second decade yet.

  “Maybe he was just upset about his mum getting arrested,” Pete went on, with another shifty glance at Hazel.

  “So Oliver hadn’t mentioned anything that might have upset the boy?” Phil asked. “Something that happened at the Smithy, maybe?”

  “He never said nothing.” Pete took a savage bite from his butty, having presumably got over his earlier fear of reprisals.

  We didn’t get to grill him any further, as the doorbell rang. We all looked at each other. Let’s face it, if whoever it was had to ring the doorbell, they weren’t likely to be bringing good news.

  “I’ll go,” said Phil, getting up.

  I followed him out to the hall, in case moral or any other kind of support was needed, just in time to see him crack a smile and throw the door open wide.

  Bloody hell. It was Gary and Darren.

  “Surprise!” trilled Gary.

  He wasn’t wrong there. They trooped on in, Darren having a good cackle about the doormat on the way.

  Hazel came out of the kitchen to see what was going on, Pete close behind her. I wondered what she’d think of her mum’s old mate, and if we could somehow stop Darren regaling her with stories from his old porno days.

  Duct tape might do it, but I wouldn’t be betting my shirt on it.

  “All right there, babe?” Darren flashed his gold tooth in a grin.

  Hazel stared for a moment. Then her face broke into a big, sunny smile for the first time since . . . well, since I’d met her. “I know you! Uncle Darren.”

  Uncle Darren?

  Darren held out his arms. “Little Lola. I knew you’d remember me. Didn’t I say she’d remember me, sugar muffin? Blimey, girl, you got big. What’s your mum been feeding you on, then? Raw steaks and protein shakes?”

  Hazel bent down to give him a hug that went on longer than the prescribed three seconds, and even looked teary-eyed when she finally broke free. “You used to take me to buy sweeties and make me laugh. Why did you stop coming to see us?”

  “You want to ask your stepdad about that, princess. But none of that now. I want to introduce you to the love of my life. Babe, this is Gary.”

  Gary stepped forward and kissed her on both cheeks. “Delighted to meet you. Darren tells me you used to be a positive cherub.”

  “And she ain’t changed a bit,” Darren put in, blithely contradicting himself. “This your bloke, then, babe?”

  Pete, who’d been hovering warily in the background, startled and then stepped forward. “Yeah. I’m Pete.”

  Darren looked him up and down. Well, mostly up, given Pete had almost two feet on him. “What do you do for a living, then?”

  Pete’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Uh, I’m working in a warehouse right now.”

  “He’s got his own house,” Hazel put in defensively.

  Darren’s eyes had narrowed. “So why ain’t he in it, this time of the morning?”

  “Someone died there,” I explained.

  Gary’s eyes lit up. “Tommy! You didn’t tell us there’d been another murder. Was it very grisly?” he asked with audible relish.

  Pete turned ashen. Hazel went more of a greenish hue.

  I winced. “Uh, Gary? Bit of consideration? It was their mate.”

  “He was my lodger.” Pete clearly wanted to distance himself from Oliver now he’d proved to be such an unsatisfactory tenant as to get himself murdered.

  “I just worked with him,” Hazel said, jumping on that bandwagon with both feet. Then she blushed. “I mean, it’s awful what’s happened, but . . .”

  But your brother’s in the hospital and your mum’s in the nick. Fair enough.

  “What are you doing here?” Phil asked.

  “Not that we want to seem unwelcoming,” I added hastily.

  “Couldn’t leave my little Lola all on her tod without her mum, now could I?” Darren said easily. “Not with all this murder bollocks that’s been going around. So I’m taking the day off.”

  Gary beamed. “And I’ve brought my laptop, so all I’ll need is your wi-fi key and I’ll be about my business. Although a coffee would be nice. And a chocolate croissant, if you happen to have one lying around just gagging to be eaten.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “I think there’s some in the freezer,” Hazel said, still smiling at Darren. “Come into the kitchen.”

  Me and Phil exchanged glances. Clearly surplus to present requirements, we left them to it.

  “Oi, you don’t reckon she’s . . .” I muttered to Phil as we walked back to his car.

  “She’s what?”

  “You know. Darren’s. All that business about him knowing her when she was little, and Tarbox telling him to piss off when him and Lilah got together.”

  Phil stopped dead in his tracks, and I don’t reckon it was b
ecause he was trying to work out who all those hims were referring to. He turned to look back at the house.

  Then he shook his head. “Can’t be.”

  “What, because no dad would off and leave his kid with another bloke like that?” Okay, there might have been a fair bit of bitterness in my tone.

  “Darren doesn’t go for women.”

  “What about when he was getting paid for it?”

  “He said she was the other side of the camera when they made films together.”

  “No, what he actually said was that she was the other side of the camera when they made great films together. Maybe they made some crappy ones before that.”

  Phil winced. “For God’s sake, don’t go saying that where Hazel can hear you.”

  “Oi, what do you think I am?”

  After all, the most enlightened of us would probably not exactly be chuffed to discover we’d been conceived in a porno by two people getting paid to shag each other. It’d have to be even worse to know it’d been a bad porno.

  “So what’s on the agenda for today?” I asked as we drove off back to St. Albans. “Assuming we survive feeding the cats a late breakfast.”

  “I thought you’d have work booked.”

  “Yeah. I was kind of hoping not to have to cancel on anyone.” I looked at the clock on the dashboard. As it was, I should probably give Mrs. W. a ring and tell her I’d be late, but at least she’d be reasonable about it. Later on this morning I was booked to sort out a slow leak at the house of an elderly couple in St. Albans, and the lady of the house was likely to get right on my case if I tried to put them off. Still, that’s mothers for you. “How about you?”

  “I’ll be working on the Oliver Proudfoot angle. See if I can find out some more about the bloke.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, his death’s got to be related to Jonny-boy’s, hasn’t it? What are the odds of it being a coincidence, him popping his clogs barely a week after the bloke he worked with and shagged?”

  “Allegedly,” Phil said.

  “Come on, how many people have to tell us they were at it before you’re going to take it as fact?”