A Confusion of Murders: There's murder on his mind...

by Marina Johnson

  But the big issue is how would they get away with substituting me for a dead baby? People would know I was dead. I pull out my death certificate and look at it again; the address is London, so it was before we moved to Frogham. Mum and Dad always told the story of how Dad got his job in Hendersons and we moved to Frogham when I was a baby. Now I come to think of it they never exactly said how old I was when we moved, and I never asked, it didn’t seem important.

  They had no other family, no brothers or sisters, so they just left their life in London and started a completely new life here.

  Perhaps that’s a lie too. Maybe I do have aunts and uncles, but they had to be deleted from their lives because they would have known I was dead.

  My eyes feel gritty and my shoulders are aching from hunching over the laptop. I look at the clock and it’s nearly a quarter to three. I need to go to bed, I move my feet and wake a snoring Sprocket who is not impressed. I drag myself up the stairs and collapse into bed. I’m so tired, I could sleep for a week.

  I wake with a start.

  The room is dark, and I can’t see the clock so have no idea what time it is. The dream woke me; I was dreaming about blood. I can’t remember the detail; it’s already fading, but I know what the dream refers to. A memory has come back to me that meant nothing at the time but now makes me wonder.

  I was eighteen and working as a junior clerk in Jacksons, a large insurance company. The blood transfusion service was touting for people to give blood and Jacksons had given a room over to them for the day and were giving people the opportunity to give blood during work time. Of course, because it was a bit of time off with a free cup of tea and a biscuit everyone did it. It was surprising how many big beefy men came over all peculiar at the sight of their own blood.

  When I got home from work I was ridiculously pleased with myself and started to tell Mum all about it. She was mashing potatoes while I laid the table for dinner and she reacted in an odd way. She got quite agitated and told me I shouldn’t have done it; I was too young and what were they doing encouraging youngsters to give blood when they were still growing. She wouldn’t shut up about it until I promised her that I wouldn’t give anymore.

  At the time I thought it was just her being over protective again but was there more to it than that? I never received my blood donor card through the post and now I wonder if Mum made sure I never got it. Was she afraid I’d somehow discover that she wasn’t my mother? To live with a lie all your life – were Mum and Dad capable of that? I can’t believe they were.

  I snuggle back down in bed and wake for sleep to take me.

  I’m going to visit Dad tomorrow.

  And I’m going to ask him who I really am.

  Chapter 12

  ‘I want to go home. Can you take me home?’ Dad has his coat on, a bulging holdall in his hand.

  Sister Kathy is hovering behind him trying to catch my eye. She made a beeline for me as soon as I was buzzed in, but Dad beat her to it.

  I look at her, I look at Dad, uncertain what to do.

  ‘Louise! I tried to ring you, but you wouldn’t answer. I’m ready to go home NOW.’

  ‘There’s paperwork to complete Tom so why don’t you have a nice cup of tea first?’ Sister Kathy puts her hand on Dad’s arm, but he shakes it off impatiently.

  ‘I don’t want a cup of tea. I WANT to go home. My mother’s waiting for me.’

  ‘Well I’m afraid there are formalities, so you’ll have to be patient.’

  Dad hesitates so I grab him by the arm and steer him round to the lounge.

  ‘Come on Dad, I could do with a drink before we go.’ He doesn’t quite dig his heels into the carpet, but he resists all the way there and it’s like pushing a statue.

  The sofa is free so before he can argue I yank his coat and holdall off him and push him down into the seat. I sit down next to him.

  ‘So, Dad, what’s been happening? Why the rush to go home?’

  ‘I need to get home, my mother’s waiting.’

  ‘She won’t mind if you’re a few minutes late.’

  He shakes his head, bewildered.

  ‘There’s reason I need to be there, but I can’t remember what it is.’

  ‘That’s okay. I forget things all the time.’

  ‘You’re humouring me.’ He stares straight at me, the old Dad back for a moment. ‘I can’t remember. I wish I could remember, it’s all mixed up.’

  ‘Perhaps I can help you remember.’ I mouth ‘thanks’ as Kathy puts two teas on the table. ‘Do you want me to try and help you?’

  He shrugs.

  ‘Okay, do you know where you are?’

  ‘I’m in hotel, I think. I’m not completely sure. Betty’s coming but she’s taking so long to get here. I think maybe they won’t let her go.’ He looks near to tears.

  ‘Who won’t let her go Dad?’

  He’s silent for a moment, a frown on his face as he tries to remember. ‘I don’t know!’ he almost wails, ‘But I know I should have looked after her better, took better care of her.’ He gulps. ‘It’s all my fault. Everything’s my fault.’

  I put my hand on his shoulder. ‘What’s your fault, Dad?’

  ‘She wasn’t well you know, wasn’t her fault. She was only trying to help. I shouldn’t have gone to work, should have stayed at home with her.’ Dad puts his head in his hands. ‘And it was too late, I left it too late. We could have made it right, but it was too late.’ He takes a juddering breath then starts to cry in great choking sobs. I can’t bear it, I’ve never seen him like this before.

  I throw my arms around him and hold him tight. Over his shoulder Knitting Lady is watching from her armchair, needles suspended mid-knit. She looks very well for someone who’s dead.

  The sobs gradually get quieter and then he pushes my arms away and looks at me.

  ‘Who are you? Where’s my daughter? Where’s Louise?’

  ‘I’m your daughter, Dad. I’m Louise.’

  ‘No you’re not.’ He gets up out of the chair and stands in front of me, studying my face.

  ‘I don’t know who you are, but you’re not Louise.’

  I’ve heard Dad say this many times now, but it still hurts.

  He picks his coat up and puts it on and carefully buttons it up. ‘My daughter’s coming to get me, she’s taking me home.’ He picks up the holdall. ‘And if you don’t mind me saying I think you’ve got a cheek pretending to be someone you’re not. I’m not stupid you know.’

  He straightens his shoulders and puts his head up and walks over to Kathy. He talks to her and points at me and shakes his head. I can’t hear what she says but it seems to placate him, and he trundles off in the direction of his room.

  ‘We’ll look after him my love.’ Knitting Lady points at Dad with a needle. ‘No need to worry about him, we’ll take care of him.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I’m knitting him a scarf you know.’ She holds up a greyish roll of knitting that looks as if it’s been dragged around the floor. ‘Nearly finished,’ she says, clamping her tongue between her toothless gums. ‘Just a few more rows.’ She frowns as she concentrates on putting one needle through a loop and the clack of the needles starts again.

  I hear a noise behind me and look up to see Kathy settling herself in the chair Dad’s just left.

  ‘He’s very confused.’

  ‘He wants to go home,’ I say flatly.

  ‘They all want to go home,’ she says. ‘Although most of them can’t remember where home is.’

  ‘Can he come home?’

  ‘No. He can’t leave the unit. Maybe when we’ve found out what’s wrong with him you could take him out for a few hours but for now it would do more harm than good.’

  ‘He’s a prisoner.’

  ‘Well...’

  ‘He is. He’s a prisoner and may never go home and it’s because of me. I should have left him alone in the home he loved. He was happy there. It’s all my fault.’

  ‘Listen.’ Ka
thy puts her hand on my arm. ‘Listen to me.’

  Nothing she says is going to make me feel any better.

  ‘You had no choice, he wasn’t safe to be at home.’

  ‘I could have looked after him, moved in with him.’

  ‘You’d have to give up your job.’

  ‘I could do that,’ I say, ‘my job’s not that great.’

  ‘Could you stay up all night, every night and watch him to make sure he doesn’t wander out into the street? Watch him the whole time to make sure he doesn’t harm himself? Climb out of the window? Fall down the stairs?’

  I look at her.

  ‘And that’s now,’ she says. ‘If he gets worse what then? He’s not safe to be at home, he needs twenty-four-hour care with someone watching him the whole time. Why do you think we have cameras in the bedrooms? He’s one of the lucky ones.’ She smiles at my look of disbelief. ‘Trust me, he is. He’s got a family that love and care about him and want the best for him. Do you realise how many old people go through this on their own? Some poor souls have no one and by the time they get to us they’ve usually been picked up wandering the streets, terrified and alone. Or worse, they don’t get to us because they’ve died, alone and afraid.’

  ‘That’s awful.’

  ‘It is.’ She pats my hand. ‘So don’t ever think that your Dad being in here is the worst thing that can happen because it could be so much worse. And I know it’s horrible but at least he’s had a good life, he’s nearly eighty and he’s been fit and healthy until now, so you have to be grateful for that.’

  ‘He has, fit as a fiddle.’

  ‘We had a gentleman in here last year, early onset dementia which progressed rapidly. He was fifty-one. He didn’t recognise his wife or his teenage sons. Investment banker. Tragic. Dementia doesn’t discriminate. I’m not belittling what’s happening to your Dad, but it could be worse.’

  She gets up from the chair. ‘Anyway, you take care of yourself. I best get on.’

  When she’s gone I sit for a while pondering her words. She’s right, it could be so much worse for Dad; I must keep telling myself that. I pick up my handbag and wander round to Dad’s room.

  Dad’s put himself to bed and is fast asleep, his clothes are in a heap on the floor and he’s put his pyjamas on. I stand over him and he looks so peaceful, as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. I may as well go; I. so much for asking him who I really am, he’s so confused there’s not much point. I’ll ask him next time. If he’s not even worse.

  Also you feel a bit relieved that you can leave now, pipes up a little voice in my head.

  I say goodbye to Kathy on my way out and as I come out of the Blossom Unit doors I realise my phone’s ringing. I pull it out of my handbag.

  ‘Hi Louise, it’s Gareth.’

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘Are you okay?’

  No, I’m not. Definitely not. ‘Yes, I’m fine. How are you?’

  ‘I’m good thanks. Look, I’ve got bad news, but I wanted to tell you before you hear it anywhere else .’

  ‘Oh.’ I know what he’s going to say. Can this day get any worse?

  ‘Yes. Um. Okay. That call I took last night, it was about the case. They found another body.’ He pauses, ‘I’m really sorry but it’s Glenda. A farmer found her in one of his fields last night when he was checking his sheep. Some attempt had been made to bury her, but it looks like a fox had started to dig her up.’

  I think I’m going to be sick and I stand in the middle of the car park with my hand over my mouth. I must have made a retching sound as Gareth is gabbling in my ear.

  ‘Shit. Sorry I shouldn’t have told you that, you didn’t need to know. I’m so, so sorry, I know she was your friend. I’m such an idiot.’

  I take deep gulps of air and feel the colour return to my face. I wipe my eyes and my fingers come away wet. I didn’t know I was crying. I don’t know anything anymore.

  ‘It’s okay. It’s not your fault. She wasn’t even my friend, I only met her once. I didn’t even like her for God’s sake, but she shouldn’t be dead. She didn’t deserve to die.’

  ‘She didn’t, and we will get him. We’re pulling out all the stops.’

  I bet he says that all the time; it can’t be easy, his job.

  ‘Louise,’ Gareth says, sounding concerned. ‘I’m hoping to get away by seven, will you be in tonight? Shall I come round?’

  He must be exhausted, he’s been there since last night. The last thing he needs is to come round and put up with me when he really just wants to go home and sleep. It would be really selfish of me to take him up on his offer.

  ‘Yes, I’ll be in,’ I say. ‘Come over. I’ll cook us something.’

  I walk up the street with Sprocket bounding along beside me. I should go to Linda’s and tell her about Glenda before she hears it on the news. I’ll go after I’ve given Sprocket a walk. Delaying it, that’s what I’m doing.

  We reach the Rise and I see the familiar figures of Linda and Henry standing in the field, so I really can’t put it off. Linda has her phone clamped to her ear, deep in conversation.

  I walk up behind here and wait for her to finish. She doesn’t realise I’m there until Henry barks at us and runs over.

  ‘Oh! You made me jump. Didn’t realise you were there.’ Her cheeks are flushed. ‘I won’t be a minute.’ She turns her back to me and drops her voice, so I can’t hear what she’s saying apart from the odd giggle. Must be a man.

  ‘Sorry about that.’ She tucks her phone in her coat pocket.

  ‘No need to be sorry, you didn’t know I was there. You didn’t need to hang up.’

  ‘Oh, I was finished anyway.’ She’s definitely blushing now.

  We amble along, past the fading police tape swinging in the breeze. I have to tell her about Glenda. I don’t want to.

  ‘So,’ I say, ‘who was it?’

  ‘Who was who?’ She seems flustered and a little worm of suspicion rears its head and waves at me.

  ‘On the phone, who was it?’

  ‘Oh, no one important.’ She waves her hand. ‘Just a friend.’

  I nod. ‘Friend got a name?’

  ‘Oh, no one you know.’ Her face is scarlet.

  I stop, and she stops too, and I turn to face her. I look at her straight on, but she won’t meet my eyes.

  ‘It was Nick wasn’t it?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Nick. As in. Nick. My brother.’

  ‘Yes, it was.’

  ‘So why lie?’

  ‘I don’t know. Just feel a bit awkward that’s all. It’s not like we’ve been on a date or anything. Just chatting.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake Linda, we’re friends. If you want to go out with my brother that’s fine – just don’t expect too much from him, will you? You know he doesn’t do commitment.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Just promise me that if it all goes tits up you won’t fall out with me. He’s my brother and I love him dearly but he’s a total shit when it comes to women.’

  ‘Course I won’t.’ I can tell she doesn’t believe me, like all the other women he gets tangled up with who think they can change him.

  Linda smiles and links her arm through mine. ‘So come on, tell me how the date went last night.’

  ‘Hmm. Don’t know that I will seeing as you’re keeping secrets.’ I laugh at her crestfallen face. ‘No, it was great. He’s lovely, funny and so easy to get on with. We went to a cute little pub out in the country, all beams and oak floors. Was lovely.’

  Linda raises her eyebrows. ‘You sound smitten, are you seeing him again? Did you invite him in for coffee?’ She asks meaningfully.

  ‘I did. But he never came in because he got a phone call and had to go to work, so that scuppered that. He’s coming round tonight after work though. I said I’d cook for him.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah, I know. Got a bit carried away, forgot I couldn’t cook. Thought I’d do my signature dish of burnt fish fingers
and beans.’

  Linda laughs. ‘You’re not that bad.’

  We both know I am.

  ‘He must be keen, though, if he’s coming round.’

  Hope so. Now I must spoil everything and tell her about Glenda.

  ‘So. The reason he got called away for work. . .’I let my voice trail off.

  Linda looks at me and realisation dawns.

  ‘They found a body in a field. It’s Glenda.’ I say it quickly to get it over with although I leave out the bit about the foxes.

  She shakes her head and looks at the ground and we walk along in silence for a while.

  ‘Poor Glenda. I can’t believe it. Things like this don’t happen in Frogham.’

  They never used to, but they do now.

  ‘Do they know how she died? How long she’s been dead?’

  ‘I don’t know any details. It’ll be on the news later, so I don’t know whether they’ll have more details by then.’

  ‘It’s just so awful. I just hope she didn’t suffer.’ She shudders, ‘Poor, poor Glenda.’

  We amble along in silence neither of us knowing what to say. There is nothing we can say that’ll change the fact that Glenda’s dead.

  He could be here now, the Frogham Throttler. Might be marking one of us out as the next victim. I look around the field at the Sunday afternoon dog walkers and joggers. A youth with a man bun trots past and I look at him with suspicion. The sun goes behind a cloud for a moment and a shiver runs up my spine.

  I turn to Linda. ‘Shall we go back to yours? You can give me a fool proof recipe for tonight.’

  ‘Good idea,’ says Linda.

  I think she’s as eager as me to get home.

  He could be watching us right now.

  Oven on, lasagne in, timer set.

  With Linda’s written instructions I’ve cooked the mince, layered the pasta sheets and sauce, and sprinkled with cheese. It was quite easy really, don’t know why I haven’t done lasagne before. What can possibly go wrong?