Nightmare in New York

by Anthony Masters

  ‘Sandman?’

  ‘Don’t you read any newspapers, Colin? Someone high up’s using an assassin. They call him the Sandman. He puts political opponents to sleep. Like permanently. ’

  I had seen something about it but I didn’t want to feed Norman’s paranoia.

  ‘Does Alex think he’s next on the list?’ I asked.

  Norman stared at me with gathering irritation. ‘Forget it,’ he said.

  I stared at him. What did he expect me to do? I wondered. Eventually I did ask him, suddenly feeling exhausted.

  He shrugged again. ‘I just wanted to tell someone.’

  I breathed in the heady smell of the herbs again. ‘Shall I speak to him?’ A feeling of power swept over me. It felt good. I could use energy now. Blot out the glassy shimmer of the sea.

  ‘No,’ Norman sounded scared.

  ‘Then what do you want me to do?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Then – ’

  ‘I just wanted someone to talk to.’ He shuffled his feet, taking off his glasses and wiping them.

  ‘Is that all?’ I asked. ‘I mean, do you feel better for getting it off your chest?’

  ‘Not much,’ he said as he walked into the house.

  The fact that Norman had confided in me at all was very surprising. But then my thoughts returned to Tim. I had too much on my mind to take on Norman’s weird ideas.

  Chapter Three

  I knew that we had to go home. We’d go back to live with Jennifer, that’s what she said. Of course we would. What else was there to do? Our mother had married again and lived in Germany on an airbase. We had lost touch with her and I could see no point in trying to get into contact again.

  Just before we were ready to leave, Kate and I went for a walk with Alex on the beach – past the spot where Tim had walked into the sea.

  Alex was very calm, very relaxed as he talked. I tried to watch him, tried to detect signs of unease, but there was nothing.

  ‘I guess it’s not going to be easy – being on your own with Jennifer,’ he said. Neither of us said anything. ‘But she’s a good woman. Your father loved her very much.’

  Tim’s not here now, I thought.

  ‘Will there be a funeral service?’ asked Kate abruptly.

  ‘That depends – ’

  ‘On finding a body?’ she filled in for him.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So there’ll be a Memorial Service if they don’t?’ I said.

  ‘Guess so,’ Alex replied.

  ‘Will you make the arrangements?’

  ‘Of course I shall.’

  We both stopped and looked out to sea. Kate began to cry and I put my arm round her. Alex stood behind us. It was midday and the sun was a blazing white spot. Only a few sunbathers stretched out on the boiling sand. The beach was never full. Kate walked to the edge of the sea and let the wavelets slap at her feet.

  ‘I can still feel him if I do this,’ she said.

  We were standing on the quayside at four o’clock, waiting for the ferry to come in. The sunlight was so intense that the whole bay was shimmering white. We made a pathetic little group: skinny Norman biting his nails on the harbour wall, Jennifer smoking and staring back at the house, Kate pretending to read a book so she wouldn’t have to talk to anyone and Alex examining the contents of his pocket-book. I could see the ferry, shuddering over the sunswept sea towards us.

  Alex glanced up and then looked towards the single-storey shack that served as a booking office for the ferry and which displayed yellowish picture postcards of Formentera. Someone was standing there in the shade; a patch of shadow that watched and moved and beckoned. Alex hurried down towards it.

  The policeman emerged as Alex reached him. They talked for a few moments, Alex looked towards us, they talked again and finally Alex returned. He looked grey in the face and there were beads of sweat on his forehead.

  Norman got off the wall and asked, ‘What’s wrong, Pop?’

  No one else dared speak. Alex looked directly at me when he said, ‘They’ve found him.’

  Still no one spoke. The ferry edged a little nearer on the glassy sea.

  ‘They’ve found his body.’

  ‘I want to see him,’ said Kate, in a strange, uneven voice.

  ‘He’s very badly mutilated, but they’re sure it’s him. He seems to have got mixed up with the propellor of a ship.’

  Norman gave a gasp and turned away. I wondered if he was going to be sick. Personally I could feel nothing. But Kate repeated, ‘I want to see him.’

  ‘No.’ Jennifer’s arms were round her. ‘Please, no,’ For a moment I thought Kate would turn on her, maybe even hit her, but to my complete surprise she acquiesced. Burying her face in Jennifer’s T-shirt Kate began to sob.

  ‘I’m sorry about – ’ began Norman.

  ‘Shut up,’ said Alex. I looked at him gratefully. I didn’t want to see Tim and have to remember him as he looked now. I only wanted to remember him as he was. But as I watched the fat policeman walk slowly back to his battered Seat I suddenly felt a pang of jealousy. He was the only one who was going to be with Tim.

  ‘I’ll catch the next ferry,’ said Alex. ‘Wait for me over there.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ I asked.

  ‘To see Tim,’ was his abrupt reply.

  I was with him in a few seconds, leaving Kate and Jennifer and Norman to call after me. But they made no attempt to follow.

  There was no mortuary on the island, only a makeshift extension to the police station which contained something that looked like an outsize refrigerator. We stood in front of it, listening to the humming of electricity. The neon tube in the centre of the ceiling had something wrong with it, and there was a continuous flashing that nearly drove me crazy.

  The policeman said something to Alex and he nodded, the sweat running down his forehead, misting up his glasses. I began to shiver as Alex muttered: ‘He’s asking me to give formal identification. Are you sure you want to be here, Colin? He’s all mashed up. Don’t you want to remember him as he was?’

  I shook my head, putting that thought out of my mind, and stood my ground stubbornly. The shivering was worse now and it felt as if every little pulse in my body was shuddering at the same time. Slowly the policeman went to the refrigerator and opened the drawer. It slid out and I only caught the slightest glimpse of something black and bloated, with a wrinkled balloon head, before I wrenched my eyes away and was sick.

  Another policeman had taken me out into a yard with a little tree in the middle of it. I sat on a small wickerwork chair and stared up at the merciless blue of the sky. I no longer shivered, I didn’t even feel sick any more. I was drained of everything and when the policeman came back with a glass of brandy I sipped at it and slowly the alcohol made me muzzy.

  ‘Was it him?’ I asked Alex.

  ‘Yes.’ he said firmly.

  Then my confidence drained away. ‘You are sure it was him?’ I asked Alex.

  ‘Yes. Yes. I am really sure. Absolutely sure.’

  ‘What will happen to him now?’

  ‘They’ll take him back to England. I’ve made the arrangements. I am so sorry, Colin.’ And Alex knelt down, put his head in my lap and wept.

  The Press had a field day with Tim before they came to mourn him. TIM WALLACE DROWNS. These were the first headlines in the Sunday papers I saw when we arrived home, and they kept it up for weeks. WALLACE DROWNING A MYSTERY. MUTILATED BODY IDENTIFIED BY SENATOR BROTHER. INEXPLICABLE DEATH OF TIM WALLACE. OPEN VERDICT ON WALLACE DROWNING and much, much more. Jennifer wouldn’t have the newspapers in the house, nor would she give any interviews. Nevertheless, the reporters camped outside our house for a couple of days before they managed to ambush Kate, whose mumbled statements soon became headlines:

  WALLACE DAUGHTER DEVASTATED BY FATHER’S DROWNING. HAPPY FATHER HAD NO REASON TO DIE STATES DAUGHTER.

  Alex stayed with us for the first week in England and he did a wonderful job keeping off the
press. But he was even better in the way he talked about Tim to Kate and me, bringing alive boyhood parts of him that we had never known. We were so grateful to him.

  I had been so smashed by Tim’s death that I was simply going through the motions of living, at home and at school. So was Kate, but she was in a much worse state than me and I knew the doctor was worried about her lack of sleep and nervous state. I didn’t seem able to help. Jennifer however was always with her, and they seemed to grow closer to each other, cutting me out.

  The Memorial Service was packed with journalists and editors. It was held in a big church in Wimbledon, the funeral had already taken place a couple of weeks ago.

  Now, standing on the steps of the church with Alex, I asked him: ‘When are you going back?’

  ‘Tonight.’

  He looked exhausted as we walked down the street, shrugging off well-wishers.

  ‘You’ll give Jennifer a chance?’ he asked me.

  ‘Yes.’ But she’s taking Kate away from me, I thought.

  ‘If it doesn’t work out, you could come to New York.’

  I knew that Alex meant it but I also knew he was rarely ever in his apartment and all I would have for company would be Norman. And I would miss Kate so desperately.

  ‘Thanks, Alex.’

  ‘It’s a genuine offer. Jennifer and Kate may be able to help each other, but I think you’d benefit from – ’

  ‘I know. Alex – ’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘What made him do it?’

  I had asked him the question a hundred times and each time he seemed to have the patience to consider it entirely from scratch. He paused, and while one part of me waited for the answer, another thought beat relentlessly: I don’t want her to help Kate. I don’t want her at all.

  ‘I don’t know, Colin. If I did, I’d tell you. There could come a time in everyone’s life when they want to end it. But that moment might come quite suddenly.’ He turned away. ‘We have to go to the reception. There’s a lot of people who want to honour your father.’

  Days passed. I played football and hockey but did little work. I saw Tim everywhere. Jennifer and Kate seemed to grow closer and closer. They would sit in the same room in the evenings, staring at the telly. Sometimes just staring at the fire. They would rarely speak. I began to hurt inside – in a different way from the loss of Tim. Occasionally Alex would write. Little else happened until the end of September when I saw the small headlines. It was Saturday morning and I was lying on my bed, flicking through the paper, wondering whether to go with Sam to a disco or go to the movies with Mike. Then I saw it: CONGRESSMAN’S NIECE IN SHOOTING. MAN SLAIN. I read on urgently.

  Kelly Wallace, Congressman Alexander Wallace’s niece, was last night in hospital after two men shot at her and her friend, Laurence Bradley, in Central Park. A teacher with a group of schoolchildren raised the alarm, but Bradley was killed instantly. Wallace suffered only superficial wounds. Wallace told a New York Herald Tribune reporter that she had no idea why they had been attacked. New York Police are mounting a full-scale search for the killers. This incident comes in the wake of Congressman Wallace’s brother’s suicide in Formentera.

  I put the paper down. I was trembling and there was a roaring in my head as if I was trapped underwater. I hadn’t thought much about Kelly recently, but at one time I had been very curious about her. Tim had lived with a girl in the States when he was nineteen. Kelly was the result. As far as I knew she still lived with her mother, but she was rarely mentioned, although I knew she had drifted into all kinds of trouble. Tim had gone back to New York and tried to put Kelly straight. But it was too late. Only I knew how much he loved her. I could feel the pain of it somehow.

  I opened the drawer in my bedside cupboard and pulled out the black crucifix from Formentera. Whilst I held it, confused thoughts surged through my mind. Tim would have been horrified that Kelly had so nearly been killed. But why? And who was Laurence Bradley? Maybe Jennifer would know something. Putting the crucifix back in the drawer I ran downstairs.

  They were sitting by the fire, playing cards. Well, it made a change, but when Kate looked up, I felt as if I was breaking into something.

  ‘Look at this.’ I threw the paper down on Jennifer’s lap. She looked down and began to read. For a while she seemed to show no reaction and then I saw there was a little pulse beating in her neck. ‘Do you know anything about all that?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Her voice was as flat and twangy as ever. ‘It’s terrible.’

  She looked up quickly and for the first time I saw some expression in those bland china-blue eyes. She was afraid. But what of?

  The next couple of days passed slowly and miserably. I kept scanning the press for more details about Kelly but there was nothing. I was beginning to sleep as badly as Kate, and on the second night I woke and looked at my watch to find it was only just after four. Groaning I tossed and turned, quite unable to get back to sleep. Then I heard the sound downstairs. Sitting up, I wondered if I had really heard anything at all. I was just about to lie down when I caught it again – the sound of something moving. Slowly I got out of bed, opened the door and stood on the landing. There was a light on in the small study that used to be Tim’s. I crept down the stairs and slowly inched my way to the door.

  Jennifer was sitting at the desk, wearing a dressing gown and her reading glasses. She jumped as I walked into the room.

  ‘What are you doing?’ My voice was sharp.

  She was very calm. ‘I can’t sleep. I thought I’d do some work.’

  ‘Work? At this hour?’

  ‘It wasn’t going very well,’ she admitted. ‘I’m glad you came down. Shall I make some coffee?’

  ‘No thanks. Coffee’s the last thing I need.’

  ‘I thought perhaps we could have a talk.’

  ‘What about?’

  She looked straight into my eyes and I saw that she was sorry for me.

  ‘I know how bad it’s been for you,’ she said.

  ‘Do you?’ I didn’t want her pity.

  ‘What do you think I feel, Colin?’

  ‘I don’t know what you feel.’

  ‘And you don’t want to. Do you?’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  ‘We’re getting nowhere. Are you sure I can’t make you some coffee?’

  ‘Quite sure.’

  ‘Colin, I’ve got a proposition.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I think we two should go to the States.’

  ‘What on earth for?’

  ‘To see Alex. Have a break.’

  ‘But we’ve only just gone back – ’

  ‘I want you to come. We need to know each other.’

  ‘Kate?’

  ‘She’s not well enough to travel. The doctor would never agree to her going.’

  ‘So what’s going to happen to her?’

  ‘She’ll go to your Auntie Jo. She likes her and Jo’s been pressing to have her.’

  ‘Does she want to go?’

  ‘Yes, she says so.’

  ‘So you’ve got it all set up?’ Once again I resented the net she had wrapped around my sister.

  ‘I had to ask her. She wanted to go. Kate likes the farm and the fresh air will – ’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘OK to what?’

  ‘I’ll come.’ I surprised myself by saying so. But it would make a change to the apathetic life I was leading in London, and I could certainly miss school for a week or so without school missing me. Besides, I loved New York and it held good memories for me. Tim had often taken us there. I suddenly wanted to walk across Central Park again. I remembered playing baseball with Tim and Alex and wimpish Norman who kept dropping … I stopped thinking. Perhaps it would all be too painful. I shook my head. I needed a change. As for knowing Jennifer better – well, it was up to her to try, I thought selfishly.

  Jennifer looked pleased and something else. Relieved perhaps.

  ‘I’m going back to bed,’ I said
abruptly.

  ‘Colin.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘This could be a special journey.’ Her eyes were still lit up.

  ‘Sure,’ I said and walked out of the room, feeling guilty about leaving Kate behind.

  Chapter Four

  Directly we left Kennedy and were in the yellow cab I knew I was back in the most exciting city in the world. It was an early October evening and New York smelt of hot metal, doughnuts and onions. It was a familiar smell and immediately brought back memories of Tim. Strangely, they were not painful, and I felt shored up by them as we drove towards the volcanic rock of Central Park.

  I had first come to New York when I was nine and I remembered Tim’s excitement at showing it to me. He took me to most parts of the city over the next few years and the memories passed through my mind as I stared out at the towering streets. The brownstone buildings of Harlem, the crowds on the street corners, Staten Island ferry gliding over dark water to unknown suburbs, the dangerous freedom of Central Park, the tatty low life of Times Square, the different nationalities scurrying the sidewalks, the whores, the pimps, the vendors.

  Despite the language it all seemed very alien and I kept thinking of what it must have been like when the only inhabitants were the Indians. Suddenly I could feel the ghosts. Watching. Waiting. For the strangers to go.

  ‘We’ll be at the hotel soon,’ said Jennifer in a guidebook sort of voice. I guess I’d said nothing all the ride and she was trying to contact me.

  ‘Great,’ I said, reaching out for her hand. When it touched I could feel her trembling. ‘Thanks for bringing me.’

  The Olympia had that thirties feel. The foyer was pure Busby Berkeley, all chrome and glass and chandeliers and potted plants. We went straight to our rooms along dark deep-carpeted corridors with mauve-papered walls, past gloomy ice machines, catching occasional snatches of cut-off conversation, blurred television sound, the ringing of telephones. Once inside I opened the curtains and looked down on the shadows of Central Park. I fancied I caught a movement on a rock and thought of the Indians still watching the city, waiting for it to go away. Then I lay on the bed, flat on my back, and thought of Jennifer. Ever since we left Gatwick she had been trying so hard that it must have hurt her.