The Turnaround

by Mark Timlin

  I’d spoken to her several times and seen her once since she’d made the offer. She’d been great to me. Very sexy too. Just like her old self. But somehow it still came over like an act. I’d used the excuse of the funeral to delay giving her a decision on the job front. When I’d told her Judith was coming to stay, she’d got all excited. It made me kind of sad, as if I needed much to do that lately. Fiona had met Judith on a couple of my daughter’s rare visits to see me, and they’d got on great.

  When I got to the pub it was just opening. Bob was all smiles and bought me a drink. I wasn’t surprised he had when he presented me with the bill and my Access card and slip. He said it was the best night he’d had for ages, what with us upstairs, and the darts team playing a home game in the public bar downstairs.

  I bought him and the staff and myself a drink and signed the slip. He wanted to chat but I didn’t, and was relieved when a driver and his mate came in with a delivery.

  I took my beer to the table furthest away from the bar. I was the only customer at that early hour.

  I sat there and let my beer get warm in front of me and thought about my life. And right then I made the decision that would change it, and the lives of many others. End some, and set others’ free. I decided to go back on the Kellerman case.

  19

  I went back home and telephoned James Webb. He was as surprised to hear from me as I suppose I was that I’d called.

  ‘I want to look a bit deeper into the case,’ I said.

  ‘Why? You couldn’t wait to get off it as I remember.’

  ‘I changed my mind.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I just did,’ I said. ‘Are you interested or not?’

  ‘I’ve got the money if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘No money. I didn’t give you value last time. This one’s on me. Anyway, right now I’ll only be doing it part-time.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Domestic responsibilities.’

  ‘Well, if you’re not charging…’

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘Please yourself then.’

  ‘Have you thought of anything else that might be relevant?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Right,’ I said. ‘I’ll go over the old ground first, and if anything turns up I’ll let you know.’

  ‘Fine,’ he said.

  ‘Fine,’ I said back, and we both hung up.

  Then I phoned Robber. He was in his office. The geezer always seemed to be working. I told him what I’d told Webb.

  ‘Why?’ he asked. Suddenly everyone was interested in my motives.

  ‘Someone died,’ I said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t worry, it was natural causes,’ I said. ‘She was a friend. Before she died, she told me I gave up too quickly. She was right. So I’ve decided to have another go.’

  ‘I hope you don’t regret it.’

  ‘So do I.’

  ‘Take care, Sharman,’ he said. He was changing his tune. It must have been my natural charm.

  ‘I will.’

  ‘And don’t step on Detective Constable Hackett’s toes if you see him. He doesn’t like you.’

  ‘I’m devastated,’ I replied.

  ‘Keep in touch.’

  ‘Sure.’

  And that was that. After he’d rung off I stood holding the phone, wondering where to start. Back at the beginning was probably best. So once again I pointed my car towards Crown Point.

  I’d only seen half the neighbours and now was a good chance to get round to the rest. I went back to the house where the glamorous au pair lived, but this time there was no answer at all. Then I crossed over to the gates of an appealing little shack called Southfork. It was quite attractive if you fancied living inside a wedding cake. I walked up the drive and rang the bell. A woman came to the door. Her face said: ‘We don’t want any.’ I smiled my most ingenuous smile and explained who I was. Her expression changed. ‘Come in,’ she said, and I did. ‘Coffee?’ she asked. ‘I grind my own.’

  I just bet you do, I thought. ‘I never say no.’

  ‘Go in there,’ she said and indicated a large sitting room overlooking the back garden through patio doors. Everyone I was meeting lately seemed to have a patio except me. Maybe I hadn’t got my life right.

  Someone was moving about at the end of the garden, bending and straightening over a flower bed.

  I sat on an uncomfortable sofa upholstered in a flower-patterned, thickly embroidered tapestry material and watched whoever it was slowly trundle a wheelbarrow from where he was working to a compost heap.

  ‘Black or white?’ asked my hostess who introduced herself as Babs when she returned. She was a fine-looking forty something with straight blonde hair cut short into a bob.

  ‘White,’ I replied as she put a tray on to a low table, knelt beside it, and poured the coffee. She had a nice backside in a tight grey skirt. There was no panty line as the material tightened across her buttocks, and I wondered if she was wearing anything underneath.

  ‘Sugar?’

  ‘One, please.’

  She passed me a cup and saucer so fine that I could have broken it between my fingers like a sea shell. The coffee smelt good and I tasted it. It was good. ‘Excellent,’ I said.

  ‘Nothing like it,’ she said. ‘I’ve got one of those flash machines that does everything but drink the stuff. My husband bought it for my birthday.’

  ‘Nice thought.’

  She pulled a face. ‘He uses it more than I do.’ She took her own coffee and sat on a matching couch opposite me. Her skirt was short and she showed me a good length of suntanned thigh sans stockings.

  I didn’t mind looking at her legs, but I didn’t want to hear about how bad her marriage was, so I got straight down to business. ‘Did you know the Kellermans well?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘Sandra used to pop in regularly. We were good friends. The children were wonderful. Such handsome boys.’

  ‘It must have been quite a shock for you.’

  ‘I was terrified for months afterwards,’ she said. ‘We almost moved. But we couldn’t get a price for the house.’

  My heart began to bleed.

  ‘The people across the road did. I know how much they got. It was a scandal.’

  All over the carpet.

  ‘Did you see or hear anything that night?’ I asked.

  ‘No, I didn’t. But I was here. The first thing I knew was when Geoffrey Godbold came running over and told me.’

  ‘I spoke to him a few weeks back. His wife found the bodies,’ I said.

  Babs nodded.

  ‘But no one saw or heard a thing?’

  ‘Nothing. These houses are solidly built, and the gardens are extensive. You don’t buy a place like this to listen to the neighbours.’

  Not even when they’re being brutally murdered, I thought. I finished my coffee.

  She offered me another and I accepted. ‘Of course, the police were all over the place for weeks,’ she said.

  I bet the coffee pot was working overtime then, I thought. She looked the type to love having a burly young copper or two around the place. It occurred to me that I should stop making value judgements. ‘But you couldn’t help them?’

  ‘No.’ She looked sad when she said it. I knew I was right.

  ‘But maybe now, thinking back…’ I was fishing and coming up empty.

  ‘No, I’m sorry. And to think that whoever did it is still walking the streets. It makes me go quite cold.’ She shivered as if to show me just how cold she could get. I wondered what would warm her up.

  ‘And then the place was broken into,’ I said.

  ‘I know. It was awful.’

  ‘Did you see or hear anything when that happened?’

  ‘I’m always seeing and hearing things. My husband thinks I’m peculiar. We were going to get a dog. But the furniture…’ She didn’t finish the sentence and I made sympathetic noises.

  ‘But nothing in pa
rticular?’ I asked.

  ‘We don’t know exactly when it did get broken into. It was only when James came up to inspect the place that we found out.’

  ‘You know James Webb?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh, yes. David and Sandra had lots of parties. James and his wife always came over.’

  ‘What’s his wife like?’

  ‘Haven’t you met her?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I’m just an employee.’ I smiled shyly. I could tell she liked that because her skirt slid up another inch or two.

  ‘Well, between us,’ she said conspiratorially, ‘she’s a bit of a cow.’ I imagined Babs would recognise one.

  ‘Is that so?’ I said. I wasn’t really that interested but you never know when a bit of malicious gossip will help a case along.

  ‘Yes. I don’t think there was a lot of love lost between her and the rest of the family. But Jim, he’s different.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Such a nice man. He doted on the family. Especially the boys. His wife couldn’t, you know.’

  I nodded.

  ‘Well, couldn’t or wouldn’t,’ she went on. I love bitches when they start to let their back hair down.

  Just like you, Babs, I thought. The furniture, you know… ‘Do you have any children?’ I asked. She gave me a bit of an old-fashioned look. ‘No, as a matter of fact I don’t. You?’

  ‘A daughter.’

  ‘How old?’

  ‘Elevenish.’

  ‘You must be very proud.’

  ‘I am,’ I said. And that seemed to be an end to the conversation. ‘Well, I must get on,’ I said.

  ‘Do you have to go?’

  ‘I have other people to see.’

  ‘Of course.’ She looked disappointed.

  ‘Thanks for the coffee,’ I said, and put the cup on the table and stood up. She stood up too, and I saw more of her inner thigh as she did, and wished I could stay. But it was not to be. I shook her hand.

  ‘If you need anything else, please call back,’ she said. ‘I’m always here in the afternoon. Me and the gardener.’

  Lady Chatterley and the gamekeeper, I thought. ‘Really?’ I said.

  She picked up my thought, and smiled and shook her head. ‘You haven’t seen him,’ she said. ‘Or smelt him.’

  She showed me to the door. ‘Thanks again,’ I said. I walked down the drive and turned at the gate. She was still standing in the doorway. I waved. She waved back. I crossed the road. The name on the gatepost of the house opposite was Sierra Madre. No one was home.

  I walked back from the front door to the street and saw an old boy standing at the gates of Southfork. He was grey-haired and stooped, wearing old trousers, Wellington boots, a tweed jacket with leather patches on the elbows and a squashy old hat.

  ‘Are you the one asking about that house?’ he asked and looked past me in the direction of the Kellermans’.

  I nodded.

  ‘She told me,’ he said. ‘Mrs Conway.’

  ‘Babs.’

  He nodded. ‘I’m the gardener.’

  He didn’t smell so bad.

  ‘You’re a private detective?’ he said.

  I nodded again.

  ‘Like on the telly?’

  I shrugged.

  ‘You’ve been in there?’ he said and glanced over his shoulder.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘She said. You want to watch her. You’ll catch something if you’re not careful.’

  ‘I am careful,’ I said.

  ‘You’d be surprised the amount of young men call here.’

  Young. That was complimentary. ‘Would I?’

  ‘Yes, you bloody would. Insurance men. Repair men. That’s what she says. Bloody old tart! I see things.’

  ‘I bet you do.’

  ‘And know things.’

  ‘I’m sure,’ I said. I was getting tired of him by then.

  ‘I know things about that house too.’

  ‘What, the Kellermans’?’ I said. A bit more interested, but not much. You get crap like that all the time when you’re a copper. But I’ve learnt never to ignore it.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What kind of things?’

  ‘All sorts.’

  ‘You were here on the night of the murder?’

  ‘No,’ he said scornfully. ‘I don’t live here. I live in South Norwood. I was in the boozer.’

  ‘So what do you know?’

  ‘How much is it worth?’

  I shook my head and made as if to pass him by. He grabbed my arm. His hand was hard through the material of my coat. ‘I told you, I know things.’

  ‘Like what?’ I said. I was getting tired of his guessing games too.

  ‘It’s worth something.’ He took his hand away. ‘I’m not lying.’

  I realised there was only one way to find out what he was talking about. I took some notes out of my pocket and peeled off two tens and gave them to him. ‘Is that all?’ he said.

  ‘Tell me and we’ll both know.’

  ‘Some car’s been here regular since the murder, sitting outside the gates. The driver just looks at the house. I see her when I’m doing the front.’

  ‘Her?’

  ‘Yes. A girl in a mini-car. Blue.’

  ‘Dark blue?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Do you know the number?’ I asked.

  He shook his head, suddenly disconsolate. The supergrass had blown it. ‘There is something about it though,’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘There’s a sticker in the window.’

  ‘What kind of sticker?’ I asked. Windsurfers do it standing up, probably, I thought. That cuts down the possibilities.

  ‘An orange one.’

  ‘In the front window?’ I was suddenly interested.

  ‘Yes,’ he said.

  ‘A round one with black writing?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  Well, I’ll be damned, I thought. A disabled sticker. And who was disabled and never called back? Why, the elusive Miss Hooper, that’s who. Kellerman’s secretary. I smiled and so did he, suddenly cheerful as he smelled more cash. ‘How often is the car here?’ I asked.

  ‘Every few weeks.’

  ‘Have you told anyone else?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Not the police?’

  ‘She didn’t start coming till after the police had gone. I wouldn’t tell them nothing anyway. I don’t like the police.’

  ‘Who does?’ I asked.

  He didn’t reply.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said.

  ‘So it was worth money?’

  I nodded. More than I gave you, I thought. His face fell as I walked away. I stopped, took another tenner off the pile, turned and gave it to him ‘Have a drink on me,’ I said, and walked to my car.

  20

  By that time it was getting on and my hangover, which had receded slightly, was starting to bite again. I went back home and called Natalie Hooper, but the inevitable answerphone was on. It was obvious I’d have to go and see her in person. I looked up her address in my notebook. Epsom. I was in no mood to face the rush hour traffic out of town, and wanted to be fresh, so I decided to leave it until the morning. I made some cheese on toast and washed it down with a bottle of Rolling Rock and thought about David Kellerman’s elusive and mysterious secretary.

  I watched TV for a bit, but couldn’t concentrate, and went to bed to rest my weary head.

  I woke up early, feeling a great deal better than I had the previous day. I fed Cat and made myself a bacon sandwich for breakfast. I ate it watching a Deputy Dawg cartoon on TV. By ten-thirty I’d washed up and tidied the flat, and I decided to give Juanita O’Caine a call before I went out. Don’t ask me why. Maybe I had a spiritual death wish. I looked up the number of the publisher she worked for in the book. I got through to the switchboard and asked for her extension. It rang three times before it was picked up.

  ‘Hello,’ said a woman’s sharp voice. It was h
er. Even after such a brief relationship I would have recognised it anywhere. ‘Juanita?’ I said anyway. With a query at the end. Like you do.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘It’s Nick Sharman.’

  ‘Who?’ She knew.

  ‘We met at Wanda’s funeral.’

  ‘Oh yes, I remember. Didn’t we… ?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Was it good for you?’

  ‘Yes. You?’

  ‘Adequate.’ Fine. I set them up, she knocked them down. ‘What do you want?’ she asked.

  She got straight to the point. I like that in a woman. To tell the truth, I didn’t know what I wanted. I didn’t say so. I like people to think I’m a positive kind of fellow. ‘I thought we might get together.’ It sounded pretty lame.

  ‘Why ever would we want to do that?’ she asked. It must have sounded pretty lame to her too.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Old time’s sake, maybe.’

  She laughed that throaty laugh of hers that sounded like she’d smoked too much, and drunk too much whisky, for fifty years, although she looked like she was barely out of her teens. It turned me on, even though I didn’t really like her. Maybe that was why. Women I don’t like often turn me on more than those I do. Always, come to think about it.

  ‘There’s always that,’ she said.

  ‘So?’

  ‘All right, Nick. You can take me out to dinner. Somewhere very exclusive.’

  ‘And expensive?’

  ‘Naturally.’

  ‘I’d better put my suit into the cleaners.’

  ‘Good idea.’

  ‘How’s your boyfriend, by the way?’

  ‘What boyfriend?’

  ‘The one you live with.’

  ‘I live alone. Always have. Probably always will. But I never invite anyone there until we’ve had at least one date. So I always tell strange men that I have a live-in lover.’

  ‘Very wise,’ I said.

  ‘It saves giving offence.’

  ‘And you wouldn’t want to do that, would you?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘So when’s ours?’ I asked.

  ‘Our what?’

  ‘First date.’

  ‘Tonight?’ she said.

  ‘You move fast.’

  ‘Not as fast as you, Nick, as I remember.’ She laughed again. ‘Will you pick me up?’