All the Empty Places Page 8

‘You’re my client,’ he said firmly. ‘And my friend. And I’ll make sure you get out of here as soon as possible.’

  ‘Lewis hates me.’

  ‘Then you’re in good company.’

  ‘Tell me one thing,’ I said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Johnny Tufnell.’

  ‘Johnny. I hate to speak ill of one of my clients, or ex-client as he is now, but… Sheila met him at the office you know.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘She was only twenty-two then. Just a baby. He swept her off her feet.’

  ‘Then knocked her off them.’

  ‘I believe so. I tried to warn her.’

  ‘And about me too?’

  ‘I told her some things. But, Nick, I stopped when she told me how you treated her. She was glowing. I was happy for her. And you.’

  ‘Thanks, Fin. Have you seen Johnny lately?’

  ‘Not for months. He’s vanished off the face of the earth. Being a good boy for a change. Gone up north I heard.’

  ‘He might’ve come back,’ I said.

  ‘He might.’

  ‘And killed her this morning.’

  ‘Supposition, Nick. At the moment I’m more worried about you. We’ll think about Tufnell later. Right now let’s go back and sort out these other reptiles.’

  ‘If they do nick me can we get bail?’

  ‘Difficult, but not impossible. But let’s cross that bridge if and when we get to it.’

  The atmosphere was different when we went back into the interview room. Blackford led the questioning and Lewis kept his gob shut. Fin was very much in charge and I watched him for his nods and head shakes when I was answering.

  ‘Did Miss Madden have any enemies?’ asked the DS, going off at a tangent.

  ‘Not that I know of,’ I said. ‘Apart from Tufnell. If he was her enemy. I don’t know, it’s just supposition.’ I looked at Fin when I said that and he nodded in agreement.

  ‘How about friends?’

  ‘She didn’t have many. She told me Johnny Tufnell chased most of them off years ago. Her parents were dead. She’s got a sister somewhere but they didn’t communicate. When we started going out we were in the same boat. We didn’t mix much. She had an address book. She kept it in her bag. I never looked in it.’

  ‘We’ve found that. And you can’t think of any reason anyone would want to kill her.’

  I told him I didn’t. Apart from Tufnell of course, but we’d been all through that.

  They kept on at me all afternoon and evening, with breaks for refreshment. But every time we started again I could sense that they were losing interest. Finally at around nine they left me alone with Fin and another uniform and went outside. When they came back Lewis said, ‘I don’t think there’s much point in carrying on. You can leave now, Mr Sharman, but don’t go far.’

  ‘Don’t leave the country you mean?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘I won’t. There’s a funeral to go to.’

  Lewis and Hawes left then but Blackford stuck around for a few minutes and pulled me away from Fin. ‘I’m sorry about him,’ he said, I assumed meaning Lewis.

  ‘Old enemies,’ I said.

  ‘So I gathered.’

  ‘Have you got anything on who did it?’

  ‘No. I’m afraid not.’

  ‘What about the neighbours?’

  ‘The old lady downstairs is almost deaf and never heard a thing.’

  I nodded. Once upon a time Sheila and I had been glad of that, otherwise we might’ve scared the old dear half to death with the noise we made in Sheila’s bedroom. All at once I wished her perfect hearing. But then that might’ve brought her out of her front door into the arms of a killer, who having killed once probably wouldn’t hesitate to kill again. She was probably better off having heard nothing.

  ‘We’ve done a door-to-door but so far there’s nothing there,’ he went on.

  ‘Well thanks for not nicking me.’

  ‘You’ve got some friends in your corner.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Oh I’m sure you’ll find out. We may want to see you again.’

  ‘I’d be surprised if you didn’t.’

  ‘Well goodnight, Mr Sharman. You have my sympathies.’

  And with that he left me alone to join Finbarr.

  19

  It was almost dark when Finbarr and I left the police station. The air outside was translucent with heat and the street lights were popping on like fireflies in the dusk. He asked me if I wanted to stop for a drink or a bite to eat but I just shook my head. I needed to be alone. To think. To grieve. ‘Are you sure?’ he asked. ‘You could come back to mine.’

  ‘And be a spectre at the feast? I don’t think so. No, you’ve wasted too much of your weekend on me already. Go home Fin. I’ll be fine.’

  ‘If you need me you know where I am.’

  ‘Yeah. And thanks.’ We shook hands solemnly and he started the car and drove off.

  He drove to the bottom of my street, where I told him to let me out and I walked the rest of the way after buying two packets of smokes from the off-licence on the corner. I had a feeling I’d be smoking a lot before morning. I let myself in my front door and wearily climbed the stairs to the top of the house. When I got to my flat door I realised someone had been there before me. The flat key that I’d given Sheila was stuck in the lock and the key ring I’d been given years ago with five gallons of petrol hung off it, complete with the key to the house door downstairs. The flat door itself was open wide. The second open door of the day. I wondered who or what was waiting inside, but to tell the truth I was too pissed off to care. I had no weapon. My guns were in the crawl space under the roof, but it would take me minutes to get them and the noise would warn any intruder that I was about. I didn’t even have a car parked outside complete with handy tyre iron. Just my bare hands. I stood on the thin carpet outside the door and pondered what to do. Inside the flat was dark and it felt empty so I leaned in and flipped on the light. The single studio room was deserted but it had been spun just like Sheila’s flat. I went and peered into the small bathroom but that was empty too, and I went back, retrieved the keys, shut the door and pushed things back to roughly where they’d been when I’d left. I’ve never been much of a housekeeper so it didn’t take long. As far as I could see nothing was missing. I went and got the bottle of Jack I keep in the cupboard over the cooker and drank from the neck. Now what the fuck were they looking for? I wondered.

  Then it hit me. The envelope. The envelope that Sheila had given me months before and was nestling under the slates above my head next to my pistols. That was it. It was the only thing that we could possibly have in common.

  I put the bottle on the table, went out onto the landing, clambered up and opened my hidey-hole.

  The envelope was still there, and so was my Detonics .45 and a silenced .22 assassin’s pistol in a velcro and leather shoulder holster, bullets and spare magazines for both.

  I took both the envelope and the Detonics back into my flat, checked that the seven shot magazine was full, pumped one into the chamber, left the hammer cocked and locked and set it next to the bottle.

  Now my guns were my only friends. The only things I could rely on. Except for myself. I touched the .45 and felt the warmth it had picked up from the day’s heat as it had lain under the roof, and took a drink and felt its warmth too as it burst in my belly like a firework display.

  For one moment I felt like ending it all and I put the barrel of the gun to my temple with my finger on the trigger. That’s such a scary thing to do. It’s the old river’s invitation. Like standing on the edge of a tall building and feeling the need to jump, so your finger starts to twitch on the trigger and you know that it would only take a few pounds of pressure to send the firing pin down on the bullet’s core and tha
t chunk of hot lead through your cranium. But I resisted and gingerly pulled my finger out of the trigger guard and put the gun down.

  I sat then, picked up the envelope and pinched the two thin pieces of metal that kept it closed and slid them through the washer and opened the bag.

  Inside was a smaller white envelope, a bunch of what looked like maps and blueprints and a C90 audio cassette tape.

  The envelope was addressed to me.

  I opened it. Inside was a single sheet of A4 sized paper covered in Sheila’s handwriting. Just seeing it there brought it all back and my eyes filled, but I blinked back the tears and read what she’d written:

  Dearest Nick,

  If you ever read this, something dreadful has happened. So I pray that you never do. First off, let me tell you that I love you. I never thought that I ever would again, so even if I’m not around, at least we were together for some time. The best time of my life. Johnny and Finbarr are planning a robbery together. They intend to break into the vaults of a safe deposit company in the City. Listen to the tape. I made it at the office when they were having a meeting. Another man called Morris was there, but I don’t know his other name. I copied the documents from Finbarr’s files. All the details are there. Johnny knows that I know. I had to tell him so that he wouldn’t hurt you. But he’s always been mad so I don’t know what he’ll do about it. So if anything happens to me you know where to look.

  And if anything does, grass them up good, baby! Whatever happens I’ll always love you like that first Sunday we were together.

  Sheila

  Shit, I thought as I read the letter. My mate Finbarr. I shook my head and looked through the documents. The place was called The Allied and Irish Bank Depository and was located in London Wall on the edge of the City of London. The maps and blueprints were the sewer system that ran underneath, and the alarm system to the vaults. There was a lot of stuff to look through and I put it aside and put the tape into my stereo. Just as I was going to press PLAY my doorbell rang. It was late and I wondered if my earlier visitors had come back so I took the Detonics and slid it down the waistband of my jeans at the back then went down to the front door. Before I left the room I stuffed the maps and blueprints back into the envelope and put it into the cupboard where I kept the booze.

  I switched on the porch light, but left the hall light off, opened the door and Sheila was standing on the step.

  20

  I’ve got to tell you I nearly passed out. After everything else that had happened that day, seeing her standing on the porch nearly did for me. I literally went weak at the knees and put my hand on the door frame for support.

  Sheila was dead. I’d seen her with my own eyes, felt her with my own hands, kissed her cold lips with my own mouth before leaving her to the sharp knives of the pathologists. Then I saw that it wasn’t her. Not quite, but almost. Her hair was a different colour. Blonde, but nearer to the mouse that was Sheila’s natural colour. And it was styled differently. But her face. Her face was the one that I loved.

  ‘Are you alright?’ she asked, and it was almost Sheila’s voice, but not quite again. Not so London.

  ‘I… I don’t know,’ I stuttered.

  ‘Are you Nick?’

  I nodded dumbly.

  ‘I’m Lucy. Lucy Madden. Sheila’s sister.’

  ‘God but you gave me a turn,’ I said, and felt a cold sweat on my face and under my arms. ‘You should’ve warned me.’

  ‘I phoned and left a message.’

  I hadn’t even noticed that the machine had any messages on it. ‘I didn’t get it. I’ve been otherwise engaged.’

  ‘Of course you have. I’m sorry, I didn’t think,’ she said.

  ‘No, I’m sorry,’ I replied. ‘It’s just that you look so much like her.’

  ‘Do I? I didn’t realise. What a bloody stupid thing to do. To just turn up without speaking to you first.’

  ‘Don’t apologise. It’s been a hell of a day.’

  ‘I know. As soon as I heard I drove down.’

  ‘Come in,’ I said, and suddenly realised I was carrying an unwanted accessory, and put my back to the wall to allow her entry and keep the gun concealed. I switched on the hall light as she came in and realised that in fact the similarity to Sheila was not as much as I’d imagined. I’d just wanted it to be her.

  Lucy Madden was wearing a light macintosh over a grey suit with trousers, a cream blouse and carrying a leather shoulder bag.

  ‘My flat’s at the top,’ I said, and allowed her to lead the way and pulled my shirt tails over the gun as we went. They never mention that sort of problem in books.

  She went into my flat and I told her to sit. She took one of the hard chairs at the table and I sat opposite her. ‘Do you want a drink?’ I asked.

  ‘Please.’

  ‘I’ve only got Jack Daniel’s. Unless you want tea or coffee.’

  ‘Jack Daniel’s will be fine. Do you have any ice?’

  ‘Sure,’ I said and went to the fridge. I found her ice and a glass and poured her a good triple. Then one for myself in another glass. I felt it was crass to keep drinking from the bottle in front of company.

  ‘You found her, didn’t you,’ she said when she’d taken a sip and pulled a face. It’s always like that with neat Uncle Jack. At least until you’ve had enough where you can’t even feel your face any more to pull.

  ‘Yes,’ I replied

  ‘It must’ve been awful.’

  I was still shaky. ‘It was.’

  ‘I was in Birmingham. At home.’

  ‘I was in the police station all day, helping with their enquiries.’

  ‘I know. They told me.’

  ‘You’ve been there too?’

  ‘The first place I went. I tried to see you but by the time they’d finished with me you’d gone.’

  ‘Typical.’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘Bloody coppers,’ I said. ‘They were wasting time with me when they should’ve been out looking for whoever did it.’

  ‘It’s often the person who reports a murder who actually did it.’

  ‘Is that right?’ As if I didn’t know.

  She nodded.

  ‘Not this time.’

  ‘I didn’t think so. Sheila spoke highly of you.’

  ‘I didn’t know you’d been talking.’

  ‘A little. Since she stopped seeing Johnny Tufnell. We were building bridges.’

  ‘She didn’t tell me.’

  ‘I expect she wanted it to be a surprise.’

  It was that all right. A surprise with bells and whistles. ‘I’m glad,’ I said.

  ‘Me too. I wish we’d spoken more. Seen each other. But I was up there. She was down here.’

  ‘You didn’t visit?’ I asked.

  ‘I was going to. But every time we arranged a day something came up at work.’

  ‘She was just the best person,’ I said.

  ‘She thought the same about you. She was happy. She hadn’t been happy for a long time.’

  ‘Good. I mean good that she was happy. Not that she wasn’t before.’

  ‘I know what you mean. I’m so glad she had that time with you.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Who do you think did it?’ she asked.

  I shrugged. I didn’t say anything about the envelope. That was my little secret. ‘Who knows?’ I said, although I had a damned good idea.

  ‘She opened the door to whoever it was. She probably knew him,’ Lucy said.

  She knew him all right. ‘That’s plod’s opinion is it?’ I said.

  ‘I believe so.’

  ‘Wonderful. Even I could have worked that out.’

  ‘You don’t seem to have a very high opinion of the police.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’

 
‘But you used to be one yourself.’

  ‘Sheila told you that did she?’

  Lucy nodded.

  ‘Maybe that’s why. Because I know how inept they are.’

  ‘But at least they let you go.’

  ‘For now. And besides, I didn’t do anything.’

  ‘That’s what I told Inspector… Lewis is it?’

  ‘That’s the boy. The filth’s finest. And of course he believed you.’

  ‘I think he did.’

  ‘And of course he’d pay attention to what you said.’

  ‘I don’t know. Apparently you told him you think Johnny Tufnell did it.’

  ‘He told you that? Blimey, you are privileged. He normally keeps his suspicions to himself.’

  ‘Have you got any proof?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So why?’

  ‘Why not? I think he’s capable. He beat her before.’

  ‘I know. He was the main reason Sheila and I stopped speaking.’

  ‘You met him?’

  She shook her head. ‘I didn’t want to.’

  ‘You’re not a bad judge. He had a bad record.’

  ‘You’ve got a bit of a record yourself, Mr Sharman.’

  ‘How do you know that? And call me Nick.’

  ‘I did a PNC check on you.’

  That one took a while to sink in. ‘You did?’ I said.

  She nodded again.

  ‘How…?’ I said.

  She reached into the shoulder bag that she’d put on the table when she came in and brought out a leather folder and flipped it open. ‘Because I’m Plod too,’ she said. ‘Or Filth if you prefer. A Detective Sergeant, Birmingham CID.’

  ‘Jesus,’ I said, and leant back in my chair and looked at the ceiling.

  21

  So there I was, sitting in my flat with a plainclothes copper on the day my girlfriend had been murdered, with an illegal miniature Colt M1911A1 loaded and cocked down the back of my trousers, which was just asking for five to ten years up at the big house, as Finbarr would’ve put it if I got caught, and just the perfect end to a perfect day. ‘She never told me,’ I said. ‘Not a word.’