‘Should mabbe see a doctor.’ Holding his head at an angle, Mumford bent and picked up a cardboard box. Books were scattered all around, oil soaking into the pages, the turquoise baseball cap crushed flat. ‘Shouldn’t’ve let you come, Mrs Watkins. Should’ve realized.’
‘What about you, for God’s sake?’ Merrily could see the flush on his neck, a glaze of blood where the chain had bitten.
‘I’m fine.’
‘Oh sure — that’s why your voice is like a penny whistle someone’s trodden on.’
She tried for a laugh, but she was still too shaken, the scene replaying itself from when she’d thrown herself at the fat kid, trying to get a grip on his gelled hair — at the same time aware of the kid in the yellow fleece pulling the computer, by its cord, towards the edge of the bench. She remembered seeing Mumford turning into the chain, his hand crabbed across the face of the fat boy, thrusting him away. Merrily feeling grateful that he’d found the strength… until, at the same time as the computer hit the concrete, the boy’s elbow had pistoned back into her face.
Sitting on the floor, semi-stunned, she’d heard one of the younger kids crying out, ‘Car coming!’ and been aware of Jason Mebus lurching away, eyes flashing hate at Mumford, blood from his mouth forming twin channels either side of the stud in his chin.
In the next memory-frame, there was just her and Mumford amid the wreckage.
He stood over the computer for a moment before lifting it back on the bench where it sat lopsided, looking like a badly fractured skull.
‘Andy, we have to tell the police.’
He laughed.
‘Andy, come on… Blood on the wall? You half-garrotted? God knows what I look like. We’re supposed to just walk away?’
Mumford sighed. ‘Mrs Watkins, you know how these things work. They appear in court in their school uniforms, hair all neatly brushed. Look real scared and helpless. One’s got a missing front tooth. They got Mr Ryan Nye representing them, on legal aid, making references to my mental state following the death of my nephew — who these boys will deny they ever met — and then my mother. I need to paint you a picture?’
‘Suppose I phone Bliss at home?’
His expression was enough to shut her up. He put out a hand and tipped the computer lightly. Something inside it collapsed.
‘Got what they wanted, then.’
She remembered Jason Mebus, on his way out, putting in two vicious, hacking kicks, splintering the back of the computer.
‘Probably won’t fetch much at the car boot sale now, Andy.’
‘No.’
‘What are you going to tell your sister?’
Mumford bent down, picked up Robbie’s baseball cap. ‘Not a thing.’
‘Sorry?’ Merrily had found a tissue in her coat pocket; she brought it cautiously to her face, winced, looked up at him through one eye. ‘Is there something here I’m not understanding?’
‘I was thinking at first it was the boy told the others we were yere,’ Mumford said. ‘But then I’m thinking, wouldn’t Ange stay with us? Wouldn’t you stay with somebody wanted to mess with your dead boy’s stuff? Make sure they didn’t find anything you didn’t want found?’
‘What are you saying?’ She had a full view of his throat now, red and purple and swollen and lacerated. At least his wife was a nurse.
‘Funny Ange en’t come back, ennit?’ he said. ‘Funny we en’t seen nothing at all of her feller, Mathiesson.’
‘You think they put those kids…?’
‘Could be they all had reasons for making sure we never got to see what was on that computer. The kids too.’ Mumford’s eyes were pale and hard. ‘Tells us why Robbie was afraid to come back from his gran’s, mabbe?’
‘As someone trained always to see the best in people, I confess to having a problem with those kids,’ Merrily admitted.
‘Let’s not dress this up, Mrs Watkins,’ Mumford said. ‘They killed him. As good as.’
And she was in no position to dismiss it. When they left, stepping under the door into the dark and the damp, she noticed Mumford stuffing the crushed turquoise baseball cap into his jacket pocket. Then he picked up the computer.
‘Long shot,’ he said. ‘But it’s possible the hard disk might not be totally destroyed.’
Jane woke up so suddenly that Merrily had to hold on to the chair to stop it tipping over.
‘Sorry…’ She held on to the kid’s shoulders. ‘I didn’t realize you were—’
The scullery was lit only by the computer. Merrily felt she’d had about enough of computers for one night. She had to have a bath. She felt exhausted and aching and soiled and useless.
‘Why haven’t you gone to bed?’
‘Where’ve you been?’
‘How long have you—?’ She saw what was on the screen. ‘You fell asleep online?’
‘Oh shit… listen, it’s been twenty minutes max. Anyway, it doesn’t cost much at night.’
‘Forget it, it’s my fault.’ Merrily switched on the anglepoise lamp and turned off the computer. ‘I should’ve rung — except I thought if you’d gone to bed— Don’t look at me like that. Things were… difficult. I realize it’s unlikely I’m looking my best.’
‘Shit…’ Jane breathed.
‘Jane—’
‘Things really were bloody difficult, weren’t they?’
‘I’m OK. I’ll tell you about it in the morning. In confidence.’
‘So, like, did Mumford do that?’
‘Huh?’
‘Was it Mumford gave you the black eye?’
‘What?’
Merrily stumbled out of the study, through the kitchen to the mirror in the hall, slapping lights on. From the framed print, Holman-Hunt’s Jesus Christ regarded her with sorrow and pity and eternal understanding.
‘Oh shit,’ Merrily said.
When she came back to the study, holding a cold sponge to her eye, the computer was back on and Jane was in front of it. Didn’t even turn round to reinspect the injury.
‘Mum… take a look at this.’
‘You know what time it is?’
‘Yeah, yeah. Listen… The suicide chat-rooms, OK? I got into this one, and it seemed to be just, like, crap. There was this guy in Nevada, and— Anyway, I logged on under a false name—’
‘Sadgirl?’ Merrily leaned over the desk. ‘That’s you?’
‘And Belladonna was there. Or least her music was, but Lol said somebody might have just ripped that off. And there was a song she covered, a famous suicide song, where lots of people connected with it topped themselves. It was Hungarian originally, composed in 1933.’
Merrily dabbed at the eye, wishing now that she hadn’t brought Jane into this. ‘Sounds a bit tenuous.’
‘Except Belladonna’s boyfriend also committed suicide, just like the original composer, by — get this — jumping off a high building?’
‘Well, that’s… it’s tragic and everything, but it’s not exactly an uncommon method.’
‘Yeah, well, I was trying to find a stronger connection. I dropped in the name Belladonna and got a nasty reply from this bastard, Karone, which is what he seems to specialize in, and then — this must’ve come in while I was asleep, right?’
‘OK, let me see…’
Merrily eased Jane away from the screen. Sneery message from someone called Karone the Boatman, and
