Post Mortem, Gary Bell [best fiction novels .txt] 📗

‘Hard to say at this stage. Always is. I thought I had something yesterday but … I really don’t know. We’ll have to bide our time. I haven’t seen you in the gallery.’

‘Can’t afford to give myself the hours off. Not yet. There’s just no way.’

‘You must have some real rust buckets on your hands.’

He laughed softly. ‘You better believe it. Danny has been closing up, which is a big help. Gives me chance to pick the kids up – get their dinner. They just need somebody at the minute, you know?’

‘They’ll appreciate it in the long run, I’m sure.’

He shrugged, hands in pockets. ‘You heard about Biggie then. The dog.’

‘I heard. Were you there when it happened?’

‘No. Charli rang me up after it was, you know, over. Me and Deacon buried him. Weighed a ton, the poor bastard.’

‘Have you seen Deacon since?’

The lines on his face, so much like his sister’s, formed a grimace. ‘No.’

‘Sounds as if he’s left the scene.’

‘Looks that way. Ro’s in bits about it, hence the face like thunder. Won’t go into school, not that there’s anything new there.’ He sniffed, turned his face and spat onto the grass. ‘You know how these things are.’

‘What brings you here now?’

‘Kids wanted to surprise their mum. Take her out for dinner, cheer her up a bit. I hear there’s one of those carveries up the road.’

‘It’s not bad there,’ I said. ‘You’re all going? Straight from here?’

‘That’s the plan.’

I nodded, the scent of opportunity tugging at my shoes. ‘Well, your sister should be out at any moment. I won’t keep you.’

‘I’ll be in touch about the car, just as soon as we get those parts. It’s an old model, and they don’t make them like they used to.’

‘Yes, yes, whenever you get round to it, that’s quite all right.’

‘I’ll see you then?’

‘You will,’ I said, already on my way. ‘You certainly will.’

I meant to text Zara to apologise for not waiting around but forgot. I had a new plan, and the clock was already ticking.

Snaresbrook Station, which is basically across the road from the court, serves only the Central Line, its options limited to either east or west. I negotiated the entrance barrier, broke into an awkward version of a jog for the westbound platform and jumped onto the first train headed in the direction of the city, chambers and home. But I wouldn’t be going that far. Not yet anyway.

Three minutes later, the train made its first stop at Leytonstone, by which point I’d already settled on my decision. After Leytonstone was Leyton itself. When the train stopped there, I alighted. Beyond the barriers, out of the station building, I found three black cabs parked up in a line. I clambered into the back of the car at the front, holding my hat in place, and leaned forward.

‘The allotments on Low Hall Lane, please, mate.’ I considered telling him to step on it.

The Meadows home was supposed to be empty. I was going there because I suspected the opposite.

It was a short drive north through Leyton, and I spent the journey wondering what I was going to say if – or rather when – Deacon answered the front door. It was something I was still pondering when I paid the fare, climbed out of the car and passed through the garden gate. I momentarily hesitated, watching out for the dog, before remembering that the poor beast was currently pushing up tomatoes several yards behind me. The thought didn’t bring me any comfort.

I knocked.

I waited.

I checked my watch, extremely aware of every passing second. It had been more than twenty minutes since I’d stopped to talk to Delroy, and I couldn’t help but wonder if Charli, almost certainly exhausted from another disheartening day in the dock, would even want to go out for dinner without notice.

If Charli returned and found me standing here now, whatever amount of trust remained between us would surely be obliterated. Then again, if Deacon answered, there’d be no remaining trust to lose.

He didn’t answer. This time I clenched my fist tighter and let the frosted glass have it.

Nothing. The sound of birds singing somewhere in the allotments. The sweet aroma of onions frying in a neighbour’s kitchen. But Charli’s house was lifeless. I couldn’t tell if I was more relieved or disappointed. Either way, I had to remind myself that this hadn’t been a waste. If I hadn’t come looking, the possibility would have played on my mind all evening, and the hint of resentment that had been developing after each of Charli’s lies would have grown into something far uglier. It was better to know. For better or worse, Charli seemed to be telling the truth about Deacon.

I was turning away from the door, cursing myself for not asking the cab driver to wait and wondering how I was going to get back to the station, when from the corner of my eye I saw something move. It was at the downstairs window of the house next door, where the netting was still falling back into place. That’s when I remembered the face that had appeared there at the very moment we’d watched Deacon pull up in the Audi.

Another furtive glance at my watch. Almost twenty-five minutes now. I climbed from Charli’s yard straight over the low connecting wall, careful not to land my feet in any of the dozen potted plants, and then knocked much more politely on the neighbour’s door.

I could see her outline already, a hunched shadow studying me through the translucent netting for an entire minute before she decided to venture to the door. When she finally opened it, she kept the chain on, revealing nothing more than a slither of incredibly creased brown skin and a single eye to match.

‘What?’ she grumbled.

‘My name is Rook, I was wondering if you could spare me a moment of your time.’

One long, rickety finger wriggled out through the narrow gap and tapped a paper sign that had been written