Deadly Practice

by Christine Green

  ‘Why's that?’

  She shrugged again as if I was being painfully stupid. Then she said, ‘Look, you're just wasting your time. If he's missing he'll stay missing till they find the bloke that killed her. Nick's no fool …’

  ‘But is he a killer?’

  ‘Look, Kate … whoever you are. I don't know. Perhaps we could all becomes killers. I mean look at the Ten Commandments … Thou shall not kill. That's the first one. Now if God didn't think it was bloody likely He wouldn't have put it first, would He?’

  ‘I suppose not,’ I said and I couldn't argue with her about that commandment being the first because I wasn't sure.

  It was as I was leaving I heard a baby's cry. The sound, strong and lusty, came from upstairs. Karen flicked her head towards the noise. ‘That's Sammy,’ she said. ‘Starving again. It never stops, his stomach is like a soddin' well.’

  ‘He's yours?’

  She laughed drily. ‘Yeah. Guess who the father is?’

  I raised an eyebrow, wondering if Rose who thought Nick had no serious relationships knew about her extra grandchild. ‘Does he help with maintenance?’

  ‘You must be joking,’ she said. ‘No, I tell a lie. The first week he was born Nick came round with a crate of toothpaste – said it fell off the back of a lorry.’ She laughed again. ‘At least when he does get teeth he'll have enough soddin' toothpaste for the rest of his life.’

  As I walked past the obstacle course in the front garden I tried to work out if I'd learnt anything more about Nick today. He was a father, a petty criminal, a ‘good' driver and maybe he was capable of murder. But no one had suggested he was likely to kill just for the sake of it or even in the pursuance of his trade. As far as I was concerned he was still innocent. But not that innocent, a little voice murmured to me.

  Chapter Six

  The next day the garage mechanic summoned me to his oily palace. He wore a black T-shirt and black jeans and he waved his spanner dramatically about over the open bonnet. I didn't really understand a word he was talking about. There was trouble with the carb, the points, the plugs, the brake pads, it needed tracking, a spot of welding and for good measure there was an ‘emission' problem. After all that he gave me a quote. I leant against the car door to keep myself upright.

  ‘You're joking,’ I said. He shook his head mournfully. He was only in his late twenties but he had the seriousness of a much older man. ‘I wish I was,’ he said. ‘You haven't had her regularly serviced, have you?’

  ‘No,’ I answered glumly. ‘I couldn't afford to have him done.’ Why should cars be females? I thought. Mine was a he.

  ‘It's up to you. With these bits seen to she could last you another year or two. She's not really in bad nick.’

  ‘Do you do terms?’ I asked hopefully.

  ‘If you do it through Humberstones then yes, otherwise no.’

  ‘I'll get back to you,’ I said. He gave a quick sort of grimace as though he'd had a sudden attack of anal pain and I left to find Hubert and grovel.

  Hubert did agree providing I went to the pub with him at lunch time. I needed no added inducement especially when he told me he had news about the case. As we walked along Longborough High Street I tried to prise it out of him.

  ‘You'll just have to wait,’ he said. ‘And anyway I want your advice on—’

  ‘Alienated youth, sex and the older woman, managing—’

  ‘I wish you'd take me seriously, Kate. I do try, I really do.’

  I stopped in my tracks. He sounded quite anguished. I stared at his face.

  ‘What's up?’ he asked, looking around anxiously, as if passers by would notice. ‘What's the matter? Why are you looking at me like that?’

  He sounded quite paranoid at that moment. I tried to lighten the mood. ‘I was only trying to assess the damage, Hubert. It looks like a three pint and chicken in the basket job – with chips!’

  ‘That does it!’ he said. ‘That does it. Pay for your own car. Start paying your arrears of rent or you're out. My feelings are just a joke to you.’

  ‘I'm sorry, Hubert, I didn't mean to upset you …’ My voice tailed off as he strode off in the opposite direction. I couldn't have felt worse. Normally he would have managed a smile at my little quip. But then I remembered he wasn't normal at the moment. He was in love.

  I went to the pub on my own. Now that Hubert had huffed away I didn't feel much like eating so I drank two pathetically warm ciders and sat staring ahead of me in a dim booth. Outside it was just bright enough to sit at the wooden picnic tables but I've always preferred drinking inside. Somehow even warm cider tastes better then. No one spoke to me, or even looked in my direction so after half an hour and my solitary pint I walked back towards Humberstones.

  On the way I bought Hubert a cream horn and a sandwich. Then I sneaked into reception, stole a rose from the display, slipped out again to the side door and made my way up to the office.

  I listened for him on the stairs all afternoon but he didn't come up. Finally I went down to reception, and there were relatives in the office so I wasn't able to ask where he had gone. Miserably I drove back to Farley Wood in my borrowed Mini. If I lost Hubert's friendship and his goodwill I was sunk, I knew that.

  In my front room I stared out over the graveyard for a while and then to avoid becoming totally morbid I made myself a childishly comforting jam sandwich and a mental list of foods which are and which aren't, like U and non-U. Sun-dried tomatoes being the first on my list for not being comforting. Apple dumplings and jam rolypoly came high on my comfort list – but who can say they have eaten either of these things during the last year, or indeed, ever.

  Then the phone rang. I rushed to answer it hoping it was Hubert. It was Pauline Berkerly from the nursing agency saying unfortunately my would-be patient had died. Moments later, it rang again. This time it was the Riverview Medical Centre saying I hadn't got the job. I could have cried and I did.

  I was still a bit snivelly when the phone rang a while later. It was Hubert. ‘I'm in Dunsmore,’ he said.

  ‘Oh. What for?’

  ‘I'll tell you in a minute …’

  ‘I didn't mean to upset you, Hubert. I was just trying to cheer you up.’

  ‘You don't sound very cheerful yourself.’

  ‘I've got a cold coming.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘And I've lost two jobs this afternoon.’

  ‘Well, you can't have lost what you didn't have in the first place.’

  ‘I'm still disappointed. I was banking on that practice job.’

  ‘I've just been to the Dunsmore Adult Education Centre. I know the caretaker.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He saw something the night Jenny Martin was murdered.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I'll tell you tomorrow.’

  ‘I could come back to the office.’

  ‘You must be at a loose end.’

  ‘Hubert, sometimes I think my life is one long loose end.’

  ‘You, Kate, need a man.’

  ‘Hubert, you keep saying that. Just because you've got someone now you can't bear to think of me being left out, can you? I'll advertise, shall I?’

  ‘You'd have to lie.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘I'll see you in about an hour, Kate. 'Bye.’

  I washed my face, brushed my hair, changed into a black track suit and trainers and mused on Hubert's life amongst the dead. He showed so much interest in my cases he was surely in the wrong job. But was I in the right one?

  The news from the caretaker at Dunsmore, Bill Stone, was that he had seen the car being driven away some time after midnight. Hubert told me this as he cooked pasta, wearing an apron and a serious expression.

  ‘Did he see the driver?’ I asked.

  ‘From a distance.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Pasta's ready,’ said Hubert, pointedly ignoring me whilst he drained tagliatelle on to the plates and thrust the tomato sauce under my nose for me t
o sniff appreciatively. Then he poured it over the pasta and signalled that I should sit down and eat. Although I was grateful for some food I couldn't help thinking that pasta is overrated. Anything that doesn't need a knife seems to me to lack the essentials of a proper meal. Hubert has taken to watching Master Chef of late and occasionally gives me the results to sample. His choice usually revolves around dishes like polenta, gnocchi and couscous. The polenta often looks like a half brick and the couscous is normally a flavourless mush. Still, with a good bottle of wine, most things are acceptable.

  ‘Kate?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Don't you like it?’

  ‘It's delicious,’ I said. ‘And the wine is great. Tell me about the caretaker.’

  ‘The centre closes at nine thirty most nights. Ten if the classes finish later. Bill checked the building was all locked up at about ten. There were two cars left in the car park but he said that's not that unusual. Occasionally they're abandoned. He went home then. From the front window of his bungalow he could see the car park. Just after twelve he heard voices …’

  ‘Raised voices?’

  ‘No – just voices.’

  ‘He looked out and saw a man and woman standing together. A bit later he heard a car drive off at speed.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  Hubert sucked in his tagliatelle thoughtfully. ‘I don't like to mention this during a meal …’

  ‘Go on, tell me – be a sport.’ He looked uncomfortable and I tried to guess what had been found. ‘Has it anything to do with safe sex?’ I asked.

  ‘No it has not,’ he said, his face colouring to match his tomato sauce. ‘Bill always does a check before he goes to bed and as the car drove away he walked out and looked round.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Someone had vomited near the bushes. Bill cleared it up of course.’

  ‘Good old Bill.’

  ‘Are you being sarcastic, Kate?’

  I shrugged. ‘Well, what a pity he didn't leave it. It could have been evidence.’ He thought about that as we finished our meal, and somewhat jaded by now, I said, ‘You didn't by any chance ask him what was in it?’

  ‘In what?’

  ‘In the vomit.’

  ‘Oh God,’ groaned Hubert. ‘I'll never eat tagliatelle again.’

  ‘You didn't ask?’ I said, ignoring this touch of histrionics.

  ‘No, I didn't, and can we talk about something else, it's making my stomach churn.’

  I did change the subject then, I told him about my trip to Dunsmore and that I was fairly sure Nick ‘the Ace' Fenny didn't kill Jenny. Hubert picked up on that. ‘Only fairly sure?’ he said.

  I nodded. ‘It's the victim who interests me. Why was she there if her class had been cancelled, and was the car there all the evening? What was the estimated time of death and are there any other suspects?’

  ‘It's a pity you didn't get that job,’ said Hubert. ‘You could have been on the inside.’

  ‘I know, Hubert, and more importantly I could have paid the rent and paid for my car.’

  Hubert shrugged and patted my arm. ‘I'm not short of a bob or two,’ he said. I smiled, grateful. But that didn't stop me asking for yet another favour.

  ‘Will you,’ I asked, ‘do your snooping bit and find out when she died and if the police have any leads, other than Nick?’

  Hubert stood up and began collecting the dirty plates. Once he stacked them he said, ‘I'll do my best, Kate, but I haven't got as many contacts in Dunsmore as Longborough. The funeral director over there isn't a particular friend of mine.’

  I nodded. I knew Hubert would do his best but he couldn't manufacture information. I'd probably have to visit the Dunsmore police myself.

  The phone rang then, it was Dolly Two-Shoes. I stacked the dishwasher, cleared the table and when I'd finished doing that Hubert was still on the phone. I whispered thank you to him but he didn't seem to hear me. I crept downstairs as though if I was noisy I could wake the dead and made my way to the borrowed Mini.

  It was nearly eleven by the time I got home. I didn't feel tired and so I had a bath, read a few chapters of a book, drank cocoa and thought about Jenny Martin. If she'd been at the car at eleven thirty where had she been until then? What class had she told her husband she was going to and if she genuinely had expected the class to be going on had she met someone she knew outside the centre who suggested – what? A drink? A meal? Come back to my place? Surely if no one had come forward it looked as if they had something to hide. Or had she met her lover that night? He wouldn't dare come forward, would he? It now seemed that her whereabouts from around seven to twelve were as much a mystery as her death.

  I slept eventually. A nightmarish dream. I was grown up but back at junior school. My friends had stayed the same. The teacher hadn't changed. I sat at the tiny desk, big and cumbersome, and had to do a maths test. I couldn't fathom the fractions at all. Everyone was laughing at me … I woke suddenly. I blinked.

  There in the doorway stood a man. All in black with just his eyes glinting in the darkness. My heart seemed to come up into my mouth and gag me. I couldn't breathe. I struggled up in bed. I didn't want to die lying down. I opened my mouth but I was like a suffocating fish – my lips moved but the banging in my throat stopped the sound from coming out. He moved nearer the bed. My legs twitched, a pulse hammered in my head, my mouth was suddenly as dry as an Australian river bed after a seven year drought. But worse than all that – I didn't know what to do.

  Then he spoke, a sinister throaty whisper. ‘Don't move. Don't scream.’

  Christ! What did he expect? That I was going to be raped or worse and not complain? I picked up my portable radio and threw it at him. He ducked. I wrenched the lamp from the wall and threw that. It missed. I found my voice. ‘You bastard!’ I screamed as if I knew him personally. I fumbled on my bed and found my book. It was a hardback. That caught him. He stumbled and fell. I was out of bed like a shot, picking up my trainer from the floor and hitting him on the head with it. He didn't like that, I could tell. He was swearing and cursing and finally he screeched, ‘For fuck's sake, it's Nick.’

  My hand holding my trainer was still in mid-air. I kept it there. ‘Take that Balaclava off,’ I demanded. Backing away, I switched on the light. Bare faced and sitting on the floor he was a lot less threatening now. My heart began to thump in the right place now. ‘What the hell's going on?’ I asked in a squeaky voice.

  ‘I had to see you,’ he said.

  ‘Well, you could have bloody well rung first.’ I had a strong desire to hit him again but I resisted. He was, after all, technically my client. Lowering the shoe I said, ‘You'd better sit down or I'll call the police.’

  ‘I had to come this way,’ said Nick. ‘Every force in the country is out looking for me. I have to play it careful.’

  I looked at him more closely now that I was calmer and I could see he looked older than nineteen. He had slightly frizzy black short hair, brown eyes with long lashes that looked as if he'd used mascara and a clear complexion. He looked neat and clean cut. As I observed him he too was looking me over. It was not until I caught the gleam of youthful lust in his eyes, that I realized I was only wearing a thin T-shirt that barely covered anything at all.

  Very swiftly I got back under the duvet, fixed him with a stern older woman look and said, ‘Say what you've got to say and then go.’

  ‘Yeah, OK. I didn't mean to start you off but I took a chance coming here, you know. I just wanted to tell you what happened …’

  ‘Well, tell me,’ I said briskly.

  Nick picked up his Balaclava from the floor and began to get to his feet.

  ‘Just stay where you are,’ I ordered, with what I hoped was a snarl in my voice. He slumped back on his heels and began to fiddle with the knitted black hood as he spoke. ‘I'd been drinking with my mates, see. I wanted to go for a ride but they didn't – we were all well cut but I drive better then. I'm a great driver …’

  ‘M
odest as well.’

  He ignored that. ‘I'm a great driver, they don't call me “the Ace” for nothing. Anyway, one of the lads lives near the adult education place and we was passing and I saw the car. It looked in good condition – I only like good runners. And I thought, Well, why not?’

  ‘Why exactly were you going to your friend's house?’

  ‘I stay there sometimes. His dad's on his own and he's a pissartist so we thought there might be a few beers going.’

  I nodded. ‘But you wanted to joyride?’

  ‘Yeah. I just saw the car as I said and I went over to suss it out. It was like it was meant to be. The door was open. I started it up – the keys were in the ignition—’ He broke off to chuckle about that. ‘And then I was off towards the M1. I've got a girlfriend in Birmingham, see. I thought I'd go up and stay with her. I stopped at a lay-by miles from anywhere just to see if there was a spare petrol can in the boot because the petrol gauge was showing nearly empty and I hadn't got any money on me. And anyway I suppose you know I always burn them out. Anyway I opened the boot and … Oh, God it was 'orrible …’

  ‘What was?’

  Nick stared at me for a moment. He had definitely paled and he screwed the Balaclava nervously in his hands.

  ‘What was?’ I repeated. He looked up at me, then away again.

  ‘The body – her. Big eyes staring at me, her face all white with blue lips and bruises round her throat. It was 'orrible. She was just lying there … It was like she was accusing me.’

  ‘Of killing her?’

  ‘Yeah, sort of. Her eyes seemed to move and then – this was the worse bit … I thought she was dead. Well, that was bad enough, but then she started to move her mouth trying to talk. I was going to ring for an ambulance – I was – but next thing I know she's holding my wrist saying something and then a bit of blood started coming out of her mouth and her lips had bitten through and then she let go of my wrist and her head fell to one side and I knew then she was dead.’