And this time, it seemed, albeit with a young bride from another country and culture, was to be no different after all. I’d heard that Thai women had certain ways with them, ways that could work miracles for men like me. But Manee was more submissive than anything else and, to begin with, she was very sweet about my problem.
‘We try again in morning,’ she said. ‘Men always horny in morning.’
Well, it was quite likely that I would be horny in the morning but, no doubt, I wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. I did sometimes wake with an erection. Like most men, as Manee said. It was when I tried to do something with it that the trouble started. My erection would deflate almost instantly, as would the last vestiges of the totally forced sense of self-belief that I was so desperately trying to cling to.
There was one thing that had occasionally helped me in the past.
I reached for her young bum.
‘Turn over,’ I croaked.
I was sure I felt a stir in my useless organ at the thought of it, just a twitch.
‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘Manee good Catholic girl. No bums.’
‘Come on, please,’ I coaxed hoarsely.
‘No,’ she said firmly, wriggling away from me in the bed. I was beginning to learn that Manee was both stubborn and opinionated, much like most of the English women I’d encountered over the years. It seemed I had failed dismally in my quest for the compliant, Thai girl every other man seemed to have.
‘No bums,’ she said again. ‘It is in Bible.’
‘Where in the Bible?’ I asked.
‘Don’t know,’ she replied. ‘There somewhere.’
And that was that.
I lay back on the pillow full of frustration. I guess I had kind of assumed she would be Buddhist, like so many Thais, or nothing at all. In any case, what had her being a Catholic got to do with refusing to indulge in anal sex? What about all those perverted old priests over the years and what they’d done? Not just to consenting adults either. All too often, children were the victims of their unnatural lusts.
Eventually I fell into a fitful sleep. When I woke in the morning Manee was already up making tea. I had a weak erection, just as she had predicted. I wondered if I should try to persuade her to have another go, but she didn’t seem interested. I didn’t blame her.
She made no mention of the night before, instead asking when we were going to go out, to a restaurant or a bar, to meet my friends. I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised. She was a young girl. How had I imagined I could keep her hidden away?
‘You said you wanted a quiet life, for us to build a home together,’ I reminded her.
‘This not our home,’ she said in a puzzled voice. ‘You tell me this not our home.’
I had indeed told her that. She was supposed to be the naïve one. Actually, I was beginning to suspect it was me. How could I have expected to get away with any of this?
‘Soon,’ I said ‘Soon we will move into our real home and soon we will go out, meet people. I am sorry I have been so busy.’
I’d been blaming pressure of work for not being able to spend more time with her, and claimed to be too exhausted to do anything by the time I returned to the flat at night.
‘I have been nowhere,’ she said. ‘You lock door when you go out. Flat on fourth floor. Manee prisoner.’
‘No baby. It’s not like that. You’re not a prisoner. Not at all. It’s just that this flat is in a rough area. I don’t want you wandering about on your own here and I told you, this is just a temporary rental. I only have one set of keys, for the front door downstairs too.’
‘In England they no have locksmith?’ Manee queried, her pretty, little face set into a quite unattractive pout.
I forced a smile. Trust me to find a tricky one. I’d thought Thai girls were supposed to never question their men. Wasn’t that why so many Western men wanted them for wives?
‘Yes, of course,’ I said. ‘As soon as I have time, I will get another set cut. I promise.’
‘Today,’ said Manee.
It wasn’t a query. It was an order. This really wasn’t how it was supposed to be.
Things just went from bad to worse after that.
I kept making excuses about the keys. She started to get angry. There was no landline telephone in the flat, I’d made sure of that. She had a mobile, but I wasn’t too worried about it. I was beginning to get to know Manee. She was impulsive. She had come to England, to me, on an impulse. She was also proud and feisty. She would be reluctant to contact her sister, or anyone else back home, to tell them she had made a mistake. She wouldn’t want to admit that and, as far as I was aware, she knew nobody in the UK whom she might phone or text.
However, I felt that Manee’s patience was running out.
I had to try to keep her sweet. I took her to a big anonymous out of town supermarket and let her choose the food. She wasn’t very impressed. I told her that as soon as I had the time I would take her shopping properly and buy her lovely things. Her look said that she didn’t believe a word I was saying any more, but she stayed silent. I made a huge fuss of her. I even told her I loved her. She seemed to like to hear that, but she didn’t say it back.
Late one night, I took her to a nearby Thai restaurant. I told her I wanted to make her feel at home, but it was pretty downmarket.
‘This is rubbish restaurant,’ she said. ‘Rubbish restaurant and rubbish food.’
On balance, she was right. I had chosen the restaurant because it was so unlikely that I would meet anyone there who knew me. I was well aware that it wasn’t the sort of place Manee or any other young woman would expect to be taken to after flying halfway across the world.
We were reaching a crisis, Manee and me, I thought to myself as we walked home from the Thai restaurant. She wasn’t going to put up with this much longer. She wasn’t the sort. In any case, I wasn’t sure that any sort of girl would be very happy in the situation I had created.
I had to do something about it. I just wasn’t sure what, but something had to be done. And soon.
SEVENTEEN
Vogel took Willis and Saslow with him to arrest Terry Cooke, backed up by four uniforms in squad cars.
They went to the Fisher home first, Willis and the family liaison officer, who was already in residence, both being able to advise that there was where Terry Cooke was spending most of his time.
‘Much to the annoyance of his second missus, I wouldn’t mind betting,’ volunteered Willis. ‘Or maybe she’ll be relieved; no more mystery bruises for a bit.’
Several members of the press were still hanging round outside 16 Carraby Street. The murder of a schoolgirl was always a big story.
Vogel positioned two of the uniforms on the pavement outside. Their brief was to keep the vultures at bay.
Vogel himself led the other two uniforms, Willis and Saslow to the house.
Sarah Fisher came to the door, the FLO, who had been discreetly informed of the impending arrest, just behind her. Sarah’s eyes opened wide in surprise at the extent of the police presence which confronted her.
‘Has something else happened?’ she asked. ‘Have you arrested someone?’
‘Is Melanie’s father with you, Mrs Fisher?’ asked Vogel.
‘Uh yes, he’s been ever so good, well he idolised that girl, you see …’ Sarah Fisher paused. She looked as if she had begun to put two and two together and didn’t like at all the sum achieved.
Vogel had no time to waste. Once he had ascertained that Terry Cooke was inside, he didn’t intend to wait to be asked into the house.
‘Move out of the way, Mrs Fisher, please,’ he commanded, at the same time pushing his way past the woman, closely followed by the rest of his team.
Vogel guessed that Cooke would be in the sitting room. He was right. Melanie’s father was sprawled across the sofa in front of the TV. He had a bottle of beer in one hand and a pile of sandwiches were on a plate on a small side table.
Well, he’d certainly go
t his feet under his ex’s table, thought Vogel, remembering Willis’s description of the chaotic squalor of the man’s own home.
Cooke looked pretty relaxed and content, under the circumstances, until he swung round to face the door and found himself confronted by four police officers.
Alarm spread across his sallow features.
‘What’s going on?’ he asked and then, echoing his wife, ‘have you got any more news?’
Vogel strode swiftly forward until he was standing directly in front of the man.
‘Terence James Cooke, I am arresting you on suspicion of the murder of your daughter Melanie Anne Cooke,’ he began. ‘You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention …’
The standard caution was interrupted by Cooke jumping to his feet with unexpected athleticism, uttering a strange, animalistic wail and lurching towards the door, in what appeared to be an ill-thought-out attempt at making a run for it.
Vogel had chosen his team of arresting officers with care. One of the uniforms, PC Steve Braddock, was a rugby player.
Braddock filled the doorway with his extremely large frame and effortlessly wrapped one muscular arm around Cooke, making it impossible for the other man to move.
‘Cuff him,’ Vogel ordered Willis, who did so with alacrity, whilst Braddock continued to hold on to Cooke, even though he no longer really needed to. The man made no attempt to struggle and looked totally beaten down.
Vogel thought his ineffectual attempt to run had probably been only a reflex action, but the DI was taking no chances. He completed the caution then told Willis and Braddock to load Cooke into one of the squad cars.
Only then did a stunned looking Cooke speak again.
‘Wait, wait, I don’t believe this is happening,’ he said.
Braddock was already in the process of leading Cooke towards the door. Willis was right behind him, just in case. Braddock paused and looked enquiringly towards Vogel.
Vogel gave a little nod, which indicated that Braddock should hold on for a moment and let Cooke speak.
‘I’d never hurt my Melanie,’ Cooke continued. ‘I’d never hurt her. Why do you think I did it? Why?’
Vogel did not reply, instead he addressed Braddock and Willis.
‘Take him away,’ he said.
Sarah Cooke began to cry. She joined in her ex-husband’s chorused protests of innocence.
‘He wouldn’t hurt our Mel,’ she said. ‘He’s not done it. I know he’s not done it.’
‘Mrs Fisher, your family liaison officer will stay with you and answer any questions that she is able to …’
It was Sarah Fisher’s turn to suddenly lunge forward. She threw herself at Vogel, wrapping her arms around him.
‘Please Mr Vogel, please, this can’t be right,’ she cried.
Vogel disentangled himself, not without difficulty.
‘Mrs Fisher, I can assure you we do not make arrests in such serious cases as this without having very good reason to do so. That’s all I can say at the moment. Now, please let us get on with our job.’
The FLO took Mrs Fisher by the hand and led her to a chair.
‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Try to keep calm. I’m here to help in any way I can.’
Sarah Fisher obediently slumped into the chair. She, too, looked totally beaten.
LEO
I gave in and opened the door.
I didn’t have time to change the way I looked. Again.
I was no longer a gay man. I’d cleaned the gel out of my hair, of course, removed my fake tattoo and given my man tan a bit of a rub in the bathroom at the Premier Inn. I’d dressed in my straight clothes. I couldn’t risk being spotted on the journey, or anywhere near my home, looking the way I did when I was in London consorting with Tim.
My ‘pulling jeans’ and my trendy Year Zero T-shirt were for Soho only.
As soon as I’d arrived home, I had changed swiftly into my usual indoor wear, a baggy sweatshirt over a pair of old cords. Clothes that had never even been to London. I neither looked nor felt like gay Leo.
Tim was purposeful.
‘So you don’t live in a new-build in Stevenage after all,’ he pronounced rather obviously.
I could think of no reply, so I said nothing.
‘This is ridiculous Leo,’ said Tim. ‘We can’t continue like this. What’s going on?’
‘You followed me, then,’ I said, dodging the question by making a remark as obvious as his had been.
‘Terrible thing deceit, isn’t it Leo?’ said Tim. The question was clearly rhetorical.
‘Look, I’m sorry, this is a really bad time. I know we have to talk, but not now …’
‘Let me in, Leo,’ said Tim.
‘Uh, not now. I’m sorry.’ I searched desperately for an excuse, not that any were likely to deter him. ‘I uh, have to go to work. I’ve been called in at short notice.’
‘Really.’
‘Uh, it’s a bit of an emergency.’
‘You’re an accountant, or so you told me, not a bloody fireman.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said again.
Tim looked me up and down.
‘Are those the clothes you wear to work? I thought an accountant would be suited and booted.’
I shrugged. What was there to say.
‘Let me in, Leo,’ Tim said again.
I shook my head.
Tim raised his voice.
‘Let me in Leo, or I am going to shout and yell as loud as I can, loud enough so that everyone living in your stupid, neat and tidy, middle class road will hear me.’
I just stared at him. I couldn’t have him inside my house. That was my place. My sanctuary. I really couldn’t let him in.
Tim threw back his head and opened his mouth wide, preparing, rather theatrically it seemed, to fulfil his promise and shout as loud as he could.
I had no choice. I stepped out of the doorway and beckoned him in. I led him into the sitting room. It was an anonymous room. I didn’t want anything personal around me. I never had. The furniture was a mixture of IKEA and DFS. The walls were Dulux magnolia and decorated only with two incongruous Alpine snowscapes on either side of the blocked-off fireplace, probably adding to the cold atmosphere. I kept everything very clean and tidy. I certainly wouldn’t want the mess of an active fireplace. A fifty-inch TV dominated one wall. I liked to escape into other worlds. After all, I was less than happy in my own.
Tim sat down on the sofa without being invited, leaned back and stretched his long legs, as if he were making himself comfortable. It was all an act, of course.
‘No wife then, or live-in lover?’ he queried.
I knew he didn’t really need to ask, because it was fairly obvious from the austerity of my home that nobody shared it with me.
I decided to go on a kind of attack. It was silly, but I guess I was playing for time.
‘I can’t believe you would follow me,’ I said.
‘I can’t believe a lot of things, Leo,’ responded Tim. ‘I don’t know if I even believe your name.’
I saw his eyes focus on a small pile of mail on the desk by the window.
I walked across the room, as casually as I could manage, and stood in front of the desk. I started to speak again, trying to reassure him, at the same time reaching behind me to move a magazine on top of the mail.
‘Leo,’ I said. ‘I’m your Leo.’
‘Really.’ He paused. ‘You seem different.’
‘It’s the clothes and how I am at home, but I’m your Leo and I love you. Nothing will ever change that.’
I was prepared to do or say anything to get him to calm down and, ultimately, to leave quietly.
‘I don’t understand,’ he responded. ‘I really don’t understand. If you love me, you sure as hell have a funny way of showing it.’
He didn’t sound angry any more, just bewildered and weary.
‘Look,’ he said. ‘Look Leo, you clearly don’t have a wife. Nor do you share your li
fe with anyone else, I shouldn’t think. You’re single, right?’
I nodded.
‘You’re single. OK. That’s something I suppose, but this is 2017. Why all the subterfuge? What are you afraid of?’
‘I thought you understood,’ I said hopefully. ‘After all, aren’t we in the same boat? You haven’t told your parents you’re gay. You’ve been unable to do that. It’s the same.
‘It is not the same, for God’s sake.’ Tim sounded angry again. ‘I’m eighteen years old,’ he said. ‘I’m in my first year at college and I still live at home because I can’t really afford to do anything else. I’ve told you. All that is changing soon, very soon. I will have my own place and I will live my own life. I didn’t even know for sure I was gay till I met you and it will not be easy explaining it to my parents. They are kinda old-fashioned but, as soon as I can get myself sorted, I will tell them.’
‘You knew you were gay,’ I said. ‘Don’t kid yourself. Look, I’m not a straightforward man …’
‘You can say that again,’ interrupted Tim forcefully.
I continued as if I hadn’t even heard him.
‘OK, I know its almost fashionable to be gay nowadays, in certain circles, anyway, but I’m unable to be like other people. I’ve built up this façade over the years. I can’t come out. I couldn’t face it at work …’
‘Who do you work for, Leo? The fucking Pope?’
I rather wished I’d thought of that first. Well, not quite the Pope, but if I’d told him I worked for the Roman Catholic church that might have made him rather less puzzled and curious about me. After all, everybody knows the attitude of the Catholic church to homosexuality. Though I thought it was clearly hypocritical.
It was too late for that excuse now, but I could still use his train of thought, even if he hadn’t meant it seriously.
‘Not the Pope,’ I said, risking a small smile. ‘But I am a Catholic and I do guilt big time.’
‘What’s to be guilty about?’ Tim was staring at me, his innocent eyes wide open as if he were trying to see inside my head. I so hoped he couldn’t. I could see his tears forming. ‘I don’t understand any of this,’ he said. ‘I shouldn’t have bloody followed you, you bastard. I should have let you walk away, but I love you, that’s the bloody problem. I love you and I know you’re only trouble.’
Deadly Dance Page 16
