Six Dead Men

by Rae Stoltenkamp

  Deed walked back towards the desk as Sylvie picked up the drawing. "This is her, Madie. She's in the role of Justice. See the sword and the scales. When I got the vision it was clearly Madie's face, no question." Sylvie picked up the pen lying on the table and used it as a pointer. "This is a river of blood and these are the dead men, plus behind her all the dead men to come I presume. And the..."

  Deed thumped his fist on the desk top. "It's like a bad pantomime version of Macbeth." What's happening to me? Why am I so angry? He refused to meet Joe's eyes.

  Joe turned from Deed to Sylvie and Father Andrew. "What about the dog?"

  "A terrier, nasty thing. That's where her main danger lies. It could be a real dog or representative of someone. I'm inclined to think it represents a person." At this point Sylvie looked directly at Deed.

  "Unbelievable. You people are unbelievable. And why is she looking at me like that? Am I supposed to be the bloody dog? I'm no bloody terrier do you understand. Maybe an Alsatian or a Rottweiler. I'm not into ripping poor badgers apart." Deed suddenly punched the wall above the desk, narrowly missing the gilded mirror. Shit! It's like my dream, just like my dream. He looked for a quick exit, but Joe had moved the furniture so they could have this little conference and the armchairs and console table were effectively blocking his route out of the room. He turned instead to the window alongside the bed.

  Joe was standing again. "Look, can we do this later or tomorrow? I've got your numbers. I'll ring you."

  Sylvie began gathering her things together. Father Andrew stood, "No problem Joseph. We'll talk later."

  The silence which followed felt heavy. After what seemed an age the door shut behind Sylvie and Father Andrew. Deed opened his mouth to speak but Joe lifted a silencing hand. "You were like a child throwing a tantrum. Yes, I know this is difficult for you. We're talking about things you find uncomfortable. It's not exactly your usual crossword and malt on a Sunday afternoon. And that makes you feel mad. You're so damned angry right now it's coming off you in waves."

  Like the sulky child he had been accused of being, Deed turned his back on Joe and leaned his fists down on the desk.

  "Just consider this Robert. Maybe you're so pissed off because you're starting to think that Sylvie's right. Maybe you keep that album of dead men’s photos for a reason.”

  Deed was startled and his already tense jaw tightened even more.

  Joe continued his justifiable harangue. “And if she's right then you're thinking about what that means for Madie. I saw your eyes when you looked at the drawing. You had one of your gut feelings. Do you realise what this could mean for Madie? It could mean her life's about to get a lot harder than it's been. And maybe you're thinking you can't help her after all. But if you are, don't push your feelings onto the rest of us. I truly want to help her, even if you've changed your mind."

  Still Deed didn't move from his position at the desk.

  Joe's tone softened. "I'm thinking you're terrified right now. For yourself and for her. You thought you were coming up here to save her but now there's every chance you might not be able to. Look, I'm going to leave you in here so you've got some time to sort out your thoughts. I'll go down to the bar. Join me there later if you want or just leave my key card at the front desk if you need more time."

  When Deed heard the door click he turned round. He walked over to the armchair nearest the table and slumped into it, examined his bruised knuckles then glanced over at the plate of untouched sandwiches. Not afternoon tea after all. I wasn't expecting that. Joe reads me like a book. What if Sylvie's right though? Why can't I just accept that things are the way they are? Joe's right, I did get that feeling in my gut. I knew what Sylvie'd written at the bottom of that piece of paper was an accurate assessment. What does that mean for me though? To be in love with a murderess, even a reluctant one. From the emails Sylvie sent Joe, it sounds like Madie's been living a life of exile. She's been trying to deal with it on her own. Jesus, I remember how hard it was coping on my own when dad died. At least I had work and the people there to distract me. She's just had all this time to dwell on it. It's a wonder she hasn't gone mad.

  I should have come to find her before. I shouldn't have been such a fool. The investigation was closed in London. I could've sought her out. I knew when she ran she was desperate. I bloody knew it. What the hell am I supposed to do now? How can I help Madie when I'm finding it so hard to come to terms with ...her ... ABILITY? How come I'm not dead? I kissed her - technically I did. Deed heard himself groan out loud. The last time I felt this helpless was when dad died.

  Chapter 21

  "Sylvie, I'm thinking our young policeman is in love with our Madie."

  Sylvie clipped her seat belt and put the key in the ignition slot of her little Renault. "Dear Andrew, always to the heart of the matter. I'm thinking you're not wrong there."

  "Why the outburst then?"

  In the process of negotiating a difficult reverse angle, Sylvie was silent for a moment. "Feels guilty I imagine. Left her to cope on her own. Probably only just come to terms with the fact he's in love with her. I understand from Joe our policeman met her when she was the suspect on a case. He'd feel there was a conflict of interest. A straight arrow that one Andrew. Completely straight. Doesn't like to be on the wrong side of the law. He believes in right and wrong. Almost black and white on the issue. Very judicial aura on him. It's a good job he's fallen in with Joe. Joe'll set him straight."

  "Give him some grey areas eh." Father Andrew chuckled. "Oh, I've got a couple of hours before I have to say mass. Let's go to that little tea shop in Middleton."

  "Always thinking of your stomach. I'm surprised you didn't tuck into those sandwiches they brought up to Joe's room."

  Father Andrew wriggled like a school boy in his seat. "I was too nervous. As soon as I walked into that room I could feel the policeman's nervous energy. I bet it was driving you crazy?"

  "No, it just made me a little sad. An older man came through - his father I think, wanted to speak to him. Had to tell him to go away till later."

  "You should have told him. Would have made him more receptive." Andrew was rooting around in the glove compartment for the packet of sweets he knew Sylvie kept there.

  Sylvie looked over at Father Andrew as she waited for the lights to change. "No Andrew. He does believe, that's the problem."

  Chapter 22

  Deed stared blankly at Sylvie Rose in the open doorway of his hotel room. She was the last person he was expecting to see so soon.

  "Mr Deed, Joe told me where I could find you. I needed to speak to you on your own."

  He continued to view Sylvie uncomfortably but not one to shy away from his mistakes he spoke openly. "Mrs Rose, I'm really sorry about earlier today. I was very rude."

  "You were understandably upset. And would you please call me Sylvie."

  Deed was reluctant to let her in. But she looked at him expectantly with her bag held up in battering ram position. Eventually he moved away from the door to let Sylvie enter.

  She had the same large bag and obviously hadn't been home since he'd last seen her. He thought he detected the smallest of scone crumbs at the corner of her mouth but she licked her lips and it was gone.

  "Please, call me Robert."

  She nodded. "I need to speak to you."

  "Has something happened with Madie?" Pushing the door to Deed leaned against it for a moment.

  "No, this is about you."

  “Me? What exactly about me?”

  “Well, there’s someone who needs to speak with you.”

  Deed felt his heartbeat quicken. It’s Madie. She’s come to see me. He half turned back towards the closed door. “Who is it?” He tried not to hold his breath.

  Rather than answer his question Sylvie asked him another. "Have you ever been to see a medium Mr... uh Robert?"

  "No." Deed moved from the door. “Who wants to speak to me Mrs Rose? I mean Sylvie.”

  Sylvie walked over to the desk in the
corner of the room and placed her bag on top of it. She pulled out the chair and sat without invitation. “I have a message for you.” The way she said the sentence emphasised the word ‘message’.

  Suddenly Deed understood. “Oh.” What do I do now? His restlessness was gone. He focused on Sylvie and her demeanour. She seemed tired, strain showed in the way the lines at the edge of her mouth pulled downwards.

  But now she took a deep breath and looked Deed squarely in the eye. “The message I have is from your father Robert. He’s been with me most of the day, nagging me to speak with you. When a spirit is this insistent there’s always a good reason.”

  Deed was dumbfounded. "How do you know it's my father?"

  "Says his name’s Arthur." She cocked her head to one side and frowned slightly. "But you called him...Dart. Like Darth Vader?"

  Realising she wasn't speaking to him, a part of Deed want to get as far away from all this madness as possible. Bloody hell. But his time spent with Joe had changed him and he knew he also wanted to know what Sylvie had to say.

  "No." Sylvie continued "Dart - he's showing me a game of darts and one arrow - dart. He's nodding.”

  Deed didn't speak. He felt every hair on his body prickle. Fuck! He felt his throat close in and his tear ducts react faster than he could control them. Ok Robert, you've always wanted to say some things to Dart that you never got to say before he died. If this is really him then now’s your chance. With a thick voice he asked, "What does he want to tell me?"

  Sylvie looked into the distance briefly, her eyes narrowed in concentration. "There’s something he should have told you. There’s a wallet, pigskin...”

  “The wallet is dad’s.”

  Sylvie ignored Deed and continued. “... with a photograph. It’s faded, a young woman, smiling shyly."

  “Oh, I know that picture. I’ve always wondered who it was. What has it got to do with anything?”

  “That picture’s important. Now he’s showing me the same woman, a bit older with a little boy — looks just like you...” Sylvie’s voice trailed off and her eyes narrowed either with concentration or confusion. “... but it’s not you — another boy, like you, but not you.” She looked up at Deed. “Do you have a brother in spirit?”

  Deed shook his head vehemently. “No. I’m an only child. Dad wouldn’t lie to me about something like that.”

  Even as he spoke Sylvie was shaking her head. “No, not in spirit — still on the earthly plane." As she looked up at Deed, there was growing certainty in her glance. "I think you have a brother.” Sylvie smiled suddenly. "Yes, that’s what he wants to say. You have a brother.”

  "What?" Shock at her announcement dried the tears which had been welling in his eyes.

  "The picture will help you. He keeps showing me the picture. You need to look at that picture again. I think it may help you find your brother."

  Deed stared at Sylvie. He sat down clumsily on the edge of the bed, letting his arms lay limply on his thighs. As he looked at the palms of his upturned hands he unconsciously copied the massaging gesture he had seen Sylvie do earlier that day.

  “I’m really not sure where to begin.” But some inner voice made him reach into his back pocket and draw out his father’s pigskin wallet which he had claimed as his own shortly after Dart died. He flipped open the wallet and unzipped a small section which he had neglected to use for small change. With thumb and forefinger he drew out a small faded photograph. "But it's a picture of my mother. She's very young, look." Deed turned the picture towards Sylvie and there on the back was faint lettering.

  Had that lettering always been there?

  He tried to remember turning the picture over when he had first seen it but could not recall ever doing so. The first time he saw it, tucked into the little private corner of his father's wallet, he was twelve years old. He hadn't questioned its existence. In Deed’s teenage mind the picture was his mother, from a time that belonged to something a little boy couldn't quite grasp. So it didn't quite look like the smattering of pictures in albums and frames around the house, but then people changed as they got older. Didn't they? Now Deed turned the picture over with a growing sense of unease. What if the picture was not of his mother? On the back in his father’s neat hand but slightly smudged were the words:

  Gracie Young, Bolton, September 1959

  I don't understand. Why is there a picture of another woman in my father's wallet?

  He looked at Sylvie. “I don't understand. Tell him to explain this."

  "He's gone dear."

  "Don't tell me he's gone. I need to know what this all means."

  Sylvie sighed lightly. "Once they're gone, they're gone. Obviously had other things to be getting on with. He's told you what you need to know."

  Deed felt cold all over. His feet were icy inside his sturdy walking trainers but there was molten larva welling up inside of him. His anger was coupled with the frustration of all the doubts and fears he was also feeling about Madie. He let it spill over and sizzle onto Sylvie. "What I need to know! This is not what I need to know! It's just another bloody mystery!" He realised he was looming over Sylvie.

  She looked up at him with pursed lips. And when she finally spoke there was acid in her tone. "Yes, this is most definitely what you need to know. And, there's hardly any mystery now is there. These things happen Robert. They happen. So your father knew another woman before he met your mother. Is that so very unusual?"

  Her head was tilted back sharply because Deed was still leaning over her. He thought he saw wisps of grey hair springing out at him from between the ridiculous lilac of her other hair and suddenly realised Sylvie was wearing a wig. This knowledge jerked him back to his senses. Ashamed of his menacing stance he stumbled back from her. "I'm sorry." he mumbled. "I'm so sorry."

  "It's up to you to find out what's true. And I want this to be the last time you apologise to me." Sylvie stood up and meticulously replaced the chair under the desk. Then she picked up her bag. “I’ll see you on Wednesday for your meeting with Madie.”

  Deed did not reply. He watched Sylvie numbly as she walked towards the door and left the room. His arms hung limply by his sides. And in his right hand, clutched painfully between his fingers, was the faded photograph of a woman who was not his mother.

  *****

  The puzzle of his new-found brother was one Deed wished to solve, but the events of earlier in the day made it difficult for him to concentrate and the more he tried to focus on the problem the more thoughts of Madie, his father's betrayal and a brother jumbled themselves like hastily discarded jigsaw pieces that refused to match up. Now he found himself wanting the solitude he had become so familiar with in his life as an only child, when his father had been working long hours in the surgery, and then later after his father died.

  Deed drifted over to the window and looked down onto the view of the red brick library. Multi coloured spotlights craftily drew out the beauty of the architectural details. The image of the building was sharp against the night sky. It drew him and he picked up his fleece and headed out into the city.

  He wandered the streets and found himself sucking in the sharp evening air, delighting in the sting of it against the hairs in his nostrils, wanting nature to somehow eradicate the sorrow which Sylvie’s visit had created inside of him. A coil of pain he had thought long gone had reared its head today, leaving him feeling raw with the memory of the loneliness his father’s death had enveloped him in. Was that loneliness about to be a thing of the past? A brother!

  Why had Dart never told him? Was it an affair? Had his father had an affair? Surely not when his mother was so ill? Surely not then! His father's betrayal seemed palpable - a part of the steamy breath expelled by the passers by. He felt a resurgence of the volcano which had overwhelmed him in his hotel room. He wanted to lash out.

  A crowd of pre Christmas revellers came up the road, jostling their way towards the local cinema. Their chatter was a loud buzz that pierced painfully at his brain. They wer
e so damned care free. He wanted to scream. Instead he followed them in, bought a ticket and waited for the lights to dim and the screen to light up. He sat in a darkened corner of the auditorium, away from the back row where the students were still chattering and making out. He hugged himself fiercely while the soundtrack swelled and the lava in his belly welled up and racked his body with silent sobs that eventually spent themselves in the tears which spilled onto his jacket.

  *****

  Joe sat in the hotel bar and watched Deed pushing his way into the hotel through its revolving doors. He was no longer the poker-faced detective Joe had met a few months ago. Deed’s face was full of the emotions brought on by the day’s events. He clings to solitude when he’s in a crisis. Well, understandable, he’s always had to cope on his own. Might as well break him of that habit now.

  Joe slid off the bar stool, and walked to the entrance of the bar where he shouted. “Bobby!”

  He thought for a moment Deed was going to ignore his call but then he altered the direction of his stride and Joe watched him struggling to bring a smile to his face.

  “Joe.” Deed inclined his head slightly.

  There was a washed out look to Deed. Joe took charge swiftly. “A Glenfiddich my man” He said to the waiter behind the bar before Deed could protest “and another Guinness for me please.” Turning back towards Deed Joe continued. “Have you eaten at all since breakfast?” He tried for nonchalance but his concern came through in his voice none the less.

  Suddenly Deed was smiling. Not a complete smile, just a little one, but it had more of a hint of amusement than his earlier attempt had.

  “What did I say?” asked Joe.

  “It wasn’t what you said, it was how you said it. You came over all motherly then. I’ve never been mothered by a psychic before. Does this mean you’re going to feed me my dinner too?”

  Joe chuckled. “If I have to you great lump. Drink up. I need to keep up my strength. I think we should go into Didsbury. There are some really great curry places there. I’m famished. Meeting Madie is going to take it out of me.” Joe gulped at his Guinness. “And are you ever going to tell me what Sylvie came to speak to you about in private? Was it your father?”