by M J Johnson
"Fine," answered Gil.
Jackson nodded to them both and went off to the bright lights beyond.
Sally rushed inside, pushed the door shut and hugged Gil with great feeling, "Oh Gil, this is dreadful!"
"It's appalling! I'm sorry I couldn't contact you before. But I left my phone here when they took me off to Maidstone."
She looked up at him in disbelief, "Why did they do that?"
"I think I was public enemy number one."
"That's ridiculous!" She shook her head, "I don't understand. What's going on? Why are the police all over your house?"
"It looks like whoever killed Michael did it with my car."
Gil was glad he'd been the one to break this news. Her reaction convinced him that she could not have been involved; he did, however, feel a little ashamed of himself for ever considering it possible.
It was difficult to credit that when Sally had been interviewed by Jackson about seven hours earlier, it wasn't mentioned that her current boyfriend's car was probably instrumental in the death of her troublesome 'ex'.
Gil explained what had happened to him since the police had arrived.
Once her initial surprise had subsided and she'd had time to consider the facts of Michael's death in this new light, Sally said anxiously, "I expect they'll think it was me now!"
"Why on earth would they do that?"
"Because I detested him."
"But you didn't kill him."
"They aren't going to believe me, are they?" She considered a moment before continuing, "Klaus and David came down with me …"
"I know. John said."
"… Klaus probably thinks I killed him … possibly, David too."
"I'm sure you're wrong! You're just upset," he consoled.
"Gil, I don't have an alibi for last night … and I've already lied to the police."
32
Faggot - n. Brit. a ball or patty of seasoned offal, baked or fried. N. American. informal, derogatory, a male homosexual.
I'd planned to leave shortly. Then Cinderella arrived with her ugly sisters! I guessed Klaus and David.
They must've believed themselves invisible in the dark. When the younger of the two caressed the older one's hair and they exchanged a kiss, I felt like smashing my infra-red night goggles!
Pervy writers would probably have referred to it as: 'gentle, understated and affectionate'.
I wanted to vomit!
The integration and acceptance of such deviants into our society simply points to the erosion of our moral values over decades. Why don't people wake up to the liberal coup that has crept like cancer throughout the western world?
It hurts my ears when I hear phrases like 'loving relationship between consenting adults', and 'everyone should have the right to express themselves according to their sexual orientation'.
HOMOPHOBIC???
Like it's suddenly a bad thing to detest queers???
You know, Gil, I'd like to have got out of my vehicle, walked across the road to where they were parked, and put them out of their misery by bludgeoning them to death. If it hadn't been for my dedication to 'our little thing' (and the fact the street was crawling with policemen! Ha Ha!), I might have done.
After about an hour you and your bitch came out of the house. You shook hands with the deviants. I'd have worn gloves! You got into their car and drove off.
I followed.
33
Klaus went with Gil to the bar to order some meals and drinks. A log fire spat and crackled in an inglenook, its flames dancing on walls and ceiling, wood-smoke pervading the air.
At the bar, Gil could see multiple images of Sally and David, through a profusion of mirrors that proclaimed the finest ales and spirits. They were engaged in an earnest dialogue at a table in the farthest corner of the room.
As Klaus recited their food order, the Eastern European barmaid's manner suddenly changed from affable receptiveness to a look of deep concern.
"I don't know if ve have two beef ale pies left," she announced.
"I can order something else," offered Klaus.
"No, you vait! I check!" commanded the girl.
Klaus exchanged a sheepish grin with Gil as she went off.
The two men appeared lost for words for a few moments, then Klaus stole a glance in the direction of their companions and said, "Sal told you she fell asleep at the workshop last night?"
Gil nodded, "Yes."
"Roz claims the alibi was her idea … sounds about right!"
"I don't understand why they felt it necessary to make up a story," said Gil.
"They had no idea you'd been implicated! I suppose 'hit and run' suggests a driver unknown."
Gil nodded.
Klaus went on, "It's easy to imagine: the girls, hearing about the accident, picturing Michael pissed - not hard, he was most nights - swaying across the road as he wended his way home … getting ploughed into by a car! I expect Roz, who's pretty sharp, saw it as a potential headache for Sally … alone, without any witnesses."
"Yes, I can see that."
"This kind of thing generally gets resolved when the driver goes to the police claiming the accident was so traumatic, they'd panicked, rushed home, hurled back a bottle or two, then come to their senses."
"What happens in cases where the culprit doesn't appear?" asked Gil.
"The police keep a close eye on body-shops. They have a good idea from the crime scene what damage to expect. It's not too easy to hide a smashed-up car!"
Gil took a moment to consider how far from Klaus's hit and run scenario Michael's death had already strayed. "I don't get the deliberateness of it all!" he announced.
"Michael was not a popular man."
Gil looked across at the others, "Sally believes you think it was her?"
Klaus shook his head. "I don't think anything of the sort. Poor thing was terrified to go near the bastard, let alone pull off something like this." Klaus thought a moment, "More importantly, you don't think she did it, do you?"
Gil replied without hesitation "I admit at first I wasn't sure, but now I am."
"Good," said Klaus, who went on to say, "I knew very little about Michael's City life … who knows, if he was as unpopular there as he was in my world, might be more candidates for the killer role than in an Agatha Christie country house thriller."
This may have been so, but Michael's disagreeable personality didn't explain why Gil's car had been chosen as the murder weapon or why the killer had deliberately implicated him.
Before Gil could voice this, Klaus had started again, "As you know, I hated him … heat of the moment, I might easily have lost it and laid into him … accidentally killed him perhaps. But this is altogether different … pre-meditated!" Klaus broke off, he looked uneasy. He leaned on the bar, drew himself closer to Gil and asked softly, "Is it possible someone is pursuing a vendetta against you?"
"What?" asked Gil, momentarily stunned by the suggestion, gazing at Klaus in disbelief, "Are you suggesting someone killed Michael to get at me?"
Klaus shrugged, "Unlikely, but worth considering. Does anyone hold a grudge against you?"
Gil didn't reply because their conversation was interrupted by the return of the barmaid.
"Yes, beef okay, two left," she earnestly explained, adding, "Sorry for delay, Chef not in kitchen!"
"No problem," smiled Klaus, as he gave her the remainder of their order.
While the barmaid went over to the other end of the bar to pull a pint, Klaus whispered conspiratorially to Gil, "Best if you don't mention anything to David about Sally sleeping at the workshop. As you know, he's represented her in the past. It would compromise his position, make it impossible for him to offer help if the police ever learnt her alibi isn't sound."
"Yes, of course," nodded Gil.
34
"Does anyone hold a grudge against you, Mr Harper?" asked Mullings.
This was the second time the question had been put to Gil in one evening and it made h
im feel distinctly uncomfortable.
"However slight the incident? Someone you unintentionally hurt, perhaps?" put in DI Jackson.
Anyone observing the scene around the table in Gil's kitchen might have assumed they were three friends chewing the fat over a mug of tea. It was 10.05 pm and each man bore signs of weariness. The day had been a long one.
Gil shook his head.
"Let us know if you do think of anything," said Mullings, who went on to say more reassuringly, "It's unlikely, but we have to explore each and every possibility."
Mullings had rung Gil on his mobile to propose the meeting while he'd been walking home from the pub, '… just a call to keep you up to date...'
The three men each took a sip of tea and silence reigned for thirty seconds or so.
Mullings broke the spell, "So far all the prints in your car appear to be your own."
Gil looked concerned by this.
"It's what we'd expect," assured Mullings. "Whoever took your car wore gloves – latex, apparently a type worn by the medical profession."
"Especially vets, apparently!" added Jackson in quite a jocular way.
"We don't suspect your vet by the way," Mullings added swiftly with a smile. "They're widely available, can be purchased online, like everything else these days," he sighed wearily, as if he yearned for life before broadband.
"So there can't be any doubt it was deliberate?" said Gil.
"None whatsoever," interjected Jackson. "Whoever took your car undoubtedly meant to kill Mr Chilvers with it."
"Plus an intention to implicate you in some way," added Mullings.
"In some way?" retorted Gil, as if he'd just heard the understatement of the century, "I'd say they definitely wanted to point the finger at me!"
Mullings hesitated, "Mmm, possibly," he replied.
"Possibly?" asked Gil, exasperation in his voice, "Surely it was meant to look like I'd done it?"
"I suspect whoever did this knew you'd be at a party all evening and be seen by lots of people."
Gil thought about this, then asked, "You're saying, whoever killed Michael didn't want the blame to stick to me?"
"But they certainly wanted to involve you," said Mullings. "It would have been much easier to steal an anonymous vehicle and abandon it after the killing."
"The killer took a big risk driving back from Hadlow. The car had sustained considerable damage, the offside headlight wasn't functioning at all," put in Jackson.
Mullings went on, "Whoever did it knew your plans well enough to be able to enter your home, disable your security and take your car for the necessary time. Two hours minimum I'd guess, then drive back, return your car to its garage and reset the alarm."
Jackson took up the baton again, "Their planning was thorough. They appear to have known a great deal about you."
The colour drained from Gil's face; he was momentarily speechless.
"How could they learn so much about you?" asked Mullings.
Gil could only mutter a few incomprehensible sounds. Sally floated up into his mind again; he shook his head to dispel the thought.
Then Jackson spoke, "We suspect the codes to your security system were stolen off your computer. What about the party details? Do you keep an online diary like Outlook?"
Gil had always set a high value on personal privacy; the implications of such an intrusion were truly monstrous. He said, "I've kept a diary since I was fifteen. The earliest stuff I scanned in some years back … everything about me, past and present, is on my computer."
Mullings and Jackson exchanged a meaningful glance.
"But I just can't see how this could be possible. I mean, my diary is set up with a password … I've never told a soul!"
"Something obscure and difficult?" asked Mullings.
Gil thought a moment, then shook his head, "Jules … it's what I called my late wife."
Jackson looked at Mullings, "It might be worth examining the computer. Check whether any files have been remotely accessed."
Mullings nodded, "Okay with you Mr Harper?"
"Yes, of course," said Gil.
DCI Mullings rose to his feet, followed by DI Jackson.
"Try and get a good night's sleep, Mr Harper," advised Mullings, "I'm afraid your offices must remain out of bounds until forensic can finish off."
Gil suddenly remembered something that had been troubling him since he'd left the pub, "Look, this is probably nothing, but tonight after the pub … my friends were driving back to London, I intended to walk home and get some air. I waved goodbye to them in the car park entrance … then seconds later, another car started up along the road. I thought nothing of it until it stopped alongside me …as if they were going to lower their window and ask directions. Then they suddenly just roared off."
"I appreciate it was dark, but did you get a glimpse of the driver … an impression, male, female?" asked Jackson.
"No. I think the windows were tinted. I couldn't see a thing inside."
"Notice the make or model?" asked Mullings.
Gil smiled, "I'm afraid I know absolutely nothing about cars. All I can say is it was a people carrier of some kind … I couldn't be certain, but I think I may have seen it before … parked on the road outside my house occasionally. I'd observed in passing how opaque the tinting on its windows was. It's probably nothing, possibly belongs to a neighbour who thought about offering me a lift."
"Let us know if you see it again. And if you do, try and get its number," said Mullings.
Jackson recorded Gil's recollection in his notebook. He also noted down the name of the pub and the time the incident happened.
Mullings had one final request, "Could you spare an hour … not right now, in the morning … to look round and see if anything is missing or out of place?"
"Yes, of course," replied Gil.
35
You remained in the pub for almost two hours. When you re-emerged, you kissed Cinders and shook hands with the Ugly Sisters.
You stood in the car-park entrance to wave them off.
When I started my engine, you looked across at me. I wanted you to take me in properly. So I stopped right beside you.
We were staring eyeball to eyeball. Exhilarating!
I think you were trying to figure out where you'd seen my car before.
RIGHT OUTSIDE YOUR HOUSE YOU DOLT!!!
Hopefully you got the car fixed into your fat brain so you'll notice it next time. Needless to say, I shan't be driving it much. I daresay I'd soon be helping the police with their enquiries if I parked it outside your house again. Nevertheless, it has an important part to play in my beautiful plan.
Your queer friends dropped your girlfriend off in Streatham, and then drove on to a very nice house in Wandsworth. I checked your diary - the place you visited on New Year's Eve. Just as I thought - Klaus and David!
As I watched them stroll along the street, I considered putting them out of their misery!
I remembered my priorities.
I may slot them into my busy schedule later on. Ha! Ha! Ha!
The fact you are friends with deviants only makes you more deserving of what's coming your way.
36
After Mullings and Jackson had left, the house seemed to ring with an unusual hollowness. Before going to the pub Gil had rung Megan, who had volunteered to keep Spike until the police vacated his home.
All activities had been suspended until the morning; however, two officers had been left on site to guard the integrity of the evidence. After all the earlier talk about an intruder disabling his alarm system, their presence made Gil feel safer. Despite this, he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep easy until he'd followed Mullings' instruction and carefully looked over his house for signs of intrusion.
After forty minutes of searching, except the offices of course, he found nothing to suggest that anything had been touched, let alone stolen. It was 11.30 pm and by now very tired, he considered leaving the attic until the morning.
"In for
a penny …" he muttered wearily as he climbed the stairs and took the key off the door frame.
At a glance everything was fine.
The portrait of Jules was centrally positioned on its easel, protected by a dustsheet.
As he drew back the covering his heart missed a beat and he gasped.
In a bold if unsteady hand with a thick black marker pen the word 'Jules' had been scrawled across the portrait.
37
He hurtled backwards from the painting, horrified, gasping for breath, a pain erupted in his chest, his ears screamed and the room began to spin. If he'd been struck by lightning the shock could not have been much greater.
It is difficult to conceive of many situations where a proper noun, Jules - three consonants, two vowels - might produce such a powerful reaction. Until then, the view that Gil was being personally targeted had seemed fantastical. When it was suggested by Klaus and Mullings, Gil had considered the idea plausible but unlikely. He had clung to the belief that Chilvers was responsible for the original damage to his car and for poisoning Spike.
Suddenly everything altered; the scales dropped from his eyes as dramatically as the sheet had revealed the portrait.
After a minute or so the palpitations diminished and he began to calm down. He was glad to realise that he would probably not require the services of an A & E department for tonight at least. The fact there were still policemen on site was comforting and he rushed downstairs to unburden himself.
It was one of life's quirky moments of synchronicity that one of these men turned out to be Rowe, the constable sent to him on Boxing Day.
The hum of the car window as it lowered was accompanied by the young man's cheery greeting, "Hello, Mr Harper."
The night temperature was two below freezing. Gil had rushed out of the house in a t-shirt and jeans, a pair of espadrilles on his feet that he slopped around the house in. He started to shiver and his teeth were chattering. There was a look of bewilderment about his face.
Rowe exchanged a look of concern with his companion, "You okay, Mr Harper?" he asked.
"S-s-s-someone b-broke in," stammered Gil, "D-d-don't u-u-understand … they …"