Big dipper, p.10
Big Dipper, page 10
But, when he lifted the receiver, the voice at the other end was not a familiar one, even though he knew he had heard it before.
"Mr Bryant. Mr Julian Bryant?"
"Yes."
"It's Nick. Nick Porter. We met at Monty's party. I hope you don't mind me calling like this, but Monty gave me the number and I thought we might have a chat."
"What about?" Julian Bryant wanted desperately to keep a cautious distance, but the question came out with an edgy abruptness that must have conveyed all too clearly the anxiety he was striving to hide.
"Well, I think it might be better if we had a get together rather than talk over the phone. Slightly less impersonal, that way. Is there any chance of us meeting up? Maybe later today?”
"I'm not very well. I've got flu." Again the explanation sounded unconvincing and shrill. Julian tried to get a grip on himself. After all, he was a man who a few minutes before had lied to the police with total conviction.
"Oh, dear, I am sorry to hear that." The voice tried to sound concerned but, to Julian's ear, the concern rang hollow, indeed suggested scepticism. "You see, I do think it would be a good idea if we had a chat, Julian." The first name was planted very deliberately, forcing intimacy upon him. "As a matter of fact, I've got some time free this evening. Perhaps, if you're not well enough to go out, I could drop round and see you. Might be better all round, in fact. More private. Would some time after six be OK?"
Julian tried again to plead ill health.
“Well, of course, we can wait until you’re better. But I think best not.”
In the end, Julian gave in and agreed to see Nick. The conversation ended as abruptly as it begun.
It was pointless to speculate about the intentions of Mr. Porter but it was plainly sensible to hear him out before making any further decisions.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The bell went at five past six. Nick Porter was dressed in a dark suit, having, he explained, been at the shop all day. The first few minutes were not easy. Julian found it hard to strike the right note. He did not want to alienate this tall, portly stranger before he knew what exactly he intended. But he did not, on the other hand, wish to commit himself to an intimacy from which it might then be difficult to escape.
By comparison, Nick Porter seemed calm and unembarrassed about having invited himself over to Julian's flat. He ensconced himself in the middle of Julian's sofa while Julian poured him a glass of his favourite Chardonnay. He made no comment on the fact that Julian did not appear to be suffering from a bout of flu. The anguish Julian had sensed in him at Monty’s party was nowhere to be seen but then this time he was stone cold sober. Whatever he had to say, he was in no hurry to say it. Instead, he made appreciative noises about the decor. "I do flats up for friends as a sideline," he explained, "so I know what's involved in bringing something up to this standard," In other circumstances, praise from a professional would have been gratifying. But Julian was too intent on catching the undertone of Nick Porter's conversation, trying to gauge whether it was threatening or reassuring. It was difficult to reconcile the genial exterior of this well-dressed man with any real threat to himself. But he believed the threat was there. And that it would emerge sooner or later.
Slowly, ponderously, Nick began to come to the point of his visit. Or perhaps, Julian wondered miserably, this is not his normal manner, but deliberately designed to torment me.
"Sad business about our lovely young Oriental friend." Porter’s eyes focussed suddenly and sharply on Julian's face.
"You mean, the boy who hung around in your fabric department?" Julian left his own wine glass on the table in front of him because he did not want to make the shaking of his hand too visible.
"That's the fellow. The one we talked about at Monty's party. The one you got talking to."
"As I told you then, I didn't really get talking to him," Julian insisted, trying to keep the shake out of his voice. "I admired him, it's true. But I gathered from what you said at the party that I wasn't the only one."
He returned Porter's gaze as best he could. If only he kept his nerve, he didn't see how this man could ever guess he had anything to hide. "Anyway," he added, "I don't know quite what you mean by talking about some 'sad business'."
Almost at once he regretted this note of bravado. He knew exactly what was meant, and Porter might well be able to guess that he knew. But for the moment, Nick Porter played along. He explained gravely that the boy, whose name was Kim Lo, had been found strangled. Under bizarre circumstances.
"You read this in the paper, Mr Porter - Nick?"
"Yes. Poor blighter. Reading between the lines of the newspaper reports, it was a terrible way to go."
Just in time, Julian stopped himself from nodding agreement. He had, after all, claimed to know nothing about what had happened. He was already regretting putting himself in such a false position. But then he noticed the way Porter was playing with the tassel on the cushion which lay nearest to his left side. The large man's half hidden left hand was twisting the tassel's individual strands round his fingers in ever tightening movements until the fingers turned white. The obsessive action alerted Bryant to something he should have realised before if he had not been so trapped in his own anxieties. The floor manager's ponderous almost arch approach was an attempt to mask his inner demons. His state of mind was not much better than Julian’s. A nerve had even started to twitch in his plump left cheek. The discovery gave Julian strength just when he needed it.
"I think I may have seen something about the murder," he decided to concede. "But I’m still a little puzzled as to why you want to come and talk to me about it?” He took a stab in the dark. “Perhaps you yourself know this Kim rather better than you've suggested so far?"
Porter stopped playing with the tassel at once. Perhaps he had sensed that he could not any longer automatically rely on having the advantage. "He's the friend of a friend," he admitted cautiously, "I didn't know him well."
"But you knew him?" Julian insisted.
“Oh yes,” Porter nodded. "I heard a bit about him from this friend of mine, who, of course, knew him much better than I did. He told me quite a long time ago that Kim was a pretty strange customer."
"But you didn't think to warn me at the party?" Julian's tone was becoming querulous again although he tried to keep it under control.
Nick Porter’s answer came out smoothly. "I wasn't aware you were involved with the boy in any way, old chap. If I'd thought you done more than just admire him, of course I'd have warned you off. But it was rather a delicate situation all round, seeing as I hardly knew you." He smiled to imply that this was no longer the case. "Besides, in a way I was warning you. I seem to recall that I told you that you weren't the lovely boy's only admirer."
Something in Porter's expression told Julian that he too had been enrolled in this particular fan club. Perhaps he'd learned from bitter experience. There was certainly sadness lurking in his eyes. For the first time, Julian saw that this man's behaviour at the party could be interpreted from a different, less sinister angle. It really could have been a warning, couldn't it? Porter's words had upset him at the time, upset him almost to the point of refusing to have anything further to do with Kim. If it was a warning, it was a thousand pities that he had not taken it.
But, having registered Porter's vulnerability, it was best to press forward on his own terms as confidently as he could. "Well, anyway, I suppose it hardly matters since the only time I saw him was in your department store. We exchanged a few words as I think I told you. He was very attractive, I'd agree with you there. But – I repeat - I never saw him again."
"You're quite sure about that?" The challenge was direct, the eyes unblinking. Julian nodded defiantly. "I'm glad to hear it, old chap," Porter continued, "because, otherwise, I suspect you'd be in trouble."
"I don't understand quite why," Julian answered, as sharply as he dared.
"Because, old chap," Porter slowly insisted, "if I ever told the police that you had spoken to the boy, and you had done any more than just chat to him, you'd be in quite a mess, wouldn't you?"
"Is that some sort of threat?" Julian demanded. He fought off the cold that had started to spread across the pit of his stomach by concentrating on the nerve still twitching in Porter's cheek. "If so, in view of what I've just told you, it's a pretty empty one."
"Absolutely, old chap," Porter agreed in conciliatory tones. Now he'd made his point, he appeared to be trying to defuse Julian’s indignation "I don't play silly games, I can assure you. I’m not trying to put pressure on you, just letting you know how things are. My philosophy is always to minimise risks, not capitalise on them.” He tried to smile winningly but Julian was determined not to make this easy for him after what he'd been through.
Porter read the signs quickly enough. "So I suppose, my dear chap, I have finally to come clean about why precisely I'm here."
Julian decided to say nothing.
"The fact is, to be honest," Porter began confidently, "I'm really here on behalf of my friend, the friend who's also a friend of Kim. He's quite worried about this business. My friend, you see, who will have, I fear, to remain anonymous, knows more about Kim than either of us. And he feels that, now the poor boy's been killed, it could be rather awkward for all of us if it comes out that Kim was chatting people up in my store."
"Your friend wasn't one of these men then?"
"Well, no, but he's concerned that the shit doesn't hit the fan, as it were, in any way. We all need to protect ourselves." The 'we' was ambiguous now. "It's much better if everyone keeps quiet. It's an ugly business. The chances are that the murder has got nothing to do with our side of things but you never know. It's a risk. So let's all keep our mouths shut, don't you think?"
"And is that it? Is that what you've come to say to me?" Julian was beginning to feel very angry. "If I'm going to make decisions about what I do or don't tell the police, I don't need your advice."
"If you say so, Julian," Porter agreed, shifting his heavy body on the sofa. "I totally accept what you’ve told me. It just worried me before my visit that you might have decided to speak to the police and land all of us, my friend in particular, right in it. Simply because you didn't realise the boy was up to some very ugly games. It'd be opening a can of worms."
"I'm very puzzled by this friend of yours." Julian’s anger was rising by the moment and it gave him the courage to push his advantage. "I should have thought he'd be keen to have poor Kim's murderer found, not get you to come round here trying to cover up potential evidence. So who exactly is this mysterious person? Is it you? Is it Kim's lover? Is it somebody who lived with Kim in that house in Argrove Square or -"
He stopped himself too late.
“Oh, I see.” Nick Porter allowed the silence to register before he continued. “So you actually know where Kim Lo lived.”
“I – I must have read it in the papers.”
“Yes, I suppose you must.” Nick Porter said quietly. “Even though you told me you hadn’t read anything about the murder.”
“It came back to me as we were talking. I said I’d remembered reading something about the case.”
This was so feeble that Nick Porter didn’t bother to reply. He was looking at Julian differently now, watching him squirm as he tried to justify himself.
Julian had no idea what was going to happen next. Perhaps even Porter wasn't sure. Julian realised that he’d been given enough rope and he’d hanged himself. Except rope was the last image Julian wanted in his head just now. He waited for the blow to fall.
But it didn’t. Instead, Nick pulled his substantial bulk off the sofa and got to his feet. He looked down at Julian from his formidable height. The hidden nervousness had now turned into something far more controlled and therefore more threatening.
"I think, old chap, we may have reached an understanding. It’s best for all concerned if no questions are asked and nobody tells the police anything. I don’t know what you know exactly but you’ll do us all a favour by saying nothing. And we will do our best to return the compliment. The boy took a lot of risks and some of the people he got involved with are not very nice people. Not our sort of people at all. Things have gone badly wrong already and Kim Lo is dead. I really don't want them to get any worse."
“I don’t know what I have to say to anybody apart from what I’ve told you,” Julian insisted, trying to meet Nick’s questioning eyes but without much success. “And how could things get worse than a horrible murder?”
Nick Porter held his gaze but said nothing. Julian’s clumsy blunders had given this man power over him but he seemed only interested in ensuring Julian’s complicity. But was this really what Julian wanted? To pretend nothing had happened? To go on lying and lying?
Further questions rushed into Julian’s brain. Is this anonymous friend he keeps talking about on Kim’s phone list? Or maybe he’s really Nick Porter himself?
Then Julian realised there was one thing he could usefully do without any risk. “If I do think of anything, is there somewhere I can contact you?” Julian suddenly found himself saying. “Who knows what may occur in the next few days.”
Nick Porter hesitated. “My phone number you mean? Work or home?”
“Whichever”. Julian tried to look casual. Eventually, Nick shrugged and wrote a couple of numbers on the note pad Julian offered.
“Of course, if you do remember anything about the lovely Kim, do let me know. Better for all our sakes’ if it’s me not the police.”
Very soon after, Nick took his leave. There were further compliments about the exquisite taste of Julian’s flat but both of them knew that in the circumstances they were totally empty.
It was only after he’d gone that Julian allowed himself to scrutinise the numbers Nick had left. Neither of them was on Kim’s list.
So what now? He sat on the sofa, trying to pull his thoughts together. No drink. No music. No idea of the time. He was beyond any distraction. He had finally to decide what if anything he was going to do.
He had already lied to the police. Who knows if they’d believed him? Many people thought the police were stupid. Julian was not among them. They were often plodding and incompetent but they could smell lies and guilt because that was the air they breathed. They could well come back with more questions and what would he tell them then?
Nick Porter meanwhile was urging him to stay quiet. His own stupidity had furnished Nick with weapons to use against him if he ignored the advice. And whoever the people were behind Nick’s visit, they sounded dangerous and determined. So maybe doing nothing and keeping quiet was the wisest course. Maybe.
If luck was on his side and the police had other leads to follow, maybe they wouldn’t come back and he really would be in the clear without having to do anything. Maybe.
And maybe if he did nothing, Nick Porter and his mysterious friends would also leave him in peace. Maybe.
The truth was that even sitting alone in the privacy of his flat he was no longer safe. He was completely at the mercy of others and the decisions they made.
Something was stirring within him. Deep down, it all felt wrong. Kim had died horribly and he couldn’t absolve himself from responsibility. He was holding important material evidence. He knew something that in all likelihood nobody else did. If he wasn’t prepared to show it to the police then he couldn’t just ignore it. He could have ripped up the piece of paper with the numbers on. He could have burnt it. He could have dropped it down a drain like the key. But he hadn’t. He’d left it by his bedside. It was still there.
If you were on a Big Dipper, you couldn’t just get off.
He felt a sudden burst of energy rushing through him as if his body wanted to tell him he knew the answer before his brain. He saw what he had to do. He had to find out who those other people on the list were. Maybe the list meant nothing. Maybe it held the key to everything. He had to know.
He remembered Kim’s feet suspended clumsily over the edge of the bed. His last unsuccessful protest against whoever took his life. And he made a vow to Kim. Your murderer will be found.
A few minutes later, he left the flat with a collection of small change and Kim’s list in his pocket. He was going to find a phone box. He was scared but also filled with a weird excitement.
After all, he comforted himself, with a brief appearance of the old Julian, maybe the numbers mean nothing and I can rip the piece of paper up. Or if there is a clue to Kim’s death, I can go straight to the police and I’ll be in the clear.
But he knew it wasn’t going to be as simple as that. And in some curious way, he didn’t any longer care.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Ken’s eyes stared back at him from the mirror. It was becoming unbearable to study those eyes now. But he couldn’t turn away. Even though he was supposed to get ready to go out for the evening with some old school friends he’d always kept in touch with. No, to be honest, they’d kept in touch with him. Ken was different and they envied him in many ways. He usually enjoyed that.
Old friends. His body presented itself in the mirror, naked and vulnerable. And ageing.
No, he wasn’t going out tonight. He couldn’t face it. He’d have to make some excuse. Some last-minute excuse. How could he explain to these guys with their kids and their mortgages that he was feeling scared and vulnerable? What, muscle boy Ken? They’d laugh.
They certainly wouldn’t believe he was frightened for very good reasons. How could they know what his world was like? They thought they knew but they didn’t.
