A Confusion of Murders Read online

  Dad’s settled in and is happy in his own way even if he doesn’t have a clue where he is. Every visit he tells me that he’s been talking to Mum on the radio and she’s really looking forward to visiting. Nick is shocked at his deterioration when he visits as he usually only manages to see him at the weekend, but because I see him every other day, it’s not so noticeable to me.

  It’s a slow Friday afternoon at work and the heat wave is back; we have all the windows open but there’s no breeze, just the sounds from the precinct. Time is dragging and I’m not helping by keep looking at the clock. The desk fan is directing a lovely cool breeze at me which is okay as long as I don’t move from my desk. I had to fight Ian for it when I found it in the stationery cupboard and the only reason he hasn’t pinched it is because I told him if he did I’d cut the plug off. The downside is that everything on my desk must be weighted down to stop it blowing away.

  I look at my watch; three o’clock, two more hours to go.

  I get up and wander into the tea room and draw myself a glass of water. The sink is filthy, and someone’s obviously had spaghetti hoops recently as the plughole is full of them. I will not clean the sink. Again. I must be the only person who ever does.

  I close the door and sit at the table and use the opportunity to ring Nick.

  He picks up straight away and I hear voices and music, the chinking of glasses, sounds of a bar.

  ‘Hey, Sis, how’s it hanging.’

  ‘Yeah, good. How about you?’

  ‘In Soho, doing a shoot in Barney’s Bar for Solo menswear.’

  ‘Sounds like you’re on a night out.’

  ‘I wish,’ he lowers his voice. ’Bitch of a fashion editor, no-one can do anything right. I’d like to knock his goofy teeth right down his fucking throat.’

  I laugh. ‘Just think of the pay packet.’

  ‘Believe me that’s the only thing that’s keeping me here. Sorry about the weekend, I’d much rather be there than here. Don’t know why we have to shoot on a Saturday and Sunday. Loads of punters watching us too. Stupid idea.’

  We must do something about paying Dad’s bills as we don’t know how long he’s going to be in hospital. So, I’m going to Dad’s tomorrow morning to look for the Power of Attorney. Nick remembers Dad getting us to sign it just after Mum died so fingers crossed I’ll be able to find it.

  ‘It’s fine, don’t worry. I’m sure it’ll be in his desk, you know what a tidy freak Dad is. If I can’t find it, you can help me look for it next weekend.’

  ‘How is the old fella?’

  ‘Happy enough but away with the fairies. He hasn’t even asked about the house or going home. He still thinks he’s in a hotel and Mum’s coming to visit.’

  Nick laughs. ‘At least he’s happy, it could be so much worse.’

  He’s right of course. We’ve seen some of the other patients and while a few of them are like Dad, some of them are pitiful. One lady lies in bed crying ‘help me’ the whole time, over and over again. I dread to think what sort of hell she’s trapped in. Another old man shuffles around the room constantly, stopping to pick up imaginary objects from the floor. So yes, Dad is lucky. He’s living a nice dream, not a nightmare like some other poor souls.

  We chat for a while longer and then I reluctantly hang up as I’ve been away from my desk for too long. Just hope my fan is still there when I get back.

  The fan’s still there and so is Bert who’s leaning on my desk gasping for breath, a screwed-up invoice clutched in his hand.

  I extract the invoice from his grip. ‘Thanks. Do you want to sit down, Bert?’ I pull out my chair for him and he flops into it and draws a shuddering breath.

  ‘Can I get you anything Bert? Glass of water?’ Or maybe an oxygen tank or defibrillator.

  ‘No, sokay,’ he gasps, thumping his chest. ‘Be alright in a minute.’

  ‘You want to put your foot down and tell Lev to bring his own invoices up,’ calls Ian from across the room. ‘Taking a bloody liberty sending a man of your age up and down those stairs.’

  The police released Lev without charge after a few hours. His wife Dagmar had turned him in to the police as she thought he’d been having an affair and wanted revenge. She was the one who scratched his face, but Lev let himself be arrested rather than admit that a woman had done it. Dagmar’s been charged with wasting police time, but Lev has forgiven her.

  ‘It’s fine.’ Bert gasps, flapping his hand at Ian.

  Ralph comes out of his office for his daily three o’clock mooch. He claps Bert on the back.

  ‘You all right mate? You’re not going to peg out or anything are you?’

  Bert flaps his hand again, his breathing slowly returning to normal.

  ‘Good, cos I don’t fancy giving you the kiss of life if you get my drift. Now, when you get back downstairs you tell Lev to get his skinny arse up here because I want a word with him.’

  Lev hasn’t been in the office since he was arrested, too embarrassed. It’s probably just as well as we’re all feeling slightly uncomfortable that we were so ready to believe he was a murderer.

  The killer is still at large, and Glenda is still missing. No-one’s coming out and saying it but there’s not much hope of her being found alive. The post mortem results on Suzanne Jenkins have come back and it looks as if she was killed within a day of going missing. Strangled. The story even made the nationals for a while, some bright spark at the Sun called the murderer The Frogham Throttler and it seems to have stuck. It was hot news for a while but the lack of an arrest over the last few weeks has seen the broadcast vans in the precinct disappear one by one. No more blondes doing their piece to camera in front of the supermarket. We did wonder if they’d be back when Lev was arrested but as the police only held him for a few hours it never made the news.

  Bert eventually recovers enough to clomp down the stairs and shortly afterwards we hear Lev’s hesitant footsteps, then silence. He’s lurking on the landing.

  ‘Come in Lev, I know you’re out there,’ shouts Ralph.

  Lev slinks into the office, head down, looking at the floor.

  ‘Right Lev, time to put a stop to this hiding downstairs. You’ve done nothing wrong so there’s no need to be embarrassed.’

  Lev peers out from under his baseball cap. He doesn’t look happy.

  ‘You think I throttle.’

  ‘No, no, course we don’t Lev, we never thought that did we?’

  Lucy keeps her head down and Ian smirks.

  ‘Of course, we didn’t think that Lev,’ says Rupert ‘That was the furthest thing from our minds.’

  I murmur agreement, Lucy nods and Ian just grins.

  Lev looks around at us, his face pinched and sad. ‘Why no one defend me? You all see that she-devil arrest me and no one speak.’

  ‘Now come on Lev, no-one believed you were guilty, but we can hardly argue with the police, can we?’

  Lev doesn’t look convinced. Ralph’s patience now exhausted, he puts his arm around Lev’s shoulders in a brotherly fashion.

  ‘That’s enough of that now Lev, because quite frankly you’re starting to give my arse a headache. So, no more sending Bert up here. You don’t want his death on your conscience now do you?’ Not the best choice of words.

  Lev looks slightly mollified, mutters his agreement and plods back down the stairs.

  ‘Was it my imagination or did he have a black eye?’ asks Ian when he’s gone.

  ‘Surely not,’ says Rupert.

  ‘He did. Expect his wife’s been knocking him around again, or,’ he adds, ‘he really is the throttler and he’s done another one.’

  I’m buzzed into Blossom Unit and the smell of shepherd’s pie and cabbage tells me what’s been for dinner. Dad’s settled on the sofa in the television room watching the news.

  ‘Oh hello.’ He looks round at me and smiles.

  ‘Hello, Dad.’ I bend to kiss him. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Not so bad.’ He carries on watching the news th
en turns to me when it’s finished.

  ‘There’s been a right to-do here today.’

  ‘Has there?’

  ‘You know that lady that does the knitting? The one that’s always sat out there?’ He nods in the direction of the lounge.

  I look through the internal window to the lounge.

  ‘There’s no point in looking, she’s not there,’ he says, ‘she’s dead.’

  ‘Dead?’ I’m shocked, she looked fine the other day.

  ‘Very sudden, it was, lots of rushing around and important looking people up here. There was even a copper came in earlier, they have to have one for an unexplained death. Apparently, they found her dead in her bed this morning.’

  ‘God, that’s awful, poor woman.’

  ‘It is,’ Dad says thoughtfully. ‘She’ll never finish that scarf now. That’s why I’m in here, watching the news. I thought it might have been on by now, but it hasn’t.’

  ‘Hellooo.’ Liz the co-ordinator is hovering in the doorway. ‘Mind if I join you? I can tell you what Dad’s been doing today.’ I swiftly get up and practically haul Dad out of his chair.

  ‘Oh, what a shame we’re just going, perhaps another time.’ Never if I can help it. I propel a confused Dad towards the door. He’s my Dad not yours. Mr Russell to you, Liz. She blocks the doorway with her body and I stand in front of her until she takes the hint and moves ever so slightly aside. She gives me a look of pure venom as I squeeze past her with Dad.

  The corridor to Dad’s room has four doors leading from it, Dad’s is number four. The first two rooms’ inhabitants are tucked up in bed fast asleep and the third room’s occupant is sitting in her chair knitting. The knitting lady.

  I turn to Dad and raise my eyebrows.

  ‘Well,’ he says, ‘she doesn’t know she’s dead yet.’

  The window in Dad’s room looks out onto an enclosed courtyard. It’s not a very exciting view, a spindly looking tree next to a scrubby patch of grass which looks as if it’s just been cut. It’s absolutely stifling in here, I open the window to let some air in and the smell of freshly mown grass drifts in on warm air.

  Dad settles himself in the armchair which is the only chair in the room and I sit on the bed.

  ‘Look at them two.’ dad laughs, nodding at the window. ‘They’re non-stop you know, lugging those cases around all day, they must be fit as fiddles. Never known a hotel so busy.’

  I agree with him and we sit and watch the invisible porters for a while then Dad picks the newspaper up and we begin the hunt for his glasses.

  I open each drawer in his chest of drawers one by one but can’t find them. Wardrobe next, but first I check the bin.

  ‘Hey you! Get out of my room!’ A white-haired lady is standing in the doorway pointing at me. She’s tiny, probably not even five foot. She has a sweet little doll-like face, but her expression is indignant rage.

  ‘YOU! Get out! This is my room. You can’t just go through my things.’

  She stomps towards me and doesn’t look happy. Dad looks over.

  ‘Oh hello,’ he says obliviously. ‘I don’t think we’ve met.’ He gets out of the chair and puts his hand out to her. ‘I’m Tom.’

  She looks at him with something like hatred then raises her hand and I think she’s going to hit him when a man’s voice stops her.

  ‘MUM! It’s not your room, come out!’

  Her hand stops in mid-air and she looks at Dad and then at me uncertainly.

  ‘Mother! Come on, I’ll take you to your room.’ The speaker comes into the room and we both look at each other in surprise.

  It’s Detective Inspector Peters.

  He bends down and puts his arm around her. ‘Come on Mum, you’re getting confused. Let’s go back to your room.’ He guides her away but she’s not convinced, looking back over her shoulder at me and Dad accusingly.

  ‘She seems very nice,’ says Dad.

  I stir my coffee and Detective Inspector Peters does the same, adding another packet of sugar to his. We’re sitting on uncomfortable plastic chairs around a corner table in the hospital cafeteria. When I came out of Blossom Unit after visiting Dad the Detective Inspector was outside. I was shocked when I realised he was waiting for me, and even more so when he suggested we go for a coffee.

  So, here we are.

  ‘Fancy meeting you in a place like this Detective Inspector,’ I say in an attempt to break the ice.

  ‘Gareth, please. I’m not on duty now.’

  ‘Gareth,’ I repeat. ‘How long has your mother been here? I haven’t seen you here before.’

  ‘Two days this time. This is the third time she’s been in, she’s probably spent eight months out of the last two years in here. They’ll stabilise her, sort her medication out and she’ll go back to the home. Your Dad?’

  ‘Just over three weeks. They’re still trying to find out what’s wrong with him.’

  He nods. ‘Mum was in here three months before they diagnosed her. Dementia.’

  ‘Does your mother know who you are?’ I blurt out, then think how rude I sound, but he doesn’t seem bothered.

  ‘Sometimes. Sometimes she thinks I’m her Dad. I think she knows I’m family but it’s all mixed up. I don’t put her right, there’s no point, she’s lost the capacity to understand. She gets very confused, as you saw.’

  I drink my coffee and wonder why we’re here and I can’t think of a damn thing to say.

  ‘Do you think Glenda’s still alive?’ I think I need to tape my mouth up.

  He smiles. ‘You know I can’t talk about that.’

  ‘Do you remember,’ he goes on, ‘the first time we met?’

  ‘Yes of course, when you came into the office about the telephone call.’

  ‘You’re not a very good liar, Louise.’ He looks at me and smiles, it seems I’m not going to be let off the hook this time.

  ‘No, I’m not. I’m a crap liar and of course I remember the first time we met although for obvious reasons I’d rather forget.’ I bang my cup down with a clang. An elderly couple a few tables away look round with pursed lips of disapproval. ‘So yes, I remember that I was a drunken mess and I made an exhibition of myself and I was lucky not be charged. So what’s your point?’

  He laughs. He actually laughs. I pick up my handbag and get up to leave.

  ‘No, no, don’t go, please don’t go, sit down, sit down.’ He’s trying not to laugh now.

  I sit down and cross my arms. The elderly couple are frowning and whispering to each other now. I resist the urge to poke my tongue out at them.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh at you or embarrass you. When you came in that night it’d been a pretty dull at the station and you brightened my evening.’

  ‘I’d rather forget that night, I made a complete fool of myself and I cringe just thinking about it.’

  ‘Don’t be so hard on yourself, you sobered up pretty quickly.’

  I stare at the table.

  ‘And you were a model prisoner.’ I sneak a look from under my eyelashes; he’s laughing again.

  ‘I’m glad you think it’s so funny.’

  ‘Well it was. Threatening behaviour with a mop wasn’t it?’ His eyes are really twinkly. Hadn’t noticed that before.

  ‘Might have been,’ I say mulishly.

  ‘And you made a very glamorous prisoner.’

  Despite myself I smile. Always a sucker for a compliment. Is he flirting with me?

  ‘Is it just you and your Dad or do you have any other family?’ Is he fishing to find out if I’m single?

  ‘Just a brother but he can’t come very often as he lives away. How about you?’

  ‘No. Just me. Only child. Married to the job.’

  So, we’re both single. A sudden feeling of something like happiness bubbles to the surface.

  ‘So,’ he goes on, ‘are you doing anything tomorrow night?’

  Direct, I like it.

  ‘No, I’m not doing anything tomorrow night.’
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  ‘How does a meal sound? I mean, would you like to come out with me tomorrow evening?’

  I make him wait a while before I answer, a little bit of revenge. He starts to look uncomfortable, so I put him out of his misery. Also, I don’t want him to change his mind.

  ‘Yes, I’d love to.’

  As soon as I’m inside Dad’s house I go around all the rooms and open the windows. The place smells fusty where it’s been closed up. It’s only half past ten but the day is already heating up.

  Everything looks the same, but it doesn’t feel like the same. Dad’s presence made it a home; now it’s just a house. I wonder if Dad will ever be able to come back here.

  I give myself a mental slap, no moping, get on with it. First place to look: Dad’s desk.

  Mahogany, with two drawers on each side and a worktop that is twice the size of my desk at work. It’s been in the study for as long as I can remember, Mum used to let Nick and I play schools on it when Dad was at work. After two hours I’m still looking; it’s my own fault, I keep finding stuff that I want to look at. Not that I’m in a hurry, I have all day.

  And a date with the Detective Inspector tonight. Must stop calling him that.

  There’s one whole drawer full of birthday cards to Dad and Mum from Nick and I, years old, dating back to when we were little. They’ve kept all of them and I’ve been through every single one. I’ve found an old chocolate box with pink roses on the front which is full of photographs of Mum and Dad when they first met, and I can’t stop looking at them. They look so young, another lifetime when Nick and I weren’t even thought of.

  I finally find the Power of Attorney at the bottom of the last drawer I look in, inside an envelope marked ‘Power of Attorney’. Typical Dad, bless him. So neat, tidy and organised. I pull it out of the envelope and read it; I signed it but have absolutely no memory of doing so. Looking at the date it was quite soon after Mum died so Dad was obviously putting everything in order in case anything happened to him.

  The rest of the drawer is mainly full of bank statements and old cheque books. I put the Power of Attorney on the desk and push the drawer back in.