Falls the Shadow

by Mark Timlin

  ‘Suits me fine,’ Day said. ‘I was going to ask him to come with me anyway. You don’t mind do you?’ he said to me.

  ‘It’ll be my pleasure.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  We went out the back way as Hillerman had said. Since Thursday it had been cordoned off, and two more uniformed policemen were on duty. We ploughed through the waiting reporters back to my car. I took Day home and arranged to collect him later.

  So that hadn’t been that after all.

  15

  I arrived at Peter Day’s flat at ten-thirty, as arranged. The street outside was deserted. No journalists doorstepping. Which simply meant they hadn’t got his address yet. If this thing carried on, they would.

  His flat was on the top floor of a three-storey purpose-built block. Very nice it was too. Obviously Sunset Radio paid their staff well. I rang through on the entryphone. Day’s voice sounded strangled when he answered, as voices always do on those contraptions. I identified myself and he buzzed me through the front door. I took the tiny lift up to the third floor.

  Day was standing at the door to his flat when I arrived. ‘Come on in,’ he said. He looked old, and very tired.

  He stepped back to allow me entry, and I went into the warm interior of the flat, down the tiny hall in the direction of the sound from a television set. It was in the living room. The local news was on. The picture on the screen was of the front of Sunset’s building. It was a very attractive room. Made even more so by the fact that Tony Hillerman’s secretary Sophia was sitting on a sofa upholstered in dark blue material. She was upholstered in dark blue also. Which made it a perfect match.

  I stopped in the doorway. ‘Good evening,’ I said.

  ‘Hello, Nick.’

  I walked further into the room and Day came in after me. ‘I hope I’m not disturbing anything,’ I said. Tact, see, I could give lessons.

  Sophia looked at Day, and he looked back at her, and they both smiled. ‘No, Nick,’ said Day. ‘We’re old friends, Sophia just came round to check that I’d eaten today.’

  ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘No offence.’

  ‘None taken,’ said Day. ‘I’m flattered.’

  ‘And have you?’ I asked.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Eaten.’

  ‘A pizza.’

  ‘You really should look after yourself better, Peter,’ said Sophia, and got up from the sofa and went over to him. I could see why he had been flattered. She stood at least a head taller than he, and the healthy look of her contrasted with the pallor of his skin.

  ‘Are we going?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes,’ said Sophia. ‘And I’m coming too.’

  ‘Have you got a car?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Shall we go in yours?’ I said. ‘Mine’s a bit obvious, and a little on the cramped side.’

  ‘Certainly,’ said Sophia.

  ‘You are going to stay until the end of the broadcast?’ asked Day.

  ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t leave you without a lift home.’

  ‘That wasn’t what I meant,’ he replied.

  ‘I know, Peter,’ she said, and touched his arm solicitously.

  I waited whilst they put on their coats and we went back down to the street. Day left the TV and the lights on. Just for some sign of life when he got back home alone. I know that feeling. Sophia’s car turned out to be an anonymous maroon Rover, which was fine.

  She drove us over to Sunset and we arrived just before eleven. We went in the back way. Two coppers were keeping it clear. Inside the place was crawling with more policemen. They’d pretty well taken over the production office. There were a lot of station staff about too, according to Day. They obviously knew they were in on something, something big, and they didn’t want to miss a moment of it. I could see they didn’t know how to treat Day. To be honest, I didn’t know how to treat him myself.

  He returned their greetings and a uniformed copper asked him to go straight upstairs to Tony Hillerman’s office. Day asked me to go with him. Sophia told us she’d be in her new office if she was needed.

  When we got upstairs Charlie Harper had company. There was an older man with him, sitting behind Hillerman’s desk. Harper had been relegated to the secretary’s chair. He introduced the older man as Chief Inspector Lambert. He was a sour-faced individual with receding grey hair cut very short, wearing a grey suit, white shirt and regimental tie. He didn’t look happy to see us, particularly me, or in fact to be sitting where he was sitting. He didn’t make any attempt to shake hands.

  ‘I’ve been put in charge of the case,’ he said without preamble. ‘And I’m very unhappy about the way things are going.’

  ‘Why?’ I asked, I thought somebody had to, and looked at Harper who said nothing, just looked exaggeratedly at the ceiling.

  Lambert ignored me. ‘I don’t like you talking to this lunatic,’ he said to Day.

  So that was the way it was going to be.

  ‘Nor do I particularly,’ said Day. ‘But what else can I do? You know what happened when he read that the show was being taken off.’

  ‘I know,’ said Lambert.

  ‘If I’m not on tonight to talk to him, he’ll do it again.’

  ‘You seem very sure,’ said Lambert.

  ‘That’s because he’s crazy.’

  Lambert looked at Harper who said, ‘I think he’s right.’

  ‘It wasn’t my idea that some bloody lunatic should latch on to me,’ said Day.

  ‘The kind of show you do, it was only a matter of time before something like this happened,’ said Lambert.

  ‘Bollocks!’ retorted Day. ‘I do a show. That’s all there is to it. OK, so I insult people and cut them off, and maybe I do ask for the loonies out there to call in, but I never encouraged this one. Christ, what do you think I am? He’s the one who’s breaking the law, not me. I’m just trying to help.’

  ‘He’s right,’ said Harper. ‘This John character is stark raving mad. Peter is our only link to him. Lose that, and God knows what he might do.’

  Lambert looked disgusted. He sat still for a moment, thinking. ‘OK,’ he said eventually. ‘Do it.’

  ‘I’ll talk to you in a minute,’ Harper said to Day. We took that as a dismissal, and left the office.

  Outside, I said, ‘The new boss doesn’t think much of me, that’s obvious.’

  ‘Ignore him,’ said Day. ‘You’re working for us, and right now they need us more than we need them.’

  I wasn’t entirely sure of that, but declined to say so. ‘Thanks, Peter,’ I said, and we went downstairs for coffee. There was a pile of opened letters and parcels in Day’s pigeon hole. He didn’t look inside them. He didn’t even touch them.

  There was so much traffic in the production office that another coffee machine had been installed. I helped myself to a cup. It tasted just as bad as the coffee from the old one. I looked at the clock. It was 11.15. I sat at a vacant desk to drink my coffee, and Day sat opposite. We didn’t speak. Before I’d finished my cup, Harper came in and pulled up a chair. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said. ‘New broom and all. Lambert’s not too bad. He just needs to put the stamp of his authority on the squad. And he doesn’t approve of you being here,’ he said to me.

  ‘He made that pretty clear,’ I said. ‘But I’ve got a broad back. Did you find anything out about the girl?’

  ‘Girl?’

  ‘The finger.’

  ‘Sorry. Yes. A black girl. But I already told you that. The same age as the last one. About five foot to five foot four. Blood group O. No record of the one fingerprint he left us. Healthy. The finger was chopped with a heavy sharp instrument, like a butcher’s cleaver.’

  ‘In other words, she was alive when he chopped it off?’

  He nodded. ‘But like the other one, the shock could have
killed her. There was certainly no trace of anaesthetic in her blood or the first one’s.

  ‘That’s sick,’ I said.

  ‘It could get worse.’

  I looked over at Peter Day. His colour had worsened and he held his stomach. ‘Are you all right?’ I asked.

  ‘I’ll survive,’ he replied. His voice sounded distant.

  ‘You look terrible,’ said Harper.

  ‘Thanks for the compliment.’

  ‘You know what I mean. Look, if you can’t go through with this…’

  ‘Yes, I can,’ Day interrupted. ‘I have to.’

  ‘Only if you’re sure,’ said Harper.

  ‘I am.’ Day sat back and breathed deeply. ‘I need a cigarette,’ he said. ‘Have you got one, Nick?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Come on then.’ He looked at Harper. ‘If you need us, we’ll be on the roof.’

  He said nothing in reply, and Day and I got up, left the office, and went upstairs. We said a quick hello to Stretch who was hanging about in the corridor again. He made no comment about how Day looked, just asked: ‘You cool?’

  ‘Chilled,’ Day replied.

  Stretch smiled. ‘You need to be. There’s been a whole bunch of Johns called up already. They’re coming out of the woodwork. They can’t wait for the show to start.’

  ‘Recognise anyone?’ I asked.

  ‘No, man. He’s not called yet.’

  ‘He will,’ said Day.

  ‘You’re sure?’ I said.

  ‘Very.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I just am. Don’t ask me how. I expect he’ll call when the first record’s on. Right now I need a cigarette. I’ll catch you in a minute, Stretch, my friend.’

  ‘What are we going to play him?’ Stretch seemed to have the right idea. Treat things as normal. As normal as possible.

  ‘Sam Cooke,’ Day said. ‘Something sweet. A Change Is Gonna Come. Got it handy?’

  ‘Sure. I’ll dig it out for you. We just going to play music again tonight?’

  ‘Yes. Apart from his call.’

  ‘I thought so. I’ve got some stuff together.’

  ‘Thanks, Stretch,’ said Day. ‘I appreciate it.’

  ‘It’s my job, man.’

  We left him and went out on to the roof. Day went over to one corner and threw up. ‘Are you OK?’ I asked.

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ he replied. ‘Got that ciggie?’

  I took out the packet, opened it, and handed him one. I took one for myself, and lit both of them. We smoked in silence, and then as time was getting on we went back downstairs.

  Tony Hillerman, Charlie Harper and Chief Inspector Lambert were all waiting for us in the corridor. Hillerman was looking happier than he had for days. He grabbed Day by the arm and took him out of earshot of the rest of us. He pulled him close and whispered into his ear for a moment. Then they parted, and Day came back. We went into the studio.

  ‘What was all that about?’ I asked.

  ‘Christ knows. He thanked me for coming back, as if it wasn’t him and his cronies who took me off air in the first place. Suddenly my show’s hot. The advertisers are queueing up to get slots on it. He tells me that he’s sure the ratings will go through the roof if this carries on. Disgusting, isn’t it?’

  I was about to agree when the two policemen came into the studio. ‘We’re going to sit in with you,’ said Lambert. ‘We’ve got engineers plugged into the phone lines. If he rings, try and keep him talking so that they can trace the call.’

  Day nodded. ‘Is there anything in particular you want me to say?’

  ‘Busk it,’ said Harper. ‘There’s nothing much you can say that’ll reach someone as far gone as this one. Try and get him to open up about himself. Maybe get some clues as to his location or anything about himself. With a bit of luck he might give something away. Keep him talking as long as possible. If we can’t trace the call, something might come across in the background. A clock striking, or a plane going over, or a train going by. Anything that might help pinpoint his location. Otherwise try and appeal to him to give himself up. Tell him he needs help or something. It’s all up to you, Peter. Just go with the flow.’

  Stretch stuck his head through the door. ‘Pete,’ he said. ‘Show time.’

  ‘Sit down and be quiet,’ Day said to us, his spirits suddenly revived by the thought of returning to the airwaves. The three of us did as we were told.

  I sat in the guest’s chair and put on a spare pair of headphones. I could hear Tim doing the weather from his studio. After he was finished, he introduced the show. Stretch counted down from five and Peter was off.

  ‘Good evening, London,’ he said. ‘Peter Day back again with Day at Night, after a short break. A different kind of show again, I warn you. Mostly music, with just one call. I expect you’ve been reading about what’s been going on down here. If you haven’t then get a paper in the morning and you’ll find out. Here at Sunset we seem to have been chosen as the outlet for one man’s madness. It wasn’t our choice, but we’re stuck with it. Somewhere out there is someone with a grudge against the world, and he’s chosen this station and this show to vent it. I won’t go into details, and I won’t make any further judgements, as I believe they may make matters worse. What I will do is play a record, and at the end of it I believe he may speak to us. I hope I’m wrong but I don’t think so. Anyway, I’ve chosen a song that echoes the way a lot of us feel right now.’

  Day pointed through to Stretch, who pressed the button on one of the CD players beside him, and Sam Cooke started singing. I slipped the headphones off my ears.

  ‘Was that OK?’ Day asked no one in particular as he did the same.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Lambert. ‘I hope the crack about madness doesn’t start him off.’

  ‘You did fine,’ said Harper reassuringly.

  Through the glass I could see Stretch on the phone. He was shaking his head and cutting off callers one by one. Just before the song came to an end, he turned and tapped up something on the keyboard beside him. ‘It’s him,’ Day said, and pulled the headphones up again. He turned up my mike. As the song ended he said, ‘Now we go to the phone. Hello, John.’

  I didn’t want to listen, but I knew I’d have to, so I put the cans against my ears.

  ‘Call me The Midnight Crawler,’ the caller whispered in his unmistakable voice.

  ‘John’s shorter,’ said Day.

  ‘All right, Peter, you can call me John. Nice tune. I remember it. And, Peter?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m not as mad as you think.’

  ‘Aren’t you?’

  ‘Are the police tracing this call?’

  Day looked over at Lambert. He shrugged.

  ‘What do you think, John?’ Day asked.

  ‘I think they are. Ask them how mad I am when they can’t catch me.’

  ‘I’ll do that, John,’ said Day.

  ‘I know you must have got my message today because you’re doing the show.’

  ‘I got it.’

  ‘Did you like it?’

  ‘No, John, you know I didn’t.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’ll try and do better next time.’

  ‘I hope there isn’t a next time, John.’

  ‘There will be, Peter. Count on it.’

  ‘Why me?’ Day asked.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Why pick on me to talk to? To tell?’

  ‘Because you’re on the radio. You’re important.’

  I thought Day was going to laugh at that. ‘No, John, I’m not.’

  ‘You are to me.’

  ‘Do you live round here, John?’ Day changed tack.

  If he was hoping to throw John, he was disappointed. ‘I live everywhere,’ he replied.

 
‘I think you do, John. I think you’re a local boy.’

  That narrowed the field down to men who lived within the radius of the station’s signal. How many? A million, two, more? Who knew?

  ‘There are other stations that broadcast in the area, John. Bigger stations,’ Day said. ‘Why didn’t you call them?’

  ‘I like the music you play.’

  ‘That’s very flattering, John.’

  ‘Play me another tune.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Play me another tune now, Peter. If you don’t, you know what I’ll do. And I’ll be listening.’ With that, the line went dead.

  ‘OK, John,’ Day said to empty air, and made a signal to Stretch who pressed the ‘Play’ button on his second CD player. The sound of Fats Domino singing Blue Monday filled the phones. Day pulled down the live mike fader, took off the headphones and tossed them on to the console. ‘OK?’ he asked.

  ‘Well done,’ said Charlie Harper. ‘You’ve got him hooked.’

  ‘And he’s got me,’ Day said.

  ‘It works like that. Don’t worry. We’ll get him soon.’

  ‘I hope so,’ said Day. ‘I really do.’ But he didn’t sound optimistic.

  Lambert jumped up and left the room.

  ‘Do you think the trace worked?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t know. I’ll find out,’ Harper said, and left too.

  Day spoke to Stretch on the intercom. They did the show off the cuff again. I think it was more of a strain than Day liked to admit. I stayed with him and Sophia joined us too. At one o’clock when the news was on we went out and found Charlie Harper. The police hadn’t been able to trace the call. ‘He used a public telephone. When our blokes got there, he was gone. He could be anywhere.’

  ‘Jesus!’ I said. ‘How long is this going to go on for?’

  ‘Until it stops,’ said Harper. ‘That’s all I can tell you.’

  16

  Sophia drove us back to Peter Day’s flat. She stopped the car outside and kept the engine running as we got out.

  ‘Are you coming in?’ Day asked her.