Page 52 of The Tapes
This gets a confused response. ‘Of course. He’d tell me how his granddaughter was doing great with her exams and school; that you had a terrific job and were excelling. To be honest, I was a bit surprised, considering your boss.’
I’m so struck by the idea that Dad talked proudly of me that I almost miss the rest. ‘What about my boss?’
Lorna shrugs a little. ‘I mean, Mum always told me that if you don’t have anything nice to say…’
She grins in a way I know is asking for permission.
‘I quit yesterday,’ I say.
‘Sick of him then?’
‘Something like that.’
Lorna nods towards the bar in the other room. ‘Can I get you a drink…?’
I hold up my teacup. ‘I’m an alcoholic,’ I say – largely because there’s a part of me desperate to find a corner and spend the rest of the day getting pissed with Lorna. It’s often better to be honest – because then the other person does the work for you.
‘My God, I’m so sorry,’ she replies, touching a hand to her chest.
‘We’re both sorry then.’
She smiles kindly – then nods me across to the squishy seats near the fire exit. It’s quieter there and that part of me so wishes we were sharing a real drink.
‘I used to know Mark Dixon way back,’ she says, once we’ve settled. ‘This was before he had vans everywhere with his name on. Have you read his website?’
I have, of course – and laugh until my stomach hurts because Lorna knows it off by heart. ‘Self-made and self-effacing,’ she says – which is more than enough to set me off, before she adds: ‘…he soon realised he had the ambition, work ethic, and intelligence to start his own business.’
I have to ask her to stop after the fifth quote, because people are starting to notice that I’m howling at my own father’s wake. She waits until I’ve composed myself and then adds: ‘Mark Dixon knows when to hold ’em, when to fold ’em and when to walk away.’
It’s my favourite line of his biography and there’s a moment in which I almost have to step outside to compose myself.
‘You have to stop,’ I say – and, mercifully, Lorna does.
‘How do you know him?’ I ask.
‘I was his line manager,’ she says.
‘When?’
‘Prince Industries. You’d have been young then. I don’t know if you remember the factory.’
I tell her I do.
‘It’s all houses now,’ she adds. ‘I live in one almost right by the old doors. That’s where I met Mark. He came to us straight out of school.’
I picture him pacing up and down the night before.They can’t prove anything… just tell them I was with you.
I could’ve recited that back to Detective Sergeant Cox this morning when she called round. But then I would’ve had to tell her why I was hiding around a corner late at night, how I’d broken into the office, that I had Owen’s wallet. It would be a lot to explain, even if she believed me.
Cox knows my history, about the alcoholism and the attack on Jake Rowett, and already made it clear she was suspicious. Mark could’ve easily denied the phone call, then said he’d never seen Owen’s wallet – that I’d planted it there. It would have looked very bad for me.
The thought of all that clears the hilarity of minutes before. Because Mark Dixon worked at Prince Industries when the first Earring Killer murder happened. And he knew Owen had my tape.
I don’t let on about any of that, instead prodding Lorna into telling the story she’s clearly desperate to.
‘What was he like?’ I ask.
‘A whiny little twerp. He used to think he knew everything, even though he failed all his exams. His dad knew someone,who knew someone – which is why he got hired. It definitely wasn’t talent. He’d barely been there a week when he was telling people how they should be doing jobs they’d been doing for twenty years. There were all sorts of divisions in that factory – old versus young, union versus non, men versus women.’ She pauses. ‘Everyone came together as one to declare that Mark Dixon was a complete clown.’
