The Murder Diaries_Seven Times Over

by David Carter

  ‘I’ll take your word for it.’

  ‘Do you know what, Walter? I fancy a coffee. Have you got any coffee in? You don’t mind if I help myself, do you? Course you don’t,’ he said, standing and giggling and patting him on the shoulder, and heading for the door, and then he said, ‘You won’t mind if I don’t make you one, I’m not feeding you.’

  ‘Help yourself. It’s instant.’

  ‘That’ll do, and a pee while I’m at it,’ and he went into the kitchen and put on the kettle, and then ran up the stairs to the bathroom.

  Walter bent down and tried to bite through one of the plastic ties. His teeth were not what they once were. He didn’t make any progress, and visions of exploding teeth filtered into his head. Better to be alive with no teeth, than dead with intact ones. Tried again, came off; took a look at his handiwork, slight marks, nothing more. It wasn’t going to work. Tried to stand up. Quite impossible. Tried to shake the chair toward the coffee table. Didn’t go anywhere. Swung from side to side. Imagined he could turn the whole chair over, but with what intent? A picture came into his head of himself lying face down on the floor with the heavy chair on his back, like a bloated turtle, and Sam coming back and laughing and leaving him there, undignified and uncomfortable, and vulnerable to injections from the rear. No, at least sitting there, up straight, he could see what the maniac was doing.

  The cistern was running. He’d flushed the bog. Then he was coming back down the stairs, singing or humming, the guy was a head case, no doubt about that, jauntily, making himself at home, went through to the kitchen, made a mug of black coffee, and came back and carefully set it on the table, next to the blood; rat, chimpanzee, and basset hound, and instant coffee, a strange mixture, the steam curling and rising away.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind me saying, Walter, but your kitchen and bathroom could both do with a bloody good clean.’

  Walter rolled his eyebrows. He knew that to be true. He did once have a cleaner, but she was most unreliable, and often turned up smelling of gin. One morning she went up to clean the bathroom and Walter heard nothing more for the best part of an hour. Went upstairs and found her sleeping it off on his bed. He couldn’t be doing with that, and Mrs Gretton received her notice, swore at him she did, called him a jumped up black fucking bastard! It was nothing he hadn’t heard a million times before. Walter laughed it off, but had never got round to finding a replacement. If he ever got out of this jam, he would.

  Sam picked up the coffee, cupped it in his hands, sat in the chair in the corner, and peered across at the dozy cop.

  ‘Now where were we?’ he said. ‘Oh yes, I was about to tell you about the wig ’n’ tits. Do you know something, Walter? You were right; I really am enjoying getting this off my chest. It’s therapeutic. But don’t go getting any ideas, remember, it’s great ape for you, my man, just as soon as we have finished.’

  ‘Wig ’n’ tits?’ said Walter, eager to keep the conversation flowing.

  ‘Ah yes, they were amazing, those tits.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘They were just like the real thing. Not like those ugly comedy jobs you see blokes strapping on the front of their shirts on rag days. No, these looked dead real, and felt real too. God knows where she got them, said they cost her sixty-five quid, came in the morning post, said cancer babes bought them, money well spent, I’d say. Stuck on my chest natural like, God knows how, no glue or nothing, just natural adhesion, on they went, followed by Desi’s red bra, and Bob’s your uncle... or your aunty, to be more accurate. They were part of me, unmovable, except for the occasional flirtatious wobble. I’ve never been a hairy guy myself, never was, even now I only have to shave once a week, and it’s more down than bristle, caused me all kind of angst during my teenage years, I can tell you, and I’ve always waxed my chest too, so they just seemed like a natural extension. When I was younger I always knew I wasn’t gay, never fancied a bloke, ever, but I wasn’t butch either, not like the other guys, different somehow, it was very confusing. Knocked my confidence, it did.’

  ‘I can understand that.’

  ‘Then she brought out the wig. Blonde bob thing it was, amazing, cost a packet, there was nothing cheap about Desi, and she did the makeup and painted my fingers and toes and dressed me and when I looked into the wardrobe mirror afterwards it was like there was a stranger in the room. I was looking round to see where I was because there were these two beautiful women, chatting and laughing as girls do, sipping a glass of white wine, and I was absent, missing, kind of vanished.’

  Walter nodded as if he understood everything.

  ‘Then Desi said, let’s go out, and I was so unsure about the idea, but she insisted, called me a scared bitch, which kind of worked, so we rang for a cab, went to the station, and jumped a train to Manchester. Had lunch in the big hotel on the square, what’s it called, The Albert, is that it? I can’t remember now, but as we were sitting in the lounge afterwards over coffee, these two ultra smart Dutch businessmen came in and sat close by and starting hitting on us. Told us they were in electronics. Millionaires, they said, over here to buy some big company in Bolton. Thought it might impress us. Desi couldn’t stop grinning at me, as these two handsome guys were pestering us for a dinner date that night.’

  ‘They had no idea?’ said Walter.

  ‘Not an inkling! Man, it was weird, and then Desi suggested we went to the loo and that was weird too, the first time I had ever been inside a ladies’ lavatory. No one looked at me twice. Mind you, checking out some of the dogs in there, it wasn’t so surprising. These days I’ve become quite used to it. Occasionally I make to go in there when I’m dressed as a man. Walter, you wouldn’t believe how confusing life can be. Then we went back to the coffees, and the guys, and gave our apologies and made to leave, and the tall guy stood up and grabbed my arm, and tugged me to one side and asked for my phone number, just like that, practically begged me for it, said I was the most beautiful English woman he had ever seen, in that cute Dutch accent they have, and yes, I know he probably used that line on all the women, but fuck me, I didn’t know what to do. Said the first thing that came into my head. Said I was engaged, and that Martin wouldn’t approve, but by Christ, he was a persistent bugger. I didn’t know men could be like that, refusing to take no for an answer.’

  ‘How often did you go out dressed as a woman with Desi?’

  ‘Couple of times a month, we’d make a big deal of it, get all dressed up, go somewhere really swanky, every time we went to Manchester for sure, hang around all the boutiques and department stores, sampling the perfumes, trying on ridiculous dresses, me sitting and waiting in the hairdressers while Desi had her black locks done, me reading Cosmo and giggling, as Desi had her nails done, and then she insisted I had my nails done too, fingers and toes, Christ, I thought the assistant must surely know, but she didn’t, it was so exhilarating, and afterwards we’d scurry home to Chester and screw each other senseless. God, Walter, I can’t find the words to describe it. Best days of my entire life. Best days.’

  Walter allowed a decent pause. Sam had that far distant look back on his face. Then Walter said, ‘You were in love with her?’

  ‘Course I was! What do you think? Isn’t it obvious? Head over heels, completely and utterly. I was mad for her. I’d never felt that way about anyone before. Never.’

  ‘And she loved you?’

  ‘Yeah, I think she did, though I know she found it hard to love anyone. That bastard at uni really hurt her. Messed with her mind. I have no idea what he did to her, and the truth is, I don’t want to know either, and she never told me, but sometimes she’d wake up crying in a cold sweat, mumbling something about Stop Toby, Stop! and I didn’t think it was sex she was talking about.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘Torture, my friend, that’s how it came across to me. The bastard was torturing her.’

  Walter pulled a sympathetic face.

  ‘That’s when I asked her to marry me.’

  ‘Marry
you?’

  ‘Yeah, right there at half past three in the morning, the bed sheets soaked through her terrified sweat. I held her in my arms and asked her to marry me.’

  ‘What did she say?’

  ‘She said she couldn’t possibly marry me; she couldn’t marry any man because she never wanted to lose her name. She wanted to be famous, she was determined to be famous, and she wanted to be famous as Desiree Mitford Holloway, and nothing else. I always knew she would achieve that too, she was just so special in every way, once she’d made up her mind on something, then hell itself wouldn’t get in her way.’

  ‘So what did you do?’

  ‘I told her I wasn’t an ordinary man. I think she knew that by then, and I told her that we could still get married, and if need be, I would change my name to hers. I think that impressed her. I think it made a difference. You can do that, you know, if you really want to, if you go through the right legal procedures, it doesn’t have to be the woman taking the man’s surname, you can do it the other way round, so she agreed, and that’s what we did. Got married in Chester Registry office as soon as we could, just a couple of friends there, and afterwards we flew to Barcelona for our honeymoon, and the moment we arrived we slipped on two identical little black dresses and hit the town. Wicked, it was, wicked. The club scene there is second to none. The best honeymoon ever, the best. It’s all down in my diary. Did I tell you I keep a diary, Walter, have done for years, it’s very therapeutic, you know, Sammy Pepys had nothing on me, you should try it, but then again, it’s too late for you, pal, isn’t it?’

  Walter ignored the question and said, ‘So you were deliriously happy, and it stayed that way?’

  ‘Damned right it did. We’d have our little quarrels like any other couple, but when we made up, we really made up! I’d have spent my entire life with her. I never wanted to be with anyone else. I’d still be with her now... except you bastards murdered her.’

  The spiteful look crashed back onto his face.

  He stared across at Walter as if he were personally responsible.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You know damn well what I mean!’

  ‘I don’t, Sam, I don’t, you tell me.’

  Sam frowned. The black guy was playing for time again. Sam knew that well enough, and he was running out of patience. Stared at the blood. Stared at the syringe. Stared at the copper.

  Walter saw him looking, pondering.

  ‘Tell me about Desiree’s death, Sam? Please.’

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Karen glanced at the digital clock. It was ten to midnight. She’d enjoyed her chat with Gibbons, but she was tired and weak and began yawning. Gibbons yawned too. ‘I’m going to have to go to bed,’ she said, ‘I’ll show you the spare room.’

  ‘Great,’ he said, ‘I’ll just slip to the bathroom.’

  Five minutes later he was in the spare room, in bed. He was tired out, it had been a long shift; it had been a long month.

  In her room Karen lay on her back staring out at the blackness, revisiting the horror of being yanked from the lavatory, being hung out to die. She knew she would never forget it. She wondered what kind of person could do that. To cold bloodedly attempt to murder someone they had never met, in a busy public place, seemingly without any fear of being discovered, and having no qualms about what they were doing. She wondered where he was now, the killer, and what he was doing, and who he was terrifying. Samuel Holloway, she contemptuously spoke the name, and she knew she wouldn’t rest until he was stopped.

  Walter peered across at the clock. Both the hands were super erect. From outside he could hear the old church bell announcing the new day, chiming across the city, somehow comforting, floating on the night air, and he wondered if this day might be his last.

  Think positively! Always engage hostage takers in conversation.

  ‘Tell me why you think we killed Desiree?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t think, I know!’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘You know why!’

  ‘I don’t, Sam, I don’t. Please explain.’

  Sam scowled and shifted uneasily in his chair. Thought the black guy was taking the piss, but he could wait a little while longer before he put him to death. Maybe he should recall and replay what happened to Desiree one last time, for her sake, to remind the copper of exactly what they had done, not that he didn’t know already. Yeah, that’s what he’d do. He’d go over it one final time for Desi’s sake, and then he’d kill him. For certain. He’d murder him, sitting in that chair, and he was looking forward to it.

  ‘Desi began bringing stuff home.’

  ‘What kind of stuff?’

  ‘Information, theories, samples, experimental stuff, top secret stuff, weird stuff, stuff most people wouldn’t want in the house.’

  Walter glanced at the table. Saw the bottles. Red, Green, Blue. Rat, great ape, basset hound. Said, ‘Like the stuff on the table?’

  Sam nodded.

  ‘Why did she do that?’

  ‘She was worried her work might be taken from her, appropriated by someone else. Eden Leys had a history of it. You know how it works, some brilliant scientist in her twenties or thirties makes a ground breaking discovery, some supervising scientist in his sixties, looking for one last hurrah, jumps in and grabs the credit. She said it happened all the time, been going on for years. She said the senior ones said that that was how things worked. They always looked after the older guys, the younger ones had plenty of time to break new ground, to make their name, and that they, when they were old, would be looked after by the younger ones in their turn.’

  ‘The world doesn’t work like that,’ said Walter.

  ‘Damned right it doesn’t!’

  ‘So what happened?’

  Sam pointed at the table.

  ‘That blood came from animals she’d personally killed. She said she’d retained it for their memory. It kept her grounded. It kept her focused. Normally it would have been disposed of, thrown away, flushed down the drain. She said that wasn’t right. Disrespectful, she said.’

  Walter nodded, tried hard to imagine the fate of those poor unfortunate creatures, and especially the chimpanzees.

  ‘So what happened then?’

  ‘There was an Australian guy, I forget his name, he was always creeping round her when she was working; looking for hints of what she was up to, where she was going, he knew she was brilliant. She knew he would steal her stuff given the chance. He was all smiles and charm, he’d take her down to the social club they had going on the site, buy her a bottle of wine, and pump her for info. She soon grew wise to that; began feeding him duff stuff; the schmuck was so thick he took it all in and worked on it for weeks. It led nowhere, down a dead end corridor, and you have to laugh at that, you have to admire her cunning. Not only was she pioneering her own work, she was staying up all night setting up faux avenues for pricks like him, theories that looked promising, and all the while they were nothing more than gigantic time-wasting exercises. Futile diversions. He was furious when he found out. Can you imagine? Wouldn’t speak to her for weeks. Started spreading rumours about her, telling tales behind her back, said she was a lesbian, all sorts.’

  ‘I can imagine.’

  ‘Can you, Walter? Can you?’

  ‘I think so. I’m on her side. What happened next?’

  ‘She began bringing data home. Reams and reams of the stuff. Several years’ work. I asked her if it would be missed. She said it was mainly copies she’d had printed. She wanted it in case the originals ever went missing, or were stolen, or destroyed in a fire or accident of some kind, or in case she was ever relieved of her post.’

  ‘She was worried about that?’

  ‘Petrified. The place had a history of dumping high fliers who made life uncomfortable for the middle grounders who wielded the power. The brilliant ones put the dull ones firmly in the shade. There was an enormous amount of jealousy and backbiting, you wouldn’t believe some of the
stories she told me.’

  ‘Did she have any trouble getting it out?’

  ‘Not at the beginning. Security was a joke. She’d wear a long heavy skirt with a big hem on the inside. I modelled it for her, as she did the alterations. There was large false pocket inside, she showed me how she’d slip a file in there like a kangaroo’s joey, and simply walk to her car and drive away. If the guards stopped her it was only to say hello, or maybe to wink at the strikingly dark girl, perhaps ask her for a date, at worst there was a casual glance in the boot of her car. They may have wondered what was beneath her neat skirt, but they would have been amazed to discover what really was.’

  Sam giggled in that pretty way of his.

  ‘And then?’

  ‘There was a big step up in security. New people were brought in. Everything changed. It was much harder to get anything out. That was about the time she started being followed.’

  ‘People were following Desi?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Your lot, of course.’

  ‘What do you mean; my lot?’

  ‘Government police, security police, how the hell do I know?’

  Walter puffed out his cheeks, breathed out heavily.

  ‘I can’t see that,’ he said, ‘I certainly knew nothing about it.’

  ‘Course you wouldn’t. It was MI7.’

  Walter zipped a sharp laugh through his nose.

  ‘Now I know you’re wrong, Sam. MI7 doesn’t exist, except in the minds of spy writers, and in the movies.’

  ‘No, no, no, you’re wrong! MI7 does exist. They followed and killed Desi, I know it may be unpalatable to you, Wally, but that’s the truth. That’s what happened!’

  ‘MI7 did exist during World War II,’ said Walter. ‘It dealt with propaganda and stuff like that, but it was disbanded, early sixties, I think it was. It doesn’t exist any more.’

  Sam did the same sharp dismissive laugh.

  ‘Shows how much you know, Wally. Stop living up to your name, shows how out of touch you really are.’