New ideas were bouncing about in my brain like pinballs. “It fits in with the list of addresses I found on Jack’s computer. And I bet that’s why he spends so much time in the toilet. He must be checking up on orders, calling suppliers. Jack’s a damn gangster.”
“Does that mean we’ve cracked this case wide–”
“That’s starting to sound a bit naff.”
“Does that mean that Jack killed Bob?”
I thought for a second. I’d got so caught up in working out what Jack was up to that I’d lost track of the bigger picture. “Maybe… I’m not sure yet. I mean, it would make total sense now if it was him. He’s got a clear motive. And even if his dog is real, that’s hardly a sound alibi for the night of the murder. My only problem is the hit on me.”
“How come?” He was struggling to gnaw through a calamari ring and the words came out coated in breadcrumbs.
“We didn’t have anything on Jack until this afternoon, right? So why would he have paid someone big money to go after me?”
“Maybe there’s been something under your nose this whole time and he’s scared you’ll put it together.”
“If that was the case, surely we’d have seen it by now. And, anyway, it still feels wrong. Just because someone’s a drug dealer, it doesn’t make them a heartless killing machine. And even if Jack knew what happened to his daughter and got his revenge on Bob, it would be a stretch to think he’d go after me too.”
“Right.” Chew, chew, chew. “So where does that leave us?”
I waited for our nattily dressed waiter to walk out of earshot. “Think about it. We always assume that whoever killed Bob also tried to kill me, but what if we’re looking for two different people?”
Ramesh wiped his mouth on the cotton napkin that had already saved his shirt from a number of spills. “Ooh, two killers. Double the fun.”
“I know it might sound unlikely that there are two killers at P&P. The question remains though, who wanted me dead and why?”
He didn’t answer. He was too busy scoffing down our fried patatas.
Up until now, I’d tried not to take the assassination attempt personally. It seemed natural to think that it was just our pesky office murderer, trying to cover their tracks. But perhaps Bob’s death had planted a seed and now everybody was at it. Could murder be contagious?
I was starting to feel self-conscious about the whole thing. If someone wanted me dead, what did that say about me? Who did I know that hated me enough to want to erase me from existence? There was only one thing for it. While Ramesh was in the toilet, I made a list.
Potential Murderers
David’s ex-wife? – Naaahhhh.
Danny, after he found out about me and David – ha! Funny.
17-year-old Gary Flint, who I got even with by sharing a picture of his micro-penis (that was actually copied off the internet) with every girl in the sixth-form? – I imagine he’s recovered.
My first stepdad? – Bit of a weirdo. Mum should never have married him, but I like to think I’d won him over by the time they got divorced.
My high school P.E. teacher, Mr Bath? – Yep, complete psycho. Nailed it! It was probably him.
And yet, if it wasn’t Mr Bath, – who could never remember my name, even when he taught me twice a week, and I hadn’t seen for a decade – I couldn’t imagine who would have paid thousands of pounds to have me killed. I’m not saying I was the easiest person to get along with, but I was no Bob. I didn’t go out of my way to upset people and, though there were those at work who found me weird, there was no one I actively didn’t get on with except–
“We need to go home right now,” I told Ramesh when he got back to the table.
The look on his face was one of pure horror. “But I haven’t finished my chorizo!”
Caring not one button for my bank balance (until I saw it at the end of the month and had a good cry) we jumped in a cab and rocketed towards West Wickham.
“You two, quick!” I overacted to Mum and Greg when we got there. “Dad’s on his way. I need all of you in the front room immediately and it’s going to be a late one.”
My stepdad looked alarmed. “Can’t I make a cup of tea first?”
I chewed it over for a moment. “Fine, make the tea, then get in there.”
Mum was somewhat more jubilant. “How exciting, darling. This is what we’ve been waiting for. Tonight is the night that Izzy comes alive.”
Five minutes later we were all sitting on the sofa having a lovely cup of red label. It really did the trick and then I was ready to–
Crack this case wide open!
Fine – that.
The evidence pads had been restored to their rightful place on Greg’s easels and Mum was on hand with fresh markers. When everyone was ready, I got things started.
“I’m going to give you each a part to play this evening. There aren’t enough of us to cover all the roles which is why I’ve brought Sir Hugalot down from the loft,” I pointed at my oversized teddy bear who I still felt bad for deserting up there.
“Can I just ask,” my father interrupted, “will there be questions at the end?”
“It’s not a test, Dad. We’re going to act out potential theories to see if we can settle on exactly what happened.”
“Right. No questions. That is a weight off my mind.”
“Here are your parts.” As I spoke, I tore the relevant pages from the suspects pad and handed them out. My friend sat up very straight in his armchair and crossed his fingers. “Ramesh, you can be David.”
He jumped up from his chair and pumped his fists like he’d won a marathon. “Yes! I won’t let you down. I’ve been practicing the accent and everything. I’m going down the valleys. The vaaaaaaalleys…”
“Thanks, but I’m afraid that, unless you’re dating a Welshy, doing the accent could be considered offensive.” I made a sad face for his sake. “Greg, you’re going to be Jack.”
Greg nodded as if that was exactly what he’d been expecting.
“Mum, you’re Amara.”
“Marvellous. Now, a couple of things to help me get into character–”
“Not necessary, Mum. Just use what’s written on the sheet.”
“Okay, but–”
I could see that she was about to make things complicated so I moved on. “Dad, I’d like you to be Will.”
“Whatever,” he said sullenly before breaking out into a smile. “That’s how young people talk, isn’t it? Whatever.”
“Sir Hugalot will have to stand in for Wendy. Are you happy with that, Huggy?” I looked at the ancient bear I’d won in the school summer raffle when I was seven, but he said nothing. “Good, no complaints. Now Mother and Ramesh have searched round the house and will be handing out accessories to give you a feel of who you’re playing.”
“Sir Hugalot, don’t worry too much about holding the cigarette lighter, you haven’t got any fingers.” Ramesh balanced the lighter on the massive bear’s shoulder and distributed a plastic truncheon (which could only have come from Mum’s bedroom – yuck!) to Greg.
Mum had already put on a tasteful scarf and given her ex-ex-husband a very dated silver suit jacket.
“Are we all clear what we’re doing?” I felt like a nursery school teacher.
“Yeaaaaaaaaah,” the children sang as one.
“Okay, we’ll start with Amara. Mum, tell us what you’ve got.”
I sat down on the carpet in the middle of the room and watched as my mother lolloped forward. I have no idea where she got the idea that Amara walked with a limp. She took some liberties with the text too.
“My name is Amara, I’m the deputy director of Poptart & Poptart–”
“Porter & Porter!”
“Sorry, haven’t got my glasses on. I’m the deputy director of Porter & Porter and I had a falling out with that wicked man Bob Thomas when he tried to take my job away from me. I claim to have been at home with my family on the night that Bob was disembowelled, but I could easi
ly have slipped away from my luxury apartment in the centre of town to do the deed.”
“That was perfect, Mum, just what I was looking for. We don’t have very much new to add about Amara, except that she concealed the fact she was friends with Bob’s wife and that Bob had continued to humiliate and upstage her since their run-in.”
“She sweet talked you into investigating the case too.” Ramesh was up on his feet, waving his felt daffodil around furiously. He was so riled up that his words launched out at me in one great blurt. “And she told you about Bob’s cancer which set us off on a whole different track. What better way to hide her guilt than to nudge us towards another suspect?”
“Ra, we’re going to be here a while. You need to pace yourself.”
“I just love am-dram so much.” Looking a bit guilty, he sat back down and it was my turn to speak.
“Everything that Ramesh said was true – not to mention the fact that Amara was the one who witnessed the attack on Jack’s daughter. But remember that this is the same lovely lady who once bought pain au chocolat for the whole office and drove Ramesh to the hospital when he thought he’d broken his finger.”
“Ahhh, I love Amara.” He was smiling again.
“Ahhh, me too. She’s basically the anti-Bob. So, unless anyone objects, I think we can rule her out for good.”
The room remained silent so Mum took a bow before sitting back down.
“Ra, you’re up.”
Ramesh shot from the armchair like it was on fire. He shook his hands out and did a little sprint on the spot to loosen up before he started in on his vocal exercises.
“Catherine Zeta Jones. Catherine Zeta Jones.” He stretched the words out and made his mouth into an O at the end of the name. “The Vale of Glamorgan isn’t boring in the morning but the isle of Anglesey is the only place for me.”
“Ramesh!” I barked. “Can we start?”
He proudly tossed aside the sheet of paper and started his monologue.
“I left the valleys when I was but a lad and moved to the metropolis of Croydon.” He couldn’t help sliding into an Anthony Hopkins lilt with the odd spike of Tom Jones’ in his Vegas years. “Little did I know back then what awaited me in the big city. I was destined to become the director of Porter & Porter, a thriving financial services firm with its offices in the most spectacular building in the whole of Croydon.”
“Skipping along to the part we’re most interested in?”
“One day, my slothful and slithery deputy was slain in his office while I was at my elderly aunt’s having dinner, as I do every Wednesday night because I am a very nice man indeed. I didn’t think much of Bob, though I tolerated him as best I could. I wouldn’t gain anything from his death and, like anyone with an ounce of human compassion, I long to see his murderer bought to justice.”
With his big finish approaching, the daffodil was once more produced and he began to slash it around wildly through the air. “Yes, whichever bloodthirsty so and so would dare despatch a member of my managerial team should be strung up from the neck until dead!”
My three parents went wild, whooping and yelping at Ramesh’s performance. He passed Mum the daffodil so that she could throw it back at him adoringly.
“You sounded a bit Victorian at the end, but otherwise a very competent display,” I told him. “You do realise that not everyone in Wales lives in a valley though?”
He stopped his bowing and crossed his arms. “Did David?”
“Well, yes.”
“I rest my case.” He took one last bow and sat down.
“Okay… Next, and hopefully more revealingly, we have Jack.”
Greg pointed at himself, to check it was his turn, then rose to his feet. “Here goes. Jack Campbell – Alibi: Walking dog. Motive: Hated Bob and had been–”
I had to stop him. “Sorry, Greg. Could you maybe personalise it a bit and not just read it out? The idea is that I get a feel for each of our suspects in relation to the case.”
“First person?”
“First person would be great. Thanks.”
He cleared his throat. “My name’s Jack Campbell. I say I was out walking my dog on the night of the murder but, either way, I truly hated Bob Thomas. He humiliated me at the office Christmas party when he threw a lucky punch at me. That same night, he claimed I wasn’t so innocent as I pretend to be. What’s more, I knew all about the naughty things Bob had been up to. Drugs, drink and sex at all hours. I was familiar with the security systems more than anyone else in the office and could have come and gone that night as I pleased.”
Greg had gone about it with his usual capable air and I nodded my approval. “Excellent. Now, don’t get too excited, but Ramesh and I have made a major discovery this evening. We tailed Jack–”
“Woooop!” Mum let out a squeal.
“We tailed Jack and worked out that he’s been selling drugs – which must be what Bob discovered. It gives Jack a very good reason to want Bob out of the picture. He doesn’t have much of an alibi either and, as Greg highlighted, he would know how to get rid of the hard drives in the server room.”
“So would I.” Ramesh sounded rather disgruntled. “I don’t understand why I’m not even considered a suspect anymore.”
“Ra! We’ve been over this so many times.” I shot him a stern look. “Your alibi has been confirmed by the police. And besides, you don’t have the arm strength to knock someone out and spill their guts across the office, let alone the killer instinct.”
“I’m just feeling left out, that’s all.” Ramesh looked sadder than the time I said Lady Gaga’s music was a bit derivative.
“Back to Jack. I really think he could be the killer.”
“Especially after what Bob did to Jack’s poor daughter.” Mum tossed the scarf over her shoulder dramatically. “I reckon, all in all, we’re onto a winner.”
There was a murmur of agreement from the others but I cut them short. “I’ve been thinking about that a lot. I’m not sure that the situation with Pippa is as significant as we’d imagined.”
“He practically raped the poor girl.” My father suddenly looked horrified. He was such a caring man and I felt a surge of pride that he was my Dad.
“That’s not what I mean. I mean that, after speaking to Jack this morning, I don’t think he could have known about the attack. Pippa made David and Amara promise not to tell him. There’s nothing we’ve seen in his behaviour towards Bob that would suggest he had that much bile and hatred boiling up inside him.” I got a murmur of agreement of my own. “Let’s move on to Will.”
Dad stood up and waved to his audience. Getting into the role, he hunched his shoulders and hung his head. He’d apparently got the idea that Will was about fifteen.
“My name’s Will Gibbons. I’m the bad boy of the office. I was best buds with Bob, yeah? But we didn’t always get on and sometimes we argued.” Dad’s performance was part bratty teenager, part middle-class retiree. “I didn’t have access to the server room to remove the hard drives so, if I was involved, I had an accomplice. I claim I was out with a lady… I mean a bird that night, but I can’t prove it or nuffing.”
Mum and Greg were very impressed and applauded enthusiastically.
“Did I do okay?” Dad was back in character as himself.
“Brilliantly, thank you.” I stood up to fill everyone in on the new developments. “I’ve come to realise two important facts this evening which I think could be very significant to our investigation. But, first, I’d like to take this moment to thank my wonderful friend, Ramesh.
“In fact, I’ll go so far as to say that, without his inane prattling, we wouldn’t have got to where we are now.” I looked over at the Watson to my Holmes, the Q to my Bond, and he smiled back at me like the sun in a children’s drawing.
The moment lingered until my stepdad helped it along. “So what’s this big reveal you’re slowly building up to?”
I narrowed my eyes knowingly. “Ra suggested that there could be somethin
g right under our noses which had previously seemed insignificant. So I ran through the list of evidence in my head and the only thing that just flat out didn’t make any sense was the note written on the train ticket that I found in Bob’s coat. We always assumed that whoever it was written for never got it. But what if we were wrong?” I looked around their attentive faces. “What if that note wasn’t from Bob but to him?”
“Who wrote it then?” Ramesh raised a puzzled eyebrow. “Barbara from HR? Brenda from reception?”
Another pause for them to stew. “Or good old Billy Gibbons from consulting?” My parents gave a theatrical gasp.
“So you think that Will was meeting Bob on the night of the murder.” Dad sat back in his seat to think. “Yes, that’s interesting that is.”
“And what did they get up to?” Mum asked. “A bottle of champagne and brainstorming for Bob’s memorial service?”
My selected loved ones were hanging on my reply. “No, think about what I saw the morning after. Bob with no tie or socks and one missing shoe. Alcohol in the mix too, what does that all suggest?”
“A party?” Dad suggested.
“Wait. You’re not saying…” Ramesh began. “But Will’s not gay. He goes on about women the whole time.”
“Yep and his Facebook is covered in beer and football posts. It’s an act. Since we started looking into him, Will’s been acting weird and I knew that he had something to hide. What if it was nothing to do with the murder and everything to do with the double life he leads?”
I paused for questions but no one made a sound. “On Thursday, when I was out with David, I saw Will outside the gay night at the Blue Orchid Bar. He changed course when he saw me, but I’m sure that’s where he was headed. When I started to think about it tonight, it all made sense. The way that he talks about the women he claims to see never sounded right to me. I know it’s not impossible, but such casual, anonymous hook-ups are far more common in the gay community. I’m almost certain that, just like Jack, Will is concealing a whole side to his personality. He’s a sharp-suited, mouthy womaniser at work and someone completely different in his home life.”
A Corpse Called Bob Page 19