Blood and Bodies

Somewhere in his heart, Stephen knew that Juno had only agreed to meet for the sake of the information he’d promised. But he hid the thought away, and tried to delay for as long as possible the moment he would have to come clean.

“It might be nothing,” he said, “but on the other hand, it might be a story. I’ll get another one in, then I’ll tell you.”

Juno smiled, not at the prospect of another tepid chardonnay, but at the transparency of his plan to detain her. If he managed to drag it out until ten, they’d definitely be in date territory. He’d ask if he could take her home, emphasising the dangers faced by young women walking alone at night, and there would be an awkward moment when she wouldn’t invite him in. Stephen was a useful source, and if she wanted to keep him that way she had to leave the door ajar, rather than slam it in his face. She saw him coming back from the bar and opened her notebook on the table.

“Come on, Steve, don’t play hard to get.”

She glanced at him over the rim of her glass and saw his sudden, almost shy smile. He took a provisional sip of his pint, determined not to drink it too quickly.

“We got a call from Silver Street last night. There’s often trouble down there, but this was a bit… unusual.”

“How come?”

He fiddled with a beer mat, gazing across the bar as if he were searching for words to describe the scene. What he was really doing, of course, was basking in Juno’s full attention. It didn’t happen often, and he was determined to make the most of it.

“I didn’t actually see it myself – I was breaking up a fight in the High Street. I heard about it afterwards, though. Something happened in one of those houses, the big ones split into flats and bedsits. Apparently there was blood. And bodies.”

“Bodies?”

“All over the bathroom floor. Some of them had been cut in half. The lads said there were guts everywhere.”

He glanced at her to gauge her reaction. She seemed curious rather than horrified, but any sign of interest – in the story, and by extension, in him – felt like a victory to Stephen.

“You’re not having me on, are you? Blood and bodies, in Silver Street?”

“Straight up, Juno. That’s what the lads said.”

He picked up another couple of beer mats, aligning their edges precisely as he wondered how to drag it out further. Eventually he sighed and gave up.

“They were only mice, but still…”

“Dead mice?”

“He was hoarding them in his bathroom. The lads found a load of traps in the wardrobe, and a slab of stinky cheese.”

“Who’s he?”

“The young bloke who lives in the flat. Apparently he’s a bit of a loner.”

Juno relaxed and sat back in her chair. A pile of dead mice in Silver Street would hardly qualify as news to readers of the Chronicle. She was ready to put her notebook away, and place a mental question mark against Stephen’s value as a source, when he drew his chair closer and carried on.

“Here’s the thing, though. When they searched the flat, they found a brand new VCR. It looked a bit suspicious, given the state of everything else in the place, so they decided to take it in. When they got it back to the station they found a video already inside, so naturally they checked it out. Apparently it was pretty spicy…”

He gave Juno a significant look.

“The VCR was probably pinched. We’ll know more in a couple of days, but Rob thinks it’s connected to that gang hijacking delivery trucks. They’ve done three or four in the last few months, and we never laid a finger on them. Just thought you might be interested.”

She turned the idea round in her head. At least a hijacking gang was news, unlike the jumble sales, amateur dramatics and community centre open days that were all Allan allowed her to cover. And who on earth collected mouse bodies?

“How come your lot were involved? A tip-off?”

“We got a call from the landlady. Some girl went up to the flat and found him. She said she’d just popped in for a chat, but Rob reckoned it was a… professional visit.”

Juno hid her irritation as he tapped the side of his nose and winked.

“Anyway, she got the shock of her life. He was standing half inside the bath, wearing nothing but a frilly pink shirt. The bodies were spread around his feet, and he looked a mess – black eye, cut lip, and a lump the size of an egg on his head. And he was holding a razorblade. You’ll never guess what he did next…”

Stephen scraped his chair sideways, next to Juno’s. She flinched as he cupped his hand round her ear, but gritted her teeth and endured his moist breath while he whispered for longer than necessary.

“He did what?” she said as she turned towards him, dislodging his hand from the side of her face. “You don’t mean…?”

“Clean as a whistle. Right off.”

Stephen smirked and sat back in his chair. Although the ear-cupping hadn’t quite worked – his next move was intended to be the slide of the hand around her shoulders, gliding across her naked neck – at least this time he’d got a reaction.

“I ask you, what kind of weirdo does that? Rob says he’s dealt with that sort before. They do it for the attention, he says, wasting everyone’s time when there are people who are actually ill. But slicing it off? That takes the biscuit. I reckon…”

“Okay, I get the picture.”

Juno swallowed a large mouthful of wine and fingered the silver charm round her neck, an intertwining double J.

“Which house was it?”

“Number thirteen, top floor. D’you reckon there’s a story in it?”

“Perhaps. If Allan will let me do it. I’ll need more information, though.”

“No problem. I’ll keep you in the loop.”

The story Juno had in mind was not the stolen VCR, but the figure in the frilly pink shirt, surrounded by the bodies of mice and brandishing a razorblade. Who was he? What could have made him do it? Though this was not what Stephen intended, had he known, he wouldn’t have cared. All he wanted was to see Juno again. As he downed more beer with the satisfied air of a man who’d just achieved a result, she slid her notebook into her bag and stood up.

“Thanks for the tip, Steve. And the drink.”

At nine fifty eight precisely she left, leaving Stephen to drink his beer alone and stroll unsteadily back to his mum’s.