“Come in man, long time no see. How are you?”
“I’m fine.” I wasn’t really in the mood for chitchat.
“Reb home?”
“Yeah, he’s upstairs. Go on up.”
I went up narrow stairs. There were pictures on the walls. Crap paintings. I guess the apartments came furnished and there were the owner’s idea of class. It was a pretty neat apartment, well decorated for the most part. The hall contained a litter tray. It was a strange place to keep it. I thought most cat owners kept their litter trays in the kitchen, but maybe that was unhygienic, too. The fourteenth stair creaked and I stepped over just because I don’t like unnecessary noise. I rapped on Reb’s door.
“Come in,” he said.
His room was cluttered. There was a computer (a laptop) on a desk, with a television on a chest of drawers. There were clothes peaking out and the drawers wouldn’t close where they were so crammed. There was a wardrobe, a hard backed chair by the computer table and a single bed. It wasn’t squalor but it was close to it. I guessed Reb couldn’t afford his own place. Or maybe this was all the space he needed. There was a picture on the windowsill of the five of us. We were all together last New Year’s Eve at the Partridge.
I felt uncomfortable about being in a picture. I wasn’t worried that my soul had been stolen but I didn’t remember the photograph being taken. I’d been fairly hammered at the time.
Reb was sitting on the bed, reading the latest Terry Pratchett.
“Hey,” he said. “What are you doing here?”
“Just tying up some loose ends. I thought I’d come over.”
“Yeah, how’s the case going?”
“Almost done,” I said. “How come you’re not at work today?”
“Had to work Sunday so I get a day of in lieu. I was going to play on the computer, but I guess you’ll be wanting a cup of tea?”
“No, actually. I wanted to talk to you.”
“What about?”
“Well, about the case.”
“How far have you got?”
“I’m batting a half century at the moment. I want to go all the way.”
Reb didn’t look happy that I was doing so well. I wondered why he would be worried. Things were starting to fall into place but I wasn’t comfortable with where they were falling.
“But Joe did it, surely?”
“No, he didn’t.”
“He didn’t?” there was just the right amount of surprise in his voice. He was good.
“No, and you know he didn’t do it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why did you leave the note, Reb? Was it a cry for attention, like all those times you left your fingerprint at a scene?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Well, I’ve been thinking. I wondered why anyone would want to make a suicide look like a murder.”
“But it wasn’t a suicide. The note.”
“It was a suicide. I know that now. The note never fit. It didn’t make sense. It does now.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re not making any sense.”
“No? I think I’m making perfect sense. You left the note, didn’t you? The note wasn’t to the police but to me. You were saying you’re like shadow, that I’d never catch you. It was me you never thought would catch you, not the police.”
He looked like he was going to deny it.
“You left the note because you’re so lonely it hurts. All that talk about having someone to love. You’ve got someone to love, haven’t you? You just wanted an excuse to be close to them? You left the note to be closer to me, didn’t you Reb?”
He looked at me like he was ashamed. He had that much grace.
“Do you hate me?”
“No, I don’t hate you, Reb. If you hadn’t left the note Joe wouldn’t be on some psychiatric ward, though.”
“But I thought you’d want Joe in jail?”
“Why would you think that?”
“For Harry.”
“You think I wanted her like this?”
“I did it for you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I left the note so it would look like murder. So Joe would be put away. I’d seen him with the girl. It was the perfect opportunity. I knew Joe would come under suspicion. I knew Joe would look good for it. He’s mad, isn’t he? It would have been perfect, too. You’d have been happy.”
“Are you trying to tell me you did this for me?”
“Of course I did. I wanted you to be happy.”
“You set Joe up?”
“Yes. I thought you’d be happy,” he said again. There were tears in his eyes.
“Don’t you dare cry, not after what you’ve done.”
I reeled. I couldn’t believe he’d done it. I hadn’t wanted it to be true but I thought it was just a cry for attention like all the other times. But this was too much.
“Reb, I can’t believe what you’ve done. Joe’s been committed because of you.”
“I know. It was almost perfect. I knew you’d never want me but at least I could see you happy.”
“Reb, you’re sick. This isn’t the way I would have wanted it.”
It was going to be his price for setting Joe up. That’d free Harry up for me. I let it happen. Joe nearly went down for something he didn’t do but then I didn’t realise Joe had form. If I’d known about his past I wouldn’t have let him into my life in the first place. It’s all so sordid.
“It was almost perfect. I was out walking and I found the girl. I went home and got a piece of paper. I wrote the note and went back and put it in her pocket. I couldn’t be too obvious. I had to let the police know it was a murder. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to make you happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. I know you could never love me but I saw the way you looked at Harry. I knew she’d never leave Joe. You must believe me. I did it all for you.”
“Oh, I believe you alright.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Do? Nothing.”
He did it for love, after all. Would I have done the same? I think I would. I was going to do it now. I had it all planned out in my mind.
“Goodbye, Reb.”
“Jake! Don’t leave like this.”
I closed the door and left the sound of his blubbing behind me. I’d left plenty of tears in my wake. A few more wouldn’t hurt me.
*
My favourite response when I ask people how much they’d want to win on the lottery was mine. I’d want a billion. Everybody else thought small. I want a thousand – a million, etc. I’d want a billion. Why, you ask? I want a billion because I think that’s how much I’d need to subvert all the world’s communications channels. Probably take a lifetime but it might be worth it. How many people on the planet? Six billion? Not exactly, but close enough. What’s the biggest hurdle to fixing the world? Communication. I reckon, simultaneous translation of my message around the world. Let’s get people thinking about it, at least. The easiest way would be a top down revolution – we could fix the world in a minute if we had the rich folk sorting it out – they have the means. Still, when was the last time you heard of a benevolent revolution? Doesn’t happen, does it? You know why? Because everyone, even poor folk, gets comfy when they’ve got some money. Still, OK, so you start people thinking – don’t incite the world to riot, or anything stupid like that, but hey, at least five billion on the planet must be dissatisfied. There must be a better way. In one fell swoop you could turn five billion minds to the problem. Rich folk scuppering us or not – how long do you think it would take if the whole world was working from the same page? Tell people, hey, there’s no need for want. We’re past that. There’s no need to watch your child die – we’re past that. Hell, we’ve got a chance for immortality and stewardship of the universe and we’re squandering it bickering with ourselves.
That was my response anyway. I’d asked Reb once what he wanted.
Reb said
he’d want nothing. He already had what he needed.
What a fucking liar.
*
I wanted to call Johnny. But I couldn’t tell him about Reb. Reb would go to jail. It wasn’t Reb’s fault he was in love. I couldn’t blame him for that. I understood exactly how he felt.
*
I sat and thought about it. Our fellowship was broken. I felt like there was no one left to rely on but Samwise. Not that I’m saying Pill looked like a hobbit. Perhaps that wasn’t enough, though. There was someone else I thought I could trust. To find out I’d have to put myself on the line. I’d have to put my soul up for grabs. There was nothing left to do but for me to create a new fellowship. One from many. The best fellowship. The way it had come about was wrong but I couldn’t pass up my one chance at happiness from all this.
I spent the afternoon waiting. I wasn’t accustomed to doing nothing but I sat on the couch and listened to music. The butterflies were growing. I could feel them in my head, flitting and shitting and tearing away all my confidence. I wasn’t good enough. Nobody would want my soul. Harry would see through me. She’d see what I was made off. I couldn’t make it work.
The afternoon passed slowly and I was almost in pain.
*
27. Be Still My Beating Headboard
Harry came round at five. It was already getting dark outside. There was a cold wind blowing and she had a windswept look. She’d taken a taxi round.
I saw her and I felt sick inside with want. I didn’t deserve to be happy. Not this happy. I smiled and felt green.
I couldn’t tell her everything that had gone on. I couldn’t tell her about Reb, she’d want nothing to do with me afterward. It was mine and Reb’s secret.
“Hello,” I said. She stepped inside, brushing against me as she took off her coat. She was wearing high heels again, and a long dress with no frills. There were buttons all the way down the front.
“You look beautiful,” I said as I closed the door. Today was all or nothing. There was nothing else to hold back for. I’d already sold my soul when I’d decided not to tell on Reb. Joe wasn’t damned, but I wouldn’t damn Reb either.
Harry flushed. It was a good look on her. She looked ravishing. She hadn’t put any make up on but I could smell her perfume, subtle and full of promise.
“Thank you,” she said. She handed me her coat.
“Come up. I’ve just started cooking.”
I followed her up the stairs, watching her all the way. I felt like a predator tonight. There was nothing to hold me back. Nothing but my own sense of self worth.
“What are you making?”
I was making love food. “Pan fried salmon and new potatoes with rocket salad and a balsamic vinegar, olive oil and crushed garlic dressing.” Alright, so sometimes there’s a place for poncy food.
“Sounds delicious.”
I would have made her something with corn. She always has corn, every time I’ve been round to hers for dinner, there’s corn, sitting, snide on one side of the plate.
I’ve got almost the complete collection of Terry Pratchett’s in paperback. I keep authors together. I lent a couple out once, to a person I didn’t really know all that well, and we fell out of touch. I lost my books. Corn’s like a collection. If you take it off the cob, it’s not where it’s supposed to be anymore. It’s wrong.
Well, that’s what I think. Everyone’s got their own theory about corn though, and you just can’t change some people.
So I hadn’t made corn.
“Come into the front room,” I said. “Do you want a glass of wine?”
“Yes, what have you got?”
“I don’t know. It’s white and it’s been in the fridge.”
“Good enough for me.”
“You always were pretty low maintenance.”
She went into the front room and sat on the couch. I brought in two glasses of wine in mismatched glasses.
I wanted to light candles but I’m not that cheesy. I put on a lamp and turned off the overhead light.
“What have you been up to today?”
“Solving crimes,” I said.
“Really? Who was it then?”
“It was no one. There was no crime.”
“How’d you figure that?”
“Well,” I said. Get the popcorn, I thought. “It’s a tale of love. Stories of death are often about love. It was just love that went wrong.”
She settled back on the couch and sipped at her wine. I wanted her to gulp it.
“How did you figure it out?”
“It started with a ring. Everything came from there.”
“Who gave her the ring?”
“Nobody gave her the ring. It was her who did the giving. She was holding it in her hand when she died. It was the last thing she held.”
“What happened?”
“Well, I started thinking about the ring. It looked like a cold-blooded murder but no murderer goes to that kind of effort. You don’t strangle someone then throw them off a multi-story car park to make it look like suicide. You don’t arrange the legs neatly afterward. You don’t leave a fingerprint at the scene of the crime. It made no sense from the beginning. Why would you leave your ring at the scene?”
“So it was her ring?”
“The words on it were corny (and I was trying to steer clear of corn), like a school girl giving away a trinket to her first love. In many ways it was like schoolgirl love. Tracey died for that love. She was in love with a woman called Mary Hunford and she died for that.”
“You’ve lost me.”
“I should start at the beginning. I never thought the ring was a clue. I thought it didn’t make sense. It was like a beacon lighting my path. The note wasn’t important. I made it look like a murder and that’s what I thought it was at first but I never thought it was a man that had murdered her. The fingerprint was a woman’s.”
“So how was it not a murder? You had the fingerprint.”
“Because Mary Hunford saw what had happened. I started to suspect that the real Tracey was having a relationship with Mary when I heard that they’d been seen together holding hands. Prostitutes just don’t hold hands with just anyone. It’s too intimate. They were holding hands because they were a couple. They were in love. Or at least, Tracey was.”
“So what happened then?”
“Tracey told Mary she loved her. But Mary couldn’t love, not really. She spurned Tracey’s advances. Tracey tried to give Mary the ring as a token of her love but Mary wouldn’t accept it. It was too much for Tracey to take. She’d been living a lie for so long to come to terms with the truth had taken every ounce of strength she had. She couldn’t live the lie any longer. She killed herself. She hung herself from the top of the multi-story, but the noose slipped. Not before breaking her neck but her dead body fell three stories and ended up below. Mary, thinking it was all her fault, ran down the stairs to where Tracey lay. She was sprawled and her head was broken. Mary couldn’t have her found like that so she rearranged Tracey’s legs and covered her face with her own umbrella.”
“Then she left her there like that?”
“Yes. She was afraid the police would think she’d killed her. After all, what was a woman in Mary’s line of work doing with a nice straight girl like Tracey?”
“Alright, so you’ve found out what really happened, do you believe Mary?”
“Totally. She was telling the truth.”
“Then why did she leave the note with the body?”
“She didn’t leave the note.”
“Who did?”
“I don’t think we’ll ever know.”
It was a cop out. I knew it. I think she knew it, too. I could tell by the way she was looking at me. I felt mean, like I was holding back the best bit. But sometimes the best relationships are built on secrets.
I couldn’t tell her it was Reb. She’d only ask why Reb had done such a thing. That was something I just wouldn’t be able to explain away.
*
We ate dinner together and talked about Harry’s day. I could tell she was impressed by my deducting prowess.
“What did you do today?”
“Nothing, really. I sat about indoors waiting to go out. If I’m truthful I was nervous about tonight.”
“Nervous? Why?”
“Oh, you know. It’s just that it’s been a long time since I’ve been alone with anyone but Joe.”
I didn’t know what to say. I opted for the truth.
“Well, I was nervous too. I’m glad you came.”
“So am I,” she said and smiled.
Harry moved on to her third glass of wine. I was matching her drinking pace. The bottle of white was out and I only had red left. I opened the bottle and put it on the table between us. We should really have had fresh glasses for wine but the two we were using were my only ones.
“So what are you going to do now?”
“Well, it’s with the police now. There’s nothing more I can do. They have to talk to Mary. She’ll tell them what she told me. There’s no physical evidence to prove it wasn’t a suicide so they can’t charge Joe, not with an eyewitness account to go on. They might give Mary a hard time, thinking she killed Tracey, but I think they’ll let her go. It’s pretty strong evidence. The physical evidence fits her story, too.”
Talk moved onto things closer to home. I wish I hadn’t brought it up.
“What do you think about Joe?” she asked.
“He needs help. I think he’s probably in the best place for him.”
“It so looked like he did it. I can’t believe what he did anyway. I can’t believe he was seeing the girl. If she was a lesbian what was she doing with him?”
“It was all part of a lie I think she really wanted to believe. She’d got the message early on that it was wrong to love another woman. I think she just went with him to try and feel love. It must have been sad being her.”
“I still can’t forgive him for what he’s done.”
I was glad. I said instead, “I don’t think you should. You don’t deserve to be treated like that.”
BLOOD DRUGS TEA (A Dark Comedy Novel) Page 18
