Maxim Jakubowski - The Mammoth Book of Best British Mysteries 6

“It was a diversion, you see. Road closed to heavy vehicles and elephants.”

Talk about diversions. We’d already diverted some way from the double murder in Steven Street. “What I’d really like to know from you, Nathan, is why you came home that afternoon wearing a suit that didn’t fit you.”

This prompted a chuckle. “That’s a longer story.”

“I thought it might be. I need to hear it, please.”

He spread his hands as if he was addressing a larger audience. “There were these three elephants.”

“You told me about them already.”

“Ah, but I was anticipating. When I first spotted the elephants I didn’t know what they were doing in Melrose. I thought about asking the keeper. I’m not afraid of speaking to strangers. On the whole, people like it when you approach them. But the keeper was in charge of the animals, so I didn’t distract him. I could hear the sound of the band coming from the High Street and I guessed there was a connection. I stepped out to the end of Melrose.”

“Where the postbox is.”

“What’s that got to do with it?”

“When you started out, you were popping round to the post.”

“Now you’ve interrupted my train of thought. You know what my memory is like.”

“You were going towards the sound of the band.”

He smiled. “And I looked up, and I saw balloons in the sky. Lots of colours, all floating upwards. They fill them with some sort of gas.”

“Helium.”

“Thank you. They must have been advertising the circus. Once I got to the end of Melrose Avenue I saw a woman with two children and each of them had a balloon and there was writing on them – the balloons, I mean, not the children. I couldn’t see the wording exactly, but I guessed it must have been about the circus.”

“Very likely.” In my job, patience isn’t just a virtue, it’s a necessity.

“You may think so,” Nathan said, and he held up his forefinger to emphasize the point. “But this is the strange thing. I was almost at the end of Melrose and I looked up again to see if the balloons in the sky were still in sight and quite by chance I noticed that a yellow one was caught in the branches of a willow tree. Perhaps you know that tree. It isn’t in the street. It’s actually in someone’s garden overhanging the street. Well, I decided to try and set this balloon free. It was just out of reach, but by climbing on the wall I could get to it easily. That’s what I did. And when I got my hands on the balloon and got it down I saw that the writing on the side had nothing to do with the circus. It said Happy Birthday, Susie.”

Inwardly, I was squirming. I know how these stories progress. Nathan once found a brooch on his way to the post and took it to the police station and was invited to put on a Mickey Mouse mask and join an identity parade and say “Empty the drawer and hand it across or I’ll blow your brains out.” And that led on to a whole different adventure. “Did you do anything about it?”

“About what?”

“The happy-birthday balloon.”

“I had to, now I had it in my hands. I thought perhaps it belonged to the people in the house, so I knocked on the door. They said it wasn’t theirs, but they’d noticed some yellow balloons a couple of days ago tied to the gatepost of a house in Steven Street.”

“Steven Street?” My interest quickened. “What number?”

“Can’t remember. These people – the people in Melrose with the willow tree – were a bit surprised because they thought the house belonged to an elderly couple. Old people don’t have balloons on their birthdays, do they?”

“So you tried the house in Steven Street,” I said, giving the narrative a strong shove.

“I did, and they were at home and really appreciated my thoughtfulness. All their other balloons had got loose and were blown away, so this was the only one left. I asked if the old lady was called Susie, thinking I’d wish her a happy birthday. She was not. She was called something totally unlike Susie. I think it was Agatha or Augusta. Or it may have been Antonia.”

“Doesn’t matter, Nathan. Go on.”

“They invited me in to meet Susie. They said she’d just had her seventh birthday and – would you believe it? – she was a dog. One of the smallest I’ve ever seen, with large ears and big, bulgy eyes.”

“Chihuahua.”

“No, Susie. Definitely Susie. The surprising thing was that this tiny pooch had a room to herself, with scatter cushions and squeaky toys and a little television that was playing Lassie Come Home. But the minute she set eyes on me she started barking. Then she ran out, straight past me, fast as anything. The back door of the house was open and she got out. The old man panicked a bit and said Susie wasn’t allowed in the garden without her lead. She was so small that they were afraid of losing her through a gap in the fence. I felt responsible for frightening her, so I ran into the garden after her, trying to keep her in sight. I watched her dash away across the lawn. Unfortunately, I didn’t notice there was a goldfish pond in my way. I stepped into it, slipped, and landed facedown in the water.”

“Things certainly happen to you, Nathan.”

He took this as a compliment and grinned. “The good thing was that Susie came running back to see what had happened and the old lady picked her up. I was soaking and covered in slime and duckweed, so they told me I couldn’t possibly walk through the streets like that. The old man found me a suit to wear. He said it didn’t fit him anymore and I could keep it.”

“All right,” I said, seizing an opportunity to interrupt the flow. “You’ve answered my question. Now I know why you were wearing a suit the wrong size.”

He shrugged again. He seemed to have forgotten where this had started.

It was a good moment to stop the video and take a break.

Morgan, the detective, watched the interview on the screen in my office, making sounds of dissent at regular intervals. When it was over, he asked, “Did you believe a word of that? The guy’s a fantasist. He should be a writer.”

“Some of it fits the facts,” I pointed out. “I believe there was a circus here last weekend. And I know for certain that the cable-laying in the High Street caused some problems after it was done.”

“The fact I’m concerned about is the killing of the old couple at twenty-nine, Steven Street, at the approximate time this Nathan was supposed to be on his way to the post.”

“You made that clear to me yesterday,” I said. “I put it to him today and he denies all knowledge of it.”

“He’s lying. His story’s full of holes. You notice he ducked your question about having a letter in his hand?”

“Popping round to the post is only a form of words.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning he’s going out. He needs space. He doesn’t mean it literally.”

“I’d put a different interpretation on it. It’s his way of glossing over a double murder.”

“That’s a big assumption, isn’t it?”

“He admitted walking up the left side of Steven Street.”

“Well, he would. It’s on his way to the High Street.”

“You seem to be taking his side.”

“I’m trying to hold on to the truth. In my work as a therapist, that’s essential.” I resisted the urge to point out that policemen should have a care for the truth as well.

“Are those his case notes on your desk?” Morgan said.

“Yes.”

“Any record of violence?”

“You heard him. He’s a softie.”

“Soft in the head. The murders seem to have been random and without motive. A sweet old couple who never caused anyone any grief. In a case like this, we examine all the options, but I’d stake my reputation this was done by a nutter.”