Devil's in a Different Dress

by Chris Barraclough

  “Jesus,” Mick muttered. “Maybe I should help. See if the doc needs some…assistance or anything.”

  I was about to say bollocks to that, rest yourself up mate, when King called my name and gestured me over. So I told Mick to keep his chin up and I sauntered over to that pair of fannies, Shaw giving me the evils as usual.

  “We’ve spoken with everyone here,” King told me, stifling a yawn. He looked like absolute shit, like he hadn’t slept in months. “A couple of the locals living opposite say they saw the fire start at number five, near the middle of the block. There was a young couple living there, Friedrich and Hetti Klingmann. They’re both dead.”

  “Okay,” I said, crossing my arms. “So what now?”

  “Not much else we can do,” King replied. “Looks like a tragic accident, nothing more. Probably just a candle that got knocked over or maybe a stove that was left on.”

  “Suits me,” I said with a shrug. “Reckon we could all do with some kip, let’s get out of this hive.”

  When we turned to go, Mick was slumped down in his chair, most likely pretending to sleep as the two old coots continued to blast each other. I smiled and left him to it, following King and Shaw out of there.

  I hung back a little after we pushed out into the cool breeze, a blessed fucking relief after that stuffy stinkhole, pausing for a few seconds to light up a fag. The smoke rolled into my lungs and made me feel whole again, even if the feeling swiftly rushed away again. When the other two were far enough ahead, I puffed out the smoke and followed at a gentle pace.

  We’d only gone about fifty yards when I noticed that King and Shaw had stopped for some reason, their heads turned towards the morgue. I reluctantly trudged up to them and soon realised why they’d paused. From somewhere inside the building, I could hear the strains of a woman screaming at the top of her lungs. Sounded like she was bellowing with rage at some poor twat. The other two had already started over and while normally I’d say fuck it and just head back to the barracks, for some reason my interest was all fired up. Perhaps I just secretly hoped that the crazed bint would let fly at my new colleagues, maybe finishing up with a kick to the crotch or two. That’d put the finishing shine on a not-too-dreary day.

  The racket was drifting out through an open window at the side of the morgue. The windows had to be open all day and night, or else the place would’ve smelled rotten as hell and even then the stink of decomposition still lingered, heavy enough to smack you in the face like a sock full of stones every time you wandered in. I filled my lungs with more smoke instead and stepped inside, in time to see King and Shaw push into the room on the far left. The door was propped open with a brick and when I peered in I saw three bodies lined up on the floor, each spread out on a sheet. Two of the corpses were fully chargrilled, their skin burned right onto their bones with a lovely crispy finish. Not so the third, some old geezer who looked more or less in one piece. A young woman was stood beside him, unloading a heap of abuse at two other soldiers as King pushed forwards and tried to interrupt.

  For a moment I had this troubled feeling in my gut. I just couldn’t stop staring at that girl. Something about her sharp jaw and those eyes, dark as coal, was hauntingly familiar. It took me a while, but finally my stupid, slow brain kicked into life and I realised that I’d seen her just the night before. Only then she’d been dripping wet and wearing nothing but some worn old towel. She turned on King and howled at him, the same way she’d done to me in that garden.

  “Why won’t anyone listen,” she yelled, baring her teeth like a rabid dog. Her face was glowing red and her hair was sticking to her forehead with sweat. King held out his hands and tried to tell her to calm down but he might as well have tossed a petrol can on a fucking bonfire. “Get out of my face, you don’t even care! Just wait until it’s your home burning down, then you’ll care maybe!” I prayed to the baby Jesus that she’d treat him to one of those wicked slaps, but instead she doubled up, clutching her throat. She hacked and coughed until finally she spat up what looked like black phlegm. Some of the stuff trickled down her chin, dripping onto the floor beside the old man’s skull.

  “God,” King said with a grimace. “Are you alright?” Eventually she straightened, dabbing away the spit with the back of her hand. She looked no less hacked off than before.

  “The fire was no accident,” she growled, her voice crackling. “Someone is responsible.” King shot her a confused look and I probably did the same.

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  “Emily. Emily Hanna. I live with my father, next door to the Klingmanns.” She pointed a slender finger at the two well-done steaks lying next to what was presumably her dad.

  “Alright, so how do you know it wasn’t an accident?” King asked. The woman sighed and clasped her hands over her hips.

  “It’s what I heard, before the fire. It wasn’t normal. They were arguing just before it happened, and I thought I heard the front door close, or maybe the back. I think that someone else might have been there.”

  “Do you know what they were arguing about?”

  “I don’t know.” She dropped her head into her hands and scrunched up her hair, crushing her eyes shut. “It sounded bad. I’d never heard them argue before, not like that.” Her arms dropped back to her sides and she glanced up again, and that’s when those pitch black eyes locked on me and flashed with surprise. I braced myself, ready for the worst. “You,” she hissed and everyone turned and stared at me. I presented them all with my very best fuck-me-I’m-rumbled smile.

  “Hi.”

  “This man was trespassing on our property last night! Spying on me!”

  “Actually, I was trying to unwrap some barbed wire from my friend’s leg,” I replied, folding my arms. Shaw of course took the opportunity to step in, like the massive bellend he is.

  “You caught him snooping?” he asked her and she ground her teeth.

  “Him and another soldier, they sneaked in the garden while I was having a bath. I went outside and told them to get away.”

  “What were you doing there, Wightman?” King asked, the only one who didn’t have a scowl or look of total disgust on his face. I sighed and shook my head.

  “I was with Mick,” I started. “Mick Oliver. He told me there was something he wanted to show me, so he dragged me out there after everyone else headed to the lake. He tried scaling the fence but he slipped and ended up getting tangled in the bloody wire. Slashed his leg to pieces. He’s lucky I got him back to the doc so quick or he might’ve bled out.”

  “What was he trying to show you?” King asked, but he already knew. They all fucking knew. They just wanted me to say it.

  “Her,” I said, nodding at Emily. “But I didn’t know until I was already dragging him back here. He was babbling, saying she reminded him of his wife.”

  “Has he done this before,” King asked and I shrugged.

  “A few times, I think. But it’s nothing sinister, for fuck’s sakes, he just misses his bloody wife. She was killed in a robbery a month before he got drafted, how’s that for shitty luck? Poor bastard’s been through all kinds of hell, worse than any of us.”

  “We’ve all been through hell,” Shaw said. “It’s no excuse to be a peeping tom, spying on women through their bloody windows.”

  “He’s not a peeping tom,” I shot back, “he’s just a scared little boy who misses his wife. At least he’s not some alcoholic miser with half a fucking hand.” Shaw stared at me, stunned, and the silence that filled the room was nothing short of beautiful. Then his face twisted and he hurled himself at me, hands outstretched.

  “Bastaaaard!”

  Normally a pissed-up arsehole like him wouldn’t have even got close to me, but I was honestly shocked by his sudden lunge. Somehow he managed to snatch my collar and push me backwards and my shoulder blades slammed against the wall, not quite hard enough to hurt but with enough force to rattle my brain inside my skull. I grabbed him right back and twisted to the side and tosse
d him away. He tumbled into the table slab and I was ready to follow up with a right hook to the fucker’s kidneys, but King suddenly leapt into action, diving between us glaring at me.

  “What the hell’s wrong with you,” he yelled, “fighting in a bloody morgue?”

  “Don’t look at me,” I bellowed back, “he was the one who started it!”

  “I’m looking at both of you. Stop being so bloody childish.” More silence and Shaw and I tossed each other a withering glare. My hands were still balled into fists and my arms were trembling, screaming out for action. Instead, I sucked down breath after breath of the foul air and backed off a step.

  “Are we all done here?” I asked, folding my arms to stop them from shaking. King nodded.

  “I’ll speak with Lieutenant Oliver later,” he said, then he turned back to Emily and started grovelling for forgiveness. I was already halfway out of the door, trying my best to ignore the cunts who were eyeballing me.

  Outside I stormed towards the barracks, muttering and cursing and trying my absolute best not to kick the shit out of every last thing I passed. Eventually it was a crumbling remains of some old brick wall that got it. The burning in my belly just exploded and I let out a roar, slamming my heel into the fucker over and over until the top half gave way and collapsed backwards, throwing up a cloud of filth. At some point I must have bitten my tongue, hard, because blood was filling my mouth from a gash across the middle. I was breathing so fast that I suddenly felt dizzy, so I slumped down onto the remaining bricks and crushed my eyes shut and imagined all of the horrifically violent and agonisingly brutal things I would do to Shaw when I finally had the chance. The next time I caught him alone, when King wasn’t around to step in, the bastard was going down. Hard.

  Eleven (Adam)

  My cheeks were burning as I apologised to Emily, but thankfully that fire in her eyes died out as soon as Wightman left. If anything, she looked faintly relieved, until the sadness came trickling back. She cleared her throat again and stared down at her father.

  “I need to know why this happened,” she said. “It won’t bring back my father, or Friedrich or Hetti. But I know I won’t stop thinking about it, not if I don’t know why.” I scratched my chin and nodded slowly.

  “Even if they were arguing, it was probably still just an accident,” I said. “Maybe things got heated and one of them knocked something over. A candlestick or something.”

  “Then they just stood there and watched the place burn?” Emily glanced up at me like I was some silly schoolboy and I felt the heat crawl down my neck. She had a point there, I had to admit.

  “Okay,” I told her, “we’ll ask around again, see if anyone can help. But I’ve got to tell you, we already tried your neighbours and they weren’t too willing to talk with us.”

  “They don’t trust you,” she said, matter-of-factly. “After your friend’s little stunt last night, it’s hard to blame them.” I just stared back, running my tongue over my lips. Her mixed messages were starting to make my head hurt.

  “Well, if you hear anything, let us know and we’ll look into it, alright?” She nodded back, then she stooped beside her father’s body and took his hand, a fresh tear running down her cheek. There was nothing more we could do, so I murmured a swift goodbye and turned and buggered off, with Shaw following at my heels. As I passed the next room along, I thought of Loriett spread out on her slab, just a few feet from where I’d briefly met her. Was that really just a day ago? Jesus, my mind was so fogged up.

  We continued back to the barracks at a gentle pace, like all of our energy had been sucked right out of us. It was almost a minute before Shaw broke the silence.

  “Do you really think it might have been murder?” he asked and I shook my head.

  “I don’t know. I mean, Jesus, I hope it was just some horrible accident, but what if that fire really was started deliberately? After everything else that’s happened, I’m starting to think this whole bloody town’s gone mad.”

  “Not just the town,” Shaw said. “It’s the whole bloody world. Bollocks to it, and every last poor bastard stuck on it.” He peered at me with a peculiar expression. “What are we going to do about Turner?”

  “Don’t really have much choice,” I replied, shoving my hands into my pockets. “If he really did kill her, and it’s looking that way, then it’s death by firing squad.”

  “Christ. He must’ve been in another world. But could he really be that out of it and still manage to rape and strangle a girl? I mean, when I’ve had a couple of bottles of wine, it takes all my concentration just to pull my trousers off before climbing into bed. And even then, I sometimes forget to take my shoes off first.”

  “I don’t know.” I shook my head and chewed my lower lip. “Depends what he was on. I just wish he remembered something about this girl he met in Kungsbrucken. Even a first name would be better than nothing. Without that, we’ve got bugger all to go on.”

  “There’s got to be something we can do,” Shaw said, scratching his temple. “Can’t we get a hypnotist to work with him, try and recover his memories maybe?”

  “A hypnotist?” I smiled and glanced at him. “Where the hell are we supposed to find a hypnotist?”

  “I don’t know, it was just an idea.” He looked put out, his face creasing as he frowned. “Or maybe some kind of brain doctor.”

  “I can try and get a neurologist shipped over,” I said, “but I can predict right now what the Major will say. As far as he’s concerned, we’ve got our man. He just wants it dealt with as quickly as possible, so we don’t lose the faith of the locals.”

  “Huh,” Shaw said with a sniff. “There’s no faith left to lose.”

  That night was another sleepless one, at least as far as I could tell. Every time I felt like I was about to drift off, I’d see her face again, pale and lifeless, staring right at me. Then I’d bolt up in bed, sweating and shaking and craving one of my pills. I forced myself to go without, three or four times at least. By the fifth, I couldn’t bear it any longer. I’d deliberately left that little bottle sat in my jacket, so I had to sneak up and soft-foot around my bunk and reach into the bloody thing without waking the three other men, all fellow lieutenants, all passed out under their sheets. I envied them so much, didn’t understand how they could sleep so easily after all the shite they’ve seen.

  The bottle lid came off with a pop and the magic pills rattled inside, piercing the silence. I froze and glanced back at my bunk mates, but they were still oblivious, still sleeping a dreamless sleep if they were lucky enough. When I was sure that no one would stir, I slipped a finger into the bottle and worked one of the pills into my palm. A moment later, the thing was dissolving in my belly and I was back in bed, staring up at the ceiling with its cobweb of cracks stretched from one wall to the other. This time, the pale face stayed buried as I felt the world slip away. But as I drifted, my thoughts suddenly shifted to Turner, curled up on the stone floor of his cell. I wondered if he was haunted by that very same face, her stone eyes set on his as he squeezed his fingers around her throat, her lips parting, desperate to draw breath into her vacant lungs. Then I wondered: if a man like Turner was capable of an act so cruel and selfish, then aren’t we all?

  Twelve (Emily)

  That night was the longest of my life, even though it felt like some terrible dream. Almost nothing about it felt real, not the dusty old chair that I was slumped in or the rows of books stretched out in front of me. The only thing that had to be real was the chill that hung in the library. Somehow it was even colder in here than it was outside, or at least that’s how it seemed.

  I pulled the blanket up to my chin and breathed in the musty scent, my cheeks slowly turning numb. Already I knew there’d be no sleep tonight. There was too much going on in my head, the whole horror playing out from start to finish on endless repeat. He was gone and it was all my fault. If only I’d noticed the fire sooner, I could have got him out of there. If only I’d been stronger, I could have car
ried him out. If only…

  After the fire, when my eyelids finally lifted and I found myself staring up at a murky orange sky, my mind took a while to catch up. The last thing I remembered was crawling down the stairs, my lungs heavy with smoke and soot. My throat still burned and it hurt to breathe, but here I was, still alive. At first I just thought I’d managed to crawl out to safety, but then another memory returned with the pain in my hands. A memory of falling against the shattered glass, before collapsing over my father. In a panic, I sat up and glanced around. I’d moved too fast and a pounding agony ripped through my skull, almost sending me straight back down, but the adrenaline was just about strong enough to push the pain aside. I squinted up at two figures stood over me, their faces gradually coming into focus. At first I thought the man on the left was my father, beaming down at me, but then I realised it was Arndt, the town librarian. At his side was Pieter, his only son, watching me with the curiosity of a cat.

  “Thank the lord,” Arndt said, clasping his hands together. “I thought you might not ever wake.” His wrinkled face glowed, lit up by the fire which was still raging to my right. Most of the houses on that side of the street had already been consumed, flames and smoke pouring out from every shattered window.

  “Where’s father,” I tried to ask, but my throat refused to let the words out and I ended up twisted sideways, coughing and choking and sucking up furious gasps of air. On the third attempt I finally managed to wheeze coherently. Immediately I knew the truth, when Arndt’s lips melted into a troubled frown. He shook his head and I almost collapsed, my heart pounding so hard.

  “I’m sorry, there was nothing we could do. By the time I pulled him out, he was already gone.” He stepped aside and gestured with his arm, and when I peered across I saw my father, stretched out on his back across the pavement with his arms folded across his chest. His eyes were closed, as if he were sleeping.