The Book of Evidence (29 page)

dressed and lay d o w n n a k e d i n the s h a d o w s a n d f o l d e d m y h a n d s on my breast, like a m a r b l e k n i g h t on a t o m b , and closed my eyes. I w a s no l o n g e r m y s e l f . 1 can3t explain it9

b u t it*s true. I w a s no l o n g e r m y s e l f .

T h a t first night in captivity w a s turbulent. I slept fitfully, it w a s n o t really sleep, but a helpless tossing and sliding on the surface of a dark. sea. I c o u l d sense the deeps beneath m e , the black, boundless deeps. T h e h o u r b e f o r e d a w n was, as always, the w o r s t . I m a s t u r b a t e d repeatedly —

f o r g i v e these squalid details — n o t f o r pleasure, really, but to exhaust myself. "What a m o t l e y little b a n d of manikins I c o n j u r e d u p t o j o i n m e i n these m e l a n c h o l y frottings.

D a p h n e w a s there, o f course, a n d A n n a Behrens, a m u s e d and faintly s h o c k e d at the things I w a s m a k i n g her d o , and p o o r F o x y as well, w h o w e p t again in my a r m s , as I, silent and stealthy a b o u t m y felon's w o r k , pressed her and pressed her against that d o o r in. the e m p t y , m o o n l i t r o o m o f m y i m a g i n a t i o n . B u t there w e r e others, too, w h o m I w o u l d n o t h a v e e x p e c t e d : M.adgess niece, f o r instance —

r e m e m b e r M a d g e ' s niece? — and the b i g girl with the red neck 1 h a d followed t h r o u g h the city streets — r e m e m b e r
her? —
and even, G o d f o r g i v e m e , my m o t h e r and the stable-girl. A n d in the end, w h e n they all h a d c o m e and g o n e , a n d I lay e m p t y on my prison b e d , there rose up o u t o f m e again, like the spectre o f a n o n e r o u s a n d ineluctable task, the picture of that mysterious, d a r k d o o r w a y , and the invisible presence in it, yearning to appear, to be there. To live.

M O N D A Y M O M M I N G . Ah , M o n d a y morning . T h e ashen light, the noise, the sense of pointless b e t compulsory haste.

I think it will be M o n d a y morning when I am received in HelL I was wakened early by a policeman bearing another m u g of tea and l u m p of bread. I had been dozing, it was like being held fast in the embrace of a large, hot, rank-smelling animal. I knew at once exactly where I was, there was no mistaking the place. T h e policeman was young, an enormous boy with a tiny head, when 1 opened my eyes first and looked up at him he seemed to tower above me almost to the ceiling. He said something incomprehensible and went away. I sat on the edge of the cot and held my head in my hands. My m o u t h was foul, and there was an ache behind my eyes and a w o b b l y sensation in the region of my diaphragm. I wondered if this nausea would be with me for the rest of my life. W a n sunlight fell at a slant through the bars of my cage. I was cold. I draped a blanket around my shoulders and squatted over the bucket, my knees trembling. I w o u l d not have been surprised if a crowd had gathered in the corridor to laugh at me. I kept thinking, yes, this is it, this is h o w it will be f r o m n o w on.

It was almost gratifying, in a horrible sort of way.

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Sergeant Cunningham came to fetch me for the first of that day's inquisitions. I had washed as best I could at the filthy sink
in
the comer. I asked him if I might borrow a razor. He laughed, shaking his head at the idea, the richness of it. He thought I really was a card. I admired his good humour: he had been here all night, his shift was only ending now. I shuffled after him along the corridor, clutching my trousers to keep them from falling down.

T h e dayroom was filled with a kind of surly pandemonium.

Typewriters clacked, and short-wave radios snivelled in adenoidal bursts, and people strode in and out of doorways, talking over their shoulders, or crouched at desks and shouted into telephones. A hush fell when I came through

— no, not a hush, exactly, but a d o w n w a r d modulation in the noise. W o r d , obviously, had spread. They did not stare at me, I suppose that would have been unprofessional, but they took me in, all the same. I saw myself in their eyes, a big, confused creature, like a dancing bear, shambling along at the steel-tipped heels of Cunningham's friendly boots. He opened a door and motioned me into a square, grey room. There was a plastic-topped table and two chairs. Well, he said, I'll be seeing you, and he winked and withdrew his head and shut the door. I sat d o w n carefully, placing my hands flat before me on the table. T i m e passed.

I was surprised h o w calmly I could sit, just waiting. It was as if I were not fully there, as if I had become detached somehow f r o m my physical self. T h e r o o m was like the inside of a skull. T h e hubbub in the d a y r o o m might have been coming to me from another planet.

Barker and Kickham were the first to arrive. Barker today wore a blue suit which had been cut in great broad swathes, as if it were intended not for wearing, but to house a collection of things, boxes, perhaps. He was red-faced and in a sweat already. Kickham had on the same
206.

leather jacket and dark shirt that he was wearing yesterday

— he did not strike me as a man much given to changing his clothes. T h e y wanted to k n o w w h y I had not signed the confession. I had forgotten about it, and left it under the mattress, but I said, I don't k n o w why, that I had torn it up. There was another of those brief, stentorian silences, while they stood over me, clenching their fists and breathing heavily d o w n their nostrils. T h e air rippled with suppressed violence. T h e e they trooped out and I was left alone again. N e x t to appear was an elderly chap in cavalry twill and a natty little hat, and a narrow-eyed, brawny young man w h o looked like the older one's disgruntled son. They stood just inside the door and studied me carefully for a long moment, as if measuring me for something. Then Oetective Twill advanced and sat d o w n opposite me, and crossed his legs, and took o f f his hat, revealing a Hattish bald head, waxen and peculiarly pitted, like that of an ailing baby. He produced a pipe and lighted it with grave deliberation, then recrossed his legs and settled himself m o r e comfortably, and began to ask me a series of cryptic questions, which after some time I realised were aimed at discovering what 1 might k n o w about Charlie French and his acquaintances. I answered as circumspectly as I could, not knowing what it was they wanted to k n o w — I suspect they didn't, either. I kept smiling at them both, to show h o w willing I was, h o w compliant. T h e younger one, still standing by the door, took notes. Or at least he went through the motions of writing in a notebook, for I had an o d d feeling that the whole thing was a sham, intended to distract or intimidate me. All that happened, however, was that I grew bored — I could not take them seriously — and got muddled, and began to contradict myself. After a while they too seemed to g r o w discouraged, and eventually left. Then my chum
2.07

Inspector Haslet came sidling in with his shy smile and averted glance. My God, I said, who were they? Branch, he said. He sat down, lookedvat the floor, drummed his fingers on the table. Listen, I said, I'm worried, my wife, I — He wasn't listening, wasn't interested. He brought up the matter of my confession. W h y hadn't I signed it? He spoke quietly, he might have been talking about the weather. Save a lot of trouble, you know, he said. Suddenly I flew into a rage, I don9t know what came over me, I banged my fist on the table and j u m p e d up and shouted at him that I would do nothing, sign nothing, until I got some answers. I really did say that:
until I get some answer si
At once, o f course, the anger evaporated, and I sat down again sheepishly, biting on a knuckle. T h e ruffled air subsided. Your wife, Haslet said mildly, is getting on a plane — he consulted his watch — just about now. I stared at him. Oh, I said. I was relieved, of course, but not really surprised. I knew all along Sehor what's-his-name would be too much of a gentleman not to let her go.

It was noon when Maolseachlainn arrived, though he had the rumpled air of having just got out of bed. He always looks like that, it is another of his endearing characteristics.

The first thing that struck me was how alike we were in build, two big soft broad heavy men. The table groaned between us when we leaned forward over it, the chairs gave out little squeaks of alarm under our ponderous behinds. I liked him at once. He said I must be wondering who had engaged him. on my behalf. I nodded vigorously, though in truth no such thought had entered my head. He grew shifty then, and mumbled something about my mother, and some work he claimed to have done for her in some unspecified period of the past. It was to be a long 208
.

time before I would discover, to my surprise and no little dismay, that in fact it was Charlie French w h o arranged it all, w h o called my mother that Sunday evening and broke the news to her of my arrest, and told her to contact straight away his g o o d friend Maolseachlainn M a c Giolla Gunna, the famous counsel. It was Charles too w h o paid, and is paying still, Mac's not inconsiderable fees. He puts the money through the bank, and my mother, or it must be that stable-girl, n o w , I suppose, sends it on as if it were coming f r o m Coolgrange. (Sorry to have kept this bit from you, Mac, but it's what Charlie wanted.) Y o u made some sort of confession, Maolseachlainn was saying, is that right? I told him about Cunningham's marvellous document. I must have g r o w n excited in the telling, for his b r o w darkened, and he closed his eyes behind his half-glasses as if in pain and held up a hand to silence me. You'll sign nothing, he said, nothing — are you mad? I hung my head. B u t I'm guilty, I said quietly, I
am
guilty. This he pretended not to hear. Listen to me, he said, listen. Y o u will sign nothing, say nothing, do nothing. Y o u will enter a plea of not guilty. I opened my mouth to protest, but he was not to be interrupted. Y o u will plead not guilty, he said, and when I j u d g e the m o m e n t opportune you will change your submission, and plead guilty to manslaughter.

Do you understand? He was looking at me coldly over his glasses. (This was early days, before he had become my friend.) I shook my head. It doesn't seem right, i said. He gave a sort of laugh. R i g h t ! he said, and did not add: that's rich, coming f r o m you. We were silent for a moment. My stomach made a pinging sound. I felt sick and hungry at the same time. By the way, I said, have you spoken to' my mother, is she coming to see me? He pretended not to hear. He put away his papers, and took o f f his glasses and 209
.

squeezed the bridge of his nose. Was there anything I wanted? M o w it was my turn to snicker. I mean is there anything I can have them get for you, he said, in a primly disapproving tone. A razor, I said, and they could give me back my belt, fm not going to hang myself. He stood up to leave. Suddenly I wanted to detain him. Thank you, I said, so fervently that he paused and stared at me owlishly.

I meant to kill her, you know, - I said, f have no explanation, and no excuse. He just sighed.

I was brought to court in the afternoon. Inspector Haslet and t w o uniformed guards accompanied me. My hand where I had caught it on the rose-bush had become infected. O Frederick, thou art sick. I have a strangely hazy recollection of that first appearance. I had expected the courtroom to be rather grand, something like a small church, with oaken pews and a carved ceiling and an air of *

p o m p and seriousness, and f -was disappointed when it turned out to be little more than a shabby office, the kind of place where obscure permits are issued by incompetent clerks. When I was led in, there was a sort of irritable flurry of activity which I took to be a general making-ready, but which was, as 1 discovered to my surprise, the hearing itself. It cannot have lasted m o r e than a minute or two.

T h e judge, w h o wore an. ordinary business suit, was a jolly old b o y with whiskers and a red nose. He must have had a reputation as a wit, for when he fixed me with a merry eye and said. Ah, Mr M o n t g o m e r y , the whole place fairly rocked with amusement. I smiled politely, to show him I could take a j o k e , even if 1 did not get it. A guard prodded me in the back, I stood up, sat down, stood up again, then it was over. 1 looked about me in surprise. I felt I must have missed something. Maolseachlainn was asking for 2 I O

bail. J u d g e Fielding gently shook his head, as if he were reproving a forward child. Ah no, he said, I think not, sir.

That provoked another tremor of merriment in the court.

Well, I was glad they were all having such a g o o d time.

T h e guard behind me was saying something, but I could not concentrate, for there was a horrible, hollow sensation in my chest, and I realised that I was about to weep. I felt like a child, or a very old man. Maolseachlainn touched my arm. I turned a w a y helplessly. C o m e on n o w , the guard said, not unkindly, and I blundered after him. Everything swam.

Haslet was behind me, I knew his step by n o w . In the street a little crowd had gathered. H o w did they k n o w w h o I was, which court I would be in, the time at which 1 would appear?

When they caught sight of me they gave a cry, a sort of ululant wail of awe and execration that m a d e my skin prickle. I war so confused and frightened I forgot myself and waved — I waved to them! G o d knows what I thought I was doing. I suppose it was meant as a placatory gesture, an animal sign of submission and retreat. It only m a d e them m o r e furious, of course. T h e y shook their fists, they howled. O n e or t w o of them seemed about to break f r o m the rest and fly at me. A w o m a n spat, and called me a dirty bastard. I just stood there, nodding and waving like a clockwork man, with a terrified grin fixed on my face. That was when I realised, for the first time, it was
one of theirs
I had killed. It had rained while I was inside, and n o w the sun was shining again. I remember die glare of the wet road, and a cloud stealthily disappearing over the rooftops, and a d o g skirting the angry crowd with a worried look in its eye. A l w a y s the incidental things, you see, the little things. Then the blanket was thrown over me and I was pushed head-first into the police car and we sped away, the tyres hissing. Hee-haw, hee-haw. In the hot, woolly darkness I wept my fill.