Remains of the Dead

by Anne Morgellyn

  ‘Just ask Sir Anton for the address. You won’t be disappointed. But you’d better move quickly.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘August has specially adapted transport. For all I know he may have other hideouts. He might even have plans to sell the body.’ Mafalda had actually argued a case for the trade of human body parts: If an Indian pauper exercises the right to sell his eye to increase his financial provision for his family, that is his free choice, and it is not for governments to interfere in a wholly legitimate trade. Hear, Hear, I heard Eddie call. But Eddie was dead.

  ‘I’m ringing off now,’ Mafalda said curtly. ‘Can I call you back on this number when I have spoken to Sir Anton?’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Because you’ll need to show us, presumably.’

  ‘August blindfolded me,’ I said. ‘And I’m not going there again. It’s in one of the vaults.’

  ‘If you are deliberately doing this to lead me on, Louise – to be cruel,’ she added, ‘then please be sure that I’ll make sure you answer for it.’

  ‘I’m not leading you on anywhere, except to Eddie.’ She hung up.

  ‘So?’ Chas asked.

  ‘She’s going to call Sir Anton. But how are they going to find him?’ I croaked. ‘I couldn’t see a thing with the blindfold on.’

  ‘They’ll have earth movers, Louise. It will be just like finding a pig in a poke.’

  ‘Not bulldozers! He was in some kind of vault.’

  Chas offered me a yellow pill.

  ‘What’s this?’ I asked.

  ‘Multivitamin. I think you’d best come home with me. This place stinks, and it’s so dark in here, no wonder you’re depressed.’

  ‘So you can pull my brain out through my nose,’ I said, stupidly.

  ‘I don’t trust you either, Louise. What makes you think I would trust you? But I can’t believe you’re scared of me.’

  I swallowed the yellow pill to prove to him that I wasn’t, although I still had my suspicions about Chas. He was watching my every move. He had been watching my house when I thought he was tucked up at home in bed while the Furies on their pissy little scooters waited outside to snap him. But he had seen August arrive. No wonder we couldn’t trust each other any more, I thought. No wonder.

  His mobile rang as he was packing my clean underwear into my bag – baggy knickers gone whey-coloured with age. As he picked up, I climbed unsteadily out of bed and pushed the embarrassing articles back deep into my drawer, rummaging around for the good pair of pants I had bought in anticipation of joining Party People.

  ‘For you,’ Chas said. ‘The Nazi Party calling back.’

  I heard Sir Anton Stockyard barking, ‘Hello, hello?’ as I took the handset. ‘What’s all this then?’ he said. ‘What’s all this nonsense about White Ladies?’

  ‘White Ladies?’ I asked, watching Chas straining to hear.

  ‘The cemetery of course. A woman has been on the phone with some revolting story about Eddie Kronenberg and you. I take it I am speaking to Louise Moon?’

  ‘August put him there,’ I said. ‘He took me there at night to top up, to …’ I swallowed and began again. ‘August has stolen Eddie Kronenberg,’ I said. ‘He hasn’t finished with his installation yet. He wants to keep Eddie for some secret send off he has planned. I thought Mafalda should know so she can put a stop to it and see Eddie gets a decent burial. August is skating on very thin ice with this, Sir Anton. I know you bailed him out, but if he breaks his bail, he’ll …’

  ‘August cannot go to prison again,’ Sir Anton interrupted. ‘He cannot go to prison again. The experience will kill him. He isn’t well.’

  ‘Well you had better have a team of shrinks on hand to get him out of this,’ I said rudely. ‘I agree with you about his not being well. But this isn’t entirely about August. I want to put this right. It isn’t decent. You saw what happened at the church, Sir Anton – you think that was decent?’

  ‘So what do you want me to do?’

  ‘You need to send someone to go and find Eddie’s body. Then Mafalda can see it gets a decent burial. August needn’t come into it, although he will if this goes on for much longer. How long does he think he can run around the country with a corpse in the back of his old van?’

  ‘I told him to get rid of that vehicle,’ Sir Anton said. ‘Look here, Miss Moon, I’m not sending people out to White Ladies on some wild goose chase. Are you sure …?’

  ‘I swear to you, Eddie was there. I saw him.’

  There was a pause. ‘Very well,’ Sir Anton agreed. ‘I will have someone take care of it. Where can you be collected?’

  ‘I’m not going,’ I told him patiently. ‘August forced me into his van and covered my eyes so I wouldn’t see where the grave was …’

  ‘Oh, really, Miss Moon!’

  ‘That’s how it was. All I can say is it was in a vault and we seemed to drive a long way to get to it.’

  ‘And you are sure it was White Ladies?’

  ‘How many cemeteries do you own, Sir Anton?’

  ‘Two in North London and one in the East.’

  ‘Well, it may take some time then.’ I felt the darkness come upon me again. As ever on Eddie’s journey, time was of the essence.

  But only a couple of hours went by before I found myself strapped to the back of Chas’s Harley, en route for God’s good acre. Sir Anton had called back when we had moved to Chas’s place and Chas was trying to persuade me to eat some fresher-looking soup he had bought from an expensive deli near the park. They had searched the cemetery from top to bottom, the tycoon said, but as yet had found no trace of Eddie’s corpse. They had started at White Ladies because the other graveyards Sir Anton owned had been extensively bulldozed, with no discernible vaults still in existence, according to the surveyor. The one in East London was a possibility, although much smaller, being set behind a derelict church that was heavily guarded at night since people had started holding black masses, and what Sir Anton called other revolting practices in there. August, probably, I thought. It sounded like August all over.

  When we got to White Ladies, we saw two large trucks blocking the gates. Mafalda was sitting in a Land Rover parked nearby, a stony look on her face. Sir Anton, hearing the roar of the bike, came forward to meet us. He was wearing a hard hat above his expensive overcoat, and rubber boots below, which were flecked with clay.

  ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘You show me, Miss Moon, unless this is all a big hoax.’

  ‘For God’s sake,’ Chas said, pulling up his visor. ‘I saw the state she was in when she came back last night, after an evening with your son.’

  ‘And you are?’

  ‘Chas Androssoff, pathologist. Louise was working for me.’

  ‘Ah yes,’ Sir Anton said, with sudden interest. ‘The Angel of Death.’

  ‘And these are your resurrection men, I suppose?’ Chas retorted.

  Sir Anton looked blank.

  ‘Grave-robbers,’ I elaborated. ‘Burke and Hare and all that. They robbed fresh graves so that doctors like Chas could learn their trade.’ That ghastly supposition rose into my mind: had Chas really robbed the grave of the old princess? Was that really why his sister was so nervous around him, as August had suggested? Sir Anton was not amused.

  ‘Look, Dr Androssoff, I don’t want any …’

  ‘Oh please, please, just get on with it!’ Mafalda called. She had wound the window down and was peering at me from the Land Rover. I looked away.

  Accompanied by Sir Anton and his yellow-booted surveyor, I walked up the main thoroughfare into the cemetery, leaning on Chas’s arm. The surveyor pointed out the location of various vaults on a map he was holding – all of which, he said, had been tried and found wanting. There was nothing to do but tour the lot and try to get a feel of where I had been the other night. The cemetery was so big, I quickly began to tire. I was upset by the crowds of stone and marble angels, the cloches of wax flowers (some smashed open), the grains of green marble chips tha
t lay littered about the paths as though someone had strewn them about in some kind of August-inspired spree. Then we came, at last, to the door of a vault which held the inscription, The Fear of the Lord is the Fountain of Life. That had August all over it, too. Inside, the sense of déjà vu turned into certainty. I recognised the corner where Eddie’s box had been lit up in the lamplight, trod upon the dog end of a joint someone had tossed upon the slimy earth. But there was no box. The bird had flown.

  ‘It was here,’ I said. ‘It seems as though August has been back.’

  Sit Anton turned on me. ‘I’d be grateful if you would leave my son’s name out of this, Miss Moon.’

  I picked up the dog end and held it out to him.

  ‘And what does this prove?’

  ‘Maybe this will convince you?’ Chas said. He had put his gauntlet back on and was holding up a syringe. ‘Formalin – can you smell this then?’ he asked. Sir Anton skipped back from the point of the needle.

  ‘Poor Eddie,’ I said, my knees giving way. Chas threw the needle on the ground and pulled me to him.

  After my head was clear again, we all tramped back to the Land Rover. ‘No luck,’ I told Mafalda. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything. I’m sorry you had a wasted journey.’

  ‘This isn’t the place?’

  ‘Right place, wrong time. Eddie has been taken once again. You should do something about August. For his own sake, as much as Eddie’s. He isn’t right in the head.’

  ‘I don’t think you are qualified to make a statement like that,’ Sir Anton began.

  ‘No, but I am,’ Chas said. ‘I’m more than qualified. I think he needs to be sectioned.’

  ‘So where do we go from here?’ Mafalda asked, a little wildly.

  Sir Anton shrugged. ‘Search the other places closely,’ he ordered the surveyor. ‘And search those houses we acquired at Limehouse Reach, you know, the ones close to my son’s apartment.’

  ‘August lives at Limehouse Reach now?’ I asked. ‘I thought he lived on Eel Pie Island.’

  Sir Anton coughed. ‘As you will probably understand, Miss Moon, my son’s studio is under the spotlight somewhat at the moment.’

  ‘Forensics.’ Chas smiled at me.

  ‘August needs to stay away from all that. He needs a fresh start.’

  ‘You mean he needs rehabilitating?’ Chas laughed. ‘Re-rehabilitating? You’re telling me.’

  ‘He gave me his number,’ I said dully. ‘I told him I wouldn’t be calling him again, but it’s worth a try.’

  ‘I’d like to go round there and whip it out of him.’ Mafalda clenched her fists. I could see now how close she was to crying. She must have loved Eddie, I supposed. Just because you dress to the right of Margaret Thatcher didn’t mean you were incapable of love. Not of loving another of your kind in any case. Mafalda is one of us, Eddie had said. In fact, she’s one of us with knobs on. She had stood by him for ten years, even though he was decades older than her and, as Chas rightly deduced, he had suffered from impotence. She had lasted longer than I had. Ever faithful, ever sure.

  Sir Anton looked at her in disgust, almost as though he was reading my thoughts about her relationship with Eddie. ‘August is misguided,’ he insisted. ‘For God’s sake, let’s give him the chance to put things right, as you say, Miss Moon. If you do get hold of him, ask him, please, to come to me. We’ll help him put things right.’

  ‘Sure will,’ Chas nodded. ‘I know some pretty good doctors at The Hartley – Best Nut Hatch in the country,’ he elaborated, as Sir Anton looked up at him.

  ‘You’ll let me know if you do find him, won’t you?’ I called to Mafalda. ‘Eddie, I mean. I’d like to know he’s at peace.’ She nodded quickly, and drew her head back into the Land Rover.

  ‘He doesn’t deserve any peace,’ Chas muttered. ‘All this fuss about a stiff. You should know better, Louise. I thought you were one of us.’

  ‘Don’t I deserve any peace then?’ I asked him. ‘You think I can sleep at night, knowing he’s still at large?’

  Chas led me away.

  ***

  Chapter Twenty One

  I spent the rest of the day leaving messages on August’s answering machine.

  ‘Try texting,’ Chas suggested, but I didn’t know how, so he tapped out a message for me. This produced a response within ten minutes. Chas showed me the screen, which was littered with undecipherable symbols.

  ‘What does it mean?’ I asked.

  ‘He’s telling you to smile.’

  ‘What did you say to him?’

  ‘Call me, I’m blue.’

  ‘You didn’t?’

  Chas was inputting something else on his mobile keypad.

  ‘What are you saying now?’

  ‘Onanist. Or something to that effect.’

  The phone shrilled a response. ‘Pick up,’ Chas said. ‘He’s on the line.’

  ‘August, don’t hang up,’ I told the static.

  ‘Why should I?’ There was a sharp inhalation, as though he was dragging on a joint. ‘I just wanted to congratulate you on your texting skills. You’re fast on the trigger, Louise.’

  ‘Where is Eddie?’

  ‘Oh not him again.’ August laughed. ‘Don’t worry. He’s perfectly chilled. We’ll be keeping you informed.’

  ‘Of what?’

  ‘Of his send off soon. You can invite Mafalda, too. I’ve already had her screaming down my ear, threatening to call the police on me. Dad is well put out. He likes you, though. He says you’re on my side.’

  ‘That’s right,’ I lied. ‘Admit you’re in a bind with this. You can’t keep it up for much longer.’

  ‘Why not? I’m not breaking any laws. It’s all above board.’

  ‘Is Eddie back with Gaia then?’

  ‘Oh no,’ he cackled. ‘No, no. This time you won’t even come close to him.’

  ‘Let me come and see you,’ I said. ‘Are you in Limehouse?’

  ‘Yes. Not far from Hangman’s Dock. Isn’t that a scream?’

  ‘Perfectly appropriate.’

  He seemed to be considering. ‘You can come and see me if you want, Louise. I think we’ve got unfinished business. Come now. I’ll be in all evening.’

  ‘He wants me to go and see him,’ I told Chas. ‘I think he thinks he can try it on.’

  Chas shrugged. ‘So go and see him. You know he’ll never give up the body. He’s getting off on giving you all the run around. Go and see him, Louise.’

  ‘You don’t think I want to go and see him?’

  ‘How should I know?’

  ‘It might do some good,’ I said. ‘You could wait outside.’

  ‘I’m not your chauffeur. Wrong type of conveyance.’

  But, in line with my theory that he didn’t want to let me too far out of his sight – at least as far as August was concerned – he took me down to the stretch of river where August now resided. He had the loft apartment which ran the whole length of a converted warehouse and doubtless offered a good view of the hellish wooden posts where Hanging Judge Jeffries had ordered condemned prisoners to be shackled in the late eighteenth century. Shackled up like pigs, I thought, like animals ready for the slaughter. When the tide had gone over them three times, the executioner – or probably his technician, in this case of make and make-do – pronounced them dead and set them free of their chains. Letting the filthy waters of the river despatch them saved the cost of the hangman’s fee and the rope. Eddie would have approved, I thought, on grounds of efficiency and economics. Chas would have approved on grounds of free material, all those corpses on which to progress his precious life science. Charity’s Hospital lay just to the north east. Did William Fenn have this place in mind when he built the hospital, I wondered, this free supply of criminal specimens? And maybe it didn’t end here. It felt to me then like the whole of the city was suffocating under dead men’s bones.

  ‘Nice,’ I commented, as August opened the door. There were no partitions in the apartment, and I
could see his unmade bed at the far end of the space, trails of take-away detritus leading up to this focal point. August was in his underpants. With the needle scars still livid on his thin arms, he reminded me of a latter day martyr – St Sebastian, say, as presented by Derek Jarman.

  ‘Sit down, Louise,’ he said, indicating a PVC floor cushion. ‘Make yourself at home and all that.’

  ‘I’m not stopping,’ I told him. ‘I am appealing to you, August, to what better nature you’ve got. Give Eddie up and let him rest.’

  ‘You see, this puzzles me, Louise, this concern you have for Uncle Ed. I mean, it’s not as though you did him any favours when he was alive now, is it? And quite apart from all that, it’s his wife’s decision, surely, as to where he finishes up, not yours, and certainly not that tart, Mafalda’s.’ He gulped from a can and pointed me towards the huge, Stateside fridge. ‘Help yourself.’

  ‘That’s true,’ I said, ignoring the offer of a drink. ‘He’s Gaia’s responsibility, technically, but I think she’s reneged on that.’

  ‘Reneged?’

  ‘Yes. With this indecency.’

  ‘Indecency! Don’t make me laugh, Louise. You, a baby-killer, talk to me about indecency. My business is representation.’

  ‘What about the Assisi Brigade?’ I challenged. ‘That was action, wasn’t it? Or is it just the consequences of your actions you can’t face, like you’re not facing up to them now? I mean, you’re letting Yorkie take the flak for this latest piece of action.’

  ‘Representation,’ he corrected. He had gone over to a trunk at the far reaches of the room and was pulling out a piece of cloth. He fetched it over to me and tossed it in my face. It was a man’s silk tie, striped white and blue.

  ‘Is this Eddie’s?’ I gasped, catching a faint whiff of formalin.

  ‘Memento,’ he said. ‘Show you I’m not entirely without a heart, Louise. Memento mori.’

  The tie fell limply at my feet. I turned about and walked towards the door. There were several ostentatious locks and bolts, such as you might find in a West Side apartment. For show, I thought. This place had state of the art security systems. I had probably been filmed since I entered the building. I thought of uniformed security men in front of a console of monitors: Sir Anton’s men.