Smoke and Mirrors

by Denver Murphy

  ‘Oh hello, Greggy, I’m so sorry to bother you. Do you mind if I come in?’

  ‘Er, sure,’ said Brandt, casting a quick, nervous glance around the contents of the interior. He usually kept the place neat and tidy but last night’s escapades had served to create something of a mess.

  He managed to clear some space for his guest to sit before she had fully entered.

  ‘Is there something the matter, Mrs Hardcastle?’ He may have no longer been employed but it was hard to deviate from the nature of the relationship he had built with one of his favourite customers.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she repeated, just about managing to sit down before bursting into tears.

  All thoughts of his own pathetic situation evaporated from Brandt’s mind and he knelt before her, clasping her hands with concern. ‘What is wrong?’

  A faint laugh interrupted her sobs. ‘That’s so typical of you, Greggy, I’ve come here because of you and all you’re concerned about is how I’m feeling.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Brandt confessed truthfully. ‘Can I make you a cup of tea?’

  Mrs Hardcastle laughed again but waited until she had regained full control of her composure before trying to speak once more. ‘I knew something was wrong yesterday,’ she said finally. ‘Don’t get me wrong, you were perfectly pleasant and everything, but I could tell something wasn’t quite right. I wondered whether you were a bit under the weather so I came back in today to check if you were feeling better.’

  ‘But it is Wednesday, Mrs Hardcastle.’

  ‘Yes, I know, Greggy, but I was worried about you and so I told the ladies at bowls that I would just have to skip this week. Obviously, I didn’t tell them why; they would have thought me foolish, but I just knew something wasn’t right.’

  Brandt didn’t know how to respond. This changed nothing and, if anything, her loyalty only heightened his feelings that he was missing out on something pure.

  ‘When you weren’t there I asked Mr Jones if you had phoned in sick. He said you had but there was something about his manner that made me think he was hiding something. I wasn’t going to say anything; I’m not one to pry but I suddenly thought, what if you were really sick? I mean, like really ill. I just couldn’t drink my tea and so I confronted him. It took a lot of pushing but eventually he told me.’

  Mrs Hardcastle had stopped and was staring at Brandt; he knew that she was waiting for him to say something. But what could he possibly tell her? That it was okay, and he would find himself another job? If she had any grasp of reality, she would know that wasn’t true and why should he make it easy on Mr Jones anyway? At least that would be better than the truth; what was the point of shattering her illusion of him by admitting that he had wanted nothing more than to shove the cake fork into Mr Jones’ eye? She might laugh nervously at first, like when someone tells a joke that’s a little too close to the bone, but then see the seriousness in his eyes and her reaction could turn it into situation similar to Benidorm, where the only option he had was to shut her up.

  ‘Er, how did you find me?’ He knew it was a stupid question, but it was a relief to try and deflect things away from his feelings.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind but I was so shocked by the idea of Mr Jones sacking you. Of course, he claimed he hadn’t and that your work there was only ever meant to be temporary. But I told him, I said if there’s anyone who wants letting go it’s that Gloria girl. It’s not that I’m racist, in fact my nephew once went out with a half-caste, but she doesn’t even know how to make a cup of tea properly. I even caught her putting the milk in first the other day.’

  She paused, having lost her train of thought. Brandt had to stifle a smile because this was classic Mrs Hardcastle. She was always at pains to point out how liberal and open minded she was but always seemed to say something in her attempted justification that unwittingly contradicted the notion.

  ‘Where was I? Oh yes! So, I said to Mr Jones I don’t give a flying fig about last in, first out or whatever blather he was spouting. I told him that I have connections and if I wanted I could show him what off-season really meant.’ Her voice was now raised with excitement to match her pomposity. ‘And do you know what he said to me, Greggy? Do you know what he said?’

  ‘Er, nothing?’

  ‘Exactly!’ she shouted. ‘He just shrugged and went into the back room. I mean, how rude is that? I always knew that the act he put on was just to try and sell more stuff. In fact, I said to Mrs Hewlett just the other day, I said, behind that smile there is a shrewd man.’ Mrs Hardcastle paused again in an attempt to let her brain once again catch up with her mouth. ‘Oh yes! So, do you know what I did?’

  ‘Followed him?’

  ‘Er, no I didn’t because the back room is clearly marked “Staff Only”. But I jolly well waited for him until he finally emerged.’ Brandt lifted his hand to his face in a gesture that he hoped would appear to suggest he was deep in thought, rather than trying to hide the smile at the juxtaposition between Mrs Hardcastle’s supposed militarism and her keenness not to break the smallest of rules. ‘I said to him, that’s just not good enough. I said, if you’re not willing to help this kind man who has been through God knows what in Russia or Poland or wherever, then give me his address and I will.’ She stopped again. ‘And, er… here I am.’

  ‘Well, I really appreciate your concern but honestly…’

  ‘If I didn’t take any nonsense from Mr Jones, then I’m not going to take any nonsense from you either.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’ Brandt was genuinely taken aback by this latest outburst.

  ‘Look, I know that your past, and don’t worry I don’t expect you to start telling me about it, must have been hard to leave you here.’ She looked round the room, but Brandt could see it was more for effect than to be unkind.

  ‘It’s not normally quite like this.’

  ‘Yes, yes, but what I’m trying to say is I want to help you.’

  ‘How?’ Brandt sincerely hoped she wasn’t about to offer to tidy up and clean the place.

  ‘I… I don’t know,’ she said in a muted tone. ‘I tried to think of it on the way over. I almost turned around and went home until I could come up with something, but then I thought of you all alone here. No job, no family. I just need you to know that you’re not alone and I’m going to find a way to help you. I know lots of people and if I ask around I’m sure one of them will need some help or something. Even if it is just the odd day here and there, something to get you through the winter until we can find you a more permanent position in the spring.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Hardcastle,’ Brandt said, and he meant it. He wasn’t convinced that she would be able to do anything for him, but he appreciated the thought nonetheless. He had long given up on humanity and this one act of kindness, however small, held some true meaning. ‘Can I get you that cup of tea now?’

  ‘Oh no,’ she laughed, standing up. ‘I finished mine whilst waiting for that little weasel to come out from hiding. I had better get on, and I hope you didn’t mind the intrusion.’

  ‘Not at all, Mrs Hardcastle, and thanks again for thinking of me.’

  ‘Kath,’ she said, taking the steps carefully onto the soggy patch of grass between the caravan and her car. ‘Please call me Kath from now on.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  The day had started for Johnson much like any other. She had awoken early with her body not needing the length of sleep it used to when she had been far more occupied. Sitting in her kitchenette, with the first rays of light starting to emerge on the horizon, she was finishing her small breakfast. She had taken to running in the morning knowing it was odd seeing as she visited the gym each day but didn’t like to go there until everyone else had gone to work.

  Running through the streets of Nottingham was different. She would blank out the commuters in their cars through a mixture of dogged determination and the loud music she played through her headphones. It had the effect of pushing her far more than the comforta
ble surroundings of the gym and she would return home exhausted; glad of the opportunity to gain some rest.

  Having washed as soon as she got back, she settled down in front of the television to carry on with the box set of the American drama she was steadily working through. She prepared some lunch around midday, despite not feeling truly hungry yet, because she wanted to give herself time to digest before heading off to the gym.

  Johnson was picking through the last of her salad and wondering whether she should just do a circuit of the weight machines and go for a swim in the pool instead of anything more vigorous, when her mobile rang. She glanced at the display as she raised it from the coffee table, the action of bringing it up to her ear stopped abruptly by the name on the display. Claire.

  Johnson only knew one person called Claire. Not only hadn’t she spoken to her in a while, but, following her visit to the hospital, she had never expected to encounter her again.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Oh, thank God you’re there. Have you been told? Do you know what’s happened?’

  ‘Hold on, slow down, I’m struggling to understand what you’re saying.’ Johnson was trying to sound calm, but the speed of Claire’s delivery was only heightening the anxiety she was experiencing from hearing from her again.

  ‘It’s him. Well, it can’t be him, but it was there, the same as before. The same place; same everything.’

  ‘You’re making even less sense now. Claire, please just take a breath and tell me what it is you’re talking about.’

  ‘Shit! You don’t know, do you?’

  ‘Know what, Claire? You’re starting to worry me now.’

  There was an audible sigh on the other end of the line but not one through frustration, more in an effort to regain composure. ‘There’s been a murder. This morning. By the river, in the same spot as before. I thought it was him when I heard about it, especially as it’s a stabbing. A young woman too.’

  Johnson froze with shock. What Claire was saying was now clear, but her brain was struggling to accept it. ‘Jesus Christ,’ was all she could utter.

  ‘I couldn’t believe it. I heard it on the local radio but had to go on the internet to check. There wasn’t much on there but...’

  ‘I know, there wouldn’t be at this stage. Look, do you mind if I go now? I’ll call you back later, I promise.’

  ‘Er, well,’ Claire hesitated, sounding not at all sure.

  ‘I should have some more details for you then.’

  The cold delivery and implication that Johnson may be able to find out information before it was put in the public domain seemed enough to convince Claire. ‘Yeah, look if I haven’t heard from you by this evening I’ll phone back.’

  ‘Fine,’ Johnson responded, ending the call immediately thereafter.

  But she didn’t place the phone back on her coffee table. Instead she was hunting through her short contacts list.

  ‘Hardy, it’s me.’

  ‘I’m sorry, ma’am, we’re a bit busy at the moment.’ His protest didn’t hide the lack of surprise in his voice at who was suddenly contacting him.

  ‘Obviously that’s why I’m calling. I need the details.’

  ‘Ma’am?’

  ‘Let’s not start doing all this bullshit, shall we? I haven’t got the patience for it and you just said that you’re busy.’ Johnson then waited quietly whilst DC Hardy confirmed everything that Claire had just told her.

  ‘What type of knife was it?’ she asked as soon as he stopped.

  ‘We don’t know yet. The pathologist is still…’

  ‘Was the blade serrated?’ Johnson interrupted, doing nothing to disguise her irritation.

  ‘Er, we believe so. Yes.’

  ‘And was there a swipe on the victim.’

  ‘A what, ma’am?’

  ‘A swipe, Hardy. A fucking swipe of blood on the victim somewhere? You know, not directly related to the blood that would have escaped the wound.’

  ‘Er, hold on a second,’ he replied nervously, rustling through some papers. ‘Not that’s been found so far,’ he said eventually.

  ‘Okay, good. Keep me posted.’ Johnson ended the call rather than wait for Hardy to protest once more.

  Chapter Eighteen

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I came to see you,’ said Jack, ignoring the resentment in Mandy’s voice.

  ‘Where have you been?’

  Jack bowed his head plaintively.

  ‘You could have left me a note. Sent me a text or something. I knocked at yours when you didn’t turn up for the lecture after we… after…’

  Jack had known Mandy had attempted to visit. He hadn’t long since arrived back from his walk along the river and was still buzzing from the kill. He had wanted to open the door to her. He had wanted nothing more than to pull her inside and fuck her right then and there. As he observed her through the spyhole, his curtains drawn to prevent a change of light alerting her to his presence, it had taken Jack all his strength not to turn the handle. But there were too many questions for which he hadn’t thought up answers at that stage. He wouldn’t have known how to explain why he had simply left her that morning, where he had gone and why he suddenly needed to devour her.

  There was another reason too. Aside from his enormous sexual urge, a feeling that had been entirely absent from his murders back in Kent, he immediately wanted to plan his next killing. The power he had felt, as the woman begged him not to thrust the knife back into her, had been intoxicating. Jack had suddenly felt important, as though he really mattered, and he couldn’t wait to experience that again. As he had stood over her body, he knew that finally Brandt would have been proud of him.

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t want to wake you that morning. Seeing you lying there, you just seemed so… so perfect.’ Today Jack did have the answers that meant he could act on his urge. ‘I just needed some space to think. That’s why I didn’t go to the lecture.’

  ‘Oh, I get it,’ Mandy sighed. ‘You’ve got a girlfriend. I should have known it.’

  ‘What? No!’

  ‘You woke up feeling all guilty, so you scurried away but, deep down, you think you’re a decent person, so you’ve come here to explain it. But it’s simply to make yourself feel better and I can bet you one thing. I bet you haven’t thought to tell her, have you?’

  ‘Who? What are you talking about, Mandy?’ Jack was confused. Even more concerning was that the buzz he was feeling was wearing off. Perhaps it had been a mistake coming here. His answers might have been well-rehearsed, but he hadn’t legislated for how hurt Mandy had been by his disappearance.

  He turned to leave. If he wanted to, he could try and deal with this later, but what he needed most of all was to preserve the feeling of power his trip to the alleyway had given him. It had been perfect; more so even than his well-timed meeting at the river. If his first murder in Nottingham hadn’t been enough to convince Jack that what he had chosen to do with his life was the right thing, today had. Although he knew there were a number of key differences between his woman in the alleyway and the one Brandt had killed, there were too many similarities for it not to seem like fate. He knew she was the right one the first moment he clapped eyes on her, and his only regret was that the speed at which their paths were crossing might fail to make him fully enjoy the moment. The only chance he had was to somehow strike up a conversation but, what about, he hadn’t had the slightest clue.

  But then luck had been in his favour once more. Just as he was contemplating whether offering something complimentary about her son would sound odd coming from someone his age, the boy dropped his soft toy dinosaur out of the buggy. Better still, his mother hadn’t noticed; providing Jack with a far less awkward reason to speak to her.

  ‘Excuse me! Your son just dropped this,’ he had called, after waiting for her to fully pass so that she would have to turn back around in order to face him.

  ‘Oh great,’ she had replied enthusiastically. ‘He’s forever losing it
but thank goodness it always turns up because I doubt he’d be able to sleep without it.’

  ‘I completely understand. I used to have a bear I took with me everywhere,’ Jack had lied. ‘Well, that was until Mum decided one day that I was too old for it. I was devastated.’

  ‘Ah, you poor thing,’ she had said, reaching for the toy.

  Hold on a minute, Jack had thought, ever so slightly pulling his arm away from her. Not only had he not liked the absence of any real feeling in her tone following his tragic story but, given how precious she had claimed the dinosaur to be, it didn’t seem right that she should be trying to dismiss him so quickly.

  He had read the slight look of unease in her eyes. ‘Do you mind if I give it back to him myself?’

  A slight shrug. ‘Erm, sure. Go ahead.’

  ‘There you go, little fella,’ Jack had said to the boy. Any discomfort shown by his mother was not replicated in her child, his arms excitedly outstretched to be reunited with his companion.

  ‘Nice kid,’ he had commented, standing back up. ‘What’s his father like?’

  A bitter laugh. ‘A complete shit if you must know.’

  ‘Well, he’s going to need to step up to the mark pretty fast.’ Jack had waited, enjoying her look of confusion turn to apprehension. ‘Aren’t you going to ask me what I mean by that?’

  ‘Erm, well, thanks again. We’d better be going now,’ she had answered, attempting to turn the pushchair around as fast as possible.

  Jack had quickly glanced back down the alley to check that they remained unobserved. ‘Hold on, there’s something I need to show you first.’ He had tried to keep his voice calm despite his heart now pounding in his chest…

  Remembering what had happened next caused Jack to unconsciously feel for the comforting weight inside the lining of his jacket.

  ‘Bought me some sort of cheap gift, hoping that might make you feel better?’

  ‘What?’ he asked, quickly withdrawing his hand as though scolded.

  ‘I think you’d better go.’ Mandy moved to close the door but found its movement blocked by Jack’s foot.