by Bob Goodwin
Simon arrived at the front of the queue.
‘Hi there, Simon.’ It was Kym, the pretty Asian nurse. At least she was someone who would talk to him. He knew she liked animals, did some jogging, and enjoyed cooking. ‘How did you manage on your first dose of medication yesterday?’
‘Yeah, quite well thanks. No ill effects,’ he replied. ‘Have you cooked up anything special lately?’
‘I did a tasty red snapper in coconut and tamarind sauce yesterday.’
‘Sounds way better than hospital food.’
‘Here’s your tablets.’ She passed two yellow pills in a small medicine cup through the opening below the medication room window.
‘Right.’ Simon looked at the two tablets as he turned away from the window. ‘They look sort of more yellow than the last lot.’ He felt a push on his shoulder. It was Eddy. He held out a small cup of water.
‘Just take them, Stacey. Don’t fuck about,’ he demanded.
‘Yeah, yeah. Okay.’ He took the water.
‘Good night, Simon. See you again soon,’ said Kym. Simon took the tablets and half-turned back to Kym. He raised his water.
‘Night, Kym.’ He swallowed the tablets and handed the cup back to Eddy. ‘Can you tell me how old George is doing?’
‘Didn’t we have a chat about this?’ said the male nurse. ‘You are not to go anywhere near him.’
‘I know. Of course. I don’t even want to see him,’ lied Simon. ‘I was just concerned for his welfare. He seemed such a nice man.’
‘I don’t believe a damned word you say, Stacey. But in summary, he’s still as crazy as a shithouse rat. Just leave it. Goodnight.’
‘Okay then.’ Simon moved away to his room, turned off the light on the panel outside the door, then dropped onto the bed and stared at the ceiling.
* * *
Some time later, he opened his eyes and slowly looked around. It was still dark, and for some reason he was lying on the cold grass of the greenhouse. Not a soul was in sight. The courtyard was closed. He sat up and checked out his surroundings. In the dim lighting, he could discern the outline of the garden furniture and badminton net. Looking through the expanse of glass and beyond the confines of his secluded area, he could see a scattered but varied assortment of flickering lights. Each seemed to have a radiance of thin, shining spindles surrounded by a faint halo. The smallest and most distant sparklers, set back in the hills, reminded Simon of how things used to be only a few days ago. A cool night rugged up in front of the fireplace with Alison. Robbie lying asleep in his arms. A large mug of Irish coffee at his side, and in the background Phoebe Snow singing ‘Don’t Let Me Down’. He would carefully tuck his son into bed, kiss him on the forehead, turn on the Donald Duck night-light and return to the warmth of the fire, and Alison. He smiled at the thought.
Simon’s escape into fantasy was strangely interrupted by a soft tapping sound. A swarm of moths, attracted by the glow of an interior light, flicked themselves lightly against the glass of the closed greenhouse doors. Simon slowly stood as he stared at the suicidal creatures. They must have been at least ten metres away, yet he could still hear them fluttering clearly. He scratched his head as he wondered how long he had been sleeping and why he had been left alone. There seemed no rational explanation. Surely the staff, despite their many shortcomings, must have noticed someone asleep on the grass before they locked up. After some moments assessing the situation, he decided that he had been deliberately locked out of the main ward area to teach him a lesson. He stared again at the moths. Their fluttering sound had become louder. There seemed to be more of them than before. Simon swallowed heavily, and almost in slow motion proceeded towards the locked doors.
‘Eddy, you arsehole!’ he muttered, fully aware of whose idea it would have been. Simon also blamed the small yellow tablets. He could recall being firmly directed to take them, and he assumed that somehow, in some sort of vague state, he had crossed swords yet again with his thump therapist.
A second noise became more audible with every step. Stacey placed his hand on his chest. Now he could even feel the sound. It was his heart pounding. An intense fear was welling up from his stomach. That petrified feeling resurrected a memory that had been buried for years. He was twelve and alone in his bedroom with an American Playboy magazine. Completely absorbed by the furry triangle of the centrefold and only seconds away from orgasm, he had not heard his father come in. Simon was never really sure whether it was the fact of being caught dick in hand, or making a mess over his old man’s magazine that had caused so much hostility. He had experienced fear that day, but this was worse, much worse.
The moths seemed to have doubled in size and were now flapping against the glass with frightening intensity. He looked down at his hand still on his chest. It vibrated in time with the hammering of his heart. Sweat ran freely from every pore in his body. The tip of his nose dripped like a tap, and his eyes stung as the salty liquid partly obscured his vision. He thought he had stopped moving his legs, but his body glided inevitably towards the moths, now the size of small birds. Breathing was becoming difficult. That dry, burning feeling in his throat stimulated further memories. The darkest corner of the park, his good friend Adrian, and a huge joint the size of a cigar. Walking proved an unusually difficult task. The ground was rolling side to side. If he could have urinated he’d have drank it to quell the fire in his throat. Simon desperately wished he could make a permanent escape into one of his vivid memories but he continued to be drawn closer. Neither could he turn his gaze away nor control his unwilling forward motion. Every hair on his arms stood upright as he felt the hot air from those huge wings against his clammy skin. His respirations had deteriorated into a loud, squeaky wheezing; Mum and Dad’s farmyard gate; Cochran’s car suspension; Robbie’s futile struggle for air in the smoke and heat. Simon opened his mouth in an attempt to scream. He had barely enough air to breathe. All sounds were now drowned out by the clattering of the giant creatures whose wings now slapped against his face.
‘Hang onto him! Hurry up with that medication!’ bellowed Eddy. ‘Stacey, settle down. No one is going to harm you!’ Simon’s eyes opened. The creatures were changing. Wings became fingers and hands all over his body, stopping him escaping. Trying to stop him breathing. The noises changed to voices, shouting, ordering and threatening. Simon was staring straight ahead. Amid the moths, hands and arms, a face was forming. He squeezed his eyes tightly and then looked again. The head of the biggest moth of all morphed into the face of Eddy. Stacey summoned every ounce of his waning energy, lunged forward, and released a prolonged, ear-piercing scream. His forehead struck hard at its target and then fell back on the bed.
‘Fuck!’ Eddy shook his head. Spots of blood sprinkled across the sheets and Stacey’s face. ‘Get that bloody needle in. Give him the lot, for Christ’s sake!’ Simon felt a sting in his left forearm, followed by an ache travelling up his arm to the shoulder. He was beyond resisting any further. A black curtain began to fall. Simon partly opened one eye. The biggest moth was squashed over the locked doors. He smiled and fell into a deep sleep.
Chapter 19
An Innocent Man?
‘Good evening, Mr Madden,’ said John Cochran politely. ‘Thank you for coming down to the station. Detective Dempsey and Hogan did try to catch you at work this afternoon but they were advised that you had left early on business. I’m very sorry to interrupt your evening like this. I realise it’s quite late, but nevertheless it is very important, as I am sure you understand.’ The inspector had adopted a conciliatory approach. Gerry Hogan, occupying a seat to one side of Cochran’s office desk, slowly lifted his hand and placed one finger over his lips as if to prevent some sarcastic utterance. Cochran walked around his desk and sat down and faced Madden. He stretched backwards, with his hands holding the back of his head and groaned loudly, as if gaining some pleasurable relief, then placed his arms in front of him across the desk. ‘I must also apologise for the behaviour of Detective Briggs earlier
today. He was totally out of line and will be severely dealt with by the department.’
‘I would have been happy to talk with him. He had no need to go sneaking about looking in my drawers and briefcase. I have nothing to hide.’
‘Very good. As I say, I am sorry about that. He will not trouble you any further.’
‘I’d really like to get this over with. I’ve been waiting nearly an hour already and I haven’t had dinner yet,’ said Charlie in a quiet but deliberate manner.
‘Actually, it’s forty-five minutes, not an hour,’ remarked Cochran almost pleasantly, as he glanced at his watch. He then paused for a moment and reminded himself of his plan, and continued in a most courteous and uncharacteristic style, ‘Would you care for some coffee, Mr Madden?’
‘No thank you, but I would very much like some questions so I can return home.’ Charlie thought of Deborah. He squirmed in his chair and tugged at the crotch of his jeans. He slowly extended his leg, pushed his heel firmly into the floor, and transferred weight to his left buttock.
‘Is something wrong? You look concerned,’ said Cochran.
‘No. Nothing,’ he replied.
‘Are you in some pain or discomfort?’
‘I am fine.’ Charlie tried to replace the painful grimace with a relaxed smile. ‘Do you think you could stop the paper shuffling and get on with this?’
Detective Dempsey popped his head around the door. ‘Sorry to interrupt, sir. A call for you. I think you might want to take it out here.’
‘It better be important,’ sighed Cochran. ‘Excuse me.’ The inspector stood and left the room. Charlie Madden pushed at his forehead with his fingers and looked at the floor.
Cochran walked up the corridor alongside Dempsey towards the reception area. ‘Well, who is it?’
‘It’s some European guy called Oscar. He says he’s the security officer at Stacey’s fitness club. He was very insistent and quite sure you would want to talk to him,’ replied Dempsey.
‘Hmm… thank you, Detective. I’ll take the call privately if you don’t mind.’
‘Yes, sir. Absolutely.
* * *
It was ten minutes later when Cochran returned to his office to continue his interview with the frustrated Charlie Madden.
‘Tell me, what was the extent of your relationship with Alison Stacey?’
‘There was no romantic involvement if that’s what you mean. We met at the club a few times. There were a couple of occasions when we even had dinner together. We were to catch up this weekend. We were good friends. Stacey knew all about it.’
‘A very nice arrangement indeed. And what sort of things would you both discuss over dinner?’
‘Mainly financial and club matters. Boring stuff, I’m afraid. We have a registered business called Charden Enterprises. It is a business of convenience, nothing more. It helps me get a good bonus every now and then, gives Simon taxation benefits, and it gave Alison some pocket money.’
‘Pocket money! She really needed that, didn’t she?’ Cochran stood and began pacing. He continued with his tolerant pretence. ‘So, the club’s manager and the owner’s wife sold management services to their own club?’
‘That’s basically how it works, yes. It’s all quite legitimate.’
‘Oh yes, of course it is. I’m sure you’d have seen to that,’ said Cochran, nodding his head sarcastically. ‘Did you see her on the night of the fire?’
‘I certainly did not. I never had any improper dealings with Alison, and perhaps I should add that I know nothing whatsoever about the fire. The whole matter has been very distressing for me and a great many others!’ snapped Charlie gruffly. The inspector stopped his pacing and squatted quietly next to, and slightly behind, Madden’s chair. His mouth was only centimetres away from Charlie’s ear.
‘I wish to be quite frank with you, Madden,’ he said softly. ‘I’m making a special effort here to be polite and considerate, given the present circumstances. Now that’s something that doesn’t come easy to me, as Detective Hogan will tell you.’ Cochran moved even closer to Charlie’s face. His voice was becoming progressively louder. Madden could feel the policeman’s breath; he twisted uncomfortably once again.
‘While you may find the questions personally offensive, I can assure you that I find four murders much more so. If by chance my polite inquisition upsets you, it’s just too fucking bad!’ The big man stood and began pacing again, but all the time glaring at Madden. ‘Now, did she ever talk to you in confidence? Were you aware of any problems in the marriage?’
‘As far as I knew their marriage was fine.’ Madden opened his hands and rested them on the arms of the chair, demonstrating his sincerity. ‘Alison had some concerns about whether Bodytone would be a success. She didn’t like the club’s name. Even the mention of it seemed to make her uncomfortable.’
‘Very good. If we continue like this we’ll all be able to get home, won’t we? Now, did you ring anyone on Tuesday night?’
‘I might have,’ said Madden, pausing to think. ‘Yes, yes. I rang Stacey at Duncan’s house. I had a good idea about the disco.’
‘And that couldn’t wait a day or two?’
‘He always made it clear that I could call him anytime, about pretty much anything. I made a note of the whole thing in my diary. You can check.’
‘Why ring him at a party, late at night?’
‘He’s a hard man to catch up with. Besides, if he’s had a few drinks there’s more chance he’ll go along with my ideas.’
‘And you just happen to have Duncan’s number?’
‘I have all his contact details and notes from his diary. That’s how we do things.’
‘Really,’ remarked the inspector, unconvinced. ‘A guy goes to play poker with his mates, but still decides to chat to you on the phone about a non-urgent matter. I don’t buy it, Madden.’
‘It’s his choice to take the call or not. What can I say?’
“Do you know Adrian Devlin?’
‘Well, yes. I know him. He’s a great mate of Simon’s. I’ve met him a couple of times.’
‘You been to his place?
‘Never have.’
‘But you know where he lives?’
‘Of course.’
‘Yes, of course. You know all Stacey’s friends and contacts.’
‘Most, perhaps not all.’
Cochran shook his head slowly, pushed his hand through his hair and referred to his notes. He read the report Briggs had put together. There was still the bracelet. Information obtained in such a manner needed to be handled carefully. He decided the tried and true method was his best option and continued his slow walk about the office as if deep in thought. He stopped behind Madden’s chair, grabbed it firmly and dragged it away from the limited protection of the desk. Charlie tried to stand, but Cochran’s hand dropped onto his shoulder and made sure he stayed seated.
‘You know what I think, Madden?’ shouted the inspector. ‘I think you torched Stacey’s house! You screwed his wife and shot some poor bastard who came to help when he saw the flames and heard the kid screaming. I think you’re a psychopathic killer, Madden, and I’m going to nail you! You son of a bitch!’
‘No, no, no! I did none of that, I swear!’ pleaded Charlie.
‘That’s bullshit. You did it all right. Maybe not exactly like I said it, but you’re guilty, and I’m damn sure you were fucking Alison Stacey.’
‘I didn’t and I wasn’t!’ Charlie couldn’t help himself, he raised his voice. He tried again to stand, but only with the same result. ‘I’m not guilty. Please! This is outrageous!’
‘Why did you have her gold engraved bangle in your desk drawer then? I reckon she took it off when she dropped her knickers.’
‘That’s not true. She didn’t like the bracelet. She gave it to me to look after.’
‘A woman that doesn’t like gold? Hogan, have you ever heard of such a thing?’
‘Should be more of it, sir,’ replied the smiling det
ective.
‘Please, it wasn’t the gold,’ added Madden. ‘It was the engraving. She never liked the club’s name - Bodytone.’
‘What was it about that name?’ demanded Cochran.
‘Don’t know. She would always say it was a woman’s prerogative not to like something. Like dogs don’t like cats, she used to say. There doesn’t need to be a reason. I was to keep the bracelet and not tell Stacey. She didn’t even want it in her house.’
John Cochran continued to needle Madden about his relationship with Alison Stacey, and past associations with Adrian Devlin and other friends of Stacey. While the desired effect in loosening up his tongue and introducing the bracelet had been achieved, no startling revelations were forthcoming. Questions, accusations, and insults continued, and despite having no alibi for the night in question, Charlie clung steadfastly to his innocence. When eventually offered an opportunity to leave, he wasted no time in vacating the scene.
* * *
‘Shit, what a total mess! Dirty rotten arseholes! Pricks! Bastard cops!’ Charlie slammed his hands on the steering wheel. He continued driving and swearing for fifteen minutes, cursing Cochran, Hogan, Dempsey, and the entire police department. Then he started on himself. ‘Why stay and put up with that, you great dickhead? Why even go in the first place you stupid, turd-faced idiot?’ Turning into Acacia Drive, Charlie looked up the road to his humble dwelling. The lights were still on. ‘Deb, my honey pie. Get ready. Here comes your dessert.’ With a short, sharp squeak of rubber on concrete, the car stopped only centimetres from the garage door. Charlie hurried up the path, key in hand. He stopped in his tracks and looked back at his car. ‘No, she can’t have.’ His brain was working overtime. ‘Yes, she must have put her car in the garage. Of course she did.’
