Falls the Shadow

by Mark Timlin

  Eventually, after some haggling which Mr Hood seemed to enjoy immensely, for two hundred quid I got the pup in a cardboard box lined with yesterday’s Guardian, complete with pedigree and vaccination certificates, a wicker basket, a blanket, a cushion, a blue tartan collar with a blank silver metal tag attached, ready to be engraved with his name and address, six tins of puppy food, a doggy bowl, a packet of puppy chew, whatever the hell that was, a rubber bone and a red rubber ball that squeaked when it was squeezed.

  Seemed fair enough to me. I paid cash, got a receipt, put the pup in the box in the well in front of the passenger seat of my car, the bits and pieces on the back seat, and the red rubber ball in the pocket of my leather jacket so that it didn’t roll around inside the car.

  Mr Hood and I shook hands and I headed towards Herne Hill again. Now came the bad bit.

  I parked the Jag in front of Sheila Cochran’s house and got out. I opened the front gate, walked up the path, and knocked on the door. Sheila opened it a few seconds later, and she knew. It must have been the look on my face.

  ‘It’s about Prince, isn’t it?’ she said.

  I nodded.

  ‘You’ve found him?’

  I nodded again.

  ‘He’s dead, isn’t he?’

  For the third time.

  ‘Was it Eddie?’

  Once again, the nod.

  ‘Did you see Prince?’

  I shook my head that time. I wasn’t going to tell her. Not then. Not ever, if I didn’t have to.

  ‘But you’re sure.’

  The fifth nod.

  ‘Eddie’s done something bad.’ Not a question, a statement.

  ‘Yes.’ I actually spoke.

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Under arrest.’

  ‘Because of that bottle I gave you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Poor Prince,’ she said, and her face crumpled, and she leaned against the doorpost for support. I stepped forward and put my arms around her. She was like a woman without bones. I held her and she began to sob. I swear I patted her back, just like they do in films. Big waste of time if you ask me. How does that help?

  I led her gently back into the living room. I put her into a chair and stood awkwardly by as she kept on crying. ‘Tea?’ I said.

  She shook her head.

  ‘I brought someone to see you,’ I said.

  She looked up at me through her tears. ‘Who?’

  ‘I don’t know his name.’

  She began to twig. ‘Not another dog?’ she said.

  I made one of those gestures that I believe novelists call deprecating.

  ‘Oh no,’ she said.

  ‘It seemed a shame not to make use of that dog flap,’ I said.

  ‘No, no, no.’

  ‘I can always take him back.’

  She said nothing.

  ‘If that’s what you want.’

  She looked up at me again. ‘I couldn’t bear it,’ she said. ‘What happens if Eddie hurts this one too?’

  ‘I don’t think he’ll be about for a bit. And even if he is, I don’t think he’ll bother you again. There’s a certain Detective Sergeant at Brixton nick who’s making Eddie his personal project. Something tells me he’ll be a good boy in future.’

  ‘I don’t know, Nick. Hearing about Prince has come as a hell of a shock.’

  ‘I’ll take him back then,’ I said. ‘The man at the kennels said I could if you didn’t want him. It seems like a shame, though.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I packed all his toys.’ And I took the ridiculous red rubber ball that squeaked when you pressed it out of my pocket and did just that. It made the stupidest noise I’ve ever heard, and Sheila started to cry again. But not in the same way, and I knew I’d sold her on the idea. ‘He’s outside in the car,’ I said. ‘You can have a quick look at him before I take him away, if you like.’

  She dried her eyes on a tissue and I took her out to the car. I lifted out the box and put it on the bonnet. ‘He’s probably wet himself,’ I said, and opened the container. As it happened, he hadn’t. The sports page of the Guardian was as dry as when Mr Hood had put him in. The dog popped his head over the edge of the opening and panted at the pair of us.

  Sheila lifted him out and held him close to her. ‘He’s so sweet. Don’t you really know his name?’

  ‘It’s on his papers,’ I said. ‘But it’s a bit longwinded to remember after such a short acquaintance. You could call him King if you like. That’s a good name.’ And I winced. That might not have been a very good idea, but Sheila took to it right away.

  ‘That’s great,’ she enthused.

  ‘So you’re going to keep him?’

  She looked up at me from under her eyelashes again. ‘If you think I should.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have got him for you if I hadn’t. And the man from the kennels agreed.’

  ‘Then I’ll keep him. But you must let me pay…’

  I shook my head. ‘No,’ I said. ‘He’s a gift.’

  ‘You’re very kind.’

  ‘I got him some bits and pieces,’ I said, leaned into the car and brought out my booty. ‘This way he’ll be off to a fresh start.’

  ‘That’s wonderful,’ she said. ‘Bring that stuff in and we’ll get him settled.’

  And she did just that. She made me tea, and we sat and chatted as King roamed round, getting used to his new home. Sheila didn’t ask me about Eddie Cochran again. That was good. Plenty of time for that later.

  After an hour of playing gooseberry in a new love affair, I said goodbye to Sheila and King, and left.

  27

  I went straight home, took the phone off the hook and went to bed. I didn’t wake up until almost five o’clock that evening.

  When I did, it was one of those strange awakenings when even the most familiar objects seem odd. Alien. Nothing fitted.

  I lay on my back in the dim light that filtered through the curtains, and tried to work out what day it was. What month it was. What year it was, for God’s sake.

  I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and ran my fingers through my hair.

  I got up, switched on a light and went to the bathroom. When I’d finished, I filled the kettle, switched it on, and put the phone back.

  It rang within two minutes. It was Sophia.

  ‘Where have you been?’ she demanded. ‘I’ve been trying to get you all afternoon.’

  ‘Asleep,’ I replied. ‘Yesterday was a long day. What’s up?’

  ‘There’s been another.’

  ‘Another what?’ Although I knew.

  ‘Another parcel from John.’

  ‘Oh, Jesus. He did say there was going to be. Where?’

  ‘It was delivered to Peter’s flat.’

  ‘I don’t believe it. What was it this time?’

  ‘Another ear.’

  ‘One of the same people?’

  ‘No. It was a man’s.’

  ‘How’s Peter taken it?’

  ‘Not well.’

  ‘Is he doing the show tonight?’

  ‘Yes. But I don’t know how much more he can take of this.’

  ‘Me neither. Where is he?’

  ‘At home.’

  ‘I’ll give him a ring. I hope he doesn’t just jump into a bottle. Not that I’d blame him if he did.’

  ‘Nor me.’

  ‘Listen,’ I said, ‘I haven’t even asked you how you are.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she replied.

  ‘What are you doing later?’

  ‘How much later?’

  ‘This evening.’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Can I see you?’ Right then I needed to badly.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘At that bar
where we had lunch? Say eight o’clock?’

  ‘I’ll be there.’

  I made my farewells and hung up. Before I had time to pick up the phone again, it rang. It was Peter Day.

  ‘I’ve been trying to get you for hours,’ he said.

  ‘Sorry, mate.’

  ‘Have you heard?’

  ‘Yes. Sophia just called. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Not half as sorry as I am.’

  ‘Why don’t you get out of there? Check into a hotel or something?’

  ‘I’m staying put.’

  ‘He knows where you live.’

  ‘So what? It’s not me he’s cutting into pieces.’

  ‘Not yet.’ As soon as I said the words, I regretted them. He didn’t reply.

  ‘Sorry, Peter,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t worry. You’re not the first to say it.’

  ‘Can I come over?’

  ‘Why not? Charlie Harper’s here.’

  ‘I’ll be with you in half an hour. Tell Charlie I’d like to see him before he goes.’

  ‘I’ll do that. I believe you had a little excitement earlier.’

  ‘You could say that.’

  ‘Well, they can’t say you didn’t do what you were hired for.’

  ‘That’s true. Listen, I’ll be there soon. We’ll talk then.’

  I made a cup of tea, got dressed and left for Brixton. I was at Day’s flat by 5.45. The journalists and TV people were back with a vengeance, Piers included. Now wasn’t the time to speak to him, so I pushed through the throng and had a word with the police constable guarding the front door. He radioed through to someone inside, then allowed me to enter.

  I went up in the lift and found another constable outside Day’s flat door. He let me straight through. Harper was waiting in the hall.

  ‘In the kitchen,’ he ordered. ‘My guv’nor’s talking to Peter.’

  I went into the room and he followed, closing the door tightly behind him.

  ‘Lambert doesn’t know you were with us this morning.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I’m not going to tell him.’

  ‘Good. Cochran’s banged up nicely, and I wish this other bastard was too.’

  ‘I’ll second that. Is the little shit being cooperative?’

  ‘Singing like a bird. Chapter and verse on who his mates are, and what they’ve done.’

  ‘Great,’ I said. ‘So what exactly happened this morning?’

  ‘Somebody, we don’t know who, came by at about eleven. He left a package for Peter with the caretaker. He said he couldn’t get any reply from the flat, so couldn’t get into the block. The caretaker delivered it up here at eleven-thirty. Day took one look at the package and called us.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And inside was an ear from a Caucasian male.’

  ‘So John was telling the truth last night?’

  Harper nodded.

  ‘And he said the best was yet to come.’

  ‘So he did.’

  ‘I wonder what he meant by that? And how did he know where Pete lives?’

  Before Harper could answer, the kitchen door opened and DI Lambert stood in the doorway.

  ‘Oh, it’s you,’ he said with a scowl. ‘Day told me you were coming.’

  ‘I couldn’t stay away.’

  ‘I take it you know what’s happened?’

  I nodded.

  ‘A terrible business.’

  ‘Do you think Peter should stay here?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t. But he insists.’

  ‘I’ll have a word with him.’

  ‘Do that. By the way, I understand we owe you a vote of thanks.’ You could tell that it almost hurt him to say it.

  I looked at Harper. His expression didn’t change.

  ‘That Cochran business,’ Lambert went on. It was his turn to look at Harper. ‘I expect you’ve heard about it.’

  ‘I heard,’ I said.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Lambert. Then to Harper: ‘Charlie, I’m off now. I’ll see you later.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Harper.

  ‘We’ll liaise tonight.’ And Lambert left the room.

  I heard the front door open and slam shut behind him.

  ‘A man of few words,’ I said.

  ‘That was enthusiastic praise,’ said Harper. ‘Coming from him.’

  ‘I’d hate to hear him tear anyone off a strip then.’

  ‘You’re right. Believe me. I’d better go too. Will you be at Sunset tonight?’

  ‘S’pose so.’

  ‘Right, I’ll see you there. I’ll just say goodbye to Peter.’

  We both went out into the hall, and Harper opened the door to the living room. Peter Day was sitting in an armchair. He looked clean and sober, but when he shook my hand I saw that his was shaking badly.

  ‘I’m off now,’ said Harper. ‘Are you sure you’re up to it tonight?’

  Day nodded.

  ‘Right. I’ll see you later. And you, Sharman,’ he added.

  ‘See you,’ I said, and he left the room, and once more I heard the front door open and close.

  Day went back to his seat.

  ‘Peter,’ I said, ‘are you quite sure you want to go on with this?’

  ‘I have to.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I do. It started with me, and it’ll finish with me.’

  Or be the finish of you, I thought, as I looked at his face, which seemed even older and more haggard than it had the previous night.

  ‘Do you want me to collect you tonight?’ I asked.

  ‘Please. You don’t mind, do you?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Do you want to talk?’

  He shook his head mournfully. ‘No,’ he said.

  ‘Then I’ll see you later.’

  He nodded but said nothing, and I left.

  Although I was almost a couple of hours early, I went round to the bar where I’d arranged to meet Sophia. I got a beer and asked for the food menu. I ordered a burger and chips with a side salad and blue cheese dressing. I sat in a window seat again as I ate and looked at the street outside, trying to ignore mtv on a screen above the bar and the noise of the punters around me.

  When I’d finished eating I had a coffee, then another couple of beers, and as eight o’clock rolled around, I saw Sophia turn into the small courtyard outside. She stopped in the doorway and looked round. I caught her eye and she came over.

  She looked at the bottles in front of me and said, ‘Been here long?’

  ‘A while,’ I replied. ‘I went and saw Peter, but he wasn’t very forthcoming so I left. I’m picking him up later. Drink?’

  ‘I’ll have what you’re having.’

  I caught the waiter’s eye and ordered two more beers. ‘So how are you?’ I asked.

  ‘Better for seeing you, but worse for what happened today.’

  ‘It certainly is no joke,’ I said as the drinks arrived.

  ‘This bloody man seems to be able to come and go as he pleases, and the police can’t do a thing.’

  ‘They can’t be everywhere at once. He pops up and then vanishes. That’s the way it is. They can’t read his mind.’

  ‘Can’t you do anything?’

  ‘Me? No. All I can do is keep Peter company.’

  We were silent for a long minute. Eventually she broke the silence and asked, ‘How did it go this morning?’

  I told her. She was horrified at what Cochran had done to Prince, but relieved that he was in custody. When I told her I’d bought Sheila Cochran a puppy to make up for the loss of her dog, she touched my hand and said, ‘You’re a nice man.’

  I swear I blushed. ‘I don’t think you’ll have any more trouble from
Sector 88.’

  ‘That’s a relief at least. You’re quite the detective, aren’t you?’

  ‘Sometimes I surprise myself. But it was mostly luck. That’s probably how they’ll catch John. If they do.’

  ‘You think they might not?’

  ‘Sometimes these people just vanish. Stop whatever they’re doing and go back to a normal life.’

  ‘There’s a thought. His definition of normal. I wonder if we’ll ever be normal again, any of us?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said, and looked at her face. It wasn’t a bad view.

  ‘I’ll be glad when those bloody reporters stop hanging around.’

  ‘You don’t like them, do you?’

  ‘No, I don’t. One of them tried to chat me up today.’

  I felt a pang of jealousy. ‘Did you enjoy it?’

  ‘No, I didn’t. He was a horrible little lech. All sweaty and stammering.’

  ‘I expect he’ll want you to pose for him.’

  ‘Fat chance. Will you come round later?’ she asked, changing the subject abruptly.

  ‘If you want me to.’

  ‘Of course I do. I even brought you these.’ She delved into her handbag and brought out a key ring with two keys attached. ‘The Yale opens the front door, and the Chubb’s for my flat door,’ she explained. ‘Now don’t lose them.’

  ‘You’re a trusting soul.’

  ‘With you I am.’ And she leaned over and kissed me on the cheek.

  After all I’d seen and heard over the past week it was a relief to sit and talk to someone who was still capable of trust. The next two hours flew, and before I knew it it was time to drop her off and go and collect Day. I must confess I wasn’t looking forward to the night ahead at all.

  28

  We arrived at Sunset at eleven. Day hadn’t said much when I collected him from his flat, or on the subsequent short drive to the station. I was getting fed up with the whole thing. How much longer could it go on?

  When we got to the production office, there was an envelope waiting for me. It contained a cheque for twenty-one hundred quid. It answered my question. Another week.

  I stuck the cheque in my jacket pocket and got a coffee. Day vanished upstairs. I didn’t follow him, just ignored the ‘No Smoking’ signs and lit a Silk Cut.

  There was a message from Harper that he’d be late, if he got there at all. I didn’t blame him for not showing up. It must have been as frustrating for him as it was for me to be on the scene of crimes as horrendous as the ones perpetrated by John, or The Midnight Crawler, or whatever he was calling himself that day, and to be so powerless.