MOUSE (a psychological thriller and murder-mystery)

by D. M. Mitchell

  ‘Your car’s in the yard.’

  ‘Bugger!’ he said, squeezing his eyes shut. ‘Well he doesn’t know I drive an MG.’ He gave Vince the car keys. ‘Here, tell him what I said and then go sit in my car, pretend it’s yours.’

  ‘I can’t drive, Mr Caldwell.’

  ‘Like that matters! Just do it, will you?’

  Vince shrugged his acknowledgement. ‘Are you afraid of him?’

  ‘Afraid? No, of course I’m not afraid. I’m just not ready to speak to him yet. And if he ever comes around here again you tell him I’m not in. For now, all you need to do is go out there, tell him I’m otherwise disposed and sit in my bloody car. How difficult can that be?’

  Vince went back outside. The man was leaning near the rear door. ‘So where is he?’ he asked.

  ‘Mr Caldwell isn’t in. He’s gone away to attend a staff training course in Birmingham. It’s far away.’

  ‘Yeah, right. When is he coming back?’ he growled.

  ‘He didn’t say. None of my business really.’ He took the car keys out of his pocket. ‘Sorry, I have to go to my MG now.’ He walked over to the car, feeling the man’s stare hot on his back. He unlocked the door and almost fell into the car’s low seat. He watched the man out of the corner of his eye as he ambled over to him.

  He knocked on the window for Vince to wind it down. ‘When you see him, tell him I’ll be back soon and I’ll ram his bloody training course up his backside if he isn’t in to see me. That clear?’ Vince nodded that it was very clear indeed. The man floated away like an angry black cloud looking for a place to rain on.

  Vince sat in the car for a further ten minutes, unsure what he should do next. The heat inside the car became unbearable, the smell of hot leather and plastic strangely comforting. Eventually, Caldwell poked his head around the door to the yard and seeing that the coast was clear went to the MG.

  ‘He’s gone?’

  ‘He says he’ll be back though, Mr Caldwell.’

  ‘Bastard!’ he snapped. ‘OK, Vince, get out now; I don’t want your body odour stinking up my car. Don’t you ever use deodorant?’ He snatched the keys from Vince’s hand and locked the door. ‘Remember what I said. If he ever comes here again, I’m not in.’

  He nodded, hung back as Caldwell stomped to the Empire’s rear door. Vince raised his arm, sniffed under it. That comment wasn’t fair. He didn’t smell. He used Imperial Leather every day and that soap wasn’t exactly your cheap stuff from the market.

  Later that evening, Vince thought he’d go down into the auditorium to look for Laura. Edith, Ice-cream tray strapped in front of her, stepped up to him as soon as she saw him, blocking his way.

  ‘Hello, Vince,’ she chirped brightly, but with a slight tremor of concern in her voice.

  ‘Hello, Edith. Can I get past, please?’

  ‘You don’t want to go there tonight,’ she said.

  ‘Yes I do,’ he countered, but she stood her ground. ‘What is it with you tonight, Edith? You’re not giving me orders too, are you? Only I’ve got far too many people doing that already and I don’t need any more.’

  He pushed by her and was brought up short by what he saw. Laura was indeed sitting on the back row as usual, but this time there was a man sitting with her. And he had his arm snaked around her shoulder. They looked like they were very friendly. Too friendly for his liking. What made it seem worse was that the man sat with her was the very same who had come into the yard looking for Caldwell earlier in the day, the one his manager appeared to be afraid of.

  ‘I did tell you not to go,’ said Edith, coming to his shoulder, ‘but you didn’t listen to me.’ She whispered in his ear. ‘I don’t suppose it’s her brother,’ she said.

  Distraught, Vince turned away. ‘Of course it’s not her brother, stupid! Stick to selling your Ice-creams like I’ve told you.’ He barged through the heavy swing-doors out of the auditorium and someone hissed loudly for there to be quiet at the back.

  * * * *

  9

  Bullets to the Soul

  Laura was so unbearably happy she thought she might burst with it! She could barely remember any of the film. She was wrapped in a tight bubble of nervous excitement enflamed by his nearness, the contact of his arm around her shoulder, the smell of his aftershave, the heat of his breath as he leant close to her cheek to whisper something about the film. And afterwards, when the lights went up, she didn’t rush immediately to the exit; they stayed behind as people filed by on the stairs and she was so proud to be with Casper that she actually wanted people to see her with him; she needed them to see that he belonged to her.

  They hung back, long after the last of the cinemagoers had left, then they wandered out of the cinema hand in hand as if they’d all the time in the world. He put his arm around her waist and pulled her close. Before they reached his car he stopped her and gave her a light peck on the lips.

  ‘I can’t believe we are here together like this,’ she said. ‘I am the luckiest woman alive. I feel like I am on cloud nine!’

  Casper Younge laughed lightly. ‘Whatever tablets you are on, Laura, I’ll have some too!’

  Her face clouded over. ‘What do you mean, tablets?’ she asked.

  He was immediately aware that he’d unintentionally hit some kind of raw nerve. ‘Why, nothing was meant by it, Laura. It’s just a figure of speech, that’s all. Have I upset you?’

  ‘No!’ she said suddenly, forcing a smile. ‘How could you upset me on a night like this? It’s so beautiful, so perfect. Just like you.’

  ‘Steady on there, Laura; such things can go to a man’s head!’

  ‘Well you are,’ she said. ‘So loving, so attentive, so handsome too. I keep asking myself, why me? Like it’s all a delightful dream that will melt away in the morning. These last couple of months with you have been the most happiest in my life.’

  Casper drew her away from the car. ‘Shall we take a walk in the park? It’s a lovely evening and there’s something I’d like to ask you.’

  She didn’t need persuading. The park was all but empty, the smell of cut grass and roses in the flowerbeds hung heavy in the still air. He bade her sit down on a park bench and they sat in exquisite silence for a minute or two.

  ‘You are very quiet,’ she said.

  ‘I’m thinking,’ he returned.

  ‘Thinking about something nice, I hope. What was it you wanted to ask me?’

  ‘Why won’t you let me into your house? Don’t you trust me, Laura?’ His face was serious, almost a look of hurt there.

  She clasped his arm. ‘Yes I do! I trust you like no other!’

  ‘But not enough to be invited into your home, it appears.’

  ‘It’s not like that, Casper. There hasn’t been a man in Devereux Towers since my father died.’

  ‘So I do not come up to the high standards set by your father, is that it?’

  ‘No, no! Not That! It’s just … well; it’s just how it is. I’m very particular about who I let into my house.’

  ‘Are you saying I am not special to you?’ His eyes looked moist with upset. ‘I thought…’

  ‘Please, Casper, let’s not spoil a beautiful night. Of course you are special to me. Very, very special.’

  ‘Do you love me?’ he asked quietly, earnestly.

  She sighed, turned her head away. ‘I suppose I must,’ she said.

  ‘Only suppose?’

  ‘Yes, I do!’ she blurted. ‘I do love you. With all my being I love you.’

  He smiled warmly at her. ‘In that case,’ he said, getting off the bench and going down onto one knee, ‘Laura Leach, will you marry me?’

  He produced a red velvet box as if by magic, flipped it open. A gold ring with a large diamond in its centre flashed in the lamplight.

  ‘Oh, Casper! You can’t mean it!’

  ‘I most certainly do. Most definitely I mean it.’ She began to cry. ‘Oh dear, it’s not that bad, is it? I mean, we can always take it back to the jewellers
and change it for something else.’

  ‘It’s perfect,’ she sobbed. ‘Do you mean it, really mean it? You’re not simply pulling my leg?’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘Blooming expensive joke!’ he said. ‘I told you I mean every word. Laura Leach, you still haven’t answered my question: will you marry me?’

  ‘It’s only been a couple of months…’ she said. ‘It’s too fast.’ He took the ring out of the box, grasped her hand and gently slid the ring onto her finger. ‘It fits!’ she said, staring at it.

  ‘Not a bad guess, eh?’ he said, grinning. ‘So it’s fast – like I say, I’m an impetuous kind of fellow. But I know instinctively when something feels right and this feels just right. Do you think you could make your mind up one way or another; my knee is beginning to hurt.’

  ‘Yes!’ she said. ‘I will marry you!’

  ‘Wonderful!’ he said, squeezing her fingers tight and getting up. He leant forward and kissed her, but she looked very agitated again. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘She pulled her hand away from his. ‘You might not want to marry me when I tell you…’ She fell into silence.

  ‘Tell me what?’

  ‘There are things about me you don’t know.’

  ‘I know all I need to know, Laura. Nothing you can say can be so bad it will stop me marrying you.’ He clasped her hand again. ‘You can tell me, if you wish, in your own sweet time. But let’s just enjoy tonight.’

  She nodded, her face sullen. ‘And I cannot…’ She struggled to find the words. ‘I cannot…’

  ‘You cannot what?’

  ‘I cannot sleep with you till after we are married,’ she said in a rush. ‘There, you will not want to marry me now,’ she said, rising to her feet. ‘You will think me strange. But that is who I am, because of what has happened to me and I can’t do anything about that, can I?’

  His arm wrapped around her waist and he eased her down to the bench again. ‘That sort of thing doesn’t matter to me one jot,’ he assured her. ‘And I really don’t care about what happened in the past. I love the present Laura. We’ll take things one step at a time’

  ‘Really? You are not annoyed or disappointed in me?’

  ‘What a thing to say! What kind of a man do you take me for?’

  ‘Please don’t let this be a cruel joke,’ she said, her eyes filling again. ‘If I find you are not being serious I will die. I could not take the heartache it would bring.’

  ‘You have my word. I love you, Laura.’

  ‘And I love you too,’ she said. ‘So much it hurts me inside.’

  They sat holding each other tightly, in profound silence, listening to the distant sound of cars humming on tarmac. ‘Perhaps now you might let me into your home,’ he said in a whisper, stroking her hair tenderly.

  ‘Perhaps I will,’ she said, her voice muffled by his jacket. She was staring at the ring on her finger, hardly daring to believe it was true.

  Casper Younge smiled. ‘That’s good,’ he said.

  He felt as if someone had taken a spoon and scooped out his insides, slowly, painfully, and then left him to die a lingering, miserable death. Heartache wasn’t heartache at all; it was a vile torture endured by the entire body and he didn’t like how it felt one little bit. He’d never experienced anything quite like this before. Vince Moody had suffered misery in his time, but these were dark new depths he was sinking into where the immense pressure was about to crush him.

  He didn’t deny she deserved to be happy, just as he was destined always to be miserable and lonely, a fact given additional weight on seeing the happy couple together. Now the name that used to give him such pleasure inspired only agony every time it fired through his mind. Laura, Laura, Laura. Like bullets to the soul.

  Vince switched on his Ever Ready bicycle lights and began to pedal away from the cinema yard. He’d taken his time locking up because there was nothing to rush for. Life had ceased to matter. He pedalled down the main street, heading home, and then he saw them – Laura and her new man-friend. They were strolling arm in arm along the pavement, she with her head resting snugly against his shoulder. He averted his gaze; felt embarrassed even though Laura didn’t know who he was, had probably never even looked in his direction. He was all but invisible to the couple so lost in their romantic rapture.

  As he drew level with them they paused by a car that was parked at the side of the road, the man unlocking the door to get in. Vince’s insides got all screwed up when he saw him kiss Laura. But some way past them he brought his cycle to a halt and turned round to look at the car.

  It was a white Ford Cortina. He was certain it was the very same car he’d seen that day a while ago in the field near Devereux Towers. The day he saw the man leaving his white Ford Cortina to study the old building through a pair of binoculars.

  The car drove off and he was left battling a number of conflicting thoughts and emotions. He was upset, that’s all. There were millions of white Ford Cortinas on the road.

  But there was only one Laura Leach and now she’d been snatched away from him by another. Faint heart never won fair lady, he pondered bleakly. Why couldn’t he have plucked up the courage to talk to her? Yet he never had the chance, did he? No, that’s not true; he could have made the chance. That was just an excuse. His entire life was one big excuse, he thought, feeling doubly sorry for himself.

  The sight of his cold, lonely home didn’t make him feel any better either. So he carried on pedalling around the streets till exhaustion finally forced him inside. He went to bed without eating. He felt he would never be able to eat again. What was the point?

  * * * *

  10

  Slippers under a Bed

  One of the most dangerous jobs at the Empire had to be changing the light bulbs in the ceiling high above the auditorium. Vince remembered the time the Deputy Chief Projectionist took him on his first tour of the old building. They ascended a flight of rickety old stairs and passed through a tiny door at the top. Michael, sucking loudly on a sugared almond, flicked on his torch.

  ‘Follow me, and be careful,’ he said. He was a man of few words and every one of those was like he was spitting out something that was causing a bad taste. ‘Tread only on the joists,’ he warned. ‘If you put your foot in the middle you’ll go right through the ceiling and kill yourself.’

  That alarmed Vince. That and the dark. There could be anything lurking up here – mice, spiders, rats. Michael went on to show him how to reach the units that held the bulbs in place, how to remove the spotlights and replace them. Vince remembered how Michael pointed through the hole. Way down below, too many feet to be comfortable, he saw the auditorium seats looking like they’d been made for dolls. He felt sick with apprehension and overcome with giddiness. Michael, he recalled, chuckled at his discomfort. But he had to overcome his fear, because when a bulb popped it was his job to replace it. He’d actually gotten quite used to it over the years, no longer afraid of the dark or the imagined rats. He still didn’t like the feeling of looking all those feet down to the floor, so he avoided the temptation to peep through the holes when he changed the bulbs. And he was always very careful, of course, to only step on the joists.

  He felt a little like the Phantom of the Opera, scuttling through the dark bowels of the ancient theatre. What he did eventually discover during these excursions was that he could access other areas of the cinema via a small door at the far end of the vast expanse of ceiling. He found most of the ceilings of most of the upper-storey rooms could be accessed in this way.

  On this particular morning he heard the hum of faint voices carrying up from below. The ceilings were thin and if you listened carefully almost every word could be discerned. He’d learned an awful lot about the lives of the cleaners from snatches of overheard conversations. All about their periods and it being that time of month; about not being able to get cheap stockings to stay up; about buying tins of paint for the bathroom and where fig rolls could be bought the cheapest.

 
These particular voices, though, weren’t discussing how to get the cheapest anything. There was some kind of an argument going on and it appeared to come from the direction of Martin Caldwell’s office. Vince crept silently across the joists, bending down to where the sounds were the clearest.

  ‘So what am I supposed to do?’

  He recognised Caldwell’s voice straight away. There was no mistaking Monica’s shrill tones either as she responded with some gusto.

  ‘What are you supposed to do? Well you’d better think of something because it takes two to make a bloody bargain!’

  ‘You told me you were on the pill!’ he said.

  ‘I must have forgotten to take them!’ she fired straight back.

  ‘You dozy mare! Are you serious? You forgot to take them?’

  ‘That’s not the point,’ said Monica. ‘I’m up the duff and that’s all there is to it.’

  Vince heard Caldwell moan. ‘You can’t be pregnant…’ he said dejectedly.

  ‘What did you expect? I ain’t no fucking Virgin Mary. You were there, remember?’

  ‘But you weren’t supposed to get fucking pregnant!’ he said. ‘I’m a married man, in heaven’s name! You’ll have to get rid of it.’

  ‘Not a chance. I’m many things, Martin, but I’m not a murderer. You put the thing there so you can do something about it.’

  ‘Like what, Monica? What is it you expect me to do?’

  ‘Leave your wife.’

  There was a moment’s silence filled with all sorts of menace, then Vince heard Caldwell give a cough, like he was choking on a chicken bone or something.

  ‘You can’t be serious!’ he said breathlessly.

  ‘Don’t come over all John McEnroe. The ball was definitely in,’ she replied. ‘I’m not walking the streets of Langbridge as a single mother, not for you or anyone, so you can do what’s right by me.’