Midnight's Door

by Robert F Barker

  The party spoiled, they slid from their perches, downed drinks and reached for bags. As they trooped off they bade sad farewells to each other, and me. ‘See you, Danny,’ Abi said. She gave me a hug and stretched up to kiss my cheek. ‘Sorry if we were being bitches.’

  One of the bar girls, Laurie, made a point of coming over all emotional as she copied Abi’s hug, only it lasted a while longer than it needed to. I was careful not to respond. A couple of weeks before, Eric had told me he'd heard a couple of the girls talking about Laurie being a bit of a stalker-type.

  Returning to the office, I found Frank talking with Tony. There was no sign on Carver. We’d all had enough by then and none of us had much to say. I left them to lock up and headed for my car. Before starting the engine I rang my business partner, Mike Nelson.

  ‘What’s happening?’ Mike said. ‘I’m hearing a girl’s gone missing from the club.’ In the background I could hear men’s voices, dry laughter. It was around three. I imagined him somewhere around the sixteenth tee.

  ‘Not from the club. On her way home somewhere.’

  ‘Are we okay?’

  By ‘we’ I knew he meant the business. Mike doesn’t like us to be tainted.

  ‘As far as the missing girl is concerned, yes.’

  ‘I sense a ‘but.’

  ‘There’s some other stuff I need to fill you in on. You in the office tomorrow?’

  ‘First thing, as always.’

  ‘I’ll see you there.’

  ‘Whassup Danny? Sure you don’t want to tell me now?’

  For a split-second I thought about it. ‘It’ll wait.’

  ‘If you’re sure.’

  ‘I’m sure.’ I rang off. Truth be told, I probably didn’t need to ring Mike at all. It wasn’t like there was anything he could do. But I was having to run round on what should have been my one day off, so why not let him experience a bit of what it’s like? It’s not like it happens often.

  Mike is my partner in DoorSecure Ltd. The business is split between us, fifty-fifty. Least that’s what Mike tells me. He handles what he calls, ‘The Business Half’ of things - finance, accounts, taxes, contracts, paperwork, filing. Me, I handle the ‘People’ half. Recruitment, training, operations, management, supervision and maintaining site cover - which is the bastard - as well as drumming up new business and making sure that we run our sites the way they’re supposed to be run. The fact that my side seems to be a twenty-four-seven responsibility while Mike manages to do what he does in the couple of the hours each weekday he isn’t at Warrington Golf Club practising his swing and trying to reduce his handicap, is something I’ve never got my head round. But then, Mike’s never worked in Security. His background is I.T. He still runs his own software company from home. It's small, but probably doubles his income along with what he makes with me. How we got together and came to start up a door security business is a long story. Suffice to say I don’t let Mike near any of our doors. Ever. Apart from anything, he’d piss his pants soon as some half-cut gob-shite looked at him. Like most over-forties, Mike’s long forgotten what the inside of a night club looks and sounds like. Now he wouldn’t tell between someone who’s had a couple of drinks, is a bit loud and boisterous but prepared to do as he’s told once things have been explained to him properly, and one who’s high on something and unstable as sweating nitro-glycerine. At three in the morning, when it’s all kicking off and me and the rest of my team are practising our Physical Intervention skills, I’m happier knowing that Mike is safely tucked up in bed, dreaming of winning the next Captain’s Cup rather than trying to pretend that because he’s co-owner of a door security company, he knows anything about supervising doors.

  I stopped at the garage Spar on the way home to get some supplies. I’m not sure why or what I was expecting. I don’t usually shop on a weekend. It was close to seven by the time I walked in the front door. Normally Sunday evenings, I’d try and catch up on my course work. I was two weeks late with my latest module essay – ‘Discuss the relationship between narrative style and moral judgement in Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness’ – so I thought I should give it another go. I pulled my work folder off the shelf - Vicki’s nosing had stopped short before she found it, thank God - and laid it all out on the kitchen table. For the next half hour I tried to force my mind to stay focused on the question, thumbing through the novel and trying to remember what I’d been thinking when I made the notes in the accompanying work-book. It was no good. So much had happened the past twenty four hours, every time I laid one intruding train of thought to rest, another rose to take its place. Eventually I slammed the folder shut and put it back on the shelf. As I did, the thought came it was the first time since starting the course that I’d really felt like I was struggling. It brought on a sudden panic that I may not finish it after all. I went and opened a new bottle of JD.

  I’d just sat down, glass in hand, and grabbed the TV remote when my mobile rang. I recognised Carver’s number.

  ‘I thought you’d want to know.’ Even before he said it, the flatness in his tone told me what I didn’t want to hear. ‘We’ve found Agnes. She’s dead.’

  ‘Ahh, Christ.’ I stayed quiet a few moments, letting it settle. ‘Was she- Is it… like the others?’

  There was the briefest hesitation, then, ‘Yes.’

  ‘Can you say where?’

  ‘Grappenhall. Just off the canal tow path.’

  I knew the area and pictured it. Grappenhall is a couple of miles or so from the town centre.

  I tried fishing for more information, but apart from telling me no one had been arrested, Carver was guarded.

  ‘Can’t say too much yet. We’re doing the scene now. I’ll be able to give you more tomorrow.’

  I asked if her family had been told. They had. ‘This is crap,’ I said, conscious of the understatement but unable to think of anything that would do the remotest justice to the circumstances.

  Carver must have felt the same. ‘I’ll call you again tomorrow. I just thought I ought to let you know now. We’re going to have come and do the club again.’

  ‘Right. We’re open again on Tuesday. Student night.’

  ‘I know. I’ve already spoken with Frank.’

  He was about to ring off when I remembered. ‘Are you working on any connection between the girls?’ There was a pause.

  ‘We know they were all into clubbing, obviously. Why?’

  ‘Do you know they were all dancers?’

  ‘Isn't that what clubbers do?’

  ‘Yes but they were more than just clubbers. They were all show dancers. They’d all either danced on podiums or were known as terrific dancers, like Agnes. People liked to watch them dance.’ The silence on the other end stretched until I said, ‘You still there?’

  ‘Leave that one with me. Have you mentioned it to anyone else?’

  ‘Not directly.’

  ‘Do me a favour and keep it to yourself for now.’

  I said I would. He rang off.

  Afterwards I sat there, staring at my mobile and thinking about Agnes. I was there quite a while. When the phone suddenly jumped into life again, I did the same.

  It was Laura. I’d forgotten I was supposed to ring and tell her how Dad was.

  ‘Sorry, it’s been a busy weekend.’

  She snorted. ‘Yeah. Right.’

  I didn’t rise to it and didn’t try to explain. My high-flying sister isn’t hot on empathy.

  ‘So? How was he?’

  ‘Not too good when I got there, but he bucked up and was okay by the time I left.’

  ‘How was his breathing? Any worse?’

  ‘Hard to say. He’s okay sitting down but soon as he starts to do anything, it just brings on the wheezing.’

  ‘Is he using the oxygen cylinder?’

  ‘He didn’t while I was there.’

  I heard her tut. ‘You should make him use it. It’s what it’s there for.’

  All I said was, ‘Hmm.’

 
‘What does, “Hmm” mean?’

  ‘It means you know what he’s like. And if you think you can do better than me getting him to do what he doesn’t want to do, then get your arse on the train and come up here.’

  ‘That’s not fair, Danny. I work as well you know. And that includes most of the weekend.’

  I shook my head. Considering she spent her first ten years working around here, Laura has no idea. Listening to her sometimes, you’d think Canary Wharf is the only place people work these days.

  ‘I wasn’t having a go Sis. I was just saying. The older he gets the more stubborn he is.’

  ‘Have you tried mentioning care to him again yet?’

  ‘No. The way he was last time I don’t want him getting upset like that again for a while.’

  ‘Well he’s going to have to accept it eventually. When we spoke with his Doctor he said if we ring Social Services they’ll-’

  ‘I know what the Doctor said. And I will ring them when it’s time to do so. For the time being he’s doing okay, considering.’

  She hesitated ‘Was he- Was he… clean?’

  I looked at the ceiling. ‘If you mean, did he have shitty toilet paper hanging out of his pants then the answer’s “no”.

  ‘No need to be crude, Daniel. I’m just concerned to know he’s alright.’

  Daniel? Not for the first time, the thought came my sister was turning into our mother. And there’s a response I could give to that as well. But all I said was, ‘I know, Sis. We both are.’ That’s the trouble with older sisters. They always think they know better.

  We talked a while longer but I could tell she was just going through the motions. She made me promise to call in on Dad again mid-week and let her know. It’s amazing how caring people can be when they're a couple of hundred miles away.

  After she hung up I drained my glass, went back to the kitchen, refilled it and was about to try again with the TV remote when the phone rang again. The screen showed ‘Vicki’. My heart skipped.

  ‘Have you heard?’ she said. She was crying.

  ‘Just.’

  ‘Could I- Would you mind if I came round?’

  ‘'Course not. Where are you?’

  ‘I’ve just left Vincent’s.’

  The fifteen minutes it took her to arrive felt like an hour. When I opened the door she stood on the step for a second looking like she was trying to hold it all together, before the dam burst and she just fell through the door and into my arms.

  ‘Oh, Danny. Poor Agnes.’

  I guided her to the sofa and went and got her a vodka and me another whiskey. Then I sat next to her and put my arm round her. She responded by nestling into my chest as the tears flowed. The sobbing came and went in waves as the wet patch on my shirt grew. We stayed like that for a long time, sipping drinks and holding each other. At one point I wondered whether to distract her by asking about how things had gone with Vincent, but decided against. Eventually she became still in my arms and I realised she was asleep.

  Two hours later I came awake with a start. When I remembered the weight on my chest was her, I had the best feeling I’d had since when things were good between me and Caroline. Then I remembered why she was there and the euphoria vanished, replaced by a profound feeling of guilt.

  Eventually we roused ourselves enough to take a sandwich supper which she had with some wine while I popped a Bud. We had little to say and by eleven we were both ready for bed, worn out by the day’s events. We said our goodnights on the landing. There were no hugs or kisses, though as she turned to enter her bedroom her hand sought out mine and squeezed it. It did for me.

  I lay awake for ages. But there was no repeat of what had happened that morning, not that I was either looking for, or expecting it. Sometimes things happen that change everything. Agnes’s murder was one of them.

  CHAPTER 13

  Monday

  I woke at half-six expecting to find Vicki had done another runner. Her bedroom door was open, but unlike the previous day her bed was unmade. I found her at the kitchen table nursing a mug of tea. I was glad my shopping had included fresh milk.

  ‘The kettle’s just boiled,’ she said as I came in. ‘I couldn’t find a teapot so I made it in the mug.’

  ‘I haven’t got one. Teapot I mean.’

  She gave me a sad look. Her eyes were puffy and her face drawn. She was clutching the remains of a tissue. A mother seeing her daughter the way she looked would tell her she looked awful. But to me, the way she was right then, full of sadness over Agnes and showing the sort of vulnerability I’d never seen before, she was more beautiful than ever.

  ‘Would you like some breakfast?’ I said.

  ‘Toast’ll be fine. If you’ve got any bread?’

  ‘I have.’ Another tick for Sunday shopping.

  I made toast and coffee, and joined her at the table. Sleep must have strengthened my resolve as I asked her straight off, ‘How did it go with Vincent yesterday?’

  She took her time before answering.

  ‘He knows now we’re finished.’ My heart leaped. ‘But he didn’t like it and it wasn’t easy.’ She paused to look across the table at me. ‘If I’m honest I’m a little worried how he’s going to react. He- He doesn’t take rejection well.’

  ‘Did he touch you?’

  ‘No. And I didn’t hang around long enough for him to think about it. But I know what he’s like.’

  ‘If he ever tries anything and you need someone, fast, you’ve got my number.’

  ‘Thanks, Danny. Hopefully, that’ll never happen and he’ll get over it. And he’s still got Candy he can turn to.’

  ‘True.’ I didn’t comment further. It wasn’t my place.

  She made an effort to lift herself. ‘Right now I’ve got more urgent things to think about than Vincent.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Such as finding a place to stay. I’m now officially homeless remember?’

  ‘I thought you’re staying with your friend?’

  ‘I am, but that was only temporary. I think she’s getting a bit fed up sharing a house with someone who comes home at four in the morning most nights and sleeps through the day at weekends.’

  I thought I could see where she was going and didn’t hesitate. ‘Hey, it’s fine. Feel free to stay as long as you like. The room is-’ I stopped as she shook her head, in the way I was becoming used to when she thought I was being thick.

  ‘I’m not talking about staying here. Much as I enjoyed yesterday, and for all sorts of reasons, not least of which is I don’t want trouble between you and Vincent, I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to be sharing a house together right now. Even if I was only a lodger.’

  ‘Sorry. Right. Of course not.’ As she gave me another of those looks I couldn’t fathom, I realised she was the only person I’d met in a long while who I kept getting wrong.

  ‘I was going to ask if your connections extend to anyone who might have property to rent out? A small flat or something?’

  I reached for my mobile. The week before I’d bumped into Harry Shankley in the Brigadoon. A developer-builder, Harry had just finished some flats in Sankey and was talking about looking for tenants. It was just gone seven, but I've helped Harry out on jobs a few times and knew he likes to be up and out early. I made the call and got him en-route to a site. As Vicki listened to me laying it all on to Harry about this real good friend who was in a bit of a fix and needed somewhere quick but could only afford a sensible rent while she sorted things out, her eyes widened. When I handed her the phone so she could speak with Harry herself, she beamed me a big, ‘Thanks.’ Five minutes later she was fixed up with a furnished apartment she could move into straight away while she decided whether to take it permanently. Conscious I was amassing brownie points, I tried to play it cool when she leaned forward and planted a kiss on my cheek.

  'Thanks Danny.’ She followed it with a giggle.

  ‘Now what’s up?’

  She shook her head so her hair f
ell across her face in a way I really liked. ‘You keep reminding me of The Godfather. Everyone jumps when you ask for a favour.’

  I feigned offence. ‘Harry’s just a good mate, that’s all. He could have said “no”.’

  She smiled. ‘Yeah. Of course.’

  The way it was going, I was tempted to stay and see how things might develop. But I decided it was time for other things. I got up from the table. She looked surprised.

  ‘Are you going somewhere?’

  ‘There’s some stuff I need to sort out.’

  ‘Stuff?’

  ‘I run a business, remember?’

  ‘Oh.’

  I imagined that I saw disappointment in her face. ‘Did you want me for something?’

  She was hesitant. ‘I was thinking your truck would’ve been useful to help me move my stuff. My car’s only-’

  ‘No problem. Give me the morning then I’ll come and give you a lift. You’ll need me to show you where the flat is anyway.’

  She turned suddenly serious. ‘You really are different to what people say, aren’t you?’

  As I mounted the stairs to get ready I wondered which particular stories about me she’d heard.

  I was into work for eight, having given Vicki the spare house key in case she needed it. She was in the shower when I left and didn’t reply when I shouted up a, ‘See you later.’ On the way in, I wondered if it was because she was wary about it all seeming a bit too cosy.

  DoorSecure’s offices – all two of them – are above a row of shops in Flixton, a mainly residential area half a mile from Warrington Town Centre. They’re nothing grand but the rent’s okay, and depending on which direction you come from, morning traffic’s not too bad. The front door is plain and painted mid-blue. We re-paint it each year. In the middle, at eye-level, is a square white sign with blue lettering that Mike designed on his computer. It says simply, 'DoorSecure Ltd.' and a voicemail number in case we're out. There are two locks, one a 5-lever mortice lock - the best you can buy - the other an electronic swipe-lock for which there are only three cards in existence. Through the door, the hall and walls are cream emulsion and the stairs are carpeted in a heavy-duty commercial cord. I think the look is a bit stark, but Mike reckons it shows we are efficient and business-like. I leave these things to him. At the top of the stairs you turn right into the larger of the two offices. It contains two IKEA desks, one for me and one for Mike. We both have leather swivel chairs - also IKEA - though for some reason Mike's is bigger than mine. Mike's desk gets a fair bit of use, but mine's still like new. The corner next to the window is laid out as a bit of a conference area, with a round table that doesn't quite match the desks, and six chrome-steel framed chairs with maroon, cushioned seats. We got them off a mate of mine when his business went bust last year. There's an adjoining office, where Julia works and where we keep all the paperwork, office equipment and filing cabinets. There's another desk, not as big as mine and Mike's, which is kept free for when Julia arranges work-experience - usually one of her nephews or nieces - to give her a lift.