by Mark Timlin
He nodded. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’ll get Accounts to issue another cheque.’
‘Terrific,’ I said. ‘That means I can eat tomorrow.’
He didn’t rise to the bait.
As there seemed little more to add, I left and took a wander round the building. There was no sign of Peter Day, but then I hadn’t expected there to be.
I looked at my watch. It was twelve-thirty. I decided to go and get a livener, and wait for Sophia.
I walked out through the back way, dodged the newspapermen again and ambled round the corner.
I sat in the bar and ordered a premium bottled beer at a premium price. I toasted Hillerman silently when it arrived, and sat back in my chair and watched the world go by through the big plate glass window that looked out over Acre Lane.
Sophia arrived shortly after one. She was the best-looking woman in the place. Not that it would have mattered if she hadn’t been, but she was, and that’s a fact.
I ordered a gin and tonic from the waiter at her request, and we both lit cigarettes.
‘Can you tell me now?’ she asked.
‘What?’
‘Last night? Your business?’
‘I really shouldn’t.’
‘Go on.’ Her eyes were alight with excitement and curiosity.
‘Can you keep a secret?’
She marked a cross on her left breast with one red fingernail, and I was gone. Tough guy, huh? And remember, when I was on the force I signed the Official Secrets Act.
I told her about Eddie Cochran and Sector 88, although once again I didn’t identify him by name. And I didn’t say anything about Prince, in case she’d read the story in the paper.
When I’d finished, she said, ‘That’s amazing. You’re so good.’
‘Remember what you said about flattery?’
She giggled. ‘Maybe you’ll find out later.’
By then, she just had time for another drink before getting back to work, so I got a round in, and we sat and chatted inconsequentially until it was time for her to go.
That is if you think serial killers and Nazis inconsequential.
I walked her partway back to Sunset, and went to find my car. Of course it had been ticketed, but it was a legitimate expense so for once I didn’t screw the thing up and throw it away.
I drove home and called Peter Day on the phone. His machine was on so I left a message to say I’d pick him up later to take him to work.
Halfway through, he picked up the phone.
I hate that. It’s bad enough talking to a machine in the first place, but when a human interrupts, it always throws me.
‘Hi, Peter,’ I said when I realised he was there. ‘Dodging the slings and arrows?’
‘Something like that. The bloody phone is ringing every two minutes.’
‘Unplug it.’
‘I can’t. You never know who’ll call. I have to keep in touch.’
‘Fair enough. Listen, like I was trying to say a minute ago, I’ll pick you up tonight. That is, if you still want me to come in with you.’
‘Course I do. You and Stretch and Sophia are the only ones keeping me sane.’
‘That doesn’t say a lot for your sanity,’ I remarked. Which probably wasn’t too tactful. But I thought after what we’d been through together, we were past tact. ‘So I’ll see you later.’
He agreed, and we hung up.
After that I just sat around the flat keeping myself company and thinking about Sophia’s legs.
22
Just as my thoughts got interesting the phone rang. It was Harper. ‘I don’t know how you did it,’ he said, ‘but the thumbprint on the bottle you gave me matched the one we found on a plastic bag inside one of the parcels of crap that was sent to Sunset.’
Lucky for my professional reputation no one would ever know just what a coincidence it really was. I certainly wasn’t telling. ‘That slimy little bastard!’
‘Friend of yours?’
‘Not at all.’
‘So give me his full name and address so that I can get a warrant.’
I complied with his request. When I supplied the name, he did the usual. ‘Are you fucking me about? Because if you are, I’m not in the mood.’
‘It’s his name,’ I said. ‘Don’t blame me. Perhaps it’s partly what turned him into what he is. Everybody taking the piss.’
‘OK,’ said Harper. ‘I believe you. Address?’
I told him. ‘What time are you going in?’ I asked.
‘Dawn tomorrow. The best time.’
‘Let me come with you.’
‘What?’
‘You heard.’
‘Don’t ponce about, Sharman. This is police business.’
‘And if it wasn’t for me, you’d be none the wiser.’
He paused. ‘Why?’
‘It’s another job I’m on.’
‘What kind of job?’
‘I’m looking for a lost dog.’
‘A what?’
‘You heard,’ I said again.
‘I don’t believe this.’
‘Believe it. That’s how I got on to Cochran in the first place. I want to have a shufti round his place myself. See if there’s any evidence of it ever being there. Come on, Harper. The dog belongs to the woman who gave me the medicine bottle. His wife. Give us both a break and let me come with you.’
‘You do what I say?’
‘Without question.’
I could almost hear his brain working. ‘All right, Sharman,’ he said. ‘But if my guv’nors get to hear about this…’
‘Why should they?’
‘With you about, lots of ways. But you can come. Are you going to be at Sunset later?’
‘Looks like it.’
‘I’ll talk to you then.’
‘You’re working long hours.’
‘You mean, you don’t remember?’
‘Sure I do,’ I said. ‘Sorry.’
I don’t know why I apologised. I was getting to like Harper, I suppose. Bad mistake that. With a copper.
‘I’ll see you later, then.’
I got ready to go out. I wasn’t expecting to get back till morning. In fact, it was looking like it might be quite a night. A possible call from a serial killer, and a dawn raid on a suspect’s drum. Not to mention a romantic interlude with Sophia. I hadn’t looked forward to so much action since I didn’t know when.
I put on jeans, leather jacket and polished loafers. I stuck an old pair of Timberlands with a split welt into a bag. I’d been on early morning spins on premises with metal doors before, and it can be hell on a decent pair of shoes. I also took the photo of Cochran with me.
I got to Day’s block at ten-thirty again. The press and TV had vanished, thank God. Obviously there was more gore to be had elsewhere that night.
I rang through on the entryphone and he buzzed me up. When he let me through his front door I noticed that he hadn’t shaved, and that he stank of booze.
‘Drink?’ he said when we got inside.
I shook my head. He went to the sideboard and sloshed a good measure of Jack Daniel’s into a big glass.
‘Don’t you think you’ve had enough?’ I asked.
‘What’s it got to do with you?’
It was going to be one of those.
‘Nothing. Nothing at all. But it could be a tricky show tonight.’
‘They’re all tricky, Nicky, my boy,’ he said. ‘All tricky. All fucking tricky. But what the fuck do you know?’
‘Hey, listen,’ I said, and opened my arms like I was surrendering, ‘I know nothing. It was you that asked me here, remember? I could be tucked up with a good book.’
Or a bad woman, I thought.
He pondered my remark for a moment. ‘Sure,’
he said. ‘Sure. I’m sorry. This thing’s beginning to get to me.’
‘Understandably.’
‘But have a drink, eh?’
‘OK, Peter,’ I said. ‘A small one. And why don’t you make that one your last?’
He nodded and splashed bourbon into a glass for me. We toasted each other and drank.
‘Nick,’ he said at length.
‘Yeah?’
‘I… I…’ He paused. ‘Forgive me. Please.’ And two tears slid down his face.
Shit! I thought.
‘I forgive you,’ I said. ‘Shall we go?’
I’ve got to tell you, I really wasn’t into male bonding that night. But nevertheless I went over and took his hand.
‘It’s crap, Pete,’ I said. ‘But you’re doing well. No one could do better under the circumstances. And the more you talk to this creep, the closer Old Bill will get to catching him.’
‘I know,’ he said. ‘It’s just that I hate doing it.’ He looked at me, and I thought he was going to say more, but he didn’t.
‘Sure you do,’ I replied after a moment. And whatever he was going to say remained unsaid.
He sighed then said, ‘Fuck it. Come on, let’s go.’
I squeezed his arm and we went.
Harper was waiting for us when we got to Sunset. He was looking a bit peaky himself, if not positively haggard. It seemed the case was beginning to tell on everyone. Except lucky old Nick who was looking forward to his first fuck in an age.
It made me careless.
After Harper had given Peter Day his usual pep-talk and instructions, he excused us and dragged me off to a deserted office.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘About tomorrow morning. You can come in with us. But – I repeat, but – you obey my or any of my officers’ orders, immediately and to the letter. Understand?’
‘Course I do.’
‘You keep out of the way at the back. And you only speak when spoken to.’
‘All right. You won’t know I’m there.’
‘I hope not. Meet me at the station tomorrow at quarter to six. Be on time, or we’ll leave without you.’
‘I’ll be there. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. And by the way, this might come in handy.’ I gave him the brown envelope containing the 10 x 8 print of Cochran’s face.
‘What is it?’
‘Take a look.’
He opened the envelope and extracted the photo. ‘Who’s this?’
‘Eddie Cochran.’
‘Is that right? I suppose I shouldn’t ask you where you got it.’
‘You’d be wasting your time.’
‘I thought as much. Now hop it… and Sharman?’
‘What?’
‘You’ve done well. Maybe you were a better copper than I thought you were.’
‘No. I was lousy. I do this to make up for it.’ And I left him to himself.
I went up to the studio where Day was talking to Stretch. There were the usual police officers and engineers hanging around waiting for the show to start, in case John called.
‘What did he want?’ Day asked me.
‘I think I’ve sorted out your Nazi mates,’ I said.
‘You have? How?’
‘Diligence and hard work. And a lot of luck,’ I replied.
‘Well, that’s something. I’d almost forgotten about them.’
‘But they’re no closer to The Crawler.’
‘I wish you wouldn’t call him that.’
‘Sorry.’
Right then it was time to sort out the show, so Day went into conference with Stretch. It was to be music again. No calls unless John came through. I went downstairs for coffee.
I went back just before midnight and joined Day in the studio.
Nothing happened until almost two. Stretch had been answering the calls that came through the switchboard, closely monitored by an engineer, but all we could see was him shaking his head and cutting off the callers. As if to mirror the mood, the music that he and Day had chosen was slow and mournful. Lots of blues tunes. Lots of songs about loss.
Then, just before the last record was ready to go before the two o’clock news, he took a call and pointed through to us.
‘That’s him,’ said Harper.
Peter Day gave Stretch the thumbs-up, and the call was routed through into the studio.
‘Hello, Peter. How are you tonight?’
‘Not bad,’ said Day in reply.
‘I’m going to keep this short,’ said John. ‘You never know who could be listening in, do you?’
I looked through the glass into Stretch’s booth where one of the police engineers was talking on one of those big professional yellow telephones that BT use. He was rabbiting away like mad to someone. Probably to another engineer at a switching station.
‘Just a few night birds,’ said Day.
‘Like you and me, huh?’ said John.
‘That’s right, John. Why don’t you stay and chat awhile?’
‘So that the police can trace this call? No chance. They’re wasting their time. They must know that. I’m phoning to tell you there’s another little present on its way to you. I don’t want you to think you’re being ignored. And, Peter?’
‘Yes?’
‘Remember that the best is yet to come.’ And the line went dead.
The police engineer slammed his phone on the console on the other side of the glass in frustration, and Day went straight to the news which I imagined was being re-written even as Tim read it.
‘This is no bloody good at all,’ said Harper. ‘We’re never going to catch him at this rate. He’s making fools of the lot of us.’
‘And it sounds like he’s got another one,’ I said.
Peter Day put his head in his hands and sat very still.
I left the room for a smoke. As I went I touched him on the shoulder and he jumped at least two inches out of his chair.
I went upstairs to the roof and stood in the night and smoked. Harper had been right. This was no good at all.
The rest of the show was uneventful. I took Peter Day home afterwards. We hardly spoke during the short drive. When I dropped him off he said, ‘Want to come in?’
I shook my head and said, ‘No. Not tonight.’
‘I understand,’ he said, and got out of the car slowly, like an old man.
I watched as he went into the block, then I put the car into gear and headed for Sophia’s.
23
When I got there she was up.
I gave a short ring on the doorbell and she came down within moments. She’d dumped the wincyette. Instead she was wearing a long robe of a silky material, and when she kissed me hello, and I embraced her briefly, it felt like not a lot else.
She looked at the bag I was carrying, with my old shoes in it.
‘What’s that?’ she asked. ‘Your laundry?’
‘Funny. I’ll tell you all about it in a minute.’
We went up and into the kitchen where I could smell fresh coffee. She poured me a cup and I accepted it gratefully.
‘I set the alarm clock,’ she said. ‘I didn’t want to miss you.’
‘Did you hear the show?’
She shook her head. ‘Did he call?’
I nodded.
‘Was it bad?’
‘Not really. He only stayed on the line for a minute. But Peter’s taking it badly.’
‘I know.’
‘He was hitting the sauce in a big way earlier on. Crying. The full half hour.’
‘I feel so sorry for him.’
‘Me too. But what can we do? He’s got his own demons to deal with. Just like the rest of us.’
‘I feel so helpless,’ she said.
‘Same here,’ I replied. ‘It’s an impossibl
e situation.’
It wasn’t. I could have gone in and kept him company. I felt lousy enough about the way I was acting without justifying it to her.
Luckily she changed the subject. ‘So what is in that bag?’
I told her about the spin I was going on. Once again her eyes shone with excitement.
‘So you see, I’ve got to meet Harper at a quarter to six in Brixton,’ I said when I’d finished and looked at my watch. It was almost four. ‘I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go in an hour or so.’
‘Can I come?’ she asked.
‘Are you serious? This isn’t a party. It could get heavy.’
‘No. I mean can I come before you go.’ She blushed in a most attractive way. ‘You know what I mean.’
I did.
‘And I thought you were a sweet old-fashioned girl,’ I said.
‘I’m a sweet, old-fashioned, horny girl. I don’t want to think about murders and Nazis and lost dogs. All I want is to go to bed with you.’
‘You took the words right out of my mouth.’
‘Come on then.’ And she reached out her hand.
I put down my coffee cup. She gave my hand a gentle tug and I followed her through to the bedroom.
She slid off the robe, and I’d been right. She wasn’t wearing much underneath. In fact, nothing at all.
I tore my clothes off and she came into my arms, all warm and slippery. Our mouths met and she pulled me on to the bed.
Her skin was shiny under the soft light from her bedside lamp and I ran my fingers along the length of her just to make sure she was real. ‘Don’t wait,’ she whispered. ‘Just fuck me.’
So I did. And she did. Come, I mean.
When we were finished, I barely had time for another cup of coffee before I had to go and meet Harper.
She sat with me in the kitchen as I put on the old pair of boots I was going to wear.
‘You will be careful, won’t you?’ she asked as I knotted the laces. ‘I don’t want to lose you so soon after finding you.’
‘I’ll keep well out of the way,’ I assured her. ‘This isn’t my show. The big hairy coppers can collect any flak flying about. Me, I’m just going as an observer.’
‘Make sure that’s all you are.’
I grinned at her. A big stupid grin, like a dog that’s just discovered a particularly juicy bone, that he’d buried and thought he’d forgotten where.
