Stuart Pawson - Deadly Friends

"I'm sure he does," I told her. I walked to the door and turned the dimmer switch, brightening the room, and took in the scene. There was a square of clear plastic around the light switch, to prevent a stray fingertip soiling the wallpaper. "What was the baby called?" I asked.

"Davey," she replied, so quietly I hardly heard. Davey, of course. I'd almost forgotten.

"Davey. Was that the father's name?"

"No."

"Do you know the father's name?"

"No."

"You never met him?"

"No."

There was no photograph of the baby, and I wondered why.

"There doesn't seem to be a picture of Davey, Mrs. Crabtree?" I commented.

She moved towards the shrine. "Just a small one," she said, and unhooked a gold locket that was hanging by its chain alongside the picture of Susan. Inside was a little round photo of a baby' sface, looking like every other bonny baby I'd seen. "He was a handsome fellow," I said.

"Yes, he was beautiful. He weighed seven pounds five ounces, in spite of being five weeks premature."

"I didn't know that," I told her. The PM hadn't said anything about him being premature.

"These," she said, opening the other side of the locket with a fingernail, 'are his hair and his toe-nail clippings. Would you believe, his nails needed cutting when he was born?"

I looked at the wisp of hair and the tiny slivers of protein that were all that remained of little Davey. "Don't lose them," I whispered.

Mrs. Crabtree clicked the locket shut and replaced it next to Susan.

There were other photographs of her, tracing the development of popular photography as well as the girl and young woman depicted in them.

Fading black and whites of a little girl in National Health spectacles that she hated, right up to full colour seven-by-fives of her with friends, somewhere at the seaside. She changed over the years, blossomed even, but the glasses singled her out, every time. I saw a little bronze trophy, with crossed squash rackets on it, and my stomach bubbled like a sulphur pool. I picked it up. "Mixed doubles," it said, "Losing semi-finalist."

"Mrs. Crabtree," I began. "Did you ever…" I replaced the trophy, looked at it and adjusted its position. "Did you, or Susan… ever consider an abortion?"

"No!" she declared, defiantly. "Never. Life is not ours to take away. By the fruits of your sins shall you be judged."

"Did Susan think about having one?"

"No."

"Did she investigate the possibility? Maybe take advice, or counselling?"

"He wanted her to," she said. "But he would, wouldn't he? He didn't want the responsibilities of a child."

"What did he say?"

"He took her somewhere. When she came back she was confused. They poisoned her brain with the devil's works. She soon changed her mind when she was back with her family. The word of the Lord prevailed, but the price of salvation is eternal vigilance."

I only know one quotation from the Bible. I learned it from my dad.

When I was little and he was a struggling PC he drove a motorbike and sidecar. It was his pride and joy. He took great delight in telling people that Moses rode a motorbike. It said so in the Bible. It said:

"And the sound of his Triumph was heard throughout the land." He'd have loved talking to Mrs. Crabtree.

"This boyfriend," I said. "He took her somewhere, for advice about an abortion?"

"Yes, but she was too strong for him, for she was filled with the Holy Spirit."

"But he knew all about abortions?"

"Yes. He was a disciple of Satan. He did the devil's work, here on Earth. The devil finds work for idle hands."

"What was he called?"

"I don't know."

"I think you do."

"I don't know."

I dimmed the lights and held the door open for her. Outside, after I'd pulled the door closed, I put my hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. I could feel her bones, and her face was crisscrossed with fine lines.

"Thank you for showing me Susan's room," I said.

Downstairs, William was standing close up to the gas fire, warming his legs, even though it must have been eighty in there. He turned as we entered and sat down again.

I made a production of looking at my watch. "Is that the time?" I said. "I'd better make a phone call, if you'll excuse me." I went to the front door and lifted the latch so I didn't lock myself out. I stood on the front step and spoke to the desk sergeant, telling him where I was and asking for a panda to come and stand by.

"It's still raining," I told them as I took my seat again. They didn't comment. "Mrs. Crabtree was telling me that Susan's boyfriend wanted her to have an abortion," I said.

William shuffled and looked uncomfortable.

"Do you approve of abortions, Mr. Crabtree?" I asked, watching him as I waited for an answer.

"I… don't know," he replied, eventually.

"Do you know the boyfriend's name?"

He shook his head.

"I think you do."

"No."

"You were a soldier, I believe."

He looked at me, startled by the change of tactic. "I was a conscript," he replied. "Called up. We all were."

"How old were you?"

"Eighteen."

"Did you sign on?"

"Only for three years."

"When was that?" '1950."

"And did you go abroad?"

"Germany."

"That would have been quite an experience for a young man."

"Yes, it was."

"You'd see all the devastation."

"Yes."

"Did you carry a gun?"

He shrugged his shoulders.

"Did you carry a gun, Mr. Crabtree?"

"There were guns about. Sometimes we carried one. It was dangerous.

We never knew what they were thinking."

"An Enfield thirty-eight?"

"Possibly. I don't remember. It was a long time ago."

"It was a long time ago," Mrs. Crabtree repeated.

"Yes, it was," I agreed. They were sitting with their backs to the window, which meant that their faces were in shadow but I could see out into the street beyond them.

"Losing a child," I began, 'like you did. And a grandchild. It's the saddest thing imaginable. You must have been about forty when Susan was born. You'd probably already accepted that you'd never be parents.

Resigned yourselves to it. And then she came along everything you'd always wanted. And, all those years later, little Davey, too the grandchild you never expected to have. If someone took them away from you, caused their deaths, you'd want to kill that person, don't you think?"

He crossed his feet and dug his fingers into the chair arm. She sniffed and pressed her interlocked hands into her lap. Neither spoke.

"You knew all about the doctor she met at the squash club, didn't you?"

I continued. "She'd come home, thrilled to pieces, and tell you all about him. When she fell pregnant you knew he must be the father. He took her to the clinic and she told you that she was thinking of having an abortion. Is that what happened?"

"He was the devil's disciple," Mrs. Crabtree told us. "He tempted her with the forbidden fruit, then wanted her to resort to murder to avoid the wages of sin. He filled her head with ideas, but with the help of her loved ones the will of God prevailed."

"And when Susan died, you blamed him."

"Our Lord is a jealous Lord. "Vengeance is mine," He said."

She was ga-ga. Stark, staring ga-ga. Outside, a car horn peep-peeped and I saw a panda's blue lights slide past above the privet hedge. I turned to William. Maybe he was capable of rational thought.

"You wanted him dead, didn't you?" I said.

He shrugged and stared at the carpet.

"And one day, you remembered the gun. Where was it? Hidden up in the loft, or somewhere, wrapped in grease-proof paper? Whenever we have a guns amnesty it's amazing how many old soldiers bring in weapons that they forgot to hand back when they were de mobbed Do you know what I think, William?" I didn't wait for an answer. "I think you found the doctor's name and address in Susan's diary, when you went through her things. And then the hatred for him began to fester in your minds.