Steven Dunne - Deity

Len Poole pulled his car to the kerb and parked under the shadow of a tree. He didn’t know this quiet cul-de-sac on the Brisbane Estate, only that it was out of the way and Alice was unlikely to walk past and see his Jag in the dark. He took a deep breath and stared into the rearview mirror then straightened his comb-over with a pudgy hand.

‘No more, Len. This is the last time. She’s not nicotine.

You can kick the habit. You must kick the habit.’ His yellow grin glinted in reflection. ‘But not before I move back to Wales, you blackmailing bitch.’

He nodded to his reflection. All these years paying out like a fruit machine for a mistake any man could make — a temporary weakness that she’d exploited to the full. No more. Now he was in the clear he was going to fill his boots. He took a swallow from a bottle of mouthwash and stepped from the car, hitching his tracksuit on to his bulging waist to rearrange his genitals.

‘Question is, can she kick the habit with me?’ he chuckled to himself.

The fleet of cars were on silent approach after they turned off the London Road, past the village of Shardlow. DC Read parked his car to block the only road in or out of the marina complex, and got out to follow the other three cars moving quietly past a plot of static holiday cabins on the left. A hundred yards later, the plot gave way to a large basin which opened out into an expansive site with a car park, bar, shop and caravan park round to the left. The darkened marina lay dead ahead.

DS Gadd pulled to a halt when she saw a man signalling her with a torch. The other cars followed her lead and the uniformed officers, including Charlton, poured silently from the cars, easing the doors closed behind them.

‘DS Gadd. Are you Henry Huff?’

‘I am.’

‘Any sign of Lee Smethwick?’

‘Not seen him for a couple of weeks to be honest but then he never makes a song and dance. The lights are out but that don’t mean he’s not in there.’

‘Lead on.’ They turned to walk quietly towards the shadowy outlines of the canal boats. There were well over a hundred, a few showing lights, but most in darkness.

‘Are all these occupied?’ she asked.

‘Oh no. It’s Saturday night. There’s not a whole lot to do round here. Most of these are part-timers — you know, Sunday boaters, holidays maybe.’

‘Are all the boats. .’ Gadd searched for the right words ‘. . seaworthy?’ She heard the expulsion of amused breath from Huff and smiled. ‘None of them are seaworthy, right?’

‘No. But most can get out on the river if they’re in a good state of repair.’

‘And Smethwick?’

‘Never seen him go out once and he’s been here ten year.’ Huff put a finger over his mouth and pointed to the dim hulk of wood and metal looming out of the darkness. Gadd turned and held out an arm to her colleagues. There was a locked gate across the walkway and Huff pulled out a set of keys and unlocked it. It opened without noise.

Gadd pointed at DC Smee who took three uniformed officers to the far side of the boat. She and the rest fanned out around the walkway. Charlton hung back to observe.

Gadd rapped on the door. ‘Mr Smethwick — police. Open the door, please.’ She listened before issuing a second summons. When that failed she backed away and nodded to the two officers carrying the Enforcer Ram.

Brook pulled to the kerb across from Yvette Thomson’s house and killed the engine. Downstairs was in darkness but there was a light on in the bedroom. He reached over for his laptop and was about to open the driver’s door when his mobile buzzed.

‘DS Gadd, sir. We found Smethwick’s boat. He’s not been seen for a couple of weeks and it doesn’t look like he’s been on the boat in a while.’

‘Anything to show he’s The Embalmer?’

‘Plenty. There’s a lot of stuff about Egypt, books on embalming and something interesting you should see — except we’re thinking we should stake the place out and wait for Smethwick to show.’

‘You mean Charlton’s thinking that.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘What do you think?’

‘That we should go through the place with a fine-tooth comb.’

‘Did you find any surgical instruments?’ asked Brook.

‘No, sir.’

‘What about the ambulance?’

‘No one we spoke to has ever seen it.’

‘Your instincts are right, Jane. He’s gone and he’s not coming back!’

‘Gone where?’

‘If he’s taken his instruments, he’s gone to wherever he takes his victims.’

Poole lay on his back, panting. Yvette climbed off him and put her head on his densely thatched chest. He nodded with satisfaction. ‘Still got it.’

‘You’re a superman, Len,’ said Yvette, trying to drum up some sincerity.

‘You think?’

‘I do.’ She twirled his chest hair with a manicured finger. ‘Len. .’

‘What?’

‘Why don’t we get married?’ Poole sat up. ‘What?’

She pouted alluringly at him. ‘It’s not too late. We’d be perfect together,’ she said in her most vulnerable voice.

‘Marry you?’ repeated Poole, this time with a hint of disbelief.

‘It’s the ideal solution, Len. Rusty’s gone and I don’t know if he’s ever coming back, even if he’s dead or alive. I’m lonely. I don’t want to be on my own.’ Poole declined to comment so Yvette lifted her head from his chest again. ‘Can Alice do what I do for you?’ She grinned at him and nuzzled at the wiry hair on his flabby breast. ‘Well, can she?’

Poole pushed her away. ‘No. That’s why I’m here now.’

‘Then why don’t you marry me?’

‘Because you’re a mental bitch.’

Her face soured and she prepared a fist but was halted by a rap on the front door. She turned off her bedside lamp and tiptoed to a crack in the curtain.

‘Who is it?’ whispered Poole.

‘It’s Alice,’ said Yvette with a sneer.

‘You lying cow,’ hissed Len Poole, pulling his underpants and tracksuit trousers on. ‘Who is it?’

‘It’s Inspector Brook, if you must know,’ she whispered from the window.

‘At this time? What does he want?’

‘How should I know? Probably the same as you,’ she spat. ‘A two-minute quickie.’

Poole looked daggers at her as he zipped his shiny tracksuit top to the neck. ‘That was at least five, you cow. I looked at the clock. Is it really Inspector Brook?’

‘See for yourself. That’s his BMW.’

Poole crawled to the window. The knocking on the door sounded again. ‘Shit. I’d better go.’

‘Should I ring Alice and tell her you’re on your way?’

Poole darted back from the bedroom door and grabbed her by the throat. ‘Listen, you fucking whore, you go near my Alice and the game’s up for you — and then there’ll be a lot more coppers than Inspector Brook out there. Understand? Understand? ’ insisted Poole.

She nodded as best she could and Poole loosened his grip. Yvette massaged her neck and got her breath back as Poole darted out of the bedroom and down the stairs to the back door. He slipped out quietly and hopped over the fence at the back and scuttled away into the night.

Ten minutes later, Len arrived back at his car. The cul-desac was in darkness and he flicked at his key fob to unlock his car. The light in the cab of his Jaguar came on and Poole jumped on to the cracked leather of the driver’s seat, enjoying the tackiness of recent conquest along his inner thigh. Mental or not, that bitch certainly knew all the buttons to push. He grinned at his reflection in the rearview mirror but, as he glanced back towards the ignition, he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye and looked back to the mirror to see a yellow-toothed grin flashing at him from the back seat.