Peter James - Dead Like You

Perhaps Spain.

Maybe Tia would like to be in a warm country.

Of course it was all a pipe dream. He hadn’t talked about any future with her yet. The thought of hopefully shagging her tomorrow was about as far as he had got. But he felt good about her. She gave off a warmth that made him feel happy every time he stood near her or talked to her. Sometimes you needed to go with your instincts.

And his instincts, ten minutes later, as he turned right off Western Road into Cambridge Road told him that something was not good.

It was the shiny silver Ford Focus estate double-parked almost outside the front door of the St Patrick’s night shelter, with someone sitting in the driving seat.

When you spent your life trying not to get nicked, you developed a kind of second sense, your antennae always up for spotting plain-clothes police and their vehicles. His eyes locked on the four short antennae on the roof of the Ford.

Shit.

Fear crashed through him. For an instant, he debated whether to turn and run, then empty his pockets. But he’d left it too late. The burly, bald, black detective who was standing in the doorway had already clocked him. Spicer decided he’d have to try to bluff it out.

Shit, he thought again, his dream fading away. And tomorrow’s shag with sweet Tia. The grim, green walls of Lewes Prison closing around his mind.

‘Hello, Darren,’ Detective Sergeant Branson greeted him, with a big cheery grin. ‘How’s it going?’

Spicer looked at him warily. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Yeah.’

‘Wonder if I could have a word with you.’ He pointed at the door. ‘They’re letting us use that interview room – OK with you?’

‘Yeah.’ Spicer shrugged. ‘What’s this about?’

‘Just a little chat. Got a bit of news I thought you might like to hear.’

Spicer sat down, shaking, very uneasy. He couldn’t think of any news that Detective Sergeant Branson could bring him that he would like to hear.

Branson closed the door, then seated himself across the table, facing him. ‘Dunno if you remember when we spoke – you were giving me the nod about the lock-up behind Mandalay Court? About the white van inside it?’

Spicer looked at him warily.

‘I mentioned to you there was a reward, right? Fifty thousand pounds? For information leading to the arrest and conviction of the man who attempted to attack Mrs Dee Burchmore? Put up by her husband.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Well, I’ve got good news for you. It looks like you’re in line for it.’

Spicer broke into a grin, relief flooding through him. Incredible relief.

‘You’re shitting me?’

Branson shook his head. ‘Nope. Actually, Detective Superintendent Grace, the SIO, has put your name forward himself. It’s down to you that we’ve potted our suspect. He’s been arrested and charged.’

‘When do I get the money?’ Spicer asked incredulously.

‘When he’s convicted. I think a trial date’s been set for this autumn – I can let you know when I have the details. But there’s not much doubt we’ve got the right man.’ Branson smiled. ‘So, sunshine, what are you going to do with all that loot? Shove it up your nose, right, as usual?’

‘Nah.’ Spicer said. ‘I’m going to buy a little flat, you know, as an investment for the future. I’ll use the money towards the deposit. Magic!’

Branson shook his head. ‘In your dreams. You’ll spend it on drugs.’

‘I won’t. Not this time! I’m not going back inside. I’m going to buy a place of my own and go straight. Yeah.’

‘Tell you what, invite us to your house-warming. Just to prove you’ve changed, all right?’

Spicer grinned. ‘Yeah, well, that could be difficult. If it’s a party, you know – like – there might be stuff here. You know, like – party stuff. Could be embarrassing for you to be there – you being a cop and all.’

‘I don’t embarrass easily.’

Spicer shrugged. ‘Fifty grand. Incredible! Fucking incredible!’

The DS fixed his eyes on the old lag. ‘You know what? I heard they didn’t bother changing the sheets in your cell. They know you’re going to be back.’

‘Not this time.’

‘I’ll look forward to the invitation. The Governor of Lewes Prison will know where to send it.’

Spicer grinned. ‘That’s very witty.’

‘Just the truth, sunshine.’

Glenn left the room and went outside, to where Roy Grace was waiting in the car. He was looking forward to an end-of-week drink with his mate.

I’ve started talking. Just for one reason, to get even with you, Detective Smug Superintendent Roy Grace.

It’s not great in here on the remand wing. People don’t like guys like me in this place. Nonces, they call us. I cut my tongue open on a piece of razor blade that was in my Irish stew. I hear rumours that people piss in my soup. One guy’s threatened to put my other eye out.

I’m told it will be better after my trial. Then if I’m lucky (ha) I’ll be put into the nonces’ wing, as it’s known. All of us sexual deviants together. How great will that be! Party-party-party!

Some nights I don’t sleep at all. I have all this anger everywhere – all around me in this place and deep inside me. I’m angry at whoever it was who did that rape on the ghost train. It meant that the pier was swarming with police afterwards, completely messing up my plans. It was all going so nicely until then. It just didn’t go nicely after that.

I’m angry that the bitch escaped the humiliation that she would have faced, being known as my wife. Something’s not right about that. Although I don’t really care and I don’t suppose anyone else does.

But I have even bigger anger inside me that is directed at you, Detective Superintendent Grace. You thought you were clever, telling the world about the size of my dick. You can’t be allowed to get away with something like that.

That’s why I’m talking now. I’m fessing-up to all the other times I raped and took the shoes. In particular the ghost train. You won’t be able to get me on any trick questions – word seems to have got around about all the crimes the Shoe Man perpetrated – the recent ones – every detail of what he did to the women. Including every detail of what happened in the ghost train.

So I’m briefed!

You didn’t understand why I changed my MO, from taking one shoe and panties to taking both shoes. You weren’t meant to understand, see? I wasn’t going to make your job easy for you by just repeating exactly the same stuff over again. Variety’s the spice of life, right?

I’m your man, all right! I’m just going to hope that the creep who raped that woman on the ghost train strikes again.

You’ll have egg all over your face, Detective Superintendent Grace.

And I’ll have a big grin on mine.

And who will have the smaller dick then?

Sunday 22 February

‘It’s good to see you relaxed, my darling,’ Cleo said.

It was the evening now. They’d spent the afternoon together, working on the wedding list. Roy Grace had his feet up, a glass of red wine in his hand, and was watching The Antiques Road Show, one of his favourite programmes. Most of all he enjoyed watching people as they were given the valuation of their treasured – or otherwise – heirloom. The look of astonishment when some tatty bowl they’d been using to feed the dog was valued at thousands. The look of dismay when some splendid painting, which had been in the family for generations, was pronounced a fake worth only a few quid.

‘Yep!’ He smiled and just wished he felt relaxed. But he didn’t. Doubt was still gnawing away at him, despite the Shoe Man having been caught. And there were still ripples from Starling’s wife’s suicide. He’d listened to the prison tape, where she’d talked about going home and topping herself. It had sounded like an idle threat. But then she had gone and done it. No note, nothing.