Open Writing

Walking back to the hotel, I'd had this vision that my new wife had changed into something more relaxing. Like a double bed.

It wasn't quite that good, but it was still good. She was wearing Israeli Army-style fatigues, pure cotton and carefully crumpled. They were the colour of fresh cowpat.

She'd organised some smoked-salmon sandwiches. She was one of those women: if you left her stranded down a coal mine in South Wales, she'd organise some smoked-salmon sandwiches.

And her earlier caution had given way to bouncing joy.

'See!' she said, when I told her Hands' story. 'It's all coming together. And wait till you hear what I've found out.'

She'd telephoned the man who owned the shop where they'd sold Striker the jacket. She got his name from Westlake.

'He sounded a terrible little queen - by the way, did you call him Petal?'

'Something like that.'

'Yes, he said so. His real name's not much better — Binky Wise. He'd been away for a few days and he hadn't seen the local paper so he had no idea the man who bought the jacket was dead.'

'So I gathered.'

'Anyway, listen. On the last night of the gala, he was working late doing the shop window — "it's the only outlet for my creative flair" was what he said - when Striker knocked on the window. He'd got someone with him, a girl, but she stayed back out of the light. He got Binky to open up and told him he wanted the cashmere jacket out of the window. Binky said he didn't seem like his usual type of customer but anyway he let him try it on, and then Striker wanted his girl to see it.'

'Was she fair and slim — or plump and dark?'

'Wait a minute.' She grabbed my wrists to restrain me.

'So?'

'So Binky Wise, a little reluctantly, did let Striker step outside wearing the jacket. He got a glimpse of the girl then, but said he didn't know her.'

'That's when Striker must have put the photo in the pocket,' I said. 'There's one of those booth places just outside the station so they must have had it done there.'

As fast as I could push her out of the conversation, she was pushing back in.

'But,' she said, putting her hand over my mouth, 'but, get this. The jacket needed one or two minor alterations and Binky said he'd do them and send it round to the hotel. And Striker told him — are you ready—that his girlfriend wanted him to have the blazer to get married in.'

'Married?'

'Married.'

'So,' she said, counting the points off with one wagging finger, 'Striker did not rape anyone because he was with another lady at the time, both at the field and here in town. And he didn't commit suicide because he hadn't raped anyone, and also because he was busy making long-term plans like buying expensive blazers and getting married. What do you think now, Joe Hussy? Have I convinced you?'

The cotton fatigues fitted loosely. They touched the peaks and rested lightly on the horizontal curves.

'You've convinced me you're a better detective than me.'

'And will you stay and help me now?'

'I shall help you,' I said, 'as God shows me how.' I thought it was best to split the responsibility.

'What about the playsuit?' I asked. 'Is it time for your aerobics already?'

'No Joe,' she said, in the new friends-and-partners tone that she was adopting now. 'We're going up to Quarry Valley to see your friends the Hell's Angels.'

She was tucking in wisps of stray hair in the dressing-table mirror.

When I protested, she half-turned and pointed her comb at me.

'Don't you start that awful bleating. You've no idea how depressing it is.'

There were a lot of other things I wanted to discuss with her. What did she think Hands meant about the police magazines being printed abroad? And I was wondering how Dawn came to be so convincing an actress that she could take in Kentish as well as me.

But Victoria was more for action than words. I took another look at those horizontal curves and thought one day I might be glad about that. So I followed her out of the door and into the night.

If I'd known .. . Dammit, if I'd known I expect I would have followed her anyway. I think I would've followed her off the edge of a cliff.

**

To read earlier chapters of Colin's story please click on http://www.openwriting.com/archives/ratcatcher/