Six Dead Men (20 page)

A crowd of pre Christmas revellers came up the road, jostling their way towards the local cinema. Their chatter was a loud buzz that pierced painfully at his brain. They were so damned care free. He wanted to scream. Instead he followed them in, bought a ticket and waited for the lights to dim and the screen to light up. He sat in a darkened corner of the auditorium, away from the back row where the students were still chattering and making out. He hugged himself fiercely while the soundtrack swelled and the lava in his belly welled up and racked his body with silent sobs that eventually spent themselves in the tears which spilled onto his jacket.

*****

Joe sat in the hotel bar and watched Deed pushing his way into the hotel through its revolving doors. He was no longer the poker-faced detective Joe had met a few months ago. Deed’s face was full of the emotions brought on by the day’s events.
He clings to solitude when he’s in a crisis. Well, understandable, he’s always had to cope on his own. Might as well break him of that habit now.

Joe slid off the bar stool, and walked to the entrance of the bar where he shouted. “Bobby!”

He thought for a moment Deed was going to ignore his call but then he altered the direction of his stride and Joe watched him struggling to bring a smile to his face.

“Joe.” Deed inclined his head slightly.

There was a washed out look to Deed. Joe took charge swiftly. “A Glenfiddich my man” He said to the waiter behind the bar before Deed could protest “and another Guinness for me please.” Turning back towards Deed Joe continued. “Have you eaten at all since breakfast?” He tried for nonchalance but his concern came through in his voice none the less.

Suddenly Deed was smiling. Not a complete smile, just a little one, but it had more of a hint of amusement than his earlier attempt had.

“What did I say?” asked Joe.

“It wasn’t what you said, it was how you said it. You came over all motherly then. I’ve never been mothered by a psychic before. Does this mean you’re going to feed me my dinner too?”

Joe chuckled. “If I have to you great lump. Drink up. I need to keep up my strength. I think we should go into Didsbury. There are some really great curry places there. I’m famished. Meeting Madie is going to take it out of me.” Joe gulped at his Guinness. “And are you ever going to tell me what Sylvie came to speak to you about in private? Was it your father?”

Deed’s whisky sloshed messily over his hand as he started and looked over at Joe. Then he sighed. “Why am I surprised? I’ve been working with you long enough. I should have gotten over the amazed part shouldn’t I?”

Joe shook his head and raised his eyebrows to his hairless hairline. “Not necessarily. Sometimes I wake up in the morning with the knowledge someone is dead or dying and I’m still taken by surprise. Maybe we need to remember each day brings some new miracle to the fore.”

Deed gazed pensively into the liquid swirling in his tumbler then looked up at Joe. “Yes, I’m beginning to see that for myself.”

Chapter 23

Madie stared disbelievingly as Detective Inspector Robert Deed stood alongside a silver grey Rover parked across the road from Sylvie’s front door. She turned sharply from the window of her eyrie and moved quickly towards the door. Then she scuttled back to the window. Her eyes drank in his frame as he stood with a stocky man, in a thick sheepskin coat and woolly hat, who had his back to Madie. She noticed Deed seemed nervous and his companion was squeezing Deed’s shoulder.

Madie’s heart ricocheted in her chest. Her conflicting emotions urged her to fling herself out of Sylvie’s front door and into the hug of his familiar presence or to cower and hide, and stay hidden for the rest of time. She searched her room for a suitable hiding spot but saw only the narrow closet in the corner of the room; the dark, musty space beneath the bed which was only big enough for an assortment of spiders to hide under and the chair which was too small for her to crouch beneath. A tap at her door startled her. Sylvie’s voice was muffled through the thick wood of the door. Madie turned towards the door.
It's a doppelgänger, just a doppelgänger.

“I’ll be down in a minute Sylvie.”

When she turned back to the window the two men were no longer there. She stared balefully at the spot where she had seen him. Her palms grew cold where they lay against the frosty glass. The cold seeped up her arms and goose bumps shivered her back to the reality of her room. Her hand prints began to mist over. The edges blurred and lost definition as they faded from the window.
You fool Madison. You're seeing visions now. You want him to be here so badly you're imagining him outside.
Madie turned back to the window, hoping he'd re materialise.
The car's still there. Of course it is Madie. It was always there. Him being there was just a mirage of your
wishful thoughts.
She sighed deeply and went slowly, in contemplative mood, to meet Sylvie’s friend.

The man was in his 40s. He had a kind round face and gentle eyes. He was almost completely bald, but appeared totally bald because his remaining hair was shaved close to the skin. When he smiled at her it was with his eyes as well as his mouth.
He's sort of like a monk. A monk who's a lumberjack in his spare time. His shirt is like those you see men wearing in American comedies about the wilderness.

Madie’s initial anxiety and confusion diminished somewhat once she was alone with him. She smiled nervously at the man.

“My name's Joseph Carpenter. But just call me Joe.”

“You have the same initials as Jesus.”

He chuckled. “You’re the first person to point that out to me.”

“I’m sorry. When I’m nervous I say stupid things.”

“It wasn’t stupid Madie. Can I call you Madie?”

She nodded.

*****

It was difficult for Joe to keep up the introductory conversation he had been hoping for because as soon as she walked down the stairs he was bombarded with images and impressions. He felt almost breathless with the amount of information overload he was receiving.

The hulking presence of Robert Deed, larger than life... almost heroic. Well, I knew Robert would be there. Just not larger than life. Christ, she's so desperate for him to find her. Wants him to. Okay, Lady Justice... sword dripping with blood... really large set of scales... tipping the balance. Madie as justice... countless numbers of men dropping down dead around her. Same picture Sylvie saw. Maybe I'm just recreating. Wait, something else. A terrier... black and white... growing in size... giant... slavering, evil looking thing.
Joe gasped and flung his hand up to his face in a protective gesture as the terrier in his vision threw itself at the figure of lady Justice and ripped out her throat. Blood spurted from the wound till a river of it ran all around and the bodies of the dead men floated out of view. Lady Justice looked at Joe beseechingly. Then she turned and stretched out her arms to the figure of Deed, which failed to notice her distress and didn't move a muscle. Lady Justice crumpled, her scales splashed into the clotting crimson tide, sinking beneath the eddies and her sword sunk beside it.

As Joe's head cleared he was confronted by a startled Madie, hands covering her mouth, looking at him with those same beseeching eyes. He took a deep breath to steady himself.

“Madie, please.” Joe took her gently by the arm and drew her towards the dining room. She started and tried to pull away, her eyes bright with fear but he held on firmly. He sat her in a chair. Then pulled another out from under the table and manoeuvred it until it was parallel with hers. He sat down. Their knees were almost touching. He took her hands in his own firmly but kindly. Her fear at his willingness to touch her was a sharp prickle in the air. He could sense her waiting for calamity. Madie frowned and tried to pull away again.

Joe held firm as he shook his head. “You can’t hurt me. You need to listen to what I've got to say.” Joe’s eyes held contact with Madie’s as he paused and he knew she sensed the gravity of the situation. She stilled and became more composed.

"Are you very religious Madie?"

"Not really, no. My mum was, went to church every Sunday, did the flowers, all the church bazaars. I used to go with her, but after she died..."

"You went because it made her happy."

"It was a chance for me to be alone with her, without Allie and all the others."

"Did she talk to you about her beliefs?"

"Sort of, just mainly about how God's justice is harsh but fair."

"What do you think about that?"

"I don't really think it's fair... this happening to me I mean. Why does it have to be me?" There was a wobble in Madie's voice.

"I don't know Madie, but it is you. This is all happening for a reason. The men who've died, there's more to them you see."

"What do you mean?"

*****

Madie and Joe talked for over an hour. Joe saw swirls of confusion in Madie's eyes. A new weight had been placed on her shoulders.
Amazing how she's managed to keep it together so long. She's tougher than she looks.

"Will I be like this forever?" Her expression was one of deep sorrow.

"I don't really know Madie." Joe knew it was crucial to help her feel supported. She had been alone far too long.

"It's horrifying knowing it's down to me. But these papers you showed me," Madie looked towards the pile of papers sat on Sylvie's dining room table. "the ones about how Calvin, Danny, Max, about how they'd been involved in all those crimes - you haven't just made those up to make me feel better?"

Joe could feel Madie's uncertainty coming off her in waves. "No. They did those terrible things." He was glad he had persuaded Robert to get the copies. For Robert it had been difficult to understand why Madie would need proof. But Joe understood.

"Calvin used to go to church every Sunday. That's how I met him you know. At church."

Now isn't that such a familiar tale. If only attending church was a sure fire way of nailing a person's proclivities to the wall.
"People aren't always what they seem Madie." Joe knew it was hard for her to grasp the reality of what she understood to be her world.

"Was I just incredibly gullible? How could I not see what Calvin was?"

"Because people like that are very good at living two separate lives. Often the worst offenders of crime can appear to be the most charming people in public." Joe shivered. He had met so many in his time.

"The world is too complicated Joe." Madie hugged herself and hunched her shoulders as though she was cold. “I think I need some time by myself.”

Joe finally began to read a degree of resignation in Madie's demeanour. “I actually think what you need is people around you who understand what you’re going through. You’ve been isolating yourself for far too long, carrying the burden on your own. A diary just makes you dwell on things you feel you should have done.”

Madie looked at Joe carefully. “How do you know about my diary?”

“I saw a... vision of it once, with a picture of a knight on a horse and a young woman reaching up to him.”

"La Belle Dame sans Merci. That's the name of the picture. Do you know French?"

Joe nodded.

"I don't. I had to look it up on the internet. Sort of apt don't you think?" Her lips were twisted in a wry smile.

Joe reached over and squeezed her hand. She smiled at him wanly as she stood up.

“I just need a bit of time in my room to think all this through. Can you ask Father Andrew to come up and see me in a bit?”

Joe nodded his assent as he stood and began to replace the chairs they had been using. He turned to see her wavering at the foot of the stairs. Madie seemed paralysed and was staring, transfixed at the coat rack. Her head turned towards the sitting room and the soft lull of voices beyond. Then she moved as though wading through waist high water until her hand was resting on the handle of the sitting room door. It sat there for quite some time. Until, with a gentle flick of her wrist she pushed the handle and the door swung slowly open, creaking only slightly.

*****

In the hallway with one hand resting on the newel post. She rubbed at the roundness of the smooth oak with the pad of her thumb. The action soothed her, as though the wax polish Sylvie used was seeping in through her skin and buffing away her hard edges. She half listened to the voices rising and falling like evensong from the sitting room across the hallway. She smelt the faint hint of pine from the winter fire.
Father O'Malley must have brought someone else to see Sylvie.
Her eyes glanced briefly at the sheepskin coat hanging from the coat rack. Peeking out of its pocket was a familiar looking wool cap. Next to the coat there hung a heavy duty, stone coloured fleece. It didn't belong to Sylvie or Father O'Malley. She had seen that sheepskin coat and a similar fleece an hour earlier but had discounted it as a wishful mirage. The four and a quarter steps it took to walk from the stairs to the sitting room door seemed to take a life time. With her hand poised on the handle she wondered what would happen if it was him.
Robert Deed, detective inspector. No, not any more, Joe said he's working with a kidnap unit now. Why didn't Joe tell me he was here? I didn't ask. Joe said Robert was meant to help me. Is he going to help me now? What will he say to me? What will I say to him? Well, I've got to know if it’s him first. I could be working myself up all for nothing.
With a flick of her wrist Madie pushed the handle and the door swung slowly open, creaking only slightly.