by Jan Swick
He chose to go around the back.
The back garden was the same as always. Plain grass, an old shed, nothing else. It had been that way since he was a child. French doors led into the living room. They were closed and although the full-length vertical blinds were open, the glass reflected the sunlight and he couldn't see inside. He strode towards the doors, one arm up in a hello gesture, just in case there were people - strangers - inside peering out. Didn't want to freak anyone.
He got right up to the window and looked in. Had to cup his hands around his face to block the light.
He saw a living room that hadn't changed much. The TV was newer, and the ancient coffee table had gone, but that was it. Everything else was how he remembered, which helped dampen his nerves. Then he noted a new picture on the wall, amongst the seven Dogs Playing Poker reproductions that had been hung for as long as Matt could remember. A baby, lying on a blanket, facing the camera. In front of him, lettered blocks reading JOSEPH.
Shit. Someone had had a baby after all. He might be an uncle.
His mother walked in from the kitchen, a cup of tea in hand. She saw the figure at the window and stopped abruptly. Tea spilled onto the carpet. He tried the sliding door but it was locked. By the time his hand had fallen to his side, she was there, inches away behind the glass. She flicked the lock, slid the door. Hadn't taken her eyes off his face. She drew him into a silent hug and he felt her begin to shiver. Knew she was fighting emotion. Then the tears came and a terrible wailing noise. Only for a moment did he think it was all about him, that the emotion was simply gratitude that her son was still alive. It was not gratitude, but rekindled sorrow. His return must have nailed home the fact that it taken the death of one child to bring home another. Matt put his hands up and hugged her back, but the closeness felt awkward, reminding him that the years apart had made them strangers. Or was that just a silly feature of his own mind?
Mum finally let him go, dabbed at her eyes and turned away.
"Your father's in the toilet," she said as she walked deeper into the room. She took a slot on the sofa amid scattered embroidery materials, a place that accepted her neatly, as if she'd carved a niche there over time. He immediately asked about her shop. In the few letters that had come his way while he was away in the army, he'd learned that she'd risen to manager, and during the two-month period between coming home after the army and vacating his life for the traveller existence, she had taken over as owner, helped by a bank loan. But something had changed.
Shop closure, she told him. Now she still created curtains for people, but she did it from home, advertising online through Facebook and other sites. He nodded with a smile, saying he thought that was cool, good, nice. He couldn't work out if that were actually the case. Maybe she made money and maybe she didn't. But he did remember that the shop had brought her pleasure socially. Maybe that was missing now. Of course, it was impossible to read her during this emotional period.
She picked up a length of material and a measuring tape. Made measurements and wrote in a book while she spoke. "I checked for you on Facebook."
A wave of guilt. "I don't use it." He felt the need to explain his absence, but she smiled at him, and he felt that need no more. He was back, that was all that mattered, that smile said. Besides, what could he say? I left because I didn't want the baggage of worry. I left because it's just too much hassle to care about people. That would go down a treat.
He heard a toilet flush upstairs and felt the nerves again. Now he had to do this all over with his father.
It had been easier with his father, and easier still with Danny. Dad had entered the room, grunted in surprise, then approached and squeezed Matt's shoulder. Then he sat down in a worn armchair and picked up a controller for an Xbox games system. That was when Matt knew that his father no longer had a job, either. He decided to break the ice with Dad by asking about the video game. Dad said he played them to hone his reactions. Mum laughed at that. Matt made a joke, too. The tension slipped away. For half an hour all three chatted as if Matt had never been away. Strangely, they didn't ask where he'd been, as if concerned about the answers. Stranger still, nobody brought up Karen. Dead sister. Dead daughter. No mention. As time progressed and he thought more about this, the tension slowly mounted, like rising pressure. Then Danny had arrived.
Danny had entered the living room and frozen, staring at Matt. He had a briefcase, a suit, long hair in a ponytail. Changes, changes. Last Matt remembered, Danny spent all day in rock gear, playing with his band. Matt remembered the band, asked about it. It had remained. Danny had said he'd never give up that dream. At least something was the same.
The family together, minus one, of course. Matt had expected them to sit at the dinner table and catch up, but Danny had flicked his head, a follow-me gesture, and left the house. And Matt had followed. He was thoughtful enough to tell his parents that he was going to chat to his brother and would be back soon, just in case they thought he was eloping again.
Now they were in Danny's car, a flash BMW M5, car of choice for the Yuppie crowd. South on Archway Road, fast as the traffic would allow. Matt scrutinised his brother. Danny was two years older but looked ten years younger. Matt had noticed the bike rack on the back of the car and guessed Danny rode around London to keep fit. The suit was tight around Danny's shoulders. The guy was building muscle, too. Changes, changes, but not for Matt. He had been treading water for seven years, nothing changing but his name and his age.
"I won't ask where you've been," Danny said. First time he'd spoken since the house. "It's your business. Mum and Dad won't ask, either."
"They didn't," Matt said. He was thinking about how nobody had mentioned Karen. It was puzzling him. "It was weird."
"You expected a party?"
He couldn't tell if that was sarcasm. "I expected to be told off, actually."
Danny swung a turn. "They didn't mind you running off. Grown men go get their own lives. Expected it, maybe, especially after you ran off to the army Although a call would have been nice. They were over the moon when I finally got my own flat."
And Karen, when she left?
But what he said was, "And a suit, I see. Didn't make the rock star, then?"
Danny was silent for a short spell. He drove fast, making turns. Matt realised this wasn't just a drive so they could talk in peace: his brother was taking him somewhere.
"Family will be down. They'll be asking questions. We've avoided them so far. Questions, that is. We're hoping for next week for the funeral. You're going to come of course?"
"Of course." Now they were taking baby steps in the right direction. No outright mention of Karen, but a nod towards her. But there was a knot in Matt's throat. No date for the funeral might mean the Coroner hadn't released the body yet. Which meant an inquest. And an inquest hinted at foul play.
Silence again. At least ten minutes this time. Matt looked around the car and the man. The car was a top-end model, so Danny was doing well for himself. The man wore a wedding band, so he had gotten a wife at some point. There hadn't been any kind of steady girlfriend in Danny's life when Matt left. Just a string of casual ones, all part of the wannabe rock star lifestyle. He looked over his shoulder. The rear seat. The space behind him had food crumbs in the seams, while the other half, behind the driver, was clean and pristine. An accumulation of crumbs over time, from someone who only ever sat behind the passenger seat, where the driver could easily see him. Relief hit him like a wave.
"How's Joseph?" he said, finally. He had feared the baby in the photo back at the house might be Karen's. Barely into the world and already his mother dead.
Danny looked at him. "Brilliant. He's three now."
"Got a recent photo?" Small talk.
"Later," Danny said, and pulled the car quickly to the kerb.
Wherever Danny had chosen to taken him, they had arrived Matt saw a residential street with small shops scattered. Takeaways, a dry cleaners', some others. Not a nice-looking place. The few people
here didn't look altogether normal. He had registered the street name, on a sign on a wall back at the corner. Barker Street.
"Red light area, in case you're wondering," Danny said. Matt wasn't wondering. He'd worked that out already, just not why they were here. Danny took something out of his glove box. It was something laminated, A5 size. He held it to his chest.
"Caz sometimes said she thought the next time we hear about you, it'd be two cops at the door, telling us the bad news."
There it was. She had been mentioned. He hadn't dreamed her his whole life after all. He waited for Danny's story. Cops at the door, bearers of bad news.
"That's how it's supposed to happen. Someone dead in your family. Cops coming to the door." He smacked his door with his forearm. "Not when the guy who finds the body is a goddamned pal of some reporter and tells that guy all about it first."
Danny held the laminated thing out for him. He was supposed to take it. He didn't take it. He didn't see it. He saw nothing as his world sank inside him.
The nightmare was real, then. All the facts were there, proving it: body found outside, inquest ordered, and a text message with the word KILLED. No heart attack, car crash or hidden disease had killed his Karen. The truth was forcing itself upon a mind that was losing the battle to keep itself locked shut, and the truth was going to be that his sister had been murdered.
Matt looked out of the windows again. He looked and he knew what Danny was trying to show him, but he didn't need to see it. Danny was trying to show him a laminated piece of some newspaper. A morning edition that some eager reporter had made a stunning, late change to. Probably before telling the police. The story is in print and in the shops before the cops can identify the dead woman. And a city boy in a suit buys the local paper on his way to the office and learns of the explosion to his world long before a sympathetic officer can knock his door to tell him. Matt knew all this and as he looked at the street beyond the window, he realised he knew something else, too. Why Danny had brought him here.
"She was a prostitute?"
"She was murdered by some sick fuck around this area. Dumped in a patch of wasteground like trash."
The last sentence put a painful throb in Matt's stomach. He forced his fist into it. He looked for this wasteground. Wasn't there. Danny saw his roving eyes.
"It's a few streets or so over. But this is where she worked. They said." He held out the laminate again. Matt didn't take it, but he could see part of it. Six lines of smaller print beside a photo that he avoided looking at, both under a headline: LOCAL PROSTITUTE FOUND BEATEN AND STRANGLED.
Beaten and strangled. Now he knew everything. Knew too much. Knew too where this knowledge was going to lead him. Someone out there had done this to her, to her family, to Matt. He felt the affront as a pressure behind his eyes. He rubbed his nose where it parted his eyes. He was grinding his teeth, and that part was anger. He knew he was at the start of a journey he couldn't avoid, couldn't back out of. It was in his DNA, but he was scared at the prospect.
"Why this street? Why did you bring me here? Is this where she worked?"
"That's what this bastard who wrote the article says. I say he goddamn assumed she was a prostitute because of where she was found. Or just because she was out alone on a Saturday night." The laminate was still under Matt's nose. He didn't want to see it. He'd seen all he needed. He didn't want it to exist. His gut was twisting at the brand new knowledge that his sister had been found murdered on Sunday morning and it was now Tuesday. For two days she had been dead and he hadn't known. Two days in which his family had been suffering, while he was just a few hours away and lugging bags of ornamental stones and compost in a world of oblivion. Had a bath, watched TV, enjoyed his meals, laughed at comedy on TV. Unaware of the vicious blast crater in his universe. That part stung as badly as anything he'd ever experienced.
"Take me back," he said with a croaky voice.
"No, I brought you here so you could find out."
Matt looked at him. Danny met his glare. The self-pity was gone, replaced with growing anger. "Find out if she was a prostitute, you mean? By going out there and asking other prostitutes, I assume."
"I want to tell the rest of the family, when they come down, that she wasn't what the papers said."
"Who cares what some paper says? If some distant uncle even brings that up during a funeral, his opinion of Karen isn't even worth worrying about. Take me back."
Danny looked like he'd barely heard. "I need to know, Matty. Mum and Dad, too. It's killing them."
"Let's just go back, Danny. This isn't a good idea. It's too early and there's no women out, as you can see. We'd have to wait till after ten. If we were doing this, which we're not."
Danny looked angry. His mouth moved a couple of times, but he seemed to bite back whatever wanted to come out. He threw the car in gear and squealed the tyres as he jumped away from the kerb.
They rode in silence. Matt understood. The way Danny had entered the house and ushered him out. This idea about approaching prostitutes had been in Danny's mind since he'd learned about Karen's death. He'd probably planned to use Matt since then. He'd known Matt would come. Matt, the tough army boy. Matt would go chat to the girls, Matt would get the truth. And Matt would, but not under the eyes of a city boy. And that was why Matt didn't go into his parents' house when Danny dropped him off. He approached the house, slowly, but that was for the benefit of Danny's eyes, in the rear-view mirror. As soon as Danny's car was round the corner, lost from sight, Matt hopped in his own car. His parents would likely be annoyed that he'd vanished again, but he would be back tomorrow. One more day after so many years wouldn't hurt them.
He found an Internet cafe half a mile away. Eight minutes inside and he had what he wanted. That left a few hours to kill. He drove around London, seeing places he remembered, mostly unchanged, and that felt good. He needed that. Seven years now away, and in all that time he'd lived in cities he hadn't really known. The routes from whatever crap job he had to whatever crap bedsit he occupied were imprinted deeply, but the cities themselves were never given a good shot. Work, home, work home. Combined with an erosion of his knowledge of London, it meant there was no place on earth he really knew well, as if he were an alien visitor to the planet. But he would change that. Because he was back, and his plan was to stay.
Losing himself in his mind. No better way to pass the time. Before he knew it, it was half-past nine. Time to get to work.
Barker street again. Dark now, close to ten o'clock. He'd been waiting a while, thinking in the dark. As if she were up there in Heaven, logging onto Facebook, many people had written miss you messages on her profile. Dozens. Young people, mostly. Probably from her university. Her profile had said she was studying nursing. Condolences were all very well and good, but Matt didn't like the idea of people who didn't know her checking her profile now she was dead and news because of it. He would talk to Mum about getting the profile deleted, or at least locked to the public.
Matt wondered about the prostitution. And the university. Did one lead to the other? Was university her attempt to get off the game, get herself a life, or was the prostitution nothing more than a means of paying her way while studying?
Back to the job at hand. At this time of night, more people were out than had been earlier. More unsavoury characters. Matt didn't doubt that he would be accosted within moments if he stepped out of the car. Women wanting to suck him for a price. Men wanting to sell him jewellery or just take his shoes. This was not a pleasant place at night. Most people driving through would add ten miles an hour to the speedo until they were clear.
Matt exited the car. Locked it. Started walking. A hundred metres up, the road hit a T-junction. A sign said the new street was called Albert Road. Left, he could see larger shops, still open. A Tesco Express, a taxi rank, others. More life up that way. To the right, the lighting grew worse. Dim, almost eerie, as if the local authority had set such an area aside for the strange of society to lurk in. Purely r
esidential down that way. Big houses, old, three stories, looking like mini haunted mansions in the moonlight. More people, mostly standing around. A dotting of girls, plying their trade.
He crossed to the other side of Barker Street, where there was a streetlight virtually right on the corner. He stood on the corner of the junction, hidden in a shadowy, recessed shop doorway, waiting. Watching both streets. Didn't care if he looked suspicious. It would keep people away from him. It took forty more minutes. In that time, he had to tell three separate guys he wasn't buying or selling dope, and another guy that he had no problem, wasn't staring, sorry. Six different girls passed him, but none approached. They were only interested in the guys in cars. Like the one that pulled to the kerb sixty metres down the haunted mansion part of Albert Road. Other side of the road, facing his way. Matt moved that way. A guy stuck his arm out the driver's window when a prostitute in a jogging outfit came close. He held something in his hand, some piece of paper. The woman gave him the finger and walked away. By this time Matt was level with the car, on the other side of the road. The driver hadn't seen him. He sprinted across the road just as the car started to pull away. Yanked the passenger door and slipped inside.
"Jesus goddamn Christ!" Danny yelled. He hit the brakes.
"I could have been a guy with a knife, you idiot," Matt snapped. "And right now you'd be in the road, watching me drive your flash BMW away into the night."
"Yeah? Well I had no choice, did I? You wouldn't help."
Matt snatched the paper. Polaroid photo of Karen. Old one, from some Christmas party Matt had missed. One of many. "You'll get nothing this way, Danny. You might look like a drug dealer in this car, but you go asking questions like that in the dead of night, wearing a bloody suit, and you come across like a police officer. I saw the success you had just then with that girl."