Candles for the Dead

by Frank Smith

  His face was bathed in sweat, and she could see the naked agony in his eyes. ‘I – I can’t,’ she said. ‘The doctor said…’

  ‘Sod the doctor!’ Lenny’s fingers dug deeper into her arm. ‘I don’t want much; just something to get me through the next few days. He said it would be better after that, but I need something now! Please?’

  The girl pulled away. She felt sorry for him, but what he was asking was impossible. ‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘Besides, everything is counted and checked. It’s more than my job is worth. I’m sorry.’ She leaned over to wipe the sweat from his brow. ‘I’ll get some water and bathe your face for you,’ she went on. ‘Make you feel better.’

  Angrily, he pushed her hand away. ‘Don’t bother,’ he said sullenly. ‘I wouldn’t want you to put yourself out on my account.’

  The girl looked hurt. ‘It’s not that I don’t want to help you,’ she said, ‘it’s just that the doctor’s right. It would do more harm than good. Honestly.’

  Lenny glared at her, then lay back and closed his eyes. ‘All right,’ he said resignedly. ‘I don’t want to get you in trouble, but you could still do me a small favour.’

  ‘Like what?’ the girl said cautiously.

  ‘My girlfriend doesn’t even know I’m in here,’ he said. ‘Ring her for me and let her know, will you? She’ll be worried sick.’

  ‘What about the police? Won’t they…?’

  ‘The police?’ Lenny snorted derisively. ‘They wouldn’t give her the time of day even if they knew about her,’ he said. ‘Besides, I’d sooner they didn’t. I don’t want her dragged into this.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ the girl said dubiously. ‘I could ask the charge-nurse if it would be all right.’

  Lenny groaned. ‘Look, all I’m asking you to do is let her know, for God’s sake!’ He rolled his eyes upward and shook his head from side to side. ‘It isn’t much to ask – but if it’s too much trouble just to pick up a phone, then…’

  ‘It’s not too much trouble,’ the girl retorted, stung by his words. ‘It’s just that with the police here and everything, I don’t want to get into trouble.’

  ‘Never mind,’ said Lenny tonelessly. ‘It doesn’t matter.’ He sighed heavily and turned his head away.

  The girl knew he was playing on her sympathy, but he he’d had a rough time of it and it didn’t seem fair to keep his girlfriend in suspense.

  ‘Do you have her number?’

  Lenny turned back and looked at her with gratitude in his eyes. ‘I’ve got two,’ he said. ‘If she’s not at the first one, try the other. You won’t tell anyone?’ he added anxiously.

  The girl hesitated, then shook her head.

  ‘Good girl,’ he said softly. ‘And tell her I need the stuff in the bag. The little red one.’

  ‘What stuff?’

  ‘Just stuff. You know. Like my razor and comb and washing stuff. Just tell her what I said. She’ll know.’

  ‘I – I don’t know…’

  Sweat ran into his eyes, and it was all he could do to stop himself from screaming at the stupid bitch. He forced himself to speak softly.

  ‘Look, what harm can it do? Wouldn’t you be upset if your boyfriend was in here like me, and nobody told you?’

  The young nurse looked at Lenny for a long moment. Sincerity shone from his eyes, and she hadn’t the heart to turn him down. And as he’d said, what harm could it do?

  * * *

  ‘Have you seen Paget this morning, Len? He looks as if he hasn’t slept for a week.’ Tregalles straddled a chair and sat down in front of Ormside’s desk. ‘I asked him if he was all right, and he nearly took my head off.’

  Ormside tilted his chair and began to rock gently back and forth. ‘He hasn’t been what you might call “himself” all week,’ he said, ‘but you’re right, he did look worse this morning. Hardly said a word when he looked in. Just checked the boards, looked at the log, grunted and left again.’ He frowned. ‘Is he ill?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Tregalles slowly. ‘It’s more like he has something on his mind. I was talking to him yesterday and it was just as if he’d drifted off and was thinking about something else entirely.’

  ‘Perhaps he’s got himself a woman,’ Ormside suggested. ‘That could account for his not getting any sleep.’

  Tregalles grunted sceptically. ‘If he has, he’s not getting much pleasure out of it,’ he declared. ‘No, I don’t think that’s it. God, the hours he works, when would he have the time? Not that he hasn’t had the chance. Grace Lovett’s been trying to get him to notice her for a month or more, but he hasn’t shown the slightest sign he’s interested.’

  ‘Then there must be something wrong with him,’ Ormside declared. ‘You’d have to be bloody dead to not notice her!’

  Both men fell silent, each lost for the moment in their own particular fantasy that the name of Grace Lovett conjured in their minds. Ormside shook his head and sighed, then pulled a heavy file toward him and the spell was broken.

  ‘Not much new this morning,’ he said. ‘We have a statement from the bus driver who dropped Mrs Smallwood at Farrow Lane Monday evening. He says she got on outside the bank at twenty-five to six, and he let her off about three minutes past six at Farrow Lane. He said she looked ill, and he thought she’d been crying. She would have gone right past her stop if he hadn’t called out. He also said that if she fell and hurt herself it wasn’t getting off his bus. He said he watched her in his mirror to make sure she was all right before he pulled away, and the last time he saw her, she was walking down Farrow Lane.’

  Tregalles grimaced. ‘It’s beginning to look as if Paget’s right,’ he said. ‘He’s convinced that she was raped right there at work by Gresham.’

  Ormside grunted. ‘He’d better watch his step,’ he warned. ‘Gresham’s well in with what passes for the upper crust round here, and I wouldn’t put it past him to go running to the chief constable if Paget gets it wrong.’

  Tregalles changed the subject. ‘Paget’s going over to the hospital this afternoon to talk to Lenny Smallwood,’ he said, ‘and I’ve been delegated to meet Mrs McLeish and take her to see her sister’s body. Do you know what time her bus gets in?’

  ‘Two thirty, assuming she caught the one she said she would.’

  The telephone on Ormside’s desk rang and he picked it up. He pulled a note pad toward him and began making notes. Tregalles was about to leave, but Ormside motioned him to stay.

  ‘That was Ted Abbott,’ he told Tregalles as he hung up the phone. ‘He’s been checking out Terrence Ling. Seems Ling wasn’t exactly truthful about where he was the night Beth Smallwood died. A neighbour saw him go out about seven thirty, and says he didn’t come back until well after nine.’

  * * *

  The early morning mist rising from the river had left behind a residue of moisture in the grass. High cloud obscured a hazy sun, and there was no warmth in it. In fact, thought Bill Tuckridge, it was bloody cold for May.

  Still, at least it wasn’t raining and he was able to get out. He didn’t like the rain. His old bones ached enough when it was dry, but they really gave him what for after a day of rain. They were aching now as he trudged along the lane.

  He’d go as far as the sheds and then turn back. Brindle, the Airedale cross, who hadn’t been out for a couple of days, was enjoying himself immensely, quartering the ground ahead of him, and pausing every now and then to sniff enquiringly or to mark his territory.

  Brindle should have been on a leash, but Tuckridge always let him off down here; there was nothing he could harm, and he always came when he was called.

  Tuckridge stopped short of the sheds. The ground was littered with all sorts of bits and pieces half buried in the grass, and he didn’t want to take a chance on turning his ankle or falling. ‘Come on, then, Brindle,’ he called as he turned to go back.

  The dog stood and looked at him, head on one side as if to say ‘Can’t we stay longer?’ but Tuckridge was already mak
ing his way back up the lane. The old man moved slowly, leaning heavily on his stick as he picked his way carefully over the uneven ground. Brindle remained where he was, no doubt hoping his master would change his mind, but the old man continued on.

  The dog loped after him, romping through the long grass, snapping playfully at a passing bee. He stopped abruptly at the edge of a small depression, front legs stiff, eyes intent upon his new discovery. Cautiously, he approached and sniffed, then gently nudged the recumbent figure. There was no response. He barked, a short, excited sound, circling and dropping down on his front paws, trying to entice the figure to move.

  ‘Brindle? Here, boy.’ The dog’s ears twitched, but he ignored the command. ‘Brindle!’ The tone was sharper now. The dog circled the figure once more. ‘Brindle! Come! Get over here when I call you.’

  Brindle whined softly, then turned and bounded across the hummocky grass to where his master waited.

  ‘Flush a rabbit, did you, boy?’ the old man said as he set off once again. Brindle wagged his tail and trotted along beside him, all thoughts of what he’d found now just a fading memory.

  Chapter 18

  Andrea McMillan threw down her pen and sat back in her chair. It was no good; she couldn’t concentrate. She looked at her watch for perhaps the fifth time in the past ten minutes. Neil had said he’d try to get there by two, and it was ten past already. This was silly. She placed the tips of her fingers against her abdomen and took a deep breath; held it, then let it slowly out again. She did it several times. It was supposed to help.

  It didn’t.

  There was a light tap on the door and Paget entered the small office hesitantly, as if not quite sure of his welcome.

  ‘Sorry I’m late,’ he apologized. ‘It seems something always comes up at the last moment. I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.’

  ‘No. Not at all. I was just catching up on some paperwork. Please sit down.’

  He sat down. ‘It never ends, does it?’ he said, indicating the files on her desk. ‘The paperwork.’

  ‘Endless,’ she agreed and tried to remember all the things she’d planned to say. But all she could think of was that he looked exhausted. Probably working much too hard; not eating properly, and not getting enough sleep. She knew the symptoms all too well, having been guilty of the very same faults herself.

  ‘I suppose it’s much the same in your job?’ That was not what she’d intended to say. Andrea busied herself gathering up papers and putting them in a folder.

  ‘Yes.’

  The silence between them lengthened.

  Now that he was here, Paget wished he’d found an excuse not to come. He should have sent Tregalles in his place. And yet, perversely, he had wanted to come. Seeing Andrea again had made him realize just how much he’d missed the company of this woman these past few months.

  Andrea had demanded nothing from him. She had just been there; a friend at a time when he needed a friend; someone to talk to; someone who had eased the pain of loneliness. Until suddenly one evening he’d realized that she had become more than just a friend, and he’d felt ashamed. Ashamed that he could so easily allow himself to be unfaithful to the memory of Jill.

  There could never be another Jill. He could never love anyone the way he had loved Jill. It was just … What? Loneliness? Desire? The need to take a woman in his arms again? The whole idea was ludicrous, he told himself angrily.

  But ludicrous or not, it refused to go away.

  Not that Andrea had encouraged him. In fact, if anything, she’d become withdrawn. It was as if she’d sensed the change and was making it clear that she did not share his feelings.

  He sighed inwardly. It had been a mistake to come here, today. On this day of all days he should be thinking of Jill, not another woman.

  ‘I must get on,’ he said briskly. ‘Can we see Lenny Smallwood now?’

  Andrea caught her breath. His tone was sharp and brittle, almost demanding, and the words she had rehearsed so carefully vanished from her mind. She’d thought about Neil a lot while she was away, and she had hoped today that they might talk. Hoped, too, that he might feel the same.

  Obviously she’d been mistaken. Andrea closed the folder on her desk and rose swiftly to her feet. ‘Of course,’ she said stiffly. ‘I know you must be busy.’

  ‘How is Lenny coming along?’ Paget asked as they left the office.

  This was safer ground. Professional. ‘He’s had a very rough time of it,’ Andrea told him, ‘and he still has a long way to go. Did you know he’s addicted to cocaine?’

  ‘No, but I can’t say I’m surprised. How is he coping?’

  ‘About as well as can be expected, under the circumstances. Between his addiction and his injuries, he’s been in a lot of pain. We’re keeping him partly sedated, which means that he may find it difficult to concentrate, so you might bear that in mind.’

  They walked in silence down the corridor.

  Lenny’s eyes were closed and he appeared to be asleep when they entered the room. His face was bruised and swollen, and dark stubble made it look even worse. Despite what he knew about the boy, Paget couldn’t help but feel some pity for him. One wrist was taped; his jaw was wired, and there was a bandage on his head. A pouch dripped clear liquid into his arm through a tube, while a second tube snaked out from beneath the covers to a heavy plastic bag.

  The WPC, who had been reading a magazine, jumped to her feet.

  ‘Has he said anything about how this happened?’ Paget asked quietly. ‘Or about his mother?’

  ‘No, sir. Nothing.’

  ‘Right. Perhaps you’d like to go and have a cup of tea while we talk to him. I don’t want him to feel we’re ganging up on him.’

  Liscombe didn’t need to be told twice to take a break from what was surely one of the most boring jobs she’d ever had.

  ‘He still insists he had an accident,’ said Andrea. ‘But it’s quite obvious he’s been beaten.’

  ‘Right. Then let’s have him awake.’

  Andrea spoke softly to Lenny and shook his arm, gently coaxing him awake. Drowsily, Lenny opened his eyes and looked around. His eyes focused on Andrea and then on Paget. He blinked rapidly and became more alert. Andrea looked at Paget and nodded for him to go ahead.

  ‘Leonard Smallwood,’ he said, ‘my name is Paget, Detective Chief Inspector Paget, and I’d like to ask you a few questions. Do you understand?’

  Lenny was suddenly alert. He nodded cautiously.

  ‘First, can you tell me how you came by these injuries?’

  Lenny blinked rapidly and cleared his throat. ‘I came off the bike,’ he said. His lips moved, but his teeth remained closed due to his wired jaw.

  ‘Where was that, exactly?’

  Lenny raised a hand to touch the bandage on his head. ‘Don’t remember,’ he said.

  ‘I see. We didn’t find your bike at the scene,’ said Paget. ‘Do you know what might have happened to it?’

  Lenny stared at him blankly. ‘Some thieving bugger must have pinched it,’ he said flatly.

  ‘According to the doctors who examined you when you were brought in, your injuries were caused by a savage beating,’ Paget said. ‘In fact, I’m told there is no way these injuries could have been caused by a fall from a motorbike. What do you say to that, Mr Smallwood?’

  Lenny tried to shrug and winced. ‘They got it wrong,’ he said. His nose began to run. ‘Like I said, I skidded and came off the bike.’

  Paget tried another tack. ‘What are you going to do when you leave here?’ he asked. ‘Whoever beat you up will still be out there unless you give me a name.’

  Lenny rolled his eyes. ‘I told you, nobody beat me up. I came off the bike!’

  ‘Tell me where you went after you left your mother in the house on Monday evening.’

  ‘Monday?’ Lenny frowned in concentration and looked at Andrea. ‘What day did I come in here?’ he asked.

  ‘Wednesday,’ she said, ‘and today is Friday.’
/>
  ‘I went to Tan’s place. She’s the girlfriend. Why?’

  ‘How long were you there?’

  ‘All night. You can ask her.’

  ‘We have. She says you left earlier.’

  ‘She made a mistake, then, didn’t she?’

  ‘I saw you myself just after midnight,’ Paget said quietly. ‘Outside your house. You took off when I called out to you.’

  So that’s where he’d seen this bloke before. Lenny thought he looked familiar. He’d only caught a glimpse of him in the headlight of the bike, but it was the same bloke all right.

  ‘Yeah. Well, I thought you were someone else, didn’t I? Someone I didn’t want to meet just then.’

  ‘The same person who beat you up?’

  Lenny rolled his head to one side. ‘I told you…’ he began, but Paget brushed his words aside.

  ‘Never mind,’ he said. ‘Just tell me this: when was the last time you saw your mother?’

  Lenny turned back to look at him. Beads of sweat stood out upon his brow, and his nose was running freely. Andrea handed him a paper tissue.

  ‘That night when she came home from work,’ he said. ‘Monday. Why? What’s this all about? Fat lot she cares anyway. She hasn’t even been in to see me. Neither has Tan. You keeping them away?’

  Paget ignored the question. ‘You had an argument with your mother that night,’ he said.

  Lenny sniffed and wiped his nose. He could feel the shakes coming on again, and he had cramps in his stomach. ‘So?’ he said belligerently.

  ‘You had a shouting match and you hit her,’ said Paget. ‘Then you left the house. When did you see your mother again, Mr Smallwood?’

  ‘I haven’t. And who says I hit her? I never touched her.’

  ‘We have a witness who says you did.’

  Lenny’s face gave him away. Bloody Tania! She was the only one there; it must have been her. ‘So I got a bit carried away,’ he mumbled. ‘I didn’t mean it. Mam knows I didn’t mean it.’