No answer. Why did this box keep coming up? Was the box the mirror? What was removed from Malnyk’s flat on the day of the crash? What if she had got the day wrong? He asked Terry, ‘All these comings and goings with the mirror et cetera, was that the same day as the crash?’
‘I believe so,’ said Terry. ‘No point checking with …’ – herolled his eyes towards Gloria – ‘but yes, the police were here the day after the incident, and she was talking about yesterday, so that we do know.’
‘So he came straight here, the man in the mirror? Were they wearing costumes or something?’
‘Fancy dress!’ laughed Gloria. Edward stared, wondering if that was an answer or just some kind of word association she was playing in her head. They would get nowhere here.
When Gloria said, ‘Billy, would you like another tea?’ even Terry looked moved by how lost his neighbour was.
Edward could not leave fast enough, mounting his moped and almost forgetting the crash helmet he had left on the grass. As he tugged it onto his head and put the key into the ignition, there was a tap on his shoulder – of course. Terry.
‘Are you okay to drive? You’re looking pretty shell-shocked. Dementia can do that.’
‘I wish I had it myself sometimes,’ said Edward. This man was hanging on to him like a limpet. ‘Tasteless, sorry,’ he added, not sure what to say.
‘You’re crying.’
‘It’s the wind.’
‘You’re wearing a crash helmet, which is airtight.’
‘There was some wind when I put it on. The visor was up. The wind caught my eyes, and I put the shield down.’ This was silly. He opted for candour instead. ‘I lost my son. A sudden death. Your lady did too. She thought I was her son. I wondered if that’s me in thirty years, thinking I’ve got him back. All the good memories are bad now.’
‘Every sunrise is a fire that burns you down.’
‘Who said that?’
‘A country singer, I think.’
‘I had memories of it in there. Never gets any easier. Burns you out from the inside, like the firebox on a train.’
‘It does that,’ said the man elliptically. ‘Chin up.’ He slapped the motorbike seat as if releasing Edward. Revving the moped, Edward asked: ‘Which way is Barton Ottery from here?’
The old man thought about it. ‘A minute from Tipton St John, isn’t it? Tipton, then left at the bend, up the hill. If you get to the Wildflower Retreat, you’ve gone too far.’
Nothing Edward had heard in the last hour had made any sense at all, like looking at a map scissored into small pieces, shuffled and glued into a collage. It was a fitting end to an outing where Edward had learnt precisely nothing of value.
Or so he thought.
Chapter Forty
Edward’s head cleared as he pushed the moped to forty. He felt a spark of sympathy for the officers under Jordan Callintree, who had come back from every interview more confused than when they set off. Why had the flat been cleared on the day of the crash? What was in it that needed removing? He remembered the unread text from Stevie and pulled in at the entrance to the Golf Centre by Trow Hill.
He checked he was not at risk from the fast cars on the main road, took his helmet off and found the app on his phone. There it was, the latest message:
Have been on horse with landlord RCC don’t think he’s to blame for any of it BUT he said he went into Lev flat secretly (BEFORE crash) and found 3D printer (make was BONNET) did he use printer to make the capsules or a gun or even radiation? He fell off horse started talking Stevie
Edward read it twice, punctuating it mentally the second time.A 3D printer?He looked up ‘Bonnet Printer’ on his phone but only found 3D-printed car bonnet parts.
So someone rushed into the flat to remove a 3D printer? And then Gloria sees it being rapidly removed after Lev’s death, calls it a microwave, a box, a boat?
Every turn took him into a cul-de-sac, but now he was heading for a real one. Perhaps it was foolhardy, but he was going to visit the address where the enormous man and woman lived, if only to be sure it was not them who had attacked him in his garden. He would hold on to his ignition key and keep his exit routes clear. He had a reminder of the attack – as he pulled the throttle back, there was a twinge in his wrist where one of them had stamped on it.
He was sure it would not be them – the wheelchair – but he was desperate not to have to go back to Jordan Callintree and admit defeat, so he was clutching at straws now. This would be his attempt to make progress.
Number 28 Hope Hill, Barton Ottery, looked as if it had been built as a temporary living place in the Sixties, and somehow survived. It sat on a spur from the chocolate-box pretty hamlet of Venn Ottery like an ugly sister, more a cabin than a home, part PVC and part decaying hardwood. The house had been extended, and Edward could not imagine any council planner agreeing to what he saw – attached to the cabin was a long static trailer which seemed to have been knocked through at one end. The door at the end of the trailer was open, and the front door was ajar, and he heard yelling from inside.
It was the sound of an animal in pain.
