by Mark Timlin
Judith wrinkled her nose. ‘I think it’s yucky.’
‘If you say so,’ I replied, and wondered if Jim would mind if I smoked. I guessed he would, having given up and all.
Webb came back with a can of Coke, a can of Heineken and two glasses on a tray. He put it on the coffee table. One glass was half full of ice. He poured out the drinks and gave them to us.
‘Nothing for you?’ I asked.
‘I just had some tea,’ he said.
Interesting conversation so far, I thought. ‘Jim,’ I said, ‘I’ve got kind of a problem.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Someone nearly killed us today. Me and my daughter. That was the slight contretemps I told you about.’
He went white, and looked at Judith and then back at me.
‘What?’ he said. ‘Who?’
‘That’s what I’d like to ask you. You see, Jim, every time I get involved with you, bad things happen. You know what I mean?’
He didn’t say or do anything in reply.
‘So, Jim, who did you tell that I was back on the case?’
He looked bewildered. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Sure you do. In fact, only you do know.’
‘Well, I…’
‘Relax,’ I said. ‘Let’s go right back to the beginning. You never did tell me who told you about me in the first place.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The first day you came to my office, you said I was well known. Who put you on to me?’
‘A bloke I know.’
‘What bloke?’
‘His name’s Keogan. Tony Keogan.’
‘Doesn’t mean a thing to me. Who is he?’
‘He did some work for David.’
‘What kind of work?’ It was like pulling teeth.
‘All sorts. Mostly legal.’
‘He’s a solicitor or something?’
‘No. He studied, but he didn’t pass his finals.’
‘So what exactly does he do?’
‘He’s an enquiry agent.’
‘A detective?’
‘Yes.’
‘And he put you on to me. And you were passing out grands. Does he have a private income?’
‘No. He said it wasn’t his line of work.’
‘I bet.’
‘It’s true.’
‘What does he look like?’ I asked.
‘Tall. Blond. Losing his hair.’ He touched his own thinning scalp self-consciously. ‘He dresses smart. Always suits, overcoats, collar and tie. You know what I mean?’
I nodded. I did. I also knew he wasn’t either of the men in the Volvo. ‘So does he have an office?’ I asked.
‘Sure.’
‘Where?’
‘Penge.’
‘Penge. Great,’ I said. ‘That was where the car was stolen from that followed me a couple of weeks back. The one that…’ Then I stopped. I didn’t want to mention Stan McKilkenney’s murder in front of Judith. She might be tough, but I didn’t think she was quite ready for that. ‘You know the one I mean,’ I said. He nodded.
‘So let’s go visit Mr Keogan,’ I said.
‘What, now?’
‘Time’s a’wasting. You haven’t got anything better to do, have you?’
He shook his head.
‘We’ll take my car,’ I said.
So we did. Penge is just a few minutes from Crystal Palace.
Keogan’s office was over a betting shop and was even seedier than mine, if that’s possible. It was all locked up. I squinted through the half glass door with ‘Anthony Keogan – Enquiry Agent’ painted on it in peeling letters. There was a pile of mail on the floor.
‘Seems like our bird has flown.’
‘But I only spoke to him the other day,’ said Webb.
‘When?’
‘Last Friday.’
‘Where?’
‘We had lunch.’
‘How cosy. Whose idea was it?’
‘His.’
‘And I suppose you talked about the case?’
‘Yes. Did I do wrong?’
‘Only if you told him about the old boy I spoke to.’
He looked shamefaced.
‘You did, didn’t you?’ I asked.
He nodded.
‘Christ, Jim,’ I said, ‘you shouldn’t have done that.’ But it was done, and too late to cry over spilt milk.
‘Do you know where he lives?’
He shrugged. ‘Local. But I don’t know the address.’
‘Do you have his home phone number?’
‘No, just his office. We’re not friends. I only really knew him through David.’
‘But well enough to have lunch.’
He nodded.
‘Let’s look in the phone book,’ I said. We went outside and found a telephone box with a local directory in one piece. There were just a few Keogans listed. Only one with the initial ‘A’. But that was the office we’d just visited. There were none with a ‘T’. I took down the few that there were and went back to Webb’s house and tried them all. No luck. No one knew a Tony Keogan.
I tried Natalie Hooper’s number again, just on the off chance. Still the unobtainable signal. I had to get over there. And quick.
But first I had to make a decision about what to do with Judith.
As usual I made the wrong one.
28
I quickly called Fiona’s number again. Luckily she was back. ‘I need a favour,’ I said.
‘What?’
‘Somewhere to stay.’
‘Why?’ The inevitable question.
‘Long story. Can we come over and I’ll tell you?’
‘Are you in trouble again?’
‘Could be.’
‘You and Judith?’
‘That’s right.’
‘What is it this time?’
‘Not on the phone. Can we come over or not?’
‘I suppose so.’ I’d had warmer invitations.
We left Webb’s place and drove to The Oval. I parked the Granada at the back of the flats, out of the way, and we went up. Fiona came to the door looking like she’d lost her chance of stardom and found a dead dog’s head in the fridge. It was that bad, believe me. We all went upstairs to the living room.
‘Can I use the phone?’ I asked.
‘Tell me what’s happened first,’ said Fiona.
‘Someone nearly killed us this morning,’ I said. ‘Now can I use the phone or do I have to go down twenty-seven flights of stairs to find a call box that’s working?’
‘Use the damn phone then!’
Judith was looking from one of us to the other like a spectator at a tennis match. ‘Can you look after Judith?’ I said.
‘Private call, is it?’ said Fiona sarcastically.
‘Not really. But I think she could use some care.’
‘You’re her father.’
‘Fiona, please.’
‘OK,’ she said, then to Judith: ‘Come down to the kitchen and keep me company. We’ll see if we can find you a drink.’
I winked at Judith as they went out. She didn’t wink back. Fiona hadn’t mentioned the wound on my head. She was the first person who hadn’t.
I sat down in the armchair and pulled the phone over. I phoned Robber. He was in as usual. ‘Yes?’ he said when he answered. I recognised his voice.
‘Sharman,’ I said.
He didn’t bother to say hello. ‘Were you in Beulah Hill this morning?’ he demanded.
‘You heard,’ I said.
‘I couldn’t avoid it. Shots fired at a police vehicle. People could have been killed.’
‘You amaze me. One of the shots was fired at my car. If your blokes hadn’t come along, the next would have been at me. Or my daughter.’
He was silent. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked finally.
‘So kind of you to ask. Yes, we are. But the car’s fucked. Did anyone else get hurt?’
‘No. No casualties. But it was
a damn close thing. Did you know them?’
‘No. But I’d know them again.’ I described them to Robber. I knew he’d already have dozens of descriptions, but I’d been closest to them, and every bit helps.
‘What was it all about?’ he asked.
‘I’ll give you three guesses.’
‘The Kellermans?’
‘I’m not doing anything else. And shotguns seem to figure large in their MO.’ I didn’t tell him what the big bloke had said about Natalie. That could come later. If at all. ‘So what did happen after the police arrived?’ I asked.
‘Your mates took a couple of shots at the car. They blew out one of the front tyres. Then they scarpered.’
‘Have you found the Volvo?’
‘It turned up in Crystal Palace half an hour later.’
‘So soon?’
‘Someone set it on fire.’
‘Empty, I suppose?’
‘What do you think?’
‘Fine. Listen, Mr Robber, when you were originally conducting the Kellerman enquiry, did you speak to someone called Tony Keogan? He calls himself an enquiry agent. He’s got an office in Penge.’
‘Rings a bell,’ said Robber. ‘Got blond hair? Looks like a bloody undertaker?’
‘That sounds like him. I think he’s involved.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘He put Webb on to me in the first place. Turned down the job himself. Webb’s been keeping him up to date with what’s been happening. Now this. By his description, he certainly wasn’t there this morning. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t part of it. Oh, and his office is all closed up with no sign of recent occupation.’
‘I told you that bugger Webb was dirty.’
‘No, I don’t think so. I really think he thought that Keogan was trying to help. Have you got a home address for him?’
‘It’ll be on the computer.’
‘Dig it out and give him a spin.’
‘Have you got any proof?’
‘No. But when did the Met need proof to put the frighteners on a citizen?’
‘Don’t be cheeky. I’ll check him out. But if he is, that means we’re looking at at least three targets. Christ, when is this going to end?’
I didn’t answer. I didn’t know. But I did know that we were looking at a load more grief before it did.
‘What are you going to do?’ asked Robber, after a moment.
‘I’ve got a few leads to follow up.’
‘Like what?’
‘I never divulge professional secrets.’
‘Sharman!’ There was a definite note of warning in his voice.
‘Trust me.’
‘Are you at home?’
‘No.’
‘Where?’
‘Another professional secret, I’m afraid.’
‘I want to see you. Today. Now.’ The warning was more pronounced. More like the Robber I knew.
‘I’ll be in touch,’ I said. ‘Tony Keogan. Check him out.’ And I hung up.
29
I went and found Fiona and Judith in the kitchen downstairs. They were both sitting at the table. Fiona was drinking bottled Steinlager from the neck. Judith had orange juice.
I wasn’t offered anything. Fiona looked at me as if I was a plague carrier. Which I suppose I was, in a way.
It didn’t bother me. I wasn’t staying. ‘I’ve got to go out,’ I said.
‘Really?’ said Fiona. In that icy way that some women have when they’re really pissed off with you, and just deciding where to put the blade.
‘Really,’ I replied. ‘Can Judith stay with you?’
‘Of course she can.’ She hesitated. ‘You’re back on that case, aren’t you?’
I nodded.
‘Why? After all you said.’
‘Who knows?’
‘Is that all you can say?’
I nodded again. It was that desperate moment when all bets are off. When everything said in the past – every promise, every vow – becomes worthless. It was over. I knew that nothing could ever be the same between us again. It felt like I’d been hit in the ribs again. But harder.
‘Then you’d better go.’ She didn’t say any more because Judith was there. And thank God for that. Things were bad enough as it was.
I said goodbye, but only Judith acknowledged me. Then I left and drove to Epsom again.
The street full of bungalows was as quiet as the last time I’d been there. I drove to the last house in the row. All the curtains were drawn, and the house looked deserted, but the Mini was still parked outside the garage. The whole thing stunk on ice.
I didn’t stop. Just drove past, and right at the end on to a cross street and parked in a turnaround at the end. Construction hadn’t reached that far, but foundations were marked out in the mud. I walked back to Natalie’s front gate and up to the front door. I rang the bell. No answer. Again I rang. Again no answer.
I took the path that went round to the back of the house. The kitchen door was locked, and the blinds were down over the glass of the door and the kitchen window. I kept going. The curtains were drawn as well over the big sitting room window that looked out over the bare earth of the back garden. I went back to the kitchen door. Being the last house, next to the deserted building site, it wasn’t overlooked. I picked up a half brick that formed part of the decoration of the path, protected my eyes with one hand and slammed the brick into the glass half of the door with the other. The glass broke with a crash. I stood still for a minute or two, waiting and listening in case anyone raised the alarm. Nothing.
I rubbed the brick around the edge of the frame to dislodge any loose pieces of glass and reached in. The key was in the lock. I turned it, and then the handle on the outside, and I was in.
The house was dark and silent inside. I shut the door and let up the shade to get some illumination. The place had been turned over. Not carefully. The kitchen had been trashed. I crunched across broken glass and china. The living room had been done too. The phone had been ripped out of the wall, answerphone, junction box and all. The drawers from the cabinet had been emptied and their contents thrown anywhere. All the books had been pulled off the shelves. The usual. I’d seen it before.
I called out her name. My voice echoed through the silence. No answer. I went into the hall. I saw that one of the doors had been kicked in. It led into the bathroom. Natalie was inside. In her wheelchair. Looking at the wall. Dead. She’d slashed one wrist. It had been enough. The single-sided razor blade was still in her other hand. Blood had soaked the carpet around one wheel of the chair in an almost perfect circle. It was brown and crusted. I touched her face. It was like ice.
‘Oh, baby, I’m sorry,’ I said.
I wondered what she’d told them. Not as much as they wanted to know, I’d bet. Otherwise they wouldn’t have come after me and Judith that morning.
She must have done this whilst they were still in the house or else I’d’ve had to kick the bathroom door down myself. I closed her eyes. Her eyelids were cold and stiff under my fingers. I went and looked at the front door. The bolts and chain were off. There was no sign of a forced entry. She must have known whoever came to the door. Someone from her past. I’d bet my life it was Keogan. Natalie had. I was looking forward more and more to meeting him.
I went back to the kitchen and let myself out through the back door. I smeared my fingers on the handle as I went and threw the brick on to the building site next door.
I didn’t notify anyone. There was nothing anyone could do for her. She was going to get ripe over the next few days. Maybe that would alert someone. Or someone would see the back door smashed. She must have visitors sometimes. Apart from me and whoever had made her kill herself.
I wondered what the police would make of it. I couldn’t let that be a problem. Someone else was going to have to clean up the mess I’d made. It wouldn’t be the first time, and I suspected it wouldn’t be the last.
You’re right. I behaved like a bastard, leaving her l
ike that. But I wanted to finish it on my own. Bringing in the law then would only muddy the water. They wouldn’t care how brave she’d been. I did. And somewhere out in the world people were going to find out just how much.
I walked briskly back down the road. I hoped no one was watching. I got to the car and sat back and breathed deeply. Jesus Christ. Another fuck-up in my brilliant career.
I sat there, and chewed on my bottom lip and tried to figure out what exactly had happened. How had they got to Natalie? How come they were always just one step behind me? I hadn’t been followed I was sure. And I hadn’t told anyone I’d been to see Natalie Hooper. If they’d trailed me to Epsom they would have trailed me to East Grinstead. Perhaps they had. But I doubted it. I’d been there most of the day, and it would have been the perfect place to take me out of the game. Quiet, deserted, with enough real estate to lose a dozen bodies.
Anyway, I’d been keeping a careful eye out. There was only one way – the old boy who’d told me. They must have got to him. I needed to go to the cottage again, but I needed to know how whoever it was had got to Natalie more.
So I pointed the nose of the car once more to the close where the Kellermans had been so brutally murdered. I drove right up to the front door of Southfork, got out of the car and rang the bell. Mrs Conway, Babs, answered.
‘Hello,’ she said. ‘You again? How are you?’
‘Fine,’ I replied. ‘Your gardener – is he about?’
‘No. He didn’t come in today.’
‘Were you expecting him?’
‘Yes. There’s a lot of work to be done on the turf at the back.’
I’d been right. Jesus, not another body. I decided we’d talk landscape gardening another time. ‘Have you tried him on the phone?’
‘He’s not on the phone. Who’d ring him?’
‘Do you have his address?’
‘Yes. But…’
‘Can I have it?’ I interrupted.
‘I can’t give it to you. I don’t know you.’
Yes, I thought. But I bet we could have had a fuck the other afternoon. ‘Babs,’ I said, ‘believe me, I mean him no harm. But there are people around who might. He told me something the other day. Something that might have a bearing on the Kellerman murders. I think these people might already have got to him. I just want to go and see if he’s all right.’
