by Paul Kelly
Very quickly Janine Mercer returned to the school and within a few minutes she reappeared with the promised list, which she happily passed to William, but at first he was reluctant to take it. ... He hesitated but Janine insisted.
“You might find it interesting to know the girls you went to school with, William and maybe if you go though the names, one of them might come up that could be a very good friend ... or more,” said Janine as she left William with a smile to return to her classroom. William studied the list dispassionately. There would never be a name there that would compare to Maya’s, but as he had a closer look at the list, Lisa Frankland’s name screamed at him from the top of the two pages that Janine had given him and he wasn’t at all pleased about that.
“Thank you ... Janine ... m ... m ... m ...may I call you …J ... J ... Janine?” William called after Janine and she waved back at him.
“Of course ... everyone does. The days of titles are out now William. Be good and look after yourself. Perhaps we might see you again soon ... If ever you’re passing St. Michael’s”
She waved William goodbye again and he walked away slowly, thinking that not everything or everybody who came out of St. Michael’s were odious., however the names that were on that list that Janine Mercer had given him were not all what he would have described as friends ... not by a long shot.
It was Fiona who broke the silence as William sat thinking about his new list and what he should do about it.
“William, I have a day off tomorrow. Do you fancy going for a drive somewhere and maybe take some driving lessons. I’d be happy to teach you,” she said and William looked up, startled. He wasn’t aware that Fiona was in the room.
“No sorry Fiona,” he replied, “Can’t do that. I’m working tomorrow and besides, I’d be a hard one to teach. You should know that by now.”
Fiona screwed her face up and poked her tongue out at the mirror.
“But you don’t work all day, do you . . . and besides, I can accommodate anytime, having the whole day to myself.” Fiona called out and William put his list into his pocket.
“No …not tomorrow Fiona …sorry but, I have several things I have to do and tomorrow would the best day for me to start,” he said with a grin.
Chapter Thirty
“MARTHA PEABODY,” William spoke the name aloud. “That one was a right bitch and she should get her desserts. I always believe in looking after people who have ’looked after’ little ole me.”
William played with the page in his notes from the school and made a note of the telephone number.
“Is that Mrs. Peabody?”
“Yes, it is. Who is that and what do you want?”
William was surprised at the blunt way the lady spoke.
“I wanted to talk to your daughter, Mrs. Peabody ... I am an old friend of Martha’s. We went to school together.” he said, but no sooner had he completed his sentence than there was a burst of tears on the other end of the line before the telephone was cut off. William tried again, but the line was engaged. He thought of an alternative idea as he telephoned St. Michael’s to speak to Janine Mercer
“Hello Miss Mercer ... Janine ... It’s William Bright here. I … h … h …hope you are alright.”
“Yes, I’m fine, William. What can I do for you?”
“W ...w ...w ...w ...well, I know you’ll think I’m … v ... v ... v ... very forward, but I thought I would phone one of …th ... th ... those girls on the l ... l ... list you gave me, but I couldn’t understand …wh ... wh ... what ... went wrong as all I got was someone …c ... c ... crying on the phone.”
As he was talking a van passed him in the street, where the sign on the outside of the van read ‘Save a life today‘ ‘Please give Blood’,
“That’s very strange, William,” replied Janine Mercer . . . “who was this girl? I think you must have broken her heart over the phone and that’s why she was crying ... You Casanova.”
William explained that it was Martha Peabody that he had tried to contact and he had tried several times only to find the telephone engaged after the flood of tears when he first tried. There was a pause before Janine Mercer spoke again.
“William … William I am sorry, I should have taken Martha’s name off that list. Regretfully, Martha died as the result of an awful road accident, about three weeks ago. I am sorry William. I really am.”
William didn’t know whether to smile or scowl when he heard that news, but he thanked Janine before he put the telephone down.
“Justice will out and whatever goes around comes around,” he cried as he scanned the list for his next victim.
“Good afternoon. May I speak to Heather Ramsay please?
“Yes, this is Heather . . . Who’s that?”
William coughed lightly wondering what next to say as he cleared his throat.
He knew he would have to speak very slowly and deliberately for this one ... There was no such thing as a stutter as far as Heather Ramsay was concerned, and he knew that the name he was about to use ... the pseudonym would send her heart over the moon, but as he was ruminating, a cat squealed somewhere outside and he clamped his hand across the mouthpiece.
“Bloody pest,” he said ... “No, No, not you Heather. I don’t think you will remember me. My name is Schofield …Brian Schofield ... We went to school together and I was wondering if you’d like to escort me to a dance ... say tomorrow evening.”
William thought he could hear a little squeal of delight as he hunched his shoulders and grinned into the phone, but a dustbin lid rolled out near the telephone box and settle itself on the pavement outside with a bang.
“Brian Schofield ... Brian Schofield who was in my class at fifth form?” Heather asked and then she gave another little squeal. “Oh! Brian I’d love to come. Did you say tomorrow evening or was it tonight?”
“Tomorrow, if you’re free around 7.0 pm. if that’s O.K?”
“Yes, yes, Brian ... Oh! I was washing my hair tomorrow evening, but I can do that tonight. Yes, that will be fine Brian. I look forwards to seeing you again. Bye Brian, Bye ... Yes, yes, I know the place. I know it well…”
William replaced his phone into its cradle and smiled wickedly. Brian Schofield was every girl’s heart throb when they were at St. Michael’s and he felt sure that the less than plain ... if not quite obviously ugly, Heather Ramsay would respond positively, but he would have to be careful to keep his coat collar turned up around his neck when he met her ... and maybe wear a soft hat. That’s what the handsome Brian would have worn for such a date. William felt sure of that.
Heather turned up twenty minutes early and William could see her standing at the arranged spot with the street light showing her ugly features once more and he wondered how she had the bloody cheek to call him plain ... The nearby canal glistened in the moonlight as it splashed it’s way merrily into the river.
“Psst ... Psst ... Over here,” he called out in the dark and Heather Ramsay fluttered her eyelids.
“Brian,” she called out as William approached and he grinned, wondering what she would do if he showed his face, but he knew that wasn’t necessary. What he had to do didn’t require that she should see his face. She would only have to feel his hands . . .
“Aaahhh ... aaahhh” she croaked before she fell and William picked up her body and threw it into the canal, kicking a shoe after her that had fallen from her foot.
***
It was nearly two weeks after … that an unidentified body was dragged from the river and again, police suspected foul play, although there was sign of any sexual motive as the body was fully clothed . . .
“What a pity,” sneered William as he played another of Chopin’s pieces on his violin ... and his hand was as steady as a rock . . .
Chapter Thirty-One
“You look very sad this evening,
William, is there anything I can do for you,” asked Fiona, but William could only shake his head. His efforts to try to trace another of his school friends had proved to be abortive. “I think you must still be grieving for Maya, but surely you must have come to terms with your loss after all this time. You cannot go on through your life grieving forever. Please let me help you,” she went on, but William would only shake his head and play a solemn tune on the violin. The music seemed to portray his mood as far as Fiona was concerned as she tried in several ways to bring him out of himself.
“Is there anything I can do for you, that mother did ... I don’t mean anything very personal, you understand, but well ... perhaps if you play me some of the music that you played to her ... or something like that . . . Might that help, do you think?”
William stopped playing his violin and looked into Fiona’s eyes.
“If there was something you could do for me in that way, I would be even sadder than I am now,” he said. “I had a relationship with your mother ... with Maya that I will never ever have again. Please understand.”
Fiona was rather annoyed at his response. She knew she could never replace Maya in William’s estimation and in one way she was consoled to think that she was not alone in that feeling since he told her that no-one would ever take Maya’s place ... nevertheless her annoyance persisted as she turned on him with quite a sarcastic and stupid remark.
“No-one will ever call you Bollocky-Boy, again, I suppose,” she snapped and William put his violin down gently on the settee where he was sitting.
“No, I don’t suppose anyone else ever will,” he said, “Although Maya always regarded my testicles as my best feature. Did you know that?” he replied in equal sarcastic mood. Fiona blushed, but she couldn’t control her laughter.
“Don’t you have any shame, William Bright?” she asked and it was his turn to laugh.
“It wasn’t all one sided,” he said, “I used to call Maya names too ... and she liked it.”
“Did she now ... well what makes me think she wouldn’t, I wonder?”
“Yes I called her dimple-bum and rose-tit,” said William and Fiona laughed and blushed all the more.
“Dimple-bum ... well, I suppose I could understand that . . . at a push ... but rose-tit ... no, I don’t get that one. Was it because her breasts were rosy?” she asked and William smiled.
“Well, no it wasn’t because of that although her breasts were rosy. No, It all started when one Valentine’s day, I stuffed her bra with white rose petals ... She liked that.”
Fiona looked to the ceiling when William said that. She didn’t know whether to laugh because his remark was so stupidly funny or to cry because she thought it was totally romantic.
“I think you were both a couple of clowns in your antics together. That’s what I think,” Fiona replied, “and Maya was worse than you because at her age she should have known better,” she added and strolled off into the kitchen to prepare supper, but William followed her as she went.
“Haven’t you ever talked like that to anyone, Fiona?” he asked and she told him to mind his own business. “But I’m serious,” he went on. “It’s a beautiful language when you’re in love,” he added, but Fiona could never imagine anyone stuffing her bra with rose petals nor checking to see if she had dimples on her bum.
“I don’t think along those lines,” she said abruptly, hoping he would change the subject, but William was persistent.
“What would you say was my best feature, Fiona?” he asked, with a sly grin on his face and she was taken by surprise at his question. It was something she hadn’t thought about ... or had she. She thought for a few moments and turned to face him
“I think ... I think you have nice eyes,” she said and he smiled.
“But you don’t think I’m a Bollocky-Boy, do you?”
Fiona spun round to face the wall, away from his gaze and her expression changed in an instant when William said that to her.
“What a thing to ask me. How on earth would I ever be able to answer that?” she demanded and William laughed.
“Would you like to see them?” he whispered, as he leaned over her shoulder and Fiona’s eyes popped out of her head.
“No I wouldn’t ... I don’t go in for such luxuries,” she explained and William laughed again.
“Not even just a little peep?” he asked and she blushed all the more.
“No ... Not even that,” she said, “I think we should have supper now or it’ll get cold.”
William strolled back into the lounge and started to play his violin again with the ‘Romance’ by Dvorak, but he had plans for later on that evening when he had a few telephone calls to make.
***
“Good evening. I would like to speak to John Barras please.”
“Yes … Who’s speaking please?”
William held his breath for a few moments when the female on the other end of the line asked him that question. He took a deep breath, which always helped when he was afraid he might stutter, but a wicked thought came to his mind before he spoke again.
“My name is Broomfield ... James Broomfield,” he said with a grin on his face as he waited to hear what Mr. Abbot would make of that.
“Hi there,” came the response. “Can I help you? I’m John Barras.”
“Good evening Mr. Barras. You don’t know me but I understand you know my wife, Mrs. Maya Broomfield?”
There was a long silence before John Barras spoke again.
“We have met a few times, Mr. Broomfield,” said Barras in a low voice . . . “What can I do for you?”
William noted, how particularly Barras had lowered the tone of his voice and he gathered he didn’t want anyone else at his residence to know who he was speaking to and certainly not what he was speaking about.
“I think we should meet, Mr. Barras ... or may I call you John?”
Again there was silence.
“Yes ... yes that might be possible,” said the voice again, followed by an even quieter response “but you realize I have to be very discreet. I have a wife to think of. You understand that, don’t you Mr. Broomfield?”
“Certainly and I respect your discretion. I have to be likewise, you understand that too, don’t you Mr. Barras ... John?”
William met John Barras outside the Hare and Hound public House in Carlos Street the following evening at nine o’clock.
“I don’t know what to say, Mr. Broomfield. It is obvious you must know about my relationship with your wife, but honestly, I didn’t think she was married.”
William raised his eyebrows.
“You are married too Mr. Barras ... Does that make such a difference? I wouldn’t have thought so. After all we are both men of the world and we know when the urge comes along, there is little we can do to control it ... especially if there is some outlet for these urges just waiting to be had.”
John Barras was stunned at the understanding of his companion as he smiled and put his hand out to shake William’s.
“She’s a wonderful woman, your wife, Mr. Broomfield and I think you are a very exceptional and understanding husband. Thank you.” said John Barras as William took a step nearer and fumbled around in his pocket for a second.
“No … thank you,” he said and the smile slowly went from John Barras’s face as he fell to the ground.
***
Two policemen strolled past William about ten minutes after he had done the deed,but neither of them took any notice of him as they passed and William smiled softly to himself.
Typical ... he thought ...when you want one, you can never find one and when you don’t, two come along at once ... Hope they don’t notice anything strange until I get home ... but at that moment a crowd of schoolgirls came around the corner, laughing their heads off and William scowled as he
touched his Stanley knife in anger.
***
It was stale news for William when he heard the following morning on the T.V. that the serial killer had struck again, with the same pattern as he had used before ... always with a sharp instrument to the jugular and there were no witnesses. It seemed that the police were baffled and William was delighted.
Chapter Thirty-Two
“Hello ... Is that Sarah Medcraft?”
“Who is that? Tell me your name.”
Sarah Medcraft could hear nothing on the line but deep breathing.
“Good afternoon. May I speak to Sarah?” the voice continued.
“Yes this is Sarah. Who are you? ... If you don’t answer me, you can get off this bloody line, you pervert.”
William put his phone down and sighed. What would it take to make them feel exhausted? There was more than one way to skin a cat, he thought ... or was there.
***
“Is that Moira Bancroft?”
“Yes, this is Moira. Is that you Bob?”
Again all that Moira could hear was someone breathing deeply into her phone.“Get stuffed,” she snorted and banged the phone down as William stroked his Stanley knife with great pleasure. It was beginning to look lonely all wrapped up in its leather scabbard as suddenly another idea entered his head.
***
“Why am I doing all these solitary jobs,” he asked himself aloud as he scanned his little book. ‘Swift ... Irene Swift’ he read and then he blinked in confusion. “She was a nice girl. I remember her, yes Irene was one of the nice one’s. She never laughed at me,” he murmured to himself before he turned to the next page.