The Bat(66)

‘Grieving?’ She eyed them suspiciously. ‘A dog? What rubbish.’

‘What would you do if someone cut off the arms and legs of your master, ma’am?’ Lebie looked at the woman. Her jaw dropped.

After the landlady had made way they took out the various keys they had found in Otto’s trouser pockets in the dressing room. The barking had changed to growling; Otto Rechtnagel’s dog had probably heard the approach of strangers.

The bull terrier was standing in the hall as the door opened, its legs positioned ready for action. Lebie and Harry stood motionless, signalling to the comical white dog that the ball was in its court. The growling changed to half-hearted barking, then it gave up the whole idea and slunk into the living room. Harry followed.

Daylight flooded in through the large windows in the living room which was lavishly over-furnished: a solid red sofa covered with huge colourful cushions, sizeable paintings on the walls and a low but vibrant green glass table. In the corners of the room there were two china leopards.

On the table was a lampshade which did not belong there.

The dog had its nose in a wet patch in the middle of the floor. A pair of men’s shoes were hanging above it in the air. There was a stench of urine and excrement. Harry followed the shoe and sock up the foot and saw the black skin between where the sock stopped and the trousers began. He let his gaze wander further up the trousers, to the enormous hands limply hanging down and had to force his eyes upwards to the white shirt. Not because he hadn’t seen a man hanging before, but because he had recognised the shoes.

The head rested against one shoulder, and the end of the cable with a grey light bulb dangled from his chest. The cable had been tied around a solid hook in the ceiling – perhaps a chandelier had hung from there at some point – and wound round Andrew’s neck three times. His head was almost touching the ceiling. Dreamy, dimmed eyes stared out and a bluish-black tongue protruded from his mouth as though he had made a defiant gesture at death. Or life. An overturned chair lay on the floor.

‘Fuck,’ Harry muttered under his breath. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck.’ He fell into a chair, the energy knocked out of him. Lebie entered and a short cry escaped his lips.

‘Find a knife,’ Harry whispered. ‘And ring for an ambulance. Or whatever it is you usually ring for.’

From where Harry was sitting daylight was behind Andrew’s back, and the swaying body was just an alien, black silhouette against the window. Harry begged his Maker to put another man at the end of the cable before he got to his feet again. He promised not to say a word to anyone about the miracle. He would even pray, if it would help.

He heard steps in the hallway and Lebie screaming from the kitchen: ‘Get out, you fat cow!’

After they had buried Harry’s mother he had gone five days without feeling anything, other than that he ought to have felt something. He was therefore surprised when he slumped back among the cushions on the sofa and his eyes filled and sobs forced their way up his throat.

Not that he hadn’t cried at other times. He had felt a lump in his throat as he sat alone in the room at the Bardufoss barracks reading the letter from Kristin that said ‘this is the best thing that has happened to me in the whole of my life’. It was not clear from the context whether she meant leaving him or meeting the English musician she would be travelling with. He had only known it was one of the worst things that had happened to him in the whole of his life. Yet the sobs had stopped there, some way up his throat. Like nausea and almost vomiting.

He got to his feet and looked up. Andrew had not been replaced. Harry went to take a few steps across the floor, to pull up a chair to have something to stand on when they cut him down, but was unable to move. He remained motionless until Lebie came in with a kitchen knife. When Lebie started sending him strange looks Harry realised that hot tears were running down his cheeks.

Jeez, is that all? Harry thought, perplexed.

Without saying a word, they cut Andrew down, laid him on the floor and searched his pockets. There were two bunches of keys, one big and one small, as well as a loose key Lebie immediately confirmed fitted in the front-door lock.

‘No signs of external violence,’ Lebie said, after a quick inspection.

Harry unbuttoned Andrew’s shirt. He had a crocodile tattooed on his chest. Harry also pulled up Andrew’s trouser legs and checked.

‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Not a thing.’

‘We’ll have to wait and see what the doctor says,’ Lebie said.

Harry felt tears coming again and barely managed to shrug his shoulders.





32


Chatwick


AS HARRY HAD suspected, there was feverish activity at the office.