Degrees of Darkness

by Tony J. Forder

  Both men shook their heads, and Nicky winked and said, ‘Just the order, please, sweetheart. And don’t send anyone else over, either. We’re here for a drink and a chat.’

  The young woman scurried away, hips swaying as she had been taught. Frank peered through the smoke, could hear the hubbub of voices, the clinking of glasses. His eyes came to rest on his friend, who gave a shrug.

  ‘Nice place,’ Frank said, rolling his eyes. ‘How long have you been a member here?’

  ‘A month or so. An informant of mine introduced me to the bar. Seemed like a place to come when I wanted to get away from it all, and whenever I felt like it. It’s open twenty-four hours a day, apart from Christmas day.’

  ‘Who’s place is it?’

  ‘It belongs to Victor Brown. He bought it from the Clay brothers a year or so back.’

  ‘Vic the Whiff?’ Victor Brown was a small-time thug with an aversion to bathing. ‘Ten minutes in an interview room with him and you need to have your clothes fumigated and your body de-loused.’

  Nicky grinned, nodding. ‘I know. I swear he did it so that we’d toss him back onto the street more quickly.’

  Their drinks arrived, the waitress not sparing them a second glance this time around. Nicky sipped from his and leaned forward across the small, rectangular table whose surface swam with spilled alcohol. ‘I see your mob were lucky again last season,’ he said. ‘Boring bloody Arsenal.’

  Frank raised his eyebrows, the poster above Gary’s bed spearing into his mind. ‘The more we win, the luckier we seem to be. Remind me how your team did again. Why do you support that bunch of pikeys?’

  ‘Hey, I’m a Leytonstone boy. West Ham were my local club, and while we may have struggled a bit recently, good things are expected next season.’

  ‘Yeah, like celebrating a corner.’

  The two men shared several of the same interests, none more so than football. They attended as many clashes between their favoured teams as they were able, several England games, and a few neutral matches played at the grounds of other London sides. Work and family commitments often got in the way, but each game was a brief escape from the reality of the crumbling world they saw on a daily basis.

  ‘I see that band you like, Steeleye Span, have another album out.’

  Frank glared at his friend. ‘It’s Steely Dan, as well you know. Span are strictly folk music, and the only thing worse than folk music is the dead-dog, unfaithful-partner, train-wreck-of-a-life style of country music.’

  Nicky was laughing now. ‘I knew that’d get a rise out of you. You’re so easy to wind up, which is strange considering your legendary patience and even temper.’

  Frank smiled warmly at his friend. ‘I know what you’re doing, mate. And I thank you for it. Every time I reach the point where I think I can turn the release valve a little, something else crops up. I understand that you want me to get my mind off it for a few hours, but I really don’t think that’s possible right now. Sorry.’

  Nicky wiped his eyes, which were already stinging from the smoke. ‘That’s okay. I think I was a bit naive to imagine you sitting here and chatting as though nothing was wrong. I’m concerned about you, mate, that’s all.’

  ‘I know that. It’s just been a fucking awful week, and tomorrow doesn’t even bear thinking about.’ Frank swallowed. Already he could see himself standing over Gary’s brass plaque. ‘But I’ll make it. With you and Debs, plus Peter Forsyth in my corner, I’ll get through it somehow. I have no choice. Laura will need me.’

  They ate their meal and polished off another drink, the topics of their discussion ranging from Kylie Minogue’s rear-end, to war in the Middle-East. Though neither mentioned the investigation or the following day’s ceremony, both were uppermost in their thoughts. Frank knew that life had to go on, but it would never be the same.

  Nicky dropped him home then slipped away. His own flat in Woodford held endless possibilities with a flight attendant, he explained. If she was back from the Algarve, that was. He revealed that the two had been dating for a little over a month, having met as part of an investigation which was now over. Frank told him to switch off and enjoy what remained of the night.

  The moment Frank stepped through his front door, he noticed something for the first time: since Monday, he had left the hallway light burning. Afraid of the dark? Or a guiding light for his daughter?

  Oh, Laura. How is he treating you, baby bear? How are you coping? I know you’re still alive. My heart knows it even if my head might suggest otherwise. But how do you get through each day, sweetheart? How?

  It was almost midnight, but Frank went into his study, picked up the phone and punched in a speed-dial number. Debbie answered on the second ring.

  ‘I need you,’ he said simply.

  They lay in bed together, Frank’s arms wrapped around her, hugging her close. They had not made love. It wasn’t something either of them craved this night. All Frank desired was someone to be with, the beat of another heart close to his own, the simple warmth of a body belonging to someone he loved a great deal. All Debbie wanted was to ease his pain.

  ‘Did you have a good evening with Nicky?’ she asked. Disembodied in the darkness, her voice whispered softly.

  Frank told her about the club, the hooker-cum-waitresses, the splendid food, and the dreadful music. ‘Why don’t you play any more?’ Debbie asked him. ‘I remember you pulling out an acoustic at one of Janet’s dinner parties, getting us all to sing along with ‘American Pie’, ‘Hey Jude’, and stuff like that. It was a fabulous night. You’re good at it. You should keep it up, not let a talent go to waste.’

  ‘You sound like my agent.’ Frank moved his hand over the curve of her hip, caressing her smooth thigh. ‘It’s just something that doesn’t seem to happen anymore. It wasn’t a conscious decision, or anything like that. There just never seems to be time these days.’

  ‘I would have thought there was plenty of time once Janet moved out.’ Debbie’s voice became tender: perhaps she didn’t wish to invoke any bad memories.

  ‘Too much. That’s why I spent most of it either at work or in some boozer or another.’

  ‘I didn’t think you were the type to mind being on your own.’

  ‘There’s a difference between being alone, and being lonely. I was both, and hated being in this house during the week when the kids weren’t here.’

  Debbie nuzzled into him, her breath warm on his chest. Her fingers toyed with the hairs there, curling and twisting. ‘You stopped living, Frank. For the past ten months or so you’ve existed, but not taken time for life.’

  ‘There won’t be much time for that tomorrow, either.’ He didn’t know why he’d said that, and wished now that he hadn’t. It came back to him with a rush then, not that it had been too far away, out there lurking in the shadows, waiting for one little slip.

  Tomorrow morning, while Laura was somehow pushing her way through each passing hour, her mother and brother would disappear from this earth for good. All that remained would be ashes and fine particles of bone.

  ‘I need you to be strong for me tomorrow,’ Frank said softly, his voice little more than a muted whisper. ‘I need you to carry me through it.’

  Debbie kissed his cheek, and then his lips. ‘Whatever you need, Frank. Whatever you need.’

  And when tomorrow is over, Frank thought but did not say, I’m coming for you, Laura. Daddy’s coming, baby bear. Hold on. Just you hold on.

  35

  No sleet or snow, nor wind or rain befitting such a sombre occasion. Instead it was yet another fine summer’s day when Janet and Gary Rogers were turned to dust at the City of London Cemetery and Crematorium in east London.

  The ceremony itself was mercifully brief. Janet had not held any particular faith, and so the readings were more personal, a celebration of the two lives, the hymns chosen by the attending vicar. Heads bowed as the first casket slid from view. The second was smaller, so much harder to bear, but this time Frank did not lower hi
s head. He watched stoically, whispered a final farewell, and promised to bring to justice the man who sent his son hurtling brutally from this life. Frank Rogers did not cry, but there were many tears shed around him.

  He and Debbie stood together. At her side were Janet’s parents. Both had mumbled words of apology and regret, which he did not need, but accepted nonetheless. He did so more for their sake than his own. To his right stood his own mother, whose presence had stunned Frank. The only dry eyes were hers and his own. Nicky was in the next row, directly behind Frank. Peter Forsyth, having arrived late, remained at the back by the door. There were other relatives, many friends, including a large group of men and women Frank had worked with down the years. Even Chief Superintendent Badger and Commander Allen were there to pay their respects. Frank was genuinely grateful to each and every one of them.

  After the floral tributes had been placed within a brick quadrangle, other than a few lilies left inside glass vases beside the tiny brass plaques, Frank shook hands and said goodbye to those who had come to pay their respects. He accepted the obligatory platitudes with a smile and a nod, then made a point of seeking out his old mentor.

  ‘Thanks for coming, Peter. It means a lot to me.’

  Forsyth pushed away the offered hand, and instead pulled Frank into a warm embrace. ‘If I can do anything, just let me know,’ he said. ‘And I mean anything. You want it, you’ve got it, my friend.’

  Frank nodded. ‘You still have influence, Peter?’

  ‘Let’s just say, I know which cupboards to look in for the skeletons.’

  ‘One of these days you and I will have to have a chat about police corruption at the highest level.’

  Forsyth patted his arm and turned to leave. ‘Read it in my memoirs, Frank. But if you do need any leverage …’

  The last to lay their floral tributes were Debbie and Nicky, and neither offered further words of comfort. No words could make this personal tragedy seem more acceptable. They left Frank standing alone for a time, deciding to wait for him in the car park. Birds sang in nearby trees, insects droned amongst the flowers, the sun beat down relentlessly. The sky was blue and clear and had no end. At that moment, he didn’t care if he ever saw another. For him this would always be a summer of darkness.

  Frank stared down at the brass rectangles. There is no justice in this world, his mind insisted. How could there be? An eight-year-old boy was dead, murdered in his bed, his last moments filled with more pain and terror than most people would encounter in a lifetime. What had he done in those few short years to deserve such an end? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Life was unfair; that was accepted. But did it also have to be so cruel?

  Shaking his head, Frank blinked back a fresh well of tears. He couldn’t quite believe there were any more inside him to shed, but he somehow realised that what had gone before was merely the beginning. The real grieving, the real torment was yet to come. When this was over, when Laura’s fate was also known, the protective walls he had erected would crumble and fall. He couldn’t imagine what lay beyond, what might become of him then.

  Several yards away, someone had tied balloons to one of the many other plaques that were laid out in neat rows, the ribbon fluttering in the light breeze. Frank moved across to take a closer look, and saw a small photograph attached to the ribbon’s knot. A toddler, no more than two or three, Frank imagined. He checked the plaque, erected the day before according to the engraving. A little girl. Dead within thirty months of being born. What kind of God could allow such a terrible tragedy?

  In the days and months and years to come, Frank knew there would be his own set of photographs to leap out at him unexpectedly, birthdays and Christmases to somehow get through. And when he had dealt with them there would always be an unbidden memory to catch him unawares. It was then that Frank realised something else: he was never going to be the same person again, the man he had been before that awful night. That Frank Rogers was gone for good. As dead and gone as his wife and son.

  On the drive back to the house, he sat with Debbie in the rear of Nicky’s car. No words were exchanged. No one else had been invited back. There would be no sandwiches, drinks and polite conversation. When they reached his home the two men embraced momentarily, before Nicky left them to it.

  ‘I’ll call you later,’ Nicky said. ‘Let you know how the watchers have got on.’

  Inside the house there was no respite from the heat. Frank threw open the French windows, but there was little breeze, and the air remained warm and thick and moist. Debbie had switched the kettle on, and was washing two cups. Her black jacket lay over the back of a dining chair. Her crisp white blouse clung to her body, the slim-fitting skirt hugging every contour. She looked so much a part of the room, as if she had always belonged.

  They sat at the table, Debbie slid a mug of tea across to him. They talked about the ceremony, agreeing how beautiful it had been.

  ‘What is it with you and your mother?’ Debbie asked. ‘I mean, down the years I’ve known you, I picked up on the fact that you two don’t get on.’

  Frank snorted. ‘That’s the understatement of the year.’

  ‘Still, I couldn’t believe how cold you both were to each other today. I’ve never seen that side of you before. As for her, she slipped away without a word. I don’t even know why she bothered to come.’

  ‘I imagine she’s grieving,’ Frank said simply. ‘In her own way. Gary was her grandson, after all. For all I know she may even be hurting. But she would never allow anyone to see behind the mask. Never show that kind of weakness.’

  ‘And you? Could you not have reached out to her, today of all days?’

  Frank hung his head. This was another cigarette moment, and all he had was lousy gum. ‘Debs, you have to understand that the chasm between my mother and me can’t be bridged by the death of someone she barely knew.’

  Debbie stroked her arms and leaned back in the chair. ‘What on earth happened? What was so terrible that it drove you two apart?’

  Without looking up at her, Frank said, ‘You could pick one of several reasons. The way she broke my father’s spirit, for a start. He was a good man, an honest, hard-working docker. Tough as old boots. Except where she was concerned. He worshipped her; even as a kid I could see that. But she ground him down, Debs, little by little. She ridiculed him unmercifully in front of his friends, she laughed at his lack of education, mocked his job, nagged him day and night, and spent time with rather too many male friends. She wanted him to be a man of means, run his own business. She insisted he leave the docks and open a corner shop. That was the height of her ambition. But what did he want with standing in a shop serving customers all day?’

  Frank shook his head, bitter thoughts rampaging through his mind. ‘In the end he couldn’t deny her, particularly when it became obvious that the docks were winding down. He left his job, a place where he was well-liked, respected, a man of influence. He became a shopkeeper, and I watched him die a little inside every single day. He was my age when he finally gave up. Slipped away in his sleep. Heart attack. At peace. At last.’

  ‘And you never forgave your mother for that.’ Debbie nodded. ‘I can understand how you must have felt.’

  Frank sipped from his mug, shaking his head. ‘Oh, that wasn’t the end of it. After a period of mourning that lasted about as long as took to down her first vodka, she began to party as if she’d been released. Reborn even. It was my old man who’d been released, but the irony was lost on her.

  ‘Then came the different men, trooping through the flat above my father’s shop without a care in the world. She neglected the business, the money dried up, she lost the shop, the booze caused her to lose what looks she had, and so the men stopped coming by. We were forced to live in a dive of a flat on a dive of a council estate, the type of place where the rats outnumbered the pets. Never one to blame herself, she turned on me.’

  ‘It must have been awful for you.’

  ‘I was fifteen by then. I could handle
it. So, she began to take it out on my brother, who was far less able to cope.’

  Debbie set down her mug, a look of astonishment spread across her face. ‘Your brother? I never knew you had a brother. I thought you were an only child.’

  ‘Even Janet didn’t know. Maybe that tells you how close we really were. My brother was three years younger than me. The whole nightmare episode hit him very hard, and when she started on him, he fell apart at the seams. He was twelve when he ran away. I helped him pack, even gave him some money. I watched him slip away one night, and I haven’t seen him since.’

  ‘Frank, that’s awful. Just awful.’

  Frank moistened his lips. ‘I like to think he’s doing well. Living the good life.’

  ‘You’ve never tried to track him down? With the contacts you’ve made, being a copper, it would have been easy enough. You must have been tempted.’

  But Frank blinked and shook his head. His eyes met hers. ‘Never. Not once. When he left I stuck around until I finished school and I was able to get out and fend for myself. It was imagining him living a better life that got me through the bad times. Imagining the very best. I’ve never wanted to ruin that notion with reality.’

  Frank saw Debbie gather herself, clearly emotional. It had been a lot of information to absorb in one go. ‘Everyone has a sob story,’ he said gently. ‘Mine’s just another one.’

  ‘What’s his name? Your brother.’

  ‘Jimmy. James, to be exact. But Jimmy to those who knew him. He was a smashing kid. Physically tough. Very bright.’

  ‘You weren’t concerned at how a twelve-year-old would cope on his own?’

  ‘Those were very different times, Debs. To be perfectly honest, I was more worried at how he might end up if he stayed.’

  ‘You didn’t turn out too bad,’ Debs pointed out.

  He gave a short, humourless laugh. ‘Yeah. Ex-cop, now a debt-collector. Failed marriage behind me. No, I wanted him to be better than I knew I was going to be. And he is. I just know it.’