Deathly Affair

by Leigh Russell

  ‘I wonder how long it will take him to die, down here, alone in the dark?’ he asked after a few minutes of silent contemplation.

  He stared into his captive’s stricken eyes, as though awaiting a response. It was tranquil down in the cellar, and silent. Shielded from the world above their heads, they could have been on a different planet. Watching the terror in Mark’s eyes, a sense of wellbeing flooded through him at the knowledge that he was righting the wrong. This was a good place to find tranquillity. He almost hoped Mark felt the same way about his death, although that was a kindness he did not deserve.

  ‘A man can be at peace in here,’ he said, still smiling and looking around the bare room. ‘It’s quiet, and he knows he won’t be disturbed. No one ever comes down here. No one but me has a key to this place, so he’s quite safe from interruption. He can use the time to think about what he’s done, and why he deserves to be here.’

  His captive responded with a series of muffled cries, while the expression in his eyes grew increasingly wild.

  ‘Oh, shut up,’ he snapped, losing patience. ‘There’s no point in fussing like that because no one can hear anything from down here. No one but me, that is.’

  He smiled, his good humour restored. For reply, Mark resumed his moaning. He really was annoying. He had been told, quite clearly, that no one would be able to hear him down here, however much noise he made, yet he persisted in bleating. It was such a waste of energy. Not that Mark had any reason to conserve his energy. In some ways, the sooner he exhausted himself, the sooner all this would be over. But he did not want his captive to die too quickly. That, too, would be an undeserved mercy.

  ‘He’s going to have to suffer for a little while longer,’ he said. ‘It’s only fair. This is his punishment, after all. He’s not been here nearly long enough. And once he’s dead, his punishment will be over.’

  After that, it would just be a question of somehow disposing of the body before it began to smell. He wrinkled his nose, disgusted at the thought. But that was merely an unfortunate consequence of what he had to do. He would deal with it when the time came. For now, he simply wanted to enjoy the sight of Mark, tied up and helpless. It was intensely gratifying. The way Mark was looking, this was going to take a while. With a sigh, he stood up and Mark’s eyes flickered. Much as they expressed loathing, he was evidently panicking at the prospect of being left on his own. In a way that was frustrating, because he could not be present to witness Mark’s worst terrors. He could try to set up a camera, but it was too dark in there to catch the subtleties of changing facial expressions. He moved towards the door, staring into his prisoner’s eyes, which were wild with a mute plea for clemency.

  He shook his head in answer. ‘No,’ he said softly, ‘we can’t let him go. That would ruin everything.’ His voice grew hard. ‘He’ll never leave this place alive. That’s the whole point. God, he’s slow. I mean, let’s be reasonable, shall we? Would we really bring him all the way down here, and tie him up, only to let him go? And what then? What’s to stop him going to the police and telling them everything that’s happened?’

  Mark shook his head furiously.

  ‘Besides, if he’s still too stupid to work out who I am, he can describe me to the police, can’t he? Because he’s seen my face, hasn’t he? Oh, he can shake his head until his eyes pop out, but he knows what would happen, doesn’t he? No, we all know there’s only one way this can end. But not yet.’

  Listening to the muffled sobs of his prisoner, he walked over to the door and glanced over his shoulder for one last look at Mark, grovelling in the dirt where he belonged.

  ‘She’s my wife,’ he hissed as he opened the door. ‘Mine!’

  He shut the door and the muffled sound of Mark’s whining was abruptly cut off.

  14

  The following morning a woman turned up at the police station asking to speak to Geraldine. Joining her in an interview room, Geraldine recognised one of the volunteers who worked at the second resettlement centre she had visited. An anxious-looking woman with curly greying hair, keen to help with the investigation, she said she had been asking around at the centre to see if she could find out anything about the recent murder. Geraldine nodded and listened to her rambling account without interrupting her.

  ‘Anyway, the point is, I spoke to everyone there, even though it wasn’t really necessary, and you want to talk to Tommy,’ she said at last, her eyes bright with some kind of personal triumph.

  ‘Thank you, we’ve already questioned him,’ Geraldine replied gently.

  She never liked to disappoint members of the public who had taken the trouble to come forward with genuine information, even when it was no longer needed.

  ‘Yes, I know that. I mean you want to talk to him again.’

  ‘Do you think he knows more than he’s already told us?’

  The woman nodded. ‘I think he knows a lot more.’ She leaned forward and lowered her voice. ‘He told some of the other residents that he killed Bingo. Apparently they had a fight and Tommy killed him. That’s what he’s telling everyone. Except you, that is. If he’d told you about it you would have arrested him then and there, wouldn’t you?’

  Geraldine listened closely to what the woman told her. She was clearly convinced by what she had heard, but whether Tommy had been telling the truth or not had yet to be established. Geraldine thanked her and tasked a constable with taking down the woman’s statement. Eileen was away at a meeting in another police station, so Geraldine discussed the latest development with Ian, and together they drove to the New Start Centre to find Tommy. They found him shuffling along a corridor, and he greeted them with a lopsided grin.

  ‘Come to arrest me, have you?’ he asked cheerfully. ‘What took you so long?’

  ‘He did it,’ another man called out as he walked past them. ‘Tommy’s your man. Take him away and lock him up, for fuck’s sake. We don’t want him here.’

  Tommy’s smile never faltered.

  ‘Come along with us then and let’s hear what you have to say, and you’d better not be wasting our time,’ Ian said.

  Tommy looked disappointed. ‘Aren’t you going to arrest me?’

  ‘We need a statement from you first,’ Ian replied. ‘Now come on.’

  ‘All right, all right, I’m coming, I can’t walk any faster than this,’ Tommy replied, wincing as he limped along beside them.

  ‘What’s wrong with your leg?’ Geraldine asked.

  ‘I don’t know, do I? I’m not a fucking doctor. Pardon my language, in front of a lady, but I’m in agony with it and it’s getting worse all the time.’

  He accepted a cup of tea at the police station and appeared entirely at ease with the situation once he was sitting down.

  ‘Yes, it was me all right,’ he told them before they had even begun to question him.

  Tommy’s story corroborated what the volunteer had told Geraldine. He claimed to have been in an argument with Bingo which had gone on for too long and showed no sign of ending.

  ‘So I decided the only thing to do was finish him off.’

  ‘You deliberately set out to kill him?’ Ian sounded sceptical.

  Tommy shrugged. ‘I’m not saying I actually intended to kill him, but that’s what happened.’

  ‘Why did you do it?’ Geraldine asked.

  ‘Because he was bugging me, that’s why,’ Tommy replied, his casual good humour briefly replaced by a flash of anger. ‘You’d have done the same thing if you had to share a room with that stinking tosser for longer than five minutes. He got on my nerves, that’s what. And that’s why I did it.’

  Geraldine frowned. ‘He wasn’t even sleeping at the centre on the night he was killed, so what could have prompted you to kill him then?’

  ‘Ah, but he would have been back soon enough once the weather turned. It ate away at me all summer, the resentment and loathing. And
now the winter’s coming on, I knew he’d be sleeping at the centre again, and bugging me whenever I saw his face. So I did what I had to do.’

  ‘You could have gone to another centre. You weren’t tied to him,’ Ian pointed out.

  ‘No, but he would have followed me again. He had a thing about me. He just wouldn’t leave me alone.’

  ‘He left you alone all summer,’ Geraldine muttered.

  ‘I had to get rid of him,’ Tommy insisted. ‘He would have followed me again, I know he would.’

  ‘Why?’ Ian asked.

  ‘I don’t know. He just did. He’s been following me around for years. I’d just had enough. So I topped him.’

  ‘Really? You killed him? Just like that?’ Geraldine shook her head as though to indicate she did not believe him.

  Tommy shrugged. ‘He was easy enough to get rid of. He was half dead already.’

  ‘But why would you care if he followed you?’ Ian asked. ‘You’ve just told us yourself that you were friends.’

  ‘That’s what I thought, but he wouldn’t leave me alone. At first I didn’t want you to know,’ Tommy explained, leaning forward and gazing earnestly across the table. ‘I thought I could get away with it. But it all got too much for me. The pressure. I couldn’t keep it to myself. I had to confess and take my punishment. You’d have caught up with me in the end. I just couldn’t bear the waiting. For all I knew, someone had seen me do it and had already spilled the beans. I felt as though I was sitting on a ticking time bomb. I just cracked.’

  ‘Very well, I’m arresting you for the murder of Bingo,’ Ian said. ‘You do not have to say anything but anything you do say may be taken down and used in evidence –’

  ‘I just told you, I killed him. What more do you need?’

  Geraldine turned to Ian as soon as the suspect had been led from the room. They heard him out in the corridor, grumbling that he could not walk any faster as he was taken to a cell.

  ‘Do you believe him?’ she asked.

  ‘Why would he lie about it and get himself locked up?’

  She shrugged. ‘Attention, maybe, or to get his leg tended to.’

  ‘That would be a bit drastic, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Innocent people have made false confessions for more spurious reasons,’ Geraldine said.

  ‘Or even no reason at all except they were barmy,’ Ian agreed.

  ‘So have we just arrested a man for taking drastic measures to get medical attention for his hip or sciatica, or whatever it is that’s troubling him?’ Geraldine asked.

  Ian looked troubled.

  Researching establishments where Tommy had been sleeping, Geraldine was able to confirm that he had stayed at the Fishergate Centre for a few months. Some time after he left there he had moved into the other resettlement centre in York. When Geraldine asked a staff member at the Fishergate Centre why Tommy had moved, the woman replied that the homeless often moved around.

  ‘We’re only a temporary measure,’ she added, ‘and not everyone is willing to avail themselves of our services. Don’t ask me why, when we do everything we can to support them. It’s not like they have anywhere else to go. Oh, I know it’s not exactly a home here, but we offer them a bed for the night and food, and washing facilities, no questions asked, well, very few, and we keep them safe. You’d think it was vastly preferable to sleeping rough, but mostly they don’t stay long. Tommy moved out and later he was referred to the New Start Centre. That’s typical. They move around. It’s just what they do. It’s what they want. It suits them. We do our best to make them comfortable and fed –’ she was beginning to sound plaintive.

  ‘What about a man called Bingo?’ Geraldine interrupted her.

  ‘Bingo? He was the one that was murdered in Coney Street a week ago, wasn’t he? Yes, he stayed here. We were all sorry to hear what happened to him,’ she added. ‘He was a harmless character. He didn’t deserve that.’ She sighed.

  ‘No one does.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Was Bingo staying with you at the same time as Tommy?’

  ‘He could have been.’

  Geraldine waited while the woman went to check her records. When she came back on the line she confirmed that Tommy had stayed at the Fishergate Centre at the same time as Bingo.

  ‘They shared a room,’ she added.

  ‘And did they leave you at the same time?’

  ‘No, Tommy moved into a single room. They all prefer to have their own rooms. But Bingo left us. Why do you want to know about Tommy?’

  Geraldine did not answer. So far Tommy’s story seemed to check out. They had enough on him for a formal charge to stick, and the investigation was considered resolved. It had taken them only a week to find Bingo’s killer. As a detective sergeant, Geraldine was reluctant to challenge the opinion apparently held by everyone else in her team on the basis of her vague suspicion that Tommy’s confession was all lies. Even Ian seemed willing to go along with the general consensus that Tommy was guilty.

  ‘So you don’t think he was lying to us after all?’ Geraldine asked Ian as they were leaving the police station that evening.

  ‘Let’s see what the CPS makes of it,’ he replied evasively. ‘In the meantime, Eileen’s satisfied we’ve got the right man.’

  ‘And what if she’s wrong?’

  ‘Then the case will fall apart, and we will have wasted the court’s time.’ He sighed. ‘Let’s hope Eileen’s called it right. She usually does.’

  15

  After yet another row with her mother, Molly went to her boyfriend’s place for the night. It was not lost on her that he did not seem pleased to see her. He stood in the doorway, in his grey underpants, arms crossed, scowling at her.

  ‘Molly? What the fuck are you doing here?’

  ‘Well, it’s nice to see you too,’ she replied sourly, tossing her long blond hair off her face. ‘So are we going to stand here like this all night, or are you going to let me in?’

  As he hesitated, Molly heard someone calling his name.

  ‘Who’s that? Is someone else here?’

  It was a stupid question. Obviously there was a girl in his room. Shoving the door wide open, Molly came face to face with a skinny slapper he must have picked up for the night.

  ‘Who the fuck is she?’ the other girl asked, scrambling into a tight dress that barely covered her arse.

  ‘“She” is his girlfriend,’ Molly replied coldly. ‘So why don’t you get lost?’

  ‘Don’t you tell me what to do, bitch. You get lost. Who do you think you are?’

  ‘More to the point, who the hell are you and what do you think you’re doing here?’

  The girl in the tight dress sniggered. ‘Isn’t that obvious, you stupid cow?’

  ‘Get the fuck out of here before I throw you out!’ Molly yelled, her voice shrill with anger.

  She turned to her red-faced boyfriend, only to discover that what she had mistaken for embarrassment was actually fury. He had never hit her before, so she did not see it coming, but her face stung and her ear rang with the impact of his slap. If he had punched her he would probably have knocked her off her feet, if not laid her out cold. She had no intention of hanging around to listen to his stammered apology. Her mother might be prepared to put up with behaviour like that, but Molly had made up her mind a long time ago that she was never going to be knocked about by anyone, whoever they were. It was bullshit to pretend that kind of aggression was any kind of love.

  For years she had watched her mother suffer bruising and worse. Only once had she bothered to ask her mother why she put up with violence from men. It had been like talking to a blank wall.

  ‘Why do you let him get away with it?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘The way Baz treats you. Why do you put up with it?’

  ‘I’ve
no idea what you mean. And I don’t like the way you’re talking about Baz. Show some respect.’

  ‘He’s a monster. I would never let anyone treat me the way he treats you.’

  Her mother had given her a withering look. ‘You don’t understand.’

  ‘You’re dead right I don’t understand. That’s why I’m asking: why do you put up with the way he treats you?’

  ‘Baz is good to me.’

  ‘How can you possibly say he’s good to you? You can lie about it to other people but I live here. I’ve seen what he does to you.’

  ‘Oh shut up. You’re too young to know what you’re talking about.’

  Her mother had refused to discuss the matter any more, and that had been the end of Molly’s efforts to persuade her to stand up for herself. And now she had been hit by her own boyfriend, who had once told her that he loved her.

  ‘Wait,’ he cried out, seizing hold of her arm as she turned to leave. ‘Don’t go. Not like this.’

  Molly turned away, shaking and resolute.

  ‘I can explain,’ he said.

  ‘Get your hands off me,’ she hissed.

  ‘Ooh, listen to her,’ the other girl jeered. ‘Thinks she’s too good for you.’

  The girl paused as she was pulling on her heels, sensing that she might be staying the night after all. Molly did not wait to hear any more. Slamming the door behind her, she was off.

  ‘And don’t bother coming after me!’ she yelled over her shoulder as she marched away.

  She need not have bothered. The front door remained shut.

  Her mother’s reaction on hearing the news the following morning was equally disappointing.

  ‘What do you mean you’ve split up with him?’ she asked, her eyes dark slits of suspicion.