Draft from the new... In The Wicker Wood - Awake Again.
Fanahan, stuffed the letter, into an inside pocket of
his wind-breaker. He started to hum a tune, a song he heard
somewhere, and at times of thought he ran it through his mind, often
vocalising it as humming. He also muttered to himself. Cardboard
Programming he called it. Saying softly what was worrying him.
Sometimes even finding a quick solution, that formed in his brain and
became reality.
“You have changed Plonker, smaller, skinnier. Jees
when you fell on me in the street – you almost flattened me! How
many years ago. Five? Six? Seven? Was it seven? The wig fell off.
Christ is that a wig? It's a better one anyway. Did someone buy it
for you Georgie, or did you inherit it. If someone looks in and sees
me smiling and talking to myself they may try to keep me in here.
Shay you are here to identify Georgie. Is it him? Who the feck, else
could it be? He has changed, but as he was incarcerated in here –
it must be him. I need to get out of here quick and have a few
scoops, before I report back. Well a lot of people will be relieved –
the killer brought to justices. God's justice, if not man's justice.
Dead as a doornail – no danger any more. Can't believe he hung
himself. Did he come back to himself and do it, or did he come back
as he did it. Feck we will never know. Good riddance. Hung himself.”
Now that's something I always wondered about. They
say when a man hangs himself, he gets a big Langer, a big erection.
No Shay you wouldn't – you wouldn't take a peek. Sh-one-t I would.
But what if someone sees me – the detective was observed peeping up
the dead woman's skirt. Jees no I can't risk it. Crap. You will never
get another opportunity to find out. Get rid of yer woman first.
He went to the door and opened it wide. He called the
only nurse outside and asked her to get the orderly who found the
body and cut down Georgie. As soon as she turned away he hurried back
to the bed and taking a deep breath, raised the skirt quickly and
looked underneath.
“Jayus! Shit! Bollix! Crap! It's not Georgie! It's an
auld one – a real auld one. With a gee. Where's Georgie then. Ah!
Bollix. What's going on here?”
Stay quiet. You are in the shits now. How can you
explain how you found out. Calm down. Let the primitive Fanahan
survival instinct take over. Stand back over by the door, they are
coming back.
“This is the man detective...he found the body. Are
you all right?”
“Fine. Just thinking back to when I brought him in
here.” Get a grip. There's a way out. Emphasis the HIM,
the gender. “When I brought him in here, a good few years ago:
five or six, was it?. Maybe more. He had killed a lot of girls and
kidnapped a priest. He was a nutcase. A raving nutcase. A madman,
mad,” he repeated the word. “Man.”
“Detective I think we are at cross purposes here. This
body is that of Georgina Bowen, Mistress Bowen she liked to be
called. Sometimes Duchess. She has been a guest here a good few years
and is a woman. Not a man”
Attack! “I'm
sorry sunshine, this is, su...” Don't say supposed to be.
“Is George Edward Bowen – Georgie. A serial killer! Incarcerated
here awaiting a return of his memory, so that if that happens we can
charge him. This is not a woman! It's a man: a serial killer. And if
you don't believe me, go ahead and check. God knows I can't.” Nice
one. Shay.
The nurse moved forward, raised the lower clothing, then
opened the top buttons of the blouse, and stood back and turned to
face Fanahan.
“Detective,” she said through gritted teeth, “beyond
any doubt, you might have. This patient is a woman – without any
doubt at all.”
Good job I didn't stop for a snifter the way this
blooming whale is sniffing my breath.
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