Stegs walked over to the desk, had a quick check through the neat stack of papers in his former colleague’s in-tray, then opened the top drawer as quietly as he could. There was a transparent box containing floppy disks in there, plus a dog-eared Len Deighton novel (SS-GB, one of Stegs’s childhood favourites) and a black address book. He pocketed the address book straight away, then went to open the box of disks, but it was locked. The lock didn’t look too strong so he took it out and tried to force it open, but it wouldn’t go. He scanned about inside the drawer for a key but there wasn’t one in there. He tried again, pulling harder this time, amazed that a piece of plastic could be so stubborn.
Just then, he heard footsteps coming through the kitchen. His teeth clenched reflexively and he chucked the box back in the drawer, shutting it at the same time.
‘What are you doing, Mark?’
It was Gill’s voice. He turned round from his position staring out of the window into the Vokerman back garden and organic vegetable patch, and gave her a whimsical smile. ‘I was just thinking about Paul. I miss him, Gill. Already. I wish I could have done something, anything. .’ He picked up a photo of Vokes in a ridiculous Hawaiian shirt from the desk and stared at it for a moment, shaking his head as slowly as he could, but with close to a gram of uncut amphetamines soaring through his bloodstream it was never going to be slowly enough.
His words and actions seemed to have the desired effect, however, and the beginnings of a smile appeared on Gill’s face. ‘It’s going to be hard for all of us,’ she said. ‘Paul was a good Christian husband and father.’
‘He was,’ said Stegs, putting the photo back down and walking slowly towards the door. He suddenly had an urge to take a leak for real. ‘It all just seems so. . so permanent.’ She gave his arm a supportive squeeze and he shot her a grim smile. ‘And do you know what? I’ve been thinking about him so much, I haven’t even been to the toilet yet.’
‘Would you like a cup of tea, Mark?’
‘No, thanks,’ he sighed. He couldn’t think of anything worse than another twenty minutes in that lounge. ‘I’d better be going.’ He started to move past her but, like the worst kind of doorman, she blocked his way.
She smiled her grim, worthy smile that Stegs presumed was meant to make him feel part of the flock but came out more like the expression a movie killer pulls just before he knifes his victim. ‘You’ve come a long way to see me,’ she said. ‘Stay for a quick cup. It’ll do you good to talk about things.’
There was something in her voice that said she really didn’t want him to argue, and would take it badly if he did. He knew then that she could smell the drink, and he wondered whether they were going to make an attempt to convert him. For the life of him he couldn’t work out what Vokes had ever seen in her. She was only a small woman, but there was no doubt she had the ability to frighten even the most hardy of men.
‘OK, I’ll stop for a quick cup, but it really will have to be quick. I’ve got a number of important things I have to do this afternoon. I only came to pay my respects.’
‘That’s very kind of you. We all appreciate it. Paul always found you a very capable colleague.’
Damned with faint praise, thought Stegs. Briefly, she looked past him towards the desk and he wondered whether she had any suspicions about what he’d been doing. She then looked back at him, gave him that smile again, and turned away. ‘He was a good man,’ she said, going back into the kitchen, and then repeated it. ‘A very good man.’ He decided she hadn’t.
After he’d finished in the toilet, he went back into the lounge where he was handed a cup of watery tea and then spent a very long fifteen minutes talking about and listening to all the good things Paul Vokerman had done in his life, and how much he was going to be missed. The problem with tragedies is that all the conversations relating to them go round in circles, so not a lot was actually said, but it was said in a different way many, many times. Stegs lost count of the number of occasions he heard the phrases ‘good man’, ‘committed Christian’, ‘sense of justice’ and ‘sadly missed’, but one thing was for sure, it would be a long time before he wanted to hear any of them again. Vokes had definitely been a good bloke, no question, but Stegs didn’t want to share his views on him with a bunch of people like this, so it was with a sense of real satisfaction that he finished his tea and got up to leave, with goodbyes all round.
The vicar stood up, shook hands firmly, and told him that if he ever needed to talk to anyone to please feel free to give him a call or drop him an email. ‘My name’s Brian and I’m always available.’ He handed Stegs a card. It seemed even the servants of the Lord had gone twenty-first century.
Stegs thanked him and told Mother that it was nice to meet her. She nodded severely and said that the Lord always welcomed sinners back into the flock. It wasn’t quite the same as a goodbye but, under the circumstances, it would do. She added that she hoped she might see him again. Not if I catch sight of you first, he thought.
Gill saw him to the door and thanked him once again for coming round.
‘It’s no trouble at all,’ he told her. ‘I only wish the circumstances could be happier.’
‘How well did you know Paul?’ she asked.
He already had one foot outside the door but stopped and looked at her, taken aback by this sudden question. She was staring at him intently as if trying to hunt down lies. It wasn’t the sort of expression he’d seen on her face before.
‘Well enough, I think,’ he said cautiously. ‘Why do you ask?’
She continued to stare intently and he felt himself sweating under her gaze. ‘I don’t know,’ she said, choosing her words carefully. ‘He didn’t seem his usual self recently. I felt that he was concerned about something. That there was a weight on his shoulders of some sort.’
‘He never said anything to me about it, Gill. It’s a very difficult job that he did. Perhaps it was the pressure of that.’
Her expression relaxed and she managed a surprisingly pleasant smile. ‘Perhaps it was,’ she said. ‘It’s a very difficult job that you both do.’
‘Someone’s got to do it,’ said Stegs, trying hard not to sound too much like Clint Eastwood.
She pursed her lips, the conversation at an end. ‘I hope I see you again soon, Mark. I don’t know when the funeral will be. It could be a while.’
‘I’m sure they’ll do their best to wrap everything up as soon as they can,’ he said, before turning away and walking down the footpath in the direction of the street.
It had started to rain again and the sky was an iron grey. He was still speeding but the urge to drink had gone. He needed to walk. To walk and to think. What exactly had Gill meant back there? How well had he known Vokes? Very well, he’d always thought. But like anything in life, you can never quite tell. People you know always have the ability to shock you. But Vokes? No, he’d always had the run of Vokes. I knew him well enough, Gill.
Definitely well enough.
It was four o’clock when he eventually got back to the car. The rain had stopped but the clouds remained, thick and foreboding. He’d walked for a while, but his thoughts had been a jumble: mainly memories of old Vokes interspersed with concerns about his own future now that he was suspended, until finally he’d found himself with a strong desire to go home and have a cup of tea. He hoped the missus wasn’t in nagging mode, and that Luke was either asleep or in good cheer.