The Smiling Man

by Joseph Knox

  ‘I had the money in my pocket for five minutes flat. We’d left the shelter to make our agreement and, of course, he wouldn’t be going back there that day. So I turned on to the square feeling good, feeling rich for the first time since I ran away. There was a man sitting on the doorstep with his head in his hands. As I got closer I realized he was holding his nose. It was broken and bleeding, and he was crying. It was Seb, the guy I’d come over with. And I knew they’d caught up with me again. I turned around and walked right into Tedge, my big brother. He …’

  She took a breath and swallowed.

  ‘… He asked me how I was, said our old dad had been worried sick. Then he punched me in the stomach. He went through my pockets, found the money and took it. Said he could guess how I’d earned all that. Then right in front of me he slotted it down a drain like it was nothing. He asked where my passport was, he’d need it to get me home, and I told him it was back inside the shelter. In my locker.’

  She smiled. The shake had moved from her hands, to her face, to her voice.

  ‘I’d been keeping a case in there for when they found me. A plastic bag and a reel of duct tape that I could wrap around my head. Good, thick razor blades for my wrists and ankles.

  ‘So he said to go inside and get it. We had time. He sat at a bench and smiled at me. He always liked it when I ran. So I went back inside. Sebastian was still crying, saying he was sorry. I went past him and up two floors to the lockers. I opened mine and took out my case, my escape kit, and I realized someone else was in the room with me. It was the man who’d bought my passport.’ She looked at me. ‘The man you asked me to identify. He asked if I was going with that boy outside. I told him I’d cut my own throat first. And just like that he nodded, turned to leave. I followed him through the back door. He never hurried or rushed, he hailed a cab like we were day-trippers. In ten minutes we were at an apartment. Not his, I don’t think. There was nothing there. Not even the plainest furniture. I asked him who he was. He said that wasn’t important. What he could do was the important part. So I asked him what he could do. He told me he was a vanisher. He provided people with new names, new identities, new lives, for money. I told him that I’d lost the money he’d given me. He didn’t smile but his tone of voice changed slightly, I heard the smile there. He said this one was on the house …’

  The woman I knew as Amy Burroughs stayed in the apartment for another week, during which time the man brought her fresh clothes and books. He asked if she’d have any doubts about never returning to her former name, her former life, and she told him she had none. He told her that once she left Marseille she’d never see or speak to him again. That anonymity was his life’s work and something he’d fought hard to maintain.

  On her final night there they became lovers.

  She hadn’t felt compelled or obligated, but felt a genuine attraction and surge of emotion for this stranger who’d decided to save her life, apparently on a whim. The only thing she had of her own was a battered second-hand copy of The Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám. She hadn’t even read it herself then. Just picked it up in a charity shop one day. But she chose a passage and dedicated it. She mainly wanted to give him a gift. She mainly wanted to sign something with her new initial. A. She knew he’d probably destroy it the second she walked out the door. Re-dedicate himself to anonymity, but apparently he hadn’t. Apparently he’d thought of her since.

  ‘What about Ross Browne’s copy?’ I said.

  ‘Once I was here, settled, I did read it. It did come to mean those things to me. Reinvention, freedom, escape. I thought if I’d had that, Ross deserved it, too.’

  I nodded.

  ‘Who killed him?’ she said. ‘The man who saved me …’ I thought her emotions were closer to the surface than she’d let them get in years, and I could see how scared she was. ‘Was it my brothers? My dad?’

  I was still trying to bring it all together. ‘I think it’s something else. When your neighbour told you that someone had been at your house, looking through windows, you thought it was them, didn’t you? Your family?’

  She nodded.

  ‘It was actually him, your vanisher.’

  She frowned.

  ‘I think he kept tabs on you. He certainly kept the book that you gave him. He’d looked up your phone number, written it beneath your dedication. According to the autopsy he was terminally ill. It was only a matter of weeks. I wonder now if he just wanted to see his son, maybe to see you, before he died.’

  ‘So … what? He died of natural causes?’

  ‘He was poisoned. A man living his kind of life could make a lot of enemies. The intruder who had the nail gun to your head, you said you didn’t know him …’

  ‘Definitely not. I’d have known if it was Tedge or one of the others.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘To forget all about the man from the Palace. He said if I talked to you he’d hang my little boy on the wall by his eyes.’

  ‘Your family wouldn’t care less about the dead man, they’d be out to get you. It’s not them, Amy.’

  ‘I can’t go on the record,’ she said. ‘I can’t go in, I can’t give statements—’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I won’t ask you to. Thanks for talking to me. I’d like to arrange for someone to watch you and your boy now.’

  ‘I can’t go back to living like that. Having them hang over me.’

  I felt the same way. It was past time for things to come to a head.

  The smiling man was a vanisher. A man who helped people disappear. It made sense that he’d eradicated all traces of his own life, even as he was living it. It felt cruel that his one concession to himself, to see Amy and his boy before he died, had been taken away. Discovering his real identity felt unlikely now. But someone had murdered this man. He’d staggered to a closed-down hotel to die, then Anthony Blick’s blood had been found in his room. Cherry had been murdered for what she’d seen.

  Everything led to the Palace Hotel.

  ‘Another day,’ I said. ‘Twenty-four hours at the most.’

  5

  I left Amy’s office, walking through the baleful, hot and bothered stares of the packed-out waiting room, and out on to the street. My body and mind were buzzing. The smiling man being a vanisher made a lot of sense, but it meant that identifying him, especially without naming Amy as a witness, would be impossible. I’d tried not to get my hopes up when Parrs made his bargain. Floated the possibility of my moving on from the night shift. Of re-partnering and leaving Sutty behind if I cracked the smiling man. Now that even the possibility was gone I felt bereft.

  There was still the matter of the smiling man’s killer, though.

  Still the final lead that he’d been helping people change identity.

  I needed to check Ali’s legal status in the country. Desperate and disenfranchised by the asylum process, who knew what a person might turn to? There were other questions of identity hanging over the case, too. Cherry had been born under one name, one gender, and lived under another. Freddie Coyle had two different sexualities between his wife and his lover, a third with his membership to Incognito, where he was apparently straight again, a ladykiller. There was his lover, Geoff Short. As much as I’d liked the man, he’d deceived his own family. He’d broken up someone else’s marriage and moved jobs as a result. Then there was Anthony Blick, a solid businessman with the respect of his peers who’d been up to his eyeballs in debt, who’d somehow met his end in the smiling man’s hotel room. His remains, the enormous blood patch, pointed to a violent death, but did that make any kind of sense? Was the anonymous stranger, the business-like shadow that Amy Burroughs had described, really a butcher? The man who’d seen a young woman suffering and saved her life? The man who’d made a last, desperate journey to see his son before he died?

  There were other, unrelated questions of identity too. Bateman in my own life, who I’d known as a handsome rogue, a whip-crack around the ladies, whose face had been turned inside out by his o
wn greed. There was my little sister, who also got her new name, her new life, her getaway. And then there was me. A man whose face warped and altered in the mirror, who couldn’t identify his own hands or the violent temper that had transformed them. A man who’d become unrecognizable to his own friends.

  My phone started to vibrate.

  A feeling I was beginning to associate with Bateman.

  ‘Waits,’ I said.

  ‘Good afternoon, this is Constable Black.’ There was an edge of excitement to her voice that didn’t usually go with interviewing escorts and pimps all day.

  ‘Hi, Naomi, please bring me good news.’

  ‘Possible lead for you …’

  ‘I think I’ve forgotten what a lead looks like.’

  ‘I’d say it’s about five foot five. Loose shirt and khaki slacks.’

  ‘Cherry’s regular? Mr Hands?’

  ‘He’s here at the station. Should I notify Detective Inspector Sutcliffe?’

  6

  I was standing outside an interview room, talking to Constable Black. ‘Unfortunately, Sutty can’t make it,’ I lied. ‘Where’d you find this guy?’

  ‘Well, I’ve been talking to street-girls in the area, which is how we got his nickname in the first place. Usually we can’t even get a smile out of them, but a death tends to bring the community together. Sounds as though this Cherry was well liked. When the news finally got back to our regular, Mr Hands, he brought himself in.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. I paused at the door. ‘I have to know, how did he get the nickname?’

  ‘Likes to speak German to them.’

  ‘I don’t get it …’

  ‘Mr Hans,’ she said with a smile.

  I nodded, opened the door and walked inside.

  The man we’d been looking for, Cherry’s regular, was sitting at a table, noisily draining a glass of water. He was small. Probably the 5’ 5” that Constable Black had guessed, and somewhere in his mid to late fifties. He had an open, honest look on his face. It had been so long since someone told me the truth on their first try that I wondered if I’d even recognize it. I took a seat opposite him.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mr …’

  ‘Neild,’ he said, thrusting his hand across the table. ‘Larry Neild.’ I shook it with some curiosity.

  ‘Thanks for coming in, Mr Neild. A lot of men in your position probably wouldn’t have …’

  ‘Quite,’ he said. ‘Well, I felt horrible about that poor girl. They say she was killed?’ There was some awe in his voice, for life and death and how a person could force the latter on to the former. I liked him for it.

  ‘I’m afraid that’s true. Can I start by confirming a few details?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘What do you do for a living?’

  ‘I’m an IT consultant.’

  ‘And your age?’

  ‘Fifty-four.’

  ‘You were a regular of Cherry’s, is that right?’ He nodded. ‘How long had you known each other?’

  ‘I don’t know if I’d honestly say that we did. We’d met several times, but of course not strictly for conversation.’ He re-clasped his hands. ‘I first picked her up on the Oxford Road, probably a couple of months back. I think we’ve seen each other three or four times since …’

  ‘Last Saturday being the final time?’ He nodded and I stopped in my tracks. It was Tuesday now. It had been just ten days since the events at the Palace Hotel. ‘First of all, I’d like to eliminate you from our enquiries into Cherry’s death. Can you confirm your whereabouts on Monday?’

  ‘May I take my phone from my pocket?’

  I think he thought I might shoot him.

  ‘Be my guest.’

  He took it out, moved his glasses to the end of his nose and scrolled. ‘Monday night I was working until gone one in the morning.’

  ‘Can anyone confirm that, Mr Neild?’

  ‘No point working late unless people notice you,’ he smiled. ‘Remember that.’

  ‘I’ll try,’ I said, more tersely than I’d intended, and he stopped smiling.

  ‘Various people passed in and out through the evening.’

  ‘I’ll need their names.’ He nodded like the day he’d been dreading had finally caught up with him. ‘There’s no need for me to tell them why I’m eliminating you from an enquiry, Mr Neild, as long as you’re telling me the truth.’

  ‘Of course, of course.’

  ‘Can you tell me about your last meeting with Cherry? Saturday night? I believe you went to the Palace together …’

  ‘I’m afraid we did.’ He closed his eyes. ‘She wouldn’t have even been there if I hadn’t picked her up.’

  ‘Had the two of you been to the Palace before?’

  ‘Once, but in rather different circumstances.’

  ‘Which were …?’

  ‘Well, of course you know the nature of our relationship. She simply said she had a friend working there who let her use a room. The first time we went in the front door it was unlocked for us. The second time we were sneaking around and I knew it. We got in through a fire exit that she said her friend had left open for us.’

  ‘What time was this?’

  ‘Around midnight …’

  That accounted for the alarm which had taken Sutty and me there in the first place. ‘OK,’ I said. ‘Go on.’

  ‘It led up to the fourth floor but the rooms on that level were closed. Cherry said she had a room on the third floor, which we went to. I believe it was the same room we’d been to on our previous visit but I’m not certain. Once we’d finished up, we had to go back up to the fourth floor to exit the building through the fire escape. Well, the stairs there are impossible. I’d have been scared to death walking around with someone I didn’t trust. When we got to the fourth-floor landing we heard voices. Two voices coming up behind us. I thought my heart might stop. Cherry took my hand and led us down the right-hand corridor. By this stage I was feeling—’

  ‘Did you see them?’ I said. ‘The people that the voices belonged to?’

  ‘Just the back of them, just for a second. One wore a dark suit, I think, and the other … I got the impression that the other was a security guard, from his clothes and so forth.’

  ‘Could you see the guard’s skin colour?’

  ‘I’m afraid not …’

  ‘What did they do?’

  ‘They walked down the corridor, went to a room, opened it and went inside.’

  ‘Using a key card?’

  ‘I’m afraid I couldn’t see.’

  ‘OK,’ I said. ‘They go inside the room …’

  ‘They go inside the room and by this point I’ve had quite enough excitement. I crept straight to the fire exit and left.’

  ‘Alone?’

  He twisted his hands on the table. ‘Cherry was interested. She wondered if another girl was working out of the building.’

  ‘Did you see or speak to her again after that night?’

  ‘I waited outside. I couldn’t run away without knowing she was OK.’

  ‘And had she seen anything? Did she say anything at all?’

  ‘When she got to the door it burst open and one of the men saw her.’

  ‘Did she say which one? Did she use any words to describe him?’

  He thought for a moment and shook his head. ‘Not that I remember. She said the man was furious. He chased her, and she ran back to the landing and down the stairs. When they got to the third floor they both heard more voices, coming up the stairs. She ran down a corridor and the man froze on the landing. Then he walked after her, trying all the doors for a room he could get into, to hide. Then she said he’d taken a fire extinguisher off the wall and struck himself over the head with it.’

  He stopped talking. I was staring down at the table. When he cleared his throat I realized I hadn’t spoken in over a minute.

  ‘Excuse me, Mr Neild. She said the man pursued her down to the third floor and, when he heard more voices, struck himself ov
er the head with a fire extinguisher? You’re certain of that?’

  ‘I’m certain it’s what Cherry told me. Then someone came along the corridor with a torch and she bolted. Got back up to the fourth floor and out the fire escape.’

  7

  ‘Hello, Ms Khan, this is Detective Constable Waits.’

  She exhaled into the phone. ‘I’ve been dealing with your superior, Detective Constable. He told me that you’d been acting beyond your remit in investigating Natasha and Freddie. I’m afraid I won’t be allowing you any further access to them without legal representation, and only then in receipt of a written request, signed by your superior.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ I said. ‘But I’m going to need access to the Palace Hotel tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘We’ve received credible intelligence that the dead man from room 413 left an item in the room. Once we recover said item, I can assure you that we’ll be out of your hair for good.’

  ‘Item? What item?’

  ‘The man was murdered. It’s our belief that he left evidence relating to the identity of his killer. It’s all very clear. As I say, I’ll need access tomorrow morning with a SOCO team for recovery.’

  ‘I’d like to know what intelligence has led you to this item.’

  ‘A witness has come forward, Ms Khan.’

  ‘What witness? The Palace was empty …’

  ‘Not even close. There were two witnesses inside the building, as well as Ali, at the time of the man’s death. I’d appreciate it if you could alert the owners so there’s no confusion. Of course, I could do it myself …’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’ll notify them. If that’s all?’

  ‘It is.’ I hung up abruptly. Felt the pulse moving through my body. I’d call in sick to my shift with Sutty. He could write his own reports for one night. I’d station myself outside the Palace and see if anyone felt like paying it a visit before my make-believe forensics team arrived in the morning.