by Mark Timlin
‘Me too,’ said Lucy. ‘Even though I hadn’t seen her for years. It was just knowing that she was there. Talking to her, you know.’
‘I know. She was easy to talk to.’
‘Not always, believe me. There were times when we had screaming rows you could hear three streets away.’
‘I believe that.’
‘Too much alike you see,’ she said.
‘You can say that again.’
‘I’m sorry if seeing me is painful.’
‘Right now everything’s painful. That’s why Jack’s here.’ I tapped the bottle with my fingernail.
‘Yeah,’ she whispered.
‘So were you going to?’
‘What?’
‘See her again.’
‘I think so. I think we were just about ready.’
‘And then this.’
‘And then this,’ she said.
I nodded. ‘That fucking Tufnell’s got a lot to answer for,’ I said.
‘He has that,’ she agreed. ‘If he did it.’
He did it alright, I thought, directly or indirectly. He, or one of that little team he’d put together with Morris, or whatever his name was, and Finbarr had done for her, a pound to a peanut. Finbarr had been with her for Christ’s sake, that night, whilst I was poncing around in Brixton. She would’ve told him what our plans were. She was that kind of woman. If only I’d changed my mind. Jesus, why hadn’t I been there?
‘How the hell she got herself webbed up with a bottom feeder like that I don’t know,’ I remarked into the silence I’d allowed to gather. I was amazed how calm I sounded to myself when inside I was seething for revenge.
‘We couldn’t wait to get away from dad,’ Lucy told me. ‘He wasn’t the easiest person to live with after mum died. I went to university on an army scholarship…’
‘You were in the army?’ I interrupted.
She nodded. ‘But I couldn’t settle. They didn’t like it when I resigned, but there wasn’t much they could do. So I went from one uniform to another and joined the Birmingham police. Sheila went into a load of bed-sitters and bad relationships. Johnny was just the last and worst.’
‘Not quite,’ I said.
‘Sorry Nick, I didn’t mean… Oh, you know. You were so good for her.’
‘She was good for me.’
‘Would it have lasted?’
‘I don’t know,’ I replied. ‘As the wonderful Inspector Lewis noticed, I don’t have a lot of luck with women, or them with me.’
‘Is that what he said?’
I nodded.
‘Bastard.’
‘At least we agree on something about the police,’ I said.
‘She told me about that,’ said Lucy.
‘What?’
She seemed embarrassed. ‘Your bad luck with women.’
‘And now my jinx has hit Sheila.’
‘You can’t blame yourself for that.’
‘Can’t I?’
‘No.’
‘You’d be surprised. So has anyone found Tufnell yet?’
‘Not that I know of.’
‘And you’d know?’
‘Oh yes. I’ve left strict instructions with Sergeant Blackford.’ She touched her pocket. ‘He’s got my mobile number. If anything on Johnny Tufnell turns up, or anything else, no matter how slight, he’s to ring me immediately.’
‘I bet that bastard did it.’
She looked closely at me. A real copper’s look. ‘Do you know something, Nick? Something you haven’t told me?’
Course I did, but I wasn’t telling. Not then. Not to her. Maybe one day, maybe never. ‘No,’ I lied. ‘Not a thing. Except that he’d be my favourite to go in the frame.’
‘You’re probably right.’
‘Yes, I probably am.’
She finished her coffee and said, ‘You coming then?’
I wasn’t keen I must admit. I didn’t fancy another trip to the murder house. ‘I might not be very welcome,’ I said lamely.
‘I need the company,’ she said. ‘How do you think I feel?’
Pretty rough I would’ve thought, so despite my misgivings I picked up my leather jacket and followed her downstairs. I looked longingly at the drawer where the Detonics lay as we went, but left it cosying up to my clean socks.
24
There was still evidence of the crime tape at the front of Sheila’s place, but as the lady downstairs and the police and technicians needed egress it had been broken and trampled down. Outside the house, in the front seat of a Panda car, sat a bored looking PC drinking from a Coke can.
‘A hive of industry,’ I said as we turned the corner.
‘I’ll just check it’s OK to go inside,’ she said, and went to the driver’s side of the police car and flashed her warrant card. The driver rolled down the window and they exchanged a few words, then he got on the radio. She came back to me and said, ‘He’s checking with CID.’
‘Fuck ’em,’ I said. ‘I’ve got the keys.’
‘Down, boy,’ she said. ‘You remember procedure.’
I did, but I didn’t want to, and I didn’t want to be here, and I particularly didn’t want to go inside, but I guessed I owed it to Lucy. ‘I hope you didn’t mention me.’
‘I didn’t.’
After a minute the PC got out of the car and said, ‘Sergeant, Inspector Lewis says you can go in, but don’t disturb the scene. It’s still sealed up there. He wants to know if you’ve got keys.’
She nodded. ‘Nick,’ she said.
I brought out the set Sheila had given me. Otherwise I suppose we’d’ve had to wait for Lewis or one of his minions to show up.
‘I’ll tell him,’ said the PC, who turned to go back to the car, then turned again. ‘I’m sorry about your sister,’ he said, which I suppose goes to prove that not all coppers are bastards. Or maybe it was just because she was in the Job.
‘Thank you,’ said Lucy, and I saw that her eyes were wet. She quickly bustled up the path.
I caught her up and gave her the keys. She opened the front door and we went upstairs. Sheila’s flat door was still taped up. Lucy snapped it and used the flat key to get inside. I followed her.
Inside was a mess. There were scuffs on the floor and the residue of fingerprint powder was everywhere. We went through to the living room and it looked like a herd of elephants had been through it. I looked at the bedroom door with trepidation. ‘She was in there, wasn’t she?’ said Lucy.
I nodded.
She opened the door and went inside. I followed. The curtains had been drawn right back and the bed had been stripped down to the mattress. Once again it looked as if the room had been trampled on.
I hadn’t seen such a forlorn sight in years.
‘So this was her,’ whispered Lucy, looking round at the few pathetic belongings on display.
I was suddenly angry. ‘No,’ I said. ‘This wasn’t her. This wasn’t her at all. She was alive and this place is dead. Everything in here looks like trash because of what happened. But we had good times here. This stuff was important to her and because of that it was important to me. She wasn’t rich or famous, and she didn’t have much, but everything meant something to her. We laughed in here for Christ’s sake, Lucy. We made love on that bed and talked for hours and it meant something. She kept the curtains closed so we couldn’t see the dust, but it didn’t matter. But now all I can see is the dust, and I don’t like it. I want to get out of here and breathe some fresh air. I’ll meet you outside.’ And I fled.
When I was back in the tiny front garden I lit a cigarette and sat on the wall. The PC regarded me through the windscreen of his car, and I gave a tight smile that he returned.
I’d just finished the cigarette when Lucy came out and closed the front door behind her. She walked down the path and up to
me. ‘I’m truly sorry, Nick,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean that like it sounded. It was selfish of me to bring you here after what you saw yesterday.’
‘It’s OK,’ I said. ‘I shouldn’t have given you a hard time.’
‘You didn’t. You told the truth. Which is something I couldn’t see. I was looking with a copper’s eyes, not her sister’s. I feel ashamed.’
‘Don’t,’ I said.
‘Friends,’ she said, holding out her little hand that was the double of Sheila’s.
‘Friends,’ I said, and took it, and held it just too long.
25
‘Nick,’ she said, sitting on the wall next to me and accepting a cigarette. ‘In your statement you said you thought her place had been turned over.’
‘I know it had.’
‘What? Like a robbery?’
I had to be careful here. ‘Yeah,’ I said.
‘But nothing was taken.’
‘Nothing that I could see, but then she had nothing. Or at least not much.’
‘But if Johnny Tufnell did it why would he bother?’
‘To make it look like a robbery.’
‘But then why not take anything?’
A conundrum I thought. And one I knew the answer to, or thought I did. ‘I don’t know, Lucy,’ I said. ‘Who can tell what goes through someone’s head who’d just done what he’d done? Whether it was Tufnell or not.’
‘Yeah,’ she said tiredly.
‘What are you going to do now?’ I asked. Partly out of interest, partly to change the subject.
‘I’m going to the nick. Check in with DI Lewis.’
‘Well you can definitely count me out of that one. I’ve seen enough of the inside of police stations lately to last me a lifetime. And enough of that shit Lewis.’
‘Me too, but I’ve got to go. I’ve got to know that they’re doing something. So what are you going to do?’
‘I’m going to go home,’ I replied. ‘What are you doing later?’
‘Not a lot.’
‘Come round when you’re finished. Fill me in on what our boys in blue have come up with. We can have dinner or something.’
‘Sounds good to me.’
We walked back to my place and Lucy got into her car and drove off. Before she got into her car she reached into her shoulder bag and brought out Sheila’s teddy bear. ‘Is this what you wanted?’ she asked.
I nodded. ‘I’d almost forgotten,’ I replied, taking the scruffy little toy from her.
‘I didn’t.’
‘Now that is interfering with the crime scene,’ I said.
‘Against procedure you mean.’
I nodded again.
‘I don’t think this little fellow is going to make any difference.’
‘He’ll make a difference to me.’
‘If only he could talk,’ she said.
‘If only.’
‘Well, I’d better be off.’
‘If you hear anything…’ I didn’t finish the sentence.
‘You’ll be the first to know.’
‘Then take care of yourself.’
‘You too. See you later.’
‘Later.’
She got into her car and drove off with a wave. When she was gone I went inside.
Once there I put Teddy on the table where he could scope what was going on, then I dug out the envelope that Sheila had left me and had a closer look at the maps, plans and blueprints.
I figured that Finbarr had been right about one thing. The City of London was a high security area, under constant patrol from the security forces and dotted with CCTV cameras. Ones that could read number plates and spot stolen cars. But there again they couldn’t read minds. They just recorded events and that was that.
There was one map that was particularly interesting. It showed one of the small alleys that crisscrossed the area and there was a red dot in one corner. I found my A-Z and a magnifying glass and looked it up. It was so small on the map as to be almost invisible. I would’ve bet my life on two things. One was that the dot marked a manhole cover of some kind, and the second was that the alley was so narrow and insignificant that no camera covered it. And I’d also bet that it was how the team was going to get in to the sewer system and away with the swag.
There was only one thing for it. At some time in the near future I was going to have to go in and make a reconnaissance.
26
Lucy came back around six. She looked like she’d had a rough day. ‘You need a drink,’ I said.
‘Several.’
‘There’s a halfway decent pub not far away. And then we can find somewhere to eat.’
‘Lead me to it.’
When we were sat in the pub garden far enough away from anyone else to be able to talk privately, she told me what had occurred.
It wasn’t much. Police enquiries were proceeding. There were no witnesses to anyone around the house on the morning of Sheila’s murder. The murder weapon was still missing. I was out of the frame, which was a bloody relief even though I shouldn’t’ve been in it at all, and Johnny Tufnell was wanted for questioning but had vanished. Hadn’t been spotted for months in any of his old haunts. My theory was that he was currently thirty feet beneath the City of London digging his way to a fortune, but I still kept shtumm.
As the hot ball of the sun crossed the rooftops she started to chill out and around seven we went to a local Chinese for dinner. Like the pub, not one I’d frequented with Sheila. I didn’t want to bump into anyone we’d known, especially with her almost double in tow which was guaranteed to cause confusion.
It was the usual sort of cheap Chinese that abound in south London, a bit too much salt in the meat, the vegetables weren’t cut up small enough, but the portions were large and they were licensed. By the time we’d finished, the food bill was about eight quid and the booze was about fifty. Lucy insisted on paying and I let her, and after she’d settled the bill we walked unsteadily back to my place with her hanging on to my arm like a limpet.
We went into my flat and I got out a fresh bottle of Jack.
‘I shouldn’t,’ she said.
‘Nor me,’ I agreed. ‘But I’m going to. Join me?’
She let me pour her a glass and we toasted each other as Sonny Rollins did his thing on the stereo.
‘I need to do a pee,’ she said, and got up. It was almost too much like the first time I’d ever been properly alone with Sheila, and I’d had too much to drink that evening. I grabbed Lucy by the wrist as she passed my chair and stopped her.
She turned and looked at me and there was a look of contempt on her face. ‘So what’s this?’ she asked. ‘Going for second best?’
I shook my head. ‘No,’ I said. ‘I didn’t mean…’ But I did. I did mean, and I didn’t give a shit what she thought of me.
‘Don’t give me that, Nick,’ she said. ‘What’s the idea? You jump the sister, close your eyes and think of Sheila while I close my eyes and think of England? I don’t think so, do you?’ And she snatched her wrist out of my grasp.
I should’ve apologised, been contrite, but I was too pissed and feeling sorry for myself. The most loathsome of emotions. So instead, when she came back I said, ‘So what’s the problem? You married?’
She shook her head. ‘No. But I do have a partner.’
‘A partner,’ I said. ‘Your fucking partner. I hate that word. Your husband or your wife. Your boyfriend or your girlfriend. Your bloke or your bird. That’s OK. But your fucking partner. No. Your partner is someone you go into business with. Or crime. Or tennis. Or fucking bridge even. So what is he? Your partner? Another fucking copper?’
‘No he’s not a copper. In fact he’s not even a he.’
It took a minute to sink into my booze-addled brain. ‘For fuck’s sake,’ I said. ‘I don’t bel
ieve it.’ I shook my head. ‘Well that just puts the tin lid on the whole fucking affair. A fucking dyke. Are you kidding me? You’re a fucking dyke?’ I laughed, but the sound was suspiciously like a death rattle and not funny at all.
She looked at me and nodded.
‘Well, Jesus Christ,’ I said. ‘It sure don’t run in the family.’
27
Lucy didn’t punch me in the mouth at that, but if she had I wouldn’t’ve blamed her. Instead she called a cab from a number on one of the cards by the phone, her face like thunder, and ignoring my slurred apologies she left the flat and waited for the taxi downstairs in the street, as I watched from my window. After it had come and she’d gone, I finished the new bottle of Jack then collapsed into bed.
I woke up with the birds, in a tangle of sheets and a head like a foundry on overtime, and groaned aloud.
‘Jesus,’ I said to myself. ‘You really blew it this time.’
See, I remember everything, however drunk or stoned I get. Total recall. No convenient blackouts for me. I don’t believe people who say they don’t remember. To me that’s just a way of avoiding responsibility for your own actions. Me, I’m responsible for every lousy thing I’ve ever done.
I rolled off the bed and took myself and my mouth, which tasted like the inside of an old sock, to the bathroom.
‘Christ,’ I said when I looked at myself in the mirror, where I resembled something from The Hammer House of Horror. ‘What the fuck are you doing to yourself?’
I cleaned my teeth, shaved and showered, found clean clothes and made a pot of tea and some toast, but I couldn’t face the food without heaving, so I just sipped at the boiling brew. There was one Silk Cut left in a packet on the table. I smoked it over my second cup.
The phone rang then. My stomach turned as I picked it up. What now? I thought.
It was Judith. ‘Is it true?’ she asked without preamble.
‘What?’
‘Sheila.’
‘It’s true. How did you find out?’
‘Jerry’s dad phoned him. He saw it on TV. He remembered her name. And yours.’
‘I was mentioned was I? I’ve stopped watching TV.’