A Death to Remember (21 page)

‘
There’s already plenty I don’t like.’

He
was silent, watching me, waiting for it to penetrate. ‘What d’you mean, Bill?’

He
looked unhappy. ‘It’s a question of timing, you see. Clayton found out his wife had handed money to you, but we don’t know when he found out. It might’ve taken some time. So how did he manage to reach your office just after you? You must have lost a lot of time.’

‘
My car broke down. I had to...’

‘
Did it?’

‘
What?’

‘
Your car was found outside the garage later that evening. Nobody remembers seeing it there before then. You could have driven away from there in it. Wouldn’t it be reasonable that you’d have decided there and then to go back to George Peters and challenge him about the statement? Wouldn’t it?’

I
could do nothing but stare at him. My heart was pounding, seeming to choke me. Porter turned to Nicola, raising his eyebrows.

‘
I think I would have done that,’ she said quietly, but her eyes smouldered.

Porter
looked away from her quickly. ‘So maybe you’d see George at 17C Rock Street, Cliff, or even spot him pacing outside that phone box – always assuming there
was
a phone number.’

‘F
or Christ’s sake!’ I croaked.

‘B
ut see him you did...I’m suggesting. And got a withdrawal, and tore up all four statements. And the money...’

‘
I’d still got it when I reached the office. Still!’

‘
Well yes. That’s the trouble. That’s where my imagination gets stuck. Your car was found at the garage, so you’d have had to drive it back there. Perhaps you hadn’t given him the money, for some reason, so you intended to return it to Mrs Clayton, in that envelope, and tell her you hadn’t been able to contact her son. But by that time the men would’ve packed in and gone home, so the garage was empty, except for Clayton and his wife, rowing about the money. So quietly you went away...’

He
shook his head and fumbled for another cigarette. I thought he was waiting for me to protest. I didn’t intend to say a word to contest the whole absurd rigmarole. I shouted:

‘
And left my car with the keys in? Went to the office with no keys to get in with? What the hell d’you think I was doing?’

He
cleared his throat. ‘You’ve forgotten that whole day. With concussion it’s not unusual to lose a short period before the...er...trauma, they call it. But not you, Cliff. It’s a whole day you’ve lost. But there are other traumas than physical violence. Emotional. I’m suggesting you walked away from your car at the garage because you couldn’t face getting into it again. You forgot your keys because you were in a confused state. You’d decided by then to keep the money. Perhaps you needed it. Divorces are expensive, even undefended. You went to the office to hide it away, somewhere other than the place you lived. Clayton had time, in that way, to catch you as you reached the office. And recover the money.’

He
waited. Nicola and I stared at each other. There were no words.

‘
A theory,’ Porter murmured. ‘Just a theory.’ He was uncomfortable.

Nicola
at last turned from me. In that second, I thought, she’d lost her faith in me. She stared at her hand on her knee.

‘
This trauma,’ she murmured. ‘This mental violence that could have brought it all on...what do you suggest, Sergeant?’

He
at last lit his cigarette. It seemed that he relaxed. ‘It’d have to be a guess,’ he conceded.

‘
That’s understood.’ She nodded encouragingly.

‘
George Peters, faced with Cliff and a statement that was false...he’d perhaps see that the game was up, and he was going to be linked with the crashed Maestro and therefore the drugs. Went at Cliff. Cliff’s a big chap. Defended himself.’ He shrugged. ‘It’d explain why Cliff didn’t get round to handing over the money.’

‘
You’re saying,’ she persisted, ‘that George’s body was in the Volvo’s boot when Cliff drove it back to the garage?’

‘
It would explain its presence,’ said Bill gently. ‘And there’s a convenient alleyway behind Rock Street.’

‘
So perhaps,’ she said tensely, ‘he wasn’t taking the money back. He was taking George back. “I’ve got your son outside, Mrs Clayton. He’s in the boot.” Is that it? “I’ve put him in a black plastic bag for you.” Something like that?’

‘
Well...hardly.’

‘
I mean, in Cliff’s disturbed state, it’d be just as likely as what you’ve said.’

‘
It’s not the same.’

Then
she was on her feet, bristling, red-faced, her arms flying, her hair dancing, eyes blazing.

‘
Of all the stupid rubbish! Call yourself a policeman! Theory, you call it. You’re not fit to lick his boots, him in shock and he can think straighter. Your mind’s warped, it’s diseased. Take your ideas somewhere else, you nasty creep. How dare you! Look at him. He’s had shocks that’d put anybody down, and you have to throw that at him. You’re despicable. You’re...you’re...’

Porter
rose slowly, a grim smile behind the cigarette. ‘Take him home, will you. Save me the trouble.’

‘
You haven’t heard the last of this.’

‘
I’m afraid not,’ said Bill heavily. He turned to me. ‘Take her home, Cliff.’

‘
I’d just like to endorse...’

‘
It wasn’t the same pen!’ she shouted.

I
took her arm. ‘Let’s go, Nicola.’

She
shook herself free, and took my arm, and marched me out, right into the street, where she stopped and turned to me, her teeth again clamped on her lower lip.

‘
Did you see his face!’ she screamed, then she was almost helpless with laughter, which was so infectious that we staggered round into the yard with our arms round each other like a couple of drunks. Then we were silent, still in each other’s arms, staring at each other’s understanding.

‘
Cliff!’ she whispered, reaching up and touching my mouth.

It
might have got out of hand there and then, if Tony Clayton hadn’t stepped from behind my car and stood there, poised on spread feet.

13

It was a shock to realise that I had completely discounted Tony Clayton from his wife’s death. There had seemed a personal sharing in it between Tessa and myself. Yet he was her husband. It was he who should have called for her and taken her home, but had not. It was he – come to think of it – who should not have allowed her to be there at the garage alone, in her state of fear. And he who should have witnessed that fear, not me.

But
he was so distraught that I didn’t feel I could blame him. The feeling that enveloped me was one of distaste. Nicola and I had emerged from the police station, laughing ourselves silly in each other’s arms, when our presence there arose from the fact of his wife’s death.

Nicola
was rigid at my side, her fingers digging into my arm. I thought she gave a little moan. The light was poor, a single opalescent globe above the side entrance to the station, and that on the far side of the yard. But even so I could see clearly his distress.

Clayton
stood with feet apart to support himself. His arms hung loosely at his sides, his face was crumpled. I thought there were tears in his eyes, down his cheeks.

‘
You killed her,’ he whispered.

‘
No! Tony, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left her, I know...’

He
took a step forward, one hand reaching out, his fingers clawed. ‘Your fault. Your bloody fault.’ His voice grew in strength ‘You didn’t help her when she asked.’

‘
How do you know that, Tony?’

‘
They told me. In there. I’m gonna kill you, Cliff Summers.’

Then
his advance on me became more purposeful, and both hands reached for me. I thrust Nicola away, and heard her gasp throatily: ‘Cliff!’

‘
Tony,’ I said. ‘You ought to go home. Isn’t there anybody taking you home? We’ll have to see about that. You’d think they’d run you home...’ Just talking. Repeating the word: home. Hoping to present to him a more attractive objective than my death.

Beside
me, Nicola broke free and began to run towards the side door. Tony threw back his head. I’d inflicted a wound. Home! He hadn’t got any home, just an empty house. With a hoarse shout he threw himself at me.

I
could feel no wish to fight. To get me going I needed a background of righteous anger, but nowhere in this situation could I feel that I was in the right. Clayton came at me. His flailing arms were ineffectual, but one fist caught my arm and twisted me off balance. His impetus thrust a shoulder into mine, and I was down, on my back, skidding across the rain-slicked surface of the police yard...

...
and saw Charlie Graham snarling above me. I was skidding on my back across the oil-slicked surface on the floor of the repair bay, crashing with metallic rattles into the corner behind the foreman’s office. Graham was screaming: ‘Bloody, liar! Bloody liar!’...

...
then I was looking up at Tony Clayton, struggling in the arms of Bill Porter, Clayton shouting: ‘You killed her!’ A constable was running in from the side, followed by Nicola, shouting words I wouldn’t have expected her to use. Porter helped me to my feet. The constable had taken over with Clayton, who was now limply useless. ‘I’ll run you home, sir. You’ll feel better...’ I didn’t hear the rest, because Porter was dusting me down, when I knew you couldn’t dust off thick, black oil, and it was Nicola whose voice came through most clearly.

‘
Are you all right? That idiot...’

Bill
Porter grimaced. ‘I’m all right,’ I said. ‘Glad I caught you,’ he was saying. ‘I forgot to get you to sign the statement.’

Nicola
spoke bitterly. ‘It’s a bit of luck he was detained, then.’ She was walking round me, assessing the damage.

I
sighed. ‘I’ll come back in, Bill. You might as well go home, Nicola. Thanks for your help.’

‘
I’m driving you home.’

‘
No you’re not. I’ll drive you.’

‘
There’s my car...’

‘
If I drive you, you can collect yours tomorrow.’

‘
The bus doesn’t go past...’

This
could have gone on for ever, but Porter intervened. ‘For heaven’s sake, drive him home. It’ll only take a minute for the statement. I’ll run his car along.’

We
looked at each other.

‘
When they’ll let me go home myself,’ he added.

So
back we went into the same room, where he left us staring blankly at each other. It was taking longer than a minute. I moved my shoulder restlessly.

‘
You’re hurt,’ she accused me.

‘
I came down a bit heavily. It’ll go away if I ignore it.’

‘
That great oaf!’

‘
Can’t blame him, though.’

‘
I suppose not.’

Silence.
We were both carefully avoiding the same thing, the obvious fact that I was still affected by the evening’s events.

‘
You’re not taking him seriously?’ she asked at last.

‘
Who? Bill Porter? No. He was just shaking the bottle to see what fell out.’

‘
Shaking you, though.’

‘
Uhuh!’

‘
It’s Tessa, isn’t it?’

‘
Of course it is!’ I said sharply, annoyed that she didn’t seem to understand.

She
pouted at me. ‘Not it’s not, and you know it. What’s upsetting you is that you relied on your memory, and it didn’t work out.’

I
moved in the seat. ‘It’s not even that. It’s what I made out of what I remembered.’

She
considered this carefully, then she shook her head. ‘No. That wouldn’t upset you. It’s meant so much to you, Cliff, recalling that day. Don’t reject it, just because it doesn’t work out.’

‘
And what if it’s all false?’

She
looked down at her hand, where it rested on her knee.

‘
How on earth did I come to put on these joggers?’

‘
I’m not sure I want to remember any more of it.’

‘
I can see your point.’

‘
As the man said: what’s a day between friends?’

‘
Depends on the friends,’ she said casually. ‘I’d have thought.’

I
looked at her suspiciously. She was at her most dangerous when she went all mild and equable. ‘And I
have
been trying.’

‘
I didn’t suggest you hadn’t.’

‘
At my wife’s place this evening, trying to get a sight of the Pool Street Motors books, from Michael Orton.’

‘
Not much chance of that. Not much you could get out of them, anyway, I’d have thought.’

She
seemed to have lost interest. In a couple of seconds she’d have taken it too far and started to stare at her fingernails.

‘
Well
I
thought they might jog my memory.’

‘
Even though you can’t remember even opening them?’

‘
I think so.’

‘
That’s good, because I’ve served him with a notice to produce.’ She looked at her fingernails.

‘
You can’t do that!’ I burst out.

‘
Done it.’

‘
No case file, no excuse. If he complains to the manager...’

‘
I’ll think of something.’

‘
I don’t want you mixed up in this,’ I complained.

‘
You’ve
got
me mixed in it,’ she said loudly. ‘I’ll get ‘em tomorrow – no, today now. You can come and see them at my place.’

‘
I will not have you...’

‘
Here they are,’ said Bill Porter, crashing in with no warning. He looked from one to the other of us. ‘Everything cosy?’

In
a creaking silence I read through the statement and signed it, plus two copies. ‘Your car’ll be outside in the morning,’ he said, holding out his hand for my keys.

We
left. The argument continued all the way to Aunt Peg’s. No use, of course. She’d already done it. Nicola could get herself into serious trouble, though, using official legal procedures for her own ends.
My
own ends. We pulled up outside. It was after five o’clock, but the light was on in Aunt Peg’s bedroom.

‘B
ut you’ll come to see them?’ Nicola asked. ‘At my place.’

‘
If you’ll tell me where it is.’

‘
Come for tea.’ She told me where it was.

I
had the car door open, and remembered, and put my head back in to kiss her, but the fact that I’d had to remember ruined it. She gave me a flicker of a grimace, and drove away. Auntie’s curtain fell back into place.

And
then of course she came down to make me a hot drink and hear all about it, lips pursed in disapproval. ‘You’re best out of it,’ she decided. ‘Now off to bed with you.’

As
though I could lay down my head and sleep, I thought, laying it down, and instantly sleeping.

It
was nearly midday before I got out to my car, at the kerb as promised, keys through the letter box. As I climbed into it, the thought occurred to me that they’d casually borrowed it in order to go through every inch to see what they could find. Bill Porter was a cunning bugger.

There
were now only two memory lanes left to explore, the account books for Pool Street Motors, and Charlie Graham. I’d driven half a mile before I realised I had no enthusiasm for exploring either of them. As I’d promised Nicola that I’d go to tea and examine the books, there was no getting out of that. Graham...he was my own choice.

I
parked in the multi-storey behind the library and went for a walk round the town. I felt, I decided, like myself. There was no significant deprivation in that I’d lost a day out of my life, there wasn’t even a feeling that my personality was any longer in doubt. But there was a slight snag, there. My personality might not have been in doubt, but the evidence I had relating to it was not pleasing. I
wished
it was in doubt, come to think of it. My performance up to date was nothing to feel proud about. Not as far as I could remember...

Frustrated,
aware that I was trapped into exploring deeper into a memory I was beginning to find hateful, I turned into Janie’s Tea Room, almost without intending to.

‘
Why...Cliff...’ said Valerie as I walked past her, looking for solitude.

If
I’d had my wits about me I wouldn’t have gone in there. It had been our favourite meeting place, before we were married. I wanted neither that memory, nor Valerie.

‘
Join me?’ she asked. She was alone at a table for two against the wall.

I
wanted to turn and go out, but that would have been entirely mannerless, even cruel, considering her smile. I said that would be very pleasant, and sat opposite her, and as always happens with Val, a waitress appeared at her elbow.

‘
Oh...tea, please,’ I said.

‘
Better make it a fresh pot for two,’ said Val, leaning forward, elbows on the table. ‘You’ve been having quite a time, Cliff.’

And
she couldn’t, yet, have heard about Tessa Clayton. I nodded. ‘A bit rough, yes.’

‘
You need a holiday. I’m sure it’d do you good.’

I
could almost see her reaching for her personal panacea, her cheque book. It was an effort to smile and casually shake my head.

‘
Couldn’t get away. I might manage something later. And you?’

‘
Pardon.’

‘
It’s March. Wasn’t that Riviera time for you? Or Monte?’ She grimaced. ‘Rather passé, Cliff. You’re not in touch.’

‘
Well...wherever.’

‘
Like you, I couldn’t get away.’

The
tea arrived. I nodded. We waited until the waitress had left. I said. ‘Responsibilities, Val? All this directorship.’

‘
That
doesn’t take much of my time.’

Her
hand was moving across the table. I made a natural gesture out of picking up my spoon. ‘Did you stir it? Then what does?’ I flipped up the lid of the tea pot.

She
laughed lightly, but there was strain in it. ‘Michael doesn’t have your hang-ups.’

‘
Shall I pour, or you?’