by John Elliott
This demand on his behalf seemed to jolt Augustin out of his general torpor for he whispered animatedly in Bernard’s ear.
‘All in good time, Mr Simkiss,’ Jerzy said evenly. ‘We’re still well within PACE boundaries. Mr Cox, I’d like you to make anything you want to say available to the record.’
His brief flurry of emotion spilled, Augustin lapsed back into his feigned or genuine no-one routine. Half an hour later he was returned to the some-place of his cell
‘This is a mockery. It’s soul destroying.’ Hamish banged his fist on the corridor wall.
‘Patience. He’s listening and sooner or later he’ll want to correct us where he knows we’ve got it wrong. What did you make of his reaction to his solicitor’s request?’ Jerzy, it appeared, far from being discouraged was upbeat about their chances.
‘Yeah, he seemed angry. I don’t know over what.’
‘He wants to be here. At some level he’s enjoying our undivided attention. I believe he was genuinely upset that he might be free to go. We’ve got him attached on a long line. The tide and the current are in our favour. Remember, most people want and need to tell. Only professionals stick it out to the end if they can’t get a deal. Augustin is pure amateur.’
Jerzy’s prognosis looked as if it might be on the right track when after lunch the custody sergeant called through to say, ‘Cox wants to see you.’
Checking through the peephole to see everything was kosher, the sergeant unlocked the cell door and remained in the threshold while Jerzy entered. ‘How can I help, Mr Cox? You asked to see me.’
Augustin nodded, hunched on his narrow bed. ‘Could we talk alone off the record?’
‘I’m afraid that’s not possible. Attractive though it might be. For your own interests the sergeant needs to stay where he is. Everything is on the record. You don’t mind, by the way, me calling you Mr Cox? No-one takes longer to get accustomed to.’
‘You have a lot of rules and regulations.’
‘Safeguards.’
‘The younger bloke who brought me here. Was with you this morning.’
‘DC Ogden. Yes what about him?’
‘Was he laughing? Laughing about my condition?’
‘No. He handles things professionally.’
A sad smile greeted this statement. ‘No-one isn’t a professional case. No-one is no-one.’
Jerzy, feeling his contact, however slight, was in danger of slipping away again, said, ‘Is there anything I can do to help? Food? Tea?’
‘Write. I’ll write. I won’t talk.’
‘Okay. I’ll have pen and paper brought. We’ll have to see it and it could be used in evidence. Do you understand?’
There was no reply. Jerzy, satisfied, instructed the sergeant and withdrew. They had waited for a response thus far so a tad more waiting had always been on the cards. Over two hours later, again as requested, he returned to the cell. Its occupant handed him several sheets of paper covered in large writing and dotted with heavily underlined capital letters accentuated by exclamation marks. ‘Thank you. I’ll see you once I’ve read it.’ There was no response. ‘Thirty minute watch,’ Jerzy said when the door was locked. ‘There could be suicide risk.’
TESTAMENT OF NO-ONE
Once when I was I a FUNNY thing happened. Someone said they saw me where I wasn’t. No he was with me said Lucy. She is always RIGHT and a rock of certainty. Well I could have sworn they kept on going.
It was in a pub in Hayes. I don’t usually go to them or there. A FUNNY thing made me go. I could have been looking in a MIRROR!! except I wasn’t cos he (I called him he then) spoke DIFFERENT! He was down on LUCK!!! from mother’s nation. UNUSED to drinks I agreed to help him. He could stay with me. He COULD (he was already AC) be Augustin Cox and get work and STAY in the country. It was a noble and humanitarian FUNNY! thing to do when life is tough and only BEDFONT (that’s a joke) is EASY!!
We laughed (I called us WE then). Lucy didn’t. She WORRIED! He wanted to do a HORRIBLE thing to her. I said don’t worry Luce he WON’T come here again. BUT he did and HOME!! was not home anymore the way I think I liked it. LIVED!!! in is what I MEAN. Tidy TIDY put away. I went and when I returned I SHIFTED things back the way they should be according to me (I thought of me as me then). He BEHIND my back set it all GEOMETRIC. He had a WOMAN there and did a HORRIBLE thing. I saw. He said you WATCH!! You film. I do watch. I do film but not like that. He laughed. He said YOU WANT to. I CAN. I don’t WANT to. Lucy knows that. There is a QUESTION comes out this FUNNY thing. It is IF he is Augustin Cox. WHO AM I?!!! IT’S LIKE A STORY Lucy read. An old frail man with a stick waits by a river bank. The water is cold. The current strong. He cannot cross. The HERO comes along and puts him on his back, HOLD on I’ll take you across. Ta very much that is kind. But on the other side he won’t let go. He’ll NEVER let GO!
IF someone killed AUGUSTIN COX as people say to me here. You DO Inspector and the woman, Pat and the cop WHOSE NAME you gave me and who I KNOW! was laughing at my condition then I say it’s not a crime nor a FUNNY thing to kill oneself. It’s SUICIDE!! Not forbidden by LAW.
EVERYTHING no-one has is left to LUCY Rubin with butterfly kisses.
This is his LAST wish.
‘He’ll be up for a Bafta at this rate,’ said Pat when she’d read it. ‘Learn and marvel at the art of wriggling out, Princess Leia. What now Jerzy?’
‘Get Simkiss here. We’ll interview Cox again you and I, but I feel he’ll clam up. This is probably as far as we’ll get. I’ll charge him with the murder of Aram Cufovsky aka Augustin Cox. The outcome rests with others. Wrap up the Uruguayan side and on to CPS.’
‘Now there’s a funny thing.’
‘Max Miller. Before your time I would have thought, Pat.’
‘Never heard of him, Jerzy. No, I could have sworn I left three macaroons in this drawer this morning. There’s only one left.’
‘Forgetfulness, like suicide, isn’t a crime,’ observed Hamish. ‘Still if I were you, Pat, and thank the Lord I’m not, I’d start worrying.’
2. Fat the Chew
Two and a half weeks later, after a future trial date was set for Augustin, who resolutely maintained his no-one persona, Jerzy received an invitation from Norma to meet at West Hampstead. Categorising it under things to do before letting go, he accepted.
The long spell of unadulterated balmy summer weather finally broke with high winds and sharp torrential downpours. One of which occurred as he approached the appropriately named Cascade Road, its gutters overflowing and his windscreen wipers barely maintaining visibility. He backed into a parking space as near to Number 27 as he could get and dashed and splashed his way to the front door, scarcely having time to regain his breath before being ushered inside by Geraldine. She offered her right cheek to be kissed. He leant forward and touched it lightly with his lips.
‘Friends?’
‘Never otherwise,’ he replied.
‘Ooh. You are a bit drenched. I’ll hang your jacket up. Norma’s in the library through here.’
The room with its book-lined walls was as Hamish had described it and he himself had visualised it in idle moments. Norma elevated herself slowly from the depths of her armchair. ‘Inspector. How spiffing to meet you at last.’
‘Jerzy, please. I’m not on official business. So this is the fount of knowledge for crime solution.’ He indicated the shelves. ‘I remain an agnostic I’m afraid, but how are you feeling?’
‘Rather wishing it hadn’t happened. I was foolhardy in hindsight. Should have known better at my age to let sleeping Micky Rubins snooze unchallenged on e-Bay.’ She subsided. ‘The bruises are out so I’m as hale as my body and mind permits.’
‘What’s up chucky? Tiger got your braces?’ Lacenaire his loquacity restored to pre-Trappist mode inquired helpfully ‘Fat,’ he offered as a PS.
‘Don’t take it personally,’ said Geraldine. ‘He thinks all of us are overweight.’
‘I won’t. Dietary advisers are everywhere
these days.’
‘Have something to drink, Jerzy. Join us in the dry oloroso we’re sipping, or there’s some bison grass vodka in the freezer if you prefer.’ Norma raised the partially filled copita by her side, gave an appreciative sniff and slurped emphatically.
‘Cup of tea would go down a treat.’
‘Ah. Our chai wallah has recently departed for far Rawalpindi, but Gerry, I’m sure, will be persuaded to infuse a teabag in hot water. Can’t stand the beverage myself. Result of a childhood accident.’
‘You never told me that,’ said Geraldine.
‘Gels must keep some secrets bottled. I don’t belong to the blab-all generation.’
‘The writer did it. Mine’s a large krepkaya and mustard seed,’ chirped Lacenaire more in duty bound than hope.
‘Yes, but which writer? That was the confusing part. Okay, I’ll make the tea.’ Geraldine withdrew, seeing Norma’s cautionary look.
‘I read William Wilson. Highly interesting.’ Jerzy eased up his trousers, the bottoms of which were still sodden, by their creases. ‘Hamish mentioned it was crucial to your rationale of Augustin and Aram.’
‘Indeed. It took us time to get there, but it’s where the essence lay. I understand you’ll be leaving Feltham very shortly. Regrets?’
‘Some. But all of this and the agency. How do you manage to keep afloat?’
‘Scantily. Lucky I have considerable means. The getting of which I’ll not divulge. Jane Austen and the funding of stately homes through the slave trade, if you follow my literary drift. I wouldn’t exist without the agency and dear Geraldine and Alison.’
‘Like No-one,’ said Jerzy thinking of Augustin’s state.
‘Hardly. Though I wouldn’t be the same as you see before you.’
‘Fat,’ said Lacenaire as Geraldine entered bearing a mug.
‘I put in one sugar and a dash of milk. Is that alright?’
‘Perfectly.’ Jerzy was outside Bettina’s sphere of strictures.
‘What I still don’t understand,’ said Geraldine when she had polished off her first oloroso and poured herself and Norma a refill, ‘is how Joan knew I was going to Lucy’s. Who tipped her off?’
‘Pure hazard. She didn’t know where you were going. In the circumstances of her grieving I think she simply wanted something to do. Trailing you was a kind of displacement activity. She acted on the spur of the moment.’
‘And all the time she had a gun in her handbag. It’s too bizarre.’
‘Not really. She was scared Micky might harm her. She carried it for protection. Cosmetic only. I don’t think she ever had ammunition.’
‘And how did you know it was Augustin at Lucy’s and not Aram?’
‘Character profile. Aram would never have hidden there or been given shelter. It was Augustin’s other place.’
‘You see, it’s all as it should be in the books. The what I don’t understand, Inspector, mandatory scene where loose ends are fruitfully tied.’ Norma beamed her approval. ‘We’ve two new cases, Geraldine and I. My stay in hospital was not in vain. A fellow patient asked me to find a missing relative. While a porter hinted at misappropriations in the disposal of body parts, but I’m getting ahead of myself. Is there any news of poor Blythe?’
‘Enfield are holding a man from yesterday. There was a botched attack. The victim got away. DNA may well point to a connection. He doesn’t have previous. So unlikely to have been on Micky’s orders.’
‘Good,’ said Geraldine quoting Euan Donald’s dictum. ‘Let us living rejoice and the dead take care of themselves.’
‘Debatable sentiment in our line of detecting,’ Norma slurped and swallowed philosophically, ‘but I’ll let it pass. Jerzy, why don’t you join us once you’ve retired? Your expertise would be invaluable. I can offer you a modest consultancy fee.’
Taken aback by Norma’s suggestion, which had totally come out of the blue, Jerzy choked slightly in mid swig of tea then cleared his throat and said, ‘Thanks. I think I’ll take a rain check though, Civvy life and Hammersmith are where I wish to be. At least for a time.’
‘Pity. My offer’s still open.’
‘It would be wonderful if you changed your mind,’ Geraldine enthused.
‘Fat. Fat. Fat the chew.’ Lacenaire spread out his full wing span, closed it and hopped higher than he had ever previously hopped. ‘That’s all you do.’
‘Oh! Thrice blessed bird.’ Norma clapped her hands in delight. ‘All the time you were stumbling towards your goal. At last your version of you talk, you talk, it’s all you can do is achieved. You’ve made an old woman very happy.’
If Jerzy was surprised by this outburst of emotion he did not show it. In his book the Bones entourage was capable of many wondrous flights of fancy.
Chapter 27
Fare Well
It had finally arrived. A day as usual with a name and a number in accordance with its relevant week, month and year. Jerzy awoke early, but thankfully not too early. Nothing felt immediately different. The room was the same in every familiar detail. The bed was the same. Bettina, still sleeping beside him, was the same. He, too, was the same if a mite older somewhere irretrievably inside. The day, after all, would take care of itself. Others had decreed it. Others would organise it. All he had to do was to go through the motions. Turn up. Smile. Listen good-humouredly. Be a smidgeon rueful when appropriate. Say his piece along the lines of what his audience had heard before on similar occasions. Words anodyne enough to be nodded at and quickly forgotten. He would do it. He would comply. He had no reason or desire to do otherwise. And yet. And yet. Something somewhere within spoke different words, behaved differently, refused to read the accepted script. It’s the Pole in me, he thought. We’re used to defeat. We can’t abide standing on the winner’s rostrum even if it’s to receive a ritual going away token. He got up. ‘Enjoy tomorrow,’ Pat had said at the end of yesterday’s shift, although she had known it was the last thing he would do. ‘I wish I had nicked her unaccounted-for macaroons,’ he said to himself as he made for the lavatory.
Deciding to take a bath rather than his customary shower and soak away whatever was pricking him under his skin, he regarded himself in the mirror whilst the hot tap ran. Not exactly a handsome physog but not plug ugly either. A little jowly. Nose spread not ideal. Left eyebrow in need of trimming. A thin rising vapour of steam occluded the receding hairline. He turned away and added cold to the continuing hot. Coppers come and coppers go, he thought, dipping his elbow, as his mother had taught him, into the water to feel the temperature. Villains retire on the proceeds of their crimes. Hard men get old and frail. It’s a game, the law, but the trouble is people get involved. People neither good nor bad who haven’t signed up for a particular course of action. People in a mess, in despair, momentarily out of control, in the wrong place at the wrong time. He’d tried to help them. Not always successfully. Often simply bungling through. Messing them up even more. The bath was ready. He slipped off his pyjama bottoms and slippers. Why these self-recriminations now? he wondered, stepping into the just short of too hot water. Because it’s too late to rectify, his right-sided brain told him. He immersed, his breath taken in for a second by the heat. Let it go. What was done was done. The question was, after this arranged by others day, what would he choose to do? He closed his eyes. A soak and then a wash. Be diligent, had been the Buddha’s advice, and who was he to spurn the Enlightened One’s guidance?
Once abluted, shaved and eyebrow trimmed, he put on the kettle in the kitchen and waited for his skin to dry under his towelled robe. The teapot was warming before the teabags were dunked when Bettina, still sleepy-eyed, came in. ‘Don’t make a habit of slopping around. It’s okay today,’ she offered her cheek to be kissed, ‘but I don’t want you under my feet not fully clothed ever after.’
She, herself, was dressed in Baby-Doll pyjamas, a retro fashion she had recently adopted. People talked about time of life, but what did people know? Jerzy liked it. The fashion police didn
’t have a search warrant. He squeezed her hand. ‘Tea?’ She nodded and began unloading the dishwasher.
‘Weymouth,’ she said. ‘We could try it out. Rent a place for a few months before we finally committed. I could easily find a job. You could too.’
Jerzy poured the tea. Bettina cupped her hands round her mug and blew on the surface. A gesture repeated many times in their lives together. ‘There’s always a charity shop,’ she said. ‘I could get work there. They’re always looking for volunteers.’
‘I was offered a job. A job of sorts.’
‘Oh. When was this? You didn’t say.’
‘Some days ago. It’s about books.’
She took her first sip. ‘Doesn’t sound like you. Doing what exactly? I can’t see you in a bookshop or library.’
‘Interpreting them. But I don’t think so really. Besides, it would mean travelling all over London. I want to stay here in our little village.’
‘You’re being deliberately obtuse, refusing to consider moving away, starting a new life.’
’Weymouth is all front. There’s the sands and the bay. No hinterland.’ He got up and rinsed out the empty mugs at the sink.
‘Dorset. That’s its hinterland. It was enough and plenty for Thomas Hardy. Tess. Bathsheba. The wife whose drunken husband sold her to a sailor,’ Bettina continued.
‘Too much fatalism for me I’m afraid.’ He rejoined her at the table and took her, at first averted then acquiescent, hand in his. ‘If it’s literary countryside we’re talking about I think I prefer Shropshire. Blandings Castle and the champion Empress pig.’
She snuffled in disapproval. ‘Trust you to picture something wallowing in dirt. You can smell pigs long before you see them.’
‘Clean, intelligent animals, but sufficient unto the day thereof. We’ve my leaving to get through.’
