Inspector Crawl received the message at half-two; his men were parked outside the house on Barlow Moor Road. He’d done the research, he knew who lived there: Professor Max Hackle, respected citizen. And so near the glorious HQ! The two cops on shadow-duty were of the opinion that at least five people were inside the house, maybe more. Crawl had enough.
One hour ago he had closed the case on Edward Irwell, no fixed abode. In life as in death. Death by natural causes; a heart attack. The police pathologist had signed the warrant, co-signed by his own lying hand. Well and good. Well and bloody good.
He rang the special number, direct line to Mister Million at the House of Chances. At least, he could wish he was speaking to the big boss of all chances. Most probably he wasn’t, but did it matter? His work would not go unrewarded. Loadsa lovelies! Aye, big piles of it.
He gave away the information: the house, the occupants, the location of the lucky bleeder and the group who were trying to steal the people’s rightful winnings for themselves.
‘Do we move in now?’ he asked.
‘No.’ The cold voice on the telephone, distorted.
‘Tomorrow, dawn raid?’
‘You have done well, Inspector. Please call off your men.’
‘You don’t want me to…’
‘We would prefer to deal with this ourselves.’
‘You won’t forget about me, will you?’
‘We never forget.’
On Monday morning Crawl found his office stripped of all personal effects. No nameplate, no workload. Cases closed, or sent elsewhere. Nobody with a kind word or explanation. Even the photograph of his ex-wife had gone missing. A folder on his bare desk, containing the details of his new position.
Not knowing whether to laugh or cry.
Play to win
Monday. They won’t let me out. Can’t sleep, can’t dream, can’t make tears. Cuts on my arm where the strangers take their readings, and this morning they stole some of my hair. Telling me not to think about Eddie, but I’m disobeying them. Wandering around this house of strangers, writing this diary just to make the days go.
Even that Daisy Love girl has nothing to say, no good words, just apologies. Stupid. Daisy is far happier talking to her father anyway, that’s obvious, even if they do argue from time to time. When her father isn’t falling over, that is. Dirty drunk. The smoky boy, Jazir, he’s OK when he comes round. He’s kinda crazy, so I like him. He doesn’t care like the others. Doesn’t try to be nice for instance. Makes me laugh. Shouldn’t be laughing, I know, but the feelings I get then are just like what Eddie used to bring, when he was…
Stop that!
It’s warm here. Got a bed of my own, a big soft thing. Reminds me of back home, seems like years ago already. They give me magazines to read and puzzles to do and a book I can write in, which is this. And they want me to hold their special dominoes all week because they think they can win that way, but I won’t do it, I drop them soon as they leave the room, ha ha. They can cook for me and cut into me and test me till I die, but I won’t play that game anymore. I have promised Eddie.
Tuesday. Tried to escape today but all the doors are locked, and the windows, and they keep watching me. Watching and being watched. They think they’re testing me, but really I’m testing them. Ha ha.
Why did Eddie cheat on me? Getting himself killed like that, where was the fairness? Wasn’t that the worst cheating he’d ever done, getting himself killed? I know this is wrong, thinking like this, but who cares what I think any more? Not me. Not me.
Been through nearly every room in the house by now. Pretty boring. These adults, they’re supposed to all be in some big gang together, but mostly all they do is argue with each other, or else kiss each other, sometimes at the same time! Very strange. Daisy and Jazir, they must be in love. Making a world for themselves, no-one else allowed. And Sweet Benny and that horrible Joe, I saw them two kissing as well. Urgh! Sure, some of the brethren did that kind of yucky stuff, but Joe and Benny kiss like it’s a job to do, like housework or something. And they started arguing! Is this what having a home does to you?
I have decided that I shall never have a home. It is much better that way.
If I can only get out of here. If they would only let off watching me every second of every day. If they don’t let me go to Eddie’s funeral… I will tear this house down and steal all the numbers from their precious computers, you see if I don’t. This I swear.
Wednesday. This afternoon I followed Mr Hackle and Mr Love downstairs to the cellar, where they argued for an hour, walking round and round a lot of corridors and messing about with computers. I kept to the shadows until they went back upstairs, just like a spy, I was! Then I made some of my own wanderings. Never been down there before, and it was OK down there because I got lost. It was nice getting lost, like in that maze me and my sister went to in that big garden, last summer, was it? First time I’ve thought about her in ages. Why is it nice getting lost sometimes?