The Day of the Jack Russell (Mystery Man)

by Bateman, Colin

  He pushed a cup and saucer across the table. I thanked him and tried not to look at it. It would interfere with my Starbucks schedule if I even inhaled. I’d have go back to the start of the menu. As I sat opposite him, I quietly moved it to one side.

  ‘Mr Randall . . .’ I began, but he immediately cut in.

  ‘Some Christmas that was, taken away from my wife and family in the dead of night. My youngest thought she could hear Santa Claus moving around downstairs, but it was the fucking Murder Squad. Took the door off its hinges. Still, I’m insured.’

  He laughed. The bodyguard laughed. I laughed too, because sometimes toadying helps. Billy continued laughing, right up to the point where he stopped abruptly and snapped out: ‘So what’re we going to do?’

  ‘We?’

  ‘Sure, we. Aren’t we in this together?’

  ‘Well, technically . . .’

  ‘Someone’s trying to stitch us up. And technically I’m still employing you.’

  ‘Well actually . . .’

  ‘Well actually I haven’t paid you, so you’re still being employed by me, and it’s up to me if I change the parameters. You should check your employment law.’ He suddenly clicked his fingers at me. ‘What’s that old saying . . . about the piper . . .?’

  ‘The . . . piper . . .?’

  ‘The piper . . .’ He clicked them again. ‘The piper . . .’

  ‘Peter Piper pilked . . .?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Peter Piper picked a pelk . . .’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Peter Piper picked a peck of peckled . . .’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers . . .’

  ‘No . . .’

  ‘Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers. Did Peter Piper pick a peck of pickled peppers? If Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers, where’s the peck of pickled peppers Peter Piper—’

  ‘Will you just . . . shut the fuck . . . up?!’ Billy Randall was staring at me: ‘Christ!’ He lowered his voice as two new customers sat down at the table immediately behind me. I caught their reflection in the window. It was Jeff. And Alison. Also I heard Jeff whisper loudly, ‘Which one is the record button?’ Billy Randall leaned a little closer. ‘What I mean about the piper is, he who pays the piper calls the tune, capiche?’

  ‘Technically, it’s capisce . . .’

  ‘Just . . .’

  ‘It’s important to . . .’

  ‘Listen to . . .’

  ‘Because misunderstand—’

  ‘QUIET. Listen to me. I am a very rich man. Rich men have enemies. I am being implicated in a double murder. I am innocent. And as the police are doing the implicating, I can’t run to them for help. I need you to find out who is really responsible for these murders. I need you to bring them to justice. That is what you do, right?’

  I looked at him. He was right. It was what I did.

  I had sworn never again to get involved in cases that were in any way dangerous, that even hinted at murder or violence. I would concentrate exclusively on safe little puzzles, almost like animated crosswords, where ultimately it didn’t matter if you solved them, but you got a nice little glow if you did. Something to while away a winter’s evening with one hand while mopping up your mother’s drool with the other. But here I was, within six weeks of that declaration, once again implicated in murder, and yet again through absolutely no fault of my own. Alison had hurled me into the maelstrom last time by insisting on breaking into the mysteriously shuttered detective agency next door and discovering the dead body of its owner; this time I had merely tried to track down a couple of vandals. Now I was going to have to find my own way out of it. If Billy Randall wanted to maintain the charade of me being his employee then that was fine with me, but I would be working to my own agenda.

  ‘I said, that is what you do, right?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I said . . . Do you by any chance have a short attention span?’

  ‘I was thinking about the case.’

  ‘Oh – I like that. You’ve got tunnel vision. I’m a bit like that with my business. You know, I think we’re quite alike.’

  Behind me, Alison snorted.

  ‘I think,’ he continued, ‘that once we set our mind to solving a problem, we don’t let anything stop us, we’re super-focused. That’s how I built my business, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let anyone take me down, and that’s what this is about: someone wants in, and the only way they think they can do that is by framing me for this, because they know they can’t beat me at business, I’ve got it all sewn up. So what do you say, are we a team?’

  He held out his pork fingers to me.

  I squeezed them again.

  ‘Sucker,’ said Alison, and we both turned to her. She made an elaborate show of tickling Jeff. ‘I am not a sucker,’ she giggled, ‘you’re the sucker!’ Jeff squirmed away as she attacked him again.

  Billy Randall shook his head. ‘Young love, eh?’

  14

  Before I started the interrogation, I told him I’d need him to be completely honest, to answer each and every question without asking why, to show patience and courtesy, and most importantly, in order to get me back on track, he had to get me a caramel macchiato. He agreed to these conditions, except for a variation on the last, by which I mean he sent his bodyguard down to get it. Nobody tried to assassinate him while he was gone.

  I said, ‘So these guys, did you kill them?’

  ‘No, don’t be daft.’

  ‘But the police think you did. What did they say?’

  ‘They? Him. A DI Robinson. My solicitor says he’s a law unto himself. He says the other detectives have a nickname for him. They call him Mr Marple. He’s like a pernickety old woman. He said that when he entered there was blood everywhere, looked like a real slaughterhouse, but one thing that caught his eye was the computer, still switched on, with YouTube on the screen and paused on a video of my billboard being defaced. He said it didn’t take a genius to work out that the victims were responsible for the graffiti. I mean, Christ, that was enough to haul me in? If there’d been a video of Kylie Minogue on the screen, would they have lifted her?’ Billy shook his head. ‘I should be so lucky.’

  ‘And that’s why they arrested you?’

  Billy looked down at his coffee and added quietly, ‘Well, that and the fact that I did go round and visit them.’

  ‘Okay. Right. When was this? And why?’

  ‘The morning after you sent me their address. See, most people in my position, they’d call the lawyers in, threaten them with this or that. I’m not like that. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not an easy touch or anything, but I prefer to see if we can work something out. Charm them, you know what I mean? So we went round . . .’

  ‘We?’

  ‘Me and Charlie Hawk here.’ He nodded across at his bodyguard. Charlie winked. ‘I don’t go anywhere without Charlie.’

  ‘You came to see me without him.’

  ‘He was waiting outside. Stopping your customers. You’ll note that nobody else entered the whole time I was there.’

  I let that one pass. ‘But you went to see these guys with your security guard. Might that not have been perceived as threatening?’

  ‘No. He’s very polite and friendly. More like a chauffeur or personal assistant. Which he is.’

  Charlie gave me the thumbs-up. He still looked like a thug.

  ‘So what’d they do when they saw who it was?’

  ‘Surprised. People generally are, when they meet me in the flesh. But not unduly disturbed. They invited me in.’

  ‘Charlie too?’

  ‘Yes. But I suggested he wait outside.’

  ‘Having established the threat.’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘And what was it like inside?’

  ‘Jumbled. Run-down. I suppose, like a student house. They sat me down, got me a cup of tea. And then, bold as brass, they asked what they could do for me
.’

  ‘Lose your temper?’

  ‘No. No. I just wanted them to know that we were coming from the same place, you know what I mean? Same roots. I pulled myself up by my bootstraps, but I grew up on the streets just like they did. I am a common man, and I work for the common man. I asked them why they were attacking one of their own, why they felt the need to put a cock on my head and film it and make me a laughing stock all over the world.’

  ‘And what did they say?’

  ‘Because I was there. Like—’

  ‘Everest.’

  ‘Yes. Exactly. No apology, no vendetta, no anything. I said to them, so you just did it for badness, and they said no, for a laugh. I said, do you not care if people get hurt? And they said, what people? I said, me, my wife, my children, my business. And they said all they did was draw a cock on my head and again I asked them why, and they said, ‘cos you’re a dickhead. They started laughing, and they wouldn’t stop. I think they were on drugs.’

  ‘So you got angry.’

  ‘No. Not at all.’

  ‘So you called Charlie in.’

  ‘I didn’t do anything.’

  ‘You just took it on the chin.’

  ‘What could I do? I said I hoped they would have been more co-operative and they’d given me no choice but to call my legal people in. They just kept laughing.’

  ‘And then what?’

  ‘Then nothing. They were rolling around the place. I thanked them for their time and I let myself out.’

  ‘And Charlie went back later and beat them to death.’

  ‘Not that I’m aware. Charlie?’

  ‘Not me, boss.’

  Billy looked at me. ‘See?’

  I said to Charlie: ‘Has DI Robinson spoken to you too?’

  ‘Marple? Sure.’ Charlie shrugged. ‘Seemed perfectly happy.’

  Billy Randall talked some more about how import ant he was, how he didn’t believe in violence, how he came up with the idea of using his own face on the billboards after vacationing in America, how he loved being able to shake things up in the travel industry, how his children had burst into tears the first time they’d seen the cock-headed man, how his office kept getting calls from newspapers and television stations wanting to do stories on the cock-headed man . . .

  ‘Are you even listening?’ Billy asked.

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘You’ve got a kind of far-away look in your eyes.’

  Alison snorted.

  ‘Just thinking.’

  ‘Well, that’s good. Because you need to get the thinking cap on and get this sorted as soon as you can. Whoever set me up, damn sure they’re going to find some way to exploit it, and sooner rather than later. The court of perception is not a kind one, sunshine. If it gets as far as the internet that I’ve been questioned about this, it’ll be the end of me. I want this sorted. Twenty-four hours a day if you have to, capiche?’

  ‘Capisce.’

  He squinted at me. ‘You’re an odd one, aren’t you? But I kind of like that. Here.’ He reached into his jacket and withdrew a manila envelope. He flicked it against his fingers, then laid it flat on the table and pushed it across to me. ‘First instalment.’

  I looked at it.

  ‘From here on in, sunshine,’ said Billy, leaning forward, ‘we’re partners.’

  ‘From here on in, sunshine, we’re partners,’ Alison mimicked, trying to hug me while letting loose with a witchy cackle. I recoiled. She stood awkwardly for a moment before backing into a chair and sitting. Jeff pulled up another chair. I had made them wait to join me until Billy Randall and Charlie had climbed into a Jag parked opposite and driven away.

  As Alison sat, she nodded down at the envelope. ‘Well?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Look at it. Open it.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Jeff, ‘open it.’

  ‘If I open it, it’ll be like . . .’

  ‘Being paid to do a job,’ said Alison.

  ‘Open it,’ said Jeff.

  ‘Open it, go on, look at it, it’s so thick.’ Alison wrinkled her nose coquettishly. ‘I like it thick.’

  ‘So do I,’ said Jeff.

  We both looked at him. He seemed impervious.

  ‘I can’t. Look, last time we agreed a fee, I did the work, I invoiced him. But a brown envelope stuffed with cash, that’s just . . . under the counter, shady. He can’t just buy me . . .’

  ‘He can buy me,’ said Alison. She snatched the envelope up before I could stop her. Jeff leaned over eagerly. Alison sat back, holding it as far away from either of us as she could, before peeking inside. Her eyes widened. ‘Holy shit!’ she said. ‘This is going to buy baby a lot of fucking bootees!’

  Jeff started laughing, and then stopped. He looked at her, and then at me, and then at her. You could hear the cogs labouring. He started to say something. Then stopped. Alison turned the envelope so I could see. There was certainly a thick wodge of notes.

  ‘Blood money,’ I said.

  ‘Blood money – would you ever get off your high horse? Blood money.’

  ‘If he turns out to be the killer, and I accepted money from him, how’s that going to look in a court of law?’

  ‘If. Didn’t he say he didn’t do it? Isn’t he only trying to prove his innocence? Aren’t you just doing a job? Do you think a frickin’ lawyer defending someone is going to refuse to be paid even though he bloody surely knows if his client is guilty or not? Jesus, man, make hay while the sun shines.’

  It was a poor choice of words, given that she knew how badly I suffer from hay fever. I said firmly: ‘Put the money down.’

  ‘Down?’

  ‘On the table. Nobody touches it until we know more about the case.’

  ‘I like the we,’ said Alison.

  ‘I like the we too,’ said Jeff.

  ‘We’re like The Avengers,’ said Alison.

  ‘Or The Champions,’ said Jeff.

  ‘Slip of the tongue,’ I said. ‘Now put . . . the money . . . down . . .’

  ‘You look all serious,’ said Alison.

  ‘I am all serious.’

  ‘I think I like you like that.’

  ‘Just put it down.’

  Alison replaced it on the table. She raised an eyebrow at Jeff. I took the napkin that had come with the caramel macchiato and used it to lift the envelope and place it in my jacket pocket. I nodded to myself, satisfied, then looked at Alison, who was brushing a crisp new twenty-pound note across her fingers.

  Jeff giggled. ‘How’d you do that?’

  ‘Nimble fingers. Comes from working with jewellery. Also, my dad was a professional pickpocket.’

  ‘Was he?’

  ‘Nah, don’t be daft.’ She held it out to me. I went to take it. She pulled it away. ‘Team?’

  I sighed. She held it out again. I grabbed for it. She whisked it away and transferred it to her other hand.

  ‘Team?’

  Jeff yanked it away from her and passed it to me.

  ‘Thanks for that,’ Alison whined.

  ‘Thanks for telling me you were pregnant,’ said Jeff.

  ‘It’s not yours,’ said Alison.

  ‘How do you know?’ asked Jeff.

  Alison made a face.

  I had to admit, if only to myself, that there was something vaguely comforting about the three of us sitting there in Starbucks. I loathed Alison because she was trying to blackmail me and also because of how she tickled Jeff when she knew how pathologic ally jealous I was; and I despised Jeff, really just for being Jeff. But there, in heaven, and about to order something fresh in my eternal menu quest, it was all surprisingly . . . nice. Yes, I felt a little feverish; of course my tinnitus continued to resound like a permanent air-raid warning in a neighbouring town, and of course the aches of rheumatoid arthritis continued to plague me, but there was a definite feeling of excitement coming upon me, which could only partially be put down to my growing addiction to caffeine. Despite my preference for soft cases that of
fered no threat, there was a tiny part of me that loved the challenge of taking on something meatier, and The Case of the Cock-Headed Man had certainly developed into that. I wanted to solve it. Alison had already proved how my DNA had come to be in the victims’ house, which was really my only connection to the actual murders, and there had been no indication that I was in any danger at all. The only person in danger here was Billy Randall, and really that was more of a threat to his business than to his actual person. So what was there to lose? I had my team assembled, I had my customers on standby, I had the internet, I had Starbucks and this time around I had virtually unlimited supplies of Vitolink.

  Suddenly I was all fired up. Damn it, I was going to solve this!

  And blood money be damned!

  I held up the twenty Alison had removed from the envelope and which Jeff and I had both touched: impregnated with all of our fingerprints and DNA, it was now a symbol of our unity. We would become Avengers! We would become Champions! And together, though led by me, we would track down the killers of Jimbo Carson and Ronny Clegg!

  ‘Jeff,’ I cried, reaching the note out to him, ‘go down and get three mint mocha chip frappuccinos!’

  He looked truly startled. He stood, hesitantly took the twenty from my grasp, then began to nervously back away, convinced he was being set up.

  ‘Christ,’ said Alison, ‘you’re living on the edge a bit.’

  ‘Jeff!’

  He froze at the top of the stairs and turned slowly.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Get a receipt.’

  15

  ‘Okay,’ Alison said, ‘before we start, I think it’s import ant that we have some ground rules, like not interr—’

  ‘Just let me interrupt for a moment,’ I said, ‘because while yes I agree that we should have ground rules, I think it’s important that it comes from me the fact that I think we should have ground rules, rather than you saying that you think we should have ground rules. Because much as I like the idea of us being a team, in reality that doesn’t work. You need someone to be in charge, and I’m the one with the track record in investigating, I’m the expert, I’m the one getting paid, and at the end of the day I’m the one who’ll carry the can if it all goes wrong, so I think we should agree that I’m in charge and that I get to say that I think it’s important that we have ground rules.’