Death of a Murderer

21

The wind eased. In the silence a firework burst softly, gold sparks dropping through the darkness to his right. But November the 5th was more than a fortnight ago…Strange how people cling to things. That woman under the street lamp. The murderer. A trick of the mind, of course — he had been talking to himself — and yet there had been a kind of authenticity about the experience. An attention to detail. The lilac suit, the dull brown hair. She’d even had a cigarette with her. He could hear her speaking, the voice flat, curiously deep and coarsened by years of heavy smoking.

It wasn’t like that.

Well, of course not. How could he possibly have known what it was like? And anyway, it had been a dream. He was exhausted, under pressure. He was not himself. If only Sue had let him have his nap…Instead, they had argued. Again. And nothing had been resolved.

He circled round behind the hospital. Parked cars, draughty doorways. To his left was the administration block where Eileen Evans had an office. Most of the windows were showing lights. Nobody was sleeping tonight — or not for too long, anyway.

Everyone was dancing, not just us.

In a brick bicycle shed opposite the Day Surgery Unit, he found some shelter from the wind, and taking out his mobile, he pressed “Contacts” and then “Neil.” When Neil answered, Billy could hear people shouting in the background. Gunshots too.

“Hold on,” Neil said, “I’ll turn it down.”

From the slur in his voice, it sounded as if Neil was drinking again. When he was thrown out of the force, he had lost everything, even his pension. “I gave them half my life,” he had said when Billy visited. “All those fucking years, and for what?” The last Billy heard, Neil was on the books of a firm that supplied security guards.

“Not working tonight?” Billy said.

“No. You?”

Billy told Neil where he was.

“Christ!” Neil said. Billy imagined him sitting up a little straighter on his lumpy sofa. “What’s it like? What’s happening?”

“Actually,” Billy said, “it’s pretty quiet.”

He could sense Neil’s disappointment. Neil was one of those bobbies who like there to be something always going on. He would have wanted scuffles and clashes at the very least, if not a full-scale riot. He would have wanted batons, long shields. Water cannon. Stepping out of the bike shed, Billy turned into the wind. It roared across the mobile’s mouthpiece, which gave him an excuse not to speak for a moment. He had rung Neil, his best friend, because he needed to talk to somebody about what he had seen, but now he had the chance he didn’t think he could do it. He didn’t know how to describe what had happened without sounding a bit unhinged. He wasn’t even sure he could describe it at all. It occurred to him that he might be able to tell his brother — Charlie was a good listener — but it was mid-afternoon in San Francisco, and Charlie would be at work. Besides, he didn’t have enough credit on his phone for an international call.

“Are you outside?” Neil said.

“I’m on my break,” Billy said, shielding the phone again. “How’s Linda?”

“She left me,” Neil said. “She didn’t like me being a security guard. ‘What’s the matter?’ I said. ‘Don’t you feel safe?’ She didn’t think that was very funny.”

They talked for another five minutes, then Billy said he should be getting back.

“Hang on in there, Billy,” Neil said. “Don’t blow it.” And then, with some of his old sharpness, “What were you calling about, anyway?”

“Nothing, really,” Billy said. “I just wanted to say hello. It’s been a while.”

“Maybe I’ll come down and see you sometime.”

“That’d be good.”

“I’ll do it,” Neil said. “I’ll come and see you.”

Just before Neil hung up, the voices and the shooting came back, even louder than before.

Billy put his mobile away and started walking. In the distance he could hear a siren. It seemed to be drawing closer, and then, quite suddenly, it faded. The wind lifted again. Leaves shook on their branches. Feeling the cold now, Billy quickened his pace. Hang on in there. Neil had given him the encouragement he needed without even being asked. Friends could do that.