When Evil Wins Page 17

  “Hello? Who am I speaking to?”

  “Gregory, it's Janus, do you have a few moments?”

  “Janus? Janus Malik?” Smith answered, frowning to himself.

  “Yes,” Janus replied curtly.

  “Janus. Hi. How are you doing?” Gregory was curious; he'd never had a call or conversation with one of Richard's star authors before.

  “Not too well, Gregory – actually. I would like to talk with you though,” Janus said trying to contain his anger. He'd already decided Mr G. Smith had been complicit in Mandy's death.

  “No problem, Janus,” Gregory replied. “Do you want to talk on the phone or would you prefer to meet?” Gregory Smith knew how to tackle obviously uptight individuals; it was part and parcel of his day to day job. People who didn’t want to pay, people who hadn’t been paid and people who didn’t realise they were after the things R.J. Publishing couldn’t offer; each and every one part of his remit.

  “I think a meeting would be appropriate.” Janus wanted to see the look in Gregory Smith's eyes when he put the facts he had discovered to him.

  “Okay, Janus. When and where?”

  “The Moon on the Square, Basildon, in two hours.” This was probably the best choice as they'd both have to travel and it would be neutral territory. Janus certainly wanted a few people around once Gregory Smith found out that Janus knew he had played a part in Mandy's death.

  “Okay. I hope this is important,” Greg replied, not happy about the distance he would have to travel.

  “Gregory, it's very important. I'll see you in two hours then?”

  “In two hours as long as I can make it in that time.”

  “Agreed,” Janus said.

  Gregory put his phone down. What was this author after? He wondered. Greg looked at his watch; if he was going to get to the place on time he would have to leave now. He had the London tube system to navigate and then, after that, the mainline.

  Greg was curious as to what was going on; the call had been truly intriguing and there was no doubt in his mind he had to meet this guy. This little jaunt would certainly jolly up the evening, especially with nothing else arranged.

  Greg freshened up; changing his shirt and tie. He decided he didn't need to change his suit; that done he made his way to the station.

  ***

  Janus went over all the points he would highlight in his conversation with Gregory Smith. He was sure that Mr Smith, ‘G.S.’, would not be able to rebuke any of them.

  Janus left his flat to catch the train to Basildon. Leaving the station after the short train journey Janus became surer, with every step towards the pub, that he'd got enough to force Gregory Smith to confess his part.

  After a few moments of walking Janus entered The Moon on the Square. He looked around trying to spot Gregory Smith believing that the guy would not have turned up. However, within a few seconds, Janus spotted the immaculately dressed man; wearing a light-pink shirt underneath a deeply pinstriped suit. Janus was disappointed; these were not the actions of a murderer.

  Janus strode over to Gregory. “You made it then?”

  “Only just, Janus,” Gregory replied. “Can I offer you a drink?”

  “No. I don't think so. I'll get my own.” Janus waved a five pound note at the staff behind the bar.

  “Are you being served?” the barman asked.

  “No,” Janus responded. “Could I have a pint please?”

  “Of course; any particular beer?”

  “I'll have a Stella.” Turning to Gregory Janus asked; “do you want anything?”

  “No, I'm alright Janus, I've got my wine.”

  “Just the Stella then please barman.” Janus received his pint.

  “What's this all about, Janus? I don't normally meet with authors. I have no cause to. What's going on?”

  “To be quite blunt, it's to do with you murdering Mandy,” Janus said flatly, watching Gregory Smith very closely, attempting to pick up any indication the man knew he had been found out.

  Greg's chin nearly hit the floor when he heard this pronouncement. So this was what it was all about, Mandy's suicide. “You’ve got to be kidding, Janus. Why on earth do you think I've got anything to do with that tart's death? And it's suicide, not murder.”

  Janus controlled himself, just. “She wasn’t a tart, Gregory,” he almost yelled. “She was a good friend and a fine person, almost a sister to me.” Janus wanted to add more but if he was going to get to the bottom of Greg’s involvement confrontation wasn’t the way forward. “What about the note you gave her?” he finished.

  “Note, what note?” Gregory said, feigning ignorance. “I'm not quite sure what you mean.”

  “The note you left on the bar you arrogant idiot.”

  “Steady on, Janus. Are you sure what you're saying?” Now Greg was getting riled. Who did this guy think he was, talking to him in this manner?

  “Of course I am. I read the note. Your initials were on it.”

  “Janus, you can't blame me for what happened. Everyone knows she did it of her own accord.”

  “Don't try and cover up. Your initials were on the note.”

  “Mr Malik, you cannot point the finger at me. If I was involved don't you think the police would have brought me in for questioning or something like that? Which they haven't, I hasten to add.”

  “Gregory, you're a very clever person and I don't doubt that. But I've found you out. You left the note on the bar during the anniversary party, which Mandy then picked up and read, after which she went onto the roof because of it; the roof from which she was pushed, leading to her death.”

  “Janus, you are so far off base I can't possibly imagine where you're coming from but I will fill in a few details you obviously have no idea about.”

  “Go ahead, Gregory. I know I'm right.”

  “I admit there was a note, but it was nothing to do with me. The note you keep going on about was a note I was given in Bar Room One. You know – the pub where we all go to after work, by Mandy's sister, with the implicit instructions to leave it in a place she would find it. I have, and had, no idea of its contents; I was just doing a favour for a young lady. You know me.” Gregory winked.

  “But your initials were on it Greg; G.S.”

  “Sorry, Janus, I had nothing to do with whatever was written on it. I was just doing a nice young girl a favour. Are you sure my initials were on it? What did the note say?”

  “The note said; 'Meet me on the roof at midnight. G.S.'”

  “Oh!…” Greg said. This revelation was something he had not expected. “Janus, I can truly assure you that you're talking to the wrong guy. What do the police say? They haven't contacted me since the interviews at R.J.P.”

  “The police have the note and they're analysing it, and they said that G.S. could be anyone's initials. You're not worried about this?” Janus looked directly into Gregory's eyes.

  “No. Of course not. Why should I? I was just doing a favour. And the police are right; it could be anyone's initials. And, Janus, I can assure you they're really not mine.”

  Janus was flummoxed and there had been no glimmer of dishonesty behind Greg’s eyes when he’d answered his direct question.

  Janus had attempted to discover the events that had happened before Mandy’s death and this particular line of enquiry was apparently a dead end. He was beginning to feel despondent once again; every avenue he tried just got shut down.

  Then another thought struck him. “Greg, what did the woman look like?”

  “Which woman?”

  “The one who gave you the note, you arse.”

  “I don't really recall, Janus; it’s quite a while ago. Having said that I think I remember she had dark hair, not black though and she was shortish, well, shorter than me. I think her hair was straight. But that’s all.”

  “Nothing else? You're joking aren't you? You must have noticed something; having the eye for the women as you do.”

  “Janus, I'll take that last point as a
compliment and believe it or not, it is true that I do meet many women, but those that I just have the chance to talk with don't really register that much. It's only when they're interested in where I live I take it any further, if you know what I mean. But this girl just asked me to pass the letter on to her sister,” Greg said, deciding not revealing his meeting with the woman in its entirety.

  “Mandy doesn't have a sister,” Janus stated.

  “How am I supposed to know that? I’ve never talked to the girl apart from the hellos and goodbyes at the office. I’ve never even taken her out.”

  Janus was now certain that, although Greg’s initials were, without a doubt on the note, the worst he’d done was to pass it onto Mandy.

  The evening’s meeting ended and Janus left dissatisfied.

  Greg on the other hand left intrigued; a murder at R.J.P, he thought. His friends would never believe this tale he had to tell.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Although the hotel was very comfortable Richard couldn't sleep; not just because of the recent events, but because his wife was not at all well. She had changed.

  Richard tried to cope with the situation, but it was beyond him; his daughter was dead — and Liz, his wife, his friend, his soul mate, was just lying on the hotel bed repeating the same thing over and over; “Not Stephanie, Richard, it couldn't have been Stephanie. Not Stephanie, Richard…” His wife was in a very bad way and no matter how he tried to console her, the responses were the same; “Not Stephanie, Richard, it couldn't have been Stephanie…”

  Richard looked at his watch; it was approaching midnight. He closed his eyes and ran a hand down his face, then reached for the phone.

  “John, sorry to disturb you at this time but I could really do with your help,” Richard said to their family doctor and close friend He then proceeded to explain what had happened since they'd arrived home from the trip to Edinburgh.

  John Withers was stunned and as soon as he’d replaced the receiver he got dressed and started the two hour drive to the hotel.

  There was a knock at the Jameson’s suite’s door and Richard made his way to it, pulling it open with the little energy he had left.

  John Withers looked at Richard’s face and almost recoiled; he’d never expected to see his friend in such a bad way, though the circumstances certainly warranted it.

  “Richard, you're obviously in shock,” John Withers began in his light Scottish accent, entering the hotel suite. “If you're going to cope with this awful time you really need to get some sleep, and to sleep properly.” John Withers pulled a bottle of sleeping tablets from his case.

  “John,” Richard said, raising his palm towards the doctor, “I really don't want to take any sleeping pills.” Richard was not one for taking medication.

  “Richard, this is the best way, I can assure you. There's no way you can possibly carry on without sleep. Sleeping will help you cope. And the same goes for Liz.”

  “I know,” Richard said, resigned to the fact that he would have to take some chemicals to help him. “Can you have a look at Liz? I'm really worried about her.”

  “Richard, calm down. I know it's awful to say, but try to relax. If you're going to get through this, becoming any further stressed is not going to help. It won't help Liz either.” John Withers crossed the room to the bed.

  After a cursory examination John Withers walked back over to Richard, who seemed crumpled somehow, sitting in the lounge area of the hotel room.

  “Richard,” John said, trying to gain his friends attention and only just succeeding. “Liz is suffering greatly, she’s very bad. She’s not even responding normally to any conversations. She’s in a deep trauma. At this time I would suggest it may be appropriate to take her somewhere where she can be better cared for during this time of crisis. I know this is something you don’t want to hear but it would be for the best.”

  “What do you mean precisely John? I'm sorry to appear stupid but I'm having great difficulty thinking at the moment,” Richard replied, strained almost beyond limit.

  “It pains me to say this, but I think at this time Liz would be better off at the East London and City Mental Health facility, not far from here.”

  “She’s really that bad?” Richard asked, and without waiting for a response he carried on, “No she can’t be. Are you sure you’re right?”

  “Richard, of course she is, she's lost her only child, just as you have. I'm truly surprised you're coping as you are.”

  Richard's heart sank as his thoughts were taken away from his wife's predicament and focused on the loss of his daughter.

  “God. Yes! I don't know what to think about first, Liz, my wife or my poor, poor daughter who has been taken from us.” Richard broke into tears; the immensity of everything that had happened hit him all at once like a sledgehammer blow.

  There was nothing John could say. What he could do though was allow Richard to work through his feelings and support him in any capacity required.

  “Richard, sit back down for a minute,” the doctor said as Richard attempted to stand. “I'll pour you a Scotch, and if there's anything you want to say you know you can talk to me.”

  Richard cleared his eyes with a juvenile sweep of his jacket’s cuff. “Thanks, John, you're a good friend.”

  The Scotch burned as it went down, it was not particularly good malt but its effects were calming all the same. After a prolonged silence Richard spoke.

  “John, is it possible that Liz can stay here tonight, your medicine seems to be doing the trick. And she's asleep, can I take her to the institution tomorrow?”

  “Yes. Of course. She’s resting well now; but when she wakes she’s going to need a hell of a lot of support. And I don’t want to say this, but it’s probably more than you are able to give her at the moment. You know what I’m saying don’t you, Richard?”

  Dr Withers, although being a friend, was also trying to assess the depth of Richard’s trauma. But Richard answered appropriately and John Withers was relieved.

  “Thanks, John, you're a good friend,” Richard said.

  “You know, if I felt otherwise, I would not allow her to stay here don’t you?” John said.

  “I know that, John. You're a friend and a professional at the same time,” Richard conceded.

  “Okay. I'll organise the transport for tomorrow; so there's nothing you need worry about. Take a couple of these,” John said handing Richard a few sleeping pills, “and I'll see you in the morning around ten o’clock. Okay?”

  “Okay. And thanks again, John. I don't know what I would’ve done without you under these circumstances.”

  “There is one other thing, Richard,” the doctor added.

  “What's that?”

  “If I'm going to be able to provide the care your wife obviously needs, she's going to have to agree to it. This is serious enough to require consent.”

  “What d'you mean?”

  “If she's going to go into the institution she needs to agree that's what happens.”

  “Oh, I see,” Richard said as the enormity of the situation dawned upon him. “I’ll explain to her, I’m sure she’ll understand. You’ll have the consent in the morning, and thanks again, you’ve been a great help my friend.”

  Richard reached out with his hand and John shook it.

  “Think nothing of it.” With those final last words John Withers closed his case, and making sure Richard had swallowed the pills he’d given him, the doctor left the hotel room.

  Richard sat in the chair, nursing the remains of his small scotch, gradually relaxing as a blissful unconsciousness prevailed.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Janus awoke with a start and turned over to look at the bedside clock; it was only six in the morning, but he was already wide awake and his thoughts had immediately focused on Mandy.

  After returning from the meeting with Greg he was now sure that R.J.P's financial accountant was, at the very most, an unwitting accomplice, if anything.

  J
anus was getting frustrated and last night had closed off another avenue to discovering what had actually happened to Mandy; his intuition telling him that Greg Smith had been honest in his version of events.

  He got out of bed knowing that there was no point in trying to get a few more hours sleep. What could he do now? He supposed there was really only one answer and that was to contact the spirit world once again. Janus turned on his radio and sat down in his chair.

  “My guide…” before he could finish the thought he was interrupted.

  “Janus, I've been expecting you; pray tell me what you have discovered.” The interjection startled him, but he was glad of it.

  Janus recounted all that had happened since his last contact, finishing; “…every line of enquiry I take is a dead end. I have not got any further with my investigation. I have not discovered anything new. I feel Mandy's death will not come to anything other than suicide.”

  “On the contrary my dear, Janus, what you have told me sheds a different light on your initial suppositions. From all that you've said I can deduce the following; Mandy was murdered and this is without a doubt, and the person of whom the focus is, is not your employer.”

  “If it's not Richard then who is it?”

  “It’s you, Janus. There is a malcontent that bears you such ill will they will not be satisfied until your life has been completely destroyed, but for you to be made to suffer, your own life will not be jeopardised.”

  Janus had thought this might be so, but now, to be told outright, made him fear for everyone else related to him in some way or another.

  “This person has taken it upon themselves to rid you of all those that have assisted in your rise as a popular author,” the spirit of Conan Doyle continued.

  “Do you mean Richard is also dead?” Janus asked, not wanting to hear the answer; but he knew, in his very being, he had to persist if he was going to find out the truth.

  “Richard has not passed over, his spirit is not present, but it is obvious that this is by intention.”

  “What d'you mean?”

  “Undoubtedly the intention is to demonstrate that you are the perpetrator of these crimes and to this end Richard must live, but one other must …”