Murder-De-Sac

by Jim Bennett

  ‘Nurses can confirm that, can they?'

  ‘Absolutely. Mum couldn’t go because she’s broken her toe and Phil couldn’t drive her. I was supposed to be working, missed a night’s wages. Fucking nightmare'.

  ‘What about this other bloke he was fighting with?'

  Oli shrugged. ‘Never seen him before. Your standard wanker from the city, they all look the same’.

  Mrs McGrath made another scribble on her pad. ‘Who was working on Sunday?’

  ‘It was Chloe. Covered my shift for me. Got a good chance of banging her soon I think'. A smile spread across his face. He appeared to have forgotten who he was talking to, his eyes now focused on a random spot outside the window. ‘She was sweet on that prat for a while. I’m in with a chance now though. Him being out of the picture at all'.

  ‘Funny thing to say about a man to two people looking into his death'.

  ‘Shit, no I didn’t mean that’.

  ‘Got an address for her?' Mrs McGrath asked.

  ‘Yeah…', he hesitated. ‘But I don’t think she’d want me handing it out'.

  Mrs McGrath put one hand on the table and bent forward towards him. ‘Got something to hide?' she said. Oli attempted to lean backwards to get away from her, but his chair only had so much give.

  ‘It’s in Hackney'. he said, the panic having returned to his voice. ‘33 White Fern Road. Second floor’.

  Mrs McGrath sat back in her chair. ‘What line’s that on?’

  It still amazed Julie that regardless of the situation, she was perpetually rushing to try and keep up with Mrs McGrath. With each step, she swung her cane out in a lazy circle before placing it back on the ground. This wasn’t an issue in Brumpton, where the old woman was such a presence that most people had learned to steer well clear of her. The throngs of London presented something of an issue. More than once on their walk to the tube station, Mrs McGrath’s stick had managed to make contact with the shin of an unsuspecting pedestrian

  There was a rare break in the foot traffic and Julie was able to walk alongside her troublesome neighbour for the first time since they had left the bar. ‘Do you really think that was a good idea?' She asked.

  ‘Didn’t do anything wrong’.

  ‘We did exactly what DI Morris told us not to do’.

  ‘No we bloody didn’t. We asked that daft lad some questions. Not our fault if he thought we were something we weren’t'.

  ‘Are you surprised? Who else carries a notebook except journalists and police officers’.

  ‘Concerned citizens'.

  ‘I really don’t want to get into any trouble. Maybe we should go home', Julie said, and really meant it. Her feet were tired, and she really didn’t see what good any of this would do. Surely the police were best placed to investigate Jack’s death. If the past few days were anything to go by, Mrs McGrath wasn’t much of a detective, and Julie certainly wasn’t. If she was honest with herself, she wasn’t even much of a shop assistant. She felt like she’d been useful once as a mother and a wife, but what was she now? Someone who did the bare minimum at work to then come home and drink too much wine.

  Mrs McGrath abruptly halted in the middle of the pavement, causing those immediately behind her to make an emergency stop. Harsh words were muttered slightly too quietly for them to hear before the slighted parties carried on their way.

  ‘If you want to go home, then go’, she said. There was something to her tone that Julie hadn’t heard before. She didn’t sound merely cantankerous or belligerent, but truly irritated. ‘Doesn’t mean much these days, does it? One more dead teenager'.

  ‘You didn’t even know him', Julie said, trying to defend herself. ‘And if you did, I don’t think you would have liked him very much. Not that you really seem to like anyone'.

  ‘It’s not about liking people', she said. ‘It’s about doing what’s proper. If you don’t look after each other, then what’s the point?'

  Julie didn’t know what to say. She just stared at the old woman and felt a bit guilty for wanting to give up.

  ‘What do you need me for though?' she asked. ‘You’ve got it under control’. Or at least as under control as an old woman who clearly isn’t qualified to be investigating crimes can have it Julie thought.

  Mrs McGrath shrugged. ‘I dunno. It’s better with two people. Someone to talk to. Bounce ideas off. Besides, if you’re not here, that wazzock Maz is going to say I’m just a mad old lady'.

  ‘I’m not convinced you’re not’. Mrs McGrath scowled at her. ‘Are you ever going to tell me what you have against him?' Julie asked.

  ‘Not if you have a paddy everytime we hit a dead end', she said, and charged off into the station.

  Despite the tube being absolutely rammed, something of a buffer zone formed around the two women as they stood in the middle of the carriage. The first gentleman who had tried to be chivalrous and offer Mrs McGrath a seat had been given a look so venomous that no further attempts were made. ‘Didn’t like his hands', the old woman had said loudly enough for the entire compartment to hear. ‘Looked like a strangler to me’. Those sitting closest to the poor gentleman had given him nervous glances before attempting to shuffle a little further away.

  The overground from Highbury and Islington to Hackney Central was less busy and they were able to sit next to each other. Once they arrived, Mrs McGrath managed to get directions to White Fern road from one of the station attendants.

  ‘How are we going to check on his alibi?' Julie said as they left the station. ‘You didn’t take any details. The name of the hospice or anything’.

  ‘Don’t need it. You can just tell by looking at them'.

  ‘You can tell by looking at someone if they’re a murderer?'

  Mrs McGrath made a grunt which Julie took to mean yes.

  ‘That doesn't seem very thorough'.

  ‘The only reason he had to kill the lad was because of this girl. His head wasn’t bashed in, he was pumped full of drugs'. Julie conceded that Mrs McGrath had a point. ‘Besides, a great ninny like that wouldn’t have the stomach for it. He’d have shit himself as soon as he’d stuck the needle in, and I don’t remember seeing any of that on the carpet'.

  Again, Julie thought that the old woman had a point. ‘What about this bloke from the city? How are we going to find him?’

  ‘Don’t need to', Mrs McGrath said. ‘It just doesn’t fit’. And that was that.

  They reached the door of 33 White Fern Road and rang the bell for the second floor flat. When they rang the third time and there was still no answer, Julie was worried that Mrs McGrath’s stick would once again spring into action. Luckily, the door was opened by a cyclist in a hurry. He looked at them both dumbly standing on the top step.

  When a few seconds passed and Mrs McGrath said nothing, Julie stammered ‘delivery, for the second floor’. She began to pat her pockets looking for something to act as a parcel for delivery.

  ‘Yeah whatever’, he said, uninterested. ‘Just leave it in by the postboxes. Can you move please? I’m late for work'. The two of them stood to one side and he hurried out.

  ‘Not bad, ey?' Julie said, feeling pleased with herself.

  Mrs McGrath made her usual noise of noncommittal in the back of her throat.

  ‘Quick thinking, wasn’t it? Telling him that I was delivering something'.

  ‘Word of advice', Mrs McGrath said, knocking on the only door on the second floor, ‘if you’re going to pretend that you’re delivering something, actually bring something to deliver’.

  ‘It wasn’t bad for a first attempt though, was it?' Julie said, but Mrs McGrath wasn’t willing to give her any praise. On the other side of the glass, they could see a figure approaching them. ‘Let me do the talking this time, will you? We don’t have to treat everyone that we talk to like they’ve murdered someone’.

  The door opened and they were met with the face of Jack’s erstwhile beau. She was just as beautiful as Julie remembered. Her hair, dark and wavy, was not unlike Jack�
�s albeit longer. It was piled on top of her head in a messy bun. She wore an oversized t-shirt which was hanging off one shoulder and a pair of pyjama bottoms. Even though it was late in the afternoon, she looked as if she had just got out of bed. Despite not wearing any makeup, Julie thought that she looked better than she herself would have done if she had spent all afternoon preening. She wondered whether Jack had actually slept with this young beauty. The idea that he would have compared the two of them almost made her physically cringe. She gave Julie a puzzled look, like she recognised her face but couldn’t place where from.

  ‘Chloe?' Julie said. ‘We met at Nixons'. Chloe still didn’t look sure. ‘I was a friend of Jack’s'.

  ‘Oh yeah', she said in an airy voice.

  ‘He was staying with me’.

  She nodded slowly as if she was taking the time to take this information in. It was the kind of reaction you expected when you surprised someone with the knowledge that you were in fact their biological parent, not that you shared a mutual acquaintance. Mrs McGrath shot Julie an unimpressed look.

  ‘Listen, we have a few questions about Jack. Would you mind if we came in?' Chloe turned and looked back inside the flat for some unknown reason.

  ‘Yeah I guess?' She said it in that irritating way that young people do where they turn every statement into a question.

  They followed her inside and were billeted at the kitchen table. No offer was made to provide them with refreshments, although looking at the pile of dirty cups and mugs in the sink, Julie thought that this wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

  ‘Need to ask you a few questions’, Mrs McGrath started when Julie didn’t immediately jump into action. Cleo looked taken aback by the old woman, as if she was some great, wild animal that she had discovered in her flat.

  Julie smiled and adopted the voice she normally reserved for difficult customers. ‘If you don’t mind, that is'.

  ‘I guess?’

  ‘Can you tell us what time Jack left the bar on Sunday night?'

  ‘Maybe 11.30? Or 12?' Mrs McGrath sat up straighter in her chair, the lack of uncertainty irking her.

  ‘Could you be a little more precise?’

  ‘Yeah, I think it was 12.00. Because we’d just called last orders?’

  ‘Why is that a question?' Mrs McGrath said, unable to stay silent any longer.

  ‘I’m sorry?' Chloe said, her first actual question since they arrived.

  ‘Why is ‘because we just called last orders', a question?'

  Chloe looked confused. Julie didn’t wait for her to attempt an answer or for Mrs McGrath to alienate her any further. ‘What was he doing there in the first place? What with the manager sacking him a few nights before'.

  ‘He’d brought his guitar with him. I guess he thought that John would figure that he was missing something good and ask him to play? I guess when that didn’t happen, he just sat in the corner drinking. He was flashing his money about, you know?'

  ‘Do you know where he got his money from?' Julie asked.

  Chloe shook her head. ‘He always had a lot? But he wouldn’t say where from'. Her face turned sad all of a sudden. ‘I think there could have been something really special between us, you know? Like I know he wasn’t always nice, but someone who sings like that, can’t be all bad, can he? Her eyes started to become moist and Julie moved a bit closer so she could put her arm around her. ‘I just think, if we’d had some more time together…',

  ‘He definitely left at midnight?' Mrs McGrath interrupted.

  ‘What?' Cleo said, again looking a bit shell shocked. ‘Yeah, like I said, I saw him leave as they were calling last orders'.

  ‘Right', Mrs McGrath said, and walked out the flat without another word to either of them.

  Chapter Fifteen

  ‘I know what she was saying wasn’t useful, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be nice to her’.

  Mrs McGrath looked unconvinced. ‘Who are we to her? Why would she care if we were nice?’

  ‘Sometimes you just want someone to be kind to you. They don’t have to be someone you know'.

  Mrs McGrath made a derisive noise. It was a little past rush hour and so they hadn’t struggled with getting seats. They sat on either side of a table of four. The two commuters next to them tried to focus on their smartphone and their newspaper respectively. The train was stuffy and yet Mrs McGrath continued to wear her ubiquitous mackintosh.

  ‘You took your time in there. Stood out on the bloody street for hours’.

  ‘I was in there for maybe 10 minutes after you left Mrs McGrath. There’s no need to be so dramatic’.

  ‘Didn’t feel like it’. Her tone was moody, petulant even.

  ‘Do you want to know what she said about the drugs? Or where she was for the rest of the night?’

  ‘No', she answered bluntly.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘She didn’t do it. What’s the point?’

  ‘You know, I don’t think you can get all high and mighty about the police not investigating properly if you’re not willing to fact check the alibis of even the most obvious suspects'.

  ‘That’s not proper detection. Anyone can do that'.

  ‘Enlighten me then, what is proper detection?'

  ‘You know, being able to tell if someone’s done it'.

  ‘So what you’re saying is that it doesn’t matter how hard DI Morris tries? If he doesn’t have the instinct for it, then he’s never going to be able to catch killers'.

  ‘Well you’ve got to find the killer first. Got to be able to look him in the face'.

  ‘And at that point, the case is closed?’

  ‘Pretty much, yeah'.

  ‘And how are you going to find the people in the first place if you don’t actually ask any questions?'

  Mrs McGrath stared and her dumbly and Julie gave her a reproachful look. ‘Go on then', said Mrs McGrath, as if she was doing Julie a favour. ‘What did she say about the drugs and where did she go after she left the bar?'

  Julie reached into her bag and pulled out the receipt that she had scribbled her notes on the back of. ‘She didn’t know anything about heroin. Her and Jack used to smoke a bit of dope in the alley behind the bar sometimes on their breaks but nothing harder than that'. She flipped over the receipt and read the other side. ‘Straight from work, she went home. Bit of a party going on apparently. Spent the night with one of her flatmates who just so happened to be home’.

  ‘You needed to write that down?' Mrs McGrath said derisively.

  ‘You took notes too'.

  ‘To put the screws into that muppet. I could just about remember ‘was with my dying nan', even at my age'. She snatched Julie’s notes from the table. ‘At it like rabbits, these young people'.

  Unsure of whether Mrs McGrath included Julie as a ‘young person’, she felt her face start to redden. As ever, the old woman took no notice of the effects of her words on others. She reached into her coat and drew out a bottle of the brown spirit that she had plied Julie with on her overnight visit and a plastic cup. She filled the vessel about two fingers full and slid it towards Julie. She then raised the bottle in a ‘cheers', motion and then took an almighty gulp. Thinking she should really know better by now, Julie took a sip and immediately winced.

  ‘What do you think he was doing then?' Julie said when she caught her breath again. ‘Between when he left the bar and when he got back to the house’.

  ‘Dunno. Maybe he came back and was knocking around downstairs. Doesn’t mean that he couldn’t have opened the front door again just because he got back earlier on’.

  ‘But why would he be opening the front door again? It’s not like he knew anyone else around here'.

  ‘You don’t know that'.

  ‘That’s true. DI Morris said he’d checked his phone though. No calls or texts that night'.

  ‘There’s always something going on, haven’t you realised that yet? Like your lad who was fiddling with the telephone box. Looks innocent on the face of
it, but there’s always something murkier underneath. Have a proper think about when he was staying with you. Anyone you saw him speaking to or that didn’t feel right'.

  Julie thought for a few seconds and then said ‘nothing springs to mind'.

  ‘What about the day before he died? You said you found him chatting to that yob when you got home from work. What about before you left in the morning?’

  She cast her mind back to that morning. ‘I don’t know Mrs McGrath. I was hungover and late. I forgot my car keys and had to run back into the house in a panic'. Mrs McGrath continued to wait expectantly. ‘I tripped over his shoes? Is that something?' The old woman looked unimpressed. ‘Don’t look at me like that! I’m clutching at straws. I can’t think of anyone who he got on the wrong side of that we haven’t talked to already'.

  ‘Doesn’t mean someone couldn’t have travelled to kill him'. Mrs McGrath said and Julie nodded, although she couldn't help feeling that this plot was getting more far fetched by the second. ‘Who was it that he was gardening for? That sour faced cow at number 32?’

  ‘Mrs Sinclair with the very difficult life due to caring for her severely disabled husband’, Julie said with more than a hint of admonishment in her voice. ‘But I already know what she was doing. I heard a plumber arrive just after Jack came into my room, and then the paramedics were there. Her husband had a funny turn. Alright now though'.

  Mrs McGrath suddenly turned her attention to Julie. ‘Where’s this plumber come from all of a sudden? You haven’t mentioned him before'.

  ‘Didn’t I?'

  ‘If you’d mentioned it, we’d have been to see him already. First the punch up in the bar, now this. Anyone else you want to mention while we’re at it? A drug barron living in your cellar maybe?’

  Julie ignored the slight and said ‘is that how we’re approaching this from now on? Speak to whoever was the nearest to Jack before he died and work out from there?'