South by South East

Maybe I should have emigrated to Australia.

My parents had left the country three years before when I was eleven, and of course they’d meant to take me with them. I’d got as far as Heathrow. But while my parents had got jammed up in one door of the aircraft, I’d slipped out another. Then I’d legged it across the main runway, leaving the screams of the engines — and of my mother — behind me. I remember stopping at the perimeter fence and turning round. And there they were, my mum and dad, flying off to Australia without me. As the plane soared away into the setting sun there was a big lump in my throat and I realized I’d laughed so much I’d swallowed my chewing-gum.

Ever since then I’d been living with Tim. Twice I’d almost been killed with him. I should have remembered that as we set off together in search of McGuffin. Perhaps this was going to be third time unlucky.

“Are you sure about this?” Tim asked as we walked together.

I jiggled the key in my hand. “We’re just going to give it back,” I said.

As we approached Skin Lane, a street cleaner limped round the corner, stabbing at the pavement with a broken, worn-out brush. The cleaner wasn’t looking much better himself. Maybe it was the heat. There was a dustcart parked in the alley and that puzzled me. Why hadn’t the cleaner taken the cart with him? Meanwhile Tim had walked on and, looking past him, I saw Jake McGuffin standing in the telephone box with the receiver propped under his chin.

“He’s still there,” I said.

“Yes.” Tim sniffed. “But look at that. He’s only had my coat five minutes and he’s already spilled something all down the front.”

“What?” Suddenly I wasn’t feeling so good. The hairs on the back of my neck were standing up, which was strange, because I didn’t know I had any hairs on the back of my neck. Leaving the cart, I moved quickly past Tim. McGuffin watched me approach but his eyes didn’t focus. I reached out to open the door.

“Wait a minute, Nick,” Tim said. “He hasn’t finished talking.”

I opened the door.

McGuffin had finished talking. The telephone was dead and any minute now he’d be joining it. The stuff he had spilled down the coat was blood, his own blood, and it was Charon who had done the spilling. Even as I opened the door I saw the shattered pane of glass where the bullet had passed through on its way to McGuffin’s heart. And at the same time, I knew that the man with the broom — Charon — had just made a clean getaway.

I was holding the door. For a moment I was trapped behind it. Tim was standing in front of me, his mouth open, his eyes wide. Then McGuffin pitched forward, landing in Tim’s arms. He was still alive. He began to talk. I would have heard what he said but it was exactly then that a train decided to pass overhead, and for the next few seconds the air was filled with the noise of grinding, creaking metal. The brick walls of the alley caught the sound and batted it back and forth like a ping-pong ball. I saw McGuffin’s lips move. I saw Tim nod. But I didn’t hear a word. I tried to move round but the glass door was still between me and them. By the time I managed to close it and get over to them, the train was gone.

So was McGuffin.

Tim let him go and he sprawled out on the tarmac. I tried to talk but my lips were too dry. I took a deep breath and tried again. “What did he say?” I asked.

“Suth,” Tim said.

“Suth? You mean — south?”

“Yes.”

“Was that all?”

“No. He said ‘bee’.”

“A bumblebee?”

“No.” Tim shook his head. “Just ‘bee’.”

“South. Bee…”

“Suff-iss.”

“Suff-iss?”

Tim looked at me sadly. “I couldn’t hear,” he wailed. “The train was too loud…”

“I know!” I forced myself not to shout at him. “But you were closest to him, Tim. You must have heard what he said.”

“I’ve told you. Suff. Bee. Suff-iss.”

“Suff. Bee. Suff-iss?” I played it over in my head a few times. “You mean south by south east? Was that what he said?”

Tim brightened. “Yes! That was it, Nick! I mean, that’s what it must have been. South by south east! That’s exactly what he said.”

“South by south east.” I made a quick calculation, then turned round so that I faced the corner of Skin Lane, away from the High Street.

“A dead end,” Tim said. He looked down at the body, his face going the colour of mouldy cheese. If we stayed here much longer he was going to pass out on me.

“You’re not going to faint, are you?” I asked.

“No!” Tim was indignant.

“You usually faint when there’s a dead body.”

“No I don’t.”

“You even fainted when your goldfish died.”

“That was grief!”

“We’d better call the police,” I said.

Tim glanced at the phone box but I shook my head. “We can’t use that one. Fingerprints…”

We half walked, half ran. The police station was a half-mile away. It seemed we were doing everything by halves. It even took us half an hour to get there. The trouble was that Tim was seeing Charon all over the place now. A woman with a pram, a traffic warden, a man waiting for a bus… they all had him paralysed with terror and he would only speak to the desk sergeant in the station when he had counted his ten fingers.

The desk sergeant listened to our story with a cold smile, then showed us into a back room while he went to find a senior officer. I was beginning to wonder if we hadn’t made a mistake going there.

Then the door opened and I knew we’d made a mistake.

The senior police officer was Chief Inspector Snape.

Snape was a tough, round-shouldered bull of a man. Wave a red flag at him and he’d probably flatten you. He had the sort of flesh you’d expect to see hanging upside down in a butcher’s shop. Snape hardly ever smiled. It was as if nobody had taught him how. When his lips did twitch upwards, his eyes stayed small and cold.

But without any doubt, the worst thing about Snape was his sidekick, Boyle. And with Boyle, kick was exactly the word. Boyle loved violence. I once saw a photograph of him in full riot gear — shield, truncheon, tear gas, grenade, helmet — and that had been taken on his day off. He was shorter than Snape, with dark, curly hair that probably went all the way down to his feet.

“Well, well, well,” Snape muttered. “If it isn’t Tim Diamond!”

“But it is!” Tim replied, brilliantly.

“I know it is!”

Snape’s eyes glazed over. Perhaps he was remembering the time when Tim had put together an Identikit picture and the entire police force of Great Britain had spent two months looking for a man with three eyes and an upside-down mouth. “There never was another police constable like you,” he rasped.

“Thank you, Chief.” Tim grinned.

“I’m not flattering you! I fired you!” Snape had gone bright red. He pulled out a chair and threw himself into it, breathing heavily.

Boyle edged forward. “Are you all right, sir?”

“Yes. I’m all right, Boyle.”

“You want me to…” Boyle winked and nodded his head in Tim’s direction.

“No. I’m all right.” Snape seemed to have collected himself. He glanced at a typed sheet of paper. “So what is all this nonsense?” he demanded. “Spies and killers and bodies in telephone boxes.”

“It’s the truth,” I said.

That brought a dark look from Boyle. “I’ll get the truth,” he growled.

“No, Boyle.” Snape shook his head tiredly.

“I can use the lie detector, sir.”

“No, Boyle. You short-circuited it — remember?”

“Look, Chief Inspector,” I said. “If you don’t believe us, why don’t you come back with us? We can show you the body.”

Snape considered. “All right,” he said. “We’ll come with you and take a look. But I warn you, laddie. If you’re wasting our time…”

I’ve been in a police car quite a few times and normally it’s fun. But Snape was a slow driver. He didn’t put on the siren and the only flashing light was his petrol gauge. By the time we got back to Skin Lane, events had overtaken us. So had half the traffic in London.

He parked the car. We got out. Tim and I had shared the back seat and we were a few paces behind Snape as he turned the corner into the alley. Boyle went between us. We all stopped at the same moment.

“Well?” Snape demanded.

Tim’s mouth dropped open. “It’s gone,” he said.

I looked past him. He was right. McGuffin’s body had vanished. But that wasn’t the strange part.

So had the telephone box.