Dark Eyes of London

by Philip Cox

  He crossed back over the High Road and ran up the road, checking the names of the streets he crossed. Finally he came to Old Devonshire Road. He could not see Amy. In the light from the street lamps he could make out the number of the first house: 112. Right side of the road, another twenty or so houses, he figured. Running further up the road, he finally saw Amy’s slight silhouette in the distance. Slightly breathless, he caught up.

  ‘What’s up?’ he gasped. ‘You okay?’

  She looked at the house outside which they were standing: number 156.

  ‘That’s my flat up there,’ she said, looking up at the house. ‘On the second floor.’

  ‘Okay, yes,’ he said, not knowing where this was leading. He also looked up at the house. It was a large Victorian residence, obviously divided into flats. There was a long pathway along the front garden, with a steps leading to a basement flat. A dozen or so steps led up to the front door. Each of the three other floors comprised a window above the front door, and a large bay window, not dissimilar to Tom’s. The light in the ground floor bay window was on, and Tom could see the picture from a large screen television. The occupants were watching a football match. The first floor was in darkness. On Amy’s floor the single window was lit up, and on the top floor both windows were illuminated.

  ‘When I left to meet you,’ Amy said nervously, ‘I didn’t leave any lights on.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  Tom looked up at the lit window, and around the darkened street. The road was filled with parked cars, the occasional tree casting a shadow from the street lighting on the cars. Pedestrian-wise, the pavements were deserted, except for a woman and a child hurrying along the other side of the road.

  ‘Are you sure?’ he asked, looking back at Amy.

  ‘Positive,’ she answered. ‘I know because I never leave any lights on when I go out. And the curtains definitely weren’t drawn.’

  Tom was distracted by the distant wail of a police siren, getting nearer. As he looked around, he saw the vehicle responsible speed past the end of the street, along the High Road, its blue light flashing.

  ‘Should we call the police first?’ Amy asked. ‘Before we go in?’

  Tom shook his head. ‘No. Let’s go in. Stay close to me.’

  They both walked cautiously along the path and up the steps to the front door. At the top of these steps Amy fished into her bag and got out a set of keys. She unlocked the door and let them in.

  The house was built in 1901, according to a stained glass panel above the front door. The door opened into a wide hallway. The staircase was to the left, the door to one flat directly to their right, and another again to the right, but at the end of the hallway. They could hear the noise from the television playing in the ground floor flat. They heard two men cheer.

  ‘Somebody must have scored,’ whispered Tom.

  They climbed the stairs to the first floor. The hallway configuration mirrored duplicated that of the ground floor. The hall light was on, and they could hear the sound of a television coming from the rear flat.

  ‘Here goes,’ Tom said, as he began to climb to Amy’s floor. On the second floor, again the sound of a TV from the rear flat, but silence from Amy’s. They stepped over to Amy’s door. It appeared closed. With Amy standing behind him, Tom used his fingertips to push at the door. It swung open. Amy gasped.

  The door opened directly into her living room. It was in darkness, except for some illumination from the street, and a beam of light coming from an open door off the living room. Tom listened for a moment, then felt around inside the doorway until he found a light switch. He switched it on.

  Amy let out a sob as the light came on. The living room had been ransacked. Amy had a white IKEA-type two door cupboard in the corner of the room. Both doors had been left open, and books and papers were strewn on the floor in front. A tall bookshelf on the other side of the window bay was now empty, all the contents flung on the floor. Books, some magazines, and a pile of CDs. Tom stepped over the debris to look at the CDs: puzzled he saw that all the cases had been opened, but the discs were still there. The CD player itself was untouched.

  A sofa had been turned upside down. The lining on its underside had been cut, a thin slash two feet across.

  ‘I’ll check my bedroom,’ Amy croaked, and went into the room where the light was still on.

  ‘Oh, no,’ Tom heard her cry out, and joined her in the room.

  Her bed looked unmade: the quilt had been flung on the floor with the pillows. A stuffed teddy bear was lying in the corner. The doors to a white free standing wardrobe, matching the cupboard in the living room, were open, and clothes were piled on the floor in front. The small drawers in her dressing table and bedside table were open, and the contents - cosmetics, hair dryer and tongs, jewellery, some papers, and other personal items - were lying across the floor.

  ‘I’ll go and check the rest of the place,’ Tom said.

  There was only the galley kitchen and bathroom to check. In the kitchen, the story was the same: drawers and cupboard ransacked, the contents all over the floor. The bathroom seemed relatively untouched: just a medicine cabinet, which had been gone through as well. Tom looked in the toilet: he noticed that it had been used. Instinctively he reached to flush it, but stopped himself just in time. The contents might be evidence.

  He walked back into the bedroom. Amy was sitting on the floor, holding her head in her hands.

  ‘Pretty much the same everywhere else,’ he said quietly, sitting down next to her.

  ‘Just my luck,’ she said. ‘All the stuff about Lisa, all the shit at work, and I have to get burgled.’

  Tom looked around the room. Leaned over and picked up some of the jewellery lying on the floor. He picked up a gold chain containing a small gold ‘A’.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ he said quietly, fingering the chain.

  ‘What?’ Amy said, looking up, thin streaks of mascara down her face.

  ‘If you were being burgled,’ he said, ‘then why is this stuff still here?’

  She shrugged and put her face back down into her hands.

  ‘Do you keep money in the place?’ he asked. ‘Any other valuables?’

  She looked up, sniffed, and shook her head.

  ‘You know what I think?’ Tom said, getting up and sitting on the bed. ‘I don’t think you were burgled. Not in the conventional sense, anyway. Those CDs out there:’ - he indicated out to the living room - ‘every single case had been opened. All the discs are there, though.’

  She looked up at him, shaking her head.

  ‘I think,’ he went on, ‘that whoever broke in here was looking for something.’

  ‘I don’t - I don’t get you. Looking for what?’

  ‘You tell me. Bit of a coincidence, though, that the day you get caught sniffing round your firm’s archive room, your place gets broken into and searched.’

  She sat silently for a moment.

  ‘Oh my God,’ she said eventually. ‘You’re suggesting that Fleming had something to do with this?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said, standing up and walking to the front door. ‘Come here.’

  She followed him and watched as he opened the front door.

  ‘Look at the door,’ he said, running his hand down the edge of the door. ‘Clean as a whistle. No signs of any force. Now look at the lock.’

  The Yale lock was old and tarnished, but on closer inspection they could see scratch marks around where the key went in.

  ‘Those marks are recent,’ Tom said. ‘This was a professional job. And with all due respect, why would a professional burglar pick a second floor flat in South London?’

  ‘Unless they were looking for something,’ Amy said. ‘But what about the door downstairs? That’s locked as well.’

  ‘Easy,’ Tom said as they returned inside. ‘They could have picked it. It’s not a Yale. Or waited till someone went in or came out.’

  ‘If you’re right,’ she said, ‘then there’s no
point calling the police. Nothing will have been taken, and they wouldn’t have left any trace.’

  ‘Except in the toilet.’

  ‘What?’ she asked.

  ‘Somebody took a pee and forgot to flush. I assume it wasn’t you. I’m guessing a bowlful of piss would contain their DNA.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ she said, looking over at the bathroom.

  ‘In any case,’ Tom continued, ‘you’ll need to call the police because of the insurance. I assume you’re insured.’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Ah. That’s different. You ought to be, by the way. But yeah, you’re right: if Fleming was behind it, there won’t be any evidence. No point. There’s no damage. To the door anyway. Let’s start to clear up.’

  He walked straight into the bathroom and flushed the toilet.

  *****

  It took only an hour for them both to clear up the flat. Amy straightened her bedroom, while Tom replaced the sofa, the books and the CDs. Tom was crouching on the floor picking up the magazines and paperwork when he heard a sound from the kitchen. Amy was now clearing up there. Shortly afterwards she brought out a cup of tea for him.

  ‘Thanks,’ he smiled, looking up at her.

  ‘Least I could do,’ she said, passing him the cup. ‘Sorry, it’s tea. Out of coffee.’

  ‘Tea’s fine,’ he smiled, and sat on the floor to drink it.

  After he finished the tea, he brought the cup out to Amy, who was finishing off in the kitchen.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, dropping the cup in the sink. ‘It - it’s all tidied up out there. I’d best be getting on my way. Last tube and all that.’

  ‘All right,’ she said quietly. ‘Will we talk tomorrow?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, putting his hand on the door. ‘Tomorrow.’

  ‘Wait,’ she said, walking arms folded into the living room. She looked around the flat. ‘I - I don’t think I could stay here tonight. Not alone, anyway.’

  He closed the door again. ‘Have you got any friends you could stay with?’ he asked.

  Amy shook her head. ‘Not really,’ she muttered. ‘Not at this time of night, anyway.’

  Tom took a deep breath. ‘Do you want to put a few things in a bag and come back with me? On the level,’ he added hurriedly. ‘I’ll take the sofa.’

  ‘Or you could stop here. If you don’t mind.’

  ‘But...’

  ‘It’s just staying here on my own that...’

  ‘It’s no problem,’ Tom said, as he clicked the lock. ‘I’ll still take the sofa.’

  *****

  They went to bed about midnight. Amy gave Tom a sheet, and a blanket.

  ‘I’ve no spare pillows. Sorry,’ she said as she passed him the bedclothes. ‘Is a cushion okay?’

  Tom patted the two sofa cushions. ‘They’ll be fine,’ he said, taking the blanket and sheets.

  After they had both finished in the bathroom, Amy went into her bedroom and shut the door. Tom stripped down to his underpants, lay down on the sofa and pulled the sheet and blanket over him and tried to get to sleep. He shivered: the flat was cold. He got up and put on his tee shirt again. As he did so he noticed the light coming from under Amy’s bedroom door went off. He settled back down on the sofa and pulled the bedclothes up to his neck.

  *****

  Tom woke up later, somehow aware that he was not alone in the room. He blinked and opened his eyes. It took a while for his eyes to get accustomed to the dark: when they did so he realised Amy was sitting on the floor by the sofa, her back leaning on it. She was sitting in the same position as she had earlier: her arms around her raised knees. He manoeuvred about on the sofa and sat up.

  ‘How long have you been here?’ he asked, rubbing his eyes.

  ‘Not sure,’ Amy whispered. ‘Couldn’t sleep.’

  ‘What’s the time?’ he asked, holding his watch up to the light from the street. It said 2:40.

  ‘Whew,’ he said, lying back on the sofa.

  ‘Sorry to disturb you,’ she said.

  ‘No problem. Your place, anyway.’

  ‘I don’t - I don’t want to be alone tonight,’ she said slowly, talking to her knees rather than Tom.

  Tom said nothing.

  She turned round to look at him. ‘Would you come in with me?’ she asked.

  ‘Sure, if you want. I’ll kip on the chair.’

  ‘There’s no need for that. But - but no funny business. Yes?’

  ‘I understand.’ Tom nodded and stood up. ‘You can put a pillow down the middle if you want,’ he said as they stood in her bedroom.

  Amy laughed. ‘You go that side,’ she said as she climbed in the right hand side.

  Tom climbed in the other side. When he had settled, she switched out the bedside light.

  ‘Good night,’ he said.

  ‘Good night,’ she replied.

  *****

  Tom was having trouble getting back to sleep; Amy was quite restless as well. Silently, she moved from her position with her back to him. He was already lying on his back. Amy wriggled over to him and put her head on his collar bone and her arm round his chest. He moved about too and put his arm round her shoulder. She was asleep in seconds.

  Tom lay there in the darkness listening to the sound of Amy’s breathing. She smelt good. He yawned silently. What a day. Didn’t see this coming.

  Neither had the man sitting in the black Chrysler parked three doors down the street.

  Chapter Twenty

  Tom woke just before six. He rubbed his eyes, and looked around, becoming conscious of the fact he was in a strange bed. After a moment he realised whose bed it was, and what he was doing there. He looked for Amy on the other side of the bed, but he was alone. He could hear her in the kitchen.

  Getting out of the bed, he wandered, scratching the back of his head, into the kitchen. Amy was sitting in the kitchen, drinking a cup of tea. She looked up at him.

  ‘Didn’t want to wake you,’ she said softly.

  ‘You didn’t,’ he replied, running his hand through his unkempt hair. ‘How long have you been up for?’

  ‘About twenty minutes. Want some tea?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ he said, resting on the other kitchen stool.

  ‘Have you thought about it yet?’ she asked, as she made his tea.

  ‘Thought about what?’

  ‘You were going to sleep on things, and decide what we should do next. At least, that’s what you said last night.’

  Tom coughed, and rubbed his stubbly chin. ‘Yes, I did, didn’t I?’

  ‘Why don’t we both go back to work as normal, and meet up tonight to discuss next steps?’ she suggested.

  ‘Yes,’ he replied, nodding. ‘We don’t have too much time now before work, and there may be more events today.’

  ‘Events? What do you mean?’ she asked, concerned.

  ‘I just mean - well, something might happen, someone might say something, that could affect what we do next.’

  He looked up at her. ‘You are okay about going back to work today? After bumping into that Fleming guy yesterday, I mean.’

  ‘Sure. Nothing’s going to happen to me in an office full of people, is it?’

  ‘Guess not,’ said Tom, standing up and finishing his tea. ‘Look, I’ll get off back home now. Quite a trip by tube, and I’ll need to shower, shave and change then get to work by nine. Will you be okay?’

  ‘Sure. I’ll be fine. Just keep your mobile on, okay?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  Tom wandered into the bathroom, then back to the sofa where he gathered up his clothes. He quickly dressed, including his overcoat, and picked up the blanket and sheets Amy gave him the night before.

  ‘Leave those,’ she called out from the kitchen.

  ‘Fine,’ he said, dropped them on the sofa and went to the front door. He stopped with his hand on the lock, and turned back to Amy.

  ‘See you tonight, then,’ he said. ‘Take care now.’

  ‘I will.’<
br />
  He looked over at the bay windows. Amy had already opened the curtains.

  ‘You shouldn’t have done that, by the way,’ he said.

  ‘Done what?’

  ‘Opened the curtains.’

  ‘But it’s morning.’

  ‘It’s still dark, though.’

  She had a puzzled look on her face.

  ‘It’s just something I read once; might have been in a movie, even. People perceive this time of day as morning, even though it’s still dark. They draw the curtains as soon as they get home at night, but think nothing of walking about half naked with the curtains open seven or eight hours later.’

  ‘Right. Never thought of it that way.’

  ‘Just a thought. Later. Thanks for the tea.’

  Tom shut the door behind him. Amy wandered over to the window and looked down at the street. She could just make out Tom get to the street, and then hurry along to the High Road. She drew the curtains closed and went to take a shower.

  *****

  Tom got back home just after seven. He had plenty of time to shower, shave, have breakfast and be ready to leave for work at his normal time of eight thirty. As he got out of the shower, a text message came through on his mobile.

  It was Amy: 4got 2 say tnx.cu 2nite x

  He replied: No problem. Take care today.

  As he was making his way downstairs from his floor at eight twenty-five, he was met halfway by a small Chinese man wearing a loud Hawaiian shirt and white trousers, totally inappropriately for the weather.

  ‘Ah, Tom, just in time I see,’ said Mr Chin, Tom’s landlord.

  ‘Mr Chin, I was just on my way to work.’

  ‘I thought you might be. I just wanted to catch you before you left,’ said Mr Chin.

  ‘Oh yes?’ enquired Tom, as they both walked down the stairs together.

  ‘I need to ask you a favour. Only a small one.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Tom. Now they were both standing on the pavement outside the block. Tom was cold even with his overcoat on; Chin must have been frozen but showed no sign.