Luke Delaney - The Keeper

‘Really?’ Sean strode past him and up the stairs, searching for Levy’s office and finding it — a converted bedroom that had an excellent view of the street outside. He entered the room and walked to the window, sensing Levy’s presence close behind. ‘Nice view,’ he said, without turning away from the window.

‘I don’t work in here for the view,’ Levy replied.

‘No,’ Sean agreed, ‘but if someone was hanging around out there, someone you didn’t know or recognize, you’d have noticed them, wouldn’t you?’ He turned to Levy and then back to the window to make the point. ‘How could you not?’

‘I don’t spend all day spying on my neighbours.’

‘I never said you did.’

‘I mean I don’t spend all day staring out of the window — I have work to do.’

‘But if someone was out there, you’d sense the movement and look up, wouldn’t you?’

‘I suppose so, possibly, I don’t really know.’

‘But this is a Neighbourhood Watch area, isn’t it? You know that better than anyone — you’re the coordinator, after all. You did say you were the coordinator?’

‘Yes, I did … I mean, I am.’

‘Then you must be a vigilant man, yes? A more than vigilant man if you’re responsible for the success or failure of the local Neighbourhood Watch. So you would have noticed a stranger in the street below. Maybe you would have even called the police, or at least made a note of it somewhere? Maybe you’ve just forgotten? Maybe you’re embarrassed that you forgot to mention it to me last time we spoke?’

‘No,’ Levy protested. ‘None of what you’re implying happened.’

‘So you’ve never seen anyone suspicious in the street? You’re telling me you never looked out of this window and saw someone suspicious?’

‘Well, yes, of course I-’

‘And what did you do about it?’

‘I can’t remem-’

‘You can’t remember? The Neighbourhood Watch coordinator can’t remember what he did when he saw someone suspicious in his own street?’

‘Maybe I reported it to the police, I’m not sure.’

‘When did you report it?’

‘I don’t know. I can’t remember. You’re confusing me.’

‘Can you remember anything?’

‘There’s nothing wrong with my memory.’

‘What does your local Home Beat Officer look like?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘What does your local Home Beat Officer look like?’

‘Well, I …’

‘What’s his name?’

‘It’s … I have it written down somewhere.’

‘When do the bins get collected?’

‘Pardon?’

‘When were there last roadworks in the street?’

‘I’m not-’

‘What does the guy who comes to read the meters dress like?’

‘I …’

‘What does the local postman look like?’

‘He’s, well he’s-’

‘Do you know anything, Mr Levy? These are the things you see every day, but you can’t remember any of it.’

Levy looked crushed. ‘Why are you doing this?’ he pleaded. ‘Why are you doing this to me?’

At Levy’s words, Sean froze. For a moment he stood in a daze, as if only now returning to himself, bewildered and afraid of what his alter ego might have done in his absence, like a drunk waking the morning after, unable to recall the events of the previous night. What worried him most was the fact he’d enjoyed being cruel to Levy. Was that why he’d come back to interview him for a second time, so he could be cruel to him? Was that why he’d come alone, so no one would witness his cruelty or try to stop him? He decided both were probably true, and in the pit of his soul he knew why — he was drawing closer to the killer he would one day be face to face with. Across a street, across an interview-room table? He couldn’t be sure where their confrontation would take place, but he knew it would happen soon. Already he was beginning to think like him and feel what he could feel.

At the same time, he’d felt sure Levy had some vital piece of the puzzle locked away in his uncooperative memory, something he needed to squeeze out of him, no matter what. Now he was less certain. He forced himself to speak: ‘I’m sorry. I was just trying a new witness interview technique,’ he lied. ‘It’s supposed to distract the witness by making them feel angry, allowing suppressed memories to be freed subconsciously.’

Levy studied him, deciding whether or not to believe him. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘it doesn’t seem to work, does it?’

‘No,’ Sean pretended to agree, still feeling numb. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve wasted enough of your time.’ He almost pushed past Levy in his haste to leave the neat little office and escape his house and all the pointlessness it stood for. He began to descend the stairs with Levy in close pursuit, hell-bent on haranguing him all the way to the front door.

‘And just for the record, I do know what the local postman looks like, now I’ve had time to think about it.’

‘What?’ Sean snapped at him, interested. ‘What does he look like?’

‘Well, he’s black for starters — which no doubt explains a thing or two — about fifty, short and stocky, with a beard and moustache.’

‘I’ll make a note of it,’ Sean lied again. The age, colour and build of Levy’s postman were all wrong. ‘It may come in useful, thank you.’ The front door glowed in front of him like a porthole to another, better world.

‘I distinctly remember him because I had to complain about him a few days ago.’

‘Really?’ Sean’s hand was reaching out for the door handle.

‘I’d specifically asked the Post Office to stop putting junk mail through my letter box — damn stuff was filling my recycling bin. Miraculously, I thought they’d actually listened, but then the other day a bloody great pile was pushed through my door. So I phoned them and gave them a good dressing down. Anyway, it did the trick — no more junk mail.’

For the second time Levy’s words made him freeze. ‘Sorry. What did you just say?’

‘Excuse me?’ Levy replied, suspicious of Sean’s interest in his petty complaint.

‘Someone put junk mail through your letter box, although previously you’d stopped receiving it?’

‘Yes,’ Levy answered, confused. ‘Because I’d told them to stop posting it, and for a while they did.’

‘But it started again?’ Sean asked, the fluttering in his chest and bright whiteness behind his eyes telling him he was close to something he needed, close to a key that would unlock the way to the man he had to find and stop.

‘Yes, a few days ago.’

‘How many times?’

‘I told you, just once, because I phoned them and gave them a-’

‘When?’ he cut Levy dead.

‘I … I’m not sure, a few days ago. Why?’

‘I need to know when — exactly when.’

‘I really couldn’t say.’

‘Morning? Afternoon?’

‘Morning, definitely morning.’

‘How can you be so sure? What were you doing?’

‘I remember, I was walking down the stairs, I was dressed and ready to go out, so it must have been late morning. I saw the mail spilled over the floor as I walked downstairs.’

‘And it made you angry?’

‘I was annoyed, yes.’

‘So you phoned the Post Office straight away?’

‘No.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I needed to get away.’

‘Get away for what?’

‘I’m-’

‘You put off calling the Post Office, so it must have been something important. What were you getting ready for?’

‘Brunch,’ Levy remembered, the weight lifting as soon as he said it. ‘I was going out for brunch, at the garden centre in Beckenham.’

‘What?’ Sean snapped.

‘It’s half-price for pensioners on Tuesdays.’