Picture You Dead

57

Sunday, 3 November

Daniel Hegarty’s house, which had a commanding view to the south – facing out onto the English Channel – and to the north of the open fields of the South Downs, was sunk down below the street level.

Hegarty and his wife had bought the house largely because of the inspirational views for his painting. He always woke early, loving the pre-dawn light. His routine, seven days a week, was to dress, down a quick espresso, then take Rocky and Rambo – tough names but wusses of dogs – for a long walk across the open countryside before returning home for breakfast, a scan of the papers and then settling into his studio to paint – sometimes commissions, and sometimes more works for his next exhibition at the Brighton gallery which had endless demands for his pictures.

It was a dry, fine, if chilly, autumn morning, and still half an hour to sunrise. Wrapped up well in a fleece and beanie, the artist climbed the steps to the street in the half-light, the dogs tugging on their leads, almost pulling him up, and opened the gate latch, letting the over-excited animals run out onto the pavement, yanking his arm.

‘Hey!’ he said. ‘Hey, calm down, boys!’

But Rocky and Rambo seemed even more excited than usual this morning. And instead of turning right, as usual, to drag their master as fast as they could towards the Downs and where they would be let off their leashes, they ran straight ahead, stopped and began barking loudly.

‘Ssssshhhhh, Rocky, Rambo!’ Hegarty hissed. ‘You’ll wake the neighbours!’

Then, to his surprise, the leads slackened as they stopped pulling and just stood barking.

Barking at the dark shape lying on the pavement.

A human body, he realized. A tall thin man, with congealed blood down the right side of his face.

Hegarty’s first thought was that it was a drunk. Shouting at the dogs to calm down, he kneeled down and touched the man’s face. It was stone cold. The flesh stiff and unyielding.

He recoiled in shock. Then stood up, shaking, and dialled 999.

‘Emergency, which service please?’ the calm female voice answered after several rings.

‘There’s a body – a man – lying on the pavement outside my house, I think he might be dead,’ Hegarty said.

‘I’ll put you through to the Ambulance Service, sir.’

Moments later, Hegarty repeated the same thing to the Ambulance Service controller who answered. He was asked for his name and address, which he gave, and the controller asked if he could stay at the scene and an ambulance would attend as quickly as possible.

Hegarty said he would, then walked the dogs a short way up the street, stopping to let first Rocky and then Rambo relieve themselves, scooping up their poop with plastic bags. Less than ten minutes later, he heard the faint doppler wail of a siren.

Then his phone pinged with an incoming text.

He looked at the display. And froze at the words he saw.

Hegarty replied, with shaking fingers, struggling to get the words right and having to correct his text several times before it was ready to send. All the time, the siren getting louder and nearer. As he finally sent it, the siren had stopped and he saw light approaching, streaking across the pavement on both sides.