Cut To The Bone (28 page)

“I said, he fancied little girls.”

Silence. She stopped writing.

“Anything else you could add?”

“Yes. At weekends he'd often chop up slugs and worms, even the odd dead mole and other small mammals. Disgusting, isn’t it? But how could I tell her?” He stared at his enemy whose floppy mouth remained open.

“What implement did he use for this… this strange hobby?” Queried Jarvis. His coffee left to cool.

“A small knife with Walton-on-Sea burnt into its handle. And he kept his sick trophies locked in a little metal box with a houndstooth pattern. But what really freaked me out was how he hummed his music while doing it, and turned nasty whenever I tried to stop him.” He looked at The Fawn. “Now do you understand why I don’t eat much meat. Would you?”

No-one answered.

“Oh, and he deliberately smashed up my mobile phone. I mean, how weird is that?”

Jarvis pushed his chair back from the table, hitting the wall.

"That was most useful, Louis," he said. "Hopefully, we can now move things forward. I should also thank Mrs Zeller, amongst others.”

“It’s Frau,” Louis corrected him, feeling suddenly queasy. “Why her?”

“Nosy bitch,” said The Fawn, showing herself up. “And her randy old husband.”

"But what about that Pete Brown character?” Louis quizzed, getting back to basics. “Anything on him yet? I mean, it's been a long time."

Jarvis paused, while Truelove closed her notepad and pocketed her biro.

"Stones are continually being turned."

"Well that's comforting to know."

“By the way, Ms. Harper, we feel it’s only right to inform you that a knife matching the description just given by your son, has been found by The Loop in Black Dog Brook. There’s also a new Inquest on Jez Martin and Malcolm Wheeler planned for the New Year, following the discovery of suspicious knife wounds. We’ll keep you informed.”

Louis shivered.

Jarvis stood up and looked at him. His unexpected question like a rogue missile in the silence. "You still planning on being an officer of the law?"

"Sure." Louis managed to grin, but no-one else did.

*

Once the pigs had gone, he watched The Fawn crawl upstairs towards the bathroom. Heard the slam of the medicine cabinet door and the rattle of pills. After that it went predictably quiet. She slept the rest of the day, missing her afternoon shift at Happy Chicks. Not that he was bothered. He'd enough to think about, especially the discovery of that knife and news of a second Inquest.  More immediately, he had to lengthen the legs on his constable’s uniform without leaving tell-tale stitches around each hem.

Later, at six o’clock, before going to the chippie, he asked The Fawn if The Maggot’s letter to him and those three sheets of paper from Parkside Maternity Home, had been left in her Meadow Hill bedroom.

“Here’s a clue,” was delivered with a lop-sided smile; a G&T in one hand, and a gesture towards her back bottom with another. “They saved me quite a bit in toilet paper, that’s for sure.”

What?

“And my birth certificate?”

“The same. Why not?”

*

After that, there was no communication between them, except for a note from her saying if he needed clean clothes or a pizza he'd have to sort it himself.

Fuckit
…

So while she was snoring away, he helped himself to cash from her purse, having long since memorised her Visa card’s PIN number. He also burnt his baby photo together with that poxy note to Father Christmas.

Something at least going to plan.

35

2 p.m. and three days before Christmas, Louis popped his head round The Fawn’s bedroom door. Just the top of her tousled head showed above the duvet, with stuff strewn all over, including pill bottles. Worse than his room, which was saying something.

"No decorations, then?” he said. “Not even a fucking tree?"

Silence.

"
It's Christmas
."

A small wheeze.

“Are we getting a turkey or do I mingle with the pond life at the food bank trough?" He moved closer and peeled back the duvet cover, soon realising that The Fawn’s breathing was way too shallow, her face too pale. She was out of order. The cow.

He leapt downstairs and dialled 999. The ambulance took forty minutes to arrive and he complained their delay could have cost her life.

“Last time we came to Downside, our gear got nicked,” retorted a pimply paramedic in a green romper suit. “So, see it from our angle.”

"Not good enough," Louis argued. "A life's a life wherever it lives."

“If I was you, sonny," The Pimple turned on him as the ambulance door slammed shut behind The Fawn. "I'd get your pinny on and start clearing that shithole of yours up before she gets back."

*

It was therefore appropriate that on Christmas Day, Louis Claus Perelman felt he'd finally found God. Someone he could talk to, unlike her, still in hospital, or anyone at that scummy school of his. A man, yes, definitely a man, he decided, who was hot on Law, Order and Punishment.

This helped him cope with his damp, poky bedroom, the washing machine full of her blood-stained overalls, the fridge permanently empty, and above all, her pressure for him to get a weekend job at Happy Chicks. Was that all he was worth? No way. And however cool it would have been to see all those live birds being dunked in boiling water, he needed his time for more fruitful activities.

These included a cast-iron six-pack if he was to impress the Briar Bank Army cadets and his new mates abroad. And the Met later on. ‘
Mens sana in corpore sano
,’ he'd written as a motto on his practice letter of application, and saved it to his hard drive.

He'd also bought a no-frills pay-as-you-go mobile off Ebay, and if The Fawn were to complain about ‘unaffordable luxuries,’ he'd put her straight. “Investments for my future,” he’d say. Facts she’d dare not argue with.

*

While the winter rain lashed his window, Louis opened his nicked Bible at Hosea - his favourite prophet - and smiled at the Vienna street map on his computer’s
Wilkommen zu Wien
website. A cool place, especially those Far Right activists whose Mission Statements conjured up the very message of the Old Testament. Leadership, war, revenge. People to whom he was now Paul Dunholm, promised a fake passport and new ID card within two weeks. No Birth Certificate needed.

What else had he found in the Bible? Certainly not the meek-and-mild Jesus that his limp-wristed R.E. teachers had promoted, but a man of irregular parentage like him, who'd become the The Most Powerful Person in the world. Above all A Man with a Purpose and awesome focus. Even Jez Martin’s headstone proclaimed it. One day, he promised himself, he'd sort out that particular heresy.

*

Suddenly the doorbell rang. Ever since Meadow Hill and the cops’ last visit, he didn’t like surprises and, realising it wasn't Jarvis and his slapper sidekick again, opened the front door to a small man in a dark suit whose green umbrella turned his face the colour of a frog. He looked Louis up and down with neither recognition nor respect.

"Is Ms. Harper in?" He demanded.

"Who the hell are you?"

"George Lee of Lee and Atkins, Ledbury Street. Debt collectors. Where is she?

"Out, OK?"

"I don't like your tone, young man. I'm only doing my job. She your mother?"

“No.”

That came out quick.

"When's she back?"

"Dunno. Why?"

"Well, tell her I'll be back on Monday 13th. As good a time as any to get our records straight. Oh, and tell her I made twenty quid on her wedding ring."

That was no wedding ring, and a Merry Christmas to you too.

Louis watched him mince back to his car and resolved that once he’d joined the Force, creeps like that would be toast. The Audi slid away and Mullion Road resumed its sodden melancholy save for the jungle crap throbbing from two doors down. With all the sand niggers and dot-heads around, he and The Fawn were the real ethnic minority. Another reason to make sure to get his A levels for a decent CV, then he could start putting the world to rights.

He glanced up at his GCSE Certificate blu-tacked to the least damp wall.

Ten grade A's, four with stars. Music, IT, German and Religious Studies. He smiled again to himself. Yes, those impressive achievements would be just the start.

*

The Fawn had been delivered home from hospital on Boxing Day, and seemed disappointed, less engaged somehow, thought Louis. Not good, especially after he'd sorted out the washing and tidied the grotty kitchen. He'd even plumped up the Meadow Hill cushions on the second- hand sofa. But had she noticed? No, and he resented the time it had taken instead of analysing grainy attachments of lakes and forests where Dekker’s briefings and training took place.

She didn’t mention her overdose again, and two day's later, was back at Happy Chicks on shortened shifts.

"A Mr Lee called when you were away," Louis informed her as she came through the front door the next Sunday afternoon. "He's back again on the 13th."

The Fawn paused while peeling off her mac, then went into the kitchen to wash her hands. Bits of chicken skin hung from her hair, and the smell left in her wake was worse than ever. Her face white.

"I owe him a thousand pounds."

Louis whistled. Then remembered something.

"To pay the debt of nature is to die.” Guess who said that?"

“I've no idea. All I know is your new computer, your exercise bike and the Raleigh, cost me three months' work. And you never once paid me back that forty pounds." She immediately checked he wasn't too close behind her.

"That's well below the belt," he snorted. "Considering I promised to repay it once I was a copper." Yet mention of it had made him catch his breath. Although he'd heard nothing from Darshan Patel since that
soirée
night and assumed the blackmailer had either forgotten or been bullied to a pulp, there remained the possibility he’d get greedy again. "Anyhow, if you’d not cleaned yourself out almost sixteen years ago on my account, you'd still be quids in, yeah?"

She swilled Value disinfectant round the shabby sink. “It was my choice, but," she added almost inaudibly, "God knows I'm paying for it."

His snide chortle chilled the already cold room. "What do you know about God, eh?"

"More to the point, what does he know about you?"

She was on the stairs and not worth chasing. Instead, Louis tore open a packet of Value Breakfast Flakes and filled his bowl with the dingy, yellow cereal. In Meadow Hill, there’d been Alpen with bits of real fruit. He yelled after her. “Guess what my new, fave word is?" As milk dribbled down his chin. "Viaticum. Can you hear me up there? Vi-a-ti-cum."

But only the opening and closing of drawers replied.

"It means provision for a journey. Isn't that fucking amazing?"

But ‘Eucharist for the dying’ was the important bit she didn't hear.

BOOK FIVE

Monday 13
th
January 2014

36

Yet more rain, and the darkening stain on Louis’ bedroom ceiling had spread, while outside a torrent of water gushed past his window.

The Fawn was on an early shift so he was alone, pounding out the miles on his exercise bike; his thigh muscles tightening with every turn of the pedals. She'd left him strict instructions not to answer the door, because if the bailiffs came in, that would mean the end of his bike, the TV the video and worst of all, the fridge, with still five hundred quid to find once they'd gone. However, it was the possible loss of his violin which troubled him the most, especially since his instrument would be his livelihood and cover in Vienna. No, if that Lee toad came calling again, it would be the first time in his life he'd obeyed her.

Above the burr of his bike wheels, he heard the letterbox snap shut. That meant junk mail. But today was different. A square, beige envelope addressed to him lay on the mat. He noted the second-class stamp and a smudged Birmingham postmark. Its shape and colour suggested a greetings card, but since his fourteenth birthday was three months’ away, he hesitated.

8/1/14.

Hail Brutus,

It’s four months since we moved away from Meadow Hill for father to expand his business in a safer area after his van was vandalised on the drive, and the racist mail was getting worse. The change is doing mother good. Me too, as I work for him in the holidays. I’m treated better at school here and plan to do a law degree to become a barrister.

What are your plans?

My mother still talks about that night you turned up in your uniform. It actually gave her quite a fright until she saw your trainers. Until I told her you were always full of surprises. Toby Lake was also shit scared of you, just like me, but I won’t be spreading that around just yet. Only when it suits me, because another thing, I looked up the Electoral Roll for the area round the Mall and no-one called Lisa was on it. Nor any Darnwood Road. Why I’m returning your sixty quid. From what I hear, you’ll have greater need of it than me.