Sacrilege - Chapter 16

                                                CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Danny stayed out all night. Back at the widow’s house, no one got much sleep after we heard on the radio that there had been another murder.  A young gay man had been found with his throat cut in Camberwell Park, an area of south London. This brought the number of murders to six over a period of some fourteen months. While the police had made it known they were linking them to the same killer, there was never any mention of a pink carnation…or the murderer’s other ghastly ritual.

Since Danny isn’t gay there was no rational reason to suspect the worst. But rationality doesn’t always play a part where feelings of the heart are concerned. Besides, how could the killer be certain his victims were gay? Possibly, he followed them from gay bars, but a lot of straight people, including Danny, enjoy the atmosphere of such places. Gone were the days when they were the sole bastions of gay men and women. 

Miles Packard’s face continued to loom larger than life in my mind’s eye. I tried in vain to put it aside. Possibly it was only my semi-conscious state, as I hovered in and out of that no-man’s land between half-awake and dreams, that attributed so evil an expression to it. 

In the event, no one heard Danny come in.  The widow found him snoring on the sofa in her living room not long after daybreak.  I was lying full clothed and wide awake on my bed, heard her go downstairs and followed soon afterwards only to be greeted by a warning finger on her lips as I entered the living room. “Hush. Let him sleep,” she whispered.

We tiptoed into the kitchen and quietly closed the door. “I could kill him!” I told the widow. “He could at least have phoned. I haven’t slept a wink.”

“From what you told me, he was very upset and angry,” she replied, typically calm and unruffled. “Few young people handle their emotions very well. It comes with practise, as well we both know. Now, Laurence, what will it be? Would you like a full breakfast or just some toast?”

“Toast will be fine thank you,” I said and gave her what I hoped would be construed as a grateful smile. Not for the first time, I was lost in admiration for the old lady’s uncanny ability to carry on ordinarily in the face of the extraordinary.

Danny joined us half an hour later. “What’s for breakfast, grandma? I’m starving?”

I looked up sharply, not only irritated by his cavalier attitude but also the familiar way he addressed the widow. She, for her part, flung me such a withering look that I thought better of it and took another bite of toast instead. Later, I sloped off into the living room and was relieved to take a call from Marc to say that he and Jackie had spent the night at a hotel and they were now on their way to the flat. “Philip said it would be okay,” he added, and then hung up.  I was glad. It would have been difficult, if not impossible, to continue the conversation without mentioning Ginny Sharp. As it was, her face stared blankly up at me from the carpet. I shut my eyes. When I opened them again, someone else was peeping through the flowery shapes.

This time, it was Shifty. Instantly, I was wracked with guilt about losing my temper and not telling Philip I’d seen Shifty leaving Grantham Court. Thankfully, Ryan chose that moment to call and I was soon on my way to Bow.

Basic instinct told me to keep quiet about the events of the night before. But I was feeling over-tired, anxious, and generally sorry for myself, not to mention still furious with Danny.  No sooner had Ryan and I jumped into bed than I lay my head on his chest and found myself telling all. “It was horrible,” I heard myself repeating, “…horrible. I couldn’t stand the woman, but…no one deserves to die like that. It was like I could hear her last choking breaths in my ears all night. What with that and being worried sick about Danny, is it any wonder I’ve had no bloody sleep?”

He stroked my hair and kissed me. “So get some now and you’ll feel better…unless you’d rather have sex first?” he added with a wicked grin.

But I was already asleep.

It was around two o’clock in the afternoon by the time I awoke. There was no sign of Ryan, just a scrap of paper on his pillow telling me to make myself at home and help myself to whatever from the fridge. I did just that and was soon enjoying a fry-up wearing only Ryan’s short silk dressing gown.

Painfully aware that the day of Vince Packard’s birthday was getting dangerously closer all the time, I decided to stay at Ryan’s place until then and made my way back to the widow’s house to fetch some clothes. Being with Ryan was the best way I could think of to help block out my worst misgivings, if not altogether then at least to a degree that would make a shade life more bearable. Each time I found myself going over Danny’s mad plan in my head, the more forcibly it struck me as doomed to unmitigated disaster.

Plan, did I say plan..? I sighed. Making my way to the nearest tube station, I let my thoughts stray to Ryan’s naked body, imagining its sweet-smelling sensuality and sexual heat on mine.

“A penny for them…?” I was jolted out of my daydream by a vaguely familiar voice.

It was Shifty. “I think you and I need to talk, don’t you?”

“Get away from me!” I shouted and ran. 

“Hey, wait!” he yelled and ran after me.

Not daring to stray from the main road, I ran past Bow Road station and nearly all the way to Mile End.  All the time, I kept looking over my shoulder. However, much to my surprise and relief, he only attempted to follow me a short way. “Stay on the main road,” I kept telling myself, panting and wishing I was in better shape, “He won’t dare try anything in broad daylight and with so many people about.” 

Only once I’d convinced myself that he’d given up the chase and felt marginally safe, did I duck into a pub.

Breathlessly, I leant on the bar. I was served quickly by a busty blond young man whose tee shirt had to be at least a size too small and showed off tattoos on his arms and midriff as well as the kind of muscles I’d have died for at his age.  Huh, fat chance of that, I couldn’t help but reflect. Look at you now, Laurie Fisher, I told my reflection in the highly polished bar surface. Nor did I mince my words. You’re wheezing like a steam engine. You’ve got the cramps just about everywhere and you’re so shit scared still you can’t even drinks a glass of beer without spilling half of it.  If the latter self-accusation was something of an exaggeration, it was the only one.

I staggered to a seat, too exhausted to make any reply to the barman’s disgustingly cheerful “Are you okay mate?” ringing in my ears.

It was a while before I became aware of two women huddled in corner giving me occasional but intense glances. Over the rim of my glass I looked directly at them just as the one with her back to me flung a brief look over her shoulder. It was obvious I was the subject of their conversation and my hackles rose. Almost certainly, I looked a wreck. Even so, that was my business and no one else’s. The woman looked away. I was trying to decide whether or not to go and give them a piece of my mind when my bladder called upon my legs to make a dash for the toilet with burst of renewed energy that surprised even me.

The toilet was nearer the two women than where I had been sitting. On the way back to my seat, therefore, I had a clearer view. Barely had I summoned an expression of high dungeon when it fell away and was replaced by one of frank astonishment. That one of the women should be Jackie’s sister, Heather, was surprising enough. It was her companion, however, who held my attention.

It was Agnes Musoke.

“What the devil…?” I spluttered.

“You might as well join us, I suppose,” said Heather.

I fetched my drink,  pulled up a chair and sat down. “You’re taking quite a risk,” I told Agnes.

“As if she didn’t know,” commented Heather dryly.

“I had to come,” Agnes explained. “Two days ago Ginny contacted me and asked me to meet her at Victoria station in Manchester. She said she had something important to tell me about Teresa but could not talk on the telephone. She was not on the train she said she would be on. I waited for hours but she did not turn up.  I have been so worried. Ginny was good to me. She helped us escape, Teresa and I. I thought perhaps Heather would know what is going on.”

I looked from one woman to the other.

“Agnes and Teresa stayed at my place briefly,” Heather explained. “Ginny can be a bitch when she likes, but she has her good points too.  The only thing she likes about those damn Packards is what they pay her.”

I began to feel sick. The very fact that she was talking about Ginny in the present tense could only mean she had no idea her sister was dead. “You haven’t seen Jackie?”

Heather shook her head. “Not for a few days. Why?”  My expression must have been a give-away because the blood rushed from her face. “Why?” she repeated, “What’s happened?”

“Ginny’s dead,” I told the glass in front of me, unable to look either woman in the eye.

No one spoke for several minutes. I had expected cries of disbelief, a barrage of questions. Instead, a ghastly silence hung over us. I drained my glass. “Can I get your ladies another drink, a brandy perhaps?”

“Make it a double,” said Heather.

“Thank you, no. Nothing for me,” murmured Agnes so softly I had to strain to hear.

By the time I returned, the heavy silence I’d put down to shock had lightened perceptibly. In its place, an unnerving acceptance persisted through which I had the weirdest feeling I was listening on a conversation rather than actively participating in it.

“How did she die?” Heather wanted to know.  I told her as much as I knew. “Strangled, you say?” I could only nod.  “Those damn Packards! I warned her she was playing with fire. Would she listen? Of course she wouldn’t bloody listen. She always did have a mind of her own, our Ginny.”

“It is my fault,” Agnes sobbed. “They must have found out she called me.”

“Not necessarily,” I said and immediately wished I hadn’t.

“Oh?” Heather was quick to react. “So what are you holding back? You might as well, tell us. You’re not leaving here until you do, that’s for sure.”

I sensed she meant it. “There was a note on the body. It doesn’t rule out the Packards altogether, I suppose, but it was signed by someone called Georgie.”

“Fat Georgie…? The bastard, I should have known.” Heather hissed “As soon as Ginny let slip about Danny being alive, I knew, I just knew we hadn’t heard the last of our Georgie.” She turned to me. “I warned her. I told her time and time again. Keep away from Danny, I said, keep right away from Danny.  If Fat Georgie gets so much as a whiff  that Danny isn’t dead and you’re in on it, I told her, you’re as good as dead yourself.”

“Who is this Fat Georgie?” Agnes asked.

“You don’t want to know,” I told her without looking away from heather’s tense expression.  “I’m so sorry, Heather. We shouldn’t have come back. But Danny…”

“Danny is stuck on Teresa, I know. And what Danny wants, Danny gets. It was the same with Poppy”

“Poppy?” Agnes was plainly confused, but neither Heather nor I could be bothered to explain.

“Jackie told me,” I said hesitantly, “about Poppy being Ginny’s daughter.”

“Poor Ginny, she was only a kid herself. But she loved Poppy. That’s why she gave her away, so she’d have a better chance in life. Huh, fat chance! After Poppy died, I guess it helped to give some of that love to Danny. He never knew why of course. Mind you, they’re two of a kind, Ginny and Danny.”

I wasn’t sure I quite agreed with that but said nothing and rose to leave, anxious for some fresh air. Besides, what was to be gained by staying? I’d have liked to give both women a big hug. Instead, we solemnly shook hands.  I remembered just in time to urge total discretion. “We have to keep quiet about what’s happened to Ginny, at least for a few days. Please don’t ask me to explain. Trust me, it’s for the best. I’m sure Jackie will fill you in when you see her.”

“Why haven’t I seen her, that’s what I want to know?” Heather exclaimed. “I’m entitled to know my own sister had been strangled, surely?  Honestly, Jackie can be such a cow when she likes. She only ever thinks of herself, that one. Corrective transgender surgery or no, it makes no difference to the kind of person you are.  Oh, she likes to think she’s a cut above the likes of Ginny and me. Who does she think she’s kidding?  Huh! Let’s face it. She’s from the same bloody stall.”

Still mumbling vague condolences and an apology of sorts, I left.  At the exit, I could hear Heather’s voice calling for another brandy at the bar and trying to persuade Agnes to join her. At the same time, her condemnation of Jackie earlier continued to haunt me. Why hadn’t Jackie been in touch to tell her sister about Ginny’s murder?  She had, after all, expressed every intention of doing so, bearing in mind Philip’s call for caution in the short-term.

What the devil was going on?

Instead of returning to the widow’s house as I had intended, I made my way to Grantham Court.  Marc’s voice over the entry phone sounded hoarse. As soon as he let me into the flat, I saw why. He had obviously been crying. I tried to hug him but he pushed me away.

“Where’s Jackie?” I asked.

“I’ve no idea. Help yourself to a drink, why don’t you? I’m on the Geneva gin myself, large ones. There’s rum, scotch, red and white wine. Oh, and there’s some   disgusting sherry too. Take your pick. There was some beer in the fridge,” he added as an afterthought, “but not any more, there isn’t.”

His voice was slurred. How long had he been like this, I wondered as he thrust an empty glass into my hand, flopped on to the sofa and watched, sullenly, as poured the drinks. 

“Have you two fallen out again?” I ventured to ask.

“You could say that I suppose,” he muttered.

I looked around. The flat looked so…normal…it was surreal. Involuntarily, my gaze stopped at the bedroom door. I could hardly believe it had concealed a dead body from us as we’d sat drinking, just as we were now, barely twenty-four hours ago. It was not only a sobering thought but also reminded me why I had come although I was already doubting the wisdom of putting the question on the tip of my tongue to poor Marc in his present state.

“How did she get in?” I asked at last, “Ginny, how did she get in?”

He shrugged. “How should I know?  She must have got in while I was out or someone brought her here and killed her.”

“But how did she or they get in?” I insisted. “There were no signs of a forced entry.”

“Now you sound like Philip. He asked me the same question. He wouldn’t let it go either.  How the hell do I know?  I was pissed before I went out and pissed when I got back. Maybe I left the door open. I don’t remember. Besides, anyone can pick a lock if they know how.”

It was true.

“I shouldn’t have gone out.”

“You can’t blame yourself,” I told him. “Even if you did leave the door open, there’s no way what happened to Ginny is your fault.”

“But if I hadn’t stormed off the way I did…” his voice trailed off and he staggered to the drinks cabinet.

“What do you mean, you stormed off?” I was confused. Was he referring to his row with Jackie now?

Marc turned to face me, drink in hand, tears rolling down his cheeks. “She asked for my help, Laurie and I told her to go to hell.”

“You told Jackie to go to hell?”

“No, not Jackie, I wouldn’t do that. It was Ginny. I told Ginny to go to hell. By the time I got back she was dead and I didn’t even know. I just sat around drinking and all the time…” He staggered back to the armchair and tumbled into it. “How was I to know she was lying dead in the bedroom? I had no reason to look in the bedroom. For all knew she’d …left.  You were here. You saw I had no idea.  I had no idea, no idea,” he kept repeating.

Meanwhile I was trying hard to get my head around what I had just been told.  “Why didn’t you say so before?” I demanded.

“I didn’t want Jackie to know. Oh, she pretends to hate Ginny’s guts but a lot of that’s an act. They’ve always been at each other’s throats, yes, but deep down there’s always been something there. The trouble is they have always been too stubborn to admit it.”

“You say Ginny asked you for help?” I prompted.

Marc nodded. “First of all, she said she needed to see Jackie. When I told her we’d had a row and I wasn’t sure where Jackie was, she asked about Danny. I told her to mind her own bloody business and piss off.  Then she started crying and said I had to help her, that it was a matter of life and death. I yelled at her to piss off.  She was doing my head in Laurie. Then she started yelling back, saying as how I was bad news for Jackie just like I’d been years ago. She was hysterical. I couldn’t handle it, Laurie. I just…stormed out, like I said and went for a long walk. Not that it cleared my head, it didn’t.”

“What do you mean, like you’d been years ago?” I was hanging on to my brother’s every word like man dangling from a cliff edge. I thought I knew all Marc’s moods but this was something new…and scary.

“I knew Jackie years ago,” he said after a long pause, “when she was a man. We fell in love but my head was all over the place in those days and I didn’t have the guts to come out.  When we met up again, the years just fell away and it seemed the most natural thing in the world to start again where we’d left off.  It didn’t matter about the sex change. Man or woman, I loved him just the same.”

“Did you know Ginny then?”

Marc shook his head. “I didn’t realize who she was for a long time. Apparently, Jack went completely to pieces after I walked out on him.”

“And Ginny never forgave you.” It wasn’t a question.

Marc shook his head again. “I’m right, you see. She does…or did care for Jackie. How could I tell Jackie I’d turned her sister away and helped get her murdered?”

The penny dropped. “But you have told her.” Again, it was not a question.

Marc nodded and burst into a fit of sobbing.

Stunned, I left him to it.  I must have made my way back to the widow’s house in a trance because, to this day, I don’t recall letting myself in, going to my room and dozing off on the bed.

The next thing I heard was the sound of someone coughing. I opened my eyes. Fat Georgie was leaning over me, hands poised to seize my throat. I screamed. Only then did I wake up, heart pounding, drenched in sweat. My head was throbbing. I shut my eyes until someone coughed again and they flew open. For an instant, I was terror stricken. Then I saw it was Danny standing there, such a concerned expression on his face that I jumped up and hugged him.

“Are you okay?” he asked, returning the hug.

“I had a nightmare.”

“But it’s not even six o’clock yet.”

We broke apart. Danny’s face now worse such a bemused expression that I burst out laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

“You,” I told him. “One minute you’re a hard nosed, streetwise kid and the next you’re as vulnerable as the rest of us.”

“I’m not a kid any more,” Danny protested, “and I’d take a bath if I were you before you stink the place out and Grandma Finn has your guts for garters.” He grinned and poked out his tongue.

“You shouldn’t call her that,” I said without thinking, “It’s disrespectful.”

“The old girl loves it. You know she does, just like you love it when I call you Dad.  So what’s wrong with that since we’re like family anyway?”  The grin on his face dissolved into a shy, twinkle-eyed expression, one he invariably reserved for occasions when he’d get so close-up personal he’d start to feel out of his depth.  Reverting to form in an instant, he tossed me a cheeky wink and abruptly left me to my thoughts.

Whoever first coined the phrase, laughter is the best medicine, was spot on. I felt better already.

Five minutes later, a long, hot bath brought even greater relief to both my body and state of mind, especially as I’d helped myself to one of the widow’s bubble sachets.  There is something about a bubble bath that makes the outside world go away and leaves you floating on soapy clouds of utter contentment. Sadly, it can only ever be a brief flirtation with wishful thinking as bath water has a nasty habit of getting cold.

I resolved to tell only Philip about my traumatic encounter with Shifty or seeing Agnes Musoke.  I could always use Ryan’s mobile phone to contact him if he did not call me first.  However, I forgot.  Don’t ask me how I forgot, I just did.  Perhaps it was simply that I preferred not to remember. Being with Ryan swept everything else under the carpet although ‘under the duvet’ might be a more appropriate expression. After all, I was in love…Well, wasn’t I?  Sex between us was electrifying. I could gladly have made love all day and all night. His touch, his kisses, everything about the man excited me. More importantly, I sensed he felt the same about me.  Our lovemaking took us to pinnacles of mutual desire and need that left me feeling better about myself and the world than I had in ages.

It was especially good to feel needed again. I had lost that with Philip. Without either of us quite realizing it, my relationship with Philip had become…boring.

Boring?  It was as if someone had thrown a bucket of cold water on my head. It was a pretty poor excuse for falling out of love with someone. Even I, in my heady state, could see that. Better not to dwell on it, I decided. Better to enjoy what I had with Ryan and block out any intrusive thoughts.  There would be time enough to get real once Vincent Packard’s birthday had come and gone.

Time flew.

Friday came, and I returned to the widow’s house after lunching out with Ryan at a delightful café in Camden Town. “Come back with me later and we can go to the party together.” Ryan was very persuasive but I made the excuse that I needed to make sure Danny was dressed and ready on time.  Naturally, Ryan knew that Vince Packard had invited Danny and me to the party although I hadn’t told him why. If it became necessary, I would. Not before. Wasn’t our relationship was carrying me to dizzy heights in chariots of fire?  Why should I risk putting us on a collision course with the Packards or anyone else?

In other words, I was in complete denial.

Fortunately or perhaps unfortunately from my misty, rose tinted point of view, the same could not be said for Danny. He was dressed and ready by the time I returned to the widow’s and we would not be leaving for hours. “Where have you been?” he demanded.

“Having lunch with Ryan, and don’t take that tone with me, young man. We have plenty of time yet. I only need to take a bath and change. That won’t take long. The less time we have to sit and chew our nails, the better, surely?”

“I need to go over everything with you. I know you, Laurence. You’ll mess up if I don’t take you through every little detail. Not that it will guarantee a good result but at least I can try.”

“Oh, ye of little faith…” I mocked. But Danny remained uncharacteristically tight lipped and serious.

“And what about Jackie, does she know what to do?”

Danny nodded. “She was here last night. But I can rely on Jackie to play it by ear. You, on the other hand, are so smitten with Ryan bloody Banks, I’m not sure I can even rely on you to even remember just why it is we’re going to this party in the first place.”

“It’s not why we’re going that bothers me,” I retorted, “so much as why we’ve been invited. Suppose it all goes pear-shaped? Do I have to remind you that Packard expects you, me, and Teresa to have sex together while he sits back leaking into his underpants?”

“It won’t come to that.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Trust me, yeah? Everything will go like clockwork, just as we planned.”

“Trust you? I’m not sure I trust anyone any more. Frankly, Danny, I feel like catching the next train back to Manchester and leaving all of you to stew in your own juice.  I’m past caring…about you, Teresa, Philip…the whole damn lot of you.”

“You’re just nervous, that’s all. It’s understandable.”

“Nervous? I’m terrified.”

“It will be okay, I promise.”

“Yes, and pigs will fly,” I snapped.

“Who knows? In the meantime, let’s have a nice cup of tea and go over a few things, yeah? Grandma Finn’s next door with that idiot boyfriend of hers so we’ll have the kitchen to ourselves.”

“You’re as bad as the widow,” I flung at him accusingly, “She thinks everything can be sorted with a cup of tea too.”

“Maybe not quite everything…” Danny agreed with wicked grin, and then gave me an unexpected hug. “I’d never let anything bad happen to you, you know that.”

I was incredulous. “How can you say that with a track record like yours?”

“So maybe I don’t get it right all the time but neither do you so that means we’re quits, right?”

“If we’re quits,” I pointed out, “give me one reason why I should stay instead of catching the next train to Manchester.”

“I can give you more than one. You can pretend not to care about me and Teresa if you want. But there’s no way you’d get that thick head of yours around Ryan Banks or Phil if you were stuck up in Manchester.”

“Of course I care about you and Teresa,” I protested.

“Good. Now that’s settled, let’s go and put the kettle on and I’ll fill you in about tonight.”

“You’re impossible!” I shouted angrily.

“I know. I love you too. Oh, and Grandma Finn has been baking scones so we can have some with our tea.”

Danny disappeared into the kitchen. I followed, wearily resigned if no less fraught with anxiety than I had been since I arrived.

To be continued on Monday