by Gerald Wixey
‘Got a minute?’ My eyebrows stretched upwards and she said. ‘Wyn’s going to make a few arrangements for me.’
Shirley squeezed past me and she smelt divine – recently bathed I guessed. Dressed for work or seduction? Perhaps they were the same thing with Shirley. My pulse quickened, I thought it must be visible at my temples – moving like a tiny heart.
‘Don’t look so miserable.’
I hadn’t realised I was, Shirley sat down next to me and squeezed my arm as she did so.
‘You still here then?’
Shirley blinked, ‘Oh feel free to be so abrupt with me – how are you Shirley? You look well.’ She made an attempt to look agitated, scrambling through her handbag. Compressing her cigarette between her ruby lips. Sticking her chin out expecting me to light it. I passed my box of matches over, she sighed and lit up. Blew the smoke into my face and said. ‘You need straightening out.’
We stared, her mouth tight, smoke tumbling from her nostrils. Finally she said. ‘You’re in trouble, we’re all in trouble.’
I said nothing, perplexed by her sudden awareness about life’s dangers.
‘Why didn’t you tell me? About the fight, all three of you said nothing.’ She frowned and hammered her cigarette out, then pouted my way. ‘You don’t like me do you Jack?’
‘I know about you and Teddy.’
‘You know nothing, Wyn asked me to get close and you all cut me out of the loop. Why don’t you like me?’
Shirley pouted like a thirteen year old schoolgirl being denied a night out with her friends. I shook my head, ‘You get confused when a man doesn’t fall at your feet – I don’t dislike you. I always thought that you were just out to fleece Wyn that’s all.’
‘Cheeky bastard.’ Shirley snorted, all tobacco smoke and bile, ‘I’m just out of my depth, that’s all. You think that I’m the one playing one end against the other don’t you? All I ever wanted was Wyn, he’s the one directing me this way and then that.’
I couldn’t believe that one, but I couldn’t believe anything at the moment. I changed the subject, ‘Have you talked to Peggy?’
‘I’m getting out too.’ Shirley nodded, kept her head down as she spoke. ‘My flat was broken into, we all know who that would be. No damage, nothing taken. Just the feeling that someone was waiting in there for me. I’m off right now.’
My first impressions of Shirley floundered on the rocks of her despair, a tear sat in the corner of her left eye. A few weeks ago I would have thought that the tear stayed there until Shirley gave it instructions to tumble down the ridge of her cheekbone. Now I wasn’t so sure, as she stared down at the ash tray and slowly wrung her hands together. A couple of heaving sighs burst from her and my eyes slipped down to her blouse. Shirley had a careless nature when it came to buttoning blouses and I stared at her breasts rather how I imagined the gullible card players did when they should have been watching her hands.
Temptation without satisfaction and the same thought pulsed through me. I wanted to throw myself against her – despite being street wise and aware of more than most. I’d never even held a woman, let alone kissed. Even on VE Day I’d managed to avoid the thousands of rampant women on the loose. I wanted to get close, but always frightened off by their imagined sexuality and scared of being found out as inadequate.
‘I just wanted you to like me, you’re different.’ She wanted everyone to love her more like, talked like this was the most important thing in her life.
I struggled to make any sense. ‘I never said that I never liked you.’
‘It’s okay.’ But her frown said otherwise, ‘Lots of men don’t like me. You’re no different. Don’t like me, but want me just the same.’
‘What do you want me to say?’ Whenever I sat alongside her my spirits soared like a swallow in August. A small, erotic island of pleasure in my ocean of menace, dressed in black. Blouse, black with buttons undone that exposed breasts and a black bra. Loose trousers, patent black shoes. The startling whiteness of her hair sat on top of it all.
Shirley raised her right hand a few inches above the table, she smiled, ‘I’m going, soon.’
I felt the light, warming breeze from her breathe on my cheek. The club plunged into a freeze frame of silence. Punctuated by the high low call of an inadequate trumpeter as he struggled to reach the right notes. ‘I just wanted to say goodbye, thought you might be hiding from me.’
Much too quickly I said. ‘No. I like you too much for that to happen.’
There I said it, my jumbled outpourings of the last few minutes laid too waste.
‘Good job you said that, don’t forget, I can make you talk – I’m an expert.’ Her pink tongue exposed for a couple of seconds. Shirley laid the palm of her hand on the back of mine, just as Wyn hurried back in.
‘Taxi’s out the back, trains off in half an hour. It’s deserted out there.’
I walked out the back with them and we walked out into a persistent drizzle, the pavement shining, dark grey roof tiles glistening away. My own private weather system that matched my mood precisely. Her hand slipped through and linked onto my arm. Shirley looked up at me and smiled. The final dislocation from my world that had just spun away from its orbit like a clay pigeon soaring briefly. Either to be blown apart by a shotgun, or smash itself to pieces in free-fall on its short journey back to earth.
‘Perhaps I just like you Jack.’
‘You sleep with everyone you like?’
Shirley shrugged.
Maybe!
Shirley glanced quickly up at me, a single tear just below her right eye. Her mascara fanned out like an ink spot on an incline. She laughed, on the edge of tears and the laugh would impress no one. Shirley pulled her compact out and looked at the mirror. Dabbed her handkerchief under the eye and swore.
‘Why did you cut me out of the loop?’
I never had the chance to tell her as Wyn slipped alongside did what I wanted to do and slipped his arm around her. They gazed into each other’s eyes and then kissed. Long and slow, heads moving and twisting away. I whispered goodbye and walked back into the club in a daze. I didn’t like the feeling of dependency Shirley had induced in me. She had me hooked quicker than nicotine adds another addictive soul to its list. Enslavement seemed to go hand in hand with Shirley. She left with an organised escape route planned, rather like a bomber pilot makes his unsafe way through occupied Belgium.
Where to?
Teddy - 1945
Two timing fucking whore.
The same bile in his throat.
Two timing whore.
Twisting, back-stabbing bunch.
The smart money was on that little queer of a reporter organising this.
Smart money?
He would never have another bet as long as he lived.
They made him look a mug. All that money.
Yeh, put it all on my boy.
No, not to win. But win in the sixth. Put your houses on it.
Teddy’s fixed it.
What a mug.
He stared at the envelope. The writing was hers, it smelt good too. What else would you expect with Shirley? She always took care of how she smelt, not like some of the other drippers he’d fucked. He led on the bed and started to weep. What a mug and now a Dear John letter.
He ripped it open and smelt the letter. The same expensive perfume she always dabbed on the gusset of her knickers, no doubt about that.
My dear, darling Teddy, I love you so much and I always will. I have to go away, I almost miscarried after the fight. They betrayed us, they made a fortune and cut me out completely. I’m in an infirmary and likely to be here…
12
Jack - 1980
Don came into the office and sat on his wife’s chair. He stared around the office, smiling. His smiling worried me and interrupted Stuart’s frantic burst of energy. Stuart had the bit between his teeth for some strange reason. Phone calls, lists of names, pencil behind one ear. He glanced in Don’s direction, groaned a
nd threw his pencil down onto his desk where it bounced up and landed in Don’s lap.
‘I’ve got work to do. What do you want now?’
The equanimity balance had changed ownership this morning it seemed. Don just smiled at Stuart, picked the pencil up and passed it back. The unprovoked missile attack ignored as he leaned towards me. Thick lips pulled back into his wolf’s smile, his eyes creased – he was about to spring something. I watched him, cold as a bandleader staring at a pianist unable to hit the right notes. He dragged his notebook out, stabbed his pencil into the text a couple of times. Information about to impart and he savoured it. A piece of sirloin steak to chew on, juicy, tasty too.
He chewed some more, before finally saying. ‘Did you know Bernard Schwartz – years ago? At the end of the war?’
My head spun, I went for a cigarette, anything to give me time. I frowned at the empty packet, not believing my own eyes. Poking around inside it with my finger to confirm this. It wouldn’t register within the dim recesses of my brain that I’d smoked them all. Nothing registered, except the grinning buffoon sat opposite. Count to one hundred, sigh and give him an assessment worthy of a university lecturer. I needed a few moments consideration, time to halt the strolling chickens looking for their roost.
‘You’re mistaken I feel.’
There… that was hardly worth the wait.
Don sighed.
Stuart stood up, ‘I bet Carol wouldn’t like the way you sourced that information.’ The policeman frowned, Stuart winked my as he said, ‘I’ll say it slower for you – it’s not only information Shirley’s giving you is it?’
Don stood and went through to the back room, looked both ways and then turned back to us. He wagged his finger at us, his lips moved, but he said nothing.
I said, ‘You’re ok, Carol’s out running some errands.’
I breathed easier, Stuart had stalled the attack at the first hurdle. His brain worked better than mine. Not a fan of blackmail, however, I did feel relieved at the immediate benefit of its slashing interjection.
Don stared at Stuart and finally managed to synchronise his vocal chords with the brain as he hissed, ‘You threatening me?’
The fulcrum of equanimity had shifted once more, Stuart nudged it farther off-centre. ‘I’ve heard the parents of that dead girl want tests done to see who the father is.’
‘You’re threatening me?’ A raise of the eyebrows, a slight cant of the head and an eloquent silence from Stuart suggested he was doing just that. Don’s voice raised an octave. ‘I can cause you so much trouble boy…’
Stuart smiled and eventually replied with the voice of reason, ‘I’d get back to the station if I were you.’ Stuart looked at his watch, brought his steady gaze back into Don’s angry red face. ‘Someone you’re desperate to talk to is just walking into the police station right now.’
Don frowned.
Who?
The penny must have dropped, ‘That paddy bastard.’ Don turned and slammed the door behind him.
Stuart smiled his I’m a clever boy smile and said, ‘Did you know Bernard Schwartz?’
I ignored his question and sent one back his way, ‘What’s going on?’
‘Patrick rang, not just me. Tommy and my old man. We all said the same.’ He raised his eyebrows, then wagged his finger at me, ‘We had a long chat. He got a ferry, then a train, I picked him up from Swindon late last night.’ Stuart sat down and drummed the table with his fingers. ‘I hope I did the right thing, Wyn’s getting him some legal advice, what do you think?’
Talk about still waters running deep, I felt a touch of irritation that this had been concocted without my involvement.
I sighed, ‘It was the right thing to do.’
‘Anyway, what about you and Bernard Schwartz?’
‘He was a minor tearaway that I came across – when I worked for the Mirror. The police wanted him for a string of offences.’ That’s all I gave him, no mention of his real name, the arson, assault, extortion and murder.
Fortunately Carol walked back in, closed the door and shook her raincoat a couple of times and hung it on the coat stand. She interpreted our hiatus as walking in on an argument. Raised her eyebrows at the silence and walked through into the back office. Perhaps her entrance distracted him, but Stuart never asked me how Shirley was involved in all of this. He took his silence and his glance back to the list and he began to scratch away with his pencil. He picked the phone up, listening to one sided phone conversations usually amused me.
Not this one however.
‘Mrs Schwartz? Yes hello, Inspector Wicks, yes, yes… from the police station. We need to ask a few more questions, yes I know my colleagues have been in touch, but there’s a couple of things we need to go over again. A couple of hours. Where’s best for you? Sonning, the Bull Inn, lovely, see you then.’
Mrs Schwartz, Inspector Wicks?
‘What have you just done?’ I stared and all that came back my way was a broad grin. Stuart placed the phone back in the cradle and said. ‘I’ve arranged to meet the bereaved mother. Don’t look like that, I’ve got a mate to keep out of prison.’
‘C’mon Jack.’ Carol came back through, ‘Things to find out. Innocent man to clear.’ Carol smiled, ‘A chance for a pair of investigative journalists.’
‘Hmm.’ I glanced back at Stuart, ‘Dare I ask what premise we’re using for this interview?’
He shook his head, wagged his finger and said, ‘You won’t like it, better you don’t know I think.’ Stuart nodded at Carol, ‘And you can keep shut as well. Not a word to your old man.’
Well he never needed to tell her that, I didn’t think they were saying anything to each other anymore.
*****
We never said much on the journey, I asked him if I should tell Mably about Bernard Schwartz. He didn’t think so, just the answer you’d expect from someone with a family background like his.
‘Sleeping dogs. I just want some names for Patrick’s defence.’
‘I thought you said he wasn’t involved, other than a shoulder to cry on?’
‘He wasn’t, but no one will believe him. It’s just some insurance, that’s all.’
We spent the next forty minutes in silence. Driving through drizzle and the heavy traffic around Reading, finally pulling up in the pub’s car park. It was exactly what you’d expect in an affluent village. A thatched pub close to the river. Not much natural light inside the bar, unctuous landlord, bowing and asking us if we were eating today.
No actually, two pints and mind your own business I think.
Mrs Schwartz sat in the corner, the huge fireplace to the left, logs smoking like a damp allotment fire. Harry would have started them a good hour earlier. We took our flat beer over and joined her. Stuart did the talking, as you’d expect from someone just elevated to a detective inspector. Me, just a lowly detective. What a pair, me an elderly, rather frail detective to his very young inspector.
He flashed something across at her, back in his pocket within the blink of an eye, his cash point card probably. Not that she would have noticed, around her eyes the skin puffy, the eyes themselves? Bloodshot, tranquillisers and too much alcohol? Masking the eyes with heavy make-up merely drew attention to them. Her bright red lips suggested an unsteady hand, or a lurid sense of what she thought looked good. Her bra miraculously created cleavage out of molehills, certainly enough there to catch Stuart’s eye as he offered her his hand.
‘Mrs Schwartz.’
‘Connie.’ Her heavy eyes went to ground, the safest place these days. Well spoken, her voice middle class and in direct opposition to the makeup, bracelets, necklace and rings that adorned most of her exposed flesh. She talked to the flagstoned floor, ‘I don’t know why you’re here. What do you hope to achieve?’ A question, but no hostility. In fact, just the opposite, Valium had produced nothing other than equanimity in her voice. Was there a degree of curiosity in amongst the tranquilliser and alcohol induced flatness?
I shook
my head as the inspector opened his notebook and licked his pencil. All wasted as she never glanced his way once.
‘We have to make more enquiries about Celia’s…’ Stuart looked my way, lost already. This was a bad idea,
‘Sexual partners.’ Finally tumbled from his lips. ‘She had been sexually active for a couple of years.’
She sat back and stared at him, ‘Was there a question in there somewhere? What do you want me to say?’
Silence.
I leaned forward, ‘Celia possibly had at least three lovers – all over thirty. Maybe the man who never turned up at the coroners. One of her teachers and someone that you knew. We need to talk to them, the teachers gone missing. You can help us contact one of them that’s all.’
She sipped the white wine, and then said softly. ‘It’s any parent’s fear that their daughter may be murdered, beaten up or raped. But this… we never got on towards the end either. Forever competing with each other, usual mother daughter stuff.’ She spoke as if on auto pilot, the words tumbled out and yet her mind appeared elsewhere. A safe place maybe, more likely other things on her mind. ‘Do either of you smoke?’
I pushed my packet her way, lit her cigarette and she pulled the tobacco smoke down into her lungs. Then a cough before she spoke again, ‘I’d stopped for a couple of months, bad time to try and stop eh?’ She picked my cigarette packet up and found something fascinating to read. Minutes later she eventually said, ‘A confident child, I don’t know what else I can tell you.’
‘The address of your friend.’
‘What good will that do?’ Then she frowned, realisation that we knew. She stubbed her cigarette our and steadied herself. ‘Celia started having sex before her periods started. She could have been pregnant and never known about it for the best part of a year. She got through that somehow. We didn’t know she was pregnant.’