Thirteen Steps Down (43 page)

Before he set up his own business he'd have to get himself work, and he

certainly couldn't take any of the clerks' and janitors' and council drivers'

jobs on offer. He'd be in Javy's class if he did that. Javy--ever since he'd

had that confrontation with Nerissa's bully boy he'd been thinking of

Javy, brooding on him, even dreaming of him. It was thirteen years since

he'd seen the man but his hatred hadn't diminished. He'd thought it had,

that it was in the past, but he'd been wrong. Javy had seemed an

obstacle he could never surmount, but now he had dealt with those two

women-"dealt with" was a more realisticway of putting it than "killed”-taking revenge on his stepfather presented itself as quite feasible.

Ahead of him, still parked at the curb, he could see the Brunswicks' old

Volvo. It would just be trouble, he thought, a car, however reputable, of

that age, breaking down on longer journeys, requiring endless

maintenance. While he stared at it,noticing that the £300 notice on its

windscreen was now hanging lopsidedly, Sue Brunswick came out of her

front door, carrying a large sooty-brown cat in her arms. In the events of

lastweekend, he had forgotten all about pursuing her.

"Have you thought any more about buying our car?"

"I don't reckon I want it," he said.

The cat he recognized. If he hadn't known him by his color and size he

would have by the look of contemptuous hatred Otto turned on him. The

eyes of imperial jade lingered coldl yand then, snuggling against Sue

Brunswick's full bosom, Otto buried his face lovingly in her neck.

"I see you're admiring my cat. Gorgeous, isn't he? He just walked in on

Monday and we've adopted him. We're calling him Chockie on account of

his color. I don't know wherehe came from, but he's so affectionate and

sweet, I justadore him."

It sounded very unlike the Otto he knew. A faint throbbingin his ankle

reminded Mix of their last encounter. "Well,cheers," he said and passed

on. Back at home, he went into thebedroom where she lay under the

floorboards. None of thebooks, none of the court proceedings, told him

whether Christiehad sometimes checked the hidden places to which he

had consignedhis dead wife and those others. Did he sniff the air as Mix

was doing now? Did he stand at a rear window and contemplate the

garden of 10 Rillington Place, assuring himself that the graves of Ruth

Fuerst and Muriel Eady were undisturbed?

He could smell nothing beyond the usual odor of this house outside the

confines of his own flat, a smell of dust and dead insects and aged nevercleaned fibers. The scent of an old person, but not a dead one. His next

natural move was to the window that overlooked the garden. In spite of

the lack ofrain, weeds were growing, green and vigorous, over the slight

hump of Danila's grave. To everyone but him it would soon be

undetectable.

Why not go away for a bit? Use up the time between nowand the day

he'd fix on for seeing Nerissa again. He couldn'tremember when he'd last

had a holiday. Of course, going toColchester to stay with one's sister

wasn't what most peoplewould call a holiday, but this trip would have

another purpose.He'd find out from Shannon where Javy was now. Not

stillwith the woman who had succeeded their mother, he was sure.Javy

would have moved on, to a new life, a new girlfriend, anew benefit office.

It was funny, what you'd call ironical, that the member of his family he

got on with best, the only one really he got on with at all, was the sister

Javy said he'd tried to kill. And it wasn't as if she didn't know about it.

Javy had taken care to tell her. Mix could hear his words now.

"You wouldn't let him handle your dolls if you knew what he'd done.

Tried to kill you, he did. Would have bashed your brains out if I hadn't

got there in time."

They went to the police station in Ladbroke Grove together on Friday

morning. Hazel said they didn't need her, she had to get home, but they

were to tell her what the police said and everything that happened. A

Middle Eastern man was coming out with a pretty young blond woman

as they went in.

"I wonder what they were in there for," said Queenie. "Perhaps he's an

asylum seeker and she's going to marry him to make him a British

citizen."

"It doesn't work like that anymore." Olive stared after thecouple. "It's a

much more complicated business."

They were given a Missing Persons form, which Olive filledi n as best

she could. "Is that it?" she said to the young detective constable.

"What do you want 'it' to be?"

"You could look for her, for a start."

He went away, was away for ten minutes, then came backwith another

officer, the one who had just seen Abbas and Kayleigh. The other officer

said, "Is there a youngish guy called Michael Cellini, formerly of the

Fiterama Gym EquipmentCompany, living on the premises?"

"I don't know about any gym equipment," said Olive in a voice full of

scorn, "but his name's Cellini all right. Why?" If she had been less

innocent or had watched more television she would have known better

than to ask that question. Naturally, it remained unanswered.

"If we call at the address will there be anyone to let us in?"

"Cellini, I suppose," said Queenie, who had dropped the"Mr." after Mix's

remark about the Women's Institute. "No, you can't rely on him. One of

us will take care to be there."

"We would anyway." Olive spoke grimly. "Leave the place empty and he's

capable of setting fire to it."

They returned to St. Blaise House in a taxi after Queenie had bought

two slices of lemon cheesecake and two creamhorns at a patisserie in

Holland Park Avenue.

"I wonder if he's up there," Queenie said at the foot of thestairs.

Mix was. He'd spent most of the day phoning those of his old clients he

hadn't already targeted, but at the final countonly six had agreed to

transfer their business to him and one of those was hesitant. In the early

evening he phoned his sister to ask if he could come and stay for a few

days. Shannon, whocouldn't understand why anyone who didn't have to

would want to spend even a single day in a house on a council estate

outside Colchester with an exhausted woman, her boyfriend, her three

children and his two, asked him why.

"Do I have to have a reason? I reckoned it'd be nice to see you and

Markie and the kids, that's all."

"It's not that I mind, Mix, only you'll have to bunk in with the boys.

There's only three bedrooms."

"I haven't seen you for I don't know how long, Shan. Must be all of five

years."

"More like seven," said Shannon. "Lee was just a baby. Look, I've got to

go. When was you thinking of coming?"

Tomorrow, Mix said, some time tomorrow morning. He'd have to come

on the train. "My car's in dock. Having a new sump fitted. I'll get a taxi

from the station." He'd get the bus, but there was no need to tell her that.

Downstairs, Queenie and Olive waited for the police to come. Although

they had asked if anyone would be in later no police had appeared, it was

eight o'clock and beginning to get dark.

Queenie stood at the French windows, looking out into the twilit

garden. She had watched Mr. Singh calling to his geese to shut them up

for the night and now he had gone in and there was no one to be seen.

The colored lights on the palm tree came on, went off, and came on

again, twinkling brightly.

"He really is a very handsome man, you know, dear. Quite

distinguished-looking. He has the backbone of a high-ranking army

officer."

"Don't be absurd, Queenie." These days, listening to herself speak, Olive

was conscious that the mantle of Gwendolen's mannerisms and speech

patterns was descending onto her shoulders. She must watch herself. "It

has occurred to me that perhaps one of us should stay the night."

"Well, don't look at me. I should be frightened out of my wits staying in

this place. Have you noticed how dark it is? And it's not possible to make

it any lighter. The wattage of the bulbs is too low. We should have bought

some hundred-watt bulbs."

"Why don't you just pop home and fetch some. I'll stay here till you get

back. I shan't mind," said Olive, who would mind very much but was

putting a brave face on it. "I shall phone my niece and see if she can

persuade her husband to come and stay. He's a lovely man but he's very

big and he looks quite alarming."

Queenie went off to fetch the lightbulbs and Olive remainedwhere she

was in the drawing room. They had cooked themselves scrambled eggs

on toast for their supper and had tinned peaches afterward. The peaches

came out of Gwendolen's cupboard and had a recent sell-by date on the

can, so Queenie thought they couldn't do them much harm. After awhile

Olive phoned the Akwaas, and Tom said he'd come over about ninethirty. Staying in that crazy place would be a lark,he said.

Sleeping arrangements would have to be made for herself' and Tom.

Olive hated the thought, but it was no good postponingit. She toiled

upstairs to the first floor. Gwendolen's bedroom and dressing room and

the bathroom occupied most of it but two other rooms had bedsteads

and mattresses. Theys eemed rather less damp than the rest of the

house and the curtains at the windows neither resisted drawing nor

hung in rags. In a cupboard in one of these rooms she found sheets and

pillowcases and blankets. The blankets were far from clean and the

sheets, though washed, had never been ironed, but they would do. For

one night they would do. Making up the bed inthe room nearer to the

head of the stairs, Olive asked herself ifshe were mad, electing to stay

overnight in this house. And then she heard Mix Cellini's footsteps

overhead and she understoodthat she was right. In the morning she

would phone the police and ask them if they meant to come.

Mix heard her too and wondered what was going on. Probably nothing.

It was very likely no more than those two old vultures deciding to help

themselves to whatever they could find before old Chawcer came back.

That would be typical. She had probably possessed some valuable

jewelry, those old girls always did. He congratulated himself. Most guys

in his positionwould have been into her things once they'd found her

deadand he felt quite smug because he hadn't touched a single one.

He heard the front door open and close, Ma Winthrop's voice calling out

some rubbish about lightbulbs, and becauseall these comings and goings

were making him nervous hecame out on to the landing. Ma Fordyce was

going downstairs. As she reached the bottom the front doorbell rang.

This happenedso seldom that it made Mix jump. Of course the light had

gone out and tonight it was particularly dark, no moon,not so many

lights showing in houses as usual. It was partly the fault of all those tall

trees, concealing street lights behind greatdark branches. Someone had

opened the front door. He heard a man's voice, rich and fruity, and for

one moment he thoughtthe impossible: that this was the police. Then Ma

Fordyce said, "Hallo, Tom. It is good of you to do this."

"No problem," said the fruity voice. "My pleasure. I brought a bottle of

wine. I thought it wouldn't go down badlya nd when we've wetted our

whistles I'll drive Mrs. Winthrop home. Can't let her go out alone on a

night like this."

There was silence. They must all have gone into the drawingroom. Mix

turned around slowly, took a step toward his front door and looking

down the left-hand passage, saw the ghost standing at the end in the

deep shadows. He clapped his hand over his mouth to stop himself

crying out. The ghost stood still and seemed to be staring at him. Then it

moved forward, its hands held out in front of it as if pleading for

something, as if begging-or threatening? His front door had been left on

the latch; Mix flung it wide open and fell inside the flat, tumbling over

the doormat then leaning back, holding thedoor shut against the ghost.

But he could feel no pressure against him and at last, still trembling, he

got up and bolted thedoor top and bottom, something he had never done

before.

Tom Akwaa was the first up in the morning. He always was anddidn't

vary his routine just because he had taken the day off. "I'll stay till the

police come," he said to Olive when she camedown for her tea. "Youwant

me to remind them you're waiting for them?"

"Would you?"

She couldn't resist starting to clean the kitchen while he was on the

phone. Olive belonged to a generation that changed the sheets when the

doctor was coming and put on their best underwear before they went on

a journey in case they were in an accident and had to go to hospital. Now

she tidied and scrubbed the kitchen and wiped all the surfaces in case

the policemen went in there for a cup of tea.

* * *

It was a relief to Mix to be going away. he might never comeback. Not to

stay, at any rate. Just to collect his things and get his furniture stored

while he found another place. The appearance the previous night of the