3rd PRIZE WINNER (1000 word category)
Graham
Longshaw lived with his mother; though he was not thinking of her as he sat on
the bench by the bus stop. He was waiting for his latest subject to arrive, and
if she didn’t come soon she would miss the bus. They would have to wait for the
next one. She might notice him. Not that any of his subjects ever had. A man who lived with his mother was not the
sort people noticed.
Ah,
here she came, trotting along on her high heels, her bag clutched to her chest
like a shield. Graham boarded the bus after her and took the seat behind. He
wrote the time in his notebook, under the entry for Subject 13: woman, early
thirties, medium height, brown hair. She had dragged her hair back into a pony
tail today. It needed washing.
He
pulled his hat down over his forehead. This was a battered black object which
had belonged to his father, and had hung on the hall stand ever since his
death. Graham wore it for luck, not that his father had ever had much. As a
disguise it was a bit feeble, but it
made him feel like a different person.
The
subject was speaking on her phone. ‘No, I haven’t, not for ages . . . well, of
course I’d tell you.’ She glanced round, as if checking for enemies. It was her
habitual air of mild paranoia which had first attracted Graham’s attention. A
woman with a secret, he’d thought.
‘If
he bothers you again let me know ... don’t worry, I’m all right ... yes,
really. Look, I’ve got to go.’
She
rose and made for the exit, Graham close behind. When the bus had gone he
followed her, being careful to hang back. Never shadow the suspect too closely,
the manual had said, in case they rumble you. He had found the book in a
charity shop, and thought, why not? Why shouldn’t he? More future in it than
filling shelves at the Pound Shop, and that only part time. Not that he could have
worked longer hours, with mother the way she was. She’d been worse lately. You
didn’t need any qualifications, as long as you were observant. Of course he
wasn’t ready yet, he needed more practice, but maybe one day, when mother –
He
halted abruptly at a corner. She had stopped halfway down a cul-de-sac, key in
hand, by a door that opened straight off the street. The key turned, the door
opened, she vanished.
Now
what? Graham ambled down the street. At the end he stopped to write the house
number down in his book. He had her address now. He could knock on her door -
no, too soon for that. This was just a preliminary reconnaissance. He started
back, paused at her window. It was shrouded in dingy net. He sensed rather than
saw a hint of movement inside.
The
door opened. ‘Who the hell are you?’
Graham
stood, slack-jawed.
‘Selling
something? If it’s double-glazing I don’t want it.’ She seemed bigger close to.
‘Hang on, you’ve been following me. Don’t say you haven’t, I spotted you at the
bus stop. And yesterday, in the shop.’
‘I
– ’
‘So
what are you playing at?’
Graham
swallowed. ‘I’m a detective,’ he said.
Her
hand came up to cup her mouth. ‘Police? Has something happened?’ She glanced
down the street. ‘Here, you’d better come in. They’ll all be looking.’
Inside,
she lifted a tangle of tights and a slipper off the end of the sofa. ‘Sit
down.’
He
lowered himself into the space. Every flat surface in the room was covered with
stuff. There was a faint smell of dirty clothes stashed in cupboards.
She
picked up a mug half full of a murky liquid. ‘Want a coffee?’
‘No
thanks.’
‘So
what’s he been up to now?
‘He?’
‘I
suppose he’s still giving this as his address. Well, for your information, he
hasn’t lived here for six months, nearly. I’m not having you tearing the place
apart either, not without a warrant. And shouldn’t you have a badge or
something?’
‘I’ve
got a card.’ He had, too, with more at home, courtesy of a free offer on the
Internet. All printed with his professional name and everything.
‘Daniel
Hunter, Private Investigator,’ she read. ‘The sneaky bastard! He put you onto
me, didn’t he? What does he think you’ll find – that I’ve got another bloke?
Chance would be a fine thing. And what’s
it got to do with him anyway? Tell him he can mind his own business.’
Her
face twisted. Was she going to cry? Please don’t let her cry.
‘He’s
got no right. I put up with enough while he was here, now he’s buggered off he
can leave me alone.’
He
felt her spittle on his face. Talk about a lion’s den. Though she was more
stray cat than lioness. She had a spot coming on the side of her nose.
‘Harassment, this is, there’s a law against
it.’
She waved the mug dangerously close. Oh God,
she was going to throw coffee all over him, how would he explain that to
mother?
‘And you can piss off as well, Mr Daniel Private Dick. Tell that creep to stay away from me. I don’t want to see him or hear him again, ever. You tell him!’
The door slammed behind him. He took off his hat to wipe his forehead. It was time he got home anyway, mother would be fretting. He walked back along the street, Daniel slipping away from him with every step. By the time he reached the main road he was Graham again. Only he smiled, as he waited for the bus. She believed I was a proper detective, he thought. She really did. And in his chest there uncoiled a thin small worm of hope.
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