by Gwen Gardner
“What?” he said. “Do I have liverwurst in my teeth?” He ran his tongue over his pearly whites.
“No,” said Riley. “You probably wonder what’s going on, so I’d better tell you.” She set her coffee on the table and turned to face him on the bench.
The smile on Danny’s face faltered at her sudden seriousness. He glanced around nervously.
Riley took a deep breath. Now that the time had come, she didn’t look quite sure of how to ask him about what we wanted to know. “You know they found my dad’s body, right?”
Danny nodded.
“And you know he was murdered?”
He nodded again, looking more uncomfortable by the minute.
“You can’t tell anyone about this conversation.”
“Okay,” he said, sliding his eyes around the table at us before coming back to rest on Riley.
Riley cleared her throat. “We’re investigating his murder. The five of us. And we have something to ask you.”
Danny couldn’t fail to notice her distress. He rubbed her arm in encouragement.
Simon frowned.
Riley took the direct approach. “An argument occurred between Billy Radcliffe and Gerry a couple of weeks ago at Puttock’s. We want to know what it was about.”
Danny hesitated. The avoidance of eye contact said he had the information we wanted. He coughed dryly into his fist. Yep, the dude squirmed like a guilty schoolboy with a dirty magazine. He avoided answering the question by asking one himself. “You’re not thinking that Gerry killed Billy, are you? Because Gerry was working two nights ago. He was there until closing and didn’t go out-” He cut the sentence off abruptly.
“What?” said Badger. Danny had been about to say more and we all wanted to know what he was hiding.
Danny swallowed hard and became interested in his fingernails. “Look, I can’t...” He looked up at Badger imploringly. “I can’t tell you without some innocent people getting hurt.”
“Innocent people have already gotten hurt, mate,” said Badger. “Three people are already dead. How many more people have to die before someone starts telling the truth?”
All eyes glued expectantly to Danny. He eyed the door. I could see him calculating what his chances were of making a run for it.
Simon noticed it, too. He got up from the table and went to lean against the closed door, arms crossed against his chest. The gesture was not lost on Danny or anybody else.
“So that’s how it is, huh?” Danny glanced between Simon and Badger, both stony-faced. Cappy grinned, nodding, which I think sort of scared him more. Danny’s face held the look of someone who realized he would not leave without telling us about the argument. At least not standing upright on two legs. He might be able to fight his way out, but I doubted it. I think he only wanted to protect Riley from what he had to say. But one look at her face and he was convinced.
Danny took a deep breath and leaned his crossed arms on the table. “There’s no need for that. I’ll tell you.”
And he began.
“Let me say, that no matter how weird this is all going to sound, I don’t believe Gerry guilty of Billy’s murder or your dad’s.” He turned to Riley. “Otherwise, I would have said something.”
Riley couldn’t contain the slight gasp. Clearly we were about to find out more than we had bargained for.
“The fight,” he said, “isn’t even the tip of the iceberg.”
The story he began to tell was truly bizarre. Gerry had hired Billy to be the middle man in procuring a prostitute for him. That was one of Billy’s sidelines.
Cappy had been right about hearing the word ‘prostitute’ when he overheard the heated words between Gerry and Billy.
“So, it sounds like Gerry was unhappy with the prostitute,” I said. “And what does that have to do with Bart’s murder?”
“Nothing! I told you. I don’t think Gerry had anything to do with it.”
Danny still hadn’t told us what he was hiding, I felt sure of it.
“Then what aren’t you telling us?” I asked, leaning toward Danny.
“I was getting to that,” he said, with another sigh. He turned to Riley. “I’m truly sorry for what I’m about to say. Nobody should hear this about their mother.”
Badger was on his feet with Danny’s t-shirt twisted up in his fists before anyone else could react. “Just what the hell are you implying, Danny?” demanded Badger through clenched teeth. His eyes blazed and his tense body vibrated with barely contained violence.
Riley, Cappy and I were on our feet in an instant, fearful of what was about to happen and not sure what to do.
My voice, when I spoke, was so soft that it barely registered, but it seemed to cut through Badger’s nightmare like a hot knife through butter. I placed my hand lightly on his right forearm. “Badger. Let him say what he means. He’s not the culprit here – he’s only telling us what we demanded from him.”
Sweat broke out on Danny’s face and he breathed heavily when Badger released him. He wiped his sweaty, trembling palms on his shirt, tugging down and trying to flatten the twisted material. He sat back down with a thunk.
“If he’s going to tell me that my mother is a prostitute, I’ll kill him right here,” said Badger. His voice was deceptively soft, but the menace unmistakable. Truly fearful to behold.
I took his arm, lightly, pulling him back slowly, urging him back into his seat, rubbing his arm. I rested my hands lightly on his shoulders, and then looked over to Danny.
“Tell us.”
Danny took a deep breath. “Billy was supposed to get him a prostitute that resembled your mom.” He didn’t look up from the table.
Nobody spoke.
Simon’s eyes went straight to Riley - Cappy was already there, his arm wrapped around her. Riley put her hands up to her face as the realization of what Danny said sank in.
I reflexively tightened my hands on Badger’s shoulders. “Okay,” I said. “All right then. Now we know. Please, everyone – please sit down now.”
Everyone obeyed, including Simon.
“Well,” I said. “You’ve had quite a shock.” I left the snug and went to the bar. Charlie was busy, so I reached behind the bar for a bottle of brandy. Bart, sitting on the end stool still reading his newspaper, didn’t respond. I thanked God he hadn’t been in the snug to hear what Danny had to say. We didn’t need another snug storm.
I returned to the silent room bearing the bottle of brandy. I had the feeling nobody said a word the whole time I was gone. Taking a glass out of the little cupboard, I poured Badger a tiny spot.
“For medicinal purposes,” I said, joking feebly. Badger still hadn’t not responded, seeming to be in shock. I worried at his silence. I worried he might explode with that fearless Badger temper.
I took the untouched glass from the table and knelt before him. “Drink.” I urged the glass into his hands.
Our eyes locked. He drank without looking away, like I was his lifeline. I looked away first, taking his empty glass and setting it on the table.
Then I turned to Danny.
I hesitated. “I take it Gerry wasn’t happy with the prostitute procured for him?”
“Right,” said Danny. “Not that time, nor any other time. And what’s more, he made them dress up like her. You know, brown wig, sort of cut short and curly, like Claire’s. They all had blue eyes.” He looked over at Badger nervously. “‘Course, I was busy when they came in, but I had to do a double-take more than once. I didn’t know what was going on at first, but the others cottoned on to it.”
I nodded my understanding. Badger and Riley seemed unable to speak.
“Can I go now?” asked Danny, standing up.
“Of course,” said Riley, starting to rise, but Simon waved her back.
“I’ll see him out.” I had never seen Simon so intimidating. Usually he was a lover, not a fighter.
“Thank you, Danny. Really,” said Riley, from her seat on the bench.
“And I
’ll take this back to the bar,” I said, holding up the bottle of brandy.
Cappy and Riley began speaking quietly, so Badger followed me out into the hall.
“I wanted to thank you,” said Badger, stopping me. “For what you did in there.”
“I didn’t do anything. Just tried to diffuse the situation.” I shrugged. He had the strangest look on his face. Confusion? Desire? It made me go warm all over.
“But you did do something – you are probably the only person who could have stopped me from hurting Danny. Your voice somehow cut through the anger. It was all I heard. Thank you.”
He leaned in to kiss me on the cheek, but somehow, his lips ended up locked onto mine, and I was kissing him back. His arms encircled me and pulled me into his body. All reason was lost, no one else existed except the two of us. Until...
“Oi. Do you two mind? You’re blocking the door,” said Simon.
Chapter Thirty
The Raid
The pounding on the door came early that Saturday morning. As usual, the noise didn’t bother Simon at all. His cheek was pressed against the chair wing, mouth open. Drool seeped out.
Without fully opening my eyes, I yelled, “Franny, go away! It’s too early.”
But the pounding kept going, on and on.
I suddenly worried that the protective herbal sachet over the doorjamb would dislodge and allow all the spooks of Sabrina Shores to invade my sanctuary.
“All right, all right!” I yelled. I staggered up from my chair, blanket wrapped around my shoulders. I weaved unsteadily over to the kitchen door and pushed my way through it.
“Well, what is it this time?” I said grumpily. But I stood in an empty hall. “Franny?” I called, confused.
Franny appeared at the top of the stairs. She looked scared. She still wore her nightclothes and her hair was down. I wondered fleetingly how a ghost could look sleepy, like they had just gotten out of bed. They didn’t sleep. Did they?
The pounding came again.
“Oh, dear,” said Franny. “It’s the coppers! Run, girl, run!” she yelled, streaming quickly down the stairs. “It’s a raid! Run! I’ll hold ‘em off ‘til you’re gone.”
Franny disappeared, but was back in a flash with a large bag which she dumped upside down on the stairs, a trail leading to the front door. Marbles? Why was Franny spreading a huge bag of marbles everywhere? They bounced down the stairs, rolled down the hall, around my bunny-slippered feet and across the floor.
Between the pounding on the front door and marbles flying around the room, the racket finally woke Simon up. He pushed his way through the kitchen door to find me standing in the hall, frozen and confused to the spot.
“What’s going on? Wha?” said Simon, before stepping on marbles and going down to land flat on his back.
“Oh dear, oh dear.” Franny wrung her hands. “This is not going well at all.” She swooped up next to Simon, urging him to get up. “Get up and run, boy!” she yelled. “Oh, why won’t you two run?! Coppers are at the door!”
Was I dreaming? I pinched myself on the arm. “Ow!” Okay, not a dream. So what happened? I woke up. I went into the hall. Franny poured marbles everywhere. Simon came in. Simon slipped. And cops were at the door.
Cops were at the door!
“Simon.” I tugged at his arm. “Get up.”
“Why is it I always end up on my back ‘round here?” he asked grumpily. “Wait – what are my old marbles doing everywhere?” He slipped again as he tried to stand. I held his arm, trying to help him catch his balance.
“A better question would be, Why are the cops banging on the door?” I said.
Franny stood by, frantic. “I don’t understand your generation. Why won’t you run?”
“Franny, we are not going to run! Now let us figure this out.” I tried to think calmly and rationally.
“How do you know the cops are at the door?” asked Simon.
“Franny told me.” I finally managed to steady Simon. “Look, I think we know why they’re here. It’s not totally unexpected.”
Simon looked suddenly pale and scared. I gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. “You’re innocent. There’s nothing to worry about. Let’s see what they want.”
“I’m out of here,” said Franny. “I tried, but would anyone listen? No! Nobody ever listens to me!” And then she disappeared in a cloud of cold.
Simon stayed in the hall while I waded carefully to the front door, trying to stay on my feet. There must have been a thousand marbles littering the floor, Franny’s attempt to trip up the cops while we made our escape.
Two men stood at the door, each flashing their identification and introducing themselves.
“Hello, Miss. I’m Detective Inspector Longstaff and this is Detective Sergeant O’Boyle,” he said, indicating his colleague, who only nodded. They both wore dark suits and ties.
I tightened my grip on the blanket around my shoulders. “Hello officers. What can I do for you?”
“We’re sorry to bother you this early, but we’d like to speak to Simon Eady, if we may.” Although he was being polite, this wasn’t an idle request.
“Please, come in. I’ll get him.” I opened the door wider. “But be care-” I began, but not in time. DI Longstaff, the first through the door, had already stepped on a fistful of marbles. His feet slipped out from under him. He fell backward into DS O’Boyle, who caught him under the arms and struggled to right him back on his feet.
“I’m so sorry, I tried to warn you about the marbles,” I said, catching the start of a smile on DS O’Boyle’s face, before he pressed his lips together.
DI Longstaff, finally upright, straightened his suit and grunted a reply which I didn’t catch. I seated them in the lounge, which nobody ever used due to the icebox-like temperature, but it couldn’t be helped. I offered coffee, but they both refused. I didn’t think to offer tea.
Simon was no longer standing in the hall, but Franny had returned, dressed in her finest clothing and hair up, standing on the landing at the top of the stairs.
“Serves him right,” she said, arms crossed over her heaving bosom, indignant at the early morning raid. “It’s that Longfellow you have to look out for. I know his type.” She stuck her nose in the air and turned huffily, drifting down the hall.
I didn’t want to know about his type. I ignored her and headed up the stairs to look for Simon.
He came out of the bathroom dressed in jeans and t-shirt, his hair combed, but looking as pale as me.
“Wait for me,” I whispered. “Give me five minutes.” I flashed five fingers at him. I came out dressed, teeth brushed and hair braided in less than five minutes.
We headed to the lounge together.
Rather than talk to him there, DI Longstaff requested that Simon go down to the station to ‘help with their inquiries.’ I was expecting that, which is why I was ready myself. Longstaff declined to take me along, but I insisted, saying that they should probably speak to me, as well. And so fifteen minutes later, we arrived at the station.
High ceilings and walls, painted a drab institution green, echoed our footsteps through the lobby. DS O’Boyle nodded at the navy-blue uniformed bobby as we passed the front desk. Winding through a series of halls, we came to an interior waiting area.
I wasn’t surprised to see Badger there with Claire. I called Uncle Richard before we left, so someone would know where we were. Just in case they locked us up and lost the key. I couldn’t repeat the mingled oaths that shot down the line, but let’s just say he was none too pleased. In this case, distance worked in our favor. Our solicitor would meet us at the police station.
Claire was at the desk trying to get information from a short, thin, middle-aged bobby, who urged her to take a seat and someone would be with her shortly. She was dressed for work at the pub in black slacks and white polo shirt. Her short, curly brown hair was pulled back into a tiny pony tail, tendrils escaping around her face. Her blue eyes were red and shadowed, making her look ol
der than her forty years.
I walked over to Badger. “Hello. How are you?”
“I’ve been better.” His smile was weak and his tired brown eyes held no sparkle. The scar over his right eye ticked nervously. But I knew he still had fight in him when I read his faded black tee-shirt that said, Take No Prisoners.
We didn’t get a chance to speak, though, because a uniformed constable took him down another green hall to an interview room, footsteps echoing long after they disappeared from sight.
I had five minutes with Mr. Cooper, our solicitor, before being interviewed. I told my story and stuck to it. I was being stalked by Billy, and when Badger and Simon came to pick me up, they gave chase but lost him. Only a lie by omission, right?
I was so going to hell.
No matter how many different ways they tried to trip me up to get more information, I stuck to my story: I had never met Billy. I had never spoken to Billy. I noticed him following me on several occasions. I didn’t know why he followed me. He never approached me. Simon and Badger reached home – the Eady home – five minutes after I did.
According to the newspapers, Billy died at least three hours later. Besides me, two other witnesses could attest to that.
I sat in the waiting room with Claire while Simon was questioned. Her inquiring eyes rested on me, but I refused to engage. We sat in silence. Several hours dragged by before I went outside to get fresh air. The cold air hit me like a wall of ice after sitting in the over-heated police station. Come on summer! I thought, hugging myself. I missed last summer, holed up in my room sleeping my grief away. But it was only December 17th, so it was best not to dwell on it. I stretched my legs, walked up and down the sidewalk, reluctant to go back inside.
And then they were there. Simon and Badger walking down the steps. Free men. I gave a strangled yelp and covered the ground in three strides, flinging my arms around both of them. They hugged me fiercely back, laughing in relief, and we still had our arms about each other when Claire came down the stairs.
“All right, you lot,” she said, standing immovable, arms crossed. “You may have them fooled, but not me.”
