All the Empty Places

by Mark Timlin

  ‘Obviously.’

  ‘You look too young.’ A stupid thing to say.

  ‘I’m twenty-seven, two years younger than Sheila. I’ve been in the Job five years.’

  ‘And already a DS. Fast track.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘I know so. I bet you’re popular.’

  ‘Not so’s you’d notice.’

  ‘I thought not. Things don’t change much.’

  ‘You can say that again.’

  ‘And I take it you’re the friend that I didn’t know I had that DS Blackford mentioned,’ I said.

  ‘Could be.’

  ‘Almost certainly I’d say. I didn’t have many other friends in that nick today, you can count on that.’

  ‘He told you about me?’

  ‘No details. He just said I had someone in my corner. In a way I wish he had, it would’ve made it easier meeting you.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be. At least you stuck up for me.’

  ‘I had a word.’

  ‘Well thanks for that anyway.’

  ‘It was the least I could do under the circumstances.’

  I nodded.

  ‘Of course it doesn’t mean you’re off the hook totally,’ she said.

  ‘I didn’t think it did, but at least I can sleep in my own bed tonight.’

  ‘That’s something.’

  ‘So you’ll’ve been told exactly what happened to her,’ I said. ‘You being one of them.’

  ‘Some of it. They did a preliminary PM today.’

  ‘So what’s the verdict?’

  ‘You know how she died.’

  ‘I know that. She was cut to ribbons. But what exactly do your colleagues think happened?’

  ‘She answered the door.’

  ‘Early.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘In her underwear.’

  ‘There was a bloodstained dressing gown down by the side of the bed.’

  ‘So he took it off.’

  ‘Looks like it.’

  ‘Was she…?’ I didn’t finish the question.

  ‘Sexually assaulted?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well that’s something at least. So he just got his kicks.’

  ‘Looks like it.’

  ‘Bastard.’

  ‘Yes. And whoever it was really went at her with the knife. He meant it. There were cuts all over her arms where she tried to defend herself.’

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘I saw them.’

  ‘Of course you did.’

  ‘And they thought it might be me.’

  ‘You’re the natural suspect.’

  ‘Of course I was. Why? Because I loved her? Because I slept with her? That makes sense does it?’

  She didn’t reply.

  ‘Did they find the weapon?’ I asked.

  ‘No. But they think it was some kind of hunting knife with a serrated edge.’

  ‘So what happens now?’ I asked.

  ‘I’ll get the body released for burial as soon as possible. I can get past some of the red tape.’

  ‘What kind of funeral arrangements are you making? I assume you’re next of kin.’

  She nodded. ‘Mum and dad are buried at Norwood cemetery. She’d want to be next to them.’

  My turn to nod again.

  ‘I’ve got some leave due so I can stay down here for a bit.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘I’ve got a room at the section house in Streatham for tonight. I’ll make other arrangements tomorrow.’

  ‘What about her flat?’

  ‘She made a will. I get everything. I’ll put it on the market. I certainly don’t want any more to do with the place. If there’s anything especially you’d like…’

  I thought about it for a second. ‘She had an old teddy bear. She kept it on the sofa.’

  ‘You want her teddy bear?’ She looked at me quizzically, and suddenly she looked so much like Sheila that I almost choked.

  ‘Long story,’ I said. ‘I’ll tell you some time maybe. But it reminds me of the first day we were together. Can I have it?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘By the way,’ I said, ‘how did you know where to find me?’

  ‘Sheila gave me your address and number ages ago, when we first started talking again and you’d started going out. Just for emergencies.’

  I nodded, and we sat together until we finished our drinks, and I wondered why, under the circumstances, neither of the people closest to her had once shed a tear.

  22

  After a little while we finished our drinks and she left. I walked her to her car and squatted down beside the driver’s window as she started the engine. ‘Thanks for coming,’ I said.

  ‘I’d like to say it was a pleasure.’

  ‘I know. Let’s get together soon. Anything you can tell me about what’s happening with the investigation…’

  ‘I’ll tell you what I can, but you know it’s confidential.’

  ‘I understand. A need to know basis.’

  ‘And you don’t need to know.’

  ‘But I’d like to.’

  ‘I know, Nick.’

  ‘And I’m sorry,’ I said.

  She frowned. ‘About?’

  ‘About those cracks earlier. You know, about the police.’

  ‘Think nothing of it. I’m used to it.’

  ‘But you didn’t need it today. Not from me.’

  She smiled. ‘Apology accepted.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said.

  She put her hand on mine. ‘Try and get some sleep,’ she said.

  ‘You too.’

  She smiled a wry smile. ‘It won’t be easy.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  I stood then and she put the car into gear and pulled away and I watched the red tail lights vanish up the road.

  I went back upstairs and sat in the same seat that I’d sat in before. The faint smell of her perfume was all that was left in the room, but she might as well be still sitting in front of me, the effect she’d had on my already battered senses. So much like Sheila, but so different. And a copper. Sheila had neglected to mention that little fact. What a turn up for the book. A sodding copper. I almost laughed, but not quite.

  Then my mind turned to other things and I retrieved the tape that Sheila had left for me in the envelope. My legacy. A letter, a bunch of papers, a tape and a teddy bear. I had a big lump in my throat as I punched the ‘Play’ button on the tape machine, but I swallowed it.

  From the background noise and poor reproduction I imagined she’d left on the intercom from Finbarr’s office to where she worked in the next room and stuck a microphone up close. But it was good enough to identify two of the voices, the ones that I was familiar with, and that was all that mattered.

  It started with the sound of a door closing and footsteps muffled by carpet, and it went like this:

  FINBARR: Gentlemen. Please come in and sit. Johnny, I’m afraid I don’t know your friend.

  JOHNNY TUFNELL: This is Morris. Morris, Fin.

  FINBARR: Morris something or something Morris?

  TUFNELL: That doesn’t matter.

  FINBARR: Very well. How do you do Morris.

  MORRIS: (With an Australian accent.) Hi, Mr Finbarr. Very well. How you doing yourself?

  FINBARR: Fine. And do call me Fin. All my friends do. Drinks?

  TUFNELL: Sure. Scotch.

  MORRIS: Same for me.

  (The sound of bottles and glasses clinking.)

  FINBARR: There you go.

  (More clinking.)

  ALL: Cheers!

  FINBARR: Now Johnny, I believe you have a proposition
for me.

  TUFNELL: Certainly. A big one.

  FINBARR: Sounds good. How big?

  TUFNELL: I’ll let Morris tell you. He’s the architect of all this.

  MORRIS: It’s a safe deposit vault in the City of London. That’s as much as I’m prepared to tell you now. No names yet. I used to work there as a guard. You’d be amazed what people keep in places like that. Things they don’t want anyone else to know about.

  FINBARR: Such as?

  MORRIS: Money. Lots of it that the taxman doesn’t know about. Jewellery, negotiable bonds, drugs, weapons. You name it, Mr… Fin, and it’s there. Sure there’s a lot of crap that’s just sentimental, but believe me most of it ain’t.

  FINBARR: How can you be so sure? I thought all these deposits were secret. I thought that was the whole point.

  MORRIS: There are ways. Just trust me on this. In the vault there are over a thousand boxes. I’ve actually witnessed, though I shouldn’t have, stacks of hard cash in some that would choke a donkey. We can empty those thousand boxes. Work it out for yourself. If there’s only goods worth a grand in each that’s a cool million. But there’s not, Fin. There’s stuff in some of those worth that much alone. I’d stake my life on it.

  FINBARR: And how do we get in? Presumably this company has more security than just an old man with a tin whistle and a truncheon.

  MORRIS: Security’s tight. Tighter than a gnat’s arse. But there are ways. I have the plans of the vault. And they’re so sure that no one can get in that the place is empty outside office hours. And they’re mean with it. They begrudge paying someone to sit around all night.

  FINBARR: So we just walk in?

  MORRIS: No way, sir. The walls of the vault are two feet thick, stressed concrete, and there’s only one door that weighs about a ton and a half and it’s on a time lock with absolutely no override.

  FINBARR: Well gentlemen, that seems to let us all out. Now I have other appointments…

  TUFNELL: Listen to the man, Fin.

  MORRIS: In seventy-five, when I was barely eighteen, I was in Vietnam with the Australian army. I was what was known as a tunnel rat. Charlie had the place riddled with tunnels at the end. I went in with a Colt .45 and cleared old Charlie out. I’m a digger, man. And I can get under that vault. And that’s the first weak link. The floor’s old. It was built a hundred and fifty years ago, maybe more. I can tunnel up and blow a hole in that sucker easy. Then we’re inside, and with the vault locked no one can get to us.

  FINBARR: And the second?

  MORRIS: The override on the time lock. If no one from the company can get in until it trips, once we’re inside they can’t reach us.

  FINBARR: So we just dig a hole in the City of London, which right now is surrounded by a ring of steel against terrorists, and patrolled by police, and they’re just going to let you.

  MORRIS: Not exactly, but almost. Do you know what’s under the City of London, Fin?

  There was no answer.

  MORRIS: More tunnels than ran under Saigon in seventy-five. Sewers, conduits, cables, tube tunnels. Shit it’s like a honeycomb under there. And there’s one place where a disused tunnel runs right under the bank. I know, I’ve got the plans. It took me a while, but I got them in the end. And I’ve been down there and taken a look. Two weeks of digging would get us right up to the floor. One load of plastique and we’re in the vault. We take in high powered drilling equipment and strip the place. Then we’re out and away. Smooth as glass.

  FINBARR: And you’re an explosives expert too?

  MORRIS: I know enough. If we couldn’t get Charlie out, we blew those tunnels. I’ve done my share. Don’t worry, I won’t blow my fingers off.

  FINBARR:What about the stuff you dig out? Surely people work in the sewers. Won’t they become aware of it?

  MORRIS: Not if we do it right. We simply dump the stuff into the main sewer. It’s close and constantly running. As long as we’re careful no one will suspect a thing.

  FINBARR: You’re very sure.

  MORRIS: I’ve done my research. I’ve spent a lot of time on it. A lot of time and money.

  FINBARR: And what happens when you blast? Don’t the alarms trip?

  MORRIS: Sure. There’s motion sensors. But that’s the beauty of it. All that happens is that some unlucky keyholder comes down and has a look round. The door is secure, time lock on. He figures that it’s a false alarm, resets it and goes back to his missus in their warm bed. Meanwhile, we’re like mice inside and as soon as we get the good word that the key holder’s gone, we open those boxes one by one.

  FINBARR: This is beginning to sound good. What do you need?

  TUFNELL: Seed money. I’ve spent every penny I’d saved getting this far.We need transport, weapons, explosives, the drilling equipment and one more man at least, maybe two. We need to go on wages.

  FINBARR: And you’re going in, Johnny?

  TUFNELL: Sure. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.

  FINBARR: And when do you plan to do this?

  TUFNELL: In two months time on August bank holiday weekend. According to Morris the vault is sealed at four thirty on the Friday, and no one, but no one can get inside until it opens again at eight thirty Tuesday. No one but us that is.

  MORRIS: That’s the strength of it, Fin.

  And that was where the tape clicked off.

  So that was the strength of it eh, Fin? I thought. Good deal. August bank holiday. Just a few weeks away. Morris and his buddies were probably under the streets of the City of London even as I sat there, tunneling away like little moles.

  I switched off the stereo, turned off the light, lit a cigarette and went and lay on the bed.

  Someone had found out that Sheila knew what was going on. Someone knew that she’d made a tape. God knows how, but it was all that made sense. And someone she knew had come knocking that morning and killed her. Someone who looked for the tape first at her place then at mine. Someone who was on that tape. Finbarr or Johnny Tufnell. It had to be.

  So I had a choice: Lay it all out for the law and let them pick the boys up. We knew where they were after all. Hey, I could even tell Lucy. That would be ironic.

  Or else I could do something about it myself.

  I lay awake a long time thinking about my choices.

  And I thought about other things too.

  As I lay there dry eyed, still wondering why the tears wouldn’t come, I realised that there was a time for everything.

  A time to grieve, which wasn’t now.

  And a time for vengeance.

  A time to load up and ship out and find the men who directly or indirectly had murdered Sheila and make sure that they never did anything like that again.

  And finally, as the sky lightened and birds started to sing, I fell asleep.

  23

  Iwoke up again about an hour later and my sheets were soaked with sweat. For a minute I thought that the events of the previous day had all been a dream, a terrible nightmare, but when I saw the Detonics that I’d left on the little table by the bed, I knew it hadn’t been.

  I rolled off the bed and wiped myself down with yesterday’s T-shirt, then went to the kitchen and put on the kettle. I made a double strength black instant coffee and looked at the bottle of JD I’d left on the counter. What the fuck? I thought. Might as well get loaded early. It was going to be a tough day and I needed some help.

  I chased the coffee with Jack Daniel’s and lit the first Silk Cut of the many I knew I’d smoke that day, and suddenly the loss of Sheila hit me like a truck.

  I felt as if my right arm had been chopped off and leant against the stove for support, and finally the tears came. I sobbed and choked for what seemed like hours, until there were no more sobs and chokes left. I wiped my face with a dish cloth, made more coffee over the dregs of the last and lit another cigarette. Then, when I was still
, I went into the bathroom and stood under the shower, my pistol on top of a towel next to it, still cocked and ready to fire.

  When I came out of the bathroom the phone was ringing.

  It was Lucy. ‘Did I wake you?’ she asked.

  ‘Chance would be a fine thing.’

  ‘I couldn’t sleep either.’

  ‘The kettle’s hot,’ I said.

  ‘I’ll be with you in ten.’

  Whilst I was getting dressed I switched on the local TV news. Sheila made about eight seconds between the closing of an A&E department at a hospital in north London and a cat that had eight kittens in the engine bay of a Ford Scorpio at a motorway services in Essex.

  C’est la vie.

  I was pulling the bedclothes together when I heard a car drive up and stop outside and I checked the window. It was Lucy.

  I stashed the Detonics in a drawer, went downstairs and let her in.

  Jesus, but she was like her sister. It was bloody uncanny.

  That morning she was wearing jeans and a sweater, and her figure reminded me so much of Sheila’s that it was all I could do not to grab a handful. Seeing her was doing me no good at all.

  Whilst I was making her coffee I asked what plans she had for the day. A real stupid question I admit. It wasn’t as if I expected her to tell me she was going to take a picnic up to Hampstead Heath followed by an evening at the theatre.

  ‘Try and get into the flat I guess,’ she replied. ‘If they’ll let me.’

  ‘I’ll come with you if you like,’ I said, although I expected I’d be about as welcome as a wasp in an ice-cream cornet.

  ‘OK,’ she agreed, which meant that my PNC check hadn’t covered all the bases.

  ‘Want anything with this?’ I asked as I passed her the mug of coffee I’d prepared.

  She looked at the bottle of Jack and then at me. ‘Starting early aren’t you?’

  ‘Just continuing where I left off a couple of hours ago. Care to join me?’

  ‘I’ll pass thanks, but don’t let me stop you.’

  I added a drop of the liquor to my cold coffee and knocked back a mouthful.

  ‘Better?’ she asked.

  ‘Not really.’

  I sat opposite her at the table and we lit cigarettes. ‘God, I miss her,’ I said.