Others (27 page)

30

Well, the first thing I did was to go out and buy a new telephone. How some kind of psychic force, manifestation, whatever it had been, could trash a machine, I had no idea, but the meltdown sat on my sideboard as evidence. I’d forgotten to plug my mobile phone in overnight - and who could blame me for that? - so the batteries were almost depleted. After eating a good breakfast (which was pretty amazing for me under any circumstances, but even more so because of my state of mind) I put the cellphone on charge and left the flat.

It was Sunday morning and most of the Brighton shops were closed, but I knew where I could pick up a new telephone easily enough and at half the price too. If I’d wanted a new camcorder, video machine, television, or even a dishwasher, all at low cost and never-been-used, then Theo the Thief (yes, even the police -
especially
the police -called him that) was the man to see. After telling me I didn’t look so well, but without enquiring how I’d got that way (Theo neither liked asking questions nor answering them) he took me to one of his several lock-ups, a shabby-fronted garage on a nearby council estate that, when the up-and-over door was lifted, resembled a modern Aladdin’s Cave, and allowed me to choose my own brand-new, still-in-the-box, telephone. It was the first time I’d ever knowingly bought stolen goods, but today I considered it an emergency: I needed to be on-line. Money changed hands and a leery Theo - he’d supplied me with information in the past for small financial considerations, but never material goods -bade me good-day.

I drove home with the windows open wide, the salted breeze herding the remnants of fug from my head, almost clearing the ache there. It was a brilliantly sunny morning and as I turned into the crescent the whole panorama of sea and sky displayed itself to me. Sunlight coruscated off the waves, hurting my eye when I looked too intently, and distant sailing boats glided nonchalantly over the water’s surface. People in shorts and T-shirts, in summer dresses and cutaway tops, made their weekend pilgrimage to the pebble beaches and broad lawns, the promenade and piers, and I was calmed by the sight My anxiety became controlled, my stress governable; a sense of determination was rising within me.

There were no parking places outside my basement flat by now and I had to cruise around to the other side of the crescent’s centre park before I found a free space. As small as it was, the park was full of gently undulating hillocks and I made my way through them on one of the concrete paths, filling my lungs with fresh air as I went, breathing in the very normality around me. My resolve strengthened: I wasn’t sure of exactly what I was going to do, but I was determined to take command of what was happening, intent on discovering the reason for these visions. Were they warnings, portents, threats? I remembered the cries for help I had heard on the phone. None of it made sense. All I knew was that the last confrontation was with something quite evil.

‘Hello, Dis.’

My gaze had been cast downwards, watching the path beneath my feet while not really seeing it at all. I raised my head at the sound of the greeting.

‘Louise.’

She was sitting on a park bench, wearing a light green skirt and top, her large handbag balanced on her lap.

‘I’ve been waiting for you,’ she said. ‘I tried to ring, but your phone seems to be out of order.’

I tapped the box I was carrying. ‘New one,’ I said. I wasn’t sure whether I was glad to see her or not; all I truly cared about that morning was making contact with Constance and I wanted to get the new phone installed as quickly as possible in case she tried to ring me.

Thank God you’re all right’ She was studying me in her usual fashion, looking deep into my eye as though trying to read my inner thoughts.

I stood over her, curious, despite my haste. What makes you say that, Louise?’

‘I had a terrible feeling about you.’

‘Nothing new there, then.’

This time it was far worse than ever before.’

‘Even worse than the night Henry was killed?’

‘Strangely, it was far worse. Last night I was overcome by an awful sense of dread and I knew it concerned you. I stayed awake just waiting for your call and when it didn’t come, I decided I would phone you. Unfortunately, there’s something wrong with your line and when I tried the operator I was told there was a fault and there was nothing they could do for the moment’

‘Did you… did you see anything? I mean did you have any visions?’

That was the other odd thing. I saw nothing at all, I just felt an overwhelming fear for you. Something blocked my thoughts towards you, Dis. I thought I might sense what was happening to you, but nothing came to me, only a terrible apprehension, and then, as I said, the dread. It was as if they were directing all their power towards you.’

‘I’ve got to get home,’ I said, disliking the effect she was having on me. I was beginning to feel debilitated again, my resolve waning.

She quickly stood. ‘Let me come with you. You need me more than you know.’

I hesitated, but I didn’t want to waste time arguing. ‘Okay,’ was all I said as I turned away and went loping off along the path towards the tenements on the other side of the road without checking to see if she was following..

One of my neighbours, a sprightly old cove whose apartment was directly above my own, was coming down the short flight of steps outside the big, ground floor entrance. His name was Sadler - I only knew him as
Mr
Sadler - a brisk but kindly septuagenarian who kept very much to himself and whose apparel was always as smart as his deportment. By his manner and his clipped tones I’d always assumed he had had a military background. Like I say, he kept very much to himself, but he never failed to bid me ‘Good-day,’ whenever we bumped into each other.

‘Mr Dismas,’ he hailed me. ‘Good-day, sir.’

I was a little preoccupied, but I managed a wave.

‘Everything all right, is it?’ He stood on the second step, head slightly back so that he was looking down his nose at me, a quizzical expression on his clean-shaven face.

‘Oh. Yeah,’ I mumbled back. ‘Fine.’

‘Only, heard the rumpus last night. Bit of a party, was it?’

‘Er, no. Bit of a nightmare, actually.’

Understanding dawned. ‘Ah, that explains. Sleepwalk too, do you? Quite a bit of running about involved.’

‘Yes. Sorry I disturbed you.’

‘Quite all right, old boy. You can always knock on my door if you ever have upsets, you know. Better still, bang on the ceiling - be down like a shot.’

I stopped by the railings at the top of the basement steps. That’s really kind of you, Mr Sadler. I’ll remember next time I have a bad dream.’

‘See that you do. S’what neighbours are for. Good-day again then.’

With that he stepped on to the pavement and marched towards the seafront for his daily constitutional.

By the time I was inserting the key into the front-door lock below, I heard Louise’s footsteps on the stone steps behind me. Earlier I had found the door locked as normal, no signs whatsoever of it having been forced open. The bedroom window hadn’t been smashed, the front door hadn’t been broken into, so what the hell had
really
happened last night? I led the way into the sitting-room, already tearing open the box I carried as I entered. Louise Broomfield took a seat and watched me as I ripped away the wrappings.

What happened to your old one, Dis?’ she asked.

Take a look for yourself,’ I replied, nodding towards the sideboard.

Her eyes widened when she saw the melted plastic.

The newly purchased machine was a sleek black job and I took it over to the telephone point and electric plug by the sideboard, quickly pulling out the old connections and replacing them with the new. ‘I need to call someone, Louise, so will you give me a minute?’

She stood immediately, taking the hint. ‘Of course. Let me make some tea for us both. Oh, it’s coffee for you, isn’t it?’

Yeah. Jar’s in the top cupboard, not in the lower one,’ I emphasized, already tapping in the number to Perfect Rest. I wanted to be alone when I spoke to Constance.

The phone rang quite a few times before it was answered. The voice at the other end was unfamiliar at first

‘Perfect Rest, can I help you?’

‘I’d like to speak to Constance Bell, please.’ I kept my voice calm, even though I wanted to scream down the line.

Did I catch a hint of caution in the voice now? Who’s calling, please?’

‘Nick Dismas.’ I gritted my teeth - I should have lied.

‘If you’ll just wait a moment.’

I should have faked a name, maybe even disguised my voice. I recognized the person at the other end now: it was the senior nurse and chief administrator, Rachel Fletcher, the tall, faded redhead who had been so terse with both myself and Constance on my first visit to the home. Obviously, Sunday was the normal receptionist’s day off. I waited at least three minutes before the nurse came back to me.

‘Ms Bell isn’t here.’ It was curt, the end of the matter.

‘She wasn’t there yesterday,’ I pointed out.

‘No, Mr Dismas. And nor is she today.’

‘Can you tell me where she is?’

‘I’m afraid I can’t.’ She didn’t even bother to enquire what my business was with her care-supervisor. She’d been briefed, I knew it.

‘So will she be there tomorrow?’

‘Ms Bell will be away for some time.’

I
really
didn’t like the sound of that. Then can I speak to Dr Wisbeech?’

‘Dr Wisbeech is unavailable.’

‘When will he
be
available?’

‘I don’t have that information. Would you like to leave a message?’ Her voice was still flat, almost a monotone, but she couldn’t hide the irritation.

Sure, like ‘Fuck you,’ I thought, but, ‘No thanks,’ I said. Before I rang off though, I decided on another tack. ‘Wait, there is a message you can give the doctor.’

‘Yes?’ A cold, resigned response.

‘You can tell him I’m coming over there and that I won’t leave until I’ve spoken to Constance Bell.’

‘But I’ve already told you, Ms Bell isn’t here.’

‘Just give your boss the message.’

‘Would you hold the line, Mr Dismas?’ The irritation was even more obvious and my name was said with just a little contempt.

There was silence for a while and I waited impatiently, my coldness easily matching that of the nurse’s. Finally, I heard a couple of clicks as I was transferred, and then a new voice came on, this one cool, urbane, an indication of the person who spoke.

‘What seems to be the problem, Mr Dismas?’ Wisbeech said.

The problem, Doctor, is that I want to speak to Constance Bell and all I’m getting from your people is the runaround.’

‘I’m not sure I understand what you mean. Wasn’t it explained to you that Constance isn’t with us today?’

I bit on my lip to contain my anger. Condescending bastard. Yes, I was told, but I’d like to know where Constance is and why I can’t be put in touch with her.’

‘I’m afraid she has been rather unwell for the past two days. Ever since her visit to see you, in fact. Constance is a sensitive soul and obviously her health is delicate; what she witnessed at your offices would have traumatized the strongest of us.’

‘She told you about the murder of my colleague?’

‘Mr Dismas, it’s all over the newspapers, particularly in today’s more sensational Sundays.’

I hadn’t seen the papers that day, nor did I want to: I was only too relieved that the Press now understood I wasn’t a suspect and had left me alone.

‘I had to read about it myself,’ Wisbeech went on, ‘on the day after it happened. Only at my insistence did she explain to me the circumstances of her absence the night before. Poor thing was extremely upset.’ His voice had taken on an accusatory tone.

‘I want to talk to her.’

‘No, Mr Dismas, I don’t think that would be at all appropriate. I’ve already mentioned Constance’s frailty, both physically and mentally, and it seems to me that her association with you, as brief as it was…’ I noted the
was!…
‘has led to a deterioration in her health. I am her guardian, Mr Dismas, and my considered opinion is that you should not see her again.’

You can’t blame me for what happened.’ My anger was becoming harder to control.

‘Perhaps not. But as I said, I am responsible for Constance and I will do my utmost to spare her any more anxiety than her condition forces her to bear. Surely you, of all people, must empathize with the unhappiness her disability causes. Why, indeed, should she have to cope with any more distress, particularly when it can so easily be avoided?’

‘Because that’s how life is. People like us want to be treated like everybody else, and when shit happens we can take it like anybody else.’

‘I think that murder, mutilation, and boy prostitutes constitutes a trifle more than, as you so vulgarly put it, “shit” happening. And you see, I am not only duty-bound to take care of Constance because both her late parents were great friends of mine, but because she is my ward, I’m also legally bound. My role is to guide and protect her, to look after her interests. Forgive me for saying so, Mr Dismas, but you are not in her best interest.’

‘And your brother? Is he some kind of father-figure to her, too?’ I didn’t know why I’d said it - anger, frustration, a need to rattle his cage? Or was it that natural instinct of mine, my old pal, the snooper’s nose? Could be I just wanted to stir the waters.

‘My brother?’ I heard Wisbeech say, a new uncertainty in his voice.’ What has my brother got to do with this?’

‘He shares the business with you, doesn’t he?’ I came back quickly, but with no idea of where it was going.

That’s hardly any concern of yours.’ The iciness that came down the line should have frozen my ear. He became abrupt. ‘I think I’ve spent enough time talking to you, Mr Dismas.’ Funny how he now made the ‘Mr’ sound like an insult. ‘I’ve plenty of important matters to deal with, so I will bid you goodbye.’

Wait a minute. When can I see Constance again?’

‘Haven’t you been listening? You cannot, you will not. It’s as simple as that.’