The Crime Tsar (50 page)

‘Don't worry, the Angel of Death will clear it up.'

Shackleton looked lost.

‘Nurse Stroud. I call her the Angel of Death. Every time she comes here she has yet another lurid tale of how one of her patients has “crossed over”. Probably be me next. So … How have you been?'

‘Fine … Fine. Good. I was just over at the house, checking everything's all right.'

‘Oh Lucy could have done that for you. But of course … you changed the locks, didn't you?'

Shackleton avoided the challenge.

‘I'm sorry it's so late – I hadn't realised the time. Why don't I come back another day?'

‘When Lucy's here.'

‘Well, yes, it would be nice to see her again. How is she?'

That tone of polite indifference really annoyed Gary.

‘How is she? Well, Tom, what can I say? She's in love with another man who's just got a new job and moved away from the area. Suicidal might be a word I'd use only I don't think even Lucy could be so stupid as to kill herself for that piece of low life. And he's vicious low life, he's the sort of man who comes sniffing round when he thinks Lucy's husband is in hospital. Unfortunately for him there were no beds and Lucy's away visiting the rock pools and historic sites of Hastings.'

Shackleton looked like a stunned fish. Gary was gratified by the effect.

‘I don't know what you mean.'

Gary exploded, and as the words poured out of him, he realised this was what he'd been missing in the politeness of disability. The opportunity of tearing into someone and feeling chunks of their flesh ripping under the onslaught. No, not someone, Tom Shackleton.

‘Oh you nasty, cowardly piece of shit. Haven't you even got the balls to admit you've been sleeping with her? It wasn't even an affair for you, was it? She was just somewhere to put your frustrations, a soft repository for your ego. What have you come back for? Eh? To make sure she doesn't think too badly of you? Because you don't need her any more, do you? You've got rid of Jenni, you got rid of Carter and now it's Lucy's turn. But she doesn't have to die, Tom, does she? Not so anyone will notice, anyway. You found a much more subtle way to kill her, you just broke her heart. So, come on,
what have you come back for, you evil bastard? A last shag? Your bag of drugs?'

Shackleton, stunned by the attack, struggled to reply.

‘Oh, it's all right, Tom, Lucy wouldn't let me do anything to hurt you, you're quite safe.' He paused, he was blazing like a consumptive and from somewhere found the strength to pull himself upright in the bed. ‘Until I die, Shackleton. Until then. Don't ever forget a deathbed deposition is a statement. Admissible in court as evidence.'

Shackleton fought back.

‘Evidence of what? There's nothing to link me with anything. Any accusation I would defend robustly.'

Gary was contemptuous.

‘You can't defend yourself against a dead man, particularly if there are as many people as you've got out there just waiting for you to be brought low.' He was baiting Shackleton now. ‘So come on, what did you come back for? And don't say to see me, try telling the truth, just for once, you might like it.'

When Shackleton spoke it was quietly but with a sort of defiance.

‘I came back to see Lucy.'

Contempt took the anger out of Gary's words.

‘Well, I know that. But why? Why do you want to see her?'

‘To tell her I love her.'

Shackleton's admission, the first time he'd ever used the word love in the context of another human being, lay between them like a robin's egg. It was tiny, it was fragile, and it contained the possibility of new life.

Gary weighed it in silence then took great pleasure in booting it into touch.

‘Enough to marry her? Enough to put her in the spotlight? Enough to take what they'll do to both of you when they find out you took her away from her disabled husband before your wife was cold in her grave? Can you imagine what the tabloids would do to her? And what would they do to you, the Teflon Chief Constable, now the Lord's anointed Crime Tsar?' Gary paused, but he hadn't finished. When he spoke again his voice was quiet, almost a whisper. ‘How much do you love her really, Tom? I love her enough to die for her, if that's what she wants. I'm serious. If it's you she chooses, I won't stand in the way.' He laughed. It was an incongruous sound. Perfectly natural and genuinely amused. ‘Stand? I should be so lucky
to be able to. But I mean it, Tom. There's just one condition. You have to ask her. And tell her everything, I mean everything, all the stuff I can only guess at. Then let her choose.'

‘I can't do that.'

‘Why? Because you might lose? I don't think so.'

Gary was shocked to see Shackleton's eyes were bright with tears.

‘No. No.'

Urban foxes, confident in the quiet street, shrieked as they played round the cars. An unlaid sewer pipe magnified their calls as they raced through it.

It was a moment of mutual rest in the fight between the two men but Gary wasn't going to relax. He knew he had Shackleton down but wasn't sure how or why.

When Shackleton looked up the tears hadn't fallen but he was able to speak.

‘I don't want to hurt her.'

Gary let out a shout of derision.

‘It's a bit bloody late for that. Have you any idea what you've put her through, you shit –'

‘I know. I'm a bastard. I know.'

Gary was outraged now, and enjoying it.

‘Oh no … you don't get off with a bit of self-pity and a mea culpa. All your life you've been doing that then carrying on just the same. You've got some idea that just saying you're a bastard absolves you of responsibility. Well, it doesn't. You've got to be sorry, Tom. Sorry enough to change. And I don't mean just reinventing yourself, which believe me I know is your usual trick. No, to change enough to make amends.'

He was sure Shackleton was beaten now. Gary hadn't tasted triumph in so long it hit him like neat whisky. He fell back on his pillows, dizzy and euphoric.

As he did, Shackleton stood up and leaned over him, dangerous, pressing his fists into the mattress.

‘Finished, Gary? Right. Now I'll tell you what I think. Lucy is only staying with you because she feels guilty. Think about it, Gary, if you were well, if you and I were equal, which of us would she choose? Eh? If it was just a straight call, no emotional blackmail involved. She'd leave you, wouldn't she?'

Gary turned his head away.

Shackleton spoke in his most reasonable, most persuasive tone. ‘If you really love her, then you must think about it. What have you got to offer her? Mmm?' He touched Gary lightly on his chest. ‘This?' He lifted the urine bag so Gary could see it. ‘This?' He reached across for the shaving mirror and held it in front of Gary's face. ‘This?' He sat down. ‘The difference between us, Gary, is I know I'm a bastard and you think you're a saint. But I'll tell you this. If you condemn Lucy to a lifetime of wiping drool off your chin and watching you rot you're a bigger bastard than I could ever aspire to be.'

He stood up and stepped away from the still body on the bed. The temptation to put his hands round that scrawny neck and squeeze was overpowering.

‘More hot chocolate, gentlemen?'

Nurse Stroud spoke at the same time as knocking and entering the room. Completely oblivious to the poison air she sailed across, loaded the tray, tutted at the spill, mopped at it with a wad of tissues then turned and left with a cheerful wink at Shackleton.

‘Open the door for me, will you, Mr Shackleton. Don't want to drop this little lot, do we?'

And she was gone in a cloud of Yardley Lavender soap and talcum powder.

Shackleton stood by the door. Not moving.

Gary couldn't see him.

‘You still there? Tom?'

‘I'm here.'

‘Go over to the piano.'

Shackleton looked across at the bottles and boxes of pills, the tubes and sealed bags of equipment then walked slowly towards them. When he reached the piano he noticed without any recognition that it was a Steinway. All he knew about the name was that it was famous but for pianos or fridges he couldn't have said.

‘You'll see a bottle on there, small green one – yes, that's it.'

Shackleton picked it up.

‘No. Not yet.' Gary pulled himself more upright and did his best to pull his pyjama jacket closed. When he was satisfied he concentrated on Shackleton again. ‘Tranquillisers. The bottle next to it, the tall plastic one …'

Shackleton picked it up.

‘Yes, that one. Sleeping pills. And the packets of Coproximal,
painkillers. You're ahead of me, you know where I'm going, don't you, Tom? I wouldn't like you to get bored. So here's my proposition. You give me those pills, all of them, and I'll take them.

‘Now, I have to warn you, last time I tried to top myself it didn't work. But then even you, policeman though you are, will have grasped that one. I think this time though, between us, we could get it right. If you think Lucy would be better off without me, and believe me, I think you're right, I'll take them. I just don't imagine you'd make her happy. After all, Tom, you've never made anyone happy, have you?'

Shackleton knew that was deadly accurate. If anything, he'd gone out of his way to create a sort of unhappiness around him to stop intrusion. To prevent anyone seeing how little there was of him. But Lucy was different. She knew him. She understood him. She had promised never to hurt him. The hopeful child in him was facing the hopeless man across a chasm of experience.

‘Give me the pills, Tom. Give Lucy what she really wants.' Gary held out his hand as best he could. His arm shook with the effort. ‘Or are you afraid? Afraid to kill an old friend?'

Shackleton's reply was flat, unemotional.

‘I've killed better men than you, Gary.'

‘Come on then, Crime Tsar. Come on. You've got everything else you want. Take this too. It's easy …'

The devil looked at Shackleton with Gary's eyes. Yes. It would be easy. Why not? He might be prosecuted. No, he'd just say Gary asked for the pill bottles to be left by him. The caps? Unscrewed in case he wanted to help himself. Gary hadn't wanted to bother the Angel of Death.

Shackleton's mind worked fast, like a dog rounding up his flock of scattered thoughts.

He saw Lucy's face. Her fearful eyes looking up at him for protection and reassurance. He felt a surge of emotion towards her the like of which he'd never experienced. It was so strong he didn't know if it was pleasure or pain.

He gathered up the pills and took them to Gary.

Shackleton unscrewed the caps.

He put the containers on the tray table beside the bed.

It was all going to be so simple. Easy. Happy ever after.

Then he slowly pulled the table until it stood just out of Gary's reach.

Gary was trembling, his strength almost gone, but he seemed possessed as he looked up at Shackleton.

‘Couldn't you do it, Tom? Couldn't you kill without Jenni there to hold your balls for you?'

Shackleton walked out of the house still hearing Gary's voice.

He almost ran back to the now dark and gated train station.

He sat down on a garden wall. Shaking. Sweating. Breathless.

Out of the station shadows a scruffy young man with a scruffier dog lying on a cardboard mat called, ‘Spare some change, mate?'

Shackleton automatically felt in his pocket and produced two £1 coins. He walked across. His hand was shaking as he handed the money over. The young man was obviously high on something, his eyes dull and dilated, his speech just out of focus.

‘Thanks, mate. Have a good night.'

Shackleton squatted down beside him.

‘Could you spare me a cigarette? I don't normally smoke but tonight …'

The dog looked surprised – it wasn't often they were asked for favours. It laid its chin on the young man's knee while he rummaged under his blanket for a Marlboro packet that contained a selection of different brands and two rather suspicious-looking roll-ups. Shackleton selected a Benson and Hedges, the young man one of the thin roll-ups. They were lit with a blue throwaway lighter held in the young man's dirty hand. Shackleton noticed he bit his nails.

‘Thanks.'

The smoke tasted dirty but it gave him an almost instant wave of pleasure as it infected his bloodstream.

‘Thanks.'

‘You all right, mate?'

Shackleton stroked the dog's ears. He took another deep lungful of the foul-tasting smoke.

‘Yes. I think so. I didn't kill someone tonight.'

The young man was philosophical.

‘That's always a good way to end the day.'

They smoked in silence.

‘Why not?'

Shackleton flicked his ash before it was ready, enjoying the ritual and companionship.

‘Tell me,' he said, staring across the road at nothing. ‘If someone killed your dog so they could be with you, could you love them?'

‘No fuckin' way.'

‘What if you didn't know?'

‘Fuck off, man. They'd have to be a murderer and a liar. I'd rather have me dog.'

The dog, knowing it was being talked about, looked from one man to the other, straining like a deaf mute to understand what was being said.

‘Good choice,' said Shackleton. ‘Only problem is, because I didn't kill him, I think he may have killed me.'

This appealed to the young man and he started laughing. Nothing had made him laugh for days and it felt good.

‘Oh man, that's bad. What's his name? Me an' the dog'll go and get him.'

Shackleton laughed too. There was nothing funny but his muscles were contracting involuntarily, starting to ache.

‘His name's Keith. Gary Keith.'

The young man's laughter now became uncontrollable at some picture in his head Shackleton couldn't see. He was gasping for breath when he explained.