by Sean O'Brien
There was a lamp on the floor, masked with a paisley scarf. A television was playing silently. In the faint blue-grey glow I saw a figure lying on the bed. It was Shirley, naked, unconscious.
On the television screen beyond the bed – I couldn’t help but look – was the City Hall, with the Mayor was silently announcing the result of the West End by-election, relieved to have got it out of the way in record time yet again. The turnout was impressively low. The victorious candidate came forward. Flashbulbs went off. There was a shot of his defeated rivals. They looked sheepish, like people who’d waited too long for a bus that wasn’t coming – except for Allingham, who looked noble, philosophical and altogether elsewhere, like one for whom defeat was simply confirmation of the final victory to come, where it mattered, in the confines of his head.
‘Shirley.’ She was facing away and didn’t stir. ‘Shirley, wake up, love.’ I knelt down and nudged her shoulder. She made a far-off noise. I shook her and turned her to face me. Beside her lay the Sven Hassel books and the syringe. She was still breathing, just. I got up to switch the main light on, but when I reached the door it slammed into me. As I fell backwards I saw Lurch coming in, with something in his raised hand. There was a movement behind him, then the sound of a heavy impact, and he staggered and collapsed on top of me.
‘Maxwell? Are you all right?’ Bone asked. The light came on.
‘What did you hit him with?’
‘The fire extinguisher.’ Lurch seemed to be unconscious. I struggled out from underneath him. ‘I heard him come in when you’d gone upstairs, so, you know, I followed him. He had a wire. A whatsit, a garrotte. Look.’
‘Jesus!’
‘There’s no one else here as far as I can tell,’ said Bone. ‘We need to be gone. Shit, look at this place. What’s up with Shirley? Where are her clothes?’
‘Help me get her downstairs. She needs a doctor.’
‘Well, she can’t go anywhere like that. Is that a needle? Bloody hell, Maxwell. I’m not happy about this.’
I found a nightdress under the pillow and slid it over Shirley’s head. She seemed unaware.
‘Lurch is bleeding, look,’ said Bone. ‘Big gash on his head. So what do we do about him?’
‘Don’t tempt me. Leave him. We need to get Shirley out of here.’ I wrapped her in the counterpane.
We carried her down to the front door. Bone slipped out to get the van. I sat at the bottom of the stairs holding Shirley. Her breathing was faint and her skin was clammy.
‘Shirley, you stupid cow,’ I said. ‘Whatever are we going to do with you?’
Bone seemed to be taking a long time coming back with the van. Then I heard noises from upstairs. Lurch was coming round, it seemed. He was in a hurry, crashing blindly into obstacles before getting out on to the landing. There was a scuffling, followed by a dull, contained bang and a sudden brightness from upstairs, then a scream and a splintering noise. I went back into the hall and looked up as Lurch fell into the narrow stairwell and stuck there like a missile, his burning head visible above us, his mouth open in a gurgling scream. Smoke wreathed around him. His feet drummed against the panelling above him. The light brightened as fire took hold and he stared blindly down in agonized rage. Time to go.
I carried Shirley out into the street and closed the door as quietly as I could. Bone was just pulling up at the kerb. Light was playing at the windows of the house now, as though the glass would shatter in a moment or two. I pushed Shirley on to the front seat and squeezed in after her.
‘Get a move on, Bone. The house is on fire.’
‘What?’
‘Get fucking going, man. Go the back way on to the park by the Convent. We need to get her to the Infirmary.’
‘What the hell are we going to tell them?’ asked Bone as we drove away down the dark terraces.
‘We can’t tell them anything. We’ll just have to leave her in the entrance.’
‘Christ, Maxwell. I knew something like this would happen. Is she awake?’
‘Not really.’
‘She’s not . . .’
‘Not yet.’
‘Ask her what happened.’
‘Shirley. Are you there?’ I said. She didn’t respond. ‘I’ll take her into Casualty, Bone. Just get us there as fast as bloody possible.’ We drove along the edge of the park, fearing to be stopped by one of the police cars that lay in wait for unwary drinkers trying to go home the back way. Shirley would take some explaining. Steam pipes here we come, I thought. We went past the Convent and Carson’s house and stopped at the main road. There a police car went past with its siren on and a couple of girls went dawdling over the zebra crossing.
‘Lurch must have set the bomb at Shirley’s as well. But he was too late to get out. He was trapped. I saw him. His head was on fire,’ I said.
‘You couldn’t have helped him. Too dangerous. Anyway, it was only Lurch’s head.’
‘There was no time, but I didn’t want to help him anyway, did I?’
Bone looked at me curiously.
‘Why did they want us to go there, though?’
‘To get us out of the picture. We were all supposed to go up with the house.’
‘I said something like this would happen.’
‘I’m sorry, Bone.’
‘Now you’re sorry,’ he said. ‘You’re a shithouse, really, aren’t you, Maxwell, my friend?’
We arrived at the side gates to the Infirmary and waited while an ambulance pulled away. Then I carried Shirley to the entrance and placed her in a wheelchair and pushed it through the swing doors into the dim reception area. There was no one about so I rang the bell on the reception desk. A nurse appeared.
‘Overdose, I think,’ I said, and ran outside again. The van was already moving as I got back in.
‘Is she all right?’ Smallbone asked. ‘I mean, she will recover, won’t she?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine.’
‘Well, she’s got to. I mean, you know. She’s Shirley.’
We pulled into a deserted pub car park and sat smoking Smallbone’s cigarettes.
‘Now what?’ he said. ‘Should we just go to the police and explain?’
‘What would happen? They’d arrest us.’
Smallbone shook his head unhappily.
‘You can go home if you want,’ I said. ‘There’s no need for you to get any more mixed up in this. I’m grateful.’
Smallbone laughed and rested his head on the steering wheel. ‘Mixed up? It’s a bit fookin late for that, isn’t it?’
‘As you say, I’m a shithouse.’
‘Setting that aside for later recriminations, supposing there’s going to be any later in our case, what with all these fookin nutters poncing about in the neighbourhood, we still don’t know where Feldberg and the girl are.’
‘Rackham and Claes can’t stay here now, can they? The bomb at the school, the bomb at Shirley’s, even Smales would have to take an interest, whether he liked it or not.’
‘So they get out?’
‘And take Feldberg and Rachel with them.’
‘Why take them? What use would they be any more?’
‘Maybe they’re already dead.’
‘Did I mention you’re a shithouse?’
‘Maybe they’re still planning to get rid of them.’ It was midnight, then a quarter past. Eventually, it came to me. ‘The boat. They could use the boat.’
‘Boat? What boat?’ said Smallbone.
‘Maggie has a boat. Rackham uses it too. Quite a fancy seagoing motor yacht. I saw Rackham setting out in it one afternoon.’
‘That could be a tactful way of leaving. Without making a splash. As it were. Fuck. Sorry.’
‘I think what Lurch nearly managed to do to us and Shirley was a diversion, Bone. Rackham and Claes are on the move now. They’ve got to be. They’ve had the election – Labour won, by the way. And the fire at the school. And they’ve dropped the lad in it. It’s what Claes called a manifestation of the w
ill.’
‘That fucking prat,’ said Smallbone.
‘So they might as well get going and while they’re at it they can deal with David and Rachel.’
‘But if they’ve left, what can we do?’
‘Suppose Lurch was meant to go with them? They’ll be waiting for him. We need to find a phone box.’
‘You said no police.’
‘I’m going to ring Samuel Feldberg. And then Risman. Then we’re going to Blake’s.’
THIRTY-SIX
We drove to Fernbank, parked the van in the dark between streetlights and climbed over our second fence of the evening. I took the torch from the glove compartment. The night was still and cold with some low mist on the field. We followed the path through the wood, pausing to listen where it turned at the creek. Under the freezing fog the tide was coming in, but Lorelei could not have set sail yet. We crossed the rugby pitch below the level of the towpath until we reached the steps. Someone had left the gate open at the top.
There was a light showing on Lorelei. The vessel moved slightly at its mooring as the black water flooded into the creek.
‘We need to get closer,’ I whispered.
‘And do what?’
‘Get on board somehow.’
‘After you, Claude.’
Lorelei shifted again.
‘Stay here and keep watch.’
‘You don’t know who’s on the boat, do you, Kemosabe?’
‘I’m betting neither Claes nor Rackham’s there at the moment.’
‘You’re betting? Daft sod.’
‘There aren’t any lights showing in the cabin.’
I went along the jetty and lowered myself on to the deck. There was no noise from below. Nothing moved on shore and I could no longer see Bone. I opened the hatch and went into the cabin. There was a further hatch leading down to the sleeping quarters. I opened it and could see nothing.
‘David,’ I said. There was a faint stirring, like an animal turning in its sleep. I risked turning on the torch. There were two figures on the floor of the cabin, bound and hooded. One of them moved slightly.
‘It’s Stephen Maxwell,’ I whispered. ‘I’m going to get you out, but we need to be very quiet.’
I removed the hood from the first figure. It was David. He was gagged with gaffer tape. I removed Rachel’s hood. She too was gagged. I pulled the tape from David’s mouth.
‘Remember,’ I hissed, ‘be very quiet.’ I removed the tape from Rachel. She coughed as if she had been choking. I put a hand over her mouth and listened. Nothing.
I went back to the cabin and found a knife and came down again and cut the tape on their wrists and ankles.
‘We’re going to get off the boat in a minute. Don’t worry. It’s all right now. Get your breath back.’ I could feel Feldberg staring at me. ‘Can you stand? Rub your ankles to get the circulation back.’
I went up to the cabin and looked out. Claes appeared on the shore and walked a few paces down the jetty, then stopped to look back at a noise. A running figure came after him down the bank and on to the jetty. As Claes turned at the sound, the runner struck him. Claes wavered on the edge of the jetty before toppling backwards into the mud with a cry. The runner came nearer along the jetty.
‘David? Rachel?’ It was Mr Feldberg’s voice.
‘We need some help,’ I called. Feldberg came down into the cabin followed by a breathless Bone.
‘I never saw him coming,’ said Bone.
‘Neither did Claes.’
We helped David and Rachel on deck and then up on to the jetty.
‘Help me,’ said Claes. He lay waist-deep, half-tilted back, in the mud at the shore end of the jetty. A notice warning people not to walk there was just out of his reach. He seemed to be stuck. The water ran more quickly now. He moaned and clutched his shoulder.
‘Samuel, why don’t you and Smallbone take David and Rachel to Casualty?’ I said. ‘I can deal with this.’
‘Help me!’ said Claes.
‘I would stay, if it weren’t for the children,’ said Mr Feldberg.
‘They were going tie weights to us and throw us into the sea,’ said David. He had his arms round Rachel, who was sobbing. ‘They told us that was what they would do.’ He was furious as well as terrified.
‘You’re safe now,’ I said.
‘You think so?’ said David. ‘Where is Rackham?’
‘Never mind him. He can’t hurt you.’
‘No, no, I want to hurt him. I want to kill him.’
‘We can’t do that,’ I said.
‘There is no “we”, Mr Maxwell, is there? I can do it, though, if I can get hold of him.’
‘You need to think about Rachel. She needs you now. Go with your father. I’ll be there soon.’
‘Why, what can you do, Mr Maxwell? After all this? Nothing.’
‘Enough, David,’ said his father. ‘Think of Rachel. Go with Smallbone. I’ll be with you in a minute.’ The boy nodded reluctantly and the three moved away over the embankment and out of sight.
‘Maxwell!’ said Claes from below. ‘Quickly, my friend. I need assistance.’ He sank a little.
‘Do not help him, Stephen,’ said Mr Feldberg.
‘I could get a rope from the boat,’ I said.
‘No,’ said Mr Feldberg. ‘Not after this. Remember, I am armed.’
Claes’s face was white and moon-shaped against the dark. His tongue protruded from his open mouth. Suddenly he sank a little further. It was like watching something being swallowed by a snake. He thrashed with his hands under the shallow water, and then they seemed to be trapped in the mud and only his head and shoulders remained visible. ‘Get me out! There is no time to waste.’ He cried out in horror, knowing what must happen. ‘I beg you!’
‘You could have killed Shirley,’ I said.
‘Do not let me drown like this!’
‘What about Shirley, Claes?’
‘Quick now!’
Only the head remained above water. His voice had taken on a hysterical gargling quality. The breath was being forced out of him by the weight of the mud. He opened his mouth once again and the thick black water began to fill it. He gave a choked groan and swallowed as if he meant to drink the creek dry. His nose vanished below the surface and his wide white eyes continued to gaze at me in disbelief. Then he was gone.
For a time bubbles could be heard breaking the surface.
I walked with Feldberg back down to the field. David and Rachel were holding on to each other.
‘What now?’ said Smallbone.
‘Go back to the hospital,’ I said. ‘See if Shirley’s OK.’
‘Where are you going?’ said Bone.
‘There’s something I have to collect. I’ll join you when I’ve finished.’
Mr Feldberg showed no signs of moving.
Bone said, ‘It would be best to take Rachel and David to the hospital, sir.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ Mr Feldberg said. ‘But I need to talk to Stephen a moment. I’ll be there shortly.’ Smallbone ushered the pair away into the wood.
‘What about the police?’ I asked.
‘No police,’ said Mr Feldberg. ‘If it happens that the creek gives up its dead, then what happened to Claes was a tragic accident. The kind of thing that happens when you ignore warnings not to trespass in dangerous places. Here.’ He held out the gun.
‘I don’t want it.’
‘It’s not a matter of what you want,’ he said. ‘Take it. I’m going to see to the children. You have business to settle. You have a debt, first to the Captain and now also to me. Redeem yourself.’
I took the gun. We went our separate ways across Majuba field.
At Percival Street I could no sign of Risman. As I went up the stairs I could hear music. It clarified itself into ‘The Way You Look Tonight’. I tried the door of the flat. It was unlocked and I stepped inside. Rackham and Maggie were dancing slowly, after a fashion. He was bare-chested and Maggie wore his shirt. I
could tell she was drunk again. After a few moments Rackham saw me and stopped. Maggie looked round groggily. He removed the stylus from the record and she flopped on to the settee.
‘You’re full of surprises, Maxwell,’ said Rackham.
‘Give the boy a drink,’ said Maggie.
‘A drink’s not what he wants, by the look of him.’
‘Well, I’ll have one.’ She reached down for a bottle on the floor and slopped wine into a glass.
‘So what have you got to say for yourself, Maxwell?’ Rackham asked. He leaned against the dresser.
‘Claes is dead, Rackham. And so is Lurch.’
‘This is a bit bloody gloomy,’ said Maggie. ‘Let’s have the music on again. Have a drink, Stephen, for God’s sake. Standing there like a eunuch in a cathouse.’
‘David Feldberg and the girl are safe.’
‘It sounds like a busy night,’ said Rackham.
‘And the police will be on their way.’
‘I very much doubt it.’
‘You mean that ghastly Smales person?’ said Maggie, and snorted. ‘Christ! Talk about the great chain of being.’
‘I’m going to collect my picture and leave you to it,’ I said.
‘You carry on,’ said Maggie. ‘You’re welcome to it.’ I went through into the studio, moved the picture and took the envelope from under the floorboard and put it in my coat pocket. When I went back into the living room carrying the picture, Rackham was holding a carving knife.
‘I’ve told you before, Charles,’ said Maggie in a high, petulant voice, ‘what you get up to elsewhere is your business, but you can’t carry on like that in my house.’
‘Shut up, you stupid bitch,’ said Rackham matter-of-factly. ‘You’re not in charge of anything.’
‘Oh, Charles, don’t.’ Out of nowhere Maggie began to weep in great gasping sobs. ‘You mustn’t hurt me, you know that. Don’t be hateful. Don’t, darling, please.’
‘I’m warning you, you old whore.’ He struck her across the face with the flat of his hand. She howled.
‘Leave her alone, Rackham,’ I said.
‘You shouldn’t have interfered,’ he hissed. ‘You should have stayed right away from Blake’s. Sticking your nose in to help your little Jew friend. You’re as bad as that old queen Carson. I’m sick of the lot of you. Now tell me where it is.’
