MOUSE (a psychological thriller and murder-mystery)

by D. M. Mitchell

  There could never be a future, just various incarnations of the past.

  * * * *

  22

  Where there’s Smoke

  He’d never felt so thoroughly dejected, so mind-numbingly depressed, and Vince had had his fair share of such episodes in his short life. But this was a black level of despair new even to him.

  He went down to the auditorium during features, stared his desultory stare out of the projection-booth window, but Vince hadn’t seen a glimpse of Laura for weeks now. He expected, logic told him, that the longer this went on the more he’d grow accustomed to her absence, but that, sadly, wasn’t the case. It was the opposite, frighteningly so. Was that love or was that obsession? And where did the two part company, if indeed they ever did? Questions he never once expected to be asking himself.

  Some people enjoy wallowing in self-pity the same way pigs like to wallow in mud, his mother said dismissively when he found himself being chastised for having such a sour expression. He didn’t tell her the reasons, of course, but her all-seeing eyes looked as if she knew the reason. Was it possible his mother had actually been in love once, had suffered at its velvet-gloved claws? He found that hard to believe. Hell, he didn’t even want to believe it.

  He heard the door to the projection booth open. He looked up from his work and saw Edith standing there. She looked different and he couldn’t figure out why at first.

  ‘What are you doing in here?’ he said, aware it must have sounded curt. ‘No one is allowed up here during the running of a feature, except Mr Caldwell,’ he added, to try and soften the blow.

  ‘I came to see you,’ she said, her pretty eyes looking nervously at him.

  Then he realised what was different about her. ‘What have you done to your face?’ he asked. Her eyelids were smeared with blue eye-shadow, and her cheeks had been rouged in that inexperienced, ham-fisted way that made her look like she’d been too close to the fire. Her lips were coated in red lipstick.

  ‘This? It’s only a little makeup,’ she said. ‘Don’t you like it?’

  She always made him feel uneasy, he thought. He turned away. ‘It’s OK, I guess.’

  ‘I thought it would make me look older,’ she explained.

  ‘Well it doesn’t; it makes you look…’ He stumbled into silence.

  ‘I put it on for you,’ she admitted, her gaze planted on the floor at her feet. ‘I’m sorry if I upset you – you know, that night…’

  ‘You didn’t.’

  ‘I did, I know I did. I didn’t mean to.’

  ‘Look, Edith, can this wait? I’m busy…’

  ‘Yes, sorry, Vince.’

  She backed away. ‘Edith,’ he said. She stopped. ‘You look better without it, is all.’

  ‘Thank you, Vince,’ she said, her spirits lifted.

  At the end of the evening shift Vince was once more trundling his bike out of the Empire’s yard, feeling emotionally drained and needing to get home and lick his never-healing wounds, when he was unexpectedly hailed by a woman on the street.

  ‘Hello. Are you the projectionist here?’ she asked, coming up to him.

  He nodded dumbly. ‘That’s right. I’m Vince.’ At first he thought it might have been Edith again, and he didn’t know whether he was disappointed or not to see it was a stranger. The woman was pretty, though, he thought, and he could smell strong and seductive perfume reaching out to caress his nose. She looked familiar but he couldn’t place where he’d seen her. ‘Can I help you?’ he said, feeling at once uncomfortable in her beautiful, perfect female presence.

  ‘You and I, we have a mutual friend,’ she said.

  Vince shook his head. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  Her attractive features appeared to melt away like a waxwork dummy’s before a fire, and in its place was an angry, grimacing mask twisted by some kind of inner hate. She moved close to him, close to his face. He knew something was wrong and he backed away.

  ‘My name is Katherine,’ she said. ‘You met my boyfriend, Felix, some time ago. He introduced you to his fist, as I remember.’

  Then it dawned on him. She was the same woman he’d seen on top of Glastonbury Tor, the one with Laura’s new man-friend, or rather the thug who had beaten him up in the Empire’s foyer. ‘I don’t want to talk to you,’ he said quickly, walking away.

  She grabbed hold of his collar. ‘Oh, no? Well I need to talk to you. You told Laura, didn’t you? You told her all about the plan.’

  He shook his head vigorously. ‘No I didn’t tell Laura anything!’ he said, feeling the woman’s talon-like, manicured nails digging into his throat through the thin material of his shirt.

  ‘You fucking liar!’ Katherine snarled. ‘You went and ruined things, you know that, you little runt?’ She slapped him hard across the cheek and his mouth dropped open in shock. He’d never seen such a pretty woman act with such aggression. The two didn’t seem to go together, but he was learning all sorts of new things these days. ‘What’s happened to Felix?’ she said.

  ‘I dunno,’ he said, rubbing his cheek. ‘I haven’t seen him since he beat me up.’

  ‘Tell me the truth or I’ll make your miserable little life even more miserable.’

  ‘I told you…’

  Katherine lashed out with her foot and caught Vince full in the groin. He gasped and bent double as the pain came flooding in. ‘If you’re lying to me…’

  He couldn’t speak. He shook his head again, clutching the point of contact. He couldn’t believe how much agony he was in. ‘You’re crazy…’ he said.

  ‘Talking of which, what do you know about this Laura Leach? You had the hots for her, isn’t that right? You’ve gotta know something about her. Is she really as mad as they say she is?’

  ‘No! That’s just a vicious rumour!’

  ‘Where there’s smoke there’s fire,’ she said, bending down to him.

  ‘You leave Laura alone,’ he said breathlessly.

  ‘Your fucking problem, Vince, is that you’re blinded by love. Don’t be fooled by her; she’s away with the fairies. I heard she’s been in some kind of mental asylum. You know if that’s true?’

  ‘I think it’s another lie.’

  ‘You’d like to believe that. Do you know which asylum?’

  ‘Someone told me it was called Bartholomew Place, but it’s just people who can’t stop being horrible. They’re everywhere,’ he added, staring defiantly at her.

  ‘So where is this Bartholomew Place?’

  ‘Dunno.’

  ‘What’s the reason she was in there? Why was she admitted?’ She shook him by the shoulder. ‘I need to know if she’s crazy enough to have done something to my Felix!’

  ‘What? Laura? No, never!’

  She got to her feet, exasperated, her eyes blazing. ‘What do you know about a room at Devereux Towers she keeps locked up? A blue door.’

  ‘Why would I know about such things?’

  She stepped closer to him again and he flinched. ‘Because dirty little perverts like you get your kicks by spying on women like Laura, that’s why.’

  ‘But that’s not true!’ he defended. ‘I’m not a pervert!’

  She put a hand to her blouse and ripped it open. A white button popped and clicked on the pavement. ‘Oh no? Try telling that to the police when I tell them you attacked me and tried to rape me.’

  ‘You wouldn’t do that!’ he said, struggling to his feet. ‘They wouldn’t believe you.’

  ‘Really? Let’s see - my sweet little word against a sad loser of a projectionist who keeps himself locked away in his little box all night wanking to X-rated films; a lonely little creep that lives all on his own, doesn’t have a girlfriend and never has? The jails are full of your kind.’

  ‘Then I’ll tell them all about you!’ he said. ‘You and that boyfriend of yours. I knew you were up to no good.’

  ‘I’ll simply tell them we were in on it together. You told us all about Laura, helped set things up for us. Whichever
way you look at it, Vince, you’re fucked, so don’t mess with me. For the very last time, where is Felix?’

  ‘I told you, I dunno! I can’t help you!’

  Her eyes narrowed into venomous slits. ‘Yes you can, Vince. You said someone told you about this asylum, Bartholomew Place. I want you to go back to this someone and find out all you can about it and why Laura Leach was in there. Got that, Vince?’

  He nodded, grateful that the pain in his groin was subsiding and wasn’t going to be permanent like he’d feared. ‘I’m not sure where to start,’ he admitted.

  ‘That’s your problem. I’ll meet you here at the same time two days from now. Don’t let me down, Vince. You’re involved in all this whether you like it or not.’

  ‘But I haven’t done anything wrong!’ he said.

  ‘Tough. That’s not how other people will see things. In two days, Vince,’ she said. She stamped down with her foot, three times, onto the front wheel of his bicycle, denting the spokes and buckling the rim. Katherine sauntered away down the empty street.

  Vince lifted his cycle and inspected the damage. Double-butted spokes, he thought – they cost a fortune to replace. And they’d not be able to straighten the rim. He’d need a complete new wheel really. Shit. He groaned at the pain between his legs, groaned also at the pain of embarrassment he felt, being floored by a woman. What is it with these people, he thought? Had everyone gotten it in for him?

  Katherine drove back to Glastonbury, still anxious about Felix’s whereabouts but feeling a whole lot better for having taken it out on someone. By the time she’d parked her car outside the house they rented her temper had cooled off somewhat. She went inside and stared at the phone, willing it to ring, but of course it didn’t. In the end she went upstairs, set a hot bath running to try and relax.

  She was about to draw the bedroom curtains when she caught sight of a figure stood on the pavement opposite, apparently looking up to her window. She peered harder, trying to separate out the features from the deep shadows. Her heart almost stopped when she realised it looked like Laura Leach.

  Without hesitation she ran downstairs, flung open the front door and stepped outside. The dark street was empty, both ways. Had she imagined it? What the hell would Laura be doing here anyway – and how on earth did she know where she lived?

  She waited a minute or two and then went back inside, making sure the door was locked. She attempted to shrug off the unsettling feeling it left her with, but it hung around her shoulders like a damp shawl for the remainder of the evening.

  * * * *

  23

  Irreparable Damage

  ‘I see you’ve had a bit of trouble,’ said the milkman, handing Katherine a pint of gold-top. She was on her way out, just as he was bending down to the step. She flashed him an uncomprehending glance. He indicated with his thumb to the road. ‘Your car,’ he explained.

  The windscreen had been smashed in. ‘What on earth…?’ she said, treading the short path to the gate, the milkman at her heels. The bonnet was covered in a sprinkling of glass, and it lay on the pavement catching the early-morning sunshine.

  The milkman wandered over to the passenger side and peered in at the window. ‘That’s the culprit,’ he said. ‘There’s half a brick on the passenger seat. No respect for anything these days, some people.’

  Katherine opened the car door and lifted the brick, scrutinising it as if the identity of the vandal lay in its ragged form. She dropped it to the ground. ‘Bastard,’ she said.

  ‘Probably some cider-head or other, on their way home drunk. It happens,’ the milkman surmised. ‘You ought to telephone the police. There’s Doble’s garage down the road,’ he added. ‘He’ll be able to fix it for you.’ Then he shook his head sorrowfully. ‘Long-haired yobs, they’re everywhere. They bring their football-terrace-hooliganism onto the street.’ He abandoned Katherine and clambered aboard his milk-float. It rattled away down the street, its electric engine moaning soulfully.

  Katherine drove the car to Doble’s garage and arranged for them to order in and fix a new windscreen. She was stopped on the way out of the garage by one of the mechanics. ‘It’s a good thing you brought this in today, miss,’ he said, his face falling serious even for a garage mechanic. ‘Here, let me show you something.’ He led her back over to her car parked in the forecourt and crouched down to the rear wheel. ‘You see this puddle?’

  ‘Yes. What is it?’ she asked, hardly interested in the ramblings of some local grease monkey.

  ‘That’s brake fluid. I had a quick check underneath and, if I’m not mistaken, it looks like someone’s taken a pair of snips to the brake pipe.’

  ‘Someone did it deliberately?’

  He screwed up his nose. ‘Well it doesn’t look like natural wear and tear to me. You can even see the scratches in the old copper, new copper showing through where they’ve been at it. It’s not quite severed but even so it wouldn’t have been long and you’d have lost some braking power and maybe even had a nasty accident. I’ll check the other wheels, just to be safe, and we’ll fit a new pipe, drain the system of brake fluid and refill it with fresh.’ He stood up.

  ‘Could it have been the same person who smashed my windscreen in?’ she said, her heart beginning to race a little.

  ‘Bit of a coincidence otherwise. Can’t have been done long otherwise you’d have noticed the loss of braking power. My advice would be to go straight to the police with it. Even if someone were playing a prank it’s a stupid and dangerous thing to do.’

  That was the second time that morning someone had mentioned the police. ‘Yeah, I’ll think about it,’ she offered.

  Her mind in a bit of a daze, Katherine left them to their work and went out onto the main street of Glastonbury. Morning shoppers were steadily filling the pavements as the town didn’t so much spring to life as pull down the blankets from its sleepy face a little at a time. As she made her way back through town she saw a blue Hillman Imp crawling slowly towards her. She stopped dead when she realised it was Laura Leach sitting behind the wheel. As it drew level Laura turned to stare fixedly at Katherine, her expression stony, her dark, gimlet eyes unblinking. Katherine felt her chest tighten beneath the woman’s strangely uncompromising glare. The car all but came to a halt beside her before suddenly speeding up and leaving Katherine to watch as it shot away into the distance.

  It was Sunday and it was early. Normally at this time of year Vince would have a long lie-in on his only full day off work, but he was due to meet with that woman Katherine on Monday evening and so far he had nothing to tell her. He remembered that Edith had an aunt who had seen Laura in this Bartholomew Place and he’d asked Edith whether she might take him to see her. Strangely, she jumped at the opportunity. So he found himself sat beside Edith, taking one of only two buses to run that day to the small village of Blaxton where her aunt lived. And Edith, as usual, was full of beans. She was humming a song to herself, the last in a long line of such songs.

  ‘Are you never quiet?’ Vince asked.

  ‘I like music,’ she said. ‘I’ve just bought the album An Evening with John Denver Do you like John Denver? I just love John Denver. Have you heard Annie’s Song? It’s so romantic!’

  Vince frowned. ‘He’s OK, I guess. I don’t listen to the radio much,’ he admitted. ‘I don’t have many albums either.’

  ‘That’s no problem,’ she said. ‘I can borrow you some of mine, if you like?’ He didn’t respond either way. ‘This is really nice, Vince,’ she said. ‘You and me going out together.’

  ‘It’s only a visit to your aunt,’ he reminded. ‘It’s hardly a date or anything.’ Though he had to admit he was warming to her by the day, in spite of himself and his resistance. She could be quite infectious. ‘Are you sure your aunt knows something about Bartholomew Place?’ he asked, thinking of his meeting with Katherine and not looking forward to it at all.

  ‘Yes, she does. Though I only know what she told me, which wasn’t a lot. You’ll meet her
soon enough anyway and then perhaps you can put this Laura-thing to rest.’

  ‘Maybe I don’t want to put it to rest,’ he retorted shortly. ‘Maybe I want to find out it’s all been a pack of lies. And anyway, even if it was true and she had been in that place, it wouldn’t stop me feeling the same way about Laura, if that’s what you think.’

  ‘I didn’t think that at all. You asked me to take you to see my aunt and that’s what I’m doing. I thought we were enjoying a nice day out at the same time. Nothing wrong with that, is there?’

  This time he was sorry he’d upset her. He tried to study her profile without her noticing and thought that she really was a pretty young thing. She’d avoided putting on any make-up and he thought she looked better without it.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m a little bit on edge, that’s all. I find I tend to snap without thinking about it. I never used to, but a number of people have been on my back recently.’

  Her clouded expression was wiped away instantly. ‘That’s alright, Vince. Look, I have something that will cheer you up later.’ She lifted up a carrier bag and rested it on her lap. She took out a foil-wrapped pack. ‘They’re cheese and pickle sandwiches for lunch. I know how you so like cheese and pickle.’

  ‘Cheddar?’

  Her eyes looked troubled. ‘Red Leicester,’ she said.

  He smiled. ‘I love that as well,’ he said, and was pleased when she smiled too. ‘You shouldn’t have…’

  ‘I wanted to.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you to think about it, I guess.’

  She beamed with pleasure. The bus gave a lurch on the country road, her arm coming into contact with his. She didn’t make an effort to remove it and he let it stay pressed against him. He rather liked the feeling. Together they stared pensively out of the dirty bus window to the vibrant colours of autumn, the few remaining leaves, tenuously clinging to branches that whipped close by them, dressed in their autumnal livery of acid yellows and rich ambers.