Murder-De-Sac

by Jim Bennett

  So when she got home the previous evening, it hadn’t been a conscious decision not to open a bottle of wine. For whatever reason, it hadn’t appealed to her. Instead, she had made herself a simple dinner and then gone to bed almost immediately after it was finished.

  The door to Harry’s old room, or Jack’s room as Julie found herself thinking of it, had remained firmly closed since she had regained sole possession of her house. The policemen had dropped the keys through Mrs McGrath’s letter box and no one had taken the time to explain what the rules were to her. It might still be considered an active crime scene. What with all the attention that DI Morris had given her recently, she didn’t want to bumble in and disturb something by accident, only to be accused of intentionally interfering with the investigation again. If Julie was honest with herself, she was a bit relieved.

  The last week had been so surreal, so outside her experience of everyday life so far that she had more or less managed to convince herself that it wasn’t something that was happening to her. She had a horrible feeling that when she saw Jack’s room again, it might bring it all back and make it real for her. With everything that had happened, she had constantly been in a state of some extreme emotion, whether that be lust, shock, or excitement, that they had become confused. Giddy felt the best way to describe it, a heady thrill. As she sat in the kitchen that morning eating her breakfast, she made a small confession to herself that she might even like it. Not Jack’s death of course, that was horrendous and her brief liaison with the younger man made her cringe if she thought about it too much. It was more about experiencing things again. Even if it didn’t feel enjoyable at the time, it felt like it had value.

  However, the thrill that she had experienced felt like something entirely remote as she approached Mrs Sinclair’s door. She had only seen her once since their last exchange. Julie had stumbled across her in the local shop, giving poor Mr Baker a right tongue lashing due to a ten pence increase in the cost of canned beans. Julie hadn’t attempted to speak to her as she walked away from the shell shocked shop keeper, although her neighbour had shot her a caustic glance before making her way to the check out.

  Forget it, Julie said to herself. Nothing to do with me, any of this. If the plumber had something to do with it then the police will route him out. She had turned her back on the front door and was ready to go home when she remembered Mrs McGrath. The personification of tenacity herself was very unlikely to let the whole matter drop just because Julie didn’t want to have an awkward conversation. She stood immobile, torn between deciding whose wrath she would rather face. Fortunately the decision was made for her when Mrs Sinclair opened her front door and curtly said ‘what do you want’. '.

  ‘Hello', Julie said in an overly friendly tone.

  ‘That doesn’t really answer my question, does it?'

  ‘It’s Julie Giles from across the road?' Julie ventured.

  ‘I know who you are. Why do you feel the need to remind me every time we meet?'

  ‘Because you’re always so rude to me’, Julie said under her breath.

  ‘What was that?'

  ‘I said I wanted to ask you about the plumber who came to your house the other night'.

  Mrs Sinclair’s stiff upper lip became even stiffer. Julie waited for some verbal acknowledgement of her question, but when none was forthcoming, she carried on. ‘I’m guessing you already know that Jack died the other night, the night that Mr Sinclair wasn’t well'.

  ‘I gathered something had happened to him when he didn’t turn up to cut the grass'.

  ‘And that’s why I wanted to talk to the plumber. To see if he had seen anything unusual'.

  ‘I take it you are qualified in some way to conduct these investigations?'

  Julie hesitated. ‘Not really. If I’m honest, I’m only really helping Mrs McGrath’.

  If Mrs Sinclair’s face hadn’t been friendly before, it was nothing compared to how hard it was now. ‘I have no interest whatsoever in helping that crackpot old lady in her endless pursuit to harass everyone she comes into contact with. If you bother me again, I will be reporting you to the police'. And with that, Mrs Sinclair slammed the door in Julie’s face.

  Walking back to the street, she felt exhausted at the mere anticipation of the battle she would have to have with Mrs McGrath. The old woman would insist that she kept trying until she got the information she needed, even in the face of an impassable witness and potential arrest.

  Julie was brought back to reality by the sound of Brian calling ‘hello beautiful', at her from where he sat in his front garden. The sun had burned his arms and face badly so that the crimson of his skin stood in stark contrast to the white vest and cargo shorts that he wore. ‘You wanna come and share a few tinnies with me sweetheart?' He pulled the can of beer from a bucket that was resting on the floor next to his feet, holding it out to her even though she was still standing on the street. Another bucket was overturned, and his injured leg rested on top of it.

  ‘Sorry Brian, I really can’t, I’ve got stuff to do today'.

  ‘You can only put me off for so long my love'. He put the can down on the ground and began to unfold a second deckchair for her. ‘At some point you’re going to have to realise that we’re meant to be together'.

  Julie was considering finally putting Brian in his place once and for all by telling him how foul he was and that no member of the opposite sex would ever be able to tolerate him for a prolonged period, let alone the rest of their lives, when a thought struck her.

  ‘Actually Brian’, she said, walking through his garden gate. ‘I was hoping you could help me with something'.

  ‘Need a strong man to help you with something around the house do you sweetheart?' The comment was all the more farcical being made in front of Brian’s ramshackle abode with his chubby arms clearly in view.

  ‘If I do, then I know where to come', Julie said, giving him what she hoped was a coy smile and taking the seat next to him. ‘No, it’s actually about Jack. More specifically about the night he died'.

  Brian had been lifting his cold can of beer to his lips but stopped dead at the mention of Jack. ‘Not your job to do that', he said with none of his usual bravado. ‘Leave the police to do it'.

  ‘Normally I’d agree with you. Only Mrs McGrath has got it into her head that his death wasn’t an accident and maybe someone else was involved'.

  ‘Didn’t think you could stand her. Since when have the two of you been so close?'

  ‘We’re not, she just needed some help. She wants us to talk to anyone who might have been involved'.

  ‘I was here', Brian said immediately. ‘And before you ask, I was by myself, but that doesn’t mean anything, does it? Anyone who was up and around at that time of night would have been up to no good. Just because I was alone and asleep in my bed doesn’t mean I have anything to hide'.

  ‘Actually, I was just going to ask if you saw what company the plumber that was at Mrs Sinclair’s house was from. She won’t tell me you see, her and Mrs McGrath don’t get along and she thinks that the old woman is poking into her business'.

  ‘Ohhh', Brian said, his voice instantly brightening. ‘That twat with the loud music you mean. Yeah, what was it?' He scratched the top of his head. ‘Wainwrights, was it? No hold on, it was Cartwrights. I remember now, I used to have a girlfriend called Maggie Cartwright. Nice thick legs she had'. A creepy smile spread over his face and Julie felt the need to pull down the hem of the dress she was wearing.

  ‘I’m just saying, if you didn’t owe me a favour before, you do now'.

  ‘What, because you had to talk to some slimy old man?'

  ‘And that dragon! She threatened to call the police you know’.

  ‘You’ve said already'.

  ‘I know that, you just don’t seem to care'. Mrs McGrath grunted in response. ‘So I intend to carry on saying it until you acknowledge the fact that I keep having to do your dirty work for you'.

  ‘It’s not for me. It’s for
the dead lad'.

  Julie couldn’t really be doing with Mrs McGrath’s self righteousness. They had been sitting in her car outside the portacabin that served as Cartwrights head office for the last half an hour. Despite having the front windows down, the temperature in the car had become uncomfortable. ‘Honestly, how long does it take to eat a sandwich?' Julie said looking at her watch. ‘Why don’t you go and try the door again?'

  ‘I went last time, it’s your turn'.

  ‘I’ve done enough today'.

  ‘I can’t go’. Mrs McGrath folded her arms and slumped down in her chair. ‘I’m disabled’.

  ‘You didn’t look very disabled when you were clobbering those teenagers with your walking stick'.

  ‘Adrenaline does amazing things to the human body'.

  Julie sighed, which elicited no reaction from the old woman whatsoever. She was half way out of the car when she spotted a woman of about her age approaching the portacabin. ‘Mrs McGrath, I think we’re in business, look'.

  Mrs McGrath’s eyes snapped open and before Julie could say anything further to her, the old woman was halfway across the road towards the office entrance. She looked over her shoulder before she went inside. ‘Come on’, she called to Julie who was twenty paces behind her, ‘they’ll be on their tea break if you don’t hurry up'.

  ‘Do you want the car to get stolen?' Julie said a bit too loudly as she entered the office. She hadn’t appreciated that the space inside would be so compact, and found herself shouting the words almost directly into the face of the woman they had just seen entering. ‘Oh, sorry’, she said, blushing, and then attempted to move behind Mrs McGrath to herself from view. Luckily the woman behind the counter didn’t appear to be very interested in them, or anything else for that matter.

  ‘We need to talk to one of your boys', Mrs McGrath said to the receptionist who was routing through a drawer in her desk.

  ‘Oh yeah?' she said, without making eye contact with them.

  ‘Did a job in Brumpton in the early hours last Monday'.

  The receptionist made a non-commital noise and continued with her rummaging.

  ‘Nothing dodgy or anything, just need to have a word with him’, Mrs McGrath continued. In spite of herself, Julie felt grateful for this rude receptionist and her clipped tones, giving Mrs McGrath a taste of her own medicine. Still the receptionist continued to largely ignore Mrs McGrath. ‘We could make it worth your while, give you a little something for the effort'.

  The receptionist looked up for the first time. ‘How much are we talking?'

  There was a moment of inaction in the small room before Julie realised that Mrs McGrath was looking at her.

  ‘What, me?' Julie said.

  ‘I’ve not got anything, have I? I’m a pensioner'.

  Julie tutted audiabally but reached into her handbag regardless. She had two five pounds notes in her purse. There was also the last bit of shrapnel that she hadn’t dropped on the floor when fleeing from the little thugs on their bikes. She held out the notes to Mrs McGrath who snatched them from her grasp without any ceremony and placed them on the counter in front of the receptionist.

  She looked at them distastefully before saying ‘you got anything else?'

  ‘Not unless you want my coppers’, Julie said.

  She shrugged and took them off the counter. ‘Better than nothing. Last Monday you said?'

  Mrs McGrath nodded and the receptionist proceeded to wrap a few keys on her keyboard. ‘It’s Kurt that you want. Older bloke, white hair, bit of a belly. You should catch him if you’re quick, he’ll be in the back finishing his lunch'.

  The receptionist refused their request to show them where the canteen was but was willing to give them some almost adequate directions.

  ‘She was friendly, wasn’t she?' Julie said, after they had gone back outside and into another one of the cabins clustered around the main office.

  ‘About as friendly as I would be', Mrs McGrath said.

  ‘I can believe that. Do you have any idea where we’re going?’

  ‘It’s this one', she said with absolute certainty, pushing one of the doors open. They were met first with the overwhelming smell of urine and then the sight of a twenty something year old man relieving himself into a urinal.

  ‘Bloody hell', he said, immediately trying to get his appendage back into his trousers.

  ‘Sorry', Julie called as Mrs McGrath slammed the door shut again. ‘I thought you knew where you were going?'

  ‘Silly cow gave me the wrong directions, didn’t she?' Mrs McGrath said, charging forward towards another one of the cabins.

  ‘Why am I always paying for the bribes by the way? First those hoodlums and now her'.

  ‘You’ve got money to burn'.

  ‘How do you work that one out?' Julie asked.

  ‘Living in that big house all by yourself. Only working a few days a week'.

  ‘Last time I checked your house was exactly the same size as mine and you don’t work at all’.

  ‘Yeah, well, I’m a pensioner aren’t I?’

  ‘How does that even make sense?' Julie started to ask. The question died in her throat as Mrs McGrath flung open another door and they were faced with a dozen faces craning their necks to see who had entered the room.

  ‘We’re looking for Kurt', Mrs McGrath stated plainly without any further explanation.

  ‘Which one?' the man sitting closest to them asked.

  ‘Not sure'. When neither (or indeed none) of the Kurts got to their feet, Mrs McGrath said ‘white hair, older bloke, bit of a belly'.

  A rumble of laughter ran through the room. ‘That will be you then Winnie', someone called from the other side of the room.

  ‘Fuck off', said a man sat at one of the nearer tables. ‘It’s definitely Pinhead’.

  ‘Which one of you did a job in Brumpton last week? Early hours of Monday morning, Lexington Avenue'.

  ‘Fucking hell', said the man who thought they were describing Pinhead.

  ‘We need a word with you'. Mrs McGrath said. The man, now looking sulky, nodded to the pair of what looked like garden chairs on the other side of his table. While several of the diners had returned their eyes to their lunch, it seemed unlikely that their conversation would remain between the three of them if it was conducted here. ‘In private', Mrs McGrath said, coming to the same conclusion. Winnie didn’t look happy about it, but he obliged and followed them out into the forecourt.

  In the full light of the day, his droopy jowls were now clearly visible. Julie thought that he was older than she originally thought. Or maybe he was the type of bloke that had spent all of his youth drinking and eating whatever he liked only to have middle age crash into him like a freight train. Either way, he was not an attractive man. He had the beginnings of a beard, not out of design, Juie guessed, but through inattention.

  ‘Who said I had a bit of a belly?’

  ‘Her on the front desk', Mrs McGrath said.

  ‘Was it Trisha or Debs?'

  ‘Dunno. She didn’t say her name'.

  ‘Fuck, I bet it’s Trisha. Not happy with me at the moment. Caught me down The Bulls Head with another bird'.

  ‘We want to ask you about the job you did on Lexington Avenue'. Mrs McGrath said, characteristically taking no interest in this man’s private life whatsoever.

  ‘Oh yeah? What about it?’

  ‘How long were you there for?'

  ‘I dunno, maybe two hours'.

  ‘Long time to spend on a bit of plumbing'.

  He shrugged. ‘The job takes as long as the job takes love'.

  ‘What after that? Where were you?'

  ‘Had another job down the road, can’t remember the name. Some kind of bird, Sparrows Walk or some bullshit like that. All of them are called something like that round there. Can’t keep them seperate in my head'.

  ‘Crows Way?' Julie interjected, speaking for the first time.

  ‘Yeah, that’s it'. He eyed her suspiciously. Up until
this point, he hadn’t given her a second glance. His attention had entirely been absorbed by Mrs McGrath. ‘Posh people love that kind of shit. Naming all the roads after the same thing. What’s this about anyway?' He said, only now thinking for the first time to ask why these random strangers wanted to know where he spent his Monday evening.

  ‘Some dodgy business. Trying to figure out if anyone saw anything'.

  ‘And who are you two? Funny looking bobbies'.

  ‘Neighbourhood Watch', Mrs McGrath said. ‘Got to look after yourself these days'.

  ‘Too bloody right love. Pigs will do nothing for you'.

  ‘How long would you say you were there for? At your next job?

  ‘I left that first job at about ten past six and then the next one was a couple of hours too. Something wrong with their washing machine. Flooding the cellar, fucking nightmare'.

  ‘And the office could confirm that, could they?'

  His eyes past from one to the other of them. ‘They can, yeah. I haven’t got anything to hide if that’s what you’re trying to ask'.

  ‘Didn’t say you did'.

  ‘Alright'. He said, as if the matter was now entirely closed. ‘What’s your story then?'

  ‘I told you. We’re Neighbourhood Watch'.

  ‘No I mean, have you got a fella? Are you married?'

  Mrs McGrath didn’t say anything. Julie thought abstently that Winnie and Brian would get on very well.