The Writer

by RB Banfield

“You’re very close to hindering a police murder investigation.”

  She watched him leave without having any idea what to think of the visit. One thing she was certain of, it was not any kind of official investigation.

  The box was lighter by exactly one third when he arrived at Max’s door. Dan needed to take a second before he knocked, feeling the pain in his chest get stronger. In the car the pain had come and gone, and it was worse whenever he was not eating. If he had stopped to think about it he would have seen that his frustration was not so much in feeling the pain, but that the pain was reminding him that he was not eating.

  The door opened before he had a chance to knock. Max had seen him coming and he looked at him like he was a curiosity. He was prepared to answer his questions, and let him do whatever he wanted, if it would help to get him out of his life.

  “Detective, this is a surprise,” Max said in a way that only he knew it was sarcasm. “Is there something else I can help you with?”

  “I need to use your computer,” Dan said quickly, feeling out of breath.

  “Why would you—“

  “That’s where you do your writing, isn’t it?” Dan interrupted, walking past him. “You don’t go anywhere else, like your grandmother’s place, do you? No? You do it here, do you? Then I will need to use it.”

  “What does where I do my writing have to do with anything?”

  “Longbottom was hit by a speeding driver, right? Who speeds in that town? Better question is: who is allowed to speed in that town?”

  “I have no idea,” Max said, completely lost.

  “Yeah, I know you don’t. But your computer does.”

  “My computer does what?”

  “Don’t you see? That’s where the answer is.”

  “The answer to what?”

  “I’ll show you,” Dan said with a playful laugh, like an excited child. “You’re not going to believe this. Right under your nose the whole time.”

  Dan went and sat at the computer, placing the cardboard box at his feet. He then glanced at Max to see if he had any interest in the box, like a cornered dog guarding a bone. He tried to find the computer’s word processor programme, without success.

  “What is it you’re doing?” Max asked, not believing what he was seeing.

  “The only thing I can,” Max said as he grabbed another muffin from his box and then quickly closed it. “Got any coffee? Any sort will do.” He put the muffin on top of the number keys on the far right of the keyboard, which annoyed Max even more.

  “I suppose, yes,” said Max, hoping no crumbs would fall between the keys. “But can you please tell me what you’re doing?”

  “You wrote your story here, right? And it was true. You didn’t even know it, but it was all true. Sophie, Craigfield, Longbottom; all true. And there she was at the same time, the exact same time, writing all about you and your wife and Craigfield. How amazing is that? What’s more, I know it. When you were doing it you didn’t know it. But now I have a chance to do it knowing what’s happening.”

  “Didn’t we agree my book’s not real?”

  Dan found a simple writing programme and with satisfaction swallowed the rest of his muffin. “Where shall we start?”

  “You will need to tell me what’s going on,” Max said more firmly.

  “Finding the murderer,” Dan said with all seriousness. “With your nice little magic computer. Let’s start with the speeding car, shall we?”

  “I’m really not following you.”

  Dan quickly typed a few words as he always did, using only his two index fingers. “That’s working. Look at that.”

  He typed a sentence and that led into another one. After a minute he had a paragraph and then he was on the next. Max read over his shoulder and stopped himself from making corrections.

  “Is writing always this fun?” asked Dan. “Now we’ll do the impact, and describe that in detail. It’s the details you’ve got to watch, right? Get them wrong, they stand out like sore thumbs. But get them right, they make the whole story.”

  He wrote more and got carried away with his description.

  “The driver is drunk,” said Dan. “And he sees he’s killed someone.”

  Another paragraph followed. Then three more. He was on a roll.

  “But then he panics. Who panics? Who speeds in Gendry? Who is allowed to speed there, and so no one notices, or points fingers? Who conducted the investigation? And then lied about it in his report? Yes, this is coming together, just as I thought it would. You are such a help for us, Max, you have no idea. If we had this months ago, we’d have him in custody real easy, and Gendry will be breathing safe tonight.”

  “What are you saying?” Max asked, looking over what he had written. It took great restraint to not point out a couple of typos. Anything to prevent the man staying any longer than he had to.

  “The one person who could successfully cover it up. The police in charge of the case.”

  “Are you suggesting Sheriff Handisides was responsible? How can you be sure of that?”

  “The computer says so.”

  “No, really, how can you be sure?”

  “Max, don’t you see? What do you think I’ve been doing? I’ve just been showing you how this works. Your computer told me. I told you it’s right under your nose!”

  Max saw that he was serious and he chose his next words with care. “It’s just a normal computer. It’s getting a little old and I’ll need a new one soon.”

  Dan felt the pain in his chest return and this time it was worse than ever.

  “Are you all right?” asked Max.

  “Put together with you and Sophie,” Dan said, ignoring both the question and the pain, “we have a miracle machine. It’s a gold mine. We need to get this into the office, with you and the girl. Believe me, this is big. Bigger than anyone can know.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Dan resumed typing, fuelled by inspiration and that he felt a little better. “So, he didn’t mean to run the guy down, just an accident, because of his drinking. But then he goes and hides the body, and no one questions him. He’s the guy doing the questioning. Who questions the questioner?”

  “Who, indeed?”

  When Dan finally finished and went to leave, picking up the box and then deciding he needed another muffin, he gave Max a warning. “Don’t touch anything.”

  “You’re leaving, then?”

  “Leave it just as I’ve written it. It’s pure gold.”

  Max raised his hands like he would not be touching it. He watched Dan leave and then he shook his head, wondering who he should call to report it.

  “What was that all about?” Jill asked from the kitchen, where she had decided it was safe to hide until Dan had gone.

  Max looked at her with a bewildered smile. “I haven’t the slightest idea.” He then started to laugh, nervously.

  Jill went to the computer to see what he had written. “What are we going to do with all that?” she asked.

  “Leave it there, I guess,” he said.

  At least until they were sure that he wasn’t going to come back.

  Andy Handisides opened the door to see who had the gumption to speed down his main street and then lurch to a halt in front of the station with such violence that his building was pelted with pebbles. All that when the morning was still dark. The first thing he thought was that his town didn’t need another crazy speed racer.

  When he saw Dan Ironwright struggling to get out of the car he did not know if he should be more surprised that he had come back, or how much fatter he had become. Andy noticed that Dan grimaced as he stepped out, and patted at his chest. The car jumped.

  “Funny to see you here again, Detective Ironwright,” Andy said with the expected slowness of someone awake at five in the morning in Gendry. “The reason it’s funny is ‘cause I got word from your boss a few days back that you’re off the Longbottom case. In fact, you’re off any case at all, isn’t that the fact? Seems
this is one of those we just have to shut the book on and put on the bottom shelf. So, what is it you want that makes you bolt in here like this?”

  “Where have you parked your patroller?” Dan asked, fully alert after his night drive and umpteen coffee breaks, and in no mood for small talk.

  “My car? Why do you want to know that?”

  “Want to take a look at it?”

  “For what reason? You’re not telling me you’ve come all the way up here to look at my car? Tell me you’re not telling me that. And here I was thinking about going about acquiring a new one, since it’s not much good for anything anymore. Covered a lot of distance, and it caused no problems, but when something gets old there comes a time to say goodbye. Everything has limits.”

  “You’re not hiding anything there, are you, Handisides?”

  Andy rubbed his chin, not knowing what to make of him. “Are you here on official business or not? Or are you just misapplying one of your days off? I can think of better to do on my day off.”

  “Where’s the car?”

  “In the back, in its parking spot, where it always is when I’m not out on my run. Take a look if you have to. I mean, if you really have to. Take as long as you like, in fact, and have a nice time about it, why don’t you.”

  Twenty minutes later Andy, who had been trying to ignore the presence of the large city detective, could not take the suspense and had to go to the parking area to see what Dan was up to.

  “You still there, Ironwright?” Andy called, not seeing anyone.

  Dan had been lying on the ground, picking around under the front of the car, although he couldn’t get very far in due to his bulk. At the sound of Andy’s voice he went to get up and took a long time about it.

  “You have a dent, right here, right in the front,” he said to Andy. “Got some paint missing. Other than that, you’ve done good work in cleaning it. But then, you’ve had plenty of time to clean it a couple of times, right?”

  “You say what?”

  “I know what you hit, Handisides. I know how and I know when. I know how fast you were going and how much you drank. I know what you did after you saw him, and I know the moment when you realised that you could get away with it.”

  “Now, wait a minute. Hold on just a minute, why don’t you?”

  “You can’t deny it. I have all the evidence I need. I have it in writing.”

  For the first time Andy looked worried. “You have what in writing?”

  “The murder of Longbottom. Sure, it was accidental, but then you had to go and cover it up. Was it because your were drunk? Was it because you like being the guy in charge here and you didn’t want to lose your job? Or did you just hate the thought of people knowing you let them all down by running over one of their dwindling population? One of their own? One of your own?”

  Andy looked around and saw that the only lights on were from the street lights. Certain that no one was there, he leaned on the car and slowly took out a cigarette and his large silver lighter. “Got it all figured out, have you now?” he asked quietly. “This is the way they’re doing it in the city? Place has gone further downhill than I thought.”

  “Got it in writing. All of it.”

  “Have you now? All of it?”

  “How does Craigfield Johnson fit in to it? That’s what the writing’s not telling me. It’s there, I can feel it. You can fill me in with the details now, to make it easier. Either way, I’ll find out.”

  “The writing is not what now? Not telling you?”

  “Tell me about Craigfield, Sheriff.”

  “I will, if you like, if that will make you happy. Craigfield? Since you’ve been bugging me about him, insisting I make inquires for you, I’ve ended up talking to every living thing in the area. Not just Gendry, but all the outlying farms and out-of-the-way loners who’d rather not be disturbed, and in these parts we have quite a few of those. And you know what they told me, what they all told me, as one and in unison? Do you know what it was?”

  “What?” Dan asked as he expected something outlandish.

  “They have never heard of anyone called Craigfield. Or even anyone called Craig Field, or any other kind of variation you want to come up with. Now, this was before I went to explain the complications of his name to them, and to tell you the truth, I doubt they’d be able to follow any of it. But what’s the point if no bells are being rung with whatever version they’re hearing? Go ahead and ask anyone you like, anyone you see, in the street or door-to-door, and they’ll tell you the same thing: No one with that name has ever been in Gendry. Not ever. Sophie Trent never had any boyfriend here, was never seen talking to any tall blond handsome stranger, or any other kind of stranger. Her grandmother had no one staying in her house other than Sophie for the past year. What else did you say? Oh, yes: This dent you’ve spotted? Deer. Just a plague in these parts. Gave the thing a good whack but didn’t kill it. Thing came from nowhere and then ran off into the underbrush just as fast as it appeared. As can happen in these parts. Need to watch for them. Bit of a nuisance.”

  He went back to his cigarette, eyeing Dan carefully. “I suggest you do the same,” Andy then said evenly. “Run off, not to be seen again.”

  “I know you did it,” said Dan, trying to clean dirt from his hands.

  “And then what? You want me to confess? Is that it? Tell me, this writing you have, to prove what you say, wouldn’t have been written by Max Marshall, would it? After I asked my people about Craigfield Johnson, I asked them what they knew about Max Marshall. And you know what they told me? Fool hassled them by ringing them up in the dead of night and asking for town gossip. Told them all these outlandish lies about being their old pal, or some city cousin, or a friend of a friend. Most of my people knew he was some kind of fool and kept talking to him just to be polite, as they do here. Too polite for their own good is what they are. I believe some even told him some family stories too, to keep him happy, to make him go away.” The last remark was directed to Dan and they both knew it.

  “I know it was you.”

  “And where’s your evidence for such an allegation?”

  Dan looked at him and then the car, and realised that he didn’t have any. Not anything real. Not anything that would prove his case in court.

  “Didn’t think so,” said Andy. “Now go back to your city and leave us alone. We like the way things are done around here. City people, they cause nothing but trouble, all their speeding and such. To put the blame on one of them, no one thinks anything else, and nor do they want to.”

  Dan watched Andy walk back to his office with a swagger. He looked again at the dent and knew that it must have been caused by Longbottom. Andy was in his office by the time he caught up to him.

  “I’ll tell the whole town if you don’t confess,” said Dan.

  “Go ahead,” Andy said with his feet up on his desk, his morning paper open. “And I’ll tell them how you’re off the case and are, in fact, off any kind of case. If you like, I can ask your boss to come up here specially to detail how you’re not fit for work. What was it put you over the edge, Dan? Was it the stress? From what I heard, it got to you real bad this time. Been overeating a lot, they say. And they say you’ve been on a diet. Just makes it worse when you go from diet to binge. Shame there’s no evidence to that particular rumour, huh? Not like you look a little overweight? And another funny thing your boss told me: Did you know Max Marshall’s been calling him constantly, asking if it’s all right to turn off his computer? Did you know he printed out what you wrote and took it into your office? Some of your kind colleagues pinned it to the cafeteria wall, and they all had a real good laugh at it. All except your boss, of course, who tore it to pieces and turned a colour not usually associated with healthy people. That’s what I heard, anyway. So many rumours around, these days.”

  “But what I know about you is true. Every bit of it, all true. The computer said it was.”

  “A computer now?”

  “They both agreed
it was you. You can’t argue with that. That writing you’re talking about, it’s all about you and how you thought you got away with it.”

  Andy looked at Dan without expression. For the first time Dan realised that he could not get his man. There was to be no confession gained by confrontation. The lawman knew what to say and what not to say. He did not share Dan’s belief in the power of the writing and it was now obvious that nobody else would.

  Andy saw Dan’s frustration and sneered. “I don’t know what you do from here; where you go with this idea of yours. But the fact is, no one cares. All they can see is a detective losing his mind. There’s nothing for you here, Ironwright. Have a safe trip back home, now, won’t you? You’re not welcome here. Not welcome, not by anyone.”

  Dan felt his chest tighten, this time more painful than ever.

  PROLOGUE:

  THE TRAIN

  The young woman noticed that the man across the aisle was tapping away at his laptop computer with a speed and confidence that she only dreamed she could have. His computer was an older model, about twice the size of what you could get now. She could never feel comfortable in using one like that, in public, on a train, where anyone could read it. They were the only two amongst ten rows of seats and she tried to be discreet and she leaned closer to see the screen. She was surprised at how much text there was; enough to distract anyone from the world around them.

  If he had not previously drawn her attention by commenting on how nice the scenery was, and that he thought she was missing it, she would not have had the confidence to say anything to him. Her answer was that she was looking forward more to the end of the journey rather than the bits in-between. The train journey was not a long one, but it had seemed so when she was a girl. She had many childhood memories of watching the world go by outside those windows. Now it looked different. She hoped it was the scenery that had changed and not her.

  “Catching up on your work?” she asked him.

  “Sorry, what?” he asked, not expecting her to ask about his writing.