The Writer Read online

  “Do you know anything about him; who he was?” she asked.

  “We asked him once, what his name was,” said Kerry or Jerry

  “And he told you? What was it?”

  “Bill Bearer,” said Jerry or Kerry.

  Andy finished three mouthfuls of cake and then thought he should start to address the people, especially since they were all looking at him and waiting for him to do exactly that.

  “For those who don’t know me, or this is our first meeting,” he said to the hushed room before swallowing the last of the cake, “my name is Sheriff Andrew Handisides. I know most of you all, and have been looking after this town for as long as most of you can remember, I’m sure. You may have heard there has been an unfortunate death in our community, of Allan Longbottom. My condolences to those who knew him; friends, family and such. Mind you, he had no family in town, and I’m not sure he had any friends neither. Many of you would have never seen him wearing anything but his mail uniform, or talked to him much beyond the letters and the weather. Far as I remember, my own conversations never went much beyond those things. Not that they were uninteresting points, seeing the weather dictates our lives more than we know, and I don’t need to mention the importance of that mail needing to get to its rightful recipients.

  “Sadly, Allan’s death was the result of vehicle collision, and that makes it a murder case. With us now is Dale Gant, who has come up from the city to ask some of you a few questions regarding the investigation. Now, let me assure you, this meeting is all completely informal and it’s just to let the city boy know what life’s like here and how well we get on with each other. You all know as well as I do, we enjoy the quiet and slow here, and whoever did this crime must have been travelling through at too fast a rate, as they typically do.”

  “Always in a fast hurry to get back to their miserable fast city!” added Two-Tooth Hendersen, gaining light titters from a few people near to him.

  “We have yet to determine that,” said Dale, not at all interested in the humour of the Gendry locals. He viewed the meeting as an opportunity to find quick information, to help in his leaving the town. “The assault vehicle in question has not been found, and until that happens we need to continue with our inquiry and study of your town.”

  “And you are quite welcome,” Andy said to him kindly, but neglected to look at him, by design.

  “Fact is,” Dale said, “Andy and I are leaning to the possibility it was an out-of-towner.”

  “No one living here ever needs to get anywhere fast,” added Andy.

  “Given the high number of speeding vehicles, particularly at night,” said Dale, “it’s a surprise more of you are not endangered. I’ve noticed how some of you take no notice of traffic when crossing roads, even the main road outside this building. However, we still need to ask our questions, and what better place to do that than this fine diner?”

  “What if it’s someone who’s from the city but is currently living here?” asked Sophie, drawing surprise from the two men.

  “That’s what we will to determine through are inquiries,” said Dale. “If you don’t mind, I would prefer asking brief questions.”

  “We would like to have a word with each one of you while you’re all here,” added Andy. “You can go on your way if you want, but I know most of you would like to get this out of the way here and now.”

  Dale turned to the nearest person, a tall elderly man with a dull expression. “Can I have your name, sir?”

  “Ken Giblett.”

  “And what is your occupation?” Dale asked as he filled in his small notebook.

  “Town undertaker. Thirty seven years since I took over from my daddy. That’s Marvin Giblett, who was a tall and bold man and proud to serve as Gendry undertaker for sixty years, and I am equally proud to stand in his place at this time. My first role as official town undertaker was to bury my dear departed daddy. It was just the way he wanted it, too. He primed me for the role for many years, since I was nothing but a small and shaky youngster. Had me practising until I was so good at it, he knew he was leaving the business in sound hands. Sound enough to bury him with.”

  “Well, it’s good to know Gendry is served so well,” Dale said, not wanting to know most of what he had just heard.

  “Given your answer, Kenny,” Andy said, “I think Dale here might hesitate in asking you any further in-depth questions.”

  “Well, that’s his job, son,” Ken replied studiously.

  “I’m just bantering with you,” said Andy, “pay my humour no mind. The wife doesn’t.”

  “Now, tell me,” Dale said to Ken, trying to ignore Andy, “did you see or hear anything of the unusual type on the eighteenth?”

  “No, sir, and I’m certain of that fact. Cross my heart, hope to die and be buried somewhere as nice as Gendry. Once my own son realises his place and is fit to honour his father in that way.”

  “I see,” Dale said as he looked for someone else. “That’s good. Thank you for your time. We may speak to you again, so if I can take some details?”

  “Except that van nearly hitting me,” Ken continued.

  “What’s this?” Dale asked, looking at him twice before it registered.

  “Speeding, nearly knocked me off my bike. I go biking every day, you see. I’ve never seen anything like it; not in Gendry.”

  “Yes, he does,” added Sal, “He goes riding, does our Ken. He’s quite a sight for sore eyes, all decked in his bright yellow bicycle costume. Got that from the city, did you, Ken?”

  “Helmet and professional cyclist clothes,” said Ken. “They cut down the wind-resistance, you see. Got it from the city by special delivery. Cost a fortune, too.”

  “Then how come,” asked Sal, “you don’t go any faster than young Daisy Waterdown pushing her baby around town?”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Dale said to Sal, “but I would kindly request you don’t interrupt this gentlemen. You can have your say when I get to you, but until then, please hold your peace.”

  Two-Tooth took his chance to say a word. “I’m just waiting for you to announce one of us here in this room is the murderer, and you know who it is! Isn’t that the way these gatherings go, detective? One of us may be the murderer, which is why you brought us all here!”

  They all laughed and Dale raised a hand to stop them. “I would like to remind you all, despite the informality, this is still a police investigation. None of you are required to be here, and are free to leave. But I will require an interview with each and every one of you, and I know you agree it is easier for us all to have them completed here today, especially given the distances away some of you live.”

  “Sorry there, chief,” Two-Tooth said with a quick salute.

  “Now, Mr. Giblett,” Dale resumed as he looked at his notes, “you were saying about your being hit by a van?”

  “I wasn’t hit by it. I never said I was hit by it. Don’t twist my words, now.”

  “Then what did happen, if you can remember?”

  “This van came speeding at me from behind, so close I nearly fell off.”

  “Seen the van before, have you?”

  “Never at all. Not even once.”

  “Get the number plate?”

  “Nope. I was too busy fighting the bike. Nearly lost control.”

  “What about the make and colour? Any identifying marks?”

  “It was white, that’s all I remember.”

  “Where did this happen?”

  “Kent Bridge.”

  “Kenny, that’s a one-lane bridge,” Sal said with amusement. “You weren’t fighting that van for the right to go over first, were you? Sorry sir, but he does that. You ask him why, you go on!”

  “Now, Mr Giblett,” said Dale, ignoring Sal, “I need to ask you to tell the whole story here. What actually happened to you regarding this white van?”

  “This van came speeding,” said Ken, “as I came to the bridge. Now, I was there first; I’m sorry Sal, but I was, and I have
my right as a road user to go over first. Now, they tried to overtake me, went way out onto the grassy part by the roadside there. But you can’t do that, there’s lots of big rocks back there, left over from when they built the bridge. So then he gets all mad and starts shouting at me.”

  “You heard the driver’s voice?” asked Dale, his mouth feeling dry and needing coffee. “Did you see him?”

  “I heard him but I didn’t want to hear him, if you know what I mean.”

  “Did you see him enough to identify him?”

  “Not really. These youngsters all seem the same to me.”

  “It was a man, then? A white male? He was young?”

  “Yeah, that’s right, and real young.”

  “Okay, that’s good. Go on, please.”

  “Well, when I saw he was in a right state of agitation I tried to wave him away, but he paid no heed.”

  “You should have let him go past, Kenny,” Sal interrupted again. “He sounds dangerous to me. Just pull over and let him go on through.”

  “I can’t let anyone go past me like that,” Ken said to her. “You know what sort of bad luck it is?”

  “Bad luck?” asked Dale.

  “It’s never wise to overtake an undertaker.”

  “Yes, and you’ve never let anyone go past you in your life!” said Sal.

  “Please, madam!” Dale snapped at her.

  “Well, so I went over the bridge first,” said Ken, “as I was entitled, and when it was their turn to cross it, they came at me so close and fast they nearly caused me to crash. It was like they were trying to get me.”

  “This is very interesting. Was the van leaving town?”

  “Yes sir, it was on the direction out of town, and good riddance to it.”

  “Has anyone here heard of this speeding white van?” Andy asked the room.

  “Can see you’ve found your murderer, right there,” Two-Tooth announced.

  “Lock him up and throw away them keys,” agreed Elbow. “We don’t need those city-types speeding through here, abusing our respected and trusted.”

  “Didn’t think it’d be that simple, did you, Dale?” Andy asked him.

  “Can’t say I did, no,” Dale said with a sigh, and then felt a very strong urge for coffee. “Sal, I think I’ll take that drink now.”

  “That’s my boy,” said Andy. “The body won’t get any colder, but the beer might get warmer.”

  Dale sat on a stool to the bar and became transfixed by a fresh cup of coffee provided by Sal.

  “Guess that does it,” Andy said to the room. “Mystery solved. Thank you for coming.”

  “You’re not serious?” asked Sophie, who was standing near to him. She had heard about how Dale had bossed everyone around at the murder scene, and yelled at people for no reason. She knew that such manners might influence people of Gendry, but not anyone from the city.

  “What was your name?” Dale asked her.

  “Sophie. I’m the granddaughter of Susan Tyle.”

  “She’s staying at the boarder place,” Andy said to Dale. “She’s from the city.”

  “You’re not in the habit of speeding, are you Sophie?” Dale asked her before he took a heart-warming sip of his coffee. “How fast you like to go? Like to push that pedal down, do you?”

  “I’m not answering that,” Sophie said, indignant at their attitude.

  “She doesn’t even have a car to drive,” Andy said with a dismissive laugh. “Let alone a white van.”

  “But I’m sure, if she did,” said Sal, “she would drive carefully. A nice girl is our Sophie. Susan never stops talking about her, and always good news.”

  “I’m satisfied with Mr Giblett’s testimony,” Dale said to Sophie, now a great deal calmer.

  “These city drivers,” agreed Andy, “always on the run, think of our town just as some nuisance, some blot on the landscape where they need to drop their speed, and even that’s not a good enough reason to be here. We need tougher measures to slow them down.”

  “Surprises me that you don’t already,” said Dale.

  “I’ll get onto that when I can,” said Andy. “Talk to the mayor about soon as he gets back from his holiday.”

  Dale laughed at that, feeling more relaxed. “Where does someone from Gendry go for their holidays? You wouldn’t like the city. Do you go visit other towns similar?”

  Gene Best walked up to them, as if signalled to do so by the conversation mentioning the town mayor. The ex-mayor with still a lot of popularity, he commanded a strong presence wherever he went, and people still respectfully moved out of his way.

  “Don’t you go building any more street signs, Handisides,” Gene said with a croaky yet strong voice. “The place is full of those eyesores already. We need to get rid of half of them, which I will do as soon as I’m re-elected.”

  “Cool down, Gene,” said Sal. “You’ve had your chance as mayor, and I didn’t see you tearing down any signs back then. Let Andy and Dale sort out this latest fracas.”

  “But you are going to check all the cars in town for any evidence, right?” Sophie asked, not sure if they were actually being serious about finishing their work. She had assumed that they were going to talk to everyone there, like they said they would, but from what she could see now, they had changed their minds.

  “Soon as I finish one of Sal’s famous custard creams,” Dale said. “Andy’s been talking about them ever since I arrived. Make it a small one, would you, Sal? Trying to watch my figure.”

  Those around him laughed, except for Sophie.

  “But you’ve only talked to one person,” she protested. “And you say you’re closing the investigation?”

  “Sophie, the people aren’t going anywhere,” chided Andy. “This is Gendry, remember? Where else would they go? It was a hit and run by someone travelling through, and a marvel he didn’t clip anyone else by the sound of it.”

  “And if he did, he wouldn’t get far,” agreed Dale and he ate the custard cream and knew it would not be his last that day.

  Sophie watched them with amazement and decided to leave and go back to her room. She consoled herself that perhaps she could add into her story someone like Dale Gant, a person who did not really seem to care about anything except himself and his own opinion, and was rude to anyone who might not see things his way. Then she realised that she already met one of those and his name was Craigfield, and he was about the only living person in Gendry not at the meeting.

  Night and day. At times their relationship was normal, when they could chat freely and laugh at each other’s jokes. Then they would not talk at all, for days on end, and be content to let the other be out of the house for long periods and not ask where they went. Max went from enjoying her company to wondering why they were together at all, sometimes within the time of a conversation. There would be no warning to the mood swings of either one, but they seemed to be synchronised, and know when to not bother even trying to make small talk. During her good moods Jill would encourage Max’s writing, and be happy to read through some pages for him, and give useful advice. They both knew there was no point in her going anywhere near his work when she was in a down mood, when she was almost anxious to find something to criticise. If she didn’t find something wrong then she would manage to pick up from where she left off in their last argument. Max had no idea how she did that.

  Jill’s job had recently lost its interest. It was unusual for her to stay at the same retail place for more than a year. Her latest was an up-market woman’s fashion store down at the local mall. The good part about it was that most of the stock was a style she liked. She preferred to see herself as a model for each dress, and the manager never noticed that every other day she was sampling one. The trick was in removing the tag, or hiding it, without anyone getting wise. But then they changed some of the designers and she just didn’t like much about the newer stock. As a protest she refused to steal anything else and began to look for a better place to work. It didn’t matter how far
away a new job was, so long as it sold dresses that looked good on her.

  “There’s another mistake, right there,” she said as she walked into his writing room without knocking. He took off his headphones and asked her to repeat herself. He welcomed the fact that she was willing to discuss it, even if he knew she was probably going to have him make changes. The fact that she wanted to talk at all was a welcome change.

  “If the police are interviewing people about a murder,” she said as she showed him the text on the page she was holding, like he could not remember without seeing it, “they would do it in a private room someplace. Not out in the open. Not at the local eatery. What’s that, a town gathering?”

  “What if that was the way it really happened?” he asked knowingly. “It’s a small town and they like doing things in a communal way. Everyone knows everyone else, like a big family.”

  “What is this, something from the Fifties?” she replied bluntly.

  “Did you think that maybe it was, before you decided to start trying to shred it to ribbons?”

  “Have you not seen how they show criminal investigations on TV shows?”

  “TV shows? That’s exactly my point. Those shows aren’t based on reality. Do you think they’re based on reality? They’re TV shows!”

  “And you know about reality, do you?”

  “I know more about reality than you’d think.”

  “Meaning what?”

  Max looked away, saddened at how quickly they had started fighting, but not wanting her to see his reaction. It occurred to him that she may not be able to read much more of his book, and that may be a good thing.

  “Meaning what, Max?” she asked again.

  Max was reluctant to say it, but knew that he had to. “Craigfield.”

  “What about Craigfield? What do you know about Craigfield? There’s nothing to know anyway. What are you talking about?”

  “Forget it.”

  “You’ve been acting strange lately, you know that? Craigfield’s my gym instructor; you know he is. For me and five thousand other people.”

  “Forget it, I said.”

  “I think you need to change this scene. And while you’re at it, change the name Craigfield. Call him Bob or Steve, or something boring like that, but not Craigfield.”