by Timlin, Mark
I was aware that I was being set up again and that time the law would happily lock me up and throw away the key. It was a real groove. A body, a witness and little old me on the scene. Who'd believe that I'd arrived after the murder. Not too many, I was sure. But the murderers, whoever they were and I had a pretty good idea, had gone too far with the girl. Whether they'd given her a front row seat to the killing or not, she'd overloaded her circuits in the flat that night. She wasn't about to finger me or anyone else. Tough luck boys.
I began to clear up after myself. I went into the kitchen and found a fairly clean tea towel, which I used to wipe all the surfaces I had touched since I entered the place, and quite a few I hadn't. Reluctantly I went back to Terry's headless body and carefully tore Patsy's photo from the blade that held it against the wound in his chest.
That was the closest I came to cracking up. I could hear myself making these peculiar sounds as I peeled the thin card away from his bloody shirt. I think I was apologising to him. I bit down on my lip as hard as I could to stop the whimpering.
By the time I'd wrapped the stained picture into the towel and forced the whole package into my raincoat pocket, blood was dribbling from the side of my mouth. I looked into Terry's face once more, so that my eyes would sear the image of the sight onto my mind and I would always remember the white hot horror of finding him mutilated, then turned and went back to the girl.
I swear that when I went back into that close little living room, after leaving Terry, to wipe my prints from the equipment I'd touched, I was as horny as hell. I looked at the little girl sitting there in a pool of her own piss, still moaning and rocking gently back and forth just where I'd left her. I wanted to screw her into the ground. I'm not proud of the feeling. Maybe amongst death I was looking for life, or maybe that's too noble a concept. Probably I just wanted a quick fuck. I looked at her there with her tiny breasts pouting through the material of her T-shirt, her nipples erect beneath the fabric and felt a surge of desire more intense than I'd had for years.
I'll never know what might have happened next, because then I heard the sirens ripping the night. Soaring and echoing against the walls, and I knew with certainty that they were coming after me. Superb timing, I thought, but no prizes for the racket.
I shimmied the curtain aside and looked down into the street. I saw two squad cars skid to a halt, their sirens dying with one last whoop each. Blue lights flashed, illuminating the dead windows of the houses opposite.
I dropped the curtain and ran back through the room, past the girl and out into the hall. I dived through the front door, then heard from below booted feet on the stairs, and the indicator above the lift door blinked from G to 1. I skidded to a halt on the polished floor of the corridor, then turned again and ran back into Terry's flat, slamming the door behind me. I tore through the hall and into the kitchen, where I pushed the protesting window open and climbed through onto the sill. A narrow, rusty fire escape ran along the back of the building. I climbed out onto the metal which sagged under my weight and flaked paint and rust in equal quantities down into the darkness to patter gently onto the back path. I scrambled along the escape, then heard a noise from below. I pushed myself back against the brickwork, away from the diffused light from the kitchen window and froze. I peered down and could just make out the silhouette of a man in a peaked cup standing below. I moved gently along the escape, trying not to dislodge any further debris. Within a few footsteps I was around the corner of the building and out of sight.
Butted next to Terry's block was another building, old Peabody flats that had stood empty for years. The block was only two storeys high and the flat roof was about twelve feet below me. It was my only escape route. I could hear voices calling behind me. I prayed that the roof would take my weight and jumped down. When I landed, my bad foot sent a stab of pain through my body, so intense that I nearly fainted. I saw colours in my head that don't have names yet, and I bit down hard on my shredded lip to stop myself screaming. I must have made a hell of a row as I landed, but no-one shouted, no windows were flung open and no local burghers cried havoc in the street. After a moment I dragged myself across the flat roof to a gap which had once housed a door, now long gone for firewood.
I limped down what seemed like interminable flights of stairs until I hit civilization in the shape of an exit onto a gravelled path which led me onto an anonymous back street. I walked around searching for the Trans Am.
By the time I was completely disorientated through a combination of what I'd seen in the flat, climbing around outside buildings and the pain in my foot, so I took some time to find it. Especially as I had to keep one eye out for marauding squad cars. I was glad I'd taken the precaution of tucking the Pontiac out of the way. Then I realised I hadn't shut T S's eyes. As I limped along the pavements to the car, keeping as close as possible to the shadows of the buildings, through the sultry air, I remembered that I hadn't shut his eyes. I'd left him staring sightlessly into eternity. As long as I live I'll wish I'd taken time to shut Terry's eyes. My luck held. I didn't see a soul as I made my escape. I just heard more sirens and saw more blue lights flashing in the distance.
The car started immediately and I drove straight home, favouring my left foot on the clutch pedal.
All at once I didn't like the night time at all. When I got back to the peace of my own flat, I retrieved the bundle from my pocket. I knew all about the laws of evidence, and hi-jacking that particular piece from the scene of T S's murder was very serious indeed. I wrapped the whole caboodle in a black plastic rubbish sack and stuffed it into the back of the tiny freezer compartment of my fridge. Not very original, but it would have to do.
Chapter Nineteen
I sat up for the rest of the night waiting for the law to arrive. They'd come close to finding me at the scene of crime in Terry's flat. It would have been a sweet collar if I'd been pulled standing over his body. I wondered who'd called the Old Bill in. Once again it didn't take a lot of imagination to guess.
I looked through the window and watched the dawn break through the drizzle. I mourned T S in my own way and washed his memory down with the remains of the gin I'd started the previous day.
I tried to work out a motive for his murder. He must have asked the wrong person about Patsy Bright. I couldn't think what could be behind so violent a crime. I could still see his corpse, and his dead eyes boring into mine. I promised myself that one day soon I would avenge this murder.
I should have shaved but I didn't want to look at myself too closely in the mirror, I didn't think I would've liked what I saw. I made endless cups of tea between the hits on the booze. The street outside became busy as people went to work, peaking at about eight thirty, then quieting down again as the rush passed.
I'd like to say I envied their normality, but to be honest, I didn't. I knew most of them led lives of quiet desperation. I'd seen too many babies battered to death by normal mothers, and wives dismembered by normal husbands. I could feel the depression building inside me as I gazed through the window, and wondered how good the cure for my breakdown had been.
My nerves were humming with stress and I guessed I'd better get busy before I cracked up again.
I felt grubby and itchy, but couldn't be bothered to change my clothes, so I simply grabbed my raincoat and hit the bricks.
I walked down to my office and let myself in. There was one solitary letter waiting for me. It carried no stamp, and must have been hand delivered. I opened it and read the typed message, printed on plain white, bond paper.
Sharman Mind Your Own Business Remember Your Daughter
It was unsigned of course. What did I expect?
At least the writer hadn't put ‘A friend’ at the end. That would have been too melodramatic.
If I thought I was stressed before the note arrived, after I read it, I knew what pressure was really all about.
The screws were being tightened down.
At that point I began to get really pissed off. Who did
these people think I was? They seemed to think that they could follow me from place to place, kill my friends, and now threaten my family. And get clean away with it. However, there was one thing they were forgetting.
The only person that still mattered to me was my child. If they dared mess with her, they would see some serious shit go down.
I was sweating under my light raincoat. I shucked it off and checked my watch. Ten ten. I reached for the phone and dialled my ex-wife's new number from memory.
‘Hello,’ she said, after a few rings.
‘Laura, it's me,’ I said. There was a pause.
‘What do you want?’ she asked.
She was as warm as ever. I didn't quite know what to say.
‘Come on, Nick. What do you want?’ she repeated.
‘I don't quite know how to put this,’ I said.
‘Put what? Spit it out.’
Spoken like a true lady, as always.
‘Is there somewhere you can go for a few days?’ I asked.
‘I am somewhere,’ she replied.
‘No, I mean somewhere else.’
‘Why?’ she demanded. I could tell she was losing her patience already.
I seemed always to have that effect on her.
‘I've had a letter about Judith.’
‘Who from? What kind of letter? What are you talking about?’ I could hear the old tone creeping into her voice, part fear, part anger.
‘I'm afraid it's a threat to her.’
‘What do you mean it's a threat? She's only eight years old for God's sake. How can anyone threaten an eight-year-old child? What have you got us into now? Have you told the police?’
She said the word ‘police’ as if it hurt her mouth.
‘Not yet, I've only just got the damn thing.’
‘What does it say?’
‘It's not specific.’
‘Oh, it's not specific,’ she interrupted. ‘What a shame. Not specific, then how do you know it's a threat?’
‘Laura,’ I said, ‘just listen, will you. It doesn't say anything in particular will happen. It doesn't say anything really. But I think I know who sent it, and these guys are serious. I want you and Judith out of the way where I don't have to worry about you.’
‘What guys?’ she demanded. ‘You mean you know these people.’
‘Not socially. We don't drink together. We're not arsehole buddies, if that's what you mean.’
I didn't want to be unpleasant, but since the breakdown of our marriage she always managed to bring out the worst in me. When I tried to be cool, and in control of a situation that was fast running away from me, she refused to let me be, or maybe it was simply that I wouldn't let myself be.
There was silence at her end of the line. Then in the background I heard Judith's voice.
‘Can I speak to Judith, please?’ I asked.
‘No you can't,’ Laura replied. ‘Haven't you caused her enough grief?’
I could hear the tears in Laura's voice.
‘Laura,’ I said, ‘do I have to beg to speak to my own daughter?’
She was silent, then said, ‘Alright, Nick. You win as always, but I'm going to fetch Louis.’
Win as always, it never ceased to amaze me how wrong her conceptions of my little life could be.
The ‘phone crashed down, then I heard the mumble of female voices and the receiver was picked up again.
‘Hello daddy,’ my daughter's voice said.
‘Hello sweetheart. How's my best girl?’
‘I'm fine daddy, but mummy's crying.’
‘I know darling. I'm afraid I might have frightened her.’
‘Why did you do that?’ Judith asked in a puzzled voice.
I didn't mean to, don't worry. She'll be alright in a minute.’
‘Promise?’ she asked.
‘I promise.’
I would try to keep the promise, but there are no guarantees in this life. Still, try and explain that to an eight-year-old.
‘When am I going to see you?’ she asked.
Everything was fine. Her mummy was going to be alright. Daddy had given his word. I hoped Laura would be placated as easily.
‘I don't know. I think you're going away for a while.’
‘On holiday?’
‘Yes, a little holiday.’
‘Oh good. Are you coming?’
I couldn't believe she'd asked that. What a little lunatic. As if the four of us could pop off together for a cosy weekend. I loved her so much. For the first time in days, I smiled, then laughed out loud. No-one would ever be allowed to hurt her as long as I had breath in my body.
‘What's the matter daddy?’ she asked. ‘Why are you laughing?’
‘It doesn't matter Judy. But I don't think I'll be coming along. You'll have a good time with mummy and Louis.’
‘Daddy?’ All of a sudden she was whispering. That meant secrets were in the air.
‘What?’
‘Mummy's gone to fetch Louis. Can I ask you something?’
‘Of course, what is it?’
‘Can I like Louis?’ she asked.
‘What do you mean?’ I asked back.
‘Can I like him? Will you mind?’
Another kind heart, I thought. How long will it be before yours is broken too?
‘Of course I don't mind,’ I said. I swear I felt a catch in the back of my throat as I said it. ‘You should like him, I know he likes you.’ I refused to say ‘loves’.
‘Does mummy really like him?’
‘Oh yes, she does a lot.’
I wondered why the admission hurt so much.
‘But you'll always be my real daddy.’
‘I know darling, and you'll always be my best baby.’
Until, I thought, you're eighteen with dope in your wardrobe and you've taken it on your toes.
‘I'm not a baby,’ she said indignantly. ‘You mustn't call me that. Mummy said so.’
‘I just can't forget what you looked like when I first saw you,’ I explained. ‘You were so tiny, I forget you've grown up.’
She took pity on me.
‘Alright daddy,’ she said conspiratorially, ‘you can call me anything you want.’
‘Thank you darling,’ I said. ‘Is mummy back yet?’
‘They're just coming now.’
‘Put her on please, and enjoy your holiday.’
‘Alright, goodbye now,’ she said. ‘I love you.’
Then she was gone. I said, ‘I love you too.’ To the empty air.
Laura came back onto the line. ‘Louis is here,’ she said.
‘Listen Laura,’ I said, ‘I appreciate that he's tops when it comes to dental hygiene, but I wonder if he's ready for this sort of thing. Couldn't you just take a few days, you and Judith. Somewhere where no-one knows you. A bit of holiday?’
‘Don't patronise me Nick. Louis goes where I go. Do you think I could keep a thing like this from him?’
She was crying again. Her sobs faded for a moment and then Louis came onto the line.
‘What exactly is going on, Sharman?’ he demanded.
‘Hello Louis,’ I said eventually, and repeated the facts as I'd told them to Laura.
He thought for a while, but thankfully not too long.
‘As a matter of fact,’ he said, ‘we can get away for a while. But this whole thing is unforgivable, Sharman, and I hold you fully responsible. Can't you keep your messy business out of our lives? I can tell you that it doesn't please me to turn tail and run on your say so.’
‘This is not the bloody Alamo,’ I said wearily. ‘Just go where you're not known, and make sure you're not followed.’
‘I'm going to call the police first.’
‘I'd rather you didn't.’
‘Yes, I'm sure. But this is a civilised country and I demand protection for my family.’
‘They're not your family. They're mine,’ I said.
I think I would have said a great deal more if he hadn't hung up on me.
I looked at the dead receiver in my hand, and thought of Terry's murder.
I could tell Louis a thing or two about being civilised.
But at least my wife's new husband had listened, and was going to do something about it.
Next I telephoned John Reid.
I tracked him down at his home. I explained the situation yet again, being careful to say nothing about Terry Southall. John agreed that a few days away for my family was the correct solution to the unimplied threats in the letter I had received. He asked for Louis’ address so that he could liase with the local law on my behalf.
‘Just make sure they're not followed,’ I said finally.
‘OK, I'll contact their local station as soon as I put the ‘phone down.’
‘At least Louis got the message and didn't panic,’ I said thankfully.
‘He sounds like a super chap, does old Louis,’ said John.
‘But as for you, you had to keep on didn't you? You had to mess with things that don't concern you.’
‘That's just my way,’ I replied.
‘And look where it's got you. Up to your kid's armpits in hot water.’
‘Sure, John, I think I get the picture.’
We were both silent for a moment.
‘By the way,’ he said, ‘I'm glad you didn't mention my name when you spoke to Fox the other night.’
‘Don't you mean when he spoke to me?’ I asked. ‘Anyway, I think he knew we'd seen each other.’
‘That's too bad. It's none of his fucking business. I'm just glad you didn't tell him.’
‘I'm a super chap too’.
‘Yeah, if you weren't you'd be on your own now.
Listen, check back with me later. I'll get straight onto this letter thing for you now. And don't worry, Laura and Judith will be alright. I guarantee it.’
‘Cheers, John,’ I said and put the ‘phone down It was then, as I sat alone in my office, afraid for my child's life, that I decided to get a gun.
Chapter Twenty
I needed a weapon, and there was just one place I could think of where one might be available. Only it was a little too early in the day to make an appearance at that particular venue, seeing as the proprietor was famous in his neck of the woods for never showing his face until the streets were aired, as it were. So I went and collected the Pontiac and made my way to Clapham to have a few quiet beers in a little pub I know there. I had a lot to think about. I knew I wasn't being particularly smart. As a private investigator, I'd probably make a reasonable window cleaner, and earn more. I was hardly the Philip Marlowe of the inner city. I probably wouldn't be able to find the mean streets, let alone go down them.
