by Mark Timlin
Day nodded confirmation.
‘OK,’ sighed Harper. ‘The ear came from a white blond female. Aged between twenty and twenty-five. Probably between five foot and five foot four. Blood type A. In good health… well, she was.’
‘Until?’ said Day naïvely.
Harper looked him straight in the eye. ‘Until someone cut her ear off, of course.’
Day looked sick. ‘She was still alive when he did it?’ he said incredulously.
‘So they think,’ Harper said.
‘Christ!’
‘Pleasant thought, isn’t it?’
‘Would that kill her?’
‘It wouldn’t improve her health.’
‘And they can tell all that from her ear?’ said Day, looking at me. I nodded.
‘From a lot less apparently,’ said Harper.
‘Any prints or forensic on the envelope?’ I asked.
Harper shook his head. ‘Posted London West 1,’ he said.
‘Have you heard the original calls?’
‘Yes,’ said Harper. ‘I’ve had a cassette made.’
‘What do you think?’
He shrugged. That said it all.
‘I want to go home,’ said Day.
‘Me too,’ I agreed. ‘Is that all right?’ I asked Harper out of politeness. We both knew he couldn’t stop us.
‘Sure. We’ll be in touch if we need you.’
Day and I left by the back way. There were a few reporters and cameramen at the door. The cameramen snapped off a couple of photos, but we dodged the reporters and made a run for it through the market that was just coming alive. I parted from Day in the Brixton Road.
‘Let me know what happens,’ I said. ‘I’ll talk to Hillerman later. See if he wants me to stay on the job.’
‘I do,’ said Day.
‘We’ll see,’ I said. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be about. If you need me – call.’
‘I’ll do that.’
I shook his hand and went to find my car. The last I saw of him he was slouching down the road in the direction of Stockwell. I went home and took the phone off the hook. I didn’t want to talk to anyone unless I instigated the call.
The story broke in the late editions of Thursday’s papers. It was front page in some of the more sensational ones. Sunset got a lot of publicity that day. So did Peter Day. Even I got my photo in the press, looking smudgy and bleary-eyed as I left the studios with him. Some of the papers reported that his show had been dropped. Where they’d got that snippet of information from so quickly, no one knew.
I called Hillerman at eleven. I hadn’t bothered going to bed, I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep. I’d just lie there and think about the ear that had come through the post. I had a terrible job getting through to Sunset. The first half a dozen times I tried the lines were all engaged. Eventually I got through to the switchboard, and when I’d explained who I was, they put me through to Sophia. She’d lost a little of her cool since our last conversation.
‘How are you?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know. I’m numb. I can’t believe it.’
You should have been there, I thought. ‘It’s bad,’ I said.
‘You saw it?’
‘Yes. I was there when Peter opened the package.’
‘Christ!’ she said. ‘How is Peter? I can’t get through to him. He’s got his machine on.’
‘He’s not very happy about being dropped from the station. Especially after finding what he found, and talking to the bloke on the air.’
‘I don’t blame him,’ she said. ‘That’s one of the reasons I want to talk to him. I think the board are being far too heavy.’
‘I agree,’ I said.
‘What about you? How are you feeling?’
‘Personally or professionally?’
‘Both.’
‘Personally – lousy. Professionally – that’s why I’m calling. I need to know if I’m still on the case or not. Or if Peter getting suspended means I’m not working for you any more.’
‘You’ll have to talk to Tony. I’ll put you through.’
‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘I hope I’ll be seeing you again.’
‘I hope so too,’ she said. ‘Good luck.’
There was a click, a short ringing tone, then Hillerman said: ‘Yes.’
‘Sharman,’ I said.
‘Ah.’
Ahs I don’t like. ‘Good morning,’ I said.
‘Don’t you believe it. This has been the worst morning of my life.’
I sympathised then said, ‘I’d like to know if I’m still working for you or not?’
‘Why not? You’ve been paid.’
‘But under the circumstances…’
‘I don’t see what difference it makes.’
‘But what about Peter Day?’
‘What about him?’
‘He’s been suspended. No more shows. So no more parcels from Sector 88. And with the other thing, the police will be looking for them now very seriously – even though I doubt they sent the ear. But I also doubt that you’ll hear very much more from them. The other business makes it too risky for them to get involved.’
‘That’s the general consensus from the police too. And as you so rightly said, they’ll be looking for them properly now, if only to eliminate them from enquiries.’
‘So do you need me?’
He paused. ‘Look,’ he said after a moment, ‘I hear what you’re saying. Just sit tight for now and I’ll get back to you.’
‘That’s fine by me,’ I said. ‘I’ll wait for your call. I’m sorry that it ended like this. If you want your cash back, no problem. I haven’t spent much. If not, I’m here.’ We made our farewells and hung up.
So that was that. For then at least.
13
When I touched down at the office, there were three messages on the answerphone from Chas, each more urgent than the last. I phoned him right back.
‘I’ve been trying to get you all morning. Your phone at home is always engaged. What the hell are you up to?’ he yelled when I got through to his extension at work and identified myself.
‘Nothing,’ I replied.
‘Nothing. Nothing! You promised me the hot poop, as you put it, if anything broke. Next thing I know your face is all over the national press. Ears! Ears, for Chrissake, are being sent through the post. And what do I get from you? Sweet FA.’
‘Calm down, Chas,’ I said. ‘It was as big a surprise to me as it was to you. And by the way, it was just one ear.’
‘Oh, yeah?’
‘Yeah. I was there when Peter Day opened the package.’
‘Were you?’
‘I was.’
‘So tell me.’
So I did. Maybe I shouldn’t have, but there you go. I gave him nothing that the other papers hadn’t already got. Just a bit of eye witness stuff.
‘Listen,’ I said when I’d finished, ‘don’t for fuck’s sake quote me on this. An unnamed source is good enough. I might still be working for these people and they’re good payers. Don’t screw me. I probably shouldn’t be talking to you at all.’
‘OK, Nick,’ he said. ‘But who’s this John geezer? Sector 88 or what?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘Nothing to do with them, I’m sure of that. Just a freelance. Someone who’s got it in for Day personally. He didn’t take John seriously the other night when he said he liked to kill people. He more or less forced Day to tell him to prove it. Then he did.’
‘So you reckon there’s two lots of people sending stuff through the post?’
‘Yes.’
‘Amazing. This bloke Day must have something to rub so many people up the wrong way. Can I get to meet him?’
‘Dunno.’
‘I hear he’s been kicked off the ai
r.’
‘You hear right.’
‘Are you going to see him?’
‘I don’t know. Like I say, I don’t know where I stand at the moment.’
‘It’s a bastard,’ said Chas. ‘I can’t get through to him, see. I’ve got his number, but when it isn’t engaged, he’s got the answerphone on, and he’s not returning my calls. If you do get to see him, tell him to get in touch. I’m a sympathetic kind of guy. Tell him I won’t stitch him up.’
‘If I speak to him, I’ll pass on the message.’
‘Do that, Nick. By the way, are we still going to this meeting on Sunday?’
‘I don’t see why not.’
‘You haven’t told anyone about it?’
‘No. Well, only Peter Day.’
‘Good. We don’t want Fleet Street down there en masse. This is a local thing, and it should be dealt with locally.’
‘And sympathetically,’ I said.
‘Of course.’
‘And if you happen to get a job on the News Of The World because of it, that’s no more than you deserve. Right?’
‘But of course. Look, I’ve got to fly. I’ve got an appointment with a word processor. We’re going to press soon and I’ve got to finish my story. Thanks for your help, Nick, I owe you one. I’ll see you Sunday night in the pub, right?’
‘I’ll be there.’
‘And if anything happens meanwhile – anything – call me here or at home.’
‘I will.’
‘And tell Day I want to talk to him.’
‘I will.’
‘I know, mate. Sunday then. And take it easy.’
I agreed that I would, and we both hung up. And that was more or less me for the rest of the day.
14
The next morning, Friday, the story was still running but had been relegated to page three of the Sun next to the topless model. Superb placement, I thought. Real class. They had christened John ‘The Midnight Crawler’. I was sure he liked that, whoever and wherever he was. All the papers I read reported that Peter Day had been suspended from Sunset.
I bought the local paper as well as the nationals. The story was front page there with a vengeance, and on the centre spread too. Chas got the by-line on the two-page feature. He used some of my quotes but kept my name out of it, at least as far as naming me as a source. However, the wire service photo of me and Day leaving the station was much in evidence, and the story speculated on my involvement and gave a little sidebar biography on my career to date which didn’t make for particularly inspired reading. But then, it could have been worse, I suppose.
As I looked through the rest of the paper in my office that morning, I saw that, true to his word, Chas had got the story of Sheila Cochran’s missing dog into print, complete with a fetching photo of Sheila, and one of Prince too.
As I was reading the piece, the phone rang. By coincidence it was Sheila Cochran herself.
‘I’m just reading about you,’ I said.
‘I know. That’s one of the reasons I’m phoning. I’m so grateful to you.’
‘Don’t be,’ I said. ‘I haven’t done much for your money.’
‘You’ve done a lot. Chas was so nice. We went out for a drink.’
‘Did you? That’s good. He’s all right, is Chas.’
I could almost see her blush over the phone. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘The other reason I’m phoning…’
‘Yes?’ I said.
‘That is you, isn’t it? In the photos with that disc jockey?’
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘That was a terrible thing. That poor girl. Do they know who she was?’
‘Not as far as I know.’
‘How did you get involved?’
‘I’m working, or I was working, I’m not quite sure which, for Sunset. An enquiry job. I was there when Peter Day got the parcel.’
‘That’s terrible.’
‘It wasn’t too clever.’
‘I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry. It’s none of my business.’
‘That’s all right.’
‘It makes what I’m asking you to do look pretty unimportant.’
‘Not at all,’ I said. ‘I’m still looking for Prince.’
‘Will you have time?’
‘All the time in the world, as from now.’
‘I am grateful. I mean it.’
‘I appreciate that,’ I said. ‘Not all of my clients are so forthcoming.’
‘Well, I’ll let you go then,’ she said. ‘I’m sure you’ve got things to do.’
‘If I hear anything, I’ll be in touch,’ I replied, and with that we said goodbye and both hung up.
I felt lousy and went for a drink, then home.
Early that afternoon Peter Day rang.
‘What’s up?’ I said.
‘I’ve had a call.’
‘What kind of call?’
‘From Charlie Harper.’
‘And?’
‘They want me down at Sunset.’
‘Why?’
‘He wouldn’t say, but I didn’t like the way he asked. Will you come with me? It may be nothing but…’
‘Sure I’ll come,’ I said. ‘I’m just vegetating here. I’ll pick you up if you like.’
‘That would be good. He said I’d have to run the gauntlet.’ He gave me his address, and I went and collected him.
Run the gauntlet was right. There were twenty or more reporters and news teams waiting in the street outside the radio station when we arrived. We had our pictures taken again and did the usual ‘No comment’ to the questions that were thrown at us. There were two coppers on the main door, and they wheeled us straight in. There was a security man I’d never seen, and a uniformed police constable on the reception desk. The policeman phoned through, and a minute later Harper appeared at the door through to the back. He looked pale and serious. He gave me a dirty look, but that was all.
‘Come on up,’ he said, like he owned the place. We followed him through and up to Tony Hillerman’s office which now seemed to be part of the police station. Where Hillerman was I had no idea. Harper sat behind the desk. ‘There’s been another,’ he said.
‘What?’ said Day.
‘Another parcel for you.’
‘In the post?’
‘No. Delivered by messenger here, three hours ago. But we can’t trace the messenger service. We think John himself delivered it.’
‘Christ!’ said Day. ‘What was in it?’
‘Someone’s finger.’
‘Oh, Jesus. The same woman?’
‘No.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘As sure as we can be. This one belongs to a black woman.’
‘Christ, where is it?’ said Day, looking nervously round the room as if it might be lying on a blotter somewhere waiting to bite him.
‘At the lab. There was a note with it.’
‘What did it say?’
‘I’ve got a copy. The original’s being tested to see if we can get anything out of it.’ Harper passed Day a sheet of paper. I looked over his shoulder. The note was neatly typed again. It read:
if he’s not back on tonight there will be more meat
‘Pleasant,’ I said, speaking for the first time.
‘You feel like going back on the air?’ Harper asked Day.
‘Not really.’
‘But will you?’
‘Sure. If I must.’
‘Good. It’s been OK’d with your bosses. They’re not happy, but…’ He didn’t finish the sentence.
‘I bet they’re not,’ said Day.
‘The only caller we’ll let through is John, if we can be sure it’s him.’
‘What do you mean?’ Day asked.
‘There’ve be
en over twenty “Johns” phoning through already today. They’re loving it out there.’ He gestured towards the window. ‘Fucking nutters, every one of them. But we have to check. Just imagine how many we’ll get tonight when they realise you’re back on the air.’
‘Stretch’ll know. If anyone can recognise the voice, it’ll be him. He’ll be working the switchboard, won’t he?’
‘I was going to put one of my men on,’ said Harper.
‘Don’t,’ said Day. ‘Use Stretch. He knows what he’s doing.’
Harper concurred, but he wasn’t happy.
‘Who took the parcel in?’ I asked.
Harper looked slitty-eyed at me. ‘One of the constables on the door.’
‘So you had John and let him go?’
‘Maybe,’ said Harper.
‘Did you get a description?’
‘Crash helmet and leathers.’
‘That narrows it down.’
Harper looked from me to Day and back again. ‘Does he always have to be here?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ said Day emphatically.
With that we left it and went and found Hillerman. He was even more pissed off than when he’d been dragged out in the middle of the night. He’d not only lost his office, he’d lost control of the station. He was sitting in one of the small rooms off the production office. He dismissed Sophia when we went in. She smiled at us as she went out.
‘Close the door behind you,’ Hillerman said to her as she left. She did as she was told, but rather harder than was really necessary. ‘You’ve heard?’ he asked.
We both nodded.
‘You’re back on air tonight,’ he said to Day. ‘And don’t go getting any inflated ideas of your own importance, Peter. They’ll catch this bloke in a couple of days and all this will be forgotten.’
‘I won’t,’ said Day.
‘Right. Usual time tonight, and don’t talk to the press. Come in the back door. We’ve got extra security on as from now. Go out that way too. And, Nick…’
‘Yes?’ I said.
‘I want you to be here with Peter. You are still employed by us. I want you to look after him. Is that all right with you, Pete?’ he said, as if I didn’t matter at all.