Sing Like You Know the Words (33 page)

-I suppose so. Bad luck that
your partner was coming in to the office at that time in the
morning, just as the intruders were here, wouldn’t you say?

Mitchell had to get away before
his own manner betrayed him. He felt as if his story was
unravelling as they spoke, though he kept telling himself that the
police would have no interest in a routine burglary. He made the
excuse that he needed to visit Derek in the hospital to cut the
interview short.

Derek had broken some bones in
the fall, but he seemed reasonably cheerful. He claimed that was
due to the strong medication that the doctors had given him for
pain.

-Only a few little breaks,
nothing to worry about much. The sad thing is, and I don’t want to
concern you unduly Mitch... as you know I had to leave the police
force early.

-Yes, they caught you stealing
but allowed you to retire on ill health grounds, as I found out not
so long ago: but aloud, Mitchell said nothing.

-Injured in the line of duty you
know. I twisted my spine. One of those injuries you never really
get over.

-And?

-Well, I wouldn’t worry you so
much, but in between the medication, when I can feel a little bit
more, I’m getting these terrible spasms up my back. I mean, I can’t
describe the symptoms clearly just now, obviously I can’t feel
anything properly yet, but there’s a chance I won’t be able to pick
up the business again. If it doesn’t get better I mean.

-I suppose you’d be eligible for
compensation and benefits?

-Some, yes, so I believe. But
the point is; if they catch these villains, they won’t have any
money to pay compensation will they?

-I suppose not

-You see, you and I are
employees of the company, technically, and the company has
insurance for the benefit of its employees. So you see what I’m
thinking, if it should come to it.

It was clear enough: Derek was
planning to spend the next six months in bed, leaving Mitchell to
run a failing business about which he knew nothing. Unless the
police tracked down Raj and Pete, in which case he’d be in prison
for fraud, he could look forward to bankruptcy sooner rather than
later.

Three days later, Mitchell was
on board a plane to Malaga, carrying a false passport that had cost
him fifty pounds, and with a little over five thousand sterling in
his wallet. No one knew where he was going. The money wouldn’t go
far maybe, but he felt like he was making a new beginning. He felt
better than he had in a long while.

***

Patricia had never forgotten
about Derek Moss and John Obuswu. When she read the report in the
local paper about Moss being attacked by thugs at his office,
something did not seem quite right. More importantly, it seemed
that she was being given a sign.

The nagging sense of guilt that
had never left her demanded that she should act in some way. She
had always thought that she should have made more of an effort to
speak to Moss privately, outside of the official channels. Now here
he was, presented to her and by the sound of it not going anywhere
for a while.

She left it a day or two before
ringing him at the hospital. His voice did not sound as pained as
she had expected, in fact he sounded almost jovial. He didn’t
enquire too closely why she wanted to see him. It was as if the
time he had spent talking to journalists about his recent
experiences had left him with the feeling that people wanting to
interview him was a natural state of affairs. He´d developed a
taste for celebrity, it seemed. In any case, he agreed to their
meeting readily enough: Patricia didn´t even having to lie outright
about why she wanted to see him.

The hospital close to the centre
of town, a long established institution that had started large and
grown steadily. The original building boasted an imposing Victorian
façade, and housed wards and theatres which must have been
amazingly modern in the nineteenth century. The grounds would have
been impressive in those early days. There had been enough open
space to accommodate the various extensions that had been added
over the years, doubling the size of the old hospital, and
providing facilities that were more in keeping with modern
practice, even if they lacked architectural distinction.

In the days when carriages drawn
by horses pulled up outside the hospital, access would have been
ideal. Now it was a struggle to locate a parking place and then the
appropriate public entrance. In the main reception, the visitor´s
eye was drawn to colour coded bands on the flooring that led away
into a maze of corridors with the tenuous promise that the band
might continue unbroken to its stated destination. The corridors
were long and echoing. Medical staff marched with purposeful tread.
Porters gently manoeuvred trolley bound patients between the
departments that would conduct blood tests, x-rays, scans, and
sometimes even treatments on them. Time seemed to flow at a slower
rhythm.

A lot of the wards were ancient,
with shared facilities and not much privacy, but Derek Moss, the
have a go hero injured in the course of performing his civic duty,
was in one of the newer wings, with natural light and a room to
himself. The room was adorned with get well cards from a multitude
of well wishers who Derek had never met. There were even flowers.
Derek was lying in state, half upright, reclining against an
adjustable bed support. He positively beamed when Patricia walked
in.

After introductions, they
discussed his condition briefly, Derek confirmed that he had no
idea who his assailants had been or why they had been burgling his
office, but he recounted the events of the night with some
enthusiasm and obviously not for the first time. It was clear that
he assumed she was a journalist. Patricia said nothing to suggest
otherwise.

Moss was a big man with small
piggy eyes, and a high weak voice that he disguised with an
exaggerated, pompous speaking voice. His dark hair was greasy that
would not wash out. Lying in the hospital he seemed bloated and
pale, as if he would sweat margarine.

-The worst is, he concluded. I
shall probably never work again, with this damage to my back.

-It’s very bad luck, Patricia
agreed. You were in the police before weren’t you? I suppose that’s
how you had the previous condition.

Derek agreed that it was so.

-I wonder; would you mind
talking a little about that time?

Derek shifted as if the bed had
suddenly become uncomfortable.

-Could you tell me about, for
example, when you were working as a detective on the north side of
the city? Do you remember years ago, when that black man was
killed?

-What has that got to do with
anything? Why are you asking me? Do I know you?

-Don’t panic Derek, just a few
questions. For the story.

-There is no story. You’re
talking about ancient history. I told everyone back then that I had
nothing to say. What kind of journalist are you anyway? You don’t
talk like the others.

Since it was a direct question,
Patricia had to admit that she was not working for a paper. She
told him about her involvement in the inquiry, stressing that it
was all in the past and he had nothing to worry about. She was
following up for her own personal reasons. He could help her by
just clearing up a few details.

Moss demanded that she leave
immediately. He said he had been tricked into seeing her. He would
call the staff and have her thrown out. She backed off, but there
was another card to play.

-Derek, I really am not
interested in making things difficult for you now. I know all about
you being dismissed from the force. It’s like you said, ancient
history. But I can see that you are enjoying the attention just now
and maybe even thinking you can make something of it. Everyone´s on
your side now and there’s no reason for me to spoil it for you. I’m
only interested in John Obuswu, and you are the only one who can
help me with that. If you couldn´t help me and word got out about
your past...

-I would still have nothing to
say about that case and I don’t want to hear any more about it. Now
or in the future. Understand. Now please go.

He had called her bluff and
Patricia had to leave, but at least now she was certain that she
was on to something. She was sure that Derek had understood her
veiled threat to reveal details about his sordid past, information
that would extinguish in a moment the temporary fame that he seemed
to enjoy so much.

If they´d been in court and he´d
been her witness, she would have asked a simple question. What is
it that you know about events in the distant past that so disturbs
you that you´d rather be exposed as a cheat than talk about it?

Chapter Ten

In David´s dream, there was an
angel.

He was a boy who left his
father’s house, and walked into the desert.

For three days he walked and on
the third day the angel appeared to him, more beautiful than
anything he had seen. And he lay with the angel.

He gently turned her over, onto
her belly. Her wings were of a whiteness that he could not have
imagined, glowing not with an inner light but with the purity of
absolute colour. It was white that held the beginnings of every
colour that could be. As he stroked the wings she moaned quietly.
He said nothing.

-I could lose my job over this,
she said.

Then the boy spoke to her,
continuing to stroke her soft wings.

-Briony; I need to find more in
my life. I’ve done some good, but only because I wanted to be good.
I can only be virtuous through duty.

-What more do you need? She
murmured.

Her pale skin was as flawless to
the touch as her folded wings.

-To get beyond the conflict
between desire and reason. I´m sick of my head ruling my heart.
Every day I see people who are kind and happy without thinking
about it. They´re better than me; struggling all the time to know
the right thing. I envy them.

-You trust yourself too little;
or else you think too much of your own part in the world. It
doesn’t all depend on you. We could have enough with each
other.

When he shook his head, she
left. He was alone in the desert. The boy wanted to stay, hoping
she might return, but he knew that he had to move on. He began to
walk towards the end of the desert.

He boy walked until the end of
that day and for two more days. He walked through the night and the
day. The sand burned his feet, since he had forgotten to bring
proper desert clothing.

He knew that he was not walking
in circles, because he could feel the pull of his destination, but
he also knew that his journey was limited by time, not distance.
When he had walked for long enough, he would arrive. The sand and
rocks and sky scrolled out before him, and he knew without looking
that behind him there was nothing at all. And so he walked on at a
steady pace.

Although the desert did not
change at all, by the third day he had come to understand its
beauty; that was a thing completely self-contained. The landscape
had nothing at all to do with humanity. He picked up a handful of
sand and examined the grains, individually. He could feel himself
becoming smaller, equal to a single grain.

As he continued to walk, the
sand became dotted with sparse clumps of hard, dry grass. The scrub
became thicker as he walked through it.

A tall, black skinned man
watched him approach through the haze of the sands. The man was
old, supporting himself on a stick, or perhaps it was a spear, that
was even taller than him. Beads of sweat glistened on the blackness
of his shaven head. He was tending a herd of goats.

He did not speak as the boy
passed, but only pointed out the way with his stick.

-I lost the sense of myself, the
boy told him, whilst I was out there. I listened to so many
stories, carried on the wind. Time and wind strip the stories bare.
They only leave what is needful. In the end there was only one
story.

-But every grain of sand is
necessary to make the desert exactly what it should be, a voice
told him.

He walked in the direction that
the man had pointed, towards an area where the vegetation grew more
densely. There were even a few trees; and further on the promise of
water.

He passed another man, similar
in appearance to the first. This man was tending a herd of sheep.
With his staff, the shepherd pointed towards a clump of trees.

-You must be thirsty now, a
voice said. She’s waiting for you.

The boy suddenly realized that
he was exhausted. He’d not eaten or drunk for days. He began to
stagger. He felt so weak that he thought he would collapse before
he reached the shade.

When he came to the oasis, the
trees held the sounds of leaves rustling in the breeze, though
there was no wind. He heard the gentle cascade of a stream, though
the only water was a flat, still pool. The lady was waiting for
him, dressed in a long, hooded desert robe. She handed him a glass
of cool water.

-I thought I might see the angel
again. She shook her head

-Are we outside of time now,
mother? He asked. She smiled and shook her head.

-How could you be outside of
time and still be?

-But I know this is a dream. How
will I remember any of it?

-What you remember is not as
important as what you know. Later you may remember differently.
Don´t blush: that is your nature.

-Am I doing wrong?

-With the girl? I suppose
so.

-Will I be punished?

-That depends on you. You are in
time, where nothing is lost, provided you still know your direction
and the place you started from.

The boy did not understand the
message, but somehow when he left the spring behind he knew the
direction that he must take. He was restored in strength, his
thirst was satisfied and his torn scraps of clothing were renewed.
And so he came back to his father’s house, where there was great
rejoicing to celebrate the return of the boy who had been lost.