by GJ Minett
The message has interrupted his counting but he thinks it must be getting on for two minutes now. Tells himself it doesn’t matter if he’s a few seconds out either way. He doesn’t think they meant two minutes exactly. He gets out of the car and puts his hood up. There’s a fairly stiff breeze sweeping across the allotments and, because he’s walking into it, the hood is blown back down onto his shoulders again before he’s walked five paces. He has to hold it in place with one hand flat on top of his head.
He walks over to the fence and looks back along the road to see where Holloway and his partner went. Because he’s looking at the gate, he doesn’t see them straightaway but they’re actually bending over the open door of another police car which has pulled into the parking space they ignored just now. Two men get out of the car, followed by a third figure emerging from the back.
It’s Kitchener.
Owen can’t see his features very clearly from here, especially as the wind is making him blink rapidly to keep the tears at bay, but the atmosphere seems pretty relaxed. He hears a peal of laughter and one of the policemen pats Kitchener on the shoulder. Then they lock the car and head over to the gate. Kitchener rummages in his pocket and after a few seconds they all pass through with him leading the way.
They haven’t actually found the bat yet, he thinks to himself. If they had, there wouldn’t be any point in all this and Kitchener certainly wouldn’t appear so relaxed. They’re fishing. He assumes they’ve only just found out about the shed somehow and are hoping they’ll find something in there. And they will. Kitchener’s leading them to it without a care in the world. Owen remembers a sleepy, sunny afternoon, when he and Willie were both sitting in the garden, watching a pigeon pecking away at grass seeds their dad had sown earlier that morning. It was working its way in a straight line across from one side of the lawn to the other, totally unaware that the neighbour’s cat was crouching in the bushes, no more than ten feet away. Nine. Eight. Seven. Lost in its own little world although the two boys could see it all unfolding in glorious slow motion right in front of them.
This was just like that. The same sense of inevitability. The same pounding in his temples. Willie had clapped his hands just as the cat was ready to pounce and the pigeon had flown off, leaving the cat clawing at thin air. No one’s going to be doing the same for Kitchener.
Owen walks briskly alongside the fence until he’s a little closer to the action, hidden from view by a tall hedge from behind which he can peep occasionally and keep track of what’s happening. From where he’s now standing he can see quite clearly the shed which Kitchener was staining just yesterday morning. He’s expecting them to come into view at any minute so he steps out for a moment to identify exactly where they are. And for some reason he can’t actually see them. There’s the white plastic chair and the wheelbarrow and the greenhouse with the broken panes of glass. He tracks back from there, follows the path with his eyes all the way back to the gate but there’s no one walking along it as far as he can tell. Quickly, he scoots back to the other side of the hedge in case the different angle offers a better view but it doesn’t seem to make any difference. Somehow they’ve managed to vanish into thin air and there’s a momentary feeling of panic that is only partly offset when he finally picks out a group of people over the far side of the allotment, gathered round another shed which seems to have been painted the same colour. Someone, presumably Kitchener although it’s hard to be sure from this distance, has stepped forward and is fiddling with the door. It looks like he’s unlocking it while the others stand back and watch.
Wrong door.
Wrong shed.
They’re not even in the right part of the allotment.
Stupid!
His first instinct is to call out and tell them. He has no idea how Kitchener has managed to get a key to a different shed altogether but it’s pretty clear what he’s up to. He’s trying to mislead them, keep them away from the one where the bat is tucked away, waiting to be found. And there’s something about that which strikes him as odd but it’s gone almost before it’s occurred to him because there are more important things to worry about here. Someone needs to let them know what he’s up to.
But he can’t yell out to them. They couldn’t have been any clearer – he’s not meant to be here. He can stand there and watch but he’s not allowed to interfere in any way. Apart from anything else, this could all be part of the trap they’ve set for Kitchener. Maybe they know which shed is the right one and the fact that he has led them to the wrong one is playing right into their hands. If he blunders in, he might wreck everything. Maybe it’s best if he does as they’ve asked for now and stays out of it. As far as he can tell, waiting a few minutes isn’t going to make a lot of difference.
So he stays where he is and watches as Kitchener steps back and two of the figures go inside the shed. There’s a wait of about three to four minutes, during which Kitchener saunters casually up and down, smoking a cigarette as if he hasn’t a care in the world. Then they come back out again. Empty-handed. Well there’s a surprise. There’s a brief discussion, then all of a sudden everyone’s shaking hands and they start to make their way back towards the gate. Owen decides it’s time he returned to the car because it won’t be long before they’re on the street again and he can’t afford to be seen.
When he gets back to the car he clambers into the rear seat and waits for them, tapping his foot impatiently. It’s just as well he did decide to come in the end. If he hadn’t, he’d have missed all this and Kitchener would have got away with it. As it is they’re going to look pretty stupid when he tells them where they should really be looking. He thinks he might just enjoy the next few minutes.
Two minutes later he sees them come round the corner, walking slowly, deep in discussion. Neither of them looks very pleased with the way things have turned out. They’re not arguing as such but Holloway certainly isn’t smiling now and it looks as if he might be taking his frustration out on his partner, who looks more miserable than ever. Owen says nothing as they get into the car. Instead he watches and waits as they decide how best to break the news to him.
It’s Holloway who eventually speaks first.
‘We have . . . a bit of a situation,’ he says.
‘What sort of a situation?’
They both look at each other, then Holloway sighs.
‘I’m afraid we’ve brought you out here for nothing,’ he says. ‘We didn’t find what we were expecting. It was worth a go but –’
‘Maybe you ought to try looking in his shed,’ says Owen.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘I said, you should look in his shed.’
Misery Guts shakes his head and tuts as if to suggest that he doesn’t like being told how to do his job. His apology seems to have had a very short shelf-life.
‘I thought you were watching. That’s what we’ve been doing for the past ten minutes.’
Owen wishes he would turn round to face him so that he can look him in the eye. But you can’t have everything, he thinks to himself.
‘That’s not his shed,’ he says.
There’s a sigh from Holloway and a snort from his partner.
‘With all due respect –’
‘It’s not his shed,’ he insists. ‘Either that or he’s got more than one. His is on a different path. You weren’t even in the right part of the allotment.’
And this gets their attention all right. They’re cautious at first, handling this new piece of information like an unopened Christmas present that they’re sure is going to disappoint. They still think he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Want to know how he can be so sure. So he tells them about how he and Abi came here yesterday morning to return Kitchener’s house keys. He knows exactly which shed it was. He can take them to it and they’ll be able to see for themselves that it’s been freshly painted. Still probably a bit sticky to the touch even now.
And that changes things. Now they think they might be onto something, ev
erything’s happening at a hundred miles an hour. Holloway swears and grabs his mobile. He’s talking to someone in the other car, asking where they are now and when he gets his reply he tells them to drive around for a few minutes and then bring Kitchener back.
‘If he wants to know why, tell him there’s something else we need to check with him. In fact, tell him what you like – just bring him back and make sure you keep him in the car until you hear from me. Is that clear?’
While Holloway’s barking out the orders, his partner gets out of the car and signals to Owen to do the same. They wait till he’s ended the call, then the three of them head off towards the gate again. It’s locked but Owen swings himself up and over in one easy movement as he did just last night. Holloway mutters to himself and needs a helping hand from his partner but somehow they scramble over and Owen takes the lead, striding out ahead along the path in the opposite direction from the one he’d watched them take a few minutes earlier. He looks back from time to time and waves them on. Before long the left-hand turn brings them to a row of sheds with the freshly painted green one standing out from the others.
Owen comes to a halt in front of it.
‘This is his,’ he says.
‘You sure?’
‘Yes.’ He presses his finger against the door and there’s no residue which comes away, but it’s still vaguely sticky and besides – any fool can see it’s just been painted. He invites them both to check for themselves, then stands back as Holloway tries the door. It’s locked as well.
‘You need to be sure about this,’ he says. ‘If you’re wrong –’
‘I’m not wrong. This is the shed he was painting yesterday.’
Holloway thinks for a moment, then turns to his partner.
‘Get him over here,’ he says. ‘We need the key.’
‘No need,’ says Owen. He’s enjoying himself now, taking the lead and practically doing all their work for them. He steps across to the empty flowerpots and manages to pick out the right pile first time. Removes the top two, tips up the third and the key drops to the ground. He stoops to pick it up and hands it to Holloway who looks amazed.
‘How did you know it was there?’ he asks.
‘He unlocked it yesterday while we were here,’ he says and they both nod to each other, pulling on gloves as they step inside. Holloway asks him to wait outside while they search and that’s fine by him. He doesn’t need to be in there to know what will happen next. He’s happy to wait patiently while they rummage around and it’s not long anyway before they finally emerge. They’re both wearing gloves and Misery Guts looks almost happy for once. He’s the one holding the baseball bat as carefully as possible in case there are any prints or traces that need to be protected. Which there won’t be. Not after all the treatments he’s given it.
‘What’s that?’ he says, because he thinks it’s a perfectly natural thing to be asking under the circumstances. They don’t reply immediately because they’re concentrating on what they’re doing. Holloway removes a long, thin protective sleeve from his coat pocket and they slip the bat inside it. It’s exactly the right size which is not so surprising – they knew going in what they were hoping to find.
‘We’re rather hoping it might be the murder weapon,’ says Holloway, looking closely at the bat through its protective sheath. Misery Guts stoops to take a better look.
‘Not sure we’re going to get anything off this,’ he says. ‘Looks like someone’s done a real number on it. Practically rebuilt the thing by the looks of it. And there’s enough oil on it for a stir-fry.’
‘It’s where we’ve found it that matters,’ says Holloway. ‘Anything else is just a bonus.’
He hands the bat to his partner again and takes his mobile out of his pocket. Gives directions to whoever’s on the other end of the line and says they can bring Kitchener in now. They’re ready for him. Owen wants to play as active a role as possible in proceedings so he asks if they want him to go back to the gate to show them the way but Holloway says no – best if he stays here. Then he stands with his arms folded, thumb and forefinger stroking his chin, deep in thought. His partner is still looking closely at the bat so there’s no conversation for a minute or so while they wait for the others to join them.
‘So what happens now?’ Owen asks, wishing there was something he could be doing instead of just standing there. He enjoyed taking the lead just now and he’s not ready to step away from the spotlight just yet if he can help it. There must be something he can do to smooth the way for them. He’s not entirely sure they’ll get there without a few nudges from him.
Holloway looks for a moment as if he hasn’t heard the question. Then he snaps out of his trance and uses one of the upturned flower pots to scrape the mud from the sole of his shoes.
‘What happens next?’ he says. ‘Well, we’ve got the bat. We’ll send it off to the lab in case there’s anything there they can salvage. Doesn’t look good but you never know. And in the meantime we do our best to solve a rather interesting little puzzle.’
‘Which one?’
‘Well, we need to work out exactly how the bat managed to end up in this particular shed of all places. Because that . . . that’s a good one.’
A good one? Owen doesn’t understand this. Surely it’s obvious how it got there. He’s always thought Holloway was an experienced officer, more perceptive than the others he’s had to deal with. But if he can’t see the truth when it’s staring him in the face, maybe he’s misjudged him. It’s Kitchener’s shed. Who else does he think put the bat there? He’s about to take it up with him but Misery Guts says, ‘Hey up’, and sure enough here come two of Holloway’s colleagues, walking either side of Kitchener. He looks slightly less cocky than a few minutes ago. Not worried maybe, but certainly more serious about things.
He’s wearing a thin jacket over a collarless shirt, and if he’s not feeling the cold at all that would be a big surprise. The wind is bitter and there’s less meat on him than a whippet. He comes over to join Holloway while his two escorts position themselves either side of the group, blocking the path.
Kitchener barely even looks at Owen, which is a bit of a disappointment. He’s been hoping for some sort of reaction, like, ‘What’s he doing here?’ He’d like to see surprise. Maybe even a trace of alarm. And that’s when he makes the connection, realises what it was that was nudging away at him earlier, asking for a few seconds of his time. He’d pushed it to the back of his mind because there were so many other things competing for space and his senses were buzzing. But it comes back now and he knows it’s the other shed that’s bothering him: not the fact that Kitchener has got access to it cos there could be any number of explanations for that, but it does strike Owen as a bit odd that Kitchener seemed to be making a point of leading the police away from the one he was painting yesterday. Why would he do that? He didn’t know the bat was in there. If he’s not looking even vaguely alarmed at the moment, it’s hardly surprising because as far as he’s aware there’s nothing for him to be alarmed about. It shouldn’t have mattered which shed he took them to. Owen has to remind himself that Kitchener isn’t actually guilty of anything other than being a thoroughly nasty piece of work who deserves whatever comes his way. That being the case, his behaviour in misleading the police like that seems more than a bit odd.
As it is, he looks more irritated than anxious. He wants to know what’s going on, why has he been dragged out here for a second time? Maybe if someone would explain what it is they’re so anxious to find . . .
‘That won’t be necessary, Mr Kitchener,’ says Holloway. ‘We’ve found what we were looking for.’
He nods in his partner’s direction and Misery Guts holds up the sleeve containing the baseball bat. Kitchener peers at it without taking a step towards it.
‘Looks like a bat,’ he says.
‘It is,’ says Holloway, hands thrust deep in the pockets of his overcoat. The wind must be pushing the air temperature down below zero. Owen te
nds not to feel the cold as a rule but even he’s got his hood up and finds himself wishing they could have this conversation somewhere other than out in the open. He edges closer to the shed in the hope it might offer a bit of protection.
‘Mr Kitchener,’ Holloway continues. ‘Just now you took us to a different part of the allotments. Why was that?’
‘You said you wanted to look in my shed.’
‘And the one you showed us . . . let’s be quite clear. You’re saying that’s your shed?’
‘Yes.’
‘But Mr Hall here,’ he says, turning to invite him into the exchange, ‘he’s adamant that he and Mrs Green came here yesterday to return your house keys.’
Kitchener gives him just the briefest of glances then turns back to face Holloway. He nods.
‘That’s right. They did.’
‘And he says you were staining this shed here.’
‘I was.’
‘But you didn’t mention this shed to us just now, did you?’
He shrugs his shoulders.
‘Why would I? It’s not mine.’
Holloway raises one eyebrow.
‘It’s not?’
‘No. It belongs to a friend of my father.’
‘So why were you painting it?’
‘A favour. He’s a busy guy. Doesn’t have a lot of free time so he doesn’t get down here all that often. He knew I’d done a good job on ours so he asked if I’d do the same for his if he slipped me a few notes. I was happy to help him out.’
‘But even though it’s not your shed, you do have access to it?’