by Mark Ayre
“It must have been pretty upsetting to learn his closest friend was the grass.” James considered this. Wondered what could have made Harris hate Davis even more. “Could your father have made a mistake?”
Jane considered this only briefly.
“Stranger things have happened, though he is known for being thorough. That isn’t what’s important. What’s important is whether Harris believed he had the wrong man.”
“True.”
Jane stared off, and James wondered how she was coping with the conversation. It wasn’t only that they were talking about the murder of her son. It wasn’t even that the son had been murdered mere hours ago. It was the fact they had posited that Davis might have been involved and, worse, Jane was able to consider it as a serious option.
They could have continued to circle the problem, but speculation was getting them nowhere, and the longer they sat in discussion, the more ideas they would generate. Until action was taken, they would only have more questions, moving no closer to answers.
Seeming to sense this, Jane tried to move things on.
“I need to know who murdered my son.”
“I understand that.” James looked into his empty coffee. He wanted another but didn’t rise. “The police must be looking.”
“They are, and if they find anything that would be fine. But I do not plan on telling them about this money. I plan on making my own investigation. I want to be the one to find who killed my son. You understand why?”
James nodded. If the police caught the killer, it would mean prison. If Jane did, it would mean a far more brutal and final form of punishment.
“I do not know who I can trust,” Jane continued. “I certainly don’t know you well enough and yet… you helped last night. You stepped up when you could have fled. I respect that. I’m going to need help, and I would like to use your services if you would be agreeable.”
James stared into the broken eyes of the woman before him. Broken, but determined. He imagined what fate had befallen Michael Fisher and what might await the killer. He considered what might warrant Jane and Davis being locked up for fifteen years apiece. These were not the sort of people he wanted to be caught up with.
But there was the bracelet to consider. He made futile attempts not to look to the bedroom, where it lay nestled in his bedside table. Not that Jane would understand its significance if she saw it. Still, if he wasn’t involved, he couldn’t help swerve the investigation from Megan, and more than anything, this was his goal.
“You can keep the money in this bag,” Jane said, seeing his hesitation, and failing to recognise its cause. “I want you to keep it anyway. But if you find anything else, I will compensate you for your time. Whatever it takes. I need help.”
“What can I do?” he asked, because he had no idea. By Jane’s lost look, she had no firm plans either.
“First, I can set you up a meeting with my father. I cannot bring myself to believe he would harm my son, but I will not rule anything out, and I need to know if there is any chance that money is his. Second, I’ll find out if anyone else was close to Michael. The timing suggests his death may well have led to my son’s. If that’s the case, someone who was close to him, or them, might know something. Finally, there’s the bar. We reopen tonight—six PM. By all accounts, my son spent most of his time there. Some of the staff may have got to know him or overheard something. I’d like you to speak to them and find out.”
Still, James held. He knew he had to say yes, but didn’t want to make it too easy. He wrung his hands and tried to look nervous. Not so difficult. He was.
“Don’t you think these people might want to talk to you?”
Jane shook her head.
“My employees will shut down if I question them. Harris was my son, and I cannot trust them to be open with me. Maybe they won’t be with you, but I think you have more chance. As for my father, I cannot examine him objectively, and if he needs to lie, he will more easily be able to pull the wool over my eyes than yours.”
James wasn’t sure about that but said: “maybe true.”
After double-checking she had finished her coffee, Jane rose, and James mimicked her, feeling unsteady on his feet. As though to restore his balance, Jane stepped forward and gripped his shoulders.
“So, you’ll do it?”
“I’ll try my best.”
Then she did something that surprised him. Wrapping her thin arms around him, she squeezed him into a tight hug. When she pulled back, her eyes were glistening with tears.
“Thank you.”
He couldn’t think of anything to say, so gave an awkward cough, and tried to ask subtlety for something he was desperate to acquire.
“I’ll come to the bar at six but, in the meantime, it would be helpful if you could get me any information you have on your staff: names, numbers, addresses, whatever. That way I can do a little research ahead of time. Land on the front foot.”
If she was suspicious, she didn’t show it.
“You’ll have it within the hour, along with whatever time my father has agreed to meet you.” Her hands were still on his shoulders, but now she released him. “Thank you, again. Thank you.”
Her eyes swam with gratitude he struggled to match with his knowledge of this woman as a dangerous criminal. It was silly, he knew. Killers could grieve like anyone else.
Didn’t he know that from personal experience?
7
Coffee. Shower. Coffee. Painkillers. None of which refreshed James. Nor did collapsing onto the sofa, watching a blank screen, empty cup dangling from his hand, swinging like a pendulum.
Buzz. Buzz.
The cup dropped to the floor with a quiet clunk which James ignored, favouring his phone. Two texts. Both from Jane. One confirming a meeting with Davis at two pm, one containing a PDF named ‘bar staff’. James opened the latter.
On each page, a grim prison style mugshot accompanied a name, address and telephone number. Tahir first, followed by Harris. Here James paused, taking in sensitive eyes, neat hair and freshly pressed collar. It felt like a school photo, offering a cruel reminder of how young the deceased was. Far too young. Though Toby had been younger…
Ice water swamped his feet, but fresh bark filled his nose and laughter cascaded into his ears. His fingers gripped cold metal, and if he looked, he would see the photo frame clasped there—smiles of a broken family, oblivious to the blood that splashed their faces. The ice water rose, slipping further up his legs, rushing into his lap and crawling up his body until—
James stood, catching his breath as though recently winded. Ice block feet carried him to the fridge where he grabbed a cold beer. Pressing it to his head he slid to the carpet, eyes closed, whispering to himself that everything was okay.
Lies.
A soft crack and hiss as his finger popped the beer’s tab. The thick smell of hops made him ill, and he realised the time.
Finding his phone, he forced shaking fingers to slide beyond Harris and the rest of the staff until he found the last—a radiant beauty that made the heart stop.
The world went silent.
James stood, dumped the beer and prepared to leave the flat.
Within twenty minutes he was outside the four bedroom detached home Megan had listed as her address. It made him pause. Last night she had implied she had no one. So what was she doing in a home as beautiful as this?
As he stepped from his car a kid no older than ten bounded out of a nearby house. With a beam only pre-teens could manage he waved to James, who returned it in time for dad to step out and spot him.
Father grabbed son and offered a stern warning about stranger danger, then they were getting into their car, and driving away.
Alone again, James stepped down a beautifully kept drive and knocked on Megan’s front door.
For a little while, there was nothing, and James was about to knock again when he heard the shuffling from within. The door swung open, revealing a small woman north of seventy. Sh
e looked at him with the kind of smile that suggested she had been given no reason to fear strangers over her years—a heartwarming thought.
“Can I help you, young man?”
“Uh,” he felt quite off balance. “I’m looking for Megan Nokes? I might have come to the wrong place.”
“Not at all, not at all. You’ve arrived in the nick of time.”
Upstairs he knocked softly on a door labelled “Benny” and stepped inside. Here were pale green walls, a comfortable looking double bed, a wardrobe, chest of drawers, and an almost empty bookshelf. The window took up most of one wall and let plenty of light into the room, spotlighting the near full suitcase on the bed.
“I’m getting De Ja Vu,” James said, staring from the suitcase to the beautiful girl packing it. Ten months ago he had walked in on this very scene. Then, Megan had been pleased to see him. Less so, this time.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“I know, but I couldn’t stay away.”
“How did you find me?”
He didn’t answer. Watched instead as she smacked her suitcase closed and zipped it. Last time that had been a struggle. He was able to step in and help. This time the case closed with ease.
“My cab will be here in a minute.”
“What about work?”
“I quit.”
“Short notice period.”
She glared, tried to lift the suitcase but took it too fast, almost crushing her foot as it slipped through her fingers. James came to help, but her look batted him away.
“I need to go.”
“Why?”
“I told you last night.”
“Last night you weren’t in such a hurry. We were going on a date.”
“You were going to dump your girlfriend.”
“Who says I didn’t?”
“Did you?”
He opened his mouth. Let it fall closed. She gave a bitter smile.
“I have to go.”
She lifted the suitcase and dragged it, bouncing on her leg every step of the way, stopping when she reached James, who blocked her path.
“Excuse me.”
“Megan, please.”
“What? What do you want?”
There was bitter anger in her voice, but it was mostly facade. He looked into her eyes and saw the truth. She wasn’t leaving because she was angry, and he wasn’t the problem. Fear was her motivation, and James thought he knew what scared her.
“We need to talk.”
“Please, out of my way.”
James sighed but did as he was told. Megan looked at him as though suspecting a trick, then stepped past. He didn’t try to stop her as she went for the door. At least not physically.
“Does this have to do with Harris?”
She froze, one hand on her suitcase, now resting on the floor, the other on the door handle, ready to free herself. She took a deep breath. Tried to regain composure.
“What about him?”
“He died, last night,”
“I know—Jane text. But it doesn’t have anything to do with anything. I told you last night I was leaving, and that’s what I’m doing.”
“Megan,” now a call from downstairs. “Cab’s here.”
“I have to go.”
The handle was down.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?”
“You thought you were getting another kiss?”
“Sadly, no.” He reached into his pocket. “I thought you might like this.”
She turned, saw what he was holding and let out a low groan. All the energy sapped away, and she slid to the floor, legs up, arms around them. She gave him hateful eyes, and he felt the look slice him like a blade, though he tried not to show it.
“I’ll deal with the cab.”
Megan’s landlady, Roseanne, was delighted Megan was staying—“I’ve enjoyed the company, you see?”—and the cabbie was agreeable enough once James chucked him fifty quid from Harris’ stack of cash.
When he returned upstairs, Megan was sitting on the bed, knees still to her chin, arms wrapped around them. She looked to him with weak, red eyes, but the hatred had slipped away. Placing the bracelet on the bedside table, James perched on the edge of the bed, a non-threatening distance from where Megan clutched her legs and fought her tears.
“We just can’t stay out of trouble, can we?” James said, thinking of the time they had found an injured man and learned of a missing boy. Megan didn’t smile. No surprise there. She bit her lip and asked the question.
“How did you find that?”
James didn’t hesitate, filling her in on everything from when Jane had sent him to collect Harris to their meeting this morning. Upon reaching the part of his story where he insisted on remaining involved in the investigation, he tried to keep his reasoning ambiguous. As though it might be to do with something other than Megan. Thrill-seeking, for example.
Not for a second did she buy it.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” she said, and he shrugged. “I mean it; you’re an idiot.”
Her eyes remained full of fear, darting to him, to the wall, to the door, and back. He thought of what might inspire such desperation, but couldn’t bring himself to ask the question.
He didn’t need to.
“I didn’t kill him.”
“I didn’t think you did.”
Moving up the bed, James leaned against the headboard, next to Megan. She flinched as he drew near but didn’t move away. Both looked ahead, taking in the freshly painted wall as though it were a TV showing the most enthralling series. James imagined it had been painted recently to accommodate a lodger. Pale green. Odd choice.
“I’ve told Jane I’ll find out what happened.”
“Because you want to protect me,” she said. Not a question. He bit his tongue, and she scoffed. “You’re an idiot.”
“You said that.”
“You want to know about last night?” The tone was imitation defiant but was the work of a bad actor. James nodded, and Megan muttered again: “idiot.” He said nothing.
“I was going to have sex with him.”
He closed his eyes. An involuntary reaction and one he chastised himself for making. Keeping calm, he refocused on the spread of green ahead, like a fine paste of mushy peas.
“Right?”
Her eyes were on him now. The sudden declarative had been intentionally designed to damage. To push him away. Knowing that didn’t make it any easier to take.
“From the moment I arrived in this shitty city and got this crappy bar job I was struggling. I felt sick with loneliness every day. I had no friends, no one to talk to. My fellow staff didn’t accept me. They’re big on hazing. On making new recruits feel like crap to see if they can take it, well I couldn’t. I’ve been here six months, but I wouldn’t have lasted six days if it wasn’t for him. For Harris.”
Finally, she took her eyes away, joining him in checking out the wall once more. Her hands wrung and without looking he could tell she was close to tears.
“He looked after me. Kept my spirits up when everything else was falling apart. In this awful place, he became my only friend. I would talk to him every day, every shift, though we barely saw each other out of work. That was my fault because obviously to get a male friend there has to be a trade-off. With Harris, it was the same. We couldn’t just be friends. He wanted more.”
James became aware he was clenching his fists. The mattress had felt soft and comfortable when he had dropped into it, but now it might have been lined with broken glass. Resisting the urge to shift he kept his gaze steady, and his ears open.
“He started asking me out all the time, and I rejected him again and again. It wasn’t that I didn’t like him. I did, but I never saw him like that. I was holding out for something else. I got it in my head you can meet a guy and boom—it clicks. Everything feels right, and you know straight away how you—“
No longer could he resist. Twisting his neck he saw her set jaw, holding t
ight to the end of her sentence. Flushed red climbed her neck and cheeks, and it did not take a genius to work out why she had stopped.
“I felt it too.”
“Don’t be arrogant.” But she couldn’t meet his eye.
“Sorry.”
“It doesn’t matter how I felt with you,” she went on. “Because it was nothing. Flash in the pan. What mattered was Harris liked me, and I liked him. So, when he asked me out day before last, I said yes. I said I’d love to date him, and I meant it. I was happy to give it a chance.”
James’ vision began to blur. Too long focusing on the wall. It was starting to look as though the fresh green stretched for eternity in every direction, like never-ending grazing land, minus the grazers. Tugging his head around James looked at the beauty beside him. She didn’t look back.
“We agreed to meet at Jane’s homecoming and go on to the bar, but he couldn’t make it to the former. I rang and said I’d meet him later and you know what’s funny? Even after I met you—even after we kissed—I didn’t cancel, I still went to meet him. You know why?”
James was shaking his head, but not in answer to her question. Either he wasn’t buying it, or he was telling himself he didn’t buy it. Difficult to tell.
“You do,” she said. “Because I knew we weren’t right for each other. That some connection we thought we felt didn’t mean anything. I’ve known you four days. You could be anyone. But Harris? After almost six months I get him. I know him. So I kissed you, and I let myself believe for a second there might be something, but I knew deep down you wouldn’t dump Nina, and we would never go on that date, so I went with Harris. I met him, and he poured me a drink, and we laughed, and we talked. We kissed—“
“Okay, that’s enough.”
“I thought you wanted to know what happened? Where are you going?”
He was up and moving for the door, only stopping himself with his hand on the handle. Releasing it, he turned back, anger and misery flashing through him.