The Writer

by RB Banfield

  It took him a good two hours before accepting that he would give it a go. He thought of a way of getting out of the travel by proving that Paul Evans had no reason to be suspicious. When he made that decision he had a good laugh and then needed to buy a muesli bar from the office food dispenser.

  Dan’s devious plan was to contact this suspicious author and get an explanation that would make everyone happy and so he would not need to go near any place named Gendry or anything like it. The author was Max Marshall, and Paul Evans had claimed that he was well known. Everyone Dan asked had never heard of the man, and he asked all the people in the office building who liked to read. Even an internet search revealed nothing but dead links. Unless this author was Max Marshall the famous Jamaican golfer who had fallen off the pace some years back, or Max Marshall the television soap actor who was now in his nineties. Maxine Marshall was moderately successful in writing poetry and liked to live in the jungles of South America, but Dan guessed it wasn’t her.

  The Max Marshall he wanted lived in a scruffy apartment block that had an elevator that didn’t much care for Dan’s body size. When Dan knocked on his door he hoped to be offered a cup of coffee, and if not, he would be making some obvious suggestions that he should be. The door opened with a loud clack of a heavy chain that stopped it from opening more than enough for one eye to look out. When Dan said who he was and showed his identification, the man relaxed. But Dan noticed that he didn’t relax as much as he should have, which alerted his radar.

  “No, that’s ok, come on in,” said Max. “What did you say you were looking for again, sorry?”

  “Just following up on an incident down at Gendry,” Dan said as he made a careful sweep of the apartment without being obvious about it. He noted three bookcases all overflowing with books and papers.

  “Gendry? How does that concern me? I don’t understand. What would that have to do with me?”

  Dan noticed how his nervousness increased with the name of the town. He would not admit it, but he loved seeing such signs in people as he talked to them. Signs of guilt, most likely. “Have you been there recently, sir?”

  “I don’t remember the last time I was at Gendry.”

  Dan registered the non-answer. “You’ve been there a few times?”

  “Yes, well, not really. Doesn’t everyone go there at some time? Good trout, right? That’s what they say, don’t they?”

  “You go there for the fishing?”

  “No, I don’t fish.”

  “Then why do you go there?”

  “I didn’t say I’ve ever been there. Can I ask what this is about?”

  Dan almost smiled; this guy was making it easy for him. “Certainly you can ask,” he said as he invited himself to sit at the dining table and throw down his notepad. He knew that doing an elaborate search through his pockets for a pen would make any nervous liar more nervous. It was the breaks in conversation that made them sweat the most, and sometimes they would blurt out the strangest things. The mind would race, trying to think of answers to questions not even asked, and that was how Dan would catch them in a lie. Max sat at one of the other table seats and tried to act nonchalant.

  “There was an incident at Gendry,” Dan explained, drawing it out, watching for more signs that Max was getting rattled, “and your name came up. Seeing they’re a bit behind the times up there, the local police I mean, they never followed up on it, and so it’s been left to me to do the tidying. What am I, a maid, that I’m called in to tidy up after their mess? But that’s the hand I’ve been dealt, and it’s up to me to play it best as I can. You know, I’ve been on this job for nearly twenty-two years, but do I get respect deserving someone who’s been at the job for that long—and with very good results too, I might add—of course not. Old Dan gets to be the maid on this one. With a hand of deuces and clubs no less.”

  He paused as he found a pen and then spent a few seconds staring at it, hoping that Max would be confused by his last comment.

  “Where was I?” Dan asked as he looked up. “Sorry, I’ve lost my train of thought. Been happening a lot lately. I don’t want to get paranoid about these things but you never know what it could be. To forget basic things, I mean. I don’t know if it’s my mind going or that I’m just bored. Could be both, of course. They’ve got pills for that, don’t they? They have pills for everything these days. More drugs are legal than on the streets, you know. Should I ask my doctor about it, you think?”

  “Your doctor?” Max asked, struggling to follow him. “Depends, I suppose.”

  “Depends on what?”

  “On how often your memory is giving out.”

  Dan almost laughed. “My memory’s not giving out. Why do you say that?” His tone was just harsh enough to be intimidating.

  “But you said—“

  “You know anyone in Gendry?” Dan interrupted.

  “I don’t know anyone there.”

  “Allan Longbottom. Heard of him? Hard to forget anyone with that name, right? Poor man, almost makes you think he’d be better off now he’s dead. Know him?”

  “I’ve never heard of the man. Who is he?”

  “He’d be the dead guy. The victim.”

  “Is there anything else I can help you with, officer?”

  Dan looked at him without emotion and then pleasantly said, “Doesn’t seem to be.” He slowly folded up his notebook. “Thank you for your time. What is it you do for a job, anyway, sir? If you don’t mind my asking?”

  “I’m a writer.”

  “Really? Anything I know?”

  Max went to one of the full bookcases and handed him a book. It was a hardcover named Anger Angel and the cover depicted ghastly ghosts hovering over an old church. Dan flipped through it and took far more time than was needed to get an idea of what it was about.

  “Not my style,” he said as he handed it back. “I prefer—what is it, non-fiction?—to something made up. Real life is always more interesting.”

  “Then I guess I can’t help you at all.”

  Dan made another big thing of searching through his pockets before finding a card. “Here’s my card. You think of anything, give me a call. And if I think of anything, I’ll be back in touch. Just a funny murder, you know? No motive at all. And the leads? Nothing to speak of. That’s why I’m doing this follow-up stuff. Have to chase down all the leads, no matter how way-off they are. Thank you for your time.”

  Dan waited until he was inside his car before he let out his frustration with a loud shout.

  “He knows something,” he said to himself. “I can smell it all over him. Lie to me, will you?”

  He belted the armrest on his door which caused a loud crack. It let off a bit of his frustration as he knew that he now had no way out of travelling all the way to Gendry.

  Dan hated anything to do with trains so he had no problem in driving the entire five-hours to Gendry. He figured that if he made it there around lunch then he could have a quick conversation with what passed as the local law enforcement, and then get back in time for whatever his wife was cooking for his dinner. Being on official police business meant that he could punch up the speed, and that was the excuse he would give if he was ever caught.

  Gendry was the kind of place that Dan would ignore when passing on his way somewhere more interesting. He didn’t know why people liked to talk about Gendry and not neighbouring towns like Hillyer or Lake Tarrant, both of which boasted stunning views. Gendry, as far as Dan knew, had no view of anything stunning, except maybe the gullibility of the population who had hardly made it into the twentieth century when the twenty-first arrived.

  When he rolled into the centre of town at the fantastic time of eleven-fifty-five he spent a few minutes looking longingly at Sal’s. It was the only place he had seen in town to eat, and from the looks of it even Dan knew that there didn’t need to be anywhere else. A place like that, he’s only going to start up a conversation, and before he’ll know it, the day will be gone and he’d have to look for a
place to spend the night. If was a tough decision for Dan, and the only reason that he didn’t go to the food place was the hope that the police station had some free coffee for him, and maybe snacks too. Perhaps, if he was lucky, the snacks might have come from Sal’s.

  A plump and highly unattractive little woman sat behind the first desk in the tiny building that passed as the police station. She was shaped very much like that of a cone, and was decorated with so much makeup that it made her look like a bad cake. Her attitude was too dismissive for Dan’s liking, when he inquired where the sheriff might be. Without bothering to look up from reading a magazine, she told him that he was either out on patrol or in the station’s garage. His daily run, she added in a tired fashion, was far and wide and he could be gone all day.

  “But he’s probably doing whatever it is men do in garages,” she finished slowly, like she was describing some form of subhuman life.

  Dan was polite in his exit, although he had every right not to be, especially since he saw no trace of a coffee machine, let alone snacks from Sal’s.

  Sheriff Andrew Handisides was wearing stained overalls without a shirt. Dan first assumed that he was the local mechanic. More than the outfit, it was his large girth and slow way of moving that gave that impression. They introduced themselves pleasantly and Dan realised his mistake without letting on. Nor did he show that he was a bit shocked at the sheriff’s large toothy smile.

  “You have any coffee out here?” asked Dan.

  “Sal’s for that,” said Andy, resuming his study of a blackened old engine that was sitting alone from any kind of vehicle, or even any other parts.

  “Are you wondering why the visit?”

  “I’m guessing you’re going to tell me. If not, you could help me with this.”

  “Why, what is it?”

  “Engine,” Andy said with surprise that Dan didn’t know.

  Dan was surprised at the coldness but then guessed it was for the best since he really did need to return to the city as soon as he could. “You handled the Longbottom case?”

  Andy looked at him with a small smile. “Careful how you say that, won’t you.”

  “Sorry?”

  “That was a hit and run. Some lout speeding through our quiet paradise. What do you do with that? Go looking for a speeder? Who knows how far away he’d be by the time anyone knew anything’s happened, rate he must have been going? He could have been bumping people all over the place, through all kinds of small towns like ours, for all we know. And we were lucky to find the body. Aside from the antics of two of our local residents, two boys who are destined either for greatness or prison, old Mr Longbottom would be rotting away in his weedy grave to this day.”

  Dan was amazed at his flippancy. “You talked to everybody in town?”

  Andy tossed down an old screwdriver and looked at Dan like he was preventing his important work. Dan knew that kind of screwdriver wouldn’t do much to that old engine, aside from scrape away some of the caked grease.

  “Always talk to them,” said Andy, “so it wasn’t really much of a challenge.” His sarcasm was noticeably hostile.

  “And no one saw anything?”

  Andy squinted, insulted at the questioning. “You know, I’ve already told you, there wasn’t anything to it. What do you want from me? Speeders rip through here all the time. Bound to hit one of our citizens. Just a matter of time. More chance of that than winning the lottery.”

  “What did you know about Longbottom? What kind of a man was he? Did he have enemies?”

  “How should I know?”

  “But you talked to …”

  “The victim was a loner. Guess anyone who didn’t like him was whoever took offence at getting bills, since he was a mailman. There you go: find someone who’s bought a whole lot of expensive goods recently and can’t pay off that fancy widescreen TV just yet. Looking for someone to blame, who better than the poor fool who brought in the bills.”

  Dan nodded and began to casually look around the garage, now that his eyes were fully adjusted to the light. He saw that Andy was nothing of a workman. Everything was so dirty it was all nearly black. The floor was thick with dirt and dried grease, and littered with the odd nut and bolt, and other tools of uncertain origin. There were all kinds of motorbikes, all in different stages of decomposition, older than the both of them.

  “Ever heard of a Max Marshall?” Dan asked.

  “Who?” Andy asked and gave a pained expression.

  Dan could see that he obviously had not heard of him. “How about any recent visitors from the city?”

  “Don’t know if we’ve had any lately. Only young Sophie.”

  “What do you know about her?”

  “Why? What’s Sophie done wrong?”

  “You know her?”

  “Susan Tyle’s granddaughter. What she done wrong?”

  “Was she here recently? In town?”

  “She was staying with Susan. That’s what visitors do, since there’s nowhere else to stay. What she done wrong?”

  “Nothing that I know of.”

  “Then why bring her up?”

  “I see you like your bikes,” Dan said as he kicked at one, hoping that a change of subject would change Andy’s demeanour.

  “What about my bikes?” he asked like he was offended.

  “I’m just throwing around ideas, that’s all,” Dan said with a shrug.

  “I’ve had most these bikes a long time. They’re in no hurry to go anywhere. What is it you want, exactly, Ironwright? I don’t need city police coming here questioning the way I work. This is a small town and by and large it’s a happy town, and a downright nice place to live, you ask me. I’m the one who keeps it that way. I do a good job here and everybody knows that. Go ask anyone out there, ask them what they think of Sheriff Andy and I tell you right now, it’ll be a good report. Nobody’s going to say anything bad about Handisides and the work he does because there’s no reason to. Get that? Write that down for your little report, ok?”

  Now it was Dan’s turn to be hostile.

  “That’s just a beautiful speech, little man,” he said, his voice rising with each word. Now Dan had his attention he continued, “What I want to know is everyone you talked to for this case and what they said. I want all your notes, all your doodling, all your little scratches, any little dirt marks, grease marks, whatever marks; anything at all pertaining to this case. That’s exactly what I want. Got that?”

  “Since when do you care about the case?” Andy asked with a change of approach, now softer and more chatty. “It’s a no-brainer. It’s never going to get solved. Hit-and-run, out-of-towner. That much we know.”

  Dan considered that and calmed a little. “At what point did you decide it was an accident?”

  Andy glared at him and without a word quickly walked out of the garage and to the station house. Dan followed him but by the time he got to the door Andy was already coming back out.

  “Don’t worry about him, Gail,” Andy was saying to the plump woman, and didn’t see Dan coming toward him.

  Dan gave him a relaxed smile and thought the hostility had ended. Andy seemed to take great insult that Dan had not stayed in the garage. He threw a brown folder onto the dirt ground. A good half-dozen of loose pages fell out. Dan looked at Andy for an explanation. When he saw he wasn’t going to get one he started to kick at a few of the loose pages that were lying at his feet.

  “Do yourself a favour,” Andy said with a soft tone that was the most threatening out of anything that Dan had heard from him. “Leave them there. Longbottom was in the wrong place at the wrong time. No one knew the man well enough to generate any hatred over him so there was nothing sinister to it. There’s no case. Just an accident. You came up here for no reason. Have a nice journey back to your city.”

  Dan was dreading being called into Dun’s office and all through the morning he kept himself busy in checking through a few old case files, and helping out with any odd jobs in the office. Someon
e always needed to have a call returned, or some background check done, or even to take the next big case to come in. Dun called him at ten minutes before the lunch break, when Dan’s tummy had already been growling for the last half-hour. To make it worse, this was to be no private conference in his office, where Dan could work his manipulative magic. Any subtle hints and suggestions on Dan’s part tended to be severely nullified when accompanied by chortles from his peers. Dun was walking out of his office and heading in a direct line to Dan’s desk. He had no escape.

  “How’d your visit to Gendry go?” Dun asked as he leaned with both hands on Dan’s desk.

  “It’s so pretty this time of year.”

  Dun smiled only because he understood that such an answer meant that Dan was avoiding his question, and that meant he didn’t want to talk about it, and that meant he was reluctant to let it go. “You have something, don’t you,” he asked with a somewhat evil grin.

  “The scenery was the only reason to go there, really it was.”

  “I know when you’re lying to me. Your left eye twitches. You really shouldn’t bother trying that with me. What you got? I know you’ve got the file, so what did you find? Dale missed something?”

  Dan knew that Dun was trying to wind him up. He knew that was what he was up to, so it shouldn’t have any effect on him. But it did. “What do you want me to say? There’s a reason people still live in hick places like that. They can’t survive in a big city. Probably don’t even realise the big city exists, some of them. Ask them what year it is, they would probably ask you why you wanted to know that for. I’m not kidding, the main attraction of the place is the local food house and they only have one of them.”

  “You talked to Gendry’s sheriff, right?”

  “And he’s the chief clown of the whole circus.”

  Dun looked at him evenly, devoid of any humour now. “You think they’ve botched that case, Dan?”

  “I didn’t say that.”