A Confusion of Murders Read online

  I pull up outside my house and parallel park my car badly in the street. I love my little old terraced house but I hate parallel parking, no matter how much practice I have I just can’t master it.

  Before I pick up my dog from Linda’s I decide to go in and get changed. Sprocket goes to Linda’s every day when I’m at work, which he loves as he has Linda’s dog, Henry, to keep him company. Linda’s house is only two streets away from my own house and what started as a business arrangement has turned into a strong friendship. I quickly run upstairs and change into jeans and t-shirt. As I open the front door to go out again I nearly fall over my brother, Nick, who has his finger poised to press the bell.

  ‘Hello you,’ he says, wrapping his arms around me in a bear hug as he comes in.

  I let myself be hugged. ‘Hello yourself. I didn’t know you were coming - you never said.’

  ‘Well, I hadn’t planned to, but to be honest I’m a bit worried about Dad. And anyway,’ he says, ‘I was on a promise with a model from Mayfair but she’s getting a bit serious so I thought I’d make myself scarce.’

  ‘Did you tell her you wouldn’t be seeing her?’

  ‘Ummm. Might have forgotten to...’ he says with a sheepish smile.

  ‘God, Nick you’re such a shit.’

  ‘I know.’ He laughs.

  I’ve just closed the door when the doorbell rings again and this time it’s Linda with Sprocket. I immediately feel guilty as she does so much for me and I should have gone and got him straight away. Sprocket comes bounding through the door towards me then sees Nick so veers towards him and launches himself at Nick’s knees. He jumps around, ears flapping, and whimpering until he gets some attention.

  ‘Just remember who feeds you, dog,’ I say. Sprocket ignores me and rolls over onto his back so Nick can kneel down and rub his tummy. Linda steps past Nick and hands me Sprocket’s lead.

  ‘Hey, Nick, meet Linda, Linda, meet Nick, my brother.’

  ‘Ah, so you’re the dog-lady,’ says Nick with his most charming smile. He offers his hand.

  This is when the ‘Nick effect’ usually happens and most women turn into simpering messes. He’s a bit of a looker my brother. Open any upmarket, glossy magazine and chances are that the handsome man advertising aftershave or suits is my brother.

  So, with something like boredom I wait for the simpering to begin.

  And then the strangest thing happens.

  The Nick effect doesn’t work, at all. It’s a complete fail.

  ‘Hello Nick,’ says Linda coldly, shaking Nick’s hand ‘Nice to meet you.’

  I can tell this has taken the wind out of his sails; he’s not used to this non-reaction. He tries again. ‘Have we....’

  Linda has already turned her back on him to speak to me and totally ignores him. ‘I’m going out so I thought I’d drop Sprocket off, must dash but I’ll catch up with you tomorrow.’ And with that she’s out of the door and gone.

  ‘Well, that was awkward,’ says a very put out Nick. ‘Do you think it’s because I called her dog-lady?’

  I think about it for a moment. ‘No, I don’t think so, she wouldn’t care about that.’ I know that she wouldn’t. ‘Not everyone has to fancy you, you know.’ I can’t help laughing at his crestfallen face. ‘Welcome to the real world. That’s what it’s like for the rest of us most of the time, you’re just not used to it.’

  ‘Hmm, do you think I’m losing my looks? I mean, I am forty-two.’

  ‘Of course you’re not. You know you look as good as ever so stop fishing for compliments.’

  ‘No, you’re right.’ He puffs his chest out. ‘Is she gay?’

  Chapter 2

  ‘Come on Sprocket don’t sulk.’

  Sprocket looks at the treat I’m offering him with disgust then turns his head without taking it and puts his nose in the air. He always knows when I’m leaving him on his own. We’re going out and he’s seen me putting his favourite toy rabbit out of his reach. If I don’t do this its ears will be gone when I come back. I really can’t be bothered to cook, so Nick and I are going to call into the Swan for something to eat on the way to Dad’s.

  Leaving behind a very disgruntled Sprocket, Nick and I arrive at the Swan, our local gastro pub. There are people outside in the garden although they’re mostly smokers as it’s not that warm. It’s busy – Thursday night is quiz night – but we manage to get a very small table for two in the corner. Heads turn as we walk through the bar and I get the usual what’s he doing with her looks from other women. Nick and I don’t look alike so people assume I’m his girlfriend; I like to think that I’m okay looking but I’m definitely not in my brother’s league. I’m used to it now but sometimes I just wish someone would look at me.

  We manoeuvre ourselves into our seats and give the waitress our order; she’s dismissive of me but hangs on Nick’s every word. I am trying to lose some weight and had intended ordering salad but one whiff of the smell from the kitchen and that resolve flies out of the window. We order steak and chips and in no time, are tucking into them. Nick is back to his normal chirpy self now that he’s been reassured that he hasn’t lost his looks overnight. The waitress hovers and asks if the food is okay. I have to shove another chip in my mouth to stop myself from shouting HE’S MY BROTHER at her to wipe away the filthy look she’s directing at me. Nick gives her a beaming smile and assures her that the food is just wonderful, thank you. Bit much, it’s not that good but he can’t help turning on the charm.

  ‘So,’ says Nick, ‘this Linda – got a girlfriend or boyfriend, has she?’

  ‘No, she hasn’t got a boyfriend and she’s not gay as far as I know.’

  ‘Hmm....’

  ‘Don’t you dare, Nick.’

  ‘What?’ he says, affecting innocence.

  ‘Don’t you dare make it your mission to seduce her. Leave her alone. She’s my friend.’

  Nick smiles smugly.

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘I don’t believe you, I know what you’re like.’

  Nick puts his hands up in defence, ‘I won’t – scout’s honour.’

  ‘You’d better not Nick.’ I say firmly and maybe a little aggressively.

  ‘Can I get you more drinks?’ The over attentive waitress is back, simpering at my brother. She’s just reapplied fresh lipstick for his benefit and it’s all over her front teeth.

  ‘No, I’m good thanks.’

  She flutters her eyelashes at him and turns to walk away.

  ‘I’d like one,’ I say loudly.

  She turns back unsmiling and raises an eyebrow at me, pencil poised over notepad.

  ‘Diet coke, please.’

  She writes it down and turns to walk away without acknowledging me.

  ‘Oh, and by the way,’ I say spitefully, ‘you’ve got lipstick all over your teeth.’

  She pauses without turning, then walks away.

  ‘Christ, you’re in a brutal mood tonight,’ Nick says when she’s gone. ‘What’s she ever done to you?’

  ‘Ignored me,’ I snap. ‘Which you could never understand because it’s never happened to you. Oh, until Linda . . .’ I start to laugh.

  ‘So,’ Nick, putting his pint down carefully, doesn’t bite. ‘Do you want to tell me what’s really bothering you?’

  We arrive at Dad’s, he still lives in the house we grew up in; a seventies time warp of swirly patterned carpets, clashing flowery curtains and dust gathering ornaments. It’s far too big for an old man on his own but Dad would never consider moving into anything smaller, not voluntarily anyway. The back garden is humungous, I think whoever built the house did a deal with the builder as it not only has a long garden but also has a sort of T-junction at the end that runs along the back of everyone else’s gardens. Dad’s neighbour, Simon, is an Estate agent and is always telling Dad he could make a fortune if he sold some of the garden off, but Dad won’t hear of it.

  I ring the bell and Dad opens the door in his casual wear, which is basically a suit and
tie minus the jacket.

  ‘Hello,’ he says unenthusiastically. ‘You’d better come in.’

  ‘Hello Dad,’ Nick and I trill as we go in. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Oh, you know, mustn’t complain.’ He says, then launches into a lengthy moan. Nick settles himself on the sofa and buries his nose in the evening paper. He’ll make the odd grunt or word of acknowledge to pretend he’s listening but will leave me to do the talking.

  Dad’s moaning about the new next-door neighbour who moved in six months ago. I don’t know why but he has taken such an instant dislike to him. As far as I know the man has done nothing to upset Dad – he came round and introduced himself and by all accounts was pleasant enough but for some reason Dad can’t stand him. He doesn’t even like his name. ‘Brendan! What sort of a name is Brendan?’ Poor bloke can do nothing right.

  ‘He starts that car up at all times of the day and night.’

  ‘It’s a taxi, Dad.’

  ‘Well, it wakes me up and I can’t get back to sleep. I can hear him start it up and the headlights shine right into my bedroom.’ I can believe the lights wake him up but not the noise – Dad struggles to hear what I say even when I shout.

  ‘I don’t know how it can wake you up when you’re deaf.’

  ‘What did you say? You’re mumbling.’

  Like I say, he’s taken a dislike to him. Dad’s deaf in both ears and has his television on so loud that it’s impossible to speak over it let alone hear a car start up outside. And when he goes to bed he takes his hearing aids out.

  ‘I don’t see how he can afford a house like that on his own, he must be up to no good. He’s bringing the neighbourhood down. Taxi driver indeed.’

  Built in the fifties, the houses in Dad’s street were for the middle classes, individually designed with at least four bedrooms and giant gardens. He’s right – you would need a very good job or a medium sized lottery win to afford a house in this street now. Brendan must do a lot of taxi runs.

  ‘What no good is he up to Dad?’

  Dad ponders the question for a while then gives a wry smile.

  ‘I don’t know, but he’s up to something, you wait and see.’

  We both laugh and to get him off the subject of the neighbour I ask him if he’s been to his gardening club today – he hasn’t and says he can’t be bothered with it. He hasn’t been for a few weeks now but he is seventy-nine so I think he’s allowed not to be bothered if he feels like it. I suggest, again, that maybe we could get someone in to help with the garden as it’s overgrown and very large.

  Dad harrumphs. ‘Nosey parkers and interfering people,’ he mutters.

  So I let it go. It’s like a jungle at the bottom of the garden but it’s not as if it’s affecting anyone else.

  ‘He was in my garden you know.’ He’s back on the Brendan subject again.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Him. Next door. Brendan,’ he snorts. ‘I looked out of the kitchen window and there he was, bold as brass. Thought I couldn’t see him he did, he thinks I’m senile you know but I’m not daft. It might have been getting dark but I saw him alright. He was lurking down the bottom by my shed. Up to no good. ‘

  ‘But how could he get in your garden?’ I shout. ‘You always keep the side gate locked.’

  The shed down the end is full of old lawnmowers and tools. It’s been locked for years and never gets used anymore although it was great when we were kids, we’d put all the tools up one end of the shed and use the rest as our den.

  ‘ISN’T THAT RIGHT? NICK.’ I shout louder.

  ‘What?’ Nick looks at me blankly.

  ‘Dad’s just saying that Brendan was in his garden but he couldn’t be, could he?’ I glare at Nick and he takes the hint and puts the newspaper down.

  ‘Lou’s right Dad, your garden is intruder proof, so you don’t need to worry.

  ‘I’m telling you he does. I don’t know how he gets in but somehow he does. I’m not going to stand for it much more.’ He gets up from his chair and wags his finger at Nick. ‘Something will have to be done.’

  Neither Nick nor I say anything.

  ‘I’m going to make some tea.’ He plods out to the kitchen.

  Nick and I exchange meaningful glances as we listen to Dad rattling cups and clattering around the kitchen. There have been quite a few episodes lately of Dad thinking people were here when they weren’t. I’ve come round after work and Dad has been convinced that I’d already visited earlier in the day. He’s been the same with Nick. We’ve told Dad that he must have fallen asleep and been dreaming that we were here but I think we were trying to convince ourselves more than him. He’s also got lost quite a few times on the way back from the shops – a journey he must have done a million times. I feel suddenly deflated and unaccountably sad and realise I have no control over anything. I look at Nick and he smiles a tight-lipped smile. We’re kidding ourselves and trying to delay the inevitable, but we both know Dad’s not right and hasn’t been for a long time.

  Dad reappears with two mugs of tea and puts mine down next to me and offers Nick his.

  ‘You were a bit rude yesterday, weren’t you?’ Dad says as Nick takes the tea from him.

  ‘Eh? What? I never saw you yesterday.’

  ‘Coming in here’, Dad continues as if Nick hasn’t spoken. ‘Sitting there, reading my paper then just leaving without a word when I go into the kitchen to make some tea. I brought you up better than that, Nicholas.’

  Nick and I exchange surreptitious glances, another phantom visit.

  ‘Oh, yeah, sorry Dad, was in a bit of a hurry, late for a meeting, you know. I did call out bye but you couldn’t have heard me’.

  Dad says nothing but looks slightly mollified; although he’s as deaf as a post he won’t admit it, says we all need to learn to speak properly.

  I feel guilty that I can’t be here all of the time. Mum died five years ago and, to be honest, I thought Dad wouldn’t be far behind her but somehow, he’s kept going on his own even though he misses her like mad. Mum and Dad were inseparable and I can honestly say I never heard them argue. Truly. Mum lived in a state of constant anxiety and worried about everything – if we were late home from school she thought we’d been abducted and a cold was always a life-threatening illness. Her whole life was lived in a state of waiting for something terrible to happen. Not much sympathy from other people over mental health problems then – you were just supposed to get on with and stop making such a meal of it. Nowadays, there would be help of course, counselling maybe, but then there was nothing – just my dad. It must have been really hard for them - no brothers or sisters and both of their parents dead before I was even born. I can’t imagine what it’d be like not having a brother. Annoying though he is.

  We drink our tea and make the usual chit chat then Dad engrosses himself reading the classified ads in the Herald with the help of a magnifying glass. I gather up my coat and handbag and lean down and kiss Dad on the cheek.

  ‘We’ve got to get off now, Dad. Don’t forget Jean is coming tomorrow. I’ve written it on your calendar.’

  Jean comes in every weekday to Dad’s for three hours; she cleans, cooks him a bit of dinner and has a chat to him. She’s been coming a few months now and at first he put up a bit of a fight and said he didn’t need looking after, but I think he quite enjoys the company now.

  ‘Okay. Drive carefully.’ He always, always, says that.

  Sprocket has forgiven me for abandoning him earlier and we snuggle on the sofa to watch TV. Nick has left for London as he’s got a shoot in the morning. We’re in a quandary about Dad; we know that there’s something wrong with him but haven’t a clue what to do about it. I can’t see Dad agreeing to go to the doctors but I think we definitely need to stop him driving. Even if we can persuade him to seek medical help, what happens then? There’s no magic pill.

  I’ve recorded Crimewatch so I can watch the reconstruction. There’s not a lot to it, a five-minute segment of Suzanne walking from her
office in town to her car. Her car is still parked in the car park where she left it the morning she disappeared? Watching it, I’m struck by how close her workplace is to mine; that’s probably where I’ve seen her.

  Sprocket is fast asleep and his feet are twitching so he must be dreaming of chasing rabbits. I never thought I would have a dog, but then I never thought after twenty years of marriage my husband would leave me for someone half my age. I wouldn’t have Sprocket if I was still married to Gerry, he was allergic to fur so I was banned from having a pet. Not his fault I know, but I think it was just a bit too convenient him being allergic as he didn’t like animals.

  ‘Don’t see the point of animals.’ His words still ring in my ears. Unless he was eating them.

  Sprocket’s a mixture of breeds. There’s a fair bit of spaniel in him and he’s quite furry and has floppy ears but I’m hard pushed to pick out any other breeds. Nick appeared with him one day when I was at my lowest. A Saturday lunchtime and I was still slobbing around in my dressing gown and feeling sorry for myself. Nick arrived unannounced with a tiny bundle of fur, and thrust him at me.

  ‘You always wanted a dog when we were kids,’ he said, handing him to me. ‘So here you are.’ I was annoyed and told him I didn’t want the bother of a dog, but Nick just ignored me.

  ‘It’ll do you good, give you something to do, take it for a walk, brush its fur or whatever it is you do with a dog.’

  ‘Hasn’t it got a name?’ I asked Nick sulkily.

  ‘Not yet. Call it after your ex if you can’t think of anything else.’

  ‘What, Gerry?’

  ‘I was thinking more of Tosser or Dickhead.’

  In the end I decided on Sprocket because I just liked the sound of it. Sprocket did too because he answered to it the first time I called him. So that’s how I came to have a dog and it sounds dramatic but I think Sprocket saved me – he made me get up and get out in the fresh air and stop being so self-pitying. I’d like to say that he’s taken an instant dislike to Gerry on the rare occasions he’s been in his company but unfortunately Sprocket is a complete traitor dog and loves everyone. He does make Gerry sneeze though, so I have to be grateful for that.