PICTURES OF LIFE – Chapters 13-14

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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Life can be a funny old thing. It is thought of as the most precious thing in the universe. Yet, so often we can class it of little importance. When a man kills another, when a person takes his own life, we demean the beauty of life. That which is so precious is so easily lost. Yet Dale Crawford had reason to think about life in recent years – life, and, of course, death. He realized the irony that wife and life rhyme – is this for a reason? Does a wife make a man’s life complete? If so, then Dale’s life ended so abruptly when his wife died in the hit and run. But life had gone on for him? How was that so? Maybe we are always able to reinvent our life. That’s what Dale had obviously done. And when Julia came along, was he heading for yet another life? Until …
How did he place her words in terms of his appreciation of life? ‘You could kill Vernie,’ she had said. Kill, kill, kill.
Julia immediately saw the change in his demeanour. He stiffened; his jowls became taught. An eruption seemed to be building up deep inside him – somehow he managed to control these waves of emotion, but with difficulty. Perhaps it was his innate decency.
Julia said: ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. It was stupid.’
Dale leant over her; reached for the door handle. Opened it. ‘Get out.’
‘But Dale.’
‘Out!’

DI Summers was well aware his investigation seemed to be going nowhere. Forensics had come up with a big fat zero, and as if conditioned by the words ‘big’ and ‘fat,’ he found himself stood outside the butcher’s. Inside, Duane Hollis seemed to be hovering. He could imagine the intent. His big brother had disappeared, leaving him in an awesome position of having to please his father. Maybe he was threatening Thadias Grimes right now? If, of course, Grimes was telling the truth.
Alternatively, Duane may be frightened. His brother had disappeared. Maybe he would be next? And if so, who was after the Hollis family? There were plenty of candidates, that was for sure. And an enmity existed between the family and Grimes. So maybe Duane was pleading for himself.
It was difficult to tell. Duane was now moving closer to Grimes. An altercation was inevitable. From their faces, both were angry. Bile was being launched at each other. Indeed, to Summers, Grimes seemed a little more confident, as if HE was controlling the situation. Did that mean it was true that Duane was frightened of the butcher, or could it be that, as the kid of the Hollis family, Grimes was not as afraid.
Summers’ musings came to an end when he saw Grimes reach for a meat cleaver. He opened the shop door, walked in and coughed.
Thadias stopped in his tracks. He looked at the meat cleaver and seemed shocked it was in his hand. Comically, he tried to put it down as if Summers had not seen it. As for Duane, he stood faking nonchalance. ‘Lovely day, inspector,’ he said. It was clumsy, his voice high, shaky, unconvincing.
‘Haven’t you got someone to play with?’ said Summers. Affronted, Duane Hollis rushed from the shop.
‘Thank you, inspector,’ said Thadias. ‘That was good timing. I thought he was going to go for me.’
‘Why would he do that?’ asked Summers.
‘He’s young, petulant. And with his brother gone, he has something to prove.’
‘He seemed more frightened than you did.’
‘Don’t be silly. Why do you think I picked up a weapon?’
‘Why indeed,’ retorted Summers.
Thadias changed the subject. ‘So what can I do for you?’ he asked. ‘Maybe you want another of my pies.’
Summers smiled. Thadias went to pick one up. Then the detective remembered the rumour going round the street. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said, rather too forcefully.

Julia James almost ran home; and as she wasn’t as young as she once was, the effect was pain; pain which trebled within her mind.
She sat on the settee, stunned. Thoughts raced in her head. How had she been so stupid? Didn’t she realize that decent men didn’t take killing easily. Perhaps she had been so used to Vernie’s mentality. She could imagine him having no trouble killing someone. She had known that for a long time. After all, when they met, he worked for Old Man Hollis, and she was sure he did things that were not – how shall we say – legal. And then there was their falling out. The Old Man was always suspicious of Vernie. Perhaps he had tried to double-cross him? But one thing was for sure. If Vernie James ever tried to kill anyone, he would come up from behind.
But Dale was different. She was stupid, stupid, stupid. And as that realization dawned, she buried her head in her hands and cried.

Dale Crawford did not cry. He had sat in his cab for a long time, stunned. He had thought her such a wonderful, pure woman. He had thought there could be a life with her. But to suggest murder? How could he ever think he could have a life with her after that?
How long he sat there, he didn’t know, but eventually he realized life goes on – it was precious like that. Hence, he pulled himself together and switched on his mobile.
It was then that he received the message. ‘Oh my God, Bobby,’ he wailed, and then drove like the devil.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

To say Bobby Crawford looked worse for wear would be an understatement. How long he remained unconscious he had no idea. Neither did he know whether Moz and Jimmy did it on purpose, or whether this escalation was an accident. Not that that mattered. Regardless of motive, his head hurt like hell. Maybe he’d get DI Summers to investigate, he thought; after the case of Jack’s ghost, of course.
The nurse hovered, smiled. His father hovered, looked worried. Strange, thought Bobby, it must be serious. Dad usually smiled when pretty women were around.
‘Nothing too serious, Mr Crawford,’ said the nurse. ‘He’ll have a headache, and if you check this card, you keep an eye for concussion.’
Dale nodded. Thanked her. Then, turning to Bobby, he said: ‘Who did this?’
‘I slipped.’

Rachel Hollis fumed as she walked down the street. She had two loves, of which one was really a hate, whilst the other was a growing problem. The former was her love of hating her uncle. The Old Man was everything she hated, and she knew he detested her presence in his household. She had often thought of wiping out all the family, but could rarely be bothered. As for the latter, this was her love of sex. Sex was something she could really enjoy, but she was becoming aware that, if she wasn’t careful, she’d catch a reputation or maybe something worse. But unfortunately, the two problems seemed to merge, for whenever she felt hate for her uncle, she had an equal and opposite reaction to vent her frustrations with sex. Physics was obviously not wasted on HER at school.
She banged on Peter Picasso’s door with a vigour in proportion to the force she hoped he would use, soon, with her. Hating the wait, she banged again, just as Peter opened the door.
‘Oh,’ he said in surprise.
‘Yes,’ replied Rachel before pushing him inside, pinning him against the wall, kicking the door shut with her foot, and struggling to relieve him of his trousers.
Through some Herculean effort, Peter managed to get up the stairs and into his bedsit, dragging Rachel with him in some miraculous, conjoined way. Of course, his protestations seemed to fall on deaf ears, and as the two of them collapsed on the bed, Veronica Dean rose from under the covers and said: ‘Don’t mind me, why don’t you.’

It would be wrong to call Dale Crawford an alcoholic. As with most things in life, he could control them with ease. But something was clearly going wrong at that present time. Perhaps life-changing factors can accumulate to the point that the most courageous of men can succumb to self pity and bury their psyche in worry.
This was one such time. Hence, seeing Bobby safely to bed, he rang the babysitter and felt an absolute need for the pub.
Of course, he felt guilty, leaving Bobby like that. But in his presently faulty mind he realized he had to be separated from the problem to work it out.
He drank thirstily from his second pint. What is wrong with him, he thought. It was clear, now, that he was being bullied. But why wouldn’t he tell me? Do kids always keep secrets from their fathers?
This was a hard lesson for Dale to learn. Being a regular sort of chap, he had the superiority of the breed, sure that he was not going to make the mistakes that other fathers did. Maybe he didn’t realize that the problem was not with him, but with the world. Kids simply had to keep secrets; it was the way they were; it was the first stirrings of independence so important for the learning curve to adulthood.
I must speak to him, thought Dale as he drank some more; ordered a third pint. I must convince him that he must speak to me; and then I’ll have to do something about it.
He had moved on to Julia by the fourth pint. Oh, Julia, why did you have to say that? Is that all our relationship is about? Getting rid of Vernie? Is there no more to it?
But he couldn’t believe that – not really. He had made love to her, and he knew genuine love when he felt it. There was no faking there. It was real alright. So maybe it was just a stupid mistake, so out of character that it would never happen again. Could I really throw away happiness because of a stupid mistake?
It was by the end of his fifth pint that he had decided what to do.

Peter Picasso surveyed the wreckage of his bedsit and smiled. He sat alone, experiencing the calm after the storm.
‘You cheating bastard!’ Rachel had said.
Rescuing his face from under her chest, Peter had said: ‘That’s rich.’
‘And who the hell is that tart?’
‘Hardly a tart,’ said Veronica, climbing out from the bed and dressing.
‘Now Rachel, listen,’ said Peter.
‘Listen?’
‘Yes, calm down.’
‘How could you?’
‘But you’ve cheated on me all the time.’
‘So she’s your girlfriend,’ said Veronica.
‘No,’ said Peter, ‘she’s …’
‘What?’
‘Yes what?’ offered Rachel.
‘You know …’
‘Do I?’
‘Yes, do I,’ echoed Veronica.
‘This is madness.’
‘You can say that again,’ said Rachel.
Peter decided on drastic action. After all, Rachel had begun throwing things, and he was certain one of those things would be him. ‘Now stop it, Rachel,’ he said. To Veronica, he continued: ‘She is not my girlfriend. Has never been my girlfriend. We simply get together when there’s no one else. It’s a kind of therapy, I suppose.’
Veronica, being an open sort of women, said: ‘Oh, is that all.’
‘What do you mean, is that all?’ stormed Rachel, moving on to cups and small furnishings.
Veronica decided not to reply at first. Instead, she approached Rachel, spun her round, grabbed her arm, put her in a half Nelson, and marched her down the stairs. Opening the door, she threw her out, advising, ‘have a tantrum elsewhere, sweetie,’ before ceremoniously shutting the door.

Eventually finding herself back in the bedsit, she finished dressing as she watched Peter. He was back with his painting . Sweat was beginning to break on his brow, and his brush moved feverishly.
‘Oh yes,’ she said before departing. ‘Let’s see if THAT comes true.’

Dale Crawford banged on Julia’s door with gusto, and when she finally deemed to answer it, two pairs of slightly unfocused eyes stared at each other.
‘Is Vernie out?’ asked Dale, his voice a little slurred.
Julia raised a finger to her lips, said: ‘Sshhh.’ Then she pulled him inside and closed the door.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Dale. ‘I know you didn’t mean what you said.’
Julia said: ‘I’m sorry too,’ as she slipped as she tried to undress. Deciding to be a man and catch her, they both fell in a pile on the floor.
Their love making was fevered, and as Dale kissed her again on the door step as he left, he felt he was finally putting the past behind him. Indeed, as he sauntered across the street to his house, he never saw the shadow in the corner.

But Rachel Hollis had seen him. And she had seen her. And she was in the frame of mind to do something about it. ‘You’ll suffer, Dale Crawford,’ she said as she walked, dejectedly, up the street. It was clear she was in a mood to kill.

Bobby Crawford, however, was not. He had enjoyed his conversation with the ghost of Jack Thomas. It hadn’t been about anything in particular. Jack had simply sat on the end of his bed and listened to Bobby’s worries and woes. But as Dale walked quietly into the house, he just seemed to dissolve and then vanish.
Bobby Crawford sighed as he turned, pressed his head into his pillow and went to sleep.

Outside, Duane Hollis walked up the street, satisfied that he could do the job his father had demanded of him. He may be the youngest, but he decided he was equally as capable as his brother Wayne.
He was thinking about these matters when suddenly …
Oh dear. It’s happened again.

(c) Anthony North, December 2007

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