by Andy Tilley
‘Fuck Christine! Do you think I give a shit if that little freak sleeps at night! And fuck you too!’
In a smooth, sweeping motion Ruby scoops down to the floor and picks up a thick iron bar, two feet long. Thomas is confused, he had checked out the place and it was clean before he brought her here but it doesn’t take him long to understand; the girl’s been busy during the night, busy wiggling free one of the railings of the balcony that runs the full circumference of the lamp room. Instinctively, he raises his hands as Ruby takes a short step towards him and jerks the bar in the air.
‘Now let me go!’
‘I can’t Ruby, I simply can’t. And lets be honest here, you’ve hardly room to get a decent swing, certainly nothing that is going to hurt me seriously so really, please, put the bar down.’
‘Yeah? And who says it’s for you!’
The bar swings down, crashing into the lamp and showering the floor with shards of glass. Thomas has to act, not only to stop this mindless act but to save his life too. Before Ruby can reset for another blow he manages reach her, to grab her arm with one white knuckled hand and crash his other fist into her jaw. The girl drops to the floor and he’s quickly on top of her, knees pinning shoulders, shoulders that jerk with every heavy sob for her failed attempt at freedom.
‘No Ruby! Believe me girl, no! This lamp is gas powered. You smash this any more and it won’t be the maintenance crew who come and check it out, it will be the undertaker! Now please, pull yourself together. I am not going to harm you!’
There’s such a thing as credible deniability, adored by politicians and now adored by Thomas Chevalier because with it his steady stare and firm words can convincingly deny any intention she might suspect he has of harming her; he truly doesn’t. He has to hope that she will fill in the rest though, conclude that it’s okay to be calm and to believe that she is relatively safe. As she relaxes he stands, moves back a little and allows her some space to clamber up. She is spitting blood and he feels terrible at what he has done, obliged to apologise and to promise that he has never hit a woman before and that he never will again but he doesn’t. Something in her eyes has changed, no longer defiant and bright they’ve shifted hue, dulled by submission he suspects and this shift in power is a good thing if they are all to work together to fulfill their roles in the days to come.
For the rest of the day Thomas doesn’t hear any noise to speak of from the tower and he he’s pleased with this outcome as he stands on the shore line in the late evening having settled his daughter for sleep. There is some noise though, the soft banging of tired feet on metal plate. It’s Ruby of course. Defiant, resourceful Ruby who (having heeded his warning about the gas in the lamp) has taken to jumping around in the light beam, a futile attempt to flash her distress to passing sailors. Thomas smiles but it’s a smile tinged with sadness that this fiery soul will soon have to be extinguished.
Chapter 12
I have to find that doctor. The doctor whose first name is? Is what? What was his first name? Come on Rose, think! Timothy? Was it Timothy? No, it didn’t begin with a ‘t’, it began with a…Jeremy, that was it! Definitely Jeremy. I have to find a doctor called Jeremy. Mum will know him, she knows everyone.
MUM DO YOU KNOW A DR IN HARTFORD CALLED JEREMY X X
Whilst I wait for her text I carry on walking, briskly back towards the police station to collect my car. Should only take me ten minutes or so. Just hope my boss doesn’t see me. Best to take the long way round and go down Elm Street to be on the safe side. I’m at the top of Elm Street five minutes later and I reckon that I’m roughly halfway there when mum answers.
Dr Jeremy Hill. His surgery is at the Health Center. You OK?
How stupid am I? Where else would any sensible person begin to search for a doctor other than the place I left only five sweaty minutes ago! And now I have to waste more time answering every possible scenario that my mum has cooked up.
Am fine. Not pregnant, no STD, no accident. Just need to speak to him. Will fill you in later X X X
Mind you, knowing what a dizzy cow I can be, it’s probably a blessing in disguise that I haven’t walked straight out of treatment room two and into his office. At least now I have a few minutes to think about my questions whilst I finish collecting the car and get back there. Also, with any luck, the delay will have given Tom and Dr Hill time to wrap up their seemingly very grave business and for the policeman to leave. Dr Hill, now why does that name ring a bell so loudly? Anyway, the most important thing is not to appear as though I am digging or trying to trick him into saying something. Just tell him who I am, that I had to identify Pete’s body and that when I was asked to leave and squeezed past him and Tom, I noticed that Pete’s eyelids had been opened. Jesus those eyeballs didn’t half give me the creeps, much more like the real thing that you see on telly. The left one was black, and I don’t mean that his pupil had dilated to some huge hole either. I mean proper black, couldn’t even see his pupil in it. The whole thing; white bits and coloured bits, all shiny jet black like a polished lump of coal had been rammed into his socket. That was strange enough but what the doctor had done to Pete’s right eye, well that needs explaining. Trouble is this is police business and no doubt he’s made all kinds of oaths about what he can say and what he has to take with him to his grave but then again, when I explain why I need to know, that I’ve seen eyes like that before, then maybe he’ll talk. It’s worth a try at least.
When I arrive back at the health center I’ve pretty much got my line of questioning sorted out. In my head at least, god knows how my mouth will behave. The coast is clear. Tom the police man has driven his car away. Another bonus is that Dr Hill’s name is there, right at the top of a brass plaque screwed to the wall and telling people who works inside. Good, there’ll be no need to ask if he does work here and that would have made the rest of my tale very difficult to pitch. Now all I need to do is negotiate the receptionist. This is going to be some feat, knowing what bulldogs they can be, but I do have a slight advantage because not only have I already been here once today (under police escort too) I know that the girl recognized me. Here goes, and stay casual and breezy.
‘Hi Trudy. Listen, when I was here before helping the police out and stuff, Dr Hill asked me a couple of things and I said that I’d let him know if I remembered them. The answers I mean. Not the questions, because I’m sure he’s remembered the questions. Probably wrote them down actually, what with him being a doctor and all that. Well anyway, I have remembered them. The answers to his questions that is. Very important questions too he said, appertaining to the incident that he, and I of course, were asking of during our time in assistance with the police and…’
‘What’s you’re name.’
Rose. Rose ‘gabbling run-away gob doesn’t know when to shut up’ Williams. That’s me. Trudy punches in the extension and tells the Dr that I would like to see him. Incredibly, when she puts the phone back on the hook, she asks me to go straight through a gathering of the hopeful sick and into the office on the other side of the waiting room.
‘Hello Rose, come in.’
I enter and close the door. Before I have taken my seat Dr Hill asks how he can help me. Talk about me fishing, this man has more than an inkling as to why I’m here, it is so obvious from his suspicious smile. Well, I’m not changing my strategy, not this late in the game.
‘Hello doctor and thanks for taking the time at such short notice. As you know, I was asked to identify Peter Statham this morning and..’
‘Yes, yes. Terribly sad that, and you of course have my condolences. Did you know him well?’
It’s going to be difficult to keep this slippery fish on the hook, that much is obvious. I mean, he barely sniffed at the bait and was off.
‘Well enough. He was going out with my best friend. The thing is, I..’
‘Oh dear, she must be devastated.’
‘Actually, I’m not sure that..’
Stick to the plan Rose, stick to the plan. T
alk over him if you have to but get to the point before he manages to waste all of the allotted five minutes per consultation on small talk.
‘But that isn’t what I wanted to talk to you about doctor. You see, when I first went in to identify Pete he had his eye lids closed. It was only when I left that I noticed that you’d opened them and that there was something strange about his…’
‘Well unfortunately, we often find that acute strangulation can….’
Have I given him too much line here, too much wriggle room? Maybe it’s time to re-bait the hook.
‘I’ve seen eyes like that before doctor.’
Hook like and sinker. I can see from his slackening jaw and the smallest of flickers in his gullet that he’s swallowed the lot. It takes a moment longer for him to realize this, but eventually he does and hands me complete control of how fast to reel him in.
‘Where? Where have you seen them?’
‘But what I don’t understand is why you seemed so intent on checking Pete’s eyes. As far as I know, that’s all you looked at. And how did you know so quickly to dissect one? Did you know it would be full of black powder? And what was that …’
‘Where Rose? It’s important that you tell me where and when you think you saw them.’
Not so fast my little fishy.
‘What was it doctor?’
Ah, the old Mexican stand off. But he wants what I have so much more than he covets his secret. It’s kind of unsettling actually; to hold something and not be able to feel its gravity. Like lighting a firework with no idea of how big a bang it will make. As it transpires, fireworks turn out to be an excellent analogy.
‘It’s carbon. Pure carbon. Pete’s eyes were full of it. Now you tell me something that I want to know Rose.’
And then it hits me. And instead of swapping secrets, I’m going to tell him something he definitely doesn’t want to know or to remember.
‘You were there that afternoon weren’t you Doctor Hill. At Hartford Manor the day that Dawn Chevalier murdered her new born child.’
Chapter 13.
Dr Jeremy Hill’s Mercedes is very plush indeed but its aristocratic airs do not prevent this from being undisputedly the most uncomfortable car ride in the world ever. Revealing one of my trump cards (I still haven’t told him about the squirrel eyes) kicked off a whirl of activity, most of it feeling rather clandestine; real cloak and dagger stuff. First off was a call to Trudy to cancel his afternoons until four o’clock. Next, as he removed his doctor paraphernalia (stethoscope, white coat, sincere grin) and replaced it with civilian garb he tried to call someone from his mobile but couldn’t connect. Keys collected and a brisk walk complete, we were off and driving to a rendezvous that he arranged with police man Tom using the in car phone system.
Only now, five minute into our journey, does he say anything to me. I sit sill, listen to his calm yet troubled voice and pray for silence.
‘I’d only been Dawn Chevalier’s physician for a couple of years when she found out she was pregnant with Christine. I knew the family well enough though as me and Thomas went a good ten years further back than that, both of us having spent some time in the forces. In fact it was Thomas who helped me get my practice set up in Hartford. I guess that’s why he was quite open about sharing his concerns with me.’
I wonder why he’s pausing. That can’t be it surely? Oh no, he’s listening to his earphone, searching for a connection, probably with who ever it was that he tried to call earlier. No luck this time either but he listens to the earpiece for a ridiculously long time, hypnotized by its repetitive beeping. The call disconnects with a slick click and we’re back in the room.
‘I’d been visiting Dawn at the manor regularly. About four months in to her term, after a routine check up, I was on my way out of the front door when Thomas took me to one side. He explained that his wife wasn’t happy about keeping the baby. She wanted an abortion. I must say, I wasn’t surprised by this because she never had seemed too keen on the idea at all. Still smoking, still drinking too and I remember telling him that if she didn’t stop then the chances are she would miscarry anyway. I offered to talk to her about it but he cut me right down, said I wasn’t even to mention this and that if he found out I’d in anyway encouraged or helped to get rid of the child then I’d have him to answer to. I tell you, Thomas Chevalier, friend as he is, is not someone to mess with.’
‘You mean wasn’t someone to mess with. He disappeared right?’
He’s ignored me and although he hasn’t said anything yet that I can consider as being implicitly ominous, inexplicably I have goose bumps and an uneasy desire to know more.
‘I was a bit bothered as to how compromised my ethics might be by this so I asked him why he felt it would be okay to ignore her and he told me that she’d been the same with Cristian. Well that helped enormously so I forgot about it. Until she started ringing me at the office, at home and….hello? yeah, it’s Jeremy. You there yet Tom? Good, nice one. Look, we’ll be there in about ten minutes. You managed to get hold of him yet? No, me neither but keep trying yeah? Okay, ciao!’
Phones are so intrusive, interrupting our conversation like that, but on this occasion I am glad of it, the doctor’s voice suddenly changing from dark back to light and snapping the rising tension. Why do people talk so differently on phones I wonder? Orange don’t have some kind of cool-o-meter that earns you points for every year under middle age you can manage to sound do they? He did say another ten minutes driving would get us there, where ever that is. I hope that it’s somewhere warm and bright and sunny because the doctor’s story telling tone borders on menacing. It doesn’t look like I’m going to get my wish though as all the signs say ‘Hartford Heights, this way’ and outside in the wild is the last place I want to be, especially up there, wrapped in a morning mist that’s cleared the town to pool and wait amongst the woods and meadows. Oh great, the doctor’s dark voice is back, and I push myself a little lower into my seat as he continues his tale.
‘Shortly after Thomas had told me this Dawn started ringing me at the office and at home, convinced that there was something wrong with the baby and that I should terminate her. I am not exaggerating when I say that by this time she was almost having weekly scans to try and calm her down. Everything was text book but she kept on insisting that something was wrong, that something was inside her baby. But I didn’t listen, not properly. I just played it like any other doctor would. I asked her what she thought it might be but she’d just clam up. You know I think I was so closed to what she was trying to say that she forgot I was her friend as well as her doctor. Only once did she mumble something. It’s a silkie she said. A silkie’s got my baby. I’ll never forget it, how calm and certain she was about this. How resigned she was to what was in her mind. How I dismissed her so completely.’
I have to ask, even though all I really want to do is to sing lala lala lala loudly and stick my fingers in my ears until he’s finished.
‘So what’s a silkie doctor?’
‘I had no idea what she was talking about Rose. And she didn’t much either. All she kept insisting was that there was a voice in her head that had told her this. Damn, it, she even told me that if I wouldn’t deal with it before it was too late then she would when the time came.’
This regression isn’t good for Dr Hill and it’s even worse for me. His memories become more vivid the nearer we get to Christine’s murder and he feels compelled to fill in every detail of what happened with blood reds, evil blacks and deep, unfathomable blues for heavy regrets to drag him down into. I’m being pulled there too, into the centre of a black whirlpool and I’m terrified by the presence of it. It’s all I can do to stop from myself from crying out and instead I place my hand on his leg and rub it, for my reassurance not his. .
‘Look, I’m sure you did everything that you could Dr Hill.’
Finally there is a brief respite for me to calm a little; the horrible tale of how a baby girl died is paused as we approach the rende
zvous. I can see Tom, the not so police looking man, stood by his own car. We are indeed at Hartford Heights, and Dr Hill pulls from the road to park in the lay bay next to a tatty timber bench and a low dry stone wall. On the other side of the wall are bare, winter trees and through them, in the misty far ground, I can just make out the stone chimneys of Hartford Manor. Somehow, it doesn’t feel like home so much today and it takes me longer than it should to get out of the car. Tom speaks first and his language has changed too; far more natural and preferred to that rather stiff, formal police talk he had insisted on during our previous dealings but still, above all else, it too is slightly panicked. The men appear to be ignoring me, but they’re not. They talk urgently to each other, occasionally glancing in my direction but mainly looking into each other’s eyes, intently too, as if making sure that nothing changes there. In spite of their unwelcoming stance I start to shuffle closer to them. Not to hear better (I can hear this all too well thank you very much) but to feel safer. If I could, I would stand between them, hide behind Tom’s big belly as the story is told of the day that Christine Chevalier died.
