Fall From Grace

by Menon, David

  ‘This isn’t fair, Jake,’ said Paul who wanted Jake so badly at that moment. He breathed in the smell of him, the taste of him, his touch and the strength of his body.

  ‘I need you, Paul,’ said Jake as he softly kissed Paul’s neck. ‘I can’t do it without you.’

  ‘Jake, I…’

  ‘… I do love you enough, Paul. I just didn’t know how I could do it.’

  Paul gripped Jake’s shoulders and pushed him back slightly so he could stare into his tear-stained eyes for a moment. He felt himself fall deeper and deeper into somewhere he wanted to go but knew that he shouldn’t. Then he began to undo the buttons on Jake’s shirt and switched off the light.

  *

  Sara and Joe decided to bring Naumann into the station for his latest interview under caution. It was time to up the stakes on both him and Lady Eleanor.

  ‘Mr. Naumann, were you at Lady Eleanor’s estate the night Peter Jenkins died?’ Sara began.

  ‘Yes, I was,’ said Dieter.

  ‘Lady Eleanor said that you weren’t there,’ said Sara who was surprised by Naumann’s answer. She’d expected him to deny it.

  ‘I’m afraid she got it all a little wrong,’ said Naumann who’d agreed with Eleanor that he would now admit to being there when Peter Jenkins died. They concluded that the more they tied these buffoons up the less likely his extradition deadline would be met and the more time they’d give the relevant authorities to rescue them both from this nightmare.

  ‘You mean she lied.’

  ‘I mean she got it wrong because it was a long time ago.’

  ‘She’s a liar.’

  ‘Don’t you talk about her in such disgraceful tones! A pathetic imbecile like you isn’t worthy of licking Eleanor’s damn boots!’

  ‘Now that’s enough, Mr. Naumann,’ said Joe who noted that Naumann’s face was still full of disgust. ‘Just answer DCI Hoyland’s question, please. Tell us what happened that night, Mr. Naumann, now that you’ve admitted to having witnessed Peter Jenkins death.’

  Naumann paused whilst he calmed down.

  ‘In your own time, sir,’ said Sara.

  Naumann glared at Sara before continuing. ‘Well now, as I recall, Eleanor and I were in the swimming pool. We were being desperately intimate. Well we were young and had just fallen madly in love…’

  …Oh spare us, thought Sara. She didn’t want to bring her breakfast back up. She’d thoroughly enjoyed every mouthful of that sausage and bacon barm. It’s not often she treated herself to something as deliciously bad as that these days and she wanted to savour the memory until she treated herself again…

  ‘…and we wanted to spend as much time as possible together. But as far as Peter Jenkins was concerned my presence had created a love triangle. He was as madly in love with Eleanor as I was but the difference was that in my case it was returned. In Peter’s case it was just sex for Eleanor. That’s how she looked at it. Peter came in, he was very drunk, he saw Eleanor and I together and he went berserk. He threw himself into the pool and attacked me. He had me by the throat when his father came rushing in, jumped into the pool and pulled him off me. In the struggle that followed Wilfred Jenkins threw his son against the side of the pool and both Eleanor and I heard the neck crack. Blood then started to pour out of his mouth and his ears. He slid down under the water. He was clearly dead. Wilfred Jenkins had killed his own son and because of my status in this country poor Eleanor had to carry the burden on her own.’

  ‘Lady Eleanor categorically denied that you were present when Peter Jenkins died,’ said Joe.

  ‘Yes but I reminded her that I was.’

  ‘Now why would you do that, sir?’ asked Joe.

  ‘To give you an accurate account of events,’ said Naumann, ‘isn’t that what you want?’

  This was very interesting, thought Sara. Naumann and Lady Eleanor had obviously talked about getting their stories right but why had they changed their minds about admitting that Naumann was there when Peter Jenkins died? Presumably it was to make it look like Naumann was a witness to a murder and not the murderer himself.

  ‘Wilfred Jenkins protested his innocence right up until the end, Mr. Naumann,’ said Joe.

  ‘Oh Detectives,’ said Naumann in a voice as if he was having to chastise recalcitrant children. ‘Every condemned prisoner protests their innocence and in my experience, they all beg like little babies crying out for their mother when faced with an execution.’

  ‘You’d know about that, Mr. Naumann,’ said Sara, gravely. She’d like to slice that appalling look right off his face with a blunt carving knife.

  ‘I had some experience some years ago,’ said Naumann, ‘in the war.’

  ‘Well being such an invisible person at the time gave you the perfect alibi for the murder of Peter Jenkins.’

  Dieter laughed. ‘Oh you’re so good! But so wrong.’

  ‘Wilfred Jenkins was sent to the gallows solely on the word of Lady Eleanor,’ said Sara, ‘she would’ve done anything to protect you, wouldn’t she.’

  ‘Are you two on some sort of crusade to kick me when I’m down?’

  Sara noted the touch of anger coming into the self-controlled tone. She was confident that they were finally beginning to crack the veneer that had sustained Dieter Naumann for the best part of a lifetime.

  ‘No,’ said Sara, ‘but you’re just another war criminal who may have also committed other crimes since. We’re just doing our job, sir, and being as thorough as I’m sure you were when you were serving in the German army.’

  ‘You drag me all the way down here to play your little games,’ said Naumann, his voice dripping with a chill that made both Sara and Joe shiver, ‘but you won’t succeed in re-writing my history to suit your purposes.’

  *

  Paul changed the sheets on his father’s bed and settled him back down. His Dad’s condition was deteriorating rapidly and he no longer had the strength to make any kind of movement without help.

  ‘I’ll make you comfortable for the night, Dad,’ said Paul. ‘Then Mum won’t have to do it. Wouldn’t you be better off in hospital, Dad?’

  ‘I’m not ending my days in hospital, son,’ said Ed. ‘You do understand that, don’t you?’

  ‘Of course I do. I just worry about how comfortable you are.’

  ‘When do you have to head off?’

  ‘I’ll head off when Mum gets back,’ said Paul.

  ‘The two of you can’t bear to be in the same place at the same time, can you?’

  ‘Dad, I wish I could make it better for you before… but I don’t think I can, Dad. I just don’t think I can.’ He wiped his father’s face with a wet flannel. ‘I am sorry, Dad’

  ‘It’s not your fault, son.’

  ‘Perhaps I could try a bit harder?’

  ‘It wouldn’t do any good, son. I know that.’

  Paul wasn’t often short of something to say but he couldn’t find the words to give his father some small glimmer of hope that his relationship with his mother might one day heal. His father looked so drawn and lost, battling with every ounce of strength he had against the pain. But it wasn’t a fair fight.

  ‘But you’ve always tried, our Paul,’ said Ed. ‘I know that too.’

  ‘It’s how you brought me up, Dad, to have respect and an open mind. I’m not always good at it but not everybody was that lucky.’

  ‘I did something right then.’

  ‘You did a lot right, Dad,’ said Paul, ‘and I have got some good news.’

  ‘What’s that, son?’

  ‘I’ve heard from Jake. He’s alright. He’s okay.’

  ‘Thank God for that. You must be relieved.’

  ‘I am, Dad. I am.’

  Paul wasn’t going to tell his father the full story about Jake. It wouldn’t be fair to burden him with all that now.

  ‘Sit down, son,’ said Ed. ‘I know it isn’t easy but we really do need to talk about your mother.’

  Paul sat on the edge of his father�
��s bed. ‘Dad, I know I’ve never been her favourite.’

  ‘It goes much deeper than that, son.’

  ‘What do you mean, Dad?’

  The front door opened and Paul’s mother returned.

  ‘I don’t know why they bother putting up a timetable for the trams,’ moaned Mary as she stomped through the house. ‘I waited nearly half an hour at Bispham after I’d had a bit of dinner with Eileen.’ She looked up and saw Paul standing by his father’s bed. ‘Oh, you’re still here.’

  ‘Yes, Mum,’ said Paul. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘I’m alright, there’s nothing wrong with me,’ said Mary. ‘Nothing wrong at all.’

  ‘Well I’ll go now, Mum,’ said Paul who was wondering what on earth his father had been talking about and why he didn’t want to say anything in front of his mother. ‘Unless you need anything doing?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘Just fine.’

  Paul turned back to his Dad. ‘I’d best be off, Dad.’

  ‘Come here, son,’ said Ed who raised his hand as high as he could to beckon Paul over.

  ‘What is it, Dad?’ Paul asked as he went up close to his father.

  ‘We need to talk, son,’ said Ed.

  ‘I’ll be back tomorrow, Dad,’ said Paul. He kissed his father’s forehead. ‘We can talk then. In the meantime, you need to rest.’

  EIGHT

  Joe Alexander was driving onto the Tatton estate with Detective Sergeant Steve Osborne in the passenger seat.

  ‘What’s in the bag?’ asked Joe with a sideways glance at the paper bag on Steve’s lap.

  ‘What?’ said Steve, looking down. ‘Oh I forgot, I got you a pie.’ He held it up in Joe’s direction.

  ‘What kind of pie?’

  ‘Meat and potato,’ said Steve. ‘I didn’t manage any breakfast this morning and I was starving so I got one from the shop on the corner. I thought you’d want one too.’

  ‘Well that’s very kind, Steve, and I’m very touched.’

  ‘Fuck off and eat it.’

  ‘I have to think of my waistline, Steve.’

  ‘Is it a fond memory?’

  ‘You cheeky bastard.’

  ‘I’ll keep it for you for later.’

  ‘Good man.’

  Joe and Steve often worked on cases together. Joe didn’t mind Steve. He had a good sense of humour, although he thought he could be a little callous at times, a little too ready to come up with simple solutions to cases. He always seemed to be in a rush to get them tied up and then onto the next one without farting time. Joe thought of himself as the sensitive, thoughtful type compared to Steve’s more blusterous approach but what he hated Steve for, was his apparent ability to eat whatever he damn well liked without seeming to put on weight. Joe got mightily frustrated about that.

  ‘God, this is the arse end of hell,’ said Steve. ‘These people deserve everything they get.’

  ‘That’s a bit tough, Steve,’ said Joe. ‘It’s not always someone’s own fault that they’re dependent on the state.’

  ‘I’d forgotten I was working with our resident boy scout.’

  ‘You know what I’m saying, Steve.’

  ‘Yes, I do, but it pisses me off.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, yeah,’ said Joe who was tired and wasn’t in the mood for Steve’s thinking on the order of society. ‘But can we leave all the social commentary to the leader writers of the bigger papers? I’ve got a headache.’

  ‘It must be due to working with the new DCI,’ said Steve.

  ‘Sara Hoyland?’

  ‘That’s the one,’ said Steve.

  ‘She’s alright, Steve.’

  ‘Is she fuck? Everybody knows she only got the job because she’s got a front bottom and they seem to be nurturing those girls who seem exceptional.’

  ‘Jesus, you were so born in the wrong century!’

  ‘It was my due,’ said Steve.

  ‘You’re not even a DI yet, Steve.’

  ‘I’ve been in this squad a lifetime compared to her.’

  ‘I don’t believe I’m hearing this from a supposedly grown-up man,’ said Joe. ‘She was in another squad doing the same as you only in their opinion she was doing it better and from what I’ve seen of her so far, Steve, they were right.’

  ‘I’m glad I can always count on my mates for a vote of confidence,’ said Steve, folding his arms.

  ‘It’s because I’m a mate that I can tell you the truth, Steve,’ said Joe, looking sideways at him. ‘Maybe it’s because I grew up with four older sisters. I’ve got more respect for women than you have and Steve, from where I’m sitting…’ He started laughing. ‘…I wish I had a camera.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you look like my nephew when he can’t get his own way and he’s only bloody seven years old.’

  Steve started smiling despite himself. ‘She’ll be spending a lot of the time with Norris anyway. I probably won’t have to deal too much with her.’

  ‘And you don’t like Norris because he’s younger than you and a DI.’

  ‘The only thing I like about Tim Norris is his wife Helen.’

  ‘Who is happily married to her husband.’

  ‘That reminds me, are you still dicking that married bit from down your street?’

  Joe had always regretted telling Steve about his regular liaison. He tended to bring it up whenever he was on approach to wanting to appear superior.

  ‘I’ve always admired your delicate touch, Steve.’

  ‘Hey, I’ll never win first prize for diplomacy, I know that. So anyway, are you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Just don’t like to think of you not getting your end away.’

  ‘And are you still refusing to make an honest woman out of Amanda?’

  ‘Marry Amanda? Isn’t having me enough without a license and a ring?’

  ‘A little thing called commitment?’

  ‘Aww, now you’re talking like a bloody woman,’ said Steve. ‘Get yourself a blond wig and a short skirt. Mind you, with your body shape, maybe not.’

  Steve knew he was regarded within the squad as being a little truculent. A lot of the time it was a valid judgement. He was truculent. His partner Amanda, with whom he’d lived for several years, would say that. But he was also someone who, by his own admission after several glasses of wine, had grown up with a massive chip on his shoulder. His parents divorce when he was thirteen meant that he’d had to be lifted out of his private school where he’d been doing exceptionally well and into an east Manchester state school where he’d been picked on for being clever. His two half-siblings, born of his solicitor father’s second marriage, had both gone to private school and were now at university. Steve hadn’t been able to go to university. His mother couldn’t afford it and his father, under pressure form his second wife, had in the end, after a lot of negotiation, refused to finance it. So Steve had joined the Greater Manchester police force as an ordinary recruit when, in his mind, he should’ve been on a fast track promotion scheme and if it hadn’t have been for his father betraying his mother then he would’ve been. Tim Norris had taken the promotion that Steve had considered to be his and Sara Hoyland had jumped over them both. That was enough for Steve to hate her guts.

  ‘But anyway,’ said Steve, ‘consider myself put back in my box.’

  ‘Oh, behave, you stupid bastard,’ said Joe, ‘and give Sara Hoyland the chance she deserves.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Steve who despite everything still retained a sense of humour and liked to banter with Joe. ‘As you say, sir.’

  ‘Fuck off and keep an eye out for Kendal Rise.’

  ‘Are you going for a pint tonight? Amanda’s having to work late so I’m off the leash!’

  ‘Well if you insist.’

  By the time they got to Lorraine Cowley’s house, Steve had already made his judgements about the area and the people who lived there. Trees lined the street and some houses even had a front garden, though most of them had been turned o
ver for car parking or for the storage of valuable household items such as discarded bath tubs, bikes without wheels, old kitchen units that were in the process of being chopped up for God knows what, and various sizes of vehicle tyres.

  Joe introduced them but it was all lost on Lorraine. She tried to shut the door in their faces but Joe managed to wedge his well proportioned foot in her door.

  ‘It will do you more favours to talk to us, Lorraine,’ said Joe who was waiting for support from Steve but it didn’t seem to be forthcoming. ‘Your daughter Michaela has been missing now for nearly a week.’

  ‘I’ve got nothing to say to you!’ Lorraine protested.

  ‘Oh but we think you have,’ said Joe. ‘Now let us in and we can get on with things.’

  Lorraine had to let them in but once they were across the threshold she was anxious to get the door closed behind them.

  ‘What are you worried about, Lorraine?’ asked Joe. ‘First you don’t want us here and then you can’t get us in quick enough. You wouldn’t be scared of someone?’