Roadrage

by M J Johnson

  "Hi girls," said Gil.

  "Hello," replied an impassive Françoise and Eloise, who spoke unnervingly in unison and without any detectable trace of enthusiasm.

  Gil found himself unable to suppress an unkind thought that the Valkyrie looked pretty unconvincing disguised as little girls in their party dresses. He generally enjoyed popularity with youngsters but these were the exception to the rule. However, he'd observed that their older sister Garance, at fourteen, had become considerably more earthling-like; there might be hope yet.

  Françoise and Eloise stood to one side to let Gil enter.

  "Best get dancing," said Nigel, leading the way.

  'Not bloody likely,' thought Gil, 'Specially not to Culture Club.'

  Nigel and Sue, refined and educated in ways beyond Gil's comprehension, had always shared, in his view, execrable taste in popular music.

  The party was much the same as it had been throughout the preceding years. Gil could recall being present at more than ten, although he'd been excused attendance in the year immediately following Jules' death. And despite having felt like a wallflower for much of the time, he was grateful to the Paddicks for persevering with him.

  The Paddicks' friends, some fifty or sixty already there, were invariably convivial. They were mostly either teachers like Nigel and Sue, or friends made when their girls had been younger.

  The party sprawled over the two lowest floors of the house. The strains of George Michael, Chris de Burgh and Elton John blared out of the sitting-room on the ground floor. It was a room Gil didn't feel called upon to enter, not even once, all night.

  At a Paddick party there was guaranteed to be someone interesting to talk to. Gil recognised the majority of guests, although he knew relatively few by name.

  Nigel led Gil downstairs, the girls forming a cohort behind.

  Sue greeted Gil with great affection. She was small, blonde, attractive and possessed a razor-sharp mind. She taught Politics and Economics.

  "Hallo, Harper," she said, depositing a welcoming kiss directly onto his lips, "Why haven't we seen you lately?"

  Nigel, ears akimbo, anticipating Gil's reply to Sue's promptings three or four questions ahead blurted out, "She can't come, too much work on!"

  "Thank you, Nigel, as always displaying princely tact," said Sue sarcastically, eyes rolling for Gil's benefit.

  Nigel smiled inanely.

  "Now, why not be a good bunny and hop the fuck off!" she exclaimed.

  Gil couldn't help but smile.

  Sue - mother, teacher, highly-educated and erudite - possessed a mouth that could, when the mood took her, be as profane as a bricklayer's mate's.

  The good-natured Nigel turned on his heels and said, "Hopping off now!" He headed upstairs again, the girls following.

  "Sometimes my dear husband is an insensitive arsehole!" said Sue, smiling.

  "He's okay," defended Gil.

  "Oh, he's okay, but he's still an arsehole," she laughed.

  "So, you weren't going to ask me about Sally, then?" enquired Gil, an eyebrow arched.

  "Sally? Sally who?" said Sue, feigning innocence, adding, "Ooh, is that the name of your new girlfriend, Harper?"

  She reminded him so much of Jules. They had been best friends since their first year at prep school.

  "What do I need to tell you?" Gil asked.

  "Everything, of course," Sue replied. "But first off, what will you have to drink?" She gestured towards the area of kitchen dedicated to alcohol.

  "That red looks like it might hit the mark."

  She poured him a glass of wine, then led the way through a little hallway into a small study she and Nigel shared. During the hours of daylight the room looked out onto their well-tended garden.

  Sue pushed Gil into a leather office chair, took a stool for herself and said, "Now, spill the beans, tell me everything. I want you to describe her in enough detail so I could pick her out from the crowd at a Selfridges Winter Sale."

  "She's a costume designer in the theatre."

  "I already know that," laughed Sue, "I got that much from effing Nigel! I want to know important stuff!"

  Gil responded with an uncomprehending look.

  She flicked her eyes heavenwards, "Men are hopeless! Start at the beginning! Where did you meet?"

  Gil went through his history with Sally. Sue was someone he trusted completely and he told her the whole story; about her past with Chilvers, her surprise visit late on Christmas Day after his dreadful drive home, and all that had transpired since, right up to Spike's poisoning.

  "You don't think it might've been him? This Chilvers chap - on the M25 - do you?" she asked, displaying some concern.

  "Unlikely, don't you think? He'd have had to follow me all the way from Watchet. Anyway, he was pestering Sally at the time, apparently pissed out of his brains!"

  "He sounds foul. Poor Spike. Be careful, won't you, Harper."

  "I keep my car locked away safely in the garage these days, and I bought a sturdy padlock for my side gate yesterday. I'm not taking chances."

  They chatted on, losing track of time, until Sue, glancing at the clock on the wall, exclaimed, "Shit! It's nine-thirty. Everyone must be wondering where the fuck I am!"

  They both rose and she hugged Gil to her. "I'm really glad for you, Harper. Sally sounds just the ticket. You know, don't you, this is exactly what Jules would have wanted … for you to be happy?"

  He nodded.

  "I can see you're in love with her."

  "Can you? That transparent, am I?"

  "It's obvious, Harper."

  "Blimey!" he said.

  Gil followed Sue back through the hallway into the kitchen, now heaving with guests.

  "Hello! Hello!" a male voice called out with mock indignation, "Where've you been?" His questioning was backed-up by good natured jeers from some of the other guests.

  "I've been in the Study enjoying unnatural sex with Gil," replied Sue casually.

  "Never mind any of that," replied the indignant male, "Nigel wouldn't let us start the bleedin' buffet until you gave the nod!"

  "Is he still wearing those stupid frickin' ears?" asked Sue.

  "Yes!" came the weary reply from at least a dozen of those gathered.

  "What a plonker!" she said, plodding off upstairs to find him.

  Although Gil was pleased he'd come, he still wished Sally could have made it. He was beginning to feel, despite the bad stuff with Chilvers and Spike, that something deep down inside of him was finally being healed; once again it felt good to be alive.

  Gil poured himself a glass of wine and joined a small group he recognised.

  22

  It was round 1.15 am when Gil started for home. The party had barely begun to thin out. He planned to be back in plenty of time for Sally and reached home just after 1.30 am. He'd drunk more wine than he usually did, although the food he'd consumed at the Paddicks' generous buffet had helped soak up the extra alcohol; he was swaying ever so slightly. Gil made himself a coffee, sat at the kitchen table and began to wonder if Sally had left the workshop yet. He tried her mobile but only got her voice-mail and deduced from this that she was probably driving.

  After arriving at this happy supposition, he promptly fell asleep.

  23

  Gil woke to the sound of the doorbell. Although groggy with sleep, he made his way enthusiastically to the front door. He forgot in those confused first moments of waking that Sally now possessed a key.

  He was taken aback to find two men standing in his porch. They were soberly dressed, and both were wearing dark grey overcoats. The older and taller of the two was a man in his mid to late forties, the younger one was probably somewhere in his late twenties.

  Gil opened up.

  "Mr Harper?" enquired the older man, stretching out a hand that proffered an ID card, "I'm Detective Chief Inspector Mullings and this is Detective Inspector Jackson. Kent CID."

  "Oh yes?" was all Gil could manage, his mind jumbled-up by alcohol an
d broken sleep.

  "We understand you recently had a disagreement with a gentleman by the name of Michael Chilvers?" enquired the Detective Chief Inspector.

  Although he couldn't have explained the reason why, Gil felt the tiny atavistic hairs on the back of his neck suddenly rise.

  "I … er, yes … yes, I did," he muttered.

  DCI Mullings drew himself up to his full height before stating, "Mr Chilvers died last night in a traffic accident."

  Gil found the moment so shocking it caused him to let out a sudden, involuntary, exhalation of breath.

  "Are you alright, sir?" asked Mullings.

  "Yes … yes … Michael Chilvers is dead?" The idea seemed incomprehensible.

  "Could I ask you where you were last night, Mr Harper?" asked Mullings.

  Gil recovered enough composure to voice, "At a party."

  "Did you drive, sir?" asked Jackson, speaking for the first time.

  "No, it was local … I walked."

  "Finished late, did it, sir?" enquired Jackson.

  "I left around one."

  "Don't plan on going to bed tonight, Mr Harper?" asked DCI Mullings.

  Gil didn't quite understand the question, until he glanced across at the grandfather clock and saw the time was 6.15 am. "Christ!" he exclaimed, "I fell asleep."

  At the same time he thought, 'Where's Sally? What could have happened to her?'

  "I sincerely apologise for disturbing you so early, Mr Harper," said Mullings, "But would you mind if we took a look at your car?"

  Of course Gil didn't mind. All he could think about was Sally, his mind anxiously racing through a series of imagined scenarios that might possibly have prevented her arrival.

  He fetched his keys and led the detectives across the gravel drive to the garage. The air was freezing; dawn was still well over an hour away. Gil opened the garage door and fished with a hand for the light switch. The car was as he always left it, driven in front end first, its rear facing them.

  Mullings and Jackson quietly moved to the far end of the garage.

  Gil, still thinking about the reasons for Sally's absence, didn't observe the meaningful looks being exchanged between the two police officers.

  "You say you didn't use the car at all last night, Mr Harper?" Mullings asked.

  "Like I said, I went to a party, walked there and back."

  He was very concerned about Sally. Where was she? What would her reaction be to this news about Chilvers?

  "How did you damage the front of your vehicle?" asked Jackson.

  "Damage?" asked Gil, displaying a little irritation now. He wondered what the hell the Detective Inspector was talking about. "No damage! It's just been re-sprayed!"

  Gil strode down the side of his garage along the car's length to join Mullings and Jackson at the car's front end.

  His jaw dropped when he saw the caved-in radiator grill and smashed left headlight.

  "I don't understand …"

  "Mr Chilvers was the victim of what appears to have been a hit and run incident at approximately 11.30 pm last night," advised DCI Mullings, before adding, "I think you'd better come with us, sir."

  Gil found he could only gawp at the police officers in glassy-eyed amazement.

  Mullings turned to his colleague, "Get Forensic to cover this area ASAP."

  DI Jackson immediately responded by taking out a notebook, pen and phone to start making the arrangements.

  All Gil could think about was Sally. Why hadn't she arrived?

  24

  Sunday 1 February

  I don't understand why you're wearing such a long face. You should be delighted. The man your bitch claims abused her is now worm food.

  My first idea was to despatch Sally into the arms of God instead. To join Julia and be one more in Jesus' harem of little sunbeam brides forever!

  But it would have meant too much pain too soon.

  I've invested a lot of time and energy in this. So you can appreciate I'd like you to go the distance. I mean, if you were cooking someone alive, it wouldn't be making the most of it to just dunk them in boiling water, would it? Far more rewarding to start over a gentle heat and build slowly!

  It's a matter of patience.

  Believe me, it required a great deal of planning to conjure up this little nightmare. To have you hauled in by the police because your girlfriend's 'ex' got pancaked by your car! Exquisite, don't you agree?

  I did, of course, leave you a cast-iron alibi. Not even someone with an IQ as low as the average policeman's would try to build a case against you. However, the next few hours should prove satisfyingly uncomfortable for you.

  I expect you're already fretting.

  "First my effin' car, then my effin' dog, now this? Why? Who can have done this? What have they got against me?"

  Your brain must be overheating.

  But I'd be awfully upset if you gave yourself an embolism.

  25

  A police car arrived swiftly and Gil was taken to CID headquarters in Maidstone. For this journey he was accompanied by a male and female police constable. The woman drove, whilst her male counterpart sat beside Gil in the rear. The journey was undertaken mostly in silence.

  From that first shocking moment when Gil had seen his recently restored Volvo wrecked, to the arrival of his police chaperones, was largely a blur. He recalled Mullings spelling it out, that his vehicle may have been involved in what was likely to be a criminal investigation. But Gil had guessed this much for himself.

  DCI Mullings appeared to view the evidence with total impartiality and displayed no change in either his approach or manner. However, this offered no insight into what the Detective Chief Inspector was actually thinking. By contrast, the younger man, DI Jackson, looked increasingly bemused at Gil's professed innocence.

  Mullings instructed Jackson to take down the Paddicks' details, "We'll try to verify your whereabouts as quickly as possible, Mr Harper."

  Gil took heart from this.

  26

  Roz woke with a start. The bedside clock said 7.03 am. She'd heard the intruder tip-toe across the laminated floor of the hallway and go into Sally's room.

  Roz nudged John in the ribs.

  "Ugh?" he groaned, directing an eye at his tormentor.

  "Someone's in the flat," whispered Roz, "They just went into Sally's room."

  "It's Sally," said John, closing his eyes and rolling onto his front.

  Roz reached across his back and shook him with both arms, "She's with Gil. Go and see who it is!" she insisted.

  "Why me?"

  "Because you're a bloke and supposed to protect me!"

  "Mmm." He wanted to remind his girlfriend that he was a humble postman in real life, but said nothing. He swivelled his body up to a sitting position, retrieved his boxer shorts from the floor and stepped into them. Before he'd reached the door, the interloper was heard crossing the hall again and switching on the bathroom light.

  John, wondered what he would do if Sally really was with Gil. He hesitated, hand hovering above the door knob.

  "Go on!" said Roz in a muffled whisper. She'd drawn up the duvet to just below her nose as though it offered protection.

  John tentatively opened the door and called in a thinnish voice, "Sal?"

  There was no reply.

  John tried a little louder, "Sal?"

  This time he heard a sob, then Sally's tearful voice, "Hi, John!"

  "You okay, Sal?"

  "Yeah," came the reply, "I need a shower."

  "Okay," said John.

  By the time Sally had taken her shower, Roz, concerned for her friend, had got up and was making coffee.

  "What are you doing here?" Roz asked her as she entered the kitchen.

  Sally immediately burst into tears.

  "What's wrong, Sal?" she comforted, "You haven't quarrelled with Gil?"

  "Nothing like that," wept Sally, "It was Michael. He rang me last night!"

  "Why?"

  "To gloat about Gil
… after he'd accused him of poisoning Spike."

  "Nasty little shit!" said Roz.

  "He was out of his brains. I refused to talk to him, but he kept ringing back. The calls got more abusive … he kept calling me an effing whore."

  Roz hugged her friend.

  "In the end I switched off my mobile. I was so upset and so bloody tired … I must have fallen asleep." Sally thought a moment before she broke into a fresh bout of sobbing, "Now I've let Gil down … and he was expecting me …"

  "Gil will understand," Roz consoled.

  Sally had left her bag in the kitchen when she'd entered the flat. The mention of the mobile phone prompted her to fish it out and turn it back on again. There were two messages and one missed call from Gil.

  The first was a garbled rant from Chilvers, the phrase, 'fucking whore', was easily identifiable amongst the few comprehensible words.

  "Bastard!" commented Roz.

  The second message had been left at 4.30 am.

  It was a Detective Inspector Jackson from Maidstone CID. He left no specific details but he was emphatic that Sally should return his call as soon as possible.

  She immediately felt worried for Gil and rang Jackson.

  Roz observed her friend's verbal exchange.

  "Hello, this is Sally Curtis. You left a message … yes … I am … I was … Oh my God!"

  Sally listened for a short time, then began to reel off the address of Roz's flat. She listened to another instruction for a few more moments, before concluding with, "Three quarters of an hour, that's fine."

  "What's happened?" asked Roz, who knew something serious had occurred because Sally's face was ashen.

  Sally looked quite stunned as she slowly stated, "Michael's been killed."

  "Christ! How? What happened?"

  Sally shook her head as if to wake herself up, "He said … road accident. Michael was hit by a car at around 11.30 last night … the driver didn't stop."

  "That's dreadful!" Although Michael Chilvers was a complete shit in Roz's view, she was not a malicious soul.

  Sally suddenly recalled the previous evening, Michael's repeated calls to her mobile, four before she had turned off. She stared imploringly at her friend, "They're coming to interview me. Christ, they're going to think I did it!"