The Ballade of Nixon Tyme Chapter Twenty

Out through the haze, Trevor Stoddart rushed down the stairs towards Peter. He was out cold. What should he do? He thought about calling the police, but what if he came to before they arrived? He dashed into the kitchen, and rummaged in a drawer containing all the unloved stuff that had nowhere else to go. Batteries, plug adaptors, candles, and there at the back, the remains of a roll of yellow nylon washing line.

He bound his hands first, then feeling a little more secure, he pushed the body to one side and grabbed the gun. He looked at it nervously, it was surprisingly heavy, and still warm. Presumably there was a live round still inside. Tentatively, he pushed the top catch, cocked the barrel, and removed the cartridges. Then he placed the weapon inside the cupboard under the stairs.

He went back over to Peter, who'd just begun to make a low, grunting noise, and quickly tried to drag his prone body, up against the balustrade. He was heavy, and Stoddart struggled to move him, but just enough upright to be able to thread the cord under his arms, and around the wooden frame. He pulled it tight, and then comically, realised he'd trapped the baggy sleeve of his cardigan.

Embarrassed to discover what he was still wearing, he yanked it free, then took it off, and slung it over the chair by his desk. Pulling hard on the knot, and satisfied that his prisoner was secure, he went over to the desk in the lounge, and picked up the phone. Just about to dial, Stoddart glanced over at Peter, who had now started to move his head, and was moaning, as if about to stir. He looked at the phone in his hand, and hesitated.

The call would bring the police rushing to his aid, Peter would be apprehended, and his ordeal would be over......or would it?

His assailant would be charged, and the case would go to court, and Stoddart, as main witness, called to testify. This would make quite a story in the local press, not only because of the violent intent of the crime, but more specifically, the motive.

The connection between the two men and Lucia would easily be made, and tongues may inevitably wag. It would be obvious that Peter wasn't there to rob. His recently missing wife, was after all, the personal assistant to the man he'd confronted. Was Trevor Stoddart, respectable company director, really having an affair, or in some way responsible for her disappearance? As long as Lucia remained missing, it would be hard to dispel the gossip.

Just as he put the receiver back down, Peter came to. It took a few seconds, as he took in the unfamiliar surroundings, then realised where he was, and that he'd been restrained.

“Aaargh.....What's going on ?.....Get me out of this !”

“I might ask you the same. What are you doing in my house ?

“You know fuck well, Stoddart....I know she's here..I've seen her, now get me out of this shit !”

He made a forlorn attempt to break his hands free, then wriggled against the rope around his chest. It was no use, he was firmly secured.

“Your wife is not here.….Believe me, you can check the house. I have no idea where she is”

“I saw her !.....At the top of the stairs.......”

Stoddart, for a second, wondered what he meant, and then, almost simultaneously both men's eyes moved towards the blue angora cardigan, hanging on the back of the chair. He hadn't realised that Peter, after the fall, and still just conscious, must have seen him as he'd moved out onto the landing. In his fug, he must have thought it was Lucia.

“You mean this ?” he lifted up the garment. It was obvious it was hers. Peter glared at him.

“Do you know ? If I pick up that phone, you're ten minutes away from arrest. What does all this look like ? Aggravated burglary, assault, with a loaded firearm ? What do you think ? Five, ten years.......Is that what you want ?”

“But you haven't phoned” Peter's rage turned to suspicion.

“No I haven't” he hesitated..... “You may think I've been having an affair with your wife, but I swear it's not true. Nevertheless, until tonight's events, the fact that anyone could possibly believe that, I thought was preposterous. Still, if you believed it, then why not anybody else ? In one way, I'm flattered, but you know Mister.....It's Peter isn't it ? I remember she called you that, now....” he sat down, and gently folded the cardigan onto his lap.

“I've never had a woman Peter, can you believe that ? I'm sixty, and I've never been with a woman, let alone been in love. Its never really affected me until now......Well, not until I met your wife, Peter.....Of course I knew she'd never fall for someone like me, but still, it didn't prevent me falling for her. I wanted to deny it, but couldn't. I'd fallen in love with her......”

“You bastard !”

“No no no, you don't understand.....It was more like a love for a daughter. She was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen, but I knew she was out of bounds. Then one day, I don't know what came over me, but she left this behind, and well.... I just took it. At first I kidded myself that I was making sure that it didn't get stolen by the cleaners, but then......Well, I'm ashamed to admit this, but I couldn't give it back. It was the closest I could get to her, without making a fool of myself......Then, not long after, she vanished”

Peter said nothing.

“Even before I realised that you saw me wearing this, I'm afraid I just couldn't take the gossip that a court case might throw up. Now, if this came out, well don't you see ? We both have much to lose, and nothing to gain”

“You've been wearing her clothes ! .....What kind of fucking weirdo does that ?”

“You'd rather, I'd been having an affair instead ? And does that make breaking into someone's house, with a loaded gun, any more normal ?”

Peter, despite his anger, saw his point. “So what you gonna do ?”

“We could agree that tonight's events never happened, and I let you go, or...............”               

He got up and wandered over to the kitchen, and came back with a large carving knife. He stood in front of Peter, and looked at the knife.

“Imagine if I called the police, and they arrived to find I'd killed you in self defence, would it make that much difference for me ?” He touched the tip of the blade to Peter's chest.

“No don't !...................... No !”

Stoddart seemed to switch off for a moment, staring at the tip of the knife, as if contemplating his power over life and death, then calmly looked Peter directly in the eye.

“She's gone, do you understand ? To vanish into thin air like that must mean she has no intention of being found. I'm sorry for you, I really am. It hurts me she's gone, but she was never mine to lose. For you ? ...Well I can only imagine how that may feel.”

He lowered the blade, and Peter looked defeated.

“I don't want to see you again Peter, not at my house, not anywhere, and if you want my advice, I'd think about a new start, before you go crazy and kill someone...... or get killed...........and nobody wants that, do they ?”

Stoddart had genuinely scared him. He hadn't experienced that in a long time, and it gave authority to the words of advice. Crestfallen, he stared at the floor, and nodded his agreement, then Stoddart slipped the blade under the cords, and cut him free, cautiously stepping back as he did so. Peter raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture.....

“Its okay, you've made your point......You won't see me again”

He pulled up his collar, turned, then opened the front door and walked out into the night.

Then, remembering the gun, Stoddart called after him.“You've forgotten something !” 

Peter didn't reply, but kept walking, and within seconds was out of sight.

Stoddart didn't pursue it. He reasoned it was Peter's way of saying he was better off without it, but still, he'd have to get rid of it somehow. Perhaps he'd nip out and take it down to the river, which passed near the house. He thought of it as a small price to pay. He knew he could have been killed tonight, or at the very least, had his name bandied around for all the wrong reasons. No, he was sure, he wouldn't be seeing Peter again, and as he looked around for a suitable bag to conceal the gun, he saw the blue angora cardigan, lying in a heap on his desk. He'd use it to wrap the gun. He didn't need it any more.