BURN, BABY, BURN

by Jake Barton

  Donna blinked, and started again. It wasn't going well.

  "No, ‘course not. My mistake. I thought there was a son."

  The old man grunted. "Oh, him. Marcus."

  Donna waited, but he didn't offer any more.

  "Is he there? Marcus, I mean."

  The old man shook his head.

  "If he is, I’ve not seen him lately." He cackled wildly, to her intense alarm. She’d half risen from the chair, ready to make a quick get-away, when she saw the white stick in the corner.

  "Oh," Donna said feebly. "You're blind."

  "Not much gets past you, does it, girl?"

  "I’m sorry, I meant... I didn't realise, sorry."

  "No offence taken. It's probably pretty dark in here."

  Donna nodded, realised he couldn't see the gesture, and said, "Yes, it is a bit." Some bloody investigator she was. Been here five minutes and never noticed he was blind.

  "One of the perks that is, saving on the leckie bills. Bloody NorWeb would go out of business if everyone was like me." He cackled again and Donna sank back down in her seat.

  "The wife's out at the shops, love. Not that she'll be able to tell you much about what goes on next-door. She fell out with that Mrs Green years ago. You know what women are like. She's a funny bugger, that one."

  "Mrs Green?"

  He cackled again. 'I meant my wife, but yeah, Mrs Green as well – they're both funny buggers. Won't ever let anything lie, know what I mean?"

  Donna nodded, and then remembering he couldn’t see the gesture, said, "Yes, I know what you mean. What about Marcus? Does he live there too?"

  "Oh, Marcus. He's a bad lad is Marcus. You want to stay away from him, nice girl like you." He drifted off again.

  Her eyes had become accustomed to the gloom by now and Donna was able to study the old man without appearing rude. Shades of grey at the temples imparted a distinguished appearance, but the clothes were shabby and the room was cheaply furnished with the sort of stuff you see thrown in skips.

  Not that she was being snobby; her kitchen table came out of a skip, as did the wardrobe in Peg's room. Donna reflected on the fact that hardly anyone ever asked who she was or why she was asking questions about their neighbours. Dexter had drilled it into her to have a cover story ready, if challenged, and Donna had a supply of laminated cards in her bag which purported to prove she was just about anyone she’d claimed to be.

  The interesting thing was, in cases like now, where she'd not given any reason for asking questions, she’d not been challenged at all. People gave the most intimate details of their own lives, and those of their neighbours, without seeming to care who was asking or why they wanted to know. The old man was a case in point.

  "About Marcus?" Donna prompted. "He's not living at home then?"

  He shook his head. "Been gone for years, he has. They put him away, you know. And not before time and all. Nasty little sod that he is. We all knew what he was like. No surprise when they put him away." He lapsed into silence again.

  "He's out again now, isn't he?"

  "Don’t know, but he's not been back here. Or, if he has, I’ve not seen him." He cackled again. Donna stood up. This wasn't getting her anywhere.

  "I'd best be getting on. Thanks for all your trouble."

  "What trouble? Anyway, if it’s Marcus Green you're after, you'd best ask Clive."

  "Clive?"

  "My son. He knows Marcus, used to be mates when they were kids. His mother didn't like it, but what can you do? There's no telling kids these days, and Clive's awkward enough to deal with at the best of times."

  "Can I see your son? Just in case he can help me?"

  The old man leaned toward, lowering his voice. "Don't let Clive frighten you," he said. "He wouldn't harm a fly." Donna thought of where she'd heard that expression before and reckoned it was the last line from the film "Psycho".

  "He's in his room. Clive doesn't go out much," the old man said. "Top of the stairs, first left. Just knock first though – he's a bit funny about anyone barging in. Don't worry, when you go in. Tell him I said you could go up and he'll be right enough with you."

  Donna thanked him, picked up her bag and walked to the door, watching the old man get up from his chair and walk to the stove where the cabbage was simmering away. He sniffed above the pot, then turned off the gas and took the pan over to the sink and drained off the water.

  Such a collection of potential disasters even for a sighted person, yet apparently purely routine tasks for someone who knew his own space like the back of his hand.

  As Donna mounted the stairs, she recalled that the neighbour over the road had given some sort of cryptic warning about the mysterious Clive. Don't worry about Clive was the gist of it. The old man had now said exactly the same thing. The trouble was when someone told her not to worry, that was usually when Donna started to get worried.

  The first door on the left was closed. One of the lower panels was broken and splintered, as if it had been violently kicked, and an enormous padlock dangled from a heavy-duty hasp on the frame. The lock had a distinctly unforgiving look to it. Donna walked closer and tapped lightly on the door.

  "Piss off."

  Not promising.

  Donna thought about it for a minute, and then tapped again.

  No response. Donna considering knocking again but decided on the direct approach.

  " Excuse me," she squeaked. Christ, I sound like Barbie. "Can I perhaps speak to you for a moment?"

  "Who are you?"

  "My name's Donna O’Prey. Your dad suggested I talk to you."

  "I don't want any fucking do-gooders in here."

  "I’m not a do-gooder. I want to talk about Marcus Green." There was a long silence from the other side of the door. Donna waited, shuffling from one foot to the other like an incontinent toddler. She'd just about decided to cut her losses and clear off when Clive spoke again.

  "Come in, if you want."

  Donna pushed open the door and walked into the room. The sole occupant, presumably Clive, sat on the edge of a single bed. He was massive. Not just big, but bloody huge.

  All right, a lot of it was fat, quite a lot actually, but the forearms were of Popeye dimensions and his hands were like shovels. An unlit cigarette was clenched in his fingers like the tip of a snooker cue. He cleared his throat and beckoned for Donna to come closer.

  Wide unblinking eyes peered out through an unkempt curtain of matted greasy hair. Donna moved a little closer and he rose slowly to his feet with an unlikely grace, flicking back his hair with one grimy hand. Donna stopped a yard away, waiting for him to make the first move. His implacable stare gave nothing away.

  He might have been pleased to see her, he might have been pissed off, or he might not have given a monkey's toss one way or the other. Donna just hoped he wasn't pissed off. Up close, he wasn't just big, he was seriously scary.

  Disarmingly, he waved a massive paw towards the single chair, against the back wall, and waited for Donna to sit before resuming his place on the bed. The mattress sagged alarmingly then settled. He perched on the very edge of the mattress with a distinct air of trepidation. If not that, then something closely akin to it. Put another way, he seemed scared stiff. This begged the obvious question. Why?

  In the awkward silence, Donna glanced around at their surroundings. A pale light filtered through the fine gauze covering the window leaving deep pools of shade in the far recesses of the room. What she could see was certainly not what she had expected. It just goes to show, as Peg would say. There was no sense of permanence.

  A place to sleep and that was about it.

  One thing struck her at once – how clean it all was. This in itself was symptomatic of someone who had reserved this small space as his home and would never allow the place to become untidy. The sparse furniture was functional at best. No pictures or photographs adorned the bare walls nor were there any ornaments or items of a personal nature.

  An empty motel room would conve
y more of a sense of occupation. Nothing here was haphazard or out of place, there were no clues as to the personality of the occupant.

  "So, you want to know about Marcus, do you?" Clive had obviously decided Donna hadn’t forced her way into his bedroom in order to ravish him. There were none of the questions Donna had been anticipating. Like, for instance, who are you? What are you doing here? Why do you want to know about Marcus? Awkward questions Donna hadn’t worked out how to answer.

  "Do you know where I can find him?"

  Clive gave a deep rumbling laugh, his hanging gut wobbling alarmingly. "I’m not sure that's a good idea," he said.

  His voice was surprisingly cultured, and Donna realised at once that beneath the outsize frame and dysfunctional exterior was a sharp incisive mind.

  "Marcus is not a very nice person. Do you know anything about him?"

  "I know about the fire, and about him being put away. That's about all."

  Clive snorted. "Everyone knows that."

  "Do you know him?"

  "I used to, before he went away. He was a mate, my best mate when I was young, used to let me use some of his stuff sometimes. He's the same age as me, give or take a few months, and had loads of things I never had. When he moved in next door, I thought it was Christmas every day. He let me ride his bike, play with his knives, that sort of thing."

  "Knives?"

  "Loads of them. Throwing knives, sheath knives, even a couple of flick knives. He could have anything he wanted. Them downstairs," he jerked a thumb the size of a banana towards the carpet. "They didn't think it right that him and his mother had moved here. Not after living on Caldy Hill. They reckon she was a toff and should have stuck to her own type. They never liked his mother, still don't, but they liked Marcus, at first anyway."

  "Why did they move here?"

  Clive shrugged. "His Dad died when he was a kid, and they moved here a bit after that. I don't know why, but Marcus always reckoned it was his idea. He said he liked the park and wanted to live near it. That's what he told me when I asked him about it. Could be right, his mother would do just about anything he wanted. Later on, he used to drive her car, go out in it at night. He would only have been thirteen, maybe even less. The dozy coppers never caught him. She knew about it, his mother did, but never said anything."

  "Has he come back at all since they let him out?"

  Clive looked at the floor. Donna was confused by his reaction to such a simple question, especially as he’d been speaking so freely up to now.

  "I'd rather not get involved, if you don't mind. I’m sorry."

  "Why not? All I want to know is whether you've seen him since he came out. Has he been in touch with you?"

  "No!"

  Donna jumped at the vehemence of his tone. He half-turned, in a defensive posture, and she realised that for all his bulk he was a gentle and rather timid person. She reached forward and touched his arm and he flinched.

  "Don't worry. No-one will ever know I’ve been to see you."

  "Oh, he'll know. He knows everything. I haven't always been like this, you know. Only since..." His voice tailed away.

  "Go on," Donna prompted.

  "Stay away from him. He'll hurt you. You don't know what he's like."

  "I need to know, Clive. I want to catch him before he hurts anyone else. I think he's taken a friend of mine." Donna had never met Celine, but felt it would strengthen her case if she claimed Celine as a friend.

  "Your friend, is it a girl?"

  "Yes. Her name's Celine."

  "Celine Dobson?"

  "Yes," Donna said in astonishment, all thoughts of client confidentiality going out of the window. "Do you know her?"

  He shook his head. "No, but Marcus does. He kept her picture in his bedroom. He had pictures of all the children."

  "What children? I don't understand."

  "The ones who died in the fire, Mrs Rudd's children, and her sister's little girl. I remember her name was Celine."

  "When was this?"

  "Oh, years ago, the last time I went to his house. He'd been expelled from school and told me what he would do to Mrs Rudd. He said he'd take her children away to punish her. I didn't believe him at the time, which may sound stupid now, but he often said things like that. He was pretty scary actually, and I knew how cruel he could be. I wish now I'd said something, but I never did. Even after the fire, I never said anything."

  "I don't understand about the photograph of Celine."

  "Marcus said he wanted to destroy Mrs Rudd for what she'd done to him. He would take away everything she loved the most. Her sister's little girl, Celine was always playing with Mrs Rudd's children. That's why she was added to the list."

  "You think he's got her, don't you?"

  "Yes. You asked me before if he'd been in touch. He wouldn't do that, but he's back. I’ve seen him."

  "Where?"

  "Next-door. At his mother’s. He's been back three or four times, always at night. He comes through the hedge, from the park. I can see him from my window."

  Donna stood up and looked through the narrow window at a neat garden of shrubs and flowerbeds, with a tall hedge at the end.

  "That's his mother's house?"

  Clive nodded. "Don't let anyone see you watching," he cautioned. Donna resumed her seat.

  "Do you watch for him every night?"

  "Since they let him out. He'll come after me one day, I know he will. I know things about him."

  Donna had a hundred questions in her head, but held back for now as she didn't want him to clam up. "If you're worried about him, why don't you go away?"

  "Don't think I haven't wanted to, but it wouldn't be any use. He'd find me. Then, there are my folks. My dad could never move from here. He knows every inch of this house. Can't expect a blind man to move to somewhere he doesn't know. I can't leave them. I know how Marcus thinks. He'll want to hurt them before he comes for me. That's how his system works. Kill or hurt whatever a person loves most, watch them suffer, then kill them. That's what he did to me. My Dad hasn't always been blind, you know."

  "Marcus did that?"

  "I can't prove it, but I know he did. When I was fourteen, my Dad had an accident on his way home from work. Someone found him in the road, reckoned he fell off his bike. He doesn't remember anything about it. He was unconscious when they found him and had total memory loss. His skull was fractured. It left him partly paralysed on his left side and he lost his sight completely."

  "And you think Marcus was responsible?"

  "I know he was. He was punishing me and that's how his mind works."

  "Why was he punishing you?"

  Clive scratched his head, hard enough to remove barnacles from a ship’s hull, and yawned mightily. A few stray wisps of hair stuck up where his fingers had worn a groove. His eyes were sunk deep into their sockets – deep as in Titanic on the ocean floor – black holes in the pallor of his face. He hunched his shoulders, then let them drop, rolling his head from side to side, like a punch-drunk boxer as he sought to ease the tension in his neck. When he spoke, his voice had a metallic rasp, as if it had been left out all night in the rain. Pushing his fingers through his hair again, he winced as a stubborn tangle snagged painfully. The crows' feet around his eyes bunched together like mourners around an open coffin. He looked agitated, repeatedly glancing at the closed door.

  "I’ve never told anybody this," he said. "I’ll tell you about him only if you promise to stay away from Marcus Green. He's very dangerous. I'd like to help you find Celine, but if she is with Marcus, you're probably too late to save her. I want you to understand how dangerous it is for you to go round asking questions about Marcus. If he finds out, and he will find out, I’ll have you on my conscience as well as all the others."

  "All the others?"

  He shook his head. "First you promise to stay away from him."

  "I promise," Donna said, with the glib assurance of a seasoned liar.

  "It was when he saw me watching him. Thr
ough the window."

  Donna glanced across at the window and a shadow of irritation crossed his brow.

  "Not that window. A window in his house. I used to watch him from a tree house in the garden. I thought he never knew I was there until one day he came to the window and looked straight at me. It was dark outside, and I didn't think he could see me, but he knew I was there, watching him. It was the same day I'd seen the photographs of the children in his bedroom."

  "What was he doing?"

  Clive sighed heavily, glancing again at the door and lowering his voice. "He was with his mother."

  Donna looked at him blankly.

  "They were naked, on the bed. I'd watched them before, several times. Sometimes he hit her and she would cry. After he came to the window, I was too frightened to move, but I stayed in the tree, watching him. He knew I was there. He put all the lights on so I could see everything. He was on the bed with his mother, on top of the bed, not under the covers, and he was having sex with her. I'd watched them before, as I said, but this time he put all the lights on. Afterwards, he turned towards the window and smiled at me. I was so scared I nearly broke my neck climbing down the tree. My Dad had his accident the next day. Does that help you understand how dangerous he is?"

  Donna nodded.

  "Stay away from him. Christ, I can't believe I’m telling you this and I’ve even forgotten your name."

  "It's Donna. Donna O'Prey."

  "Right. He's very dangerous, Donna. You're no match for someone like Marcus."

  "But if he’s got Celine somewhere," Donna said, "I’ve got to try and help her. I’ll be careful, but I have to find where she is. I promised her mother."

  His great face crumpled like an empty crisp wrapper, tilted slightly to one side as if listening to voices that only he could hear. His thick lips moved in some unknown mantra and beads of sweat formed on his brow.

  It was cold in the room, so he was either scared stiff or suffering from malaria. Donna thought she knew which was the most likely. There’s not a big demand for quinine tablets around here. If you ever saw a mosquito, it would be wearing an overcoat to keep warm.

  Clive’s eyes were open, but he couldn’t see anything. His mind was elsewhere, somewhere in the past.