by Mark Ayre
“Good news on all counts,” James said. “But I’m not calling about any of those things. I’m calling to ask about something that happened to you a couple of years ago, and how it might pertain to Harris Chappell.”
A pause, then: “Goodbye.”
“Wait, we need to talk.“
“Do not call this number again.”
“If you’ll just let me—“
Click. He was gone.
James called back, but the line was dead. A call handled as successfully as the Brexit negotiations. He sighed, slid his phone away, and went to grab a late lunch.
After, he put the address Jane had given him for Ollie into his phone and set off, ready to question Harris’ old school friend.
Ollie—or perhaps Ollie’s mum—lived down a quiet cul de sac comprised of small but cosy homes, occupied mostly by new or retired couples.
Ollie’s mother might have been the exception, but she kept her garden tidy and trimmed like everyone else, and parked a similarly small, affordable car in the drive. As James mounted the curb, she was approaching her car with sunglasses on and a wad of balled up bags for life under her arm.
“Afternoon,” he said with an awkward wave. Ollie’s mother lowered her eyes and stared as though he had offered to expose himself.
“Can I help you?”
She said it so fast all the words seemed to fall into each other, making the sentence hard to decipher. James tried to ignore the jumping dogs at her window—who were acting as though they could not survive without her company—and focus on his question.
“I was hoping to speak to Ollie. Is he here?”
There would be no straight answer. He could tell by the way her eyes narrowed, her hands going to hips, almost losing her bags for life in the process.
“Who wants to know?”
“James Perry,” he said, stepping forward, hand outstretched, only pausing when her expression made it clear they would not be shaking. “I’d just like a quick word.”
“Ollie is— stop it—“ it was one of the dogs, head-butting the window in its determination to get out. It caught her look and backed away, whining.
“Who are you?” she said, stopping with her hand on her car’s door handle, in case she had to jump in for protection. “I don’t recognise you.”
James wanted to ask if Ollie’s mother recognised all her son’s friends, but decided that wouldn’t be the most tactic of comments.
“I found a list with his name on,” James said, paused, wondered how to continue. “The list was written by Harris Chappell.”
Mrs Roberts’ skin went pale.
“You know him?” James asked.
“Of course I know him. He was friends with my boy in school. Inseparable for a while, there were, and a bad influence on each other.”
“You saw what happened to Harris?”
“Killed,” she said, the eyes narrowed again. “You’re not blaming my son?”
“No,” James said. He hadn’t considered that, but it made him think. “Why would I?”
“You wouldn’t,” she said. “Not if you had any sense. My Ollie is a good kid. A good man. He had his troubles when he was younger, but who doesn’t? Like I said, they egged each other on, him and Harris. Meant they did—well, they were always harmless, really.”
“But they misbehaved?”
“Teachers called it bullying,” she said. “But it was harmless. Boys will be boys and all that. Sort of thing no one would have batted an eyelid at when I was in school, but kids are getting softer. It’s the parents' fault. There is nothing wrong with my boy.”
“Mrs Roberts,” he said, trying to speak diplomatically. “Is Ollie in?”
“I don’t see that’s any of your business. You’ve still not said who you are.”
“I’m a friend,” he said, but she could see the lie.
“I don’t think you are,” she said, growing defensive. “I’d like you to get off my property, please. I’d like you to leave.”
James looked at his feet. He was on the road beside his car, a sound metre from her property. He doubted Mrs Roberts would care for the distinction.
“Mrs Roberts,” he said, still diplomatic, still holding it together. “Since Harris’ death, someone else who worked with him has been killed. I’m worried they may not be the last. I’m worried your son…”
He felt guilty implying something he had no reason to believe, but fear could be a powerful motivator. He didn’t need to finish the sentence. Her hand went to her mouth and tears trembled at the corners of her eyes.
“I don’t want anything to happen to Ollie,” James said. “If I can get hold of him, I can find out what’s going on. I can ensure no one else dies.”
She was shaking her head, scared. Maybe too afraid. He worried he had pushed too far, but he was patient. Waiting for her to compose herself.
“This has nothing to do with my son,” she said. “They were friends when they were kids. Best friends, but only until they were fourteen or fifteen. They fell out, see?”
“What caused that?”
“Same thing that always causes teen boys to fall out. A girl. Ollie got her, Harris didn’t like it. So they fell apart, stopped talking. That was it. This has nothing to do with him. My son’s not here right now, and I’m glad. Glad if you’re going to come round with your accusations. Shame on you. Shame.”
She was babbling because she was scared. Because she was holding something back. It was obvious. James let her run herself down but remained calm. He kept eye contact even when she tried to lose it.
“Mrs Roberts, are you telling me your son and Harris had not spoken to each other since they were at school?”
She looked away. She wanted to leave, but he couldn’t let her.
“Mrs Roberts, I am trying to protect your son. If you are lying to me, you could be putting him in danger. Do you understand?” Another flash of guilt. He forced it away. “I know you think you’re protecting him, but the only way you can is by being honest with me. I promise you that.”
“It’s nothing,” she said, almost a whisper. “They went to university together. Different courses. Birmingham is huge. They probably never saw each other. Ollie never mentioned him.”
This James knew. Jane had told him. The same place where Andros, the other name on the list, had been sacked for sleeping with a student. But what was the link?
“Was that the last time?” James said, but he could see from her expression it was not. “Please,” he went on. “When was the last time?”
“It doesn’t mean anything.”
“You’re probably right, but don’t you think it’s better to be on the safe side? Don’t you think it makes sense to tell me the last time he saw Harris in case?”
She spent a long time thinking about that, but finally, after much agonising, she nodded her head, tears still running down her cheeks.
“It was a week ago,” she whispered. “Harris came to see Ollie. Came to talk to him.”
“What did they talk about?”
“I don’t know. Harris said he needed to apologise about something. I don’t know what but I let him in—why wouldn’t I? Ollie was upstairs, in his room. Harris went in but if he apologised Ollie didn’t want to hear it. They had an argument, then Harris stormed out. But that was it. They haven’t seen each other since.”
James nodded and thought, but didn’t say—that you know of.
This didn’t make sense. It wasn’t adding up. Where did Ollie fit into all of this? Where did Andros? He sat in his car, watching as Mrs Roberts drove away, and got his phone out again.
Six times he rang before; finally, Andros picked up.
“Listen here—“ he started.
“No, you listen,” James said, aiming for anger he wasn’t feeling. “Harris has been murdered. Someone he works with has been murdered. I found a list of two names in the offices where they worked. One of those names is missing. The other is yours.”
James found his
faked anger had affected him. He was breathing heavily as he waited for Andros to reply. This took a long time, but the call did not end. This was positive, even if Andros continued not to be.
“I don’t know what you are trying to achieve,” said the snooty man. “I suppose you want to scare me, but it will not work. There is absolutely no reason my life would be in danger.”
“So you’ve not heard from Harris recently?”
Silence.
“I do not see how that is any of your business.”
“I’m just trying to make sure you’re safe.”
“No, you are not. You are trying to make me afraid. A fear you would leverage to get me to open up. Well, my mysterious friend, what do you intend to do if I do not fear your idle and unsubstantiated danger? What, moreover, are you going to do if I hang up?”
James fumbled over this. The fear angle had worked well on Ollie’s mother. He had expected the same with Andros. Not only was it not working, Andros had seen through the ruse, calling him on it. James sought another option. Found a possibility.
“Simple,” he said. “I have a meeting with a police detective in a few minutes. If you hang up, I will be sure to bring up your name in conversation.”
“And say what? The mean man wouldn’t talk to me? Oh, I’m sure they’ll be right over to arrest me for being such an impolite fellow.”
“Are you this sarcastic with everyone, or am I special?”
“You’ll never know. Goodbye.”
“Fine, but I’d fix your attitude before the police arrive.”
Yet more silence. James took advantage of it.
“See, I’m not going to complain you won’t talk to me. I’m going to show the police the aforementioned list. I’m going to tell them Harris was speaking to Ollie and yourself in the days before he died and, with Ollie gone, it seems clear the killer must be the remaining member.”
“That’s not true.”
“No? Maybe not, but they’ll be interested, won’t they? Especially when I tell them it was Harris who got you fired.” The theory had popped into James’ head fully formed, and he grabbed it, taking advantage. Could be wrong, of course, but he suspected not. “Was it he who discovered your habit of sleeping with students? Did he ruin your career? Hey, starts to look like motive, doesn’t it? Certainly enough reason for them to talk to you. To dig into your life and past. Do you have a wife? Children? How will they feel when this resurfaces?”
This time Andros eschewed silence for a strange, strangled noise emanating from the base of his throat, presumably intended as the beginning of a gripping argument.
“I thought you were going to hang up?” James said, feeling smug, and somewhat guilty. Less of the latter, considering what a prick Andros had been.
“If I tell you what you want to know, you won’t send the police?”
James considered.
“If I believe you had nothing to do with this, I see no reason to get the police involved, no. But if you lie, I can fast change my mind.”
Light breathing came down the phone. James could almost hear Andros thinking as he tried to decide what to say. James stayed quiet. He was in no rush.
“First off,” Andros said, breaking his silence. “You don’t have your facts straight.”
“No?”
“No.”
“You weren’t sleeping with your students?”
“I was sleeping with a student and not one I ever taught,” he said. “Perhaps you think that doesn’t make a difference, but it does to me. I took my job seriously. I loved teaching, and I loved my students. I did not want to do anything to jeopardise that, so I had never contemplated sleeping with a student before.
“I say this not to elicit sympathy, or to make you think I was wronged. I was not. I was in the wrong. I was seduced by a student, and I allowed myself to believe I was in love. That was what made me throw my career, my everything, away. That’s point one.”
“Noted.”
“Point two is it was not Harris who caught me sleeping with said student. Not he who beat me in anger and called the papers and university, destroying my career and life. That honour fell upon the boyfriend of my supposed love. She had been playing us. Rather humiliating for one as distinguished as myself. A published academic with awards and—“
James tuned him out, thinking. Harris had not caught him, but still, it had to be linked. It all had to knit together. Something clicked.
“Ollie.”
“What?” Andros was returned from his speech.
“The boyfriend was Ollie?”
“I believe that was his name, yes. Not that we had an awful lot of time to chat as he made me his personal punching bag.”
James tried to feel sympathy. Couldn’t manage it.
“How does Harris fit in?”
Andros paused. He did not want to continue, but James had found the right threat, so he would.
“Harris was a student of mine, and I had, on occasion, been so foolish as to make love in—“ he stopped, and James could almost feel the heat of his blush through the phone.
“In the lecture hall?” James asked. Andros didn’t answer, so James pressed on. “He saw you?”
“He must have. I stress I did not know at the time. All I knew is I was being blackmailed.”
At that James sat up. There was the connection. Harris discovers Andros is cheating, sleeping with Ollie’s university girlfriend, so begins to blackmail his professor. But—
“You said you didn’t know at the time?”
“I did not. As you might expect, the blackmailing stopped when the secret was revealed. I did not find out it was Harris until a couple of weeks ago when he called me.”
“Why did he call?”
“You probably won’t believe it,” Andros said. “I know I didn’t, not after so many months. Wasn’t sure why he would bother.”
“Bother with what? What did he want?”
“Well that’s just the thing,” said Andros. “He didn’t want anything at all.
“He called to say he was sorry.”
18
More theorising. Slotting the new information into what he already knew. Harris still robbed Davis after Michael’s murder. Harris was still killed by one of the girls he abused. Tahir was still the victim of framing before his own murder by said same girl. The information on Ollie and Andros didn’t necessarily change that. Harris discovers Ollie’s girlfriend is sleeping with Andros, but he is still angry at Ollie for stealing the girl he fancied while they were at school, so doesn’t tell his old friend. Instead, he blackmails Andros until Ollie learns the truth on his own. A few years later, Michael is murdered after telling Harris of his involvement with the police. Harris feels guilty, starts to reevaluate his past. Calls Andros and admits to his actions—apologises. Gets Ollie’s number too, and visits his old friend. Tells him the truth, apologises but Ollie doesn’t take it well. They leave things on a bad note.
Could Ollie be involved? Possible. As revenge, he could have followed Harris, learned of his abusive ways. He could be behind the murder of Harris and Tahir, and that would mean he was behind Nina’s mugging. To find who ordered that, Ollie or not, would likely lead to the murder. Could wrap up this case and, if James managed that, he could ask Jane a favour. Deal with Mel. Save his life. That was if he couldn’t work up the courage to go to Tahir’s old home, try locate the sex tapes. One thing at a time.
First, a trip to the pub.
Stepping through the bar doors, James once again drew the eye of every man and woman there. This was a locals pub. Outsiders not welcome. If luck were with him, the mugger would have been one of those locals. If so, someone would know him.
At the bar stood the same man who had served James last time, looking on with the same distant friendliness he reserved for all non-regulars.
“‘Member you,” he said. “Were in here the other night with that pretty lass. Ordered the fruity cider.”
More questions on his manhood. James i
gnored the jibe.
“I’m looking for someone,” he said.
“Oh, yeah? Things not working out with the little lady. I did think she was on the good side. For someone such as yourself, that is. Hope you don’t mind me saying.”
“I do.”
“Punching, that’s all I’m saying.”
“I’d like to.”
The man’s eyes narrowed.
“You gunna threaten me in my own ‘stablishment? You wanna try throw a punch, you feel free. Lotta people here know me. See how they take it.”
“I’m sorry,” James said, placing his hands on the bar in what he hoped was a sign of his non-threatening intentions. “I’m not here to cause trouble. When I was here the other night, there was a guy—“
“Ah, I spected as much. Fruit drinks for a fruit, eh?”
James kept his hands flat on the bar to prevent twisting them into fists.
“I see you’ve taken that PC course for small businessmen.”
“I don’t wanna be a cop.”
“That’s not what—“ James pulled up, struggling against the sticky wood to raise his hands from the bar. This was getting him nowhere. “I’m not looking for a date. The girl I was with the other day and I were mugged. Just before it happened, I saw a guy who’d been here. I think he might have seen something and I’d like to ask him a few questions.”
James thought this was a clever way of putting it. Make it seem as though the guy was an innocent bystander whose help James needed. Maybe illicit a more helpful response.
“I can’t help you.”
“Oh, but, I’ve not even told you what he looks like?”
“And I don’t want to know. Run a place like this it’s all ‘bout trust. The locals come here cause they feel safe. They feel safe cause they know their landlord won’t sell them out. You get that?”
“I do,” said James, trying what he hoped was a winning smile. Though in truth, it sounded like so much nonsense. “But if you could—“
“I ain’t helping.”
“I’m not helping,” James said. He couldn’t help himself. “Or even better, I will not help.”
