Stone Cold Dead

by Roger Ormerod

  ‘Well there is,’ I told them. ‘His name’s Dennis, and he’s now temporarily resident with his father, who can’t keep his fists to himself. I simply thought I might visit, and ask the lad what he wants. It was just a thought.’

  Amelia nudged me. I didn’t turn to meet her eyes.

  ‘How old is he?’ I asked Colin. ‘D’you know?’

  ‘Between two and three, I think.’

  ‘Ah! Then...after dinner, I thought I’d pay them a visit, and try to discover what the situation is.’

  ‘Not alone, surely!’ cried Victoria, clasping her palms together and putting the praying hands against her lips.

  ‘Oh no. Not alone.’

  ‘Ray,’ said Mellie, looking round to see what her loved-one would have to offer. ‘You?’

  ‘I wish I could,’ he said wistfully. ‘But I’m a policeman. There’re rules. And I’m afraid, if I was with Mr Patton...with Richard...I might get in his way.’

  It was at this point that I realized that Ray was one of those persons who do not display their thoughts and their emotions openly. Perhaps Mellie was not yet aware of this. A solemn Ray was not necessarily a morose one. His humour was simply bone dry.

  ‘I don’t really think you would, Ray,’ I told him. ‘It might not be in accord with your position as a policeman, though. So I’m afraid it can’t be you. Sorry.’

  ‘That’s all right.’

  This was not greeted favourably by Mellie, who was at the romantic age when her man should rush into the fray and succour the ravishing, or ravished, maiden. In this event, herself as the ravishing one. She made a sound of contempt, and turned away.

  Ray made a movement as though to go to her. He reached out and touched her shoulder, but she shrugged herself free, pouting.

  ‘He knows me, Mellie,’ he said. ‘We’ve met—me as Clare’s partner in the patrol car. He knows me. And I’m a policeman, and we’re not supposed to get tangled up with domestic disputes. Isn’t that correct, Mr Patton?’

  I muttered an agreement, but Mellie would not relax, would not turn to face him. ‘You just don’t care, that’s the trouble.’

  ‘I care.’

  ‘You wouldn’t need to go in your uniform.’

  ‘I told you...he knows me, uniform or not.’

  ‘Hmmph!’

  ‘So what would you have me do?’ he asked, his voice taking on a shade of bitterness. ‘Wear a moustache and a ginger wig?’

  ‘You don’t have to be sarcastic.’ She said it close to a sob.

  ‘Really, Mellie,’ I put in, ‘it’s quite out of the question. Ray is definitely the wrong person to get involved with this.’

  She turned, angry now with me, and probably glad of the chance to deflect it from Ray. ‘You’re all the same—you men.’

  There was no answer to that. Amelia said, ‘It’s perhaps just as well.’

  Mellie stared at her, trying to make sense of that statement, and reluctantly allowed Ray to rest a hand on her arm.

  ‘All the same...’ she mumbled.

  ‘Some other time,’ I suggested to Ray, as though he’d been deprived of a special treat. He grimaced, and nodded.

  ‘It’s all a matter of convenience,’ I said. ‘Colin?’ I asked. ‘What about you?’

  Colin looked startled. His eyes lifted to meet the neutral stares of his employers, who could not decide, it seemed, whether they approved of this use of their lock-keeper. He was theirs, body and soul, and they feared for the safety of his body. Besides, it would probably be difficult to find anyone else who could operate their flight, and maintain all the other locks as well.

  He couldn’t answer at once. They nodded solemnly. He had their support, whatever he decided.

  ‘It’s not really convenient,’ he said. Then he looked around to see who might wish to dispute this. ‘I’ve got to be here, you see. Any moment there might be a houseboat come along—hooting for assistance.’

  The three sages nodded silently. He had their sympathy and understanding.

  ‘But of course,’ I said, snapping my fingers to indicate an annoyance with myself. ‘They’ve been coming through all day, queuing up. We might expect another, any minute, preceded by an ice-breaker.’

  He smiled bleakly. ‘I knew you’d see my point.’ I had seen his point exactly. He was intending to kill Pierce—but not today.

  ‘Well now,’ I said. ‘That seems to leave you, Gerald. The ideal man, anyway. We’ll go a little later. Better leave it till it’s good and dark. I assume you know Crayminster?’

  He was looking blank. ‘My business premises are there,’ he informed me distantly. He hadn’t really understood what I’d said.

  ‘You’re just the man. I’ll need guidance, on the location and on the law. We must remain strictly on the correct side of legality.’

  He still wasn’t sure that he’d heard me correctly, glanced at Ruby, who nodded, her lower lip caught in her teeth, and he compromised on my question, dismissing the preceding statement as an error on my part.

  ‘I know Crayminster, of course. My business premises are there, as I told you.’

  ‘Good,’ I said with enthusiasm. ‘So you’re just the man. We must keep strictly on the right side of the law, as I’ve already said. Don’t you think? Maybe you’ll have to restrain my enthusiasm.’

  I was talking in a pedantic and formal manner, such as I thought he would appreciate. But he clearly didn’t.

  ‘But...but...’ He looked round frantically for assistance, encouragement. ‘I couldn’t allow myself to become involved with anything like this. My position...my reputation...’

  ‘Will be enhanced,’ I assured him.

  ‘But I can’t...’

  ‘I need a lawyer,’ I told him. ‘I had you in mind all the while, frankly, but I thought I had to give the others a chance. Somebody who can watch that no aspect of the law is infringed, who can advise me if I stray one iota from the straight and narrow of legal exactitude. Damn it all, Gerald, you’re probably the only man I’d wish to have at my elbow—to advise. And perhaps, later on in a witness box, support what I’ll have done with all the confidence your reputation must give you.’

  ‘Witness box...’ He looked a shade green, I thought, but that had to be a reflection from the green surface of the table.

  ‘Damn it all, Gerald, I wouldn’t dare to go without you at my shoulder. This has to be right, strictly correct in all facets of matrimonial law...’

  I was well into my stride now, and could have gone on spouting this rubbish for ages. But I paused, because he’d have burst if I hadn’t.

  ‘I know nothing of matrimonial law,’ he protested, raising his head, proud of the fact, flapping his arms to dismiss the idea.

  ‘That’s perhaps for the best,’ I assured him, and had him stumped for a valid response. ‘And...think of the glory...’

  ‘That’s enough, Richard,’ said Amelia softly, into my ear. She knows what I’m like. And in the end it was Ruby who settled it, and quite calmly. ‘You will go, Gerald,’ she instructed, but smiling at him. ‘It’s your duty.’

  He wiped a hand over his face. A different expression was revealed. ‘If you wish, my dear.’ And she smiled. She so wished.

  But poor Gerald was sweating, and I was beginning to regret having pushed him into it. Behind and around us the others were muttering about what various affairs were demanding their immediate attention, and gradually the bar cleared. Gerald then came over and sat with Amelia and me at our table.

  ‘You forced that on me, didn’t you?’ he asked. He did not resent it; he only deplored it.

  ‘As I told you, I had you in mind all the while.’

  ‘I can’t understand that.’ He was blustering a little. ‘It’s quite unfair of you, Richard. Quite.’

  I smiled at him encouragingly. ‘I might want legal advice, that’s all. I thought I’d made that clear.’

  ‘I told you—’

  ‘I know. You don’t practise in matrimonial law. But you’d
have had to study the lot, and you’ll know what constitutes legal consent and the welfare of the injured party.’

  ‘You’re referring to the young woman? Helen Pierce, I think you said.’

  I looked to Amelia for guidance. She clearly didn’t approve of my going, anyway, let alone taking Gerald with me. She shook her head. It was my idea, so I could sort it out with Gerald.

  I took it on. ‘The injured party, as you very well know, Gerald, need not be physically injured. Socially injured, welfare injured, reputation injured.’

  ‘That’ll be me.’ Then he shook his head. ‘And I don’t know what you’re trying to say.’

  ‘The injured party in this case is not necessarily the mother. She’s only suffered physical injuries, which’ll heal. But what about the one in the middle, the lad, who’s being psychologically injured every minute this goes on? And emotionally, and—I’m praying, not physically. Hasn’t anybody got any thought for him! So all right. We’re going along there, Gerald, simply to ask young Dennis what he wants. Quite clearly, it’s not in his best interests for him to be left with both his parents. We’re not trying to get them together, Helen and her husband...’ I snapped my fingers. ‘Arnold,’ Amelia provided. ‘Pierce,’ she added.

  ‘Yes. Thanks, love.’ I went on, ‘We’re not trying to hold a marriage together. We’re not marriage counsellors. We’re trying to decide what’s best for the lad. Perhaps it’ll turn out that he’s got no hope, caught between his parents.’

  ‘Don’t say that, Richard,’ Amelia said sharply.

  ‘All right, all right,’ I agreed. I was stretched a little tight, myself. ‘I’m just trying to get across to Gerald what we’re going there to do. To find out how the lad is, and to ask him what he wants to do. And if there’s anything illegal in that, I’m relying on you to tell me, Gerald. Very well, legal adviser. Do you get your fee now, or later?’

  ‘Don’t be stupid, please.’

  ‘Yes. Sorry. I’m a bit on edge. Why don’t we get going? Get it over with, that’s my idea. Like having a tooth out.’

  ‘All right.’ Gerald looked round huntedly. ‘I’ll go and get ready.’

  ‘Ready? What’s the matter with you as you are, for heaven’s sake? We just get in the car, and go.’

  He sighed, and got to his feet. ‘Ready for dinner, Richard,’ he explained. ‘It’s about due on the table, and I still have to change.’

  I’d been forgetting all about dinner. Now that was in the way, just when I’d built myself up for action.

  ‘You don’t need to change...’

  ‘Not change? My dear man!’

  ‘Then you’ll have to change back afterwards.’

  ‘Of course.’

  I sighed. He had developed a way of life that consumed the empty hours, and would now feel uncomfortable if robbed of one iota of his routine, which was antiquated. No radio, no TV set, no CD player lived in this house. They were all too modern for Gerald, and thus had to be so for his family. It would be a waste of time to point out to him that although a CD player was a modern item, the Mozart it could reproduce was originated at about the same time as James Brindley was building his flights.

  But I had to accept his idiosyncrasies.

  This was the sort of delay that tears your nerves to pieces. I prowled. I washed and I changed, and I prowled a little more. And eventually the gong boomed us to the table. I never did locate that gong, or discover who bonged it.

  I think I ate. It seemed that I did, because empty plates were exchanged for full ones, themselves to be emptied. The time was getting along. Wouldn’t it be the lad’s bedtime? Or would that wait until his father returned from the pub? Would we have to wait for that? In either event, or both, what might have been a smooth operation began to seem complicated.

  And heavens...we had to go through the port and cigars routine again, and then Gerald had to change into his utility suit, tailored for visiting great louts and other such occasions. I changed, too. Oldest suit I’d brought with me, and my heaviest shoes.

  ‘It’s not snowing,’ said Amelia, viewing these.

  ‘I know. But it might,’ I told her.

  They all came into the bar to see us on our way. Gerald was stiff and cool with me. Ray pouted his disappointment at having to remain behind.

  Amelia reached up to kiss me. ‘But Richard—you don’t know the address.’

  ‘Oh yes I do. It’s 22 Brindley Street. It’s on Bruce’s collar.’

  ‘Oh...clever you.’ It was that little sarcastic dig again.

  ‘Ready, Gerald?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, yes. I’m coming. Your car, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘No, I don’t mind. But why?’

  ‘I know Brindley Street. It’s hardly a monument to the great man. I’d rather not leave my car parked there at night.’

  ‘Nor me,’ I agreed. ‘But we’re using Amelia’s.’

  She pouted at me, reached up and kissed me, and we went out into the night by way of the swing doors, then round to the side.

  It was a reasonable night for driving, no fog or anything like that. ‘Left at the crossroads,’ he said, as we drove up the lane.

  I did that. ‘That’s where I came across the unlocked parked car,’ I told him.

  ‘Was it, now? Take the left here, then the second on the right.’

  Orientating myself from the lie of the canal, and recalling how the town spread from it, I realized we were coming into Crayminster from what one might call the rear. At that point, it was spaced houses in large grounds and the odd freeholding, but we were running down a long, winding road with a gentle slope.

  ‘Still all right?’ I asked, as he’d said nothing since the crossroads.

  ‘Second right after here, then the first on the left.’ His voice was uncertain. ‘There’s Brindley Street, look, with the lamp on the corner.’

  It was a very poor street lamp, ancient, attached to a house’s blank end wall. I turned into the street he meant. Lights along here were also meagre, and sparse. They hadn’t got round to the orange ones.

  ‘It’ll be on this side,’ he said. ‘Yes. A bit further, I’d think. Yes, this will do.’ He seemed reluctant to have the car stop, reluctant to get out now it had.

  I put the handbrake on, and locked it up. Very few cars were parked along the street, not this far up the slope. Further down, light spilt on to the pavement. Noise penetrated dimly to our location. It would be a pub. It would be Pierce’s local. I hoped he wasn’t down there, as it would have been impractical to try to fetch him out of the bar.

  I said, ‘This it?’

  Dimly, I could detect the number, 22, white, painted clumsily on a stone pillar, on which a wrought-iron gate should have hung, but didn’t. The street was one long terrace of houses, perhaps smart when built, with a generous frontage of twenty feet or so, a slope of paving stones, then five or six steps up to a deep porch and a door set back inside it.

  But now the low frontage wall was crumbling, the approach steps were cracked, and the original stained-glass insert to the front door was broken in several places, with paper roughly plastered over the gaps. We mounted to it and stood in the porch. Dimly, I could see light at the far end of the hall. The front window, to our left, gave the impression of being a bay-window, when in fact it was more likely a corner of the front room. The side pane of glass was cracked, with a length of wood nailed across it.

  There was, I saw now that my eyes had become accustomed to the gloom, a bell-push. I tried it, but heard no response.

  ‘This is most unpleasant, Richard,’ said Gerald, from way back in his throat. I didn’t reply. I’d seen worse places, and been inside them.

  I found a door knocker, and discovered it was so stiff that it would barely move. With a little effort put into it, it did, producing a dead, bashing sound.

  Way back, but opposite to me, I saw light appear as a door was opened. A voice shouted, ‘Who the hell’s that?’

  In response, I banged the knocker
again. Footsteps approached in the form of clumping sounds. ‘What y’ want?’

  ‘Open up, and I’ll tell you,’ I called back.

  The door swung open a few inches, its hinge to my right. This was not a hall, as I could now see, but a room, with a little light filtering in from a street lamp on the far side of the street. The opening was a meagre foot. I could see one eye. His left arm was keeping out of sight behind the door. I didn’t like the look of that, as it probably meant he was holding some sort of an offensive weapon, most likely a knife. I had not wanted violence, but it seemed that it was his natural approach to unwanted visitors.

  ‘What the hell’re you after? Sod off.’

  ‘Are you Arnold Pierce?’ I asked, quite quietly.

  ‘Yeah. What’s it to you?’

  ‘I’d like to have a word with you. Can I come in?’ Keeping it polite.

  ‘Bugger off.’

  The door began to close. If the latch clicked shut, I knew I’d never get him to open up again. On that eventuality, I had my weight poised, and as I now knew that the hinge was to my right, I kicked, flat-footed, at the left edge, as hard as I could make it given the cramped location I was in. The shoes were not heavy enough after all, but he had no firm grip on the door, only his left shoulder leaning against it, the right hand that I could see holding a can of beer. The door spun from his insecure grasp and crashed back against the side wall. Two panes of glass fell at his feet as I stepped quickly inside, crunching over them.

  ‘Shut the door, Gerald,’ I said flatly. I was having to attend to the movements and locations of two people at the same time. I heard it shut behind me, and Gerald’s weak plea, ‘Richard...really!’ But he closed the door. I hadn’t wished to use force, but clearly Pierce was a man who understood little else. A blade caught a glint of reflection, so I’d been correct about the knife.

  Pierce had been thrown off balance, twisting round against the side wall. He was not moving, but waiting until his full responses recovered. His left hand, which had been behind the door, was now hidden behind his thigh, but I didn’t give him time to think about using the knife, and went straight at him, hitting out with the heel of my hand to his shoulder, urging him, jolting him, towards that lighted room at the rear, confusing him as to my intentions. I was recalling my first sight of Helen.