The door of Apse’s flat creaked slightly as Diana pushed it open, and she stopped, holding her breath. It was silent, and, but for the triangle of light from the corridor, very dark, the air heavy and still. Hoping that Apse had done the blackouts before leaving, Diana switched on her torch. She tiptoed into the office and shone the beam onto the desk. It was bare of papers.
Diana willed herself not to panic. Rosemary had said the documents would be on the desk, but Apse might have forgotten … She turned the beam onto the coffee table – nothing there – and then, moving slowly, advanced around the room, checking the bookshelves and mantelpiece. Diana made herself stand still and count to ten. Something was odd … The place was too neat. Where was all the paperwork? Apse was nearly as untidy about it as F-J, and yet the desk, coffee table, sofa and armchairs were entirely free of files and documents. Unless he’d cleared up himself, which didn’t seem likely, someone had been there already and taken everything away. As quietly as she could, she began opening the desk drawers, checking the contents. Stationery, pens … nothing of any importance.
She closed the last drawer and retreated to the hall, where she stood, trembling, her back to the front door. She listened intently, but could hear nothing but the beating of her heart and the blood in her ears, magnified in the dull, thick silence.
Did F-J know someone had already been there? If he did, what was it that she was meant to find? If it was a confession – something of a personal nature – it might be in the bedroom. Was this, she wondered, some sort of test? If it is, she thought, it’s my only chance to prove my loyalty. I mustn’t fail it, or … Fear of what might happen if she did fail drove her forward once more. She’d look in the bedroom – perhaps whoever had been there before had
searched only the office. It seemed a forlorn hope, but she must do something …
She stood at the end of the corridor pointing the torch beam at the floor, willing herself forward. It’s a document, she told herself. Rosemary had said so, hadn’t she. A piece of paper, nothing more. She took a few cautious steps, then stopped dead. There was a draft of cold air from her right. Shining her torch through the kitchen doorway, she saw, with a hastily stifled gasp, that the door to the fire escape was ajar. She stood still, letting the beam play over the cupboards, the sink and the oven before advancing, very slowly, into the small room. She nudged the outer door open a few more inches, and shone her torch onto the fire escape, keeping it angled downwards for fear of attracting the notice of one of the ARP wardens. She looked along the railings, and was about to retreat back inside when, at the very edge of the pool of light, she caught sight of an elongated shape, dangling in midair a few feet from her.
Diana jumped and the torch fell out of her hand and clattered on the floor, rolling across the metal slats, throwing its feeble light into the gloom of the alleyway beyond. Lunging after it, bent over, Diana’s face smacked into something hard, which swung away and then back, thudding against her temple. Clutching the torch, she shuffled backwards on her knees until she felt the side of the door frame. Then she pointed the torch at the object. In the thin, jiggling beam, she saw a pair of shoes. Men’s shoes with feet in them, rotating gently, left to right and back again. Clapping one hand across her mouth to stop herself from screaming, she angled the beam upwards. Apse was hanging from the upper banisters of the fire-escape, suspended from the neck by what appeared to be a pair of braces. His long body was hanging, sack-like, his face barely recognisable with bulging eyes, mottled blue cheeks, and a swollen tongue bursting obscenely from the mouth like the end of a blood pudding.
‘Oh, my God!’ Diana dropped the torch again as she crawled back into the kitchen on her hands and knees. ‘No, please, no …’ She tried to stand, but her legs refused to obey her, and she was forced to grab a drawer handle and haul herself upright. She staggered back to the hall, out of the front door and down the main corridor, crashing against the walls as she went, then fled down the
stairs and out into the garden, wide-eyed and shaking.
It was pitch dark. She stumbled on the side of the path, felt soft earth beneath her feet and something scratching at her legs as she lurched and fell, sideways, onto the grass, her breath coming in loud gasps. A sudden light shone down from above, blinding her, and someone slapped her hard across the face, knocking her backwards. ‘Shut up!’ A man’s voice, loud and hard.
Diana put her hands up to shield herself. ‘Please—’
‘Shut up!’ It was Dr Pyke. She shut her eyes, unable to bear the light, as he grabbed her by the upper arms and hauled her upright, then shook her hard, so that her teeth rattled. ‘You’re coming with me.’
She was as floppy as a rag-doll, with no choice but to obey him, as, with a heavy arm bearing down on her shoulders, he steered her across Dolphin Square towards F-J’s flat.
F-J opened the door, tie loosened, brandy glass in hand, frowning. ‘Get her through here.’ Dr Pyke pushed Diana in front of him, and F-J took her elbow and pushed her into a chair. After the darkness outside, the room seemed bright and too highly coloured.
‘Some brandy, I think,’ said F-J. His voice was calm, almost avuncular.
Dr Pyke handed her a glass. ‘Good for shock.’
Both men were standing over her. Diana looked from one to the other. Dr Pyke’s face was flushed, but F-J looked quite composed. ‘Go on, drink it.’ He nodded encouragement. Diana tried to comply, but the glass banged against her teeth and she couldn’t swallow. She coughed, then started to choke.
‘Lean forward.’ Dr Pyke gave her a sharp slap on the back and Diana spat some of the liquid onto her coat, noting through watering eyes that her stockings were laddered and her shoes muddy. ‘That should do the trick. Have you got a handkerchief?’
Glancing down again, Diana realised that her handbag was missing. ‘I left my bag,’ she said, ‘when I—’ She stopped, abruptly, realising that neither man had asked why she was in such a state. ‘It’s Apse,’ she said. ‘I found him. He’s …’
‘Take this.’ F-J proffered a neatly folded square of white linen.
Diana dabbed at her mouth and began again. ‘Apse—’
‘Not now,’ said F-J. ‘Finish your drink.’
The two men withdrew to the hall, and Diana sat clutching her
glass, straining to hear what was being said. She heard the words, ‘in the garden, screaming her head off.’
Had she been screaming? She couldn’t remember. Perhaps she had. Dr Pyke had told her to shut up … This was the second time that he had come – or had seemed to come – to her rescue. Maybe he’d heard her in the garden and gone out to see what the matter was. But no-one else had, and if she’d been making that much noise … What was it Claude had said about him? I believe F-J finds him very useful on certain occasions. Was this one of them? Had he been waiting for her to leave Apse’s flat?
The brandy, she thought suddenly. Something in the brandy. It hadn’t tasted odd, but they’d been very insistent that she drink it. She could still hear the voices from the hall, though not the actual words. She took off her muddy shoes, tiptoed over to a pot plant, poured the remainder of the drink into it, and returned to her chair.
A few minutes later, F-J returned alone and sat down behind his desk. ‘Apse,’ he said. ‘Tell me.’
‘He’s dead,’ said Diana, flinching at the memory of his purple, violated face. ‘Hanging from the fire escape. There weren’t any documents.’
‘I see.’ You knew, thought Diana, staring at him. You already knew. ‘I suppose I should have guessed something of the sort might happen,’ he continued, dispassionately. ‘I’m sorry you had to be the one who found him. Did you have a chance to search the flat before … ?’
‘Only the office,’ said Diana. ‘I was going to the bedroom when I noticed the door to the fire escape was open, and that was when—’
F-J held up a hand. ‘That’s all right. You don’t need to say anymore. We’ll sort it all out.’
That’s where Dr Pyke has gone, thought Diana. Gone to work his magic … She was beginning to feel woozy. ‘The police,’ she began, then halted, struggling to make a sentence. The words wouldn’t seem to get into order. ‘They’ll want to know what happened, and my handbag …’ She stopped. Judging by the look on F-J’s face, it wasn’t coming out as intended.
‘Try again,’ said F-J.
Diana groped for the right words. ‘Police,’ she said, finally. ‘Handbag.’
‘We’ll deal with that. And …’ F-J’s voice seemed to be fading away. His words weren’t reaching her, and the ones that did seemed to be coming out at the wrong speed. Julia … Julia Someone … the words seemed to jab into her as if someone was prodding her with a finger, but she couldn’t think why they were significant. She was aware of her body against the soft cushions of the armchair, of the hardness of the glass in her hand, slipping away from her fingers … There was a dull thunk from somewhere by her feet, then F-J was bending over her, his face softened to a blur, and then … nothing at all.