The dark side of my soul (18 page)

A young woman, dressed entirely in black approached us. “Refreshments are at the far end, please help yourselves,” she said with a polite smile before moving away.

We walked towards the display and were both amazed at the amount and variety of the spread. Half lobsters, prawns, langoustines, crab claws, smoked salmon, fresh salmon, oysters, and a whole selection of other seafood, some of which I didn’t even recognise. A little further away were plates of all kinds of cold meats and beyond that a vast selection of different cheeses and bread and this was just the cold food. Along the other way was another display of hot food. A feast. At both ends of the buffet pretty young ladies dressed in black skirts and white aprons were handing out bone china plates to the hungry funeral-goers. Champagne was also unlimited and being served by male bar tenders in one corner of the marquee.

“My God,” Sandra exclaimed. “This must have cost a fortune.”

“She is certainly giving him a good send off,” I added.

“She most definitely has inherited the lot and I bet it is a lot.” Sandra said as we made our way to one side to collect our china and utensils.

After spending some while selecting our food and drink we sat at a table for four although the other seats were unoccupied. Most guests were seated although some remained standing in groups engrossed in conversation. As I gazed around I saw Detective Armstrong to be one of these, standing near the entrance with two other dark suited men. He noticed me and merely nodded his acknowledgement before continuing his dialogue with his associates. I had not seen him since the day he had called at my home and therefor it seemed fair to assume that the alibi that Sandra and I had furnished had stood up to investigation. That brilliant piece of improvisation that Sandra had conceived had served me well and I knew that I had a great deal to thank her for. If it were not for her I may not have been free to enjoy the hospitality of my late good friend.

When I had almost cleared my plate and finished the champagne, Julie, minus the hat, came by. She kissed Sandra on the cheek then came around to my side of the table and sat next to me. She held my hand and kissed me but this time it was only a quick peck on the cheek, probably because Sandra was watching with a penetrating glare.

“Harry,” she said breathlessly as though she had been rushing around, “I wanted to see you. Firstly I wanted to thank you for your brave effort at trying to save poor David. The young couple who came to your rescue told me that you nearly lost your own life in the process. It must have been terrible.” It sounded like she was acting and not very well either.

I smiled and she squeezed my hand and I could feel Sandra’s eyes burning into me.

“But there’s something else I need to ask you. I was going to go to the bank but then I thought of you. I need someone to help me sort out David’s affairs. You know, deal with the probate and all that rubbish. I haven’t got a clue where to start. I don’t expect any favours. I’ll pay the proper rate. You’re a financial advisor. Could you do that for me?”

It sounded an interesting proposition. Spending a little time with Julie might be fun but I could see Sandra’s eyes turning into daggers across the table. “Well it depends on the Will. I take it David made a Will?”

“Oh yes,” she was even more gushing. Was she doing it on purpose?

“In that case it’s down to the executor of the Will to decide who to employ.”

“That’s me. David made me the executor.”

“You, not a bank or a solicitor,” I said, a little surprised.

“No, me, but I guess he always knew that you would be able to help me.”

“Well then it would seem to be no problem.” Suddenly I could see pound notes flashing. “My usual fee is one per cent of the gross value of the Estate, but if it turns out to be complicated there may be some additional expenses involved.”

“Oh,” at first Julie appeared a little taken aback then she brightened up. “I thought it would be a lot more than that. One per cent is fine, it’s almost nothing,” She laughed. “And I don’t think it should be that complicated. David left everything to me.”

I cast a swift glance at Sandra who was giving me her well known I told you so look.

“I tell you what,” continued Julie, now almost unstoppable, “ Give it a couple of days to let me get this lot sorted out,” she waved her arm nonchalantly at the surroundings, “and I will get all David’s papers and files out for you to deal with. There are so many of them. I‘ll give you a call in a day or so.” She planted another kiss on my cheek. “Have to go now. Have to mingle.”

Sandra’s glare had not softened. If anything the daggers had been sharpened to a razor’s edge. She leaned forward and spoke so that no one else could hear. “I thought you only mingled at weddings and parties, not bloody funerals. You be careful of her, she’s dangerous. Make sure you charge her the full rate. No special discounts for friends, no mate’s rates.” The venom in her voice told me that she was annoyed.

“Don’t worry, I intend to charge her the full whack and if this little crowd is anything to go by, David will have quite a tidy Estate. He wasn’t just a manager or an area boss at the bank, I’d say he was probably right at the top, a director or the like, which means in his younger day he was doubtless handed stacks of share options. He could well be worth a fortune. I’d say three million at least, maybe a lot more, I won’t know until I see his stuff but suppose his Estate is five or six million. One per cent of that is fifty or sixty grand for what is a relatively simple job. That almost doubles our little nest egg and Julie will hardly notice it. She’ll be happy to pay me.”

Sandra simply grunted.

Sixteen

Two days later Julie called. She had sorted out the paperwork relating to David’s finances and wanted me to go to her home that evening to take a look at it and help her get everything in order so that we could begin the process of obtaining the Grant of Probate. Much to Sandra’s displeasure I agreed.

“Why the hell can’t she bring the stuff here?” Sandra argued.

“There’s bound to be a lot of items that she hasn’t found and I’m sure David probably had a lot of computer records,” I replied. “If I can get on his computer it will be a lot quicker and save me traipsing back and forth.”

I knew Sandra was not happy, she didn’t like the idea of me spending time with Julie, especially with no David around. I tried to placate her. “Think of the money we’re going to earn and not only from David’s Estate. Julie’s no financial genius; she’s going to need a lot of help and advice in the future. She could turn out to be my best client.” That was absolutely the wrong thing to say.

“Oh yes I’m sure she could.” My wife’s sarcasm was biting. “I don’t like her and I don’t trust her. Julie is a money grabbing harlot who has got you wrapped around her little finger.”

Sandra was jealous of anyone who might be the slightest threat to our relationship. Even when we were much younger I recognised that she had a jealous streak. She would become insanely angry if I so much as looked at another woman and the idea of Julie being around for the long term did not please Sandra in the slightest.

She stomped about the house in a foul mood for the rest of the morning until her friends picked her up to take her to Canterbury for another shopping expedition. She was still in a huff when she left and although saddened by her attitude I wasn’t really worried. I knew that Sandra would soon come around when she learned how much my fee was going to be for dealing with David’s Estate. I’d make it up to her, spoil her and by tomorrow our argument would be forgotten and I would be back in her good books, at least, I hoped that’s how it would be.

After the women had gone and with the afternoon to myself I decided to take it easy and relax with a couple of stiff brandies, I was going to be working in the evening and needed a little downtime. I rarely succumbed to alcohol during the day unless I was stressed or it was a special occasion, so the second large measure of Martell really hit the spot and I eased back on the sofa in the lounge with my feet up on the other end (something Sandra frowned upon).

David’s death had been a terrible blow and it was hard to come to terms with the way in which he perished but when I examined our friendship I wondered if we were ever that close. He was a great guy and invariably good company (except when he spouted his religious views) but it was the two women, Sandra and Margaret who were the real pals. David and I were the other halves, the ones that made up the foursome. Nevertheless it pained me to lose him, especially to such a violent death, but Julie on the other hand appeared to be getting over it surprisingly well, and I surmised that as usual Sandra might be right, young Julie had been after the money all along. Anyway it was over now, in the past, and I was able to lock the memory away in that part of my brain reserved for ‘items to be forgotten’ like the murders that I had committed.

I had to look to the future and that was distinctly brighter. There had been no further contact with the police, so it appeared that I was in the clear and that night I would find out exactly how much my old friend, David, was worth and what my one percent would be. Things were looking up at last.

The doorbell rang and my moment of pleasant expectation was totally ruined. It still made my heart miss a beat each time I heard the sound in case it was a call from the police. I put down the empty glass I had been nursing and cautiously went to answer the call but as I approached the door only one shape shimmered through the frosted glass so I relaxed, the crime squad always came in pairs. When, however, I opened the door I was surprised to see Detective Inspector Armstrong standing alone in the rain. He was dressed in a light jacket and jeans with no overcoat and looked completely different from when he was suited and booted at the funeral.

“Mister Conrad, I’m glad I caught you, I didn’t know if you would be in. This is an unofficial visit but I have some news. I wonder if I may step inside for a minute.”

This was not good. After a couple of large brandies my tongue was likely to be loosened and Sandra wasn’t here to cover any slip up so I offered an excuse. “I’m sorry this is not a good time. I have an awful headache. Losing my friend David the way I did, well you know, I keep thinking about it.”

The Detective nodded. “I see, yes I understand. It must have been traumatic when David slipped over that cliff.”

Did I detect a veiled accusation in his statement? Surely he could not believe that I had let go of David on purpose? Lucky, I thought, that I had witnesses to prove otherwise.

He paused for a moment but made no attempt to leave, “but I assure you this will only take a minute and it is rather good news, from your point of view I mean, and I am also getting rather wet.”

What could I do, force him to leave, shut the door in his face? And he said this was good news, I was already curious. He was soaked, his casual clothes no protection against the steady downpour, so reluctantly I yielded to his request but kept telling myself to be wary and to guard every word I said. He stepped inside, and bending over removed his wet shoes; placing them with precision on the little shoe rack we kept by the door.

“Still have that fine clock I see,” he commented as he stood up.

The gun was still hidden in the secret compartment, and the last thing I wanted was him to inspect the bloody clock again, so I offered to take his jacket and showed him into the lounge.

“That’s very kind of you,” he said, removing the damp coat and handing it to me. Once he was safely seated I hung the garment in the kitchen and returned to the lounge to take up my position on the sofa but this time I sat up straight with my arms by my side. He was on one of the armchairs opposite me and as usual seemed to be watching every move I made, reading my body language for signs of nervousness I suppose, or maybe waiting to see how I reacted to what he was about to say.

“Is your wife not home?” He asked pleasantly.

“No, she gone shopping with friends to Canterbury,” I replied, keeping as light a tone as possible.

He nodded. “I see. Well it is good news,” He smiled but it was a false bitter smile and never for a second did his eyes leave mine. “We’ve got the killer of the Bovey family and the travellers.”

My mouth dropped open and for a second I was unable to respond. When I did manage to say something, in spite of all my efforts I was unable to hide my surprise and I stuttered hopelessly. “You… You…… You’ve arrested somebody?”

“He’s at the station now. He’s been charged with three double murders.” Detective Armstrong was watching me intently for my reaction.

I wanted to smile, I wanted to laugh, Christ I wanted to leap up in the air and yell out and it took a great deal of self-control to stop doing all three but somehow I managed to keep a serious face when I replied. “Well that is good news, that’s a very good piece of police work. You’ve done a great job.”

The Detective’s eyes never left mine for a second. “I don’t take any credit for it. Archie, your golfing buddy, he found the guy. He did all the leg work. He’s the one who should take the credit.”

I was still stunned. I didn’t know what to say. After a long silence in which Detective Armstrong continued to unnerve me with his stare, I ventured, “Who is he, the killer?”

“He’s a young man who, to use modern terminology, has learning difficulties. You could also describe him as being mentally challenged. In my younger days we would simply have referred to him as a nutter. He’s well known to us, but personally I wouldn’t have thought him capable of such crimes.” The Detective took a long deep breath that was almost a sigh. “However he was in the vicinity of all three double murders at about the times they took place. He drives a white van and was in or near Lyminge forest the morning the Bovey brothers were shot.”

I remembered the white van that was stopped by the police that morning, the one that was in front of me in the mist.

Detective Armstrong continued, eyes glued to mine. “The young man in question lives in Sellinge and he was in the vicinity the night the travellers were killed. He says he was at home but he can’t prove it. He was also in Folkestone the night Terry Bovey and his associate were shot. He says he was drinking in a bar but no one remembers him, so unlike some more fortunate folks, he has no alibi.”

I let the clear reference to me go without comment and asked, “Does he have a motive?”

“We have been trying to find one but it hardly matters anyway. He has made a full confession.”

A confession. That really shook me. Why would anyone admit to murders they didn’t commit? “He’s admitted he’s guilty?”

“Yes”

The policeman’s eyes seemed to be drilling down right into my brain as though he were trying to read my thoughts and although his gaze was disconcerting, even unnerving, I managed to return it nonchalantly like we were having a friendly chat. Just a couple of old mates passing time. “So he’s admitted everything?”

“Absolutely,” Detective Armstrong rubbed his chin without blinking or looking away. “Archie is a good cop, a brilliant interrogator. After eighteen hours straight with him I know a lot of people who would confess to anything. Jesus, I swear he could get the Pope to admit he was a Muslim.”

Apparently Detective Armstrong didn’t believe the kid was guilty. He still thought I was the murderer, heck he knew I was, but now Archie had nailed someone else there was nothing he could do about it. He had no proof, no evidence of my involvement. Then, when it had sunk in, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop my features breaking into a smile.

“So you’re off the hook Mister Conrad. I thought you’d be pleased.” The Detective said in a calculated tone.

I wiped away the smile. “Was I ever on the hook? You don’t think I was a suspect do you?” I asked as innocently as possible.

“Everyone’s a suspect Mr Conrad, until they can be eliminated from our enquiries.”

Another awkward silence ensued in which I almost offered the Detective a drink, but he was off duty and I think he may have accepted and I didn’t really want to make him too comfortable. The sooner he was gone the better so I stood up and offered him the way out instead.

“Thank you for taking the time to come and tell me.” It required a great effort to stop myself grinning.

He took the hint to leave and got to his feet. “Well it’s my pleasure, it’s not often I bring good tidings, it’s usually the opposite.”

After I gave him his jacket, he put on his shoes and I saw him out but before he walked away he turned back to face me. “By the way, we have not found the weapon. The kid says he can’t remember what he did with it. He’s lying of course. Strange though don’t you think? If we were able to find it that would be damning evidence wouldn’t you say? Well, bye for now.”

I watched him go and closed the door then when I was sure he was out of earshot I jumped, threw my fist in the air and at the same time yelled at the top of my voice, “Yes.”

I banged my hand against the hall wall and cried out loud, “Good old Archie.” What a day this was turning out to be. My luck had really changed for the better. I had to drive that evening and knew that I shouldn’t drink too much but this called for a top up, just a small one, a celebratory sip, but as I poured the measure into the glass my thoughts turned to the young man who had been arrested.

Of course it was a shame that someone else had to take the fall but that was life wasn’t it, like walking by an old building when a piece of masonry falls and hits you on the head. Being in the wrong place at the wrong time is one of those things that life deals you. I should know. I had had enough shit thrown at me over the last month or so.

I reviewed the murders in my head and felt justified in my actions. Each one had been in self-defence, at least to a point. What was impossible to explain was the way I had enjoyed each experience, the feeling of euphoria as I shot each victim and the power the pistol had bestowed on me. If I had the chance I would not hesitate to kill again. A switch had been flipped in my brain and I felt no remorse, guilt or sorrow for the dead so why should I feel bad about some other fool taking the rap for me?

Anyway I didn’t think the case against the kid would hold up in court. All the police had was circumstantial evidence and a confession that Archie had browbeaten out of the accused. Any decent lawyer would surely get him off. No, there was no need to worry on that score, when the case came to court the kid would get off and the trail for the real perpetrator would have gone cold. I sipped the brandy, “Here’s to you Detective.” I said.