by J. D. Weston
"Get yourself back to your cell, Tyson," said Grant. "See if you can make it through the next twenty-four hours without getting into any more bother, eh?"
An old, bearded, drunk man bounced off the sickly, lime-green walls of the short, windowless corridor that led from the three interview rooms to the cells of Chelmsford Police Station.
Detective Chief Inspector Zack Harris stepped to one side to allow the homeless man and the escorting officer to pass. He was being released with no charge, free to go and piss up another shop front window the next night, and hope for another free night's stay in a cell sleeping on a sticky, blue plastic mattress. The whole transaction would cost the British tax-payer a few hundred pounds in labour, paperwork, admin and, of course, the inevitable deep cleanse of the cell once he'd left.
Harris continued along the corridor to the single desk at the end. He leaned over the counter and spoke to the deputy sergeant.
"Any free cells, Malc?" he asked.
"Hey, Zack," replied the officer. "Yeah, three and five are both free. Are you expecting a guest?"
"Probably, you remember Noah Finn?"
"Noah Finn?" said Malcolm. "The name rings a bell, but-"
"Nobby Noah?" said Harris, jogging his colleague's memory.
"Nobby Noah? Yeah, I remember him. Is he out already?"
"Skipped his parole meeting yesterday. Only two days out."
"Can't say I'm sorry, Zack," said Malc. "I'm not sure if society is ready for that nutter just yet."
Harris slapped his hand on the counter.
"I doubt very much that Pentonville is ready to have him back either, Malc." He turned and strode confidently back up the corridor and called back to Malc over his shoulder. "Catch ya later, Malc."
Harris buzzed himself through the thick security door that opened up into the rear car park, and then clicked his BMW unlocked. He'd arranged for a local squad car to meet him outside Finn's house and had told them to wait for him to arrive before knocking. Finn's house wasn't officially in Harris' area. But he'd been the arresting officer three years previously, and the powers that be thought a familiar face and knowledge of the previous case history might help ease any situation. Harris had dealt with skipped paroles before. Typically, the parolee was either adjusting and hadn't realised the penalties or, in the case of long-term vulnerable prisoners, they'd locked themselves away, too fearful to leave their homes.
The journey took twenty-five minutes, and the house was how Harris remembered it, in need of some TLC. There was the addition of abusive graffiti, and the garden that Mrs Finn had so lovingly tended had over-grown, but it still had the terrible brown door and old wooden windows.
Harris pulled up alongside the squad car, wound the window down and flashed his ID.
"Any sign of anyone?" he asked.
"None, sir," replied the officer. "Been here ten minutes now."
"Okay, look lively, boys. Let's get one of you round the back in case he makes a run for it. One of you stay in the car, and I'll take the front."
"Okay, sir," said the younger of the two officers, who was sitting in the passenger seat. He opened the door and made his way towards the footpath that led into the woods three doors down.
Harris parked his car, got out and locked it then headed to Finn's house. He caught the movement of a twitching curtain in the neighbour's house but ignored it, closed the gate behind him and walked to the front door. An old brass knocker took the centre position above an old brass letterbox.
Harris gave three hard knocks on the brass knocker.
He straightened his suit and tie then took a cursory glance through the bay window, keeping his suit jacket from touching the dirty old house. He couldn't see much, just some old tatty net curtains and a grim-looking living room.
He gave another knock then lifted the letterbox flap and bent down to peer inside. There was no sign of anyone, or even that anyone had been there recently. Just an old empty house. He stood back to look up at the upstairs windows and saw the neighbour's curtain twitch once more. This time, he caught the lady's attention and gestured for her to come to the front door.
A few minutes later, long enough for the old lady to don her cardigan and shuffle through the house, the white PVC door opened a crack and her head peered into view.
"It's okay, I'm with the police," said Harris. He flashed her ID. "I'm looking for Mr Finn. Have you seen him recently?"
"Oh, I see," said the old lady. "You can't be too careful these days, you know." She opened up the door and stepped outside very gently onto her own garden path. "You're with the police then, are you?"
"Yes, ma'am," replied Harris. "I'm looking for Mr Finn. Have you seen him recently?"
"Oh, I see, in trouble, is he?"
"No, ma'am, no trouble. Just a few routine questions, that's all. Have you seen him in the past couple of days?"
"Have I seen him? Noah, you mean?"
"Yes, ma'am. I just need to ask him a few questions."
"Well, he hasn't been around for a while now. Poor fellow. I knew his parents, you know? Lovely, there were."
"I'm sure," said Harris. "When was the last time you saw him?"
"Well, that's the funny thing," she said, "I thought I saw him yesterday. Or was it the day before?"
Harris' head cocked to one side. Suddenly, he was getting somewhere. But slowly, very slowly.
"No, it was the day before," said the old lady. "I know because I'd just been to the shops. It's quieter during the week, you see, no children flying around on their bicycles and roller-whatsits."
"Ah, so you have seen him?" asked Harris.
"Seen him?" said the old lady with a confused look.
"Noah, ma'am, Noah Finn."
"Oh, little Noah. He was such a sweet little boy. My husband and I used to watch over him if Jack and Sue went out. He was only so big back then." She held her hand up waist high. "He was a pleasant lad though, never any trouble."
"And when was it you saw him?" asked Harris.
"I told you, it was the day before yesterday. I was sat watching the box, and well, not many people use this road, only the occasional dog walker going into the forest, so it usually catches my eye if somebody does, you know?" She leaned closer and whispered, "I like to keep an eye on things," then gave Harris a little wink.
"That's great. And what time might that have been?"
"Might what have been?"
"What time did you see Mr Finn, ma'am?"
"Oh, I see. Oh, I don't know, must've been early or late afternoon. Let me see, I watched the news, I always like to watch the news, my Harold used to watch the news, I must have picked it up from him."
"And then what did you do?"
"What did I do?" said the old lady. "Well, I watched the news then I took a little walk to the shop to get a few bits in for the week. I'd like to go to the big supermarket but there's no-one to take me now Harold is gone, and it's too far to walk, you see."
"So what time would you have gotten back from the shop?"
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe three o'clock?"
"And you saw Noah on the street?"
"No, I made a sandwich and I'd just sat down to watch that TV program with the two women, you know the one?"
"When you saw him?"
"Yes, dear. He walked up the path. I thought it was odd, but you know, I don't like to be nosy."
"Of course," said Harris with a smile. "Well, thank you, Mrs...?"
"You're welcome, dear," said the old lady. "Are you sure I can't get you a tea while you're waiting?"
"No, thank you, that's very kind. I have a busy day ahead."
Harris got the impression she wasn't going to go back inside her house, so he turned and gave the knocker another three raps before he bid her good day then walked back to the waiting squad car. The officer already had the window rolled down, and he smiled at Harris as he approached.
"She seems nice," he said.
Harris ignored the comment. "How's your mate getting o
n?"
The officer lowered his head and reached for the push-to-talk button on his radio handset. "One-one-nine, any action?"
The two men waited for him to reply. Harris stood and looked up at the house. It was like time had stood still in one particular spot and life had continued around it. The officer tried his colleague again.
"No reply, sir," said the officer in the car. "Want me to pop round and check on him? He might be in a dead spot."
Harris checked his watch and pushed off the car. "It's okay, I'll go," he said. "I could do with the walk. Keep an eye out here. No-one goes in or out."
The path into the woods was clear, as if the council had kept the route free of forest debris and the trees trimmed. But the bushes either side were thick and tangled. There was a small gap between the back fence of the last house on the street and the bushes, so Harris slid sideways into the space and made his way along, cursing at the damage to his newly polished shoes. The space widened out until it was large enough for him to walk normally, but he still had to duck under low branches and step over debris.
Small was nowhere to be seen. He wasn't in the trees and wasn't on the path. Harris gave Finn's back gate a gentle nudge. It was a six-foot high wooden panel with a curved top and black ironmongery. The gate swung open and Harris stared into the overgrown garden.
An apple tree stood in the centre of what was probably a well-kept lawn back in the day. Harris judged it to be sixty feet in length. A carpet of rotten apples surrounded the base of the old tree. A small garden shed stood immediately to Harris' right; the padlock was intact. The shrubbery and bushes on either side of the stepping stone pathway leading from the gate to an old glass conservatory had grown out and onto the lawn, along with thick weeds.
Harris made his way slowly up the path, careful to step on the flagstones provided to avoid spoiling his shoes further. It wasn't until he was a few metres from the conservatory that he noticed a broken glass panel on the conservatory roof. It hung down precariously and Harris noticed that it was swinging softly as if a breeze was gently trying to wear its last functioning hinge away and bring the glass down with a smash.
Harris took a step onto the crazy-paved patio to have a look inside and then recoiled in shock.
Lying unconscious on the floor of the conservatory was Officer Small.
Harris reached for the conservatory door and wrenched it open, which released a length of string that had been fixed to the inside door handle. The string pinged away on its route around the room, pulled by some unknown force. Harris' eyes followed the string's movement, which finished at the hole in the glass ceiling.
He opened his mouth to call out. But it was too late.
The glass panel swung from its broken hinge for what seemed like a slow-motion eternity. Harris wanted to react. He wanted to move. He wanted to shout, but no words came.
All he could do was watch in horror as the sheet of glass that had been hanging so delicately from a single hinge broke free and fell vertically to the floor, severing Officer Small's head clean from his body.
4
Strange Days
Harvey sat bolt upright in bed, which woke Boon and Melody. The camper felt claustrophobic, and Harvey's sweat glistened on his chest. His arms ached as if he had been lifting weights and training, and his jaw hurt from grinding his teeth.
He pushed himself off the edge of the bed and pulled on his cargo pants and boots.
"It's dark," said Melody groggily. "Where are you off to?"
Harvey didn't reply.
He opened the door, let Boon jump down, excited at whatever was happening, and then stepped down onto the grass. He closed the camper door behind him and pulled on his plain white t-shirt.
A small picnic bench stood a few metres away so he climbed up, sat on the table and put his feet on the wooden seat to tie his laces. Boon sprang from tree to tree to see who had tried to claim his territory while he'd been locked in the camper, occasionally glancing up at Harvey to make sure he was still there.
A short while later, the camper's rear door opened and Melody stepped down holding two cups of coffee. Without saying anything, she walked over to Harvey, handed him a cup, and then plonked herself beside him.
Boon had completed his perimeter check and was idling back to his owners when Melody broke the silence.
"They're getting worse, aren't they?"
Harvey didn't reply.
"Why won't you talk to me, Harvey?"
Harvey looked away.
"I know, you know?"
"You know what, Melody?"
"The dreams, Harvey. I know you've been having dreams, and listen, you don't have to say anything, but if you want to talk about them, I'm here, okay?"
"How do you know about my dreams?"
"I sleep next to you, Harvey," replied Melody. "I know they're getting worse because they're getting more and more aggressive. You growl in your sleep."
Harvey looked across at her. He couldn't help but adore her. He hated her knowing about a weakness, but there was no getting away from it.
She growled playfully and leaned into him, linking her arm through his.
Harvey smiled.
"Thanks," he said.
"So you want to tell me about them? Do you remember them at all?"
"Vividly, Melody."
"Fact or fiction?" she asked.
"The dreams?" replied Harvey. "Fact. Old history, but undeniably, fact."
"You know what I think?"
Harvey didn't reply.
"I think you were exposed to some terrible things, Harvey. What you saw when you were young would have broken most men. But you're different, you're resilient. What you did for your foster father had an impact on you."
"You don't understand."
"I understand enough to know that those things have a tendency to catch up with you. You killed people for a living, Harvey. No matter what way you paint that picture, it's always going to be ugly. You're a good man, Harvey Stone. Your conscience is dealing with the past. But it is the past. You have to remember it's the past."
She stroked the inside of his arm with her thumb and took a sip of the hot coffee.
"That's the old you. You left it all behind," Melody finished.
Harvey didn't reply. He took a sip of his own coffee then took a deep breath.
"I did some terrible things, Melody."
"I know, and the fact that I'm still here with you is a testament to how I feel about you, how everyone feels about you. You're a good man, you always have been, and people love you."
"I dream of the things I did. The faces, the pain. It's all there, it's all so real."
Melody was silent for a moment, then, "How long have you been having them?"
"All my life, Melody."
"I haven't seen you have them before, in your sleep, I mean."
"They come and go, like a calling."
"A calling?" said Melody.
Harvey didn't reply. She thought about his choice of words.
"In the past," she began, "when you had these dreams, you said they come and go. How did you stop them before? Sleeping tablets? Music? I hear listening to music helps distract the mind."
Harvey didn't reply.
"We could try it?" she offered. "I'd be happy to have something classical on while we sleep. It might be soothing."
"It’s a calling."
Melody stopped at the abruptness of Harvey's tone.
"You said that before, a calling to what?"
"An outlet. When I got them before, I'd go out and find someone." He stopped himself from saying too much.
"A girl?" said Melody. "You have me for that." She smiled and nudged him.
"No, not a girl," said Harvey. "Not that type of calling."
"Who then?" asked Melody. "Come on, there's nothing you can say that will shock me, Harvey. I've seen what you're capable of. What did you do?"
"The problem isn't what I did," said Harvey, "it's-"
"Go on," coa
xed Melody.
Harvey sighed audibly and put his head in his hands.
"It's the way it makes me feel."
"How did it make you feel?"
"It's not normal, Melody," said Harvey. "I can't be right in the head."
"Are you saying you want to see someone? I can arrange it, confidentially I mean, no implications."
"I don't need to see a shrink, Melody."
"There's nothing to be ashamed about, Harvey. It's common. Even if you don't feel like you need to see one, you can go and they just keep you on track."
"Keep me on track?" snapped Harvey.
"Keep you-"
"Sane?" said Harvey. "Is that what you were going to say?"
Melody didn't reply.
"I'm not seeing a shrink."
"Okay, I just-"
"Well, thanks but no thanks. If I'm going to get through this, I'm going to do it the same way I overcome everything else in my life."
"So what's the problem?" asked Melody. "I mean, that's a great mindset to have, but if you really have such a strong mindset, what do you have to worry about?"
"I told you before."
"Tell me again," said Melody. "I'm trying to understand it. I want to support you."
"How it made me feel. That's the problem. At first, I did it to ease my tension, to feel like I was doing good. I did it because they deserved it."
"Retribution?"
"Yeah," replied Harvey. "I was helping the people that couldn't help themselves."
"But then?"
"But then it became something else."
"Like what?"
Harvey looked her in the eye.
"I enjoyed it, Melody."
"Malc?" said Harris.
"I thought you wanted one of my rooms?"
"That won't be necessary, mate," said Harris. "Things just got a bit lively here."
"Oh, okay. I'll take the reserved sign off the door and put the welcome mat away, shall I? Has he done a runner?"
"The exact opposite, mate, someone got at him," said Harris.
"Beat him up?" asked Malc. "How bad is he?"
"Dead, mate. Glued him to the bathtub with some kind of epoxy cement."
