Stuart Pawson - Deadly Friends

"When did you last see Rodney?" I asked.

"New Year's Day," she replied, without hesitation.

"You were open New Year's day?" I queried.

"We're not a corner shop, Inspector," she admonished. "We are there for the benefit of our patients. Holiday times can be particularly stressful for them."

"And the rest of us," I sighed.

"Actually," she said, 'we do not have out-patients at holiday times, but sometimes we have vacancies and can take certain vulnerable cases in for a few days. We felt Rodney fell into that category."

Why did Nigel shuffle uncomfortably in his seat? Why did I suddenly wish I was somewhere else, like having a prostate biopsy?

"He was with you for a few days?" I said.

"Yes. Some of our regulars went home to their families for Christmas, which meant we had some spare beds. There are many temptations and pressures for someone like Rodney at Christmas, so we felt it desirable to keep him with us."

"Temptations like alcohol?" Nigel wondered.

"Alcohol and loneliness are a potent combination," she replied.

"So how long was he with you?" I asked.

"Ten days."

I couldn't do the sums. "The doctor was killed on the twenty-third," I told her, 'at eight thirty in the evening. Was Rodney Allen an in-patient at North Bay at that time?"

"He came in during the afternoon of the twenty-second, Inspector," she replied. "The following evening the day before Christmas Eve we had our party. Rodney earned everybody's displeasure by hogging the karaoke machine. If that is when the doctor was murdered then I can assure you it wasn't Rodney who pulled the trigger. I'm afraid you've had a wasted journey."

I told the superintendent that Rodney had been given an alibi and thanked him for his cooperation. Before the enormity of my words registered in his brain we were in the car and driving away. As we pulled on to the main road an ARV and a van load of the heavy mob sped in the opposite direction. When they'd vanished from my rear-view mirror I slapped my thigh and declared: "Well, that's nicely cocked-up their overtime budget!"

Nigel laughed. "I'm just grateful that you were with me," he said. "It goes on your record, not mine."

"Think positive," I said. "It's another suspect we can draw a line through eliminate from enquiries, as they say. And it's probably the best bit of excitement they've had since the candy floss stall was condemned by the health inspector. We're asking all the right questions — it's just a pity that we're asking them in the wrong order."

As we headed inland the sleet turned to rain. There was no moon and the night was blacker than the bottom of a gipsy's chip pan. I was surprised how much commuter traffic was heading east, towards the coast, a pre-dinner sherry and the little woman. Nigel fiddled with the radio and found a country music station. A cracked voice was wailing: "I left you tied to the hitching rail and my best friend rode you awayee…"

"Do you think that's meant to be a metaphor?" he asked, pressing the off button.

"What's a metaphor?" I mumbled, squinting against the glare of headlights. I was thinking about Rodney, and North Bay House. Did his trustees pay his bills when he was admitted? It sounded to me as if they had a few vacancies over Christmas, so they rounded up their regular reserves to fill them. I'm paid to have a suspicious mind.

"Why," I wondered aloud, 'did Mrs. Allen have her operation in Heckley when she'd already moved to Scarborough?"

"Waiting lists," Nigel explained. "She'd probably been on the General's waiting list for about two years."

"Of course. Thank you."

This side of York, heading towards the A1, I swung into a lay by and hit the brakes. "I'd better ring Annabelle, I'm running late," I explained, reaching into the back for the telephone, in the pocket of my down jacket. I pressed the last number recall button and held the phone to my ear.

"WHAT YOU WANT?" a voice boomed at me. A male voice, close to hysteria. "Why not you leave me alone?"

I jerked back in my seat and stared at the instrument. "It's him!" I hissed. "It's him!" The last number I'd dialled hadn't been Annabelle, it had been Rodney!

"Hello," I ventured. "Is that Rodney Allen, please?"

"Yes!" he snapped. "Why you not leave me alone?"

"My name's Charlie," I told him. "Do you think we could have a little talk?"

"What about?" he asked, his voice wavering with fear. I could imagine him, quailing in a corner of his little room.

"Oh, this and that, Rodney. Are the policemen still outside your house?"

"Yes, they are. Lots of policemen."

"Well, I'm not with them, Rodney. I was, about an hour ago, but I'm fifty miles away, now. I've decided to go home for my tea and leave you in peace. Tell me this: do you have a gun?"

"Not a real gun. Don't have a real gun. Real guns dangerous."

"Very dangerous, Rodney. I'm glad you don't have a real gun. Did you make it yourself?"

"Yes. Rodney made it."

"What with?"

"Some pipe and a piece of wood."

"That sounds very clever. All those policemen are fooled by it. Why did you make a gun, Rodney? What did you want it for?"

"To scare lads and lasses."

"What lads and lasses, Rodney?"

"Lads and lasses that come round and throw stones at windows. Say Rodney's not all there. Bad people."

"They gave you a bad time."

"Yes."

"Did you point your gun at them?"

"Yes. Rodney point gun at them."

"Did they run away?"

"Yes."

"And did they stop coming round?"

"Yes, but tell police."

"I see." The local youths had given him some hassle, and then we had.

My contribution hadn't helped at all. "Listen, Rodney," I said.

"Listen very carefully to what I say. Can you hear me?"

"Yes. Rodney hear you."

"Where are you sitting?"

"On floor, in corner."

"Right. Are you sitting in the dark, in there?"

"Yes. Not put light on. They shoot me if I put light on."

"No they won't. Nobody will shoot you unless you start pointing your gun at people. Have you got your gun with you?"

"Yes. Is here."

"Good. Do you want me to help you get out of this, Rodney? If you do as I tell you the policeman and the lady doctor from North Bay House will look after you. Are you listening?"

"Rodney frightened."

"I know you are. I'm frightened, too. Will you promise to do exactly as I tell you? Then you'll be OK."

"Promise to do as you tell me."

"Good man. I want you to unwrap the gun, Rodney, and throw it to the other side of the room. Have you done that?"

There was a pause, then: "Done that."

"OK. Now this is the bit where you have to be brave. I want you to stand up and put the light on. Then I want you to put your hands above your head and walk very slowly to the window and stand there, so they can see you. Do you understand what I'm saying, Rodney?"

"Surrender. You want me surrender."

"I want you to give yourself up. You've made your point, Rodney, and we don't want anyone else to be hurt, do we?"

"Rodney not want to hurt anyone."

"Good man. When they come to get you they will shout at you, but they won't hurt you. Some policemen like shouting, but they don't mean it.

I promise that. They'll tell you to lie on the floor. Just do as they say, very slowly. Nobody will hurt you. Understand?"

"Rodney know what you mean. See it on telly."

"OK, Rodney, this is what you do. Stand up. Put the light on. Walk very slowly to the window and stand there with your hands above your head. Understand?"

"I understand."

"There's a good man, Rodney. Do it. Do it now."

I heard a rumble and a scrape as he laid the handset on the floor, leaving the line open. I thought I heard the click of the light switch, but it may have been my imagination. A trickle of sweat ran down my spine, zigging and zagging an inch at a time, like the raindrops on the windows.