Walking with Ghosts

glass, boarded up; but nevertheless there was nothing identifiable in the make-up of the place that at one time or another hadn’t been a window frame. And stacked beside it, waiting for their destiny, were another two dozen window frames. From the road he watched some horses exercising on the Knavesmire, a grey and a chestnut mare, being galloped. Geordie turned his thoughts back to Janet, hoping her mother had gone home.
    He stood at the gate to the allotment, wondering what to do next. Maybe he should talk everything over with Marie, see if she’d come across anything that would lead them in another direction. He’d already decided to go back to the office, when the sergeant-major type called out his name. Geordie turned and watched the man leave his spade behind and stride out towards him. Geordie walked back to meet him.
    ‘One thing you could try, is old Male,’ he said. ‘He’s here at night sometimes. Or he used to be. He kept budgies on the other side of me, in his shed, he’d had it kitted out as an aviary in there. Bred them and sold them to pet shops. And he took them to shows and won prizes.’
    ‘But the police’ll’ve spoken to him?’
    ‘No, I don’t think they did. He’s been having heart attacks and surgery all year. Had another one a couple of days before they found the body, and he was laid up in hospital. His son came down and took the birds away, but old Male himself was hit bad. We don’t expect to see him down here again.’
    ‘Is he fit enough to talk?’ Geordie asked.
    ‘If he is, he is, and if he isn’t, he isn’t,’ the man said. ‘You’ll find out if you go round his house.’
    ‘You got the address?’
    ‘No. He’s in South Bank. ’Bout halfway down. Everybody knows him. Ask for old Malc.’
     
    The guy in the corner shop knew the house number. When Geordie knocked, the door was opened by a woman with a fresh perm. She looked like Janet’s mother. Not exactly like her, but she was the same size and age and class, and the sound of her voice was almost the same. The thing that was different was that the woman who opened the door had a smile on her face, whereas Janet’s mother’s face had never managed to put a smile together. Not in Geordie’s experience, anyway; and as far as he knew, and suspected, not ever.
    Old Malc was sitting in a huge armchair in the back room. There was an open fire burning, and the room was too warm. He looked like an old sailor, mainly because of the tattoos on his forearms, a curled python on one, and a skull and crossbones with a galley on the other. He noticed Geordie looking at them. ‘Got a gorilla on me chest,’ he said. ‘Been there forty-eight year.’ He began pulling his shirt out of his trousers, but the old woman stopped him.
    ‘Give over, Male,’ she said. ‘Nobody in their right mind wants to see your chest.’ To Geordie she said, ‘It’s not a gorilla anyway. It’s a monkey.’
    ‘Supposed to be flying through the trees in the jungle,’ old Male said. ‘When I was younger I could make it wink. Flexing me muscles.’
    His wife shook her head and raised her eyes to the ceiling. She went to the door. ‘If he takes his shirt off give us a shout,’ she said to Geordie.
    Old Malc watched her leave the room. ‘Did you see my shed down the allotment?’ he asked.
    ‘Yes. I didn’t go inside.’
    ‘Next time you’re there, have a look inside. Let me know what it’s like. ’Spect it’s been vandalized.’
    ‘I don’t think so,’ Geordie told him. ‘It looked fine from be outside. Most of the sheds down there look as though they’re on their last legs, but yours’s been painted regularly. Looked after.’
    ‘Yeah. I looked after it. Spent all my time down there. Get away from the old woman. Used to, anyway. Now I have to sit here all day, ’cept when she wants to take me for a walk.’
    ‘I’m sorry,’ said Geordie. ‘You can’t get out, then?’
    ‘Never mind sorry. You’ve come to see if I saw the murderer? And you’ve come to the right place. I told her I’d seen him hanging round. She could’ve rung the police but she doesn’t believe what I say. “They’ve arrested the husband, without your help,” she says. “Well, I don’t know if it was the husband or not,” I tell her. “I only know it was a young chap, hanging round in the street, then going over to that shed when he thought no one was around. The police’ll be looking for witnesses.”
    ‘ “And a lot of good