A Corpse Called Bob

by Benedict Brown

  He gave me another little kiss and kiss number three was the perfect follow up to numbers one and two. You’ll be glad to know I stopped counting after that.

  And, afterwards, he didn’t pressure me to follow him into a public toilet for a quickie or give a negative critique of my kissing technique. He didn’t burp or whip out his phone to check the football scores and, for this alone, he made it onto my list of top ten greatest ever kisses.

  Who are we kidding? He was number one with a bullet.

  “Let’s do this again soon.” He was still holding my hand.

  I let out a far too romantic sigh. “I may be able to fit you in.”

  “Night, Izzy.”

  “Night, David.” I gave him one last kiss and a playful shove towards his house.

  My heart was still playing a jazz drumbeat as we walked off in opposite directions. He clearly couldn’t stand to be alone though as it was only about twenty seconds later that I heard him running after me. Instead of turning round to receive his embrace, I thought I’d play it cool. I put my arm over my shoulder so that I could take his hand in mine when he caught up with me. Of course, Izzy being Izzy, I made a complete mess of it and ended up smacking him in the face.

  “Oh, David. I am so sorry.” I turned round feeling like a massive idiot – just to make a change.

  The man holding his nose in front of me was about three times the width of my (I think it’s fair at this point to call him) boyfriend. He looked like he was an extra in a documentary about rhinos and wore a balaclava pulled halfway down his face.

  “You’re not David. Why did… oh shiiiii–” It wasn’t his size, or even his choice of knitwear that made me cry out. It was the large knife he was carrying in his right hand.

  “You punched me, you overgrown freak!”

  I don’t know if it was down to the impending danger or his sizeist comment, but the only thing I remembered from a self-defence class I’d once taken popped into my head. Before he could lunge the knife at me, my knee went shooting forward at just the right angle to do the maximum possible damage. I threw my bag to the floor and sprinted away. He could have my £20 in cash and the Alcatel phone I’d got free with points from the supermarket, I just didn’t want to get stabbed.

  “Police!” I shouted, like I was in a period drama and then tried, “Fire!” which also sounded ridiculous so I finally settled on, “There’s a huge bloke with a knife.” I saw some twitching at curtains and an old man stuck his head out of his window but, seeing as the rhino was up on his feet and chasing after me, I could understand why no one came to help.

  You may recall that I’m quite a tall person, so covering distances isn’t normally a problem for me. Sadly, the beast on my tail was about three times faster than me and I’d have been in stab range in seconds if it hadn’t been for David appearing at that moment to rugby tackle him to the ground.

  Thank God for the Welsh!

  “David, he’s got a knife,” I said, but the large blade had spilled along the pavement out of reach.

  There was a pause as, laid out on the ground beside one another, the two men watched the weapon come to a stop ten metres from where I was cowering.

  “Izzy, leave it,” David yelled, but he was too late.

  I had a head start on the mugger who was already up on his feet. In an odd mirroring of the romantic scene that had played out minutes before, my eyes locked onto his as we both willed ourselves towards the knife. David was still on the ground, winded by his fall and could do nothing but watch the dramatic conclusion of the first ever attempt on my life.

  I was no rugby player, I hadn’t the skills to scoop up the blade and sidestep away from the oncoming defence. No, my toes weren’t known for their twinkliness, so I switched to plan B. Arriving one second before the human-bulldozer hybrid, I kicked the knife under a parked car.

  My foot swung determinedly through the air, but what I hadn’t considered was where it would go after. Sadly for my attacker, that place was his crotch. This second blow was just too much for the poor guy and he immediately doubled over. Clutching himself and rolling about on the floor, he made a sound like a bouncy castle with a puncture.

  “Whhhhhyyyyy?”

  It was an odd question coming from someone who’d just tried to knife me.

  If he wasn’t interested in my handbag, it must have been more personal, yet I felt oddly calm about the whole thing. I don’t know what had got into me. Challenging armed men? Sprinting towards danger? It wasn’t a side of my character that I recognised. If I hadn’t been high from the buzz of my new relationship, I’d probably have chickened out and let him stab me.

  You were incredible.

  Thanks very much!

  After I’d finished congratulating myself, David limped over with his hands to his ribs. We could hear sirens off in the distance but Rolly the rhino wouldn’t be charging off anywhere soon.

  “You’re bloody lethal you are.” His hands on his knees as he caught his breath, David peered up at me suspiciously. “I’m glad it wasn’t you I had to bring down. I wouldn’t stand a chance.”

  “Ouch, ow ow. I’m not so sure about that,” I replied through searing pain. “I think I’ve broken my foot.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  With several police cars and even a couple of ambulances, all with their lights a-flashing, we’d made quite a scene on the otherwise dozy residential street. The paramedic lovingly bandaged up my bossfriend (still funny) but, when I showed her my foot, she said it was just a bruise and gave me ibuprofen. I stuck my tongue out at her as soon as she wasn’t looking. It turned out to be a surprisingly effective form of pain relief.

  When the police arrested our scrotally afflicted friend and removed his balaclava, it felt like the unmasking of a comic book supervillain. It wasn’t as if I was expecting to find one of our suspects underneath – even that criminal mastermind Wendy couldn’t disguise herself as a twenty stone heavy with neck tattoos. Still, I thought that I might recognise the guy who’d gone to so much trouble to attack me, but, nope, nothing.

  D.I. Brabazon wasn’t on duty that night – I guess the police occasionally get time off to sleep and that sort of thing – but his partner D.I. Irons was there to debrief us with her usual quiet competence.

  “Looks like he was paid to do it. He’s a local fella. Not the first time I’ve run into him.”

  I was biting my tongue to distract from the pain in my foot so speaking was a bit tricky. “That’s good then, right? It means we’ll find out who was behind it.”

  Perched on the garden wall of the old man who’d called the police, David sat with his arm around me, making sure to avoid all contact with his ribs. “Surely he’ll tell you who paid him?”

  “Nope. Bitcoin.”

  I’d heard the word before but assumed it was some kind of computer game. “Sorry. What-what?”

  Irons looked at me as if I’d asked what a spoon was or how to open a book. “Whoever hired our guy found him on the dark web and paid with bitcoin. It’s an anonymous digital currency; impossible to trace.”

  David seemed to be following the sounds she was making better than I was. “Why would he tell you this stuff?”

  “The big chap currently having his testicles looked at in the ambulance knows that, as soon as we look at his computer, we’ll see everything he’s been up to. He’s trying to show how willing he is to cooperate. Not that it’ll do him much good. We knew that there was a hitman offering his services in London, it was only a matter of time before we came across him. We may not have his client but at least we stopped the hit.”

  With that one word, it struck me how much danger I’d been in. My foot throbbed again as if to highlight the point. “Hit? Someone put out a hit on me? Why would anyone want me dead? Did I eat their yoghurt from the breakroom fridge? Did they object to the potato-based re-enactments of classic romances Ramesh and I put on YouTube? I have so many questions.”

  “You’ll be required to make a statement. My
first thought would be that it’s connected to the murder of Mr Thomas. Maybe you’ve stumbled across something that the killer doesn’t want you sharing. I’d watch my back if I were you.” She nodded efficiently and turned to go.

  “Is that seriously your advice?” My voice went higher than the police sirens. “Isn’t watching my back supposed to be your job?”

  For the first time since I met her, she showed the slightest hint of a smile. “I think that Mr Hughes here will lend us a hand in that department.” She walked back to the ambulance where the would-be assassin was still getting treatment.

  David grinned proudly. “That’s right. I’ll be on hand twenty-four hours a day to launch myself at any man who comes near you.”

  “Sounds nice.” I gave him a kiss that was made rather awkward by the fact that I couldn’t touch him above the waist without causing pain. “How did you know to come to my rescue in the first place?”

  He helped me to my very hurty feet. “I was almost home when I realised I’d left my keys in the office. I was heading to my aunt’s to get my spare set when I heard you shouting.”

  We stood looking into each other’s eyes again. “My hero.”

  To be honest there was another ten minutes of gooiness after that but let’s skip to the bit where I got in a taxi and went home to bed.

  The next morning I had a visit from two police officers who had come to take my statement. It was Brabazon in charge this time and the soap opera fan in me wondered if he’d had a lover’s tiff with D.I. Irons. Sat outside in the garden, with my legs up on Mum’s wheelbarrow, I told him about the pain in my foot but he wasn’t particularly sympathetic.

  “We just need the essential details of what happened last night, please, Miss Palmer.”

  Once his uniformed minion had written up the statement and I’d signed it off, he had one more question.

  “So who wants you dead then?” He said it in such a matter of fact way, as if there were bound to be loads of people who wanted to kill me.

  I gave it a long hard think but was too tired to come up with any serious suggestions. They informed me that I was now the key witness to yet another major crime and that it would be a long drawn out process and I’d have to make an appearance if the case went to trial. It made me question how many crimes I could get caught up in before the police came to suspect me of some shady underworld connection.

  By the time the officers left, The Hawes Lane Morbid Curiosity Club had reassembled in our front lounge. Mum had been busy recruiting and it was getting out of control. In addition to the existing sleuths, our newsagent Mrs Dominski was there with her whole family, all of Greg’s yoga friends had been invited and there was even the bloke who collects trolleys in our supermarket squashed into one corner. There was barely a foot of carpet free for me to squat on.

  “Come on, Izzy. Get in here!” My father was standing beside the flipcharts which were now overflowing with annotations. He was mid-discussion with my ex-neighbour/current lodger about whether or not we could reduce the suspect list. “You’re being ridiculous, Danny.”

  “Admit it, Ted. Alibis aren’t worth the paper they’re written on.”

  Mum wasn’t the type to stay out of an argument. “I disagree. I really do. We know that Amara was at home with her kids and David was with his aunt. I’ve no doubt the police would have checked their alibis. So that means, of the people who had access to the server room, we’re only left with Wendy and Jack. We’ve practically cracked it.”

  The youngest Dominski girl, a student of about nineteen, was there to back Mum up. “That’s right, Mrs Palmer. And don’t forget that David basically stopped Izzy from being murdered last night. There’s no way he could be involved.” I have to say that she made a very good point and was evidently a wise and considerate young person.

  “You’re assuming of course that the same person who killed Bob also paid for the hit on Izzy.” Greg was propped up in one corner, looking a bit put out at all the people in his makeshift studio. “We mustn’t jump to conclusions.”

  “What about the train ticket Izzy found and the dodgy Russian pharmaceuticals?” Mrs 32 asked the group. “What about the e-mail from Bob that talked about a list? Where does any of that fit in?”

  “Red herrings, beyond any doubt. Personally, I’m convinced that David hired the assassin to cover his guilt.” Danny hadn’t been involved in the investigation long but was really invested in it. “By saving Izzy, it threw everyone off the scent. He’s still the obvious killer.”

  “You wouldn’t say that if you’d been there last night.” As I spoke, the room fell to a hush. One of Greg’s yoga bros even let out an impressed Ooh! “The guy who came after me was dangerous. David was lucky to take him down for as long as he did. If the big thug hadn’t dropped the knife we’d probably both be dead.”

  “Thank goodness you aren’t.” Ramesh beamed across at me. I have no idea why he wasn’t at work.

  Dad was still manning the evidence pads. “Okay then, just for the moment, let’s say we cross off Amara, David and obviously Ramesh.” He flipped the Suspects page over to reveal one he’d made earlier with just Jack and Wendy on. “Wendy was in north London so we didn’t see any way for her to get back to kill Bob at nine o’clock. What we hadn’t considered was that there is a direct train from Finsbury Park to East Croydon. She could have stashed her stamps and everything in her car, jumped on the train, done the deed and gone back later that evening.”

  “Thameslink!” the bloke from the supermarket shouted with pride.

  “Exactly, Brian. The Thameslink train only takes thirty-five minutes station to station.”

  Yeah, Dad’s detective work sounded impressive and, yeah, I should probably have checked that out myself, but I knew something he didn’t.

  “Nice theory, except that I once heard Wendy say that only tramps and idiots took public transport.” I hated to disappoint my dad when he was clearly so passionate about his new hobby. “She wouldn’t be caught dead on a train.”

  Mum made a frustrated click of her fingers. “So that means Jack is the only suspect we have without the hint of an alibi.”

  “He told me he was walking his dog, which is hardly an airtight cover story.” Ramesh was scoffing down yet another hobnob that my mum had passed him. Whenever young men came to the house, she turned into the witch from Hansel and Gretel.

  “Especially as I know for a fact that he doesn’t like dogs.” I got another ooh for my latest revelation. “I tried to show him my favourite golden retriever puppy live stream on YouTube once and he got really huffy about how they’re the lowest of all animals and that he’d rather watch earthworms.”

  Dad expectantly peered around the group, waiting for some sort of response. When no one had any objections, his face filled with hope. “Does that mean we’ve cracked this case wide open?”

  There was a murmur from his audience as this idea settled in. It wasn’t long before the room erupted once more in disagreement.

  “No way.” This was about the angriest I’d ever seen Danny get. “What was the significance of that tiny knife?”

  “Where’s his motive?” Mum’s hairdresser Fernando demanded.

  “Why would he pay to have Izzy killed?” Mr Dominski screamed. “They share an affinity for animal videos. He wouldn’t do that to her.”

  As the argument raged, I decided that I’d had enough and not very subtly snuck from the room.

  “Izzy, wait.” Danny came bounding after me, his tail wagging eagerly. “I meant what I said in there. David could be the murderer. You should be careful.”

  “Thanks for your concern, Danny. But the police will have done their job and checked out his alibi. If there was any chance it was him, they’d have found out by now.”

  He suddenly seemed agitated and grabbed hold of my arm. “I just hate seeing you get taken in by terrible blokes time after time.”

  “Really, Danny I’m fine.” I smiled at him because I didn’t know what else to do. �
��You’re starting to sound jealous.”

  He released me and threw his hands in the air dramatically. “Of course I’m jealous. How obvious do I have to make it? All these years I’ve been trying to show you how much I like you and you don’t even care.”

  I was speechless. Those things that normally come out of my mouth to help me express my thoughts had disappeared.

  “I can’t deal with this.” He turned towards the kitchen and tossed these last words – words! That’s what they’re called! – over his shoulder. “I need some time for me right now.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Left alone in the hall, I couldn’t quite process what had happened. I was pretty sure that Danny had professed his longstanding love for me, but that sounded very unlikely. He was practically perfect and could take his pick of any woman on the planet. What would he want with me?

  You little heartbreaker.

  Oh come off it. He must have been drinking. He’ll soon sober up and forget all about us.

  Up in my childhood bedroom, the world didn’t look so scary. There were no muscly henchmen coming to stab me, my boyband posters were as smiley as ever and I planned to spend the rest of the day in my comfy old armchair, reading an Ian Rankin to help me forget about my week – see, I am aware that modern crime writers exist.

  Well, that was the plan, but after twenty minutes hanging out with Inspector Rebus, Ramesh popped his head in and looked around my super cool room.

  “Wow, it’s like you’re the precocious daughter from a sitcom. Does James Blunt know you’re his number one stalker?”

  “Shut your mouth and get in here. I’m hiding from everyone.”

  He stepped into the room. “Things really kicked off downstairs. Your mum’s been shouting at anyone who disagrees that Wendy is the killer. I was scared she would punch your stepdad.”

  “My mother is a woman of conviction. To be honest, I think I’m giving up on the whole thing. I mean, it’s been fun trying to work out who killed Bob, but I’d rather not end up murdered if I can help it.”