Frank Tallow’s house was in Mossley Hill, only half a mile from Erasmus’s flat, but the distance was more financial than geographic. It was a large mock Tudor mansion, at least seven bedrooms, thought Erasmus as he smoked a cigarette that made him feel sicker than he already was.
He leant back against one of the gateposts as a wave of dizziness passed through. Once the worst of it had subsided Erasmus walked up the long gravel drive way and rang the doorbell.
Judging by Tallow’s age and career choice, Erasmus had been relying on traditional gender roles to be operating in the Tallow household and on a Thursday afternoon he had expected Mrs Tallow, if there was a Mrs Tallow, to answer the door. He was therefore a little surprised when the door swung open to reveal Frank Tallow himself.
He was dressed casually, jeans and a sweater. He looked older than his fifty years, but yet still had a full head of hair, although Erasmus noticed straight away that the brown colouring was clearly an expensive salon addition. Most surprising of all was that Frank Tallow was wearing a pair of aviator sunglasses inside the house.
‘Yeah, who are you?’ asked Tallow.
Erasmus had given his introduction some thought. What he hadn’t factored in was that at the precise moment that Tallow opened the door a fresh wave of nausea would wash over him and bile fill his mouth. Erasmus staggered to one side and put his arm out to steady himself against the doorframe.
‘Hang on,’ said Erasmus as he took deep breaths. This put off the outgoing bile for a second but then a dry heave came on. Luckily his stomach was empty but he still gagged as he stomach contracted and protested.
‘If you don’t get out of my sight right now I am calling the police!’
Erasmus took a final deep breath.
‘Sorry about that. Something I ate last night.’
Tallow was red in the face.
‘Get the fuck – ’ He squinted. ‘Hang on, don’t I know you from somewhere?’
Erasmus stuck out his right hand. Tallow looked at it with distaste and made no effort to take it.
‘Erasmus Jones, we met at the Liverpool Law Society annual dinner last year.’
Tallow shook his head.
‘Mmm. What do you want?’
Erasmus beamed.
‘I wanted to see Jess, is she in?’
Tallow looked like he might explode. He began to close the door.
‘It’s about the Blood House. You know, the bar in town.’
The door stopped abruptly and Tallow stepped forward and stood inside Erasmus’s personal space. He was a big man, tall and wide, and he loomed above Erasmus.
‘Why the fuck would you want to see Jessica?’
‘I just wanted to ask her a few questions.’
‘About what exactly?’
Erasmus shifted his weight from foot to foot. His nervous system was a little wired from all the caffeine and nicotine he had carpet-bombed it with to counter the effects of the booze.
‘It’s personal.’
Tallow laughed.
‘You want to ask my eighteen-year-old daughter some questions and you won’t tell me what they are? You have to be fucking kidding me.’
‘Is she in?’
Tallow took another step forward, coming within an inch of Erasmus. Erasmus stepped back. He was in no mood, and certainly no physical condition, for a fight.
‘My daughter is away travelling in Australia and New Zealand. She won’t be back for six months. Feel free to come back then.’
Erasmus took another step back.
‘Do you know what will help?’
Tallow looked confused.
‘Cold rump steak, lay it on that shiner, it will be gone in twenty-four hours.’
The look on Tallow’s face told him he had scored a direct hit.
‘Get off my property now!’
Erasmus held up his hand and turned away.
‘I’m going, I’m going.’
He walked down the long path, feeling Tallow’s eyes on him all the way to the gate. He paused and looked at the bins. There was a couple of plastic bin bags spilling out of the recycling bins and one of them, ripped open by a fox, had spewed its contents on the path. There were tins, yoghurt pots, boxes and the usual household detritus scattered around the bins. Something had caught his eye, something that shouldn’t be there. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He looked at them for a second longer but it wouldn’t come. He shrugged his shoulders and pushed open the gate.
Erasmus walked back to his apartment through the park. The previous night’s fog had lifted in the early hours and now his hangover appeared to be easing Erasmus began to appreciate what a beautiful day it was turning into. Cold for sure, but a crystal clear cold made sharper and defined by the weak winter sun and the freezing blue sky. He walked to the centre of the park and took a seat opposite the restored Palm House. He called Pete on his mobile.
‘Hey Erasmus, glad to see your work ethic is as strong as ever, 3.30 p.m. and still not in the office. It’s a good job one of us is at the coalface. And thanks for the goodbye last night by the way. Typical.’
‘Frank Tallow, you know much about him?’
‘Wanker, complete narcissist. Runs a media practice based on his celebrity friends. Was doing well until he backed the wrong horse. He acted for that paedo, Terry TV, and when they lost, it was like he was tarred with the kiddie fiddler brush. I heard the work’s dried up.’
‘Interesting. Is he married?’
‘Divorced after the paedo thing or more likely the losing all his money thing. Why the interest?’
‘I’m coming into the office now. I’ll tell you then.’
‘Good. I’ve got something interesting to show you too. I’ve been fishing and caught myself a whopper.’