Sharon said, ‘What have you been doing, Toby?’
‘Trying to find out who murdered her.’
She smiled. ‘Why, in heaven’s name? It’s not your responsibility. What on earth makes you want to do such a thing?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said evasively. ‘But one thing is certain; I think that the Belle Vue hotel, which used to be on the top of the cliff, was involved in some way.’
She laughed. ‘Toby! Listen to you! You’re not seriously making those kinds of accusations are you? Anyhow, the owners are long-dead. How can it be proved?’
‘There’s someone who used to live nearby. He was closely involved, I’m certain of it.’
Her laughter subsided. ‘Who? Who used to live nearby?’
I’d said too much already. I didn’t want to go dragging people’s names through the mud when I didn’t have definite proof of anything. It was a small place and everyone knew everyone. That kind of thing wouldn’t go down well. ‘I can’t say,’ I said. ‘Look, I only came here to try to help Mark. What do you think I should do? You really think I should talk it over with him?’
‘Thinking about it, I’d leave him to do whatever he feels he needs to do and not say anything just yet,’ Sharon advised.
‘And the missing girls?’ I said.
‘Mark having a file doesn’t mean he has anything to do with their disappearance, does it?’ she said. ‘Give him a while to come round and when he’s ready to talk to you then you can approach him with it. Broaching the subject too soon might send him even further into his shell. He’s obviously hurting for some reason, and Mark being Mark it’s hard to know what that is exactly. We can do more damage than good going in all guns blazing with unfounded accusations.’ She looked at Joseph. ‘What do you think?’
His face was solemn. ‘I guess you’re right.’ He shook his head. ‘What a screwed up kid brother I’ve got,’ he said.
I couldn’t help but feel that over the years Joseph had contributed to his screwing up.
‘Mark wants you to tell him you don’t believe he murdered the young woman,’ I said to him.
Joseph stared at me. ‘I know.’ He rose from the table. ‘I’m not ready to give him that just yet. And what I’ve heard doesn’t make me feel any better about things,’ he said, walking away.
14
Happy Forever
I rang Mark a few times, but he never answered his mobile or his home phone. Usually he’d get straight back to me, but he’d gone silent on me. Giving me the cold shoulder? Who knows? I couldn’t shrug off the feeling that I’d betrayed him by going to see his brother, but what was I supposed to do? In my mind the genesis of all the angst between us lay in the rift between the two brothers, not with me. I was just caught up in the middle of something I didn’t quite understand.
So I forgot Mark for a while, like he was a dry old book I just couldn’t get into and I was putting it onto one of my bookshelves with the intention of picking it up again to read another day. The danger of doing that, of course, is that it’s never taken down again; it just stays there and keeps staring at you accusingly, reminding you how negligent you’ve been with your best intentions.
The next on my list was Steely Jacobs. But I didn’t have to do anything about chasing that up. He came to me.
The shop’s door rattled on its hinges as someone beat furiously at it. It made such a racket I thought the glass would shatter. It was evening. I stumbled groggily downstairs from my flat. I’d been asleep. I was doing that a lot. Just couldn’t keep my eyes open. One of these days, I thought, I’d fall asleep and never wake up, Lyme Regis’ very own Rip Van Winkle.
‘You’ll break the door!’ I said, unlocking it.
Steely Jacobs burst in and pushed me against one of my bookshelves. I was taken completely by surprise.
‘Was it you?’ he said, his face close to mine, his walking stick held in a clenched fist. ‘Was it you?’
‘Are you mad?’ I said, trying to shrug him off, but he was a strong man, and an angry one at that, an anger that gave him additional weight. He lifted his walking stick and struck me a glancing blow to the side of my head. I remember yelping like a kicked dog at the unexpected aggression.
‘Was it you?’ he repeated, and struck me again, this time on the shoulder. I’m telling you, never think a walking stick is a harmless thing. In the right hands it’s one hell of a makeshift weapon. ‘Was it you who sent her?’
I grabbed the end of the stick before he could strike me again. ‘What the devil has gotten into you, Mr Jacobs?’ I said. He tried to wrench the walking stick away from me. His face was contorted with rage. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about!’
‘Was it you who sent the woman?’
‘What woman?’ I said, pushing him back and trying to regain my footing. I came over all dizzy and put a hand to my temple. ‘You could have broken my skull, you idiot,’ I said, the room spinning. I put a hand out to steady myself. ‘I don’t know anything about any woman.’
‘I know it was you, don’t deny it. Is she a private investigator?’
‘You’re crazy,’ I said. Bright lights were playing out before my eyes like a silent firework display. I tried to blink them away.
‘The dark-haired woman. She came snooping around, asking questions. Said she’d been hired by someone.’
I shook my head. ‘I don’t know anything about any private investigator…’
He pushed me back against the bookshelves and I was momentarily helpless and could do nothing about it. He snatched the stick from my hand and held it in front of my face. ‘You keep away from me, do you hear? I swear I’ll kill you if you come near me again!’
‘Like you killed Madeline?’ I said.
His eyes became narrow slits. ‘I didn’t kill anyone called Madeline. I didn’t kill anyone, I tell you!’
‘I spoke to Chester,’ I blurted.
‘He’s crazy. He’s off his head. You believe the word of a junkie?’
‘He seemed to talk sense to me,’ I said. ‘He told me how you were mixed up in something. Something to do with the Belle Vue and the Burnses.’
‘He’s lying. He knows nothing.’
‘What happened to the young girls, Steely?’ I said.
The stick dropped slowly. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Yes you do. What happened to the young girls you used to take back to your caravan?’
For a moment I thought I detected the dark shadow of despair cross his features. But it was replaced by fury again, and he lifted his stick, the hard, bulbous end of the stout cane inches from my head. I had visions of my skull cracking like and egg and my brains spilling out onto the floor. But the next instant he pushed me away with a grunt and stood tall.
‘Keep away from me. And tell that woman to keep away, too. I didn’t kill anyone, I tell you. I had nothing to do with that. That wasn’t part of the deal…’
‘What deal?’
‘I mean it, Turner; keep your nose out of things that don’t concern you. It’s all in the past. It’s done with. It’s forgotten. It’s got to stay forgotten. You can’t go around making accusations like that.’
‘And you can’t go around beating the hell out of people…’
‘You want my advice? Stay clear of it. You could end up dead.’
‘That a threat?’
‘That’s a warning. It’s bigger than you, bigger than me. You don’t want to get involved. Stick with your books. It’s safer.’
‘I can help you,’ I said. Why, I don’t know. Perhaps I saw some kind of helplessness in his face, fighting against forces he couldn’t control. I recognised it. I was flailing helplessly in similar currents.
He scowled. ‘You can’t do anything for me. You’ve done enough already. I was a dead man from the day you discovered those bones.’
He slammed the door after him and I dragged myself to my desk chair and plonked myself heavily down into it. Blood dripped from a cut above my ear
to the polished oak surface of my desk. It looked like black beads of oil in the poor light.
That was my opportunity to go to the police. He’d assaulted me, and questioning might have got him to reveal what he knew about Madeline’s murder and whatever had been going on at the Belle Vue. He’d alluded to some kind of deal. With the Burnses? He didn’t say. But Ted and Marie were reputedly a nice couple, the Belle Vue a quiet, respected hotel. It didn’t make any sense. How did Madeline end up dead and buried? What happened to the stream of young girls that passed through his caravan? Maybe nothing happened and I was putting two and two together and coming up with five.
He told me my life would be in danger if I carried on snooping around. So did Chester. A coincidence? Whatever, that was another reason to go to the police. There was something bigger at play here and it hadn’t ended with the Belle Vue’s demise. But the Burnses couldn’t be behind anything, because they were both dead.
Yes, I really ought to have gone to the police.
So why didn’t I go?
Because I didn’t want to lose Madeline.
It was selfish, I know. It went against everything I’d said previously about helping her. I hung back. I wanted to keep her a while longer. Even though she looked desperately unhappy at times, even though I knew it was for the best, I didn’t want a conclusion to the mystery of her death just yet. I wanted another few days, a week, a month longer with her. I didn’t want to say goodbye, not just yet.
Madeline was my secret drug. My private addiction. I wanted to quit the habit but I was powerless.
I was also riddled with guilt. I’d seen something in Steely’s eyes that haunted me. Like those of a man being sucked into a deadly whirlpool and reaching out for help. He wanted to tell me his life was in danger. That’s why he came to my place. Suppose he was telling the truth, that he didn’t have a hand in Madeline’s murder. And what did he mean he was a dead man from the day I discovered her body?
And who the hell was the dark-haired woman stalking Steely and Chester?
So I didn’t go to the police.
I didn’t see it at the time, but looking back I see it for what it was. It was an effort to prolong my time with Madeline. Going to the police would have hurried things along. So I convinced myself that Steely, like my friend Mark, needed my help, not my condemnation. And anything that wasted time and gave me more time with Madeline was welcomed.
I could have sat back and done or said nothing. Left things to take their course. But I had to do something to feel less selfish. Yeah, I know it sounds muddled, but it made sense to me at the time. Like Shakespeare said, love takes over your mind and makes you think and do crazy things.
It took me a few days to build up the courage to do so, but I eventually drove out to Steely’s place. I had it planned in my head what I was going to say, had run through every conceivable scenario so I would be prepared. I would come as a friend offering help. If it turned out that the meeting left me in no doubt about his culpability, then I would definitely go to the police.
By the time I went to stand in front of his cottage door most of what I’d rehearsed in my head had leaked away, and my confidence had seemingly drained away with it. I drew in a calming breath and rapped loudly at the door.
The door swung open. It wasn’t locked.
‘Mr Jacobs?’ I said. ‘It’s me again, Toby Turner.’
When I was greeted by a fresh wave of silence I took it as my cue to get the hell out of there and reconsider what I was doing. But some kind of inner resolve brewed inside me against my wishes, and I launched myself through the door.
‘Mr Jacobs, I need to speak to you. It’s important…’
I was brought up short by the sight of Steely Jacobs lying face down on the carpet in his living room. I dashed to him, bending down and trying to turn him over. His face was as pale as white marble, his eyes staring blankly into mine, like a dead fish I’d seen at the market. I let him fall back to the floor and staggered back.
For the first time I noticed his shirtsleeve was rolled up, his arm tied with a rubber cord and an empty needle lying beside him. I put my hand to my mouth. That he was dead I had no doubt.
He was a dead man, he said…
He was now. Poor soul, I thought. Dying all alone, and in such a sordid manner.
It struck me as faintly absurd that this was the second dead body I’d found that year. Surely that has to be some kind of a record, I thought grimly.
‘You make a habit of finding bodies, do you, Mr Turner?’
The police officer wasn’t grinning, but I knew inside he was.
This was the second time I’d been into the police station recently, and both times concerning a dead body. Despite them telling me to relax I could feel myself getting all hot under the collar.
‘He was just lying there, dead,’ I told the officer.
‘Why were you visiting Mr Jacobs?’ he asked me.
I swallowed hard, my mouth going dry. ‘I was returning a walking stick that he’d left in my bookshop,’ I lied. Oh God, I’ve lied to the police, I thought. I was sure he could tell. His eye twitched tellingly when I said it.
‘And you saw no one else?’
‘No one,’ I said. ‘Should there have been?’
‘Did you know Mr Jacobs well?’
‘No. He came into my shop now and again. I saw him in the street, that kind of thing.’
‘When did you last see him?’
I thought about it. Should I tell them about his violent attack in my shop? I thought about Madeline. Thought about how I desperately needed to hang onto her. If I told them everything I knew then the murder case might be solved pretty quickly and she’d pass over for good. I realised I was touching the spot above my ear that Steely had split as I told the officer the last time I saw him was when he came into the shop and left his walking stick behind. Guilt at wanting to keep Madeline for myself, guilt that I’d somehow contributed to Steely’s possible suicide, flooded through me like a thick, sludge-grey drug.
‘So he didn’t appear unduly depressed or anything at the time?’
‘I never noticed that. He was always a bit morose. Do you think he committed suicide?’ I said. Tell me I didn’t cause him to do it, I thought. Tell me it wasn’t me that pushed him over the edge. When Steely looked at me and said he was a dead man, did he know then that he would commit suicide? Was he blaming me for what he would do to himself?
‘He overdosed,’ said the officer. ‘It could have been intentional. He never left a note or anything. He was a lifetime user. People get careless.’
‘Like I said, I didn’t know him really. It was just his walking stick…’
‘Looks like it was one fix too many for the old guy. His heart must have given way. Or he was genuinely worried about something. Something that made him deliberately overdose. Are you certain you can’t shed any light on that? Did he mention anything that was bothering him? Please, any information will be useful.’
I told him I couldn’t provide anything that would confirm or deny Steely’s intention to commit suicide.
As we went through the formalities, I was on the verge of opening up to the police officer about everything I knew. The knowledge was like a hoard of demons scratching away at my skull fighting to be released.
But I clammed up.
I left the police station feeling deflated and exhausted and not such a nice person after all.
But then the horrid thought struck me as I stood outside the police station. Something I hadn’t even considered.
If Steely Jacobs had indeed murdered Madeline, and her murderer was now dead, then technically she should already be at peace. She should already have passed on, her soul finally being released from its torment.
The realisation caused a flood of anxiety, because I recalled I hadn’t seen Madeline since finding Steely’s drug-suffused body. I drove home in an emotionally tattered state, my apprehension increasing with every mile till I unlocked my shop door and burst in
side.
‘Madeline!’ I cried, dashing through the shop, searching among the rows of shelves. I went into the downstairs kitchen. It was empty. I ran upstairs to my flat, but that too was empty. She’d gone and she was never coming back.
So what if I’d discovered her murderer and he’d paid the ultimate price for it? What did that matter now that she wasn’t here with me? I’d rather Steely be alive and have Madeline beside me.
I prayed. Not something I’ve done a lot. But that night I got down on my knees and prayed like I’d never prayed before. Give me back my Madeline. Give me back my life. Please, God, send her back to me.
Only then did I truly realise what a secure hold on my soul this woman had.
I remember collapsing onto my bed and bawling my eyes out for ages. It was like a great knife had sliced open my stomach and eager hands had scooped out my insides. I was distraught. I was inconsolable. No matter how I kept telling myself she was far better off, that she was where she truly belonged, I hated myself for ever starting to dig into the mystery of her death. I now had to find a way of going on living without Madeline. And the two things – life and Madeline’s absence from it – weren’t reconcilable.
Life was so bloody cruel I could easily understand why Steely Jacob ended his. I was young. I had a long time to live. I contemplated that vast, empty sea of existence without my one true love beside me, and in the dead of night my bleak thoughts settled on needing to be with Madeline again at any cost. To shrug off this worthless mortal shirt and join her on the other side where we’d be happy forever.
Yes, I seriously considered ending it all to be with her again.
Not until that dark and suffocating moment of anguish did I realise just how sick I’d become.
15
The Land of the Living
Succour came from an unexpected quarter.
‘You sleepyhead!’ she chastised, whipping open the curtains and letting the light flood into the bedroom. ‘What is wrong with you? You’ll sleep your life away if you’re not careful.’
The D.M. Mitchell Supernatural Double bill Page 32
