Midnight's Door

by Robert F Barker

When I first mentioned doing so to Eric, in the office, he was sceptical.

  'Yeah, right.' he said.

  'I mean it,' I said.

  I felt his gaze on me so I met it. 'What because of...'

  'And other things.'

  Eric nodded. Of everyone, he understood most. He'd been there.

  Now, as I watched Babs and Carmen going through the routine with a couple of lads from the Tiger's rugby team I couldn't help but notice the two empty stools next to them. Bernadette has never been back. I doubt she ever will be.

  My earpiece crackled. 'Sierra One, over.'

  'Yes Chris?'

  'Can you make the office? Visitors.'

  'Two minutes.'

  As I made my way off the dance floor, I wondered how much Frank was paying the new DJ for taking over a killer's job.

  Skirting away from the lobby, I bumped into Elvis coming out of the Gents.

  'Sorry Elvis,' I said.

  About to move on, he grabbed at my sleeve. 'Word, Danny?'

  'Wassup?'

  'That little episode you witnessed at mine, with Gloria?' I nodded. 'You, er, you never mentioned it to anyone, did you?'

  I smiled at him. 'Not a soul. Why?'

  He gave me his jack-the-lad look. 'Oh you know. Just checking.' Then he became suddenly conspiratorial and leaned into me. 'Actually, I think I may be in with Babs, and I just wanted to make sure there was nothing that might, you know, put her off.'

  I leaned back into him. 'Actually, Elvis.' I looked around. 'I can tell you for a fact, Babs is right into that sort of thing.'

  His head snapped up, eyes wide with excitement. 'Is that right?' I nodded again, solemnly. 'Well-well. Who'd have thought.' He pulled his tie straight, stretched his neck to ease it from the collar and as he headed off on his mission said, 'Owe you one, Danny.'

  As I watched him disappear back into the disco, I wondered if I was being maybe a bit too cruel. At the end of the day Elvis is harmless. Weird, but harmless. I decided to have a word with Babs later. She'd enjoy making the most of the opportunity.

  My visitor was Carver. DS Jess was with him. We shook hands and I led them to the back of the room away from the CCTV where we could talk.

  'How're things?' Carver said.

  I nodded. 'Settling down, bit by bit.'

  'How's the wrists?'

  Instinctively, I held them up. The white bandages blended well with the white shirt I'd taken to wearing now that I was the sole 'boss' as it were. 'A lot better thanks. The stiches are coming out next Thursday.'

  Jess said, 'In case you're interested, we did a test in the office. On those zip-ties.'

  'Yeah?'

  'It took four DC's, two pulling on each side to snap it.'

  'Yeah, well I guess you could say I had some motivation.'

  They looked at each other, changed the subject. I didn't tell them Eric and Gol had tried the same experiment and managed it between them.

  'We also wanted to make sure you're aware. Mickey's up in court tomorrow.'

  I nodded, but then thought I ought to say something. 'I'm just glad he's alive to get what's due.'

  'Really?' Jess said.

  I looked at her. 'Really.'

  Carver said. 'I'm not sure everyone thinks that way.'

  'They might if they thought they'd killed him.'

  'But you didn't.'

  'I know, but that week he was hovering, I thought I had. And I can tell you, it wasn't a nice place to be. I think I may have taken it out on a few people, that week.'

  'Like your ex-business partner you mean?'

  I looked at him. 'You heard about that?'

  'Our Area Superintendent's a member of the golf club. He was there.'

  'Give him my apologies.'

  'I think he enjoyed it. Shook the place up a bit he said.'

  'Yeah, well it wasn't my intention.'

  'Danny?' I turned. Chris was holding up the office phone. 'Miranda’s asking if you can come to the Green Room. She says one of the Boy Band needs speaking to.'

  'Tell her I'll be right there.' I turned back to Carver and Jess. 'As you can see, I'm needed. Thanks for coming by.'

  'That's okay.' About to turn away, Carver put his hand on my arm. In a quiet voice he said, 'How are things... otherwise?'

  I looked at him. Then at Jess. The looks on their faces, I could see they weren't just being polite. I said. 'Rough at times, but getting there.'

  They nodded, like they understood. I wasn't sure they did, but I wasn't about to enlighten them. They can be nosey bastards at the best of times.

  When I got to the Green Room, Miranda was outside, waiting for me.

  'It's the blonde one, Warren. He's had too much to drink. He's getting stroppy. and they're due on in ten minutes.'

  'Like me to have a word with him?'

  'Would you?'

  'No problem.'

  I put my hand on the door lever then stopped. I looked at Miranda. 'Is...?' I pointed through the door. She nodded.

  I took a deep breath. 'Right.'

  I opened the door and walked in. The five lads were stood at the bar. I could see that four were trying to stop the fifth necking a bottle of vodka. I didn't know much about them, but I'd heard that the baby-faced one, Warren, had been getting a bit above himself lately. As I approached, baby-face had his back to me. The others saw me coming and fell quiet. It was a moment before Warren noticed. Then he spun round and found himself looking at the middle of my chest. His head went back and our eyes met. He swallowed.

  'Hi,' I said. A whisper passed among the others and I heard, '..Danny Norton.'

  'Hi,' Warren said.

  'You alright, mate?'

  He nodded, quickly, 'Yeah. We're just- Just getting ready to go on.'

  I made a point of looking at the vodka bottle in his hand.

  He followed my gaze, then showed it to me. 'Like a drink?' He tried to make a big joke out of it and started to laugh. He was on his own. As he turned back from his mates and saw my face, the laugh died in his throat.

  'Miranda?' I called without turning.

  'Yes, Danny.'

  'Are you ready to take these fine young lads out to show them to their screaming fans?'

  'I am, Danny.'

  I looked at each in turn, Warren last. 'And are you lads ready to do as Miranda tells you?' They all nodded, rapidly. 'Right then. Off you go.' They all rushed to obey. But as Warren made to follow his fellow band-members, I grabbed his arm and pulled him back, close. I put my head down and whispered in his ear. His head snapped round and he looked up at me, shocked, and just a little scared, which was what I'd aimed for. I smiled at him and let go his arm. He couldn't get away from me quick enough and I listened without turning as they all left the room. The last I heard was Miranda's, 'Thanks Danny,' then she closed the door and everything went quiet.

  I stayed like that for a while, looking at the bar, remembering. I took a deep breath. I remembered all the times I'd been here, watching her do her stuff, looking at her, in awe of her, though secretly. There were no secrets to keep any more, well, not many. I remembered the smell of her perfume, Guess. I'd wondered a few times where she bought it, but had never got round to asking.

  I ought to, I thought.

  Because I wasn't just remembering it. I was smelling it. I turned round.

  She was over on the couch, staring at me, a wry smile playing about her lips. I was pleased to see that the spotted silk scarf I'd brought her to hide the mark round her throat went as well with the pale yellow dress as I'd hoped it would. I was learning, slowly. And the dress showed off her eternally tanned legs, not that I'd ever give her secrets away. Her hair was as sleek and shiny as ever. Considering how she'd looked two weeks before, lying on the dance floor, she looked amazing.

  'Hey,' I said.

  'Hey, yourself. Where have you been all night?' Her voice was still hoarse and croaky, though not as bad as the week before. But at least her 'light duties' stint was giving Miranda her chance to
shine for a while, which would do her good.

  'We've been busy since I got here.' I said. 'We've had to put up the 'Full' signs.'

  'Wow. Don't things get back to normal fast?'

  I went and stood next to her. She looked up at me.

  'Thanks for the scarf. It's nice.'

  'Glad you like it.'

  'You slept better last night?'

  'A bit. I'm getting there.'

  Out of her view, I shut my eyes, tight, for a second, trying to shut out the memory. To be fair, the nightmare hadn't seemed as vivid the last few nights. Not like the first few days, when I worried, quite seriously, that I was going to spend every night for the rest of my life reliving the moment when I turned her over, saw the stab wound in her stomach and thought she was dead. And while everyone knows one stab wound can be fatal, I know now that Mickey liked to take his time and that he always made sure his first cut was fairly superficial - twisted bastard that he is.

  'How did your visit go?' She was talking about my trip to Chester, to see Mary Oakley.

  'Okay, I think. She's fixing me up to see a bloke she knows. She says he's the best there is outside London.'

  'And does she think he will be able to help you?'

  'She seemed pretty positive. She reckons the science has moved on a lot since I was lad. Still might take a bit of time, though.'

  'Well you've got plenty of that.'

  'True, I have.'

  'It's strange though, isn't it?'

  'What is?'

  'Well-' She hesitated, though I knew what she was about to say. I'd thought the same every day since. 'If it hadn't been for your, 'condition', I'd be dead.'

  'If it's all the same to you. I'd rather not think about that.'

  Suddenly she stood up, turning to face me.

  'But it's true. You'd never have found the strength to snap the tie if you hadn't been in one of your rages.'

  'Maybe, but I'm not going to not have treatment on the off-chance that my 'condition' might get me out of trouble again one day.'

  She smiled, and sidled round to me. 'I'm not saying that. I just think it's strange, that's all.' She was close to me now, looking up at me.

  I said, 'You're the strange one.'

  'Why am I strange?'

  'Having anything to do with a nutter like me.'

  'You're not a nutter. You'll be an OU graduate soon.'

  I gave her a look. About to reach for her, my earpiece crackled. 'Sierra one. Trouble at the front door.'

  I jumped to it. 'On my way.'

  Leaving her standing by the couch, I headed for the door. About to shut it behind me, I remembered something and opened it again. She was still standing there. Angelic came to mind.

  'Remind me to speak to you tomorrow about something before I go down to see Dad and Laura.'

  'Give me a clue.'

  'I need to know if you've ever read any Joseph Conrad.'

  'Who?'

  I didn't answer, but closed the door and went to help my team.

  The end

  Enjoyed this book and want more of the same? Visit my Amazon Author Page where you will find details of my other books or read on for a preview of my next, Death In Mind.

  Next in the DCI Jamie Carver Series

  DEATH IN MIND

  How do you catch someone who kills through others, when the others don’t even know they’ve done it?

  A busy railway station. A young woman walks to the edge of the platform, waits, then steps out in front of the oncoming train.

  A lonely road at night. A man deliberately steers his car into a tree, at speed.

  Tragic suicides, clearly. Or are they?

  When evidence shows that neither victim were contemplating suicide, DCI Jamie Carver faces a conundrum. Is it possible to programme someone into taking their own life? And if it is, then can they also be programmed to murder?

  These are the questions Carver must answer, and quickly, before more die. But how do you do that when the person you suspect is pulling the strings may also be pulling yours? And how do you stay stop a killer who doesn’t even know they’ve been programmed to kill?

  The next in the DCI Jamie Carver Series sees the detective charting new territory as he grapples with the possibility of ‘unconscious murder’ - and comes up against not just a killer whose methods are unique, but one who knows what the questions will be before they are even asked.

  Read on for a preview of the opening chapters of, Death In Mind.

  Death In Mind

  Chapter One

  Five minutes before she killed herself, Sarah Brooke had never had a suicidal thought in her life. In fact as she waited for her train home that evening the only thing on her mind apart from the cold, was what to do about dinner.

  Gary’s call saying he’d been dragged into an urgent meeting and may not be home until, ‘Ten, at the earliest,’ had blown her plans for a surprise three-year-anniversary supper. Both working for the same bank - she, Accounts, him Lending – the resurgent banking crisis was still playing havoc with their home life. The alternative supper option was yet another delve in the freezer for a ready-meal. And while it didn’t hold much appeal, the way her journey home was shaping up and the way she was beginning to feel, it was rapidly becoming the most likely.

  Turning her face to the screen above the platform, she read the latest update.

  The next train through Crewe Station’s Platform 3, due in four minutes, was the Glasgow to Euston Inter-City express. Her own, Stafford train, showed another three behind. Which would make it over a quarter of an hour late. The third such delay this week. And it was still only Thursday.

  As the chill wind that haunts railway halls in winter wafted down the platform, Sarah folded across the lapel of her Camel-wool coat and resolved to wear a thicker scarf tomorrow; maybe even the multi-coloured horror Gary had brought her last Christmas - part of a gift-set. With no sign of the late cold snap that had gripped the country the past week disappearing, style may just have to go on hold for a while. Better than bloody freezing.

  She thought about making her way back to the American-Style Coffee House the other end of the platform and grabbing a cappuccino. At least it would take her away from the annoying cacophony she’d been subjected to the last few minutes.

  When she’d first arrived at her usual waiting spot, three-quarters of the way down the platform, she didn’t give the middle-aged man in the full-length Crombie and quirky Fedora pulled low a second glance. But after a few minutes, as the sound of some vaguely-familiar tune she couldn’t quite make out intruded more and more into her consciousness, she turned to see where it was coming from. She was mildly surprised when she saw the wires emerging from within the man’s coat’s depths and running up to disappear under the hat’s brim. For some reason, he didn’t strike her as the sort who would listen through earbuds, not unless they were Bose. But the way she and others close by were being forced to listen along, the ear-buds were definitely not Bose, not the way they were allowing the sound to leak to the annoyance of those around.

  Thinking of him again prompted her to glance over her shoulder, which was when she realised he was standing much closer than before, barely a metre away and still all-but hidden behind the newspaper he was holding up. The page facing showed a headline above a report with an accompanying photograph. Sarah paid it scant regard yet still gleaned it was something to do with a lighthouse; some dramatic rescue. For some reason the image it evoked, like the music, seemed strangely familiar.

  Deja-vu or what?

  For his part, the man in the hat seemed oblivious to the annoyance he was causing – especially to Sarah. The thought came as to what the thumping beat must be doing to his eardrums if she could hear it so clearly. It also made her wonder again what it was. It irked more than she knew it should, that she couldn’t place it.

  Thrusting her gloved hands deeper into her pockets, she decided. Though the cappuccino down the platform wasn’t up to much, it was preferable to h
aving to listen to some weirdo’s idea of music.

  But as she made to turn to where the café’s leaded windows cast a spider’s web of yellow light across the platform, she was surprised to discover she was reluctant to tear herself away. It felt almost like she was in the grip of some compulsion by which she couldn’t leave until she had identified what the music was, where she had heard it before. The deep bass tones had a curiously affecting quality.

  And now there was something else.

  Though she couldn’t say why, her brain seemed to be making a connection between the music and the story she had glimpsed in the newspaper. The one about the lighthouse rescue. An image of a cheering light, growing brighter, came to her. A feeling like none she had felt before but seemed to be at least part apprehension, rose inside her.

  At that moment a voice, melodious and silky smooth, sounded close to her ear.

  ‘Make ready, Sarah. Your salvation draws near.’

  She knew at once it was him, though how, she couldn’t say. And there was something about the words that made her feel lethargic, like she had suddenly been drained of energy. More than that, they brought with them an overwhelming feeling of sadness.

  What’s happening to me, she thought?

  Close to that time of the month, Sarah’s first thought was she was about to experience one of her debilitating migraines. But as her vision stayed clear and the nauseous pain didn’t come, she dismissed it. This was something else. Confused and becoming just a little concerned, Sarah glanced behind.

  At first all she could see was the newspaper, still hiding his features. But then it began to lower, slowly. At the same time the head and hat behind lifted so that, bit-by-bit, a pair of eyes, dark and staring behind thick-framed glasses, appeared over the top to meet hers.

  Something happened.

  Chapter Two

  Across the tracks on Platform 4, the young man in the worn anorak lowered his new Fuji to stare across at the face that was so familiar, worried about the sudden change he’d seen come over her.

  Throughout their relationship, such as it was, the thing Wayne Clarke had always liked most about Sarah was her self-assurance. Whether sitting at one of the Coffee House’s round tables sipping cappuccino, talking animatedly into her mobile or just waiting for her train, Sarah always showed herself as the sort he liked best. Businesslike, oozing confidence and with beautiful blond hair - his favourite, though he had been known to stretch to redheads and, once even, a brunette.