by Conrad Jones
Chapter 14
Sergeant Strachen
As soon as I got out of there, I ran to the truck in a panic. My head was all over the place. What exactly did she mean? Who was coming for me? Was she a total basket case? As I said, I’m a sceptic, and I was panicking about the ramblings of a murder suspect who was being held in a high-security mental hospital. I smoked three menthols one after the other to stop my hands shaking, but it didn’t work. I was a mess. I was questioning everything that I put value in. It wouldn’t be the first time my head was turned by a pretty face, and my late father always joked that my brains were in my pants. He was pretty much spot on, to be honest. Would I be listening to her if she was a fat bloke in his fifties? The answer is no. I was letting my mind run away with me because I was so attracted to her, and that was the truth.
I called Peter and he sounded harassed when he answered. A babbling phone call from me was the last thing he needed when he was working. “Can you talk?” I tried to calm myself down but it wasn’t easy.
“Make it quick, I’m working on a case on the outskirts of town near the power station.” Workers from the Fiddler’s Ferry power station had found a body near the River Mersey. Water from the river supplies the eight giant cooling towers and one of the inlets became blocked. You might not think a power station on the banks of the Mersey could be picturesque, but it is at night. Runcorn Bridge is close, and at night a thousand lights illuminate the towers. The view from across the river is stunning. Anyway, I needed to warn him about what she had said.
“Look, I’ve just seen Jennifer and she’s really upset because she thinks the Niners are coming after us.” I sounded ridiculous and I knew it. There wasn’t a shred of proof for anything that this mysterious woman had told us from day one, but I believed her. I was behaving like an adolescent with a crush.
“What makes her think they’re coming after us?” Peter sounded disinterested at best.
“She’s seen it.” I thought about what I’d said and how feeble it sounded. “Well, she said that she knows that they’re coming for me and you and probably her, too, but she’s absolutely convinced that we’re all in danger.”
“She’s seen it?” Peter exaggerated the word “seen” to let me know that he thought I was talking rubbish and panicking for no reason. He worked in the real world where evidence talked and facts were currency, whereas I was standing in a dark fantasy land – in more ways than one.
“That’s what she said.” I swallowed, feeling a bit silly as I analysed my own words. It’s almost impossible to relay a conversation as powerful as the one I’d had with her, and I failed miserably. I wish now that I could have found the right words to convince him, but my mind was awash with emotions, not facts.
“Has anyone contacted her?”
“No.”
“Did she have anything with substance to say?” Peter wanted to get off the telephone and get on with his work.
“I know it sounds weak, but if you’d seen her, you would understand. She was terrified and really upset.” I reached for another menthol and tossed the empty packet across the truck. Now was not the best time to run out of cigarettes. “I think she’s telling the truth,” I added feebly.
“She’s a murderer clutching at straws, and the only person that’s swallowing any of this is you.” There was a tortured silence – I couldn’t think of anything to back up what she’d said. There was nothing to back it up with. He was right. “If you’re worried about her devil-worshipping friends coming to drink your blood, then go home and put plenty of garlic in your tea, mate,” Peter laughed bitterly. I couldn’t understand why he’d want to belittle me like that, but I guess he was trying to shock me back to reality. He wasn’t having any of it. “Listen, I’m snowed under here, but I’ll give you a call in a couple of days when we know if she’s to be charged or not. Take it easy, Conrad. It’ll be something to laugh about the next time we have a few beers. Just wait until I tell the lads that you fell for a nutter in the loony bin. She’s not the first bunny-boiler you’ve fallen for, and she won’t be the last! I have to go. Speak to you soon, mate.”
“But listen!” The line was already dead. He was right, though. My track record for meeting anorexics, bulimics or psychologically disturbed females was legendary, and the sad fact is that I usually fell head over heels in love with them a week before their true colours showed. I am a sucker for a pretty face and a trim figure, and I can’t see past that until it’s too late. I suppose that makes me shallow, but my feelings are what they are and you can’t change that, can you?
I didn’t expect Peter to drop everything and come running to protect me, but I didn’t expect him to be so candid either. The truth hurts, I suppose. I was worried sick that another constable Knowles would be on my case, and more than a little perturbed that Peter had bummed me off the phone as if I was selling timeshares or guttering. I redialled his number and it flicked straight to answering machine. “Bollocks!” I punched the dashboard and started the engine, gunning the revs much further round the dial than was necessary.
I drove home feeling drained and empty. I knew then from Peter’s reaction that Jennifer was gone. It occurred to me that all they’d wanted was an insight into my research, and now that they had decided that Jennifer was a crackpot, I was a hindrance. He wouldn’t let me anywhere near the investigation if he thought that my judgement was impaired. The brief time that she’d been in my life she had turned my world upside down. I wasn’t sure if I was on my head or my arse, but I knew something bad had entered my mind. The strength of the desire I’d felt in that visiting booth was abnormal. I’d wanted her more than I’d wanted any woman.
When I got home, the evening news carried the story of the murder that Peter was working on. Engineers at the power station had investigated a blockage in one of the cooling towers. When they checked the outlet, they discovered a body. The victim was male, but decomposition was so advanced they could not identify him. At least Evie Jones was pleased to see me, and she sat with her head on my lap as we watched the news. My partner was working late again and I opened a bottle of red wine while I waited for her to get home. I remember finishing the wine and drinking half a bottle of a second before conking out drunk and exhausted, both mentally and physically.
I dreamt that Peter and his team had finished with the basics at the scene, then went for a quick beer in town after work to discuss their next steps. It had been a testing few days for the murder squad and they needed to unwind. A few beers turned into ten beers and tequila slammers, and then they went for a kebab. I wasn’t there with them in the dream, I was an observer. I knew something bad was going to happen.
A big man approached them outside a kebab shop. He had wild dreadlocks and a bushy beard. He was wearing a denim bomber jacket and leather jeans and there was a motorcycle club emblem on the back of his jacket. As he neared them, they figured he was drunk and they parted to let him pass. The man seemed high on something and he was looking around as if someone was chasing him. He was breathing heavily and sweat ran down his brow. He reached inside his jacket and looked at the group of men. When he removed it, a blade flashed in the streetlights.
Peter shouted a warning to the others: “He’s got a knife!” He dropped his kebab and grabbed for the man’s arm. He swore and pulled it away and then slashed it across Peter’s arm. It was razor sharp and it sliced through the sleeve and into the flesh. The blood on the blade seemed to glow in the dark. He drew back and then plunged the knife towards Peter’s chest. Peter moved away from the thrust and the knife hit the wall. There was a metallic grating sound and sparks glinted like tiny fireworks. Four police officers pounced on the big man as he waved the knife blindly.
They grappled him to the ground, despite his incredible strength. They managed to restrain and handcuff him, and held him down until a team of uniformed officers arrived and carted him off to the station in the back of a white van. Peter and his colleagues talked briefly to the arresting officers and then dr
ifted off in separate directions to get taxis home. I watched them all leave, one by one. As the last taxi drove out of sight, the streetlights flickered and fizzled out, leaving me in darkness.
In my dream, I was left alone in town. Time had moved forwards. It was pitch black and raining heavily, and everywhere was boarded up and derelict. The kebab shop sign was hanging loose and swinging noisily in the wind. It had been closed for years and the writing on the sign was hardly readable. When I looked around, I was huddled in a doorway, wrapped up in a stinking sleeping bag, which I instinctively knew belonged to me. I could smell my body odour and it was clear that I hadn’t washed for months. My bones ached and my joints were painful when I moved. The cardboard beneath me was the only mattress that I owned, and there was a deep sense of loss and longing in my heart. I knew that decades had past and I’d lost everything and all that I had to my name was the bottle of cheap vodka in my hand.
I heard footsteps walking down the street towards me and I heard voices and laughter. I recognized my partner’s voice and her laugh. I could smell her perfume on the breeze and I looked out of my makeshift home to see if it was really her. She was older, much older, but she was still beautiful. I didn’t recognize the man that she linked with her arm, but she looked happy as they approached. I called out her name, but she glanced into the doorway and walked on as if I were just a voice on the wind. She hadn’t seen me or heard me. I saw the wedding ring glinting on her finger. It wasn’t the one that I’d bought her. Tears ran down my filthy skin into my matted beard. I felt my heart being torn from my chest as she walked on with her new husband, and I knew that I was damned to a future which didn’t include her.
“Conrad!” My partner’s voice woke me from my nightmare. “I’m going to work and the dog needs walking!” She sounded mad. “I’m getting a bit sick of waking you up from a drunken stupor.”
“What time is it?” I mumbled. I sat up and my head felt like lead, but the pain of loss was still inside me. “God am I glad to see you! I must have drunk too much wine and fallen asleep.”
“There’s nothing new there then, is there?” I watched her walk out of the living room towards the kitchen. I knew that I’d better make an effort or I was in trouble. “At least you weren’t in the cells this time, so I suppose I should be grateful.” She picked up her work bag which contained her laptop and auditing equipment. Her business suit looked immaculate as usual. “We need to talk. I’m the only one who’s pulling my weight around here. I don’t know what planet you’re on anymore.”
“I’m sorry but things have been a bit weird lately.” I reached out to her for a hug; the memory of my nightmare was still fresh in my mind and I needed her to hold me tightly. I needed her touch to reassure me that everything would be alright, but she recoiled and the look on her face made me feel sick inside. I knew then that I may have pushed her too far. When you know that someone you love has lost their feelings towards you, the world’s a desolate, hopeless place. Once those feelings have gone, they never come back.
“Like I said, I think we need to talk, Conrad,” she said in her business voice. Her voice changed when she was talking to her subordinates on the telephone, and when she used that tone with me it really pissed me off. “You’re too drunk to get upstairs most nights and I’m getting a bit tired of your excuses, to be honest.”
“I’ll make tea for us tonight and we can talk.” I smiled and tried to think of the words to make things right, but they escaped me. “I know I’ve been preoccupied with work, but I’ll take a few days off and we can spend some time together.”
“I’ll be home about eight o’clock.” She marched towards the front door knowing full well that she was in control of the situation. Aren’t they always? Weaker sex, my arse. “I think you need to move out and get your own flat for a while; that way you can drink yourself stupid and not get on my nerves.” The door opened and I heard her stop for a moment. “Evie needs to go out, don’t forget.” I wanted to tell her about my dream and how I felt about her, but I missed the chance. Something inside me told me that I never would get the chance again.
Chapter 15
Facebook
I was dehydrated and feeling peaky. The residue of the red wine was making me sluggish and I had a sickly sensation in my guts. My relationship with my wife was precariously balanced, and looking back it had been that way for a long time. There was no one to blame but myself. Although I loved her, we’d become like brother and sister instead of lovers, and that’s when you take people for granted. It’s easy to take people for granted when you think they’ll always be there, but take it from me, nothing lasts forever in love unless you are prepared to make an effort every day, and I didn’t. Getting drunk with my friends in the pub after work was becoming the norm, and my excuse that working at home all day meant that I needed a break in the evening was wearing thin. I was going out earlier and coming home later. Socializing to relax was my excuse, but the truth was drink had a hold on me. Your friends at the bar are not really your friends. They are just like-minded men that want to drink every day. Life through the bottom of a pint glass looks fun until the glass is empty and you have to go back to the real world.
Anyway, Evie needed walking and I decided that the fresh air would do me good, but I needed to fire up my laptop and check my e-mails and e-book sales before we set off. As my computer loaded, the Facebook tab was indicating that there were over forty notifications on there. The last time I’d seen that many was on my birthday. Curiosity got the better of me and I logged in to see what all the commotion was about. What I saw took my breath away. I couldn’t believe my eyes.
Earlier that morning, a window-cleaner had found Peter’s broken body lying in the gutter at the side of some shops on the edge of the town centre. From the comments and postings on the link, it wasn’t far away from the kebab shop in my dream. As I explained previously, he’d married into a big family, and our circle of friends who we had worked with over the years at McDonald’s reached into the hundreds. Facebook was buzzing with the news of his death. Of course, the first thing people ask is why and how he died, and one of the comments from a colleague in the force was that someone mowed him down in their car and left him for dead in the road. “It was a hit-and-run.” Bollocks.
I sat and stared at the growing list of condolences and I had to physically stop myself from telling everyone that it wasn’t an accident. He’d been murdered by a satanic cult known as the Order of Nine Angels. Can you imagine the reaction that I would have received if I’d gone ahead and posted that? His family and friends were devastated and in the early stages of grieving. I knew how stupid and irrational and downright disrespectful it would sound.
I didn’t know what to do or what to think. I needed to speak to someone who would have the details of his death without rocking the boat and upsetting his family. Calling his wife was out of the question, but her brother was a good friend of mine back then. He was an usher at my wedding and we went back a long way in our previous careers. I decided to call him and pass on my condolences and dig for a little information at the same time. His phone switched over to answering machine a few times, which I’d expected, but on the fourth attempt he answered. He was shell-shocked when we spoke, but he told me confidentially that one of Peter’s colleagues had taken Peter’s brothers aside and told them that his injuries indicated that the vehicle reversed over him several times to make sure he was dead. Although they hadn’t officially announced it, they were treating it as a murder inquiry.
He told me that the CCTV tapes taken by the police showed a vehicle in the area where he was found and that they were almost certain it was the car which had killed him. It would be a week later when they found the stolen vehicle burnt out on the other side of Manchester, and his death remained a mystery to his family until the whole thing blew up in my face. Now I think some of them still believe that I had something to do with it, and in a way I did, but not the way that they think.
The visit to the as
ylum the previous day and Jennifer’s foreboding prediction shook me to the bones. She’d said that we were in danger and now Peter was dead. In my mind I was next and I flipped my lid. For a few hours, I was a nervous wreck. I called my partner and left several garbled messages asking her to call me back as soon as possible, but she was in meetings all day and probably thought that I was either drunk or calling to make an excuse about going to the pub again. Between calls I received a call from Peter’s wife. She knew we were working together in the days before his death, but she had no idea what we were working on. It was a short call and I didn’t tell her that I’d already spoken to her brother. She told me that Peter had died in a hit-and-run accident and that she would tell me when the funeral arrangements were set. I was so shocked at that stage that I just thanked her for letting me know and hung up. Seconds later I realized this wasn’t a coincidence that could be fobbed off. I had been right to believe her all along. Jennifer was innocent and she was right about the Niners. They were coming for us.
Chapter 16
Deleted
When it had sunk in about Peter’s death, I went into a blind panic. It could not be an accident. It was too much of a coincidence. I couldn’t get hold of my partner and I knew that she wouldn’t be back until later that evening. I also knew that if I did get through to her, she would think that I’d finally lost my grip on reality. There was nothing else to do except go to the person who knew the most about everything that was going on. I needed to talk to Jennifer again. I had to gather as many details as she could give me to hand over to the police. Mistakenly, I thought that they would automatically connect his death with the investigation around Jennifer. I was certain that Peter’s superior officers would want to talk to me about our interviews with Jennifer. I was right that the police would soon be looking for me, but not for the reasons that I thought.