Death Bed (19 page)

‘S
o you only stayed with me all this time out of pity?’ Jon struggled to control his voice.

‘You let me go on believing we had a meaningful relationship and all the while you were just feeling sorry for me. ‘I can’t possibly abandon poor Jon now he’s lost his job, and aren’t I the saint for putting up with him now when he needs me.’ You always did like to play the martyr.’

‘What the hell are you talking about?’

‘Don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean. You think I can’t see what’s going on? Do you think I’m an idiot? As soon as you heard I’ve found a job – which I was feeling pretty damn pleased about a moment ago – you haven’t been able to pack your bags fast enough. Why? Tell me why you’re leaving.’

Simon shook his head.

‘I don’t know. And it’s not sudden. I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, only - ’

‘Only you stayed because you felt sorry for me. Go on, admit it. You only stayed with me out of pity. So what now? Am I expected to be grateful to Saint Simon?’

‘Oh, stop being such a drama queen. It’s over, that’s all. Finished.’

‘And that’s it. No explanation - ’

‘How can I explain? I can’t change how I feel. These things happen.’

‘No, these things don’t just happen. There has to be a reason. At least let’s talk about it, try and work it out. We can’t just throw away everything we’ve meant to each other.’

‘Look, I’m sorry but it’s over, OK? I’m leaving. I’ll call you later, when you’ve calmed down.’

Simon picked up his case and opened the front door. ‘Goodbye, Jon.’

‘No. Don’t leave like this. Please – can’t we talk - ’

‘I’ll call you later.’

Simon slammed the front door.

Jon stood in the brightly lit hallway, shaking. One hour ago he had been feeling so happy. After six months’ unemployment he had finally been offered the perfect job, starting in two weeks. It had seemed too good to be true. But he hadn’t even had a chance to tell his boyfriend about it properly because, as soon as he’d opened his mouth, Simon had started packing. He must have been waiting for a chance to escape. There had to be someone else involved. Jon clenched his fists and took several deep breaths. He was on his own again, but at least he had a job. He could do without Simon now and good riddance.

‘Stuff you,’ he said aloud. ‘I don’t need you.’

Jon had spent too much of his life depressed by loneliness to face an evening on his own brooding about where it had all gone wrong with Simon. The silence of the flat was oppressive and the television didn’t help. He went out to a pub he knew where he could drown his sorrows in the company of strangers, and maybe meet someone. Simon wasn’t irreplaceable.

‘Just one more,’ he spluttered and the other guys laughed.

He wasn’t sure who they were, but the pub was a friendly place.

‘I think you’ve had enough, mate,’ someone said, patting him on the back.

‘You can come home with me if you want a place to kip for the night?’

Jon considered. He was reluctant to go home to his empty flat, but he hadn’t met the other guy before and he wasn’t drunk enough to go off with a stranger. Not yet anyway. He laughed and staggered over to the bar.

‘Give us another one.’

‘Hadn’t you better slow down?’

‘Whisky. Make it a double.’ Jon slapped a tenner on the bar.

‘I can afford it.

I’ve got a job.’

‘Well done, that’s grand. Here you go then. And here’s your change. But you’d best make that your last one tonight.’

Jon winked and knocked it back, nearly falling over as he did so. Someone held him upright, and a few people laughed.

‘This is fun,’ Jon thought, looking around. Aloud, he said,

‘I never knew I had so many friends.’

All at once he grabbed hold of the man standing next to him with sudden urgency.

‘Going to be sick.’

Someone pushed him out onto the street where he doubled over and threw up. When he straightened up he was alone outside, the noise and cheer of the pub dimly audible through the closed door. Jon looked at the pool of vomit on the pavement and walked slowly away. His head was aching and he wanted to go home and lie down.

‘You look like you’re in a bad way,’ a voice said softly in his ear.

Jon spun round and almost lost his balance.

‘Take it easy. Tell you what, I’ve got my car close by. Can I drop you off? You’re in no fit state to be out on your own. Where do you live? Or - ’

The stranger hesitated, staring curiously at Jon.

‘Why don’t you come back with me? I can drop you home in the morning, after you’ve slept it off. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you.’

Jon shook his head, trying to focus. The man had an educated voice and wasn’t at all bad looking. So much for sitting at home by himself fretting over what Simon was doing. This was his second offer of a bed for the night. He clutched the man’s arm to steady himself.

‘I’ve got a job.’

‘Been out celebrating, have you? I don’t blame you. It sounds like congratulations are in order.’

Simon hadn’t stopped to congratulate him. He hadn’t even phoned, although he’d said he would. Jon smiled as his new friend steered him along the street, towards a waiting car.

M
ore than a week had passed since they had first questioned Robert Stafford and they still had no conclusive evidence one way or the other. Morale on the team was low.

‘A dark-haired man with an educated voice,’ Geraldine said to Sam, who raised her eyebrows.

They had been over this so many times.

‘Robert Stafford,’ Sam insisted. ‘He stopped going to the massage parlour just at the time she was killed. How could he have known she wouldn’t be there unless he’d killed her himself?’

‘He could have just stopped going,’ Geraldine said. ‘Angie told us they had a raid shortly before Jessica disappeared and that scared off a few of their regulars. He might have been worried his wife would find out.’

‘So you think it was just a coincidence he stopped going then?’

‘It could be. Honestly, I don’t know what to think. Granted he’s tall and dark-haired, and he could have put on a different accent.’

‘So you agree he’s a likely suspect?’

‘No.’

Geraldine shook her head.

‘I wouldn’t say likely. It’s possible, but I still don’t think he’s the one we want. He just doesn’t strike me as a killer.’

The detective chief inspector shrugged when Sam voiced her opinion.

‘All this is purely circumstantial. We can’t make an arrest on such a flimsy pretext. There’s no point.’

A few other officers exchanged glances, as though they had heard this before.

‘He’s been warned not to leave the area but we can’t charge him without any evidence. If we could at least place Stafford in the area of Tufnell Park on the night Jessica Palmer’s body was deposited there, that would be something to work on,’ Reg Milton went on. ‘Catch him out lying about his whereabouts that night and that would be a start.’

Stafford had told them he was at home on the Saturday night when Jessica Palmer’s body had been placed in the alley.

‘I went home from work about six. I was on early shift.’

‘And where did you go after that?’

‘After what?’

‘That Saturday night. Where did you go after you went home?’

‘Nowhere. I never went anywhere. Like I said, I was at home. I didn’t go out.’

His face had dripped with anxiety.

Geraldine went along with Sam’s misgivings.

‘I’m not sure I believe everything he said either, but he told us he was at home and there’s no reason to doubt him. If you ask me, he’s in a complete funk and said whatever came into his head. But that doesn’t mean he was dismembering a body and disposing of it that night.’

‘He could have been,’ Sam insisted.

Geraldine didn’t bother to answer. They were going round in circles.

Later that afternoon Sam burst into Geraldine’s office without knocking.

‘We’ve got him,’ she announced.

Geraldine looked up.

‘Don’t you knock before you enter a room?’

‘We’ve got him,’ Sam repeated, her eyes alight with excitement.

‘Who?’

‘Stafford. We’ve got him. He’s been lying all along. I said he was lying. He told us he was at home on Saturday night but we can prove that’s not true because he was at King’s Cross - ’

‘Disposing of a body?’ Geraldine interrupted, smiling at the sergeant’s enthusiasm.

‘No. But he
was
at King’s Cross station. We ran a check on his Oyster travelcard and it showed he was on the move that Saturday night, travelling between Arsenal and King’s Cross. We confirmed it was him by checking the CCTV film. So he wasn’t at home on Saturday night. He’s been lying all along.’

‘Was he alone?’

‘Alone?’

‘He wasn’t carrying a body by any chance? Or dragging a suitcase? Perhaps he had a large sack slung over one shoulder?’

‘Of course not,’ Sam answered impatiently. ‘But he told us he was at home all night.’

‘Yes, he did. Where did he go on to from there? He didn’t go to Tufnell Park, I suppose?’

She had begun to share Sam’s excitement, and reminded herself that they needed to remain cautious.

‘No, he travelled from Arsenal to King’s Cross and back again four hours later, but it’s only two miles from King’s Cross to Tufnell Park. He could have walked there if he didn’t want his movements traced. Perhaps he had the body stored somewhere nearby in a lockup or something and wanted to get rid of it. In any case he could have been out and about on both nights the bodies were dumped, and we now know he lied about being at home.’

‘So what was he doing around King’s Cross when he told us he was at home?’

Geraldine was on her feet.

‘Come on, let’s go and see what he has to say for himself now.’

Robert Stafford had changed his clothes and shaved since he had been away from the police station, and he looked respectable. His reaction at seeing Geraldine again was very different to when he had first greeted her on his doorstep.

‘What is it now? You’ve got nothing on me. Why can’t you people bloody well leave me alone? I’ve got nothing more to say to you.’

Geraldine spoke quietly but she was firm.

‘Mr Stafford, we’d like to go over your statement with you again.’

‘I’ve told you everything I can remember.’

‘You told us you were at home all evening and night on Saturday the twenty-first of August.’ Robert Stafford nodded, circumspect.

‘That’s right.’

He folded his arms and looked from Geraldine to Sam and back again.

‘We’d like you to accompany us to the police station - ’

‘Oh no, not that again. I’m not going this time. You’ve already tried it on once. This is harassment. Now bugger off and leave me alone.’

‘Come on, now, Mr Stafford, we only want to talk to you.’

They led him to the car, huffing and grumbling.

Geraldine opened the questioning when they were all seated in an interview room in the presence of the duty solicitor again.

‘You told us you didn’t go out on the evening of Saturday the twenty-first of August?’

‘That’s right.’

He hesitated and glanced at the solicitor.

‘As far as I can remember - ’

‘Mr Stafford, you were picked up on CCTV at King’s Cross station just after midnight that Saturday night, having walked to King’s Cross from Tufnell Park.’

‘What?’

He sounded genuinely baffled.

‘What were you doing in Tufnell Park that Saturday night, Robert?’

‘Tufnell Park? You said King’s Cross.’

‘You went to Tufnell Park from King’s Cross.’

‘Why would I go to Tufnell Park?’

‘You tell us.’

‘I never went to Tufnell Park that evening.’

‘Think carefully, Robert.’

‘I may have a bad memory for dates, but I’ve never been to Tufnell Park in my life.’

‘Do you have any evidence my client was ever at Tufnell Park?’ the solicitor asked quietly, ‘or is this mere conjecture?’

Geraldine knew they couldn’t place Stafford anywhere near Tufnell Park but she watched him closely as she continued to question him.

‘Yet you were at King’s Cross having told us you were at home all night.’

Stafford wiped his sweaty brow on his sleeve but he didn’t look particularly worried.

‘So I was at King’s Cross. You can’t arrest me for that, can you?’

‘Why did you tell us you were at home that evening?’ Sam persisted.

He shrugged.

‘I forgot. I get muddled with days. It’s not a crime to have a bad memory, is it? I do different shifts. I don’t work Monday to Friday. I often don’t know what day of the week it is. I certainly can’t remember what was happening nearly two weeks ago. Can you remember where you were two Saturday nights ago?’

He turned to the solicitor who raised his eyebrows but didn’t answer.

‘If I was at King’s Cross I must have been meeting Eddy. Yes!’

He hit his forehead suddenly.

‘I remember. Of course. We went out for a drink. It was his birthday.’

‘Who’s Eddy?’

‘Eddy Hart. He’s a mate of mine. He’ll tell you I was with him. Ask him. Eddy Hart.’

He was grinning with relief.

‘We certainly will ask him, Mr Stafford,’ Sam scowled.

‘So I can go home now?’

‘Yes, you can go,’ Geraldine said. ‘Once we have Mr Hart’s details.’

‘But we’ll be seeing you again,’ Sam muttered.

Geraldine glanced at the sergeant who clearly still regarded Stafford as a suspect. Although they had caught him out in a lie, Geraldine was convinced it was an innocent mistake.

F
rom the fading and returning light visible through the skylight Jon guessed he must have been tied up for about twenty-four hours, but he couldn’t be sure. His head was throbbing and he was unable to move. At first he thought he was having a nightmare. He closed his eyes and tried to make himself dream something pleasant, yet time passed and nothing changed. The stench from his emptied bowels was real enough and he had to accept it couldn’t be a bad dream after all. Under normal circumstances he would have found his condition intolerable, but stinking filth could be washed away. He was facing something far more terrifying than physical degradation.

His wrists and ankles were firmly secured. He could twist his head from side to side and lift it from the pillow but the effort made him nauseous. He waited until a narrow shaft of light along the edge of the blind illuminated the room and then looked around. Turning his head to the left he raised his arm as high as he could, a few inches off the bed, and made out the links of a heavy chain around his wrist. His right arm was fastened in the same way and although he couldn’t see his legs he could feel that his ankles were similarly shackled. He had no idea why he was there or who had done this to him and wondered if this was some sick homophobic attack. He closed his eyes and tried to work out what was happening.

He recalled going out to celebrate finding a job. At the memory of his earlier relief, he was overcome with emotion. His life had finally taken a turn for the better when, without warning, he had been incarcerated by some lunatic. Tired and distressed, tied up alone in the dark, he felt tears slide across his cheeks while he lay helpless, unable even to wipe his eyes.

‘Who are you?’ he called out. ‘Why are you doing this to me?’

No one answered.

‘I haven’t done you any harm. What do you want with me?’

In spite of his discomfort he must have dozed off, because when he opened his eyes again he was in darkness. His limbs were still chained and the only difference was that the smell seemed to be getting worse. Through his shirt sleeves the sheet beneath him felt hard and scratchy. Suddenly a naked electric bulb blazed above him. After lying in darkness for so long, the light seemed to burn a hole in his head. He tensed, waiting. Footsteps approached and he swivelled his eyes to squint up at an unfamiliar face looming over him.

‘Hello, Jon.’

‘What the hell’s going on?’

Jon raised his arms up as high as he could, rattling the chains. The stranger smiled and Jon recognised the man who had picked him up in the street when he’d been plastered.

‘Who are you?’

‘My name isn’t important. Names don’t matter. Who cares about names? Names can be changed. What’s a name? Names die with us.’

The man seemed curiously keyed up, babbling excitedly.

‘Die?’

Jon seized on the word.

‘What are you talking about? What’s going on? Let me go!’ He bit his lip to stop himself crying with pain and fear.

‘You can call me - ’ his captor paused. ‘Why don’t you call me Victor?’

‘Victor? As in victory?’

‘Yes, that too.’

The stranger laughed lightly, a chilling sound in the circumstances.

‘I was thinking of Victor Frankenstein.’

‘The monster?’

The man shook his head, vexed.

‘That’s a mistake that ignorant people make. Don’t you know? Victor Frankenstein was the genius who produced the monster, created new life from the dead. But don’t worry. If it’s art and literature you’re interested in, I can teach you all about - ’

‘Look, I don’t give a fuck about art or literature, and I’m not here to learn about them. You brought me here and tied me up, remember? I didn’t ask to be here.’

He rattled his chains again.

‘I don’t know what you think you’re playing at but this whole thing is outrageous. Release me now.’

‘I can’t do that.’

‘Yes you can. Do it now.’

There was a pause.

‘What do you want with me anyway? If you’re planning on killing me just get it over with quickly, please.’

Jon managed to stop his voice from quivering. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, impressed by his own courageous words.

‘Kill you?’

The man calling himself Victor sounded surprised.

‘I’ve no intention of killing you. Why would I want to do that? The others weren’t strong enough, but I didn’t kill them. It wasn’t my fault they died. Why does everyone accuse me of wanting to kill them when that’s the last thing on my mind.’

He seemed to be talking to himself.

‘What others? I don’t know what you mean. Let me go.’

‘I told you, I can’t. Not now. You might go to the police and then my work would never be completed.’

‘What work? What are you talking about? Let’s finish this now. Just let me go,’ he added with a feeble attempt at a smile. ‘I’m not going to go to the police. Why would I? I don’t even know who you are or where I am. Please,’ he felt his resolution waver. ‘If you’re planning to kill me, just do it.’

The other man looked around the room and smiled.

‘I’m not going to kill you. I’ve already told you, it’s just the opposite.’

‘What the hell do you mean?’

‘I’m going to help make sure you never die. Not entirely. Something of you will survive forever.’

‘This is insane. Let me go!’

Jon rattled the chains furiously.

‘Let me go, right now, or I will fucking go to the police.’

‘Look - ’

The man waved his hand at the far wall.

‘Go on, look.’

Jon looked up. The wall was covered with shelves where hundreds of oddly shaped artefacts were displayed. He hadn’t been able to see any of them before in the darkness, but now his gaze travelled along the shelves of strange objects and he gasped. His eyes slid away and he saw another, and another. Staring frantically at the shelves he counted seventeen human skulls, each one polished and shiny.

‘What the hell - ’ he burst out.

‘Now do you understand?’ the man who called himself Victor said softly. ‘This is my collection.’

‘What’s this got to do with me?’

The man smiled.

‘You’re lucky. I don’t usually invite people like you back here to see my collection.’

‘People like me? You mean gay men?’

‘Don’t be so stupid. What difference does that make? I don’t care about your sexuality, although that could be interesting.’

He smiled and reaching down began to stroke Jon’s thigh. Jon writhed but couldn’t avoid the man’s touch.

‘Get off me, you fucking pervert! What are you doing?’

While he caressed Jon’s leg, the man continued speaking in an even tone.

‘I usually bring women here, they’re so much easier to pick up. I thought women were supposed to be physically stronger than men, but so far they’ve been a huge disappointment. They didn’t last long, any of them, and that does rather thwart the purpose. I want my visitors to be resilient, you see. That’s very important for the process. But as it turns out, I think men must be tougher than women after all, so it could turn out to be a real stroke of luck, your turning up like this. You know you’re the first man to come here. It’s easier to persuade women to come back with me, but you didn’t exactly resist, did you? I suppose I should be flattered.’

He leered at Jon.

‘Yes, you could turn out to be a very interesting experiment.’ Jon felt a shiver of dread as the man leaned closer.

‘Relax. I’m not going to hurt you. You’re interested in my collection, aren’t you? You understand, I can tell.’

‘What the fuck are you talking about?’

But the man had disappeared from his field of vision. He heard footsteps receding and the light clicked off.

‘What do you want with me?’

Jon could hear the panic in his own voice, hoarse and shaky. The door opened, there was a brief flash of light from outside, and then the room was engulfed in darkness more profound than before.