Robert Young - Gatecrasher

DC Samuel peered at the document as if it were some rare and ancient artefact. ‘Anthony Cooper.’ he read the name, enunciating carefully as if this was significant and Campbell looked from one policeman to the other trying to figure out if he ought to know who Anthony Cooper was.

Campbell had felt slightly panicked at the appearance of the wallet, suddenly fearing the focus of suspicion falling again on him but soon reason returned and was confirmed by the idle musing of the policemen.

‘Drunk Chelsea fan hears party, climbs over wall, drops wallet in garden and can’t find it in the dark…’ Samuel had a distant look on his face like he was picturing it all.

‘Or is too pissed to find it.’ offered Scott.

‘Mmm. Gives up looking, gets cold, gatecrashes party.’ finished Samuel.

‘…nicks more booze in kitchen, falls down drunk and gets a wine glass in the neck for his trouble.’ Scott went on but quickly stopped himself when he saw Campbell wince once more.

‘Mr Campbell, what happened here on Saturday was probably just a terrible accident and I am sorry you were involved. We had to come and have a look around as you can appreciate; someone has died.’ DC Samuel spoke the words softly. ‘But on the face of it…’ the policeman shrugged. ‘Accidents like this happen you know. I’ve seen plenty stranger than this. Plenty. Take comfort from the fact that you did all you could.’

Campbell felt the surprise before the reassurance. He wasn’t expecting that. No hard questions? No cuffs? He smiled philosophically and nodded. ‘I suppose so. What about this lot?’

‘You could come down the station, report it, make a formal report. We’d get the burglary looked into, you’d eventually get a crime number to give to the insurance company… ’ He glanced knowingly at Constable Scott. ‘Or you could just buy yourself a new DVD player and a burglar alarm.’

Monday. 2pm.

‘Drennan.’

Michael Tyler looked up from his newspaper and put down his coffee mug as he watched Drennan nod, grunt and curse responses into his phone.

He finished the conversation and ended the call before looking up a number from the contact list in his computer. He punched the number into the phone and plucked the receiver from the cradle.

‘It’s me. No sign of anything inside the place sir but they found blood in the garden and on the wall. Looks like he jumped over and maybe cut through to the other street or jumped into another garden… no sir, still no sign… of course, as soon as I get anything… I do have people in the Met I could try if you like but personally I think that we might be putting our head above the parapet a little if we went to them yet and discretion is the key… yes… yes… I will sir. Goodbye.’

Tyler didn’t speak but his expression asked all the questions.

‘They said there was nothing in the flat but that there was blood on the door handle. Probably tried to get in but found it locked. They gave it a good going over but it was this morning and they didn’t want to hang around in there too long. Looks as if we still have a loose end.’

Tyler span his own chair and started clicking through different applications on the PC on his own desk and began making calls. He passed a list of numbers to Drennan that had churned out of the printer and the two of them spent half an hour dialling numbers and chattering politely to a succession of people, some of whom they knew, some they didn’t.

Drennan let the receiver drop before he finished dialling the next number when he saw Tyler concluding a conversation with a smile. He sat expectantly as Tyler repeated his thanks several times and then put the phone down looking pleased with himself.

‘Just got someone in the Charing Cross A and E who let slip that they had someone come in Saturday night with a serious neck wound.’

‘That’s our Tony. What’s that, a mile or two from Fulham?’

Tyler nodded. ‘Got to be him. She said they had no idea who he was because he had no ID on him and he didn’t regain consciousness.’ Tyler paused then. ‘Died on Sunday.’

Drennan smiled a ghoulish smile that suddenly made Tyler feel uneasy, not just because of the coldness that it displayed but because he noticed that he was doing the same.

‘So no loose end then.’ Drennan said. ‘All done. He vanishes and nobody knows how or why. No trail.’

Tyler hesitated and Drennan’s smile sagged on his face. ‘She said something that didn’t sound great.’

‘Well go on then for fuck’s sake, tell me.’ Drennan snapped when Tyler left a pause.

‘She said “and the man that brought him in said he didn’t know him either.”’ Tyler said and let the words hang there for a moment. ‘So a new loose end I’d say. Some Good Samaritan helped take him in. Not that it did Tony any good.’

‘Or our Samaritan.’ said Drennan, his eyes looking hard as he turned back to his computer. ‘Who’d cover that then… ah,yes.’ he said and dialled another number.

Monday. 4pm.

Campbell looked at his watch and noted with dismay that there was still at least an hour before he could get out of the office.

Not that he’d really done anything of note so far. He had been there for just two hours. Having set about tidying up his flat for a second time in as many days it had taken the best part of two hours and another hour to get in to work.

Since arriving his time had been spent talking with colleagues about the weekend and the subsequent burglary, staring blankly at his screen, reading through various articles and reports without taking in a single thing and emailing his friends about his awful last few days.

The hangover that had dogged him throughout Sunday had still not cleared entirely and he had been unable to sleep properly worrying about the implications of the death of his gatecrasher.

He had trawled through various news sites on the internet but had found nothing about the incident; not that he’d expected to but it killed half an hour so the effort was not a total waste. He had emailed some of his friends about the party but none of them had seen anything more than he had and most just wanted to know what had happened and Campbell found their curiosity morbid and unsettling and gave only brief responses to their breathless enquiries. It kept his mood low and ensured that his mind kept returning to the sketchy memories of that night.

Volunteering to make drinks for his colleagues Campbell returned to his desk and resolved to get some work done for the remainder of the day before somebody said something to him about his lack of productivity. He would knuckle down and the time would pass quicker and then he could get out of here.

But in an hour Campbell was back into the same rut that he’d been stuck in only now the tiredness was much worse and his eyes felt as sore as his head. His mind was wandering again, turning back to the slideshow of memories of the party, his stomach turning as he remembered the drinking.

Hanging his head and closing his eyes Campbell tried to clear his thoughts and turn back to work but suddenly he was seeing the man lying on his kitchen floor again. He could hear people shuffling out of his home on the other side of the closed kitchen door, the shallow breathing of the man next to him, the ambulance announcing its approach.

He was looking down at the man, at his blood. He was trying to focus but his eyes seemed unable to stay trained on the same point for any length of time. Then the head raised unsteadily from the floor and Campbell’s heart beat pounded yet faster as the panic and alcohol did their work. The man’s head was turning slightly toward Campbell.

‘Stiff and cold.’ he said.