by Bateman
‘What are you talking about?’
‘I’ve been here a week!’
‘I know, they wouldn’t let us see you until you were well enough to have visitors.’
‘They stopped my medication!’
‘They said it was the best course of action.’
‘They gave me electric shock!’
‘They said it was hardly enough to power a Hornby train round a track.’
‘That’s easy for you to say!’
One of the orderlies had been lurking unnoticed against the far wall. Now he came forward and leaned on the table; he gave me big eyes and warned me to quieten down or the visit would be curtailed – but as he pushed himself back up he winked at Alison. They were all in it together.
I said, ‘Why did you bring this half-wit with you anyway? Jesus, it’s not like he’s family. He stacks shelves.’
‘I do more than that!’
‘Really? Do you? What else do you do Jeff?’
‘I . . . open boxes. And I man the till. You know I man the till. And I help with your investigations.’
‘Really? Really? Help or hinder? Does any of that explain why you’re here, with my so-called girlfriend and mother of my so-called child? What exactly has it got to do with you?’
Jeff glanced at Alison. She gave a slight nod. My stomach lurched. They were about to confirm what I already knew. They had been having the sex. They were much better matched. Jeff was a student and a poet and had a career pushing a pen in the Civil Service ahead of him; he was a safe bet. I was locked up in a mental institution and had the life expectancy of a newt – which, incidentally, is twelve years – and I’d already used thirty-five of those up. It was a coup d’état with orderlies and electricity on tap to restrain me if I reacted badly. I would have strangled her and decapitated him if I’d had one ounce of strength in my wasting muscles. And then I thought that, actually, for once in my life, my muscles didn’t feel too bad, that those idiots might have been too ambitious in getting me locked up, and forced into a regime that removed the drugs that had been holding me back from my body, that I might actually emerge stronger, and more able to cause them some actual real physical damage. I despised them, despised these maggots who were having the sex with each other and plotting to steal No Alibis and my baby who probably wasn’t even my baby; poor sap Jeff had been sucked into it not knowing that he wasn’t the father either, but the fall guy, while DI Robinson was laughing in the shadows. I wondered if Jeff was getting any kind of reward, a kiss or a grope; but the more I looked at him the more I knew that he was just a gormless big chump being ruthlessly exploited by the prospect of a real human girlfriend.
I looked at them, staring at me, and became aware that I’d said all of it out loud, and that they weren’t the only ones who’d been exposed to it, that the visitors, and my fellow patients, and the orderlies had all been listening. I laughed suddenly, and gave them all the thumbs-up and said, ‘Gotcha!’ and they looked awkwardly at me, and the orderlies started to move towards me and I looked at Alison and burst into tears and she held up her hand to stop my restraint or removal and she got up and came round the table and put her arms around me and said, ‘It’s okay, you’re going to be okay,’ and I thanked her, and hugged her and told her how much I missed her and baby Page, and then Jeff came round the table and put his arm round me too and I told him to bugger off and he did and I loved the fact that I could now turn the tears on like a tap or a woman, it was a great talent to have.
‘You’re bound to be fragile,’ said Alison.
‘I am, but I’m feeling better – stronger, thank you.’
‘We’re not having an affair,’ said Jeff, ‘though I’m open to offers.’
‘That’s right, Jeff,’ said Alison, ‘just you keep yourself on stand-by there.’
They smiled at each other. It was good that they got on. They were my family.
I rubbed at my eyes and said, ‘What were you going to tell me?’
The weight in my stomach was still there. My heart was pounding, driving the blood round my system at just under the speed of light. I felt high and low simultaneously. And they couldn’t tell because I am an acting God. I was allowing them to continue their charade. I had been convicted of no crime, so eventually I would be released. Then I could dismember them.
‘I’m not sure if we should say,’ Alison began.
‘I’m fine,’ I said, ‘please, just tell me.’
I wanted the ground to open up and consume them. Or at least for them to be involved in a serious road accident and to have forgotten to have renewed their insurance or for them to have named me as the beneficiary of their estates, even though I knew neither of them had much in the way of money. From Alison I might inherit some of her weirdo paintings and comics nobody else was interested in, and possibly Page; from Jeff, a lot of bad poetry – and worse, Amnesty International pamphlets. I have always liked the word pamphlet and enjoy repeating it endlessly. Pamphlet, pamphlet, pamphlet, pamphlet, pamphlet, pamphlet, pamphlet, pamphlet, pamphlet, pamphlet, pamphlet, but not necessarily out loud, as I now clearly was.
‘Sorry,’ I said, ‘it’s just one of the words they teach you here – repetition calms the mind. Pamphlet. Yes. That’s better. Now, you were saying – if you’re not here to shaft me further, what’re you here for?’
‘Darling,’ said Alison, ‘we didn’t shaft you. You were out of control and needed help.’
‘You think?’
‘I know. And I also know you’re never going to agree with me. So can we just park it for now? Because we have different fish to fry.’
‘Bigger,’ I said.
‘Different,’ said Alison.
She sucked in her breath, then gave Jeff a nod. From within his parka he removed a folded newspaper. He straightened it and smoothed down the front page with his hand before setting it down on the table and spinning it round to face me.
He tapped it. ‘This—’
‘I can read,’ I snapped.
The headline said: Bernard O’Dromodery Murder: Police Seek Two.
‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph,’ I said.
28
Bernard O’Dromodery and his husband Martin Brady had eaten at the five-star Shipyard restaurant downtown and then parked their Aston Martin V12 Vantage in the driveway of their Antrim Road home and briefly argued about who had left one of their bedroom lights on. As it turned out, it was neither of them, but one or other of the two men in Hallowe’en masks who jumped them as soon as they entered. Martin was decommissioned immediately: for all his self-proclaimed SAS prowess he was Tasered from behind and could only watch helplessly while his husband was forced upstairs; he could only listen to the horrific screams as Bernard was repeatedly stabbed; and he could only claw pathetically after them as the killers stepped over him as they exited the house.
The words cold-blooded were used three times in the article. Police had appealed for information. There were tributes to Bernard from business leaders and politicians. The only remaining brother, Sean, released a statement saying that there would be no statement. Martin Brady was too distraught to talk to the press. The Belfast Telegraph went out of its way to avoid calling him Bernard’s husband, but referred to him as his partner, as if they ran a painting and decorating business together.
I said, ‘This is three days’ old.’
‘It’s the first time we’ve been allowed to visit,’ said Alison. ‘They have a strict regime here and you were mostly unconscious.’
‘Three days.’
‘There’s been nothing new since, they just regurgitate the same facts in slightly smaller articles.’
I bit at my fingernail and reread the article. The police officer quoted in the story was DI Robinson. There was mention of the recent suicide of Fergus O’Dromodery, but nothing to suggest that the two deaths were in any way linked. There was a photograph of Bernard O’Dromodery at the helm of a speedboat with a caption that included the words in better times. A photograph
of the house was shown, with a police car in the foreground. The front garden looked neat and well tended.
‘Don’t bite your nails,’ said Alison.
‘I’ll . . .’ I began. I took a deep breath.
‘We thought you should know,’ said Jeff, ‘but we don’t want you to worry about it. You’re in here to get better. Alison and I have been handling the investigation.’
‘You what?’
‘It’s business as usual,’ said Alison, now smiling broadly.
‘We were engaged by Bernard O’Dromodery to find out who murdered his brother, weren’t we? The case remains active, and enlarged. Like your heart, apparently.’
‘You what?’
‘You what to what? Your heart? Yes, they say it was twice the size of a human heart, or something to that effect, due to all the medication you were on. It could have exploded at—’
‘Forget about the heart, what about this?’
‘You forget about biting your nails, and then I’ll continue.’
‘Don’t tell me what to do!’
‘It’s easier just to do what she says,’ said Jeff.
‘If I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it!’
‘That’s what she says. You’re like two peas in a pod.’
I shook my head. ‘I don’t believe you two. You lock me up in here, you take over my bookshop and my business.’
‘You’re half-right,’ said Alison. ‘The shop’s been more or less closed all week. We tried your mother back behind the till, but it didn’t work out. She kept setting the smoke alarm off.’
‘The shop is closed?’
‘Temporarily. We can’t do everything.’
‘It’s our busiest time of the year!’
‘That’s not true. There is no busy time of year. The money Bernard O’Dromodery paid us is four times what you earn in a month. It’s a simple matter of economics.’
I drummed my fingers on the table. I steadied my breathing. I pointed at Alison.
‘Don’t point at me like that,’ she said.
I gave an exasperated sigh and lowered my hand. ‘Right. First of all, the shop is the cornerstone of everything. I don’t care how you do it, but until I’m out of here, you have to work out a way to open it up. You cannot leave people without a bookshop, I don’t care if there’s only a tenner coming over the counter . . .’
‘Some days,’ Jeff began.
‘It stays open. Okay?’
‘I don’t know how we’re supposed . . .’ Alison began.
I brought my fist down on the table. ‘Okay?’
After a bit she said, ‘Okay.’
I looked at Jeff.
‘What?’
‘Okay?’
‘Oh. Yes. Okay. I just do what I’m told.’
‘Open the shop,’ I said. ‘I don’t care if it’s Page behind the counter or if Mother burns it down, make sure it’s open. Once people start to think we’ve closed down, they’ll presume we’ve gone. Now – the case. Yes, the money is handy. But that’s not why I take cases. It’s the puzzle. The puzzle remains the same. Gabriel – I’m here to identify him. That’s the only reason. There’s nothing wrong with me. Pamphlet. I’m here for Gabriel. Understood?’
‘Understood,’ said Jeff.
‘Go on,’ said Alison.
‘I haven’t gotten to him yet, but I will. Now you’ve taken on the mantle, show me what you have. I presume there’s another defixio?’
‘It’s still a crime scene,’ said Jeff, ‘we haven’t been able to get to see it.’
‘Just do it, Jeff. Find a way. Midnight gardening is usually a safe bet. Have you spoken to the husband?’
‘He’s not answering his phone,’ said Alison. ‘I took flowers round, but had to leave them at the door, as nobody answered. The funeral is tomorrow. I was going to go to that, try and have a word and take some pictures, see if any of the usual suspects turn up.’
‘Good,’ I said. ‘What else?’
‘You left your laptop on before you were sectioned . . .’
‘Before you had me sectioned.’
‘. . . At the All Star Health Club pages, and that, together with a few phone calls, led us to three staff memebers who left in the wake of Fat Sam’s killing. Their names are . . .’ Alison slipped a small notebook out of her pocket. It had a girly pink cover and a sparkly binding. She flipped the cover back and read from the top page: ‘Andrea Moffatt, Peter McDaid and Jackie McQuiston. Andrea Moffatt is working in a dental surgery, while Peter McDaid and Jackie McQuiston are both out of the fitness business and are working for some catering company.’
‘I already spoke with Jackie.’
‘Yes, I know that, so I spoke to Peter McDaid, and I sent Jeff to work his charm on Andrea.’
‘You didn’t send me, it was a joint decision.’
‘You just keep thinking that, Jeff,’ said Alison. ‘Anyhoo – Jackie McQuiston was off sick when I called in. I wondered how they both ended up joining the same company. Peter McDaid said he couldn’t get out of All Star quick enough – and he was only there for a few weeks before the murder. He hated the clientele, said there was always a bad atmosphere, knew there was a trade in performance-enhancers, was there on the night Fat Sam died and has been kicking himself ever since for not doing a final check to make sure the man was gone. He said security was pretty lax anyway, and the alarm had a habit of short-circuiting. Everything was done on the cheap, the equipment was crap and the swimming pool chemicals messed with his eyes – this made it difficult to work there. The pay wasn’t great but he still had to work insane hours. He didn’t have a good word to say about it. Anyway, he said Jackie felt the same way, and first thing they always did on a Thursday was get the Telegraph – it’s jobs night – and they both spotted the same ad during their tea break and jumped at it. They’d a bit of a competition together to see who would get out of the All Star first, and as it turned out, they both got a job in catering. It’s not their dream job, but money in hand till they find what they really want.’
A bell sounded. The orderly, relaxing against the back wall, straightened. Families began to gather up their belongings.
‘And he just volunteered all this?’
‘No, it was mostly pillow-talk.’ Alison studied my face, and then added: ‘God, I’d forgotten how gullible you are. He was just glad to be out of there – he was letting off steam.’
‘Did you mention Gabriel?’
‘I did. He claimed not to have heard about the arrest or seen his picture.’
‘Why do you say claimed?’
Alison shrugged. She glanced at the relatives as they began to move past our table. She smiled at one. She leaned a little closer to me across the table. ‘I don’t know really. I mean, it just seemed odd, if someone was murdered in the place you worked, that you wouldn’t watch the news or read the papers and know that someone had been arrested. But then, I suppose, some people are very self-centred.’
She gave me the eye. I gave it to her back and then shifted to the spoon.
‘Okay, Casanova, what about you?’
‘I suffer for my art, that’s what I do. The only way to get at Andrea Moffatt was to call into her dental practice for an emergency appointment. I told her I’d been doing a Hot Yoga class at the All Star when this pain shot through one of my wisdom teeth. She said they had a cancellation and sent me straight through and I had an X-ray with attendant radiation and three injections and my mouth swelled up like a bap.’
‘Did you actually have toothache?’
‘No! It’s a scandal, we should investigate the dental industry, charging for . . .’
‘Talk about self-centred. What’d she say?’
Before he could start, the orderly said from the doorway: ‘Okay, folks, time to wrap it up.’
I gave him the thumbs-up, and leaned closer to Jeff. ‘Go on.’
‘Well, I got talking to her a bit more on the way out, though with the blood and the hamster cheeks she could hardly make ou
t what I was saying. But she told me pretty much what the other guy said – shady characters and practices, and she jumped at the chance to get out. She’s had some health issues, kidney transplant, so she’s only working part-time now, so it suited her to—’
‘Fat Sam, shady characters, any sightings of Gabriel?’
‘Didn’t like Fat Sam, was working on the night he was killed, but it wasn’t her job to close the place up. She saw Gabriel’s picture in the paper and thought he looked kind of cute.’
‘Cute?’ I said.
‘He is kind of cute,’ said Alison.
The orderly cleared his throat. Alison smiled apologetically at him and pushed her chair back. As she stood up, Jeff joined her. She leaned forward to kiss me. I moved my head to one side so that her lips caressed my cheek. She looked surprised. And a little hurt.
‘Traitor,’ I hissed.
I nodded at Jeff. ‘I want you on Martin Brady. I want you on Sean O’Dromodery and the shopping centre the company was working on. See if there’s anything dodgy there. There’s something we’re not seeing.’
‘And what do you want me to do?’ Alison asked.
I studied her.
‘Time, gentlemen, please,’ the orderly said from the door, and we looked at his grin and ignored him.
Then I took her in my arms and pulled her close. I whispered: ‘I despise do-gooding cows.’
‘I’m . . .!’
‘Shhh. When you’re in the mental ward and you’ve got no friends or visitors, they send them in to cheer you up, but all they ever do is try to convert you to Jesus. There’s one went upstairs to Gabriel about twenty minutes ago. If you’re lucky you’ll catch her on the way out. She has on a green coat and a green hat and her first name is Nicola. She might be our way into him. Go get her.’ I stepped out of her arms. ‘Let me know how you get on tomorrow.’
Alison shook her head. ‘We can’t tomorrow. There’s only visiting once a week.’
‘I can’t wait a week!’
‘I don’t make the rules!’
‘Right! Okay. Okay. There has to be some way . . .’
