The Mystery of Mercy Close (32 page)

‘Ha ha,’ he said flatly.

But what did that mean? Was it a Ha ha yes? Or a Ha ha no?

Some man bristling with walkie-talkies and an air of authority came barrelling up to us. Jay introduced him as Harvey, the stage manager.

‘The harnesses are attached to the pulley system,’ Harvey said to Jay. ‘Will we go for it?’

‘Why not?’ Jay replied.

Harvey gave the nod to another man, who was in charge of a long desk of computer screens and keyboards. ‘It’s a go, Clive.’ Then he called out to the three Laddz: ‘Okay, boys, are you right?’

‘We’re right,’ John Joseph said. Both Roger and Frankie remained silent.

‘Everybody, clear the area,’ Harvey called, and the multitudes on stage melted away, leaving John Joseph, Roger and Frankie standing alone, looking small and vulnerable.

‘Brace yourselves,’ Harvey said. ‘Right! We have lift-off.’

Suddenly the three boys began to lift jerkily off the ground. One metre, two metres, three, four. Up and up they went. Spontaneous applause and cheers broke out among the workers in the theatre.

‘Flap,’ Jay called. ‘Flap!’

‘I don’t like this.’ Frankie’s face was red and anxious.

‘You’re grand,’ Jay said.

‘I’m not grand!’

Higher they went, higher and higher. John Joseph was extending his arms and pointing his toes gracefully, really getting into the spirit of things. However, Frankie looked terrified and Roger was chatting away to someone on his mobile.

‘Okay, stop them there,’ Jay said, when the boys were maybe six or seven metres off the ground. They hung in mid-air, with their fat feathery legs and their enormous wings, looking sinister and ridiculous, like a modern art installation, the sort that you stand in front of and say, ‘I don’t know much about art, but this is a load of shit.’

‘
I’m afraid of heights
,’ Frankie was screaming.

‘You’re grand,’ Jay called. ‘You have to get used to it. Try singing, it might take your mind off things.’

‘
I’m afraid of heights! And I’m afraid of feathers! Get me down! Get this thing off me!
’

‘You’re grand,’ several people shouted up to him. ‘Frankie, you’re grand. Hang on in there, Frankie, you’re grand.’

‘
Get me down
.’

‘Get him down,’ Zeezah said.

The second she spoke, the mood in the venue changed utterly. Immediately, everyone jumped to it, obeying her order. It was a phenomenal thing to witness, the power she had, and I was trying to analyse it, wondering where it came from. It was her arse, I decided. It was mesmerizing. It was so roundy and perfect it seemed to put a spell on people. She could control the world from that arse.

‘Get him down,’ Jay said to Harvey.

‘Get him down,’ Harvey said to Clive, the computer guy.

‘I’m on it.’ Clive started clicking and pressing but nothing happened, all three boys continued to hang in mid-air.

‘Get Frankie
down
,’ Harvey said with urgency.

‘I
can’t
. Something’s gone wrong with his pulley. The program isn’t responding. He’s stuck up there.’

‘Jesus Christ!’ Jay said. ‘What about the other two?’

‘Let’s see.’ Clive clicked his mouse and John Joseph and Roger began a smooth descent to the floor.

‘What’s happening?’ Frankie shrieked. ‘You can’t leave me up here. I have abandonment issues!’

‘Stay calm,’ Jay called. ‘We’re working on it.’

‘
I can’t stay calm. I’m not calm.
I need a Xanax. Has anyone got a Xanax?
’

‘I have to reboot Frankie’s program,’ Clive said, frantically pressing and clicking. ‘It’ll take a while.’

‘
I need a Xanax!
’

John Joseph had arrived back to earth. ‘Get me out of this fucking harness thing!’ he ordered, and a swarm of terrified hairy roadie types surged forward to do his bidding.

‘This is fucking ridiculous!’ John Joseph said, in a low, contained fury. ‘This whole thing is a fucking farce.’ He was conveying extreme anger, while holding his jaw closed, which
anatomically took some doing. It was very, very effective, far more frightening than a foot-stampy tantrum.

John Joseph directed the force of his rage first at Jay, then at Harvey, then at Computer Clive. They were inept, lazy, stupid amateurs and they were putting lives at risk. He flung blame around like knives, meanwhile Frankie was still overhead, yelling plaintively, ‘Help me, for the love of God, help me. I need a Xanax!’

He was in danger of being forgotten about, so great was John Joseph’s anger.

‘Roger.’ Miss Bossy-Boots Zeezah marched over to Roger, who had also landed on terra firma and was being released from his harness by more roadie types. ‘Give me a Xanax for Frankie.’

‘Where would I get a Xanax?’ Oh! The boldness of the man!

Zeezah clicked her fingers – actually clicked her fingers! (I didn’t think I’d ever seen anyone do that in real life before.) Meekly Roger trotted over to a jacket that lay at the side of the stage. He produced a wallet from one of its pockets, had a quick rummage, then placed a white tablet in Zeezah’s hand.

‘
Thank
you,’ she said smartly, closing her little palm over it. She called up to Frankie, ‘I have a Xanax for you.’

‘But how will we get it to him?’ someone said.

‘Someone needs to be hoisted up,’ Harvey said.

‘I’ll do it,’ Zeezah said. Already she was clipping on a harness. She was commendably cool-headed and capable. Brave, even. John Joseph was very lucky to have her, yellow jeans notwithstanding.

I watched her ascend smoothly until she reached Frankie, where she handed over the pill. But instead of coming back down, she stayed up there, chatting quietly, clearly trying to calm him down. Fair play. Impressive woman.

John Joseph abruptly stalked off to sit in the front row
of the theatre. He went alone but all the energy followed him. You could see the crew were terrified. There were a lot of anxious sidelong glances in his direction as they waited for him to stop being angry and for things to get back to normal.

Overhead, the Xanax had clearly started taking effect because Frankie’s cries gradually quietened down and his head began to loll to one side. Another modern art installation. This one could be called
Lynching
. I shuddered.

Jay Parker was still standing next to me. I sensed a diminution of his life force. To put it another way, he seemed very depressed.

‘Can I ask John Joseph and Roger my question now?’ I said.

He glanced down into the dark of the audience seats. You couldn’t really see John Joseph but you could feel him. ‘Good luck with that,’ Jay said. ‘By the way, here’s some money. Another two hundred euro.’ He slipped me a bundle of notes.

‘I don’t like doing it like this, Parker,’ I said. ‘This piecemeal approach. Give it all to me in one go. Go to the bank and get it out.’

‘Okay. I will if I can. On Monday. Just with time being a bit tight …’

I stuck my fingers in my ears. ‘LALALALALALALAHHH! I can’t hear your whining. Okay, I’m off to talk to John Joseph.’

I made my way down the stage steps and entered John Joseph’s formidable force field.

I am not afraid of John Joseph Hartley
.

He was furiously typing something on his laptop. He looked up at my approach and said civilly, ‘Helen, hon.’

I waited until I was right up beside him, then I threw a question his way. ‘Does Wayne have a friend called Digby?’ I watched him very, very, very closely. I was alert to the tiniest
of gives – a flick of his eyelids, a contraction of his pupils, anything. I was looking for the way he’d reacted when I’d asked him about Gloria.

He shook his head. Nothing. No shifty darting glances. No involuntary twitches. He was in his comfort zone.

‘You’ve never heard him talk about a man called Digby? You’re certain?’

‘Hundred per cent.’

‘Okay.’ I believed him.

I went over to Roger, who was having his swan costume adjusted by Lottie, the wardrobe woman. She was on her knees with a mouthful of pins and he was using a stray feather to idly stroke her left breast.

‘Would you stop that!’ The pins fell out of her mouth. ‘And give me that feather. I’ll have to glue it back in.’

‘Roger,’ I said. ‘Can I have a word?’

‘But of course!’ He indicated the side of the stage. ‘Let’s just step into the shadows.’ He waved the feather at me with a flourish.

No shadows. I needed to be able to see his face. ‘Over here,’ I said, leading him under a spotlight.

‘Roger, have you ever heard Wayne mention someone called Digby?’

‘No.’ He tickled my face with the feather.

‘Could you stop doing that?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m sexually out of control. As I’m sure you’ve heard.’

‘Digby?’ I repeated.

‘Never heard of him. I’d tell you if I had. So … still no sign of Wayne?’

‘No.’

Suddenly all the swagger went out of Roger and beads of sweat burst on to his forehead. ‘You know, we really need to find him. You saw what a joke this thing is shaping up to be. Without Wayne we’re fucked.’

‘I’m doing my best. I’m just wondering …’ I said. I wasn’t really sure where I was going with this.

‘Wondering what?’

‘About John Joseph. Wondering if he has something to hide?’

‘Something to hide?’ Roger looked at me as though I was an idiot. ‘Of course he has. John Joseph has plenty to hide.’

‘Has he indeed? Like what?’

‘I mean, everyone has something to hide.’

‘What are you not telling me?’

‘Nothing. Believe me, I’m not not telling you anything. I want Wayne found.’

I sighed. ‘Okay. Ring me if you think of anything.’

‘I might ring you anyway,’ he said, in a low tone of suggestion.

‘Ah, would you stop!’

‘Can’t,’ he said, almost proudly. ‘Sexually out of control.’

I turned away from him and ran into Jay. ‘I might as well ask you while I’m here. Do
you
know if Wayne has a friend called Digby?’

‘No. But like I keep saying, I don’t know Wayne that well. What did Roger have to say for himself?’

‘I’m not saying that Roger St Leger is a serial killer,’ I said thoughtfully. ‘Because, really, I’m not. But he’s on the same continuum as one.’

Jay’s eyes lit up. ‘I know what you mean. He’s the type who’d be on death row and loads of women would be in love with him.’

‘That’s it! Sending him saucy photos of themselves –’

‘– and writing to the governor, asking for his sentence to be commuted. Hey, here’s Frankie!’

Finally poor Frankie was being lowered to the floor, Zeezah descending smoothly alongside him.

People rushed to help him out of his harness, but he was in a very, very relaxed state and couldn’t even stand up. It was
obviously some super-strength Xanax that Roger had provided.

‘Thought I was a goner,’ Frankie whispered, lying on the floor. ‘Every spray-tan I’ve ever had flashed before my eyes.’

I knelt over him. ‘Frankie, open your eyes. Does Wayne have a friend called Digby? Have you ever heard him talk about a Digby?’

‘No,’ he said faintly.

‘And you, Zeezah?’ I asked. ‘Ever heard Wayne mention someone called Digby?’

‘No,’ she said firmly, giving me the steady eyeball and looking truthful and pure and decent. It was different from the time I’d asked her about Gloria; that time she’d been rattled, this time I believed her.

I believed them all. Wayne did not have a friend called Digby. Digby had not featured in Wayne’s life before he rang him at one minute to twelve on Thursday morning. So Digby must definitely be the fiftyish, heavyset, baldy man who had driven Wayne away.

That tidied that up.

So what did I do now?

I considered driving to Clonakilty but there wasn’t much point if I had to be back in less than two hours for John Joseph’s barbecue, so I returned to Mercy Close. I just couldn’t seem to stay away from the place. On the way I stopped off at a garage and bought Diet Coke, enough to replace the stuff I’d stolen – yes, stolen; I might as well say it like it was – from Wayne and another four litres for myself. I liked Diet Coke.

At the garage I forced myself to focus on food. There were a few wretched-looking sandwiches in a chilled cabinet, featuring a greyish meat that made grandiose claims to be ham. I knew my stomach wouldn’t be able for it. A box of Cheerios. That would do, and some bananas, if they had any, which they didn’t, so just a box of Cheerios, then.

I got a parking spot almost right outside Wayne’s, let myself into the house, turned off the alarm and felt myself exhale. It was so nice here.

Ten seconds later I got a text alerting myself to my own arrival. ‘Yes, I know I’m here, thank you, yes.’ It was all so nice.

In the kitchen I put the replacement Diet Coke in his fridge and put my own bottles in beside it, then I wondered if that was being a bit cheeky. I was using up Wayne’s coldness, the coldness he was paying for through his electricity bill, which I knew for a fact he paid in full and on time. It felt a little disrespectful so I took the bottles back out again.

I went into the living room and sat on the floor and ate seven fistfuls of Cheerios, then, surfing the sugar wave, I stood up and I girded my loins for a fresh search of the
house. I didn’t know what I was looking for, I just knew I had to keep at it. I decided I probably had my best shot of uncovering something new and exciting in the living room because up until now I hadn’t done much there other than lie on the rug and stare at the ceiling.

The obvious starting point was the built-in sideboard. The unit was divided into two, the higher part made of shelves (which housed the telly, the Sky Box and other pieces of technological hardware), and the lower part made up of five drawers. I was fairly sure I’d already checked the drawers. I’d
definitely
checked the top one – it was where I’d found Wayne’s passport – but could I have forgotten to check further down? It wouldn’t be like me, but perhaps, in the smugness of finding the passport and swanking about in front of Jay Parker and generally savouring his failure, could I have dropped the ball?