Geoff Nicholson - Footsucker

‘We would if we knew where she was, but we don’t, and I assume you don’t either.’

‘That’s right,’ I said, and at that moment I was extremely glad I didn’t know. Having to tell this man her whereabouts would have been an act of terrible betrayal.

‘You don’t mind helping me like this, do you?’ he asked abruptly.

‘No, but if it’s about Catherine …’

‘It’s about someone called Robert Kramer. He was Catherine’s bloke after you. Your replacement.’

‘Is he in trouble?’ I asked, hoping I didn’t sound quite as transparent as I felt.

‘Well, he’s dead, isn’t he? No trouble for him, quite a lot of trouble for me. I’m surprised you didn’t see it in the paper.’

‘Why should I? But, I mean, that’s terrible, his death.’

‘So you didn’t know him?’

‘No.’

‘Ever see him? Speak to him? Tell him to get his hands off your woman?’

‘Not really my style,’ I said truthfully enough.

‘Come on,’ he urged. ‘You see your bird walking down the street on the arm of some new bloke, this bird who you’ve had a short, intense relationship with that you didn’t want to end. Well, it’d be pretty unnatural not to feel angry and pissed off about it, not to want to stick one on the little fucker, wouldn’t it?’

‘I felt things, but I didn’t feel like sticking one on him, no.’

‘Didn’t feel like killing him?’

‘Are you serious?’

‘Not really, no. You don’t look the type. But I was wondering if you knew anything about Mr Kramer’s sexual proclivities.’

‘Why would I?’ I answered.

‘You might know through Catherine. I was thinking that maybe all three of you had some sexual proclivities in common.’

‘What are you saying?’

‘I’m not saying anything,’ he said. ‘I’m just asking some routine questions.’

None of it sounded even remotely routine to me, but I said simply, ‘No, I don’t know anything about Kramer’s sexual proclivities.’

‘So you can’t be any help to us with his murder?’

‘His murder?’ I said slowly and deliberately, feigning shock and surprise, and hoping I wasn’t overdoing it. ‘You never said he was murdered.’

‘That’s true,’ Crawford agreed. ‘And you probably can’t tell us anything about the mutilation either.’

‘Jesus. What mutilation?’ This time the shock was real and I hoped it didn’t betray the inauthenticity of my previous reaction.

‘We don’t release that sort of stuff to the papers,’ Crawford said, like he was letting me in on a trick of the trade. ‘If you do, then you get a spate of copycat incidents. That’s amazing, isn’t it? Most murderers are so fucking unoriginal they can’t even think up their own way of killing someone. But put it in the papers that somebody’s going around chopping people’s heads off with a chain saw and they’re all at it.’

‘Somebody used a chain saw on this man Kramer?’

‘No. That’s just a for instance. I can’t tell you what form or forms of mutilation are involved, not that I think you’re likely to commit a copycat murder.’

By now I was well beyond being able to hide my reactions. It was bad enough to think that Harold had committed the murder, but mutilation was a whole new horror. I was sure that my face and body were sending all kinds of quisling signals about what I was really thinking and feeling. Then Crawford said, ‘So you didn’t do it, then? The murder.’

I was so taken by surprise that I had no time to consider my response. I just said, ‘Don’t be stupid.’

‘I’m not stupid,’ he replied, and in that simple phrase he conveyed a whole world of strength and anger and violence. He was warning me not to mess with him, not to take him for a fool, not to cross him. I felt like apologizing. Then he said, ‘How would it be if I sent a couple of lads to search this place?’

‘What for?’ I asked.

‘For clues, that sort of thing. How would you feel?’

‘Well, I’d object, frankly.’

‘Good,’ he said, putting a tick on some mental list. ‘I like that. Most ordinary, innocent people would object. If you’d told me to go ahead, that you had nothing to hide, then I’d have been very suspicious.’

I took some small satisfaction from knowing that I was behaving like an ordinary, innocent person, though that was not what I felt like.

‘Because, I mean,’ he continued, ‘everybody’s got something to hide, haven’t they? It might be a few porn videos or a secret diary or some ladies’ underwear. We’ve all got that certain little something, haven’t we?’

‘Well, yes, I suppose, I mean, no, not really, not in my case.’

‘There’s no need to be shy with me,’ Crawford said. ‘I’ve heard it all. And I’ve seen most of it. And as long as nobody gets hurt and as long as kids and drugs and animals aren’t involved, then who really cares? Some people want to drink each other’s piss, some want to shove their fists up each other’s backsides. There are blokes out there who like to have their foreskins nailed to the floorboards. Now you and I might think they’re sick, filthy sods who should be taken outside and given a good kicking, but, anyway, it’s a free country, isn’t it?’

I was so lost by now, so far out of my depth, so in need of time to collect my thoughts, so confused about what this man was saying, even more confused about what he actually meant, so unsure of what he wanted from me, that I could barely keep up with him. But now he was being nice to me again.

‘I can see you’re a decent bloke,’ he said. ‘I can see you’re not into all that weird stuff. But what about this Kramer? What was he into, eh?’

‘I’ve told you, I’ve no way of knowing.’

‘Not true,’ he said. ‘You know Catherine. You know what kind of thing she might go for. Do you think she’d go for something a bit kinky and dangerous?’

‘You’ll have to ask her,’ I said.

‘I’m asking you, cunt.’

All the aggression was there again, all the threats and veiled intentions. I was scared. I said, ‘Well, I don’t know, maybe. Yes, sometimes Catherine could be a bit … wild.’

I didn’t think that answer was going to satisfy him but he unexpectedly stood up and headed for the door.

‘Correct answer,’ he said, and suddenly he looked pleased, both with me and himself. ‘You know crime’s a strange thing. There are very few people who commit just one crime. In general one crime leads on inexorably to the next, like joining up the dots until the final picture appears.’

I must have been looking particularly blank, since he tried another way to make me understand.

‘Look at it like this, a man who commits armed raids on a post office isn’t too worried about having a TV licence or getting his car insured. You can be sure that the man who killed Kramer has committed other crimes too.’

This sounded like rubbish to me. As far as I knew, which was not far, Harold hadn’t ever committed any other crime.

‘Does that mean you’re looking for a man who hasn’t paid his TV licence?’

I wasn’t trying to be glib or tough, it just came out that way. Crawford had to think before he decided whether or not to be angry or insulted.

‘One more thing before I go. Have you got a pen and paper? I want to show you something.’

I handed him a piece of paper and a ballpoint and he drew the outline of a footprint with a lightning flash through it.

‘Any idea what that means?’ he asked.

‘No,’ I said.

‘No, I didn’t think you would have. Well, that’s all right then. I’ll be on my way, but take care. I’ll be in touch.’

I was shaking by the time he left and he must have seen that. I hadn’t a clue what the session had really been about. He could hardly think I’d killed Kramer, otherwise he wouldn’t have been so easy on me. But I had been so thrown by his questions and his presence that he must surely have worked out that I knew more than I was telling. He obviously knew more than he was telling too, and I’d have given a lot to find out what. The fact that he hadn’t managed to talk to Catherine seemed to be infinitely in my favour.