Читать книгу The Teacher: A shocking and compelling new crime thriller – NOT for the faint-hearted! - Katerina Diamond, Katerina Diamond - Страница 7

The Taxidermist

She stared into the beady eyes of the dead cat, its lustrous fur still soft to the touch. As her finger brushed against the side of its hardened stomach she saw the dust erupting in tiny clouds. She put a yellow sticker on the animal, yellow means ‘restore’, this animal needed to be returned to its former glory, or as close an approximation as anything dead can have to something that was once alive. Abbey Lucas had worked in the Eden House Memorial Museum for five years now, she never ventured out on to any of the four main exhibition rooms, hardly spoke to any of the other staff and never dealt with the public, she just stayed here in the archive rooms. For the last five years she had been working her way through the thousands of stuffed animals, from kangaroo to platypus, from a common goat to this stunning example of evolution, the cheetah. She wondered why no one ever bothered to stuff cows or sheep, maybe they were too boring to part with your money over. Although, Abbey had always thought cows were rather beautiful, with their big sad brown eyes.

Abbey walked down to the lobby, the porters were bustling. They were just reassembling the lobby after a week’s closure in order to redecorate it. The whole building was undergoing refurbishment after a large sum of money was bequeathed to the museum when the former director died just a few months ago. They had been trying for the last fifteen years to get the funding to put the place back together. Only fourteen of the possible thirty-two exhibition rooms had been open to the public for quite some time, with most of the smaller ones on the second floor closed. The museum had been ravaged by an electrical fire around twenty years ago, bad wiring and a faulty circuit breaker had caused damage to at least a quarter of the building. As the owners had been unable to fix the place straight away, some of the rooms had been cordoned off or used as storage until they had enough money to go ahead with the refurb. The Neo-Gothic museum, built in the eighteenth century, housed various Celtic and Roman artefacts that had been discovered in the local area. It was also home to a huge menagerie of various animals, costumes and fossils. Fortunately the damage was predominantly cosmetic. The new colour on the walls was vermillion red, almost a bright orange. Abbey didn’t think it belonged in a place like this, it was garish and distasteful. The red was a far cry from the drab Georgian grey that had been the colour in every single exhibit room since she had started here. Now each room had an accent colour, as per the interior designer’s remit. Of course the most striking had to be the entrance. It was less of an accent colour and more of a full assault on the senses.

‘Abbey!’ Mr Lowestoft, the director, exclaimed with a winning smile. He was a gentle old man. Like a grandfather, with his round glasses, ruddy cheeks and novelty dickie bow, he always brought a warm feeling to her. It had been that way from the start. He had not only welcomed her but made her feel like this was her home. Every time he said hello it was as though he were greeting a beloved family member. Mr Lowestoft was one of the few people in the world who put her at ease.

‘Mr Lowestoft, hello.’ She smiled, a real smile full of genuine warmth, truly glad to see the old man. His presence in the museum had decreased since he had received the cancer diagnosis. A finished, fully functioning museum was to be his parting legacy.

‘Ah, Abbey, I was hoping you would be here. What do you think? Do you like it?’ He beamed, glowing with pride.

‘It looks amazing.’ She didn’t have the heart to tell him anything different.

‘I’ve been asked by the University if we would accommodate one of their PhD students for the foreseeable future while he writes his thesis on historic preservation, or something to that effect. I thought you would be the best person to deal with him.’

‘Me?’ She didn’t know what else to say to that. She was used to working alone, she liked it that way.

‘Oh, and I’ve got another surprise for you! Come and see!’ He walked over to something large covered in a sheet, reluctantly she followed. She hated surprises. He pulled at the sheet and she was confronted with the grimacing mask of a samurai looking down on her from his lofty frame. His rigid leather body armour was polished to the point where she could see her reflection. ‘I never understood why we keep this hidden upstairs. It’s one of my favourite pieces.’

An evil grin was spread across the surface of the mask and a gaping black hole where the eyes should be. The demonic red horns that protruded from the helmet and towered above the face were razor sharp, menacing. She had forgotten just how vile the warrior’s face was. It had been years since she had seen him, always walking the long way around to avoid ever walking in his path. The face had always seemed so inhuman and she could feel the black nothing staring into her. Involuntarily she found herself stepping backwards. She didn’t want to have a panic attack; she had to get away from him.

‘It looks perfect here.’ She stepped back further, flustered, off balance.

‘Are you all right, Abbey?’

‘Yes, I’m fine. I just need to use the bathroom.’

Abbey rushed into the toilets reserved for the public and dabbed her face with cold water, trying to normalise the temperature of her skin. She could feel it burning. She really didn’t like surprises.

Abbey emerged from the bathroom into the empty hallway. The silence of the museum magnified her solitude, the faint whisper of the atmospheric music in a distant corner of the museum at the edge of her hearing. She turned the corner and bumped straight into the security guard.

‘Busy day?’ Shane Corden was standing in her way. His bleached-blonde hair stuck to his glistening forehead.

‘Yes.’ She tried to manoeuvre around him but he side-stepped into her path again. He would play these games purely because he knew it disturbed her. ‘Excuse me, I have to help get ready for the reopening. We’ve only got a couple of months. Don’t you have somewhere to be?’

‘Doesn’t it bother you? Touching dead stuff all day?’ He sucked on his bottom lip slowly and stared at her mouth.

‘Not really.’ She tried again to move around him but this time he just moved closer. She could smell cigarettes and alcohol on his breath as he stood almost toe to toe with her. It’s just a game, he doesn’t know anything, she repeated to herself over and over. She had to decide between looking him in the eyes or shifting her gaze and staring down at her feet. She wanted to do the latter but that’s what he wanted too. So she would stare him down, hoping to God he couldn’t see the darkness behind her eyes. She knew all he wanted was to make her feel uncomfortable. To exercise the tiny bit of power he had in this world over someone he knew he could get a reaction from. He liked to play this game with someone who was easily flustered.

His eyes dropped to her chest, hidden beneath the olive green blouse. She tried not to breathe hard as she didn’t want to give him any more food for thought. She could feel her lungs tightening and her mouth desperate to suck in more air. She would rather pass out than give him the satisfaction. Instead he backed away, eyes still fixed on her body.

‘Have a good one then.’ He smiled, his hand firmly on his baton, finger circling the tip. She slowly exhaled as invisibly as possible. He was such a creep, but at least he was honest about it. Before she had fully filled her lungs again he was gone. She scuttled back to her darkened corner of the museum. That was enough social interaction for one morning.

Abbey went to the museum canteen at noon, as always, to pick up her lunch, which she ate at the same table every day. Routine was everything, right down to the brown corduroy skirt she wore at the end of every week. It didn’t take much to bring on her anxieties. Luckily this was not a popular or busy museum, if people were curious about anything these days they would just look it up on the internet, this suited Abbey just fine. Today she had a tuna sandwich; Friday was fish day at the museum, Mr Lowestoft insisted on this throwback to a more religious time, when people had values.

Abbey genuinely loved her job, she could not imagine doing anything else. She liked the familiarity of working with the same people every day, good people, and aside from Shane they were mostly sensible people. Abbey also liked that she got to spend most of her days alone, with only the dead for company.

‘Is this seat taken?’

Abbey looked up at the stranger, her mouth full of food, she chewed quickly to reply. The canteen was empty and she couldn’t say it was taken. Did he just want the chair? Was he going to sit with her?

‘No,’ she finally managed.

He put his tray down opposite her and sat down, smiling. He took his coat off and hung it on the back of the chair, making himself comfortable. He was a young, slender man with black floppy hair. Although definitely older than her, she couldn’t quite place his age. He looked eccentric, different. The most remarkable thing about him though were his eyes, they were cold and grey like cut glass, Abbey had to force herself not to stare.

‘I’m Parker, Parker West.’ He held his hand out to her over the table. She rubbed her palm on her skirt to remove any traces of tuna mayonnaise and then shook his hand.

‘Hello.’

‘You’re Abigail Lucas?’ He smiled again, she could not hide her surprise – how did he know her name?

‘Who—’

‘Oh, they didn’t tell you? I’m going to be helping you with the archives. I have a masters in zoological archaeology and I’m working towards my PhD,’ he said, almost embarrassed.

‘Oh, yes, Mr Lowestoft did mention it. I didn’t realise it would be today.’

She had already worked her way through Australasia and Southern America on her own, cataloguing every single animal, noting down its region and its place on the food chain. Up till now she alone had the power to decide the fate of these creatures. She could mark the animal for restoration or for destruction. Where possible she was to save the animals, although it felt so futile – so far she had condemned over two hundred animals to the incinerator, their final resting place. The worst cases were in the northeast corner of the building where there had been a leak in the roof that had gone unnoticed for far too long. She hadn’t been able to save any of those, the mould and rot had set in so much that their deterioration had sealed the deal. She wasn’t sure if she trusted a stranger with this responsibility.

‘He just said you could probably do with a hand. This museum has a particularly quantitative supply of species and sub-species; it’s a lot for one person to get through … in two months, is it?’

‘I can manage it,’ she said apologetically, internally scolding herself for apologising at the same time.

‘Oh, no one said you can’t. To be honest with you, I volunteered, no one is paying me. I’m writing a paper for my PhD, you see, well I won’t bore you with the details of it but you would be doing me a huge favour if you would allow me to tag along, I might even be able to offer you my expertise with the identifications at least; you would obviously have to handle the actual restorations.’

‘If you think …’

‘The final decision is yours, my fate is in your hands.’ He had a soft, pleading but mischievous look in his eyes, she wanted to smile at him, she wouldn’t because that’s not who she was. People, she knew, are rarely who they show themselves to be. There is always a lie, always a mask.

‘Hello, Parker, you can call me Abbey,’ she said after a pause. She would just have to deal with it.

‘Nice to meet you, Abbey.’ He half smiled. His anticipation was evident as he ploughed his way through his lunch, raring to go, eager to meet her dead little friends.

She thought of all the animals she had already worked through alone and decided maybe this wasn’t the end of the world, it didn’t mean that Mr Lowestoft didn’t trust her, it just meant she could take her time and not worry so much about the self-imposed deadlines she had assigned. The hardest decision she had made on her own so far was on a small creature whose identification numbers had been ruined by water and damp, she did not recognise the animal and could not find it in any of the encyclopaedias. Maybe it was stored in the wrong part of the world, but there was no saving her – she knew the creature was a female, her teats were still enlarged from recent motherhood. Abbey wondered what had happened to this little beast. Her cheeks had been ravaged by termites but her black eyes were so calm. As Abbey had fingered the tiny bullet hole in the animal’s chest, a spider had crawled out and she dropped the animal in shock, smashing what was left of her face. Abbey could not stop the tears as she placed the red sticker on the small animal, wondering if her children had befallen the same fate or if they had made it, at least for a little while. She wondered if they had got the chance to have children of their own; she liked to think they had.

When she took Parker through to the floor where all of the Asian cadavers were kept she saw how exhilarated he was, his eyes transfixed and wide, like a child on their first trip to a toy shop, not knowing where to start, unsure what to break first.

‘Follow me.’ She led him to the far end of the room, her voice echoed as did her footsteps when her shoes thumped against the polished wooden floors. The room itself was lit from a double row of green glass bricks slotted in above where the original windows had been, long since boarded up to accommodate the large metal shelving units that had been put in after the fire; metal didn’t burn like wood. Everything in the room had taken on a hint of pale green as though it had been dipped in Chartreuse, a warm honey-green liquor. They could hear the music from the next room seeping in through the metal ventilation grates that sat above the oak skirting. It was the same music that had played every day since she had started. She didn’t know what it was called but it was classical, sometimes the melody would run through her mind as she tried to sleep at night. She looked over at Parker, noticing him trying to take it all in, looking up and down, occasionally uttering an exclamation at something he had seen.

‘So incredible,’ he muttered. She got the impression he didn’t mean to say that out loud. Usually when people learned what Abbey did they pulled a face and said something like ‘Oh, that’s nice’ in the worst impression of a sincere voice they could muster, the idea of stuffing dead animals was completely repulsive to them, although they were entirely missing the point. Parker’s response was a refreshing change, she was proud of her occupation; it was all she had.

‘We basically operate on something similar to the Dewey decimal system, so the first two numbers correspond to a continent, then the next three numbers the species, followed by—’

‘Yes, I know how it works.’

‘OK, sorry.’

‘No, I didn’t mean to be rude, please, just ignore my … personality, sometimes I can be a bit … I’m sorry. Thanks for taking the time to explain it to me. Carry on.’ He fumbled for words, this time she couldn’t help but smile a little.

‘You need to mark the animals down against the numbers on this register and then you need to mark whether they are to be kept or not. Anything that can be restored needs a yellow sticker and put a red one on the ones that are beyond saving.’ She handed him the stickers.

‘Nothing is beyond saving,’ he said thoughtfully as he stared at the coloured sheets in his hand, his eyes looking through the paper and beyond. She studied his face for a moment, unable to look away. His skin was so pale and his hair so black against it. The gentle curls undermining his angular bone structure. He looked up quickly, drawing in his breath, as though for a moment he forgot he was not alone.

Abbey watched Parker working. Once he had begun to work he had not uttered a single word to her. She occasionally heard him mumbling to himself but essentially it was no different than working alone. The silence was not strained or awkward, it was just silence, something they were obviously both comfortable with. From time to time he would pull out a well-worn leather pocket book and scrawl something inside it, then put it back in his inside pocket. She wondered what he was writing, what was his paper about?

The day was drawing to a close, the natural light from the high-set windows changing to an orange glow as the sunset drew closer.

‘Parker!’ Abbey called for the fourth time, trying to snatch his attention as he scribbled furiously in his notepad, engrossed. He looked up, startled, almost scared, then his face softened into a smile as if he’d just awoken from a nightmare and pulled back into reality.

‘What time is it?’ He looked up at the windows, almost surprised at the warm dusk light that had crept up on them.

‘It’s seven p.m. now, I don’t normally work this late but we did make a lot of progress, you have been a great help.’

‘Yikes! Seven! I should get home.’

‘Sorry, I should have thought, your wife must be worried.’

‘Yes, Sally will be worried … and she will probably want feeding and some exercise.’ He smirked at Abbey’s confused and slightly embarrassed face. ‘She’s my dog.’

Abbey blushed, hoping to God he didn’t think she was fishing for information, she wasn’t, she wouldn’t. Somehow she knew the thought never crossed his mind.

After Parker’s departure, the museum was desolate. Abbey was just leaving when she walked past the front desk. The samurai was standing ever poised in his glass case by the entrance. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up on end as she allowed herself to properly look at him in this light. He was still, he couldn’t hurt her or anybody else, but still she felt him staring, his hand on his katana.

‘Still here?’

She spun round to see Shane right behind her, he was just wearing a white vest, the anthology of his life exposed in the form of tattoos. The ink consisted of tribal markings and thorny roses, a clichéd assortment. He flexed his muscles as he pulled his shirt on, she was unsure what he was trying to achieve, was he trying to frighten her? Even though she was alone she didn’t feel scared of him.

‘I’m just leaving now.’ She moved towards the door.

‘I saw you with that weird guy, the new one.’ Shane smiled and moved in closer as he did up the buttons on his shirt. ‘He’s too good for you. You know that, don’t you?’

Abbey put her hand on her bag; it wouldn’t take much to just glide her fingers inside it. Her tools were in there along with her trusty scalpel. He wouldn’t even feel the blade sink into his skin, the steel was so sharp it would only occur to him when he saw the blood and clutched at his throat, desperate to stop his life from ebbing away. She knew where to cut him so it would be quick, she knew her way around a scalpel. She wondered if the arterial spray would even show up on these hideous red walls. She moved her hand away and placed it on the handle to the external door.

‘Don’t forget to lock up,’ she said as she slipped outside, her heart thumping. She looked down the museum steps to see Parker standing there, waiting. ‘I thought you went home?’

‘It occurred to me you were on your own in the museum with Shane, and I can see you don’t care for him much.’

‘How do you know that?’ Abbey said as she walked down the steps towards him. She didn’t like the idea that anyone knew what she might be thinking or feeling, that those things might be obvious in any way made her feel exposed.

‘I just notice things like that,’ he said quietly, before taking a deep breath. ‘I thought maybe I could walk you home, it’s almost dark.’ He shuffled uncomfortably.

‘What about your dog?’ Abbey looked back up at the museum and saw Shane coming outside hurriedly, she saw his eyes searching until they met hers and brightened a little, before his gaze shifted a little and he saw Parker standing next to her. Shane’s disappointment was evident as his lopsided sneer turned into a scowl.

‘She will get over it, we have an understanding.’ He smiled and followed Abbey, she turned to see Shane walk in the other direction as Parker remained oblivious to his presence.

For the next few weeks Abbey and Parker worked in silence. His enthusiasm for the task was unrelenting, every day he would be there early, ready and raring to go, working through lunch and at the end of the day he would wait for her outside and walk her home. He never bothered her with silly questions or idle small talk, for most of the time Parker was lost in his own world. At work he would often pull out his little black pocket book. Sometimes she would watch him and smile as he struggled to get the words on to the page fast enough in his excitement.

‘So, why here? There are plenty of other museums that have big archives like this one, bigger even,’ she finally broke the silence one day during what was supposed to be the lunch hour. She had taken to bringing her sandwiches into the dusty old store room, feeling guilty that he would be sitting in there alone if she went to the cafeteria.

‘When I was a boy my parents brought me to this museum. I spent a lot of time in this place. I loved all the reconstructions of the Roman occupation and the artefacts and relics that were found in the local area, but they don’t make you think like the animals do. I would sit and stare at the dioramas and feel completely lost in them. There used to be a bench opposite the African desert display where a lion had sunk its teeth into a buffalo. I would just imagine I was either the hunter or the prey, how it would feel to be one or the other, if it was even possible to understand being both.’ He swallowed and closed his eyes, a thought he couldn’t shake. He took a deep breath before starting again, a forced smile on his face. ‘This is where it all started for me, this is where I decided what I wanted to do with my life, it was a bit of a eureka moment, so this place has always held a special place in my heart.’ He spoke with a wistful tone to his voice. She could almost see his memories and his pleasure in revisiting them, then something else, fleeting sadness, a less pleasant memory, perhaps.

‘I always wanted to be a vet, but I dropped out of uni and here I am.’ She took a bite of her sandwich, unwilling to continue talking in case she said something she regretted.

His simplicity was magnetic to her, it had been years since anyone had fascinated her so much, he was almost like a child in his animated way of moving and speaking and yet, just like at that moment, occasionally she would see a melancholy about him, something she couldn’t identify but something so precious that she just wanted to tell him it would all be OK. A lie, for sure, but she knew he needed comfort from something, she just didn’t know what. He put her at ease and she trusted him, despite not knowing him for long. He was nothing like anyone she had ever met, although it had been a long time since she had met anyone new.

‘What is it?’ he asked, she realised she had been staring at him, she blushed and looked away.

‘I’m sorry, I’m not used to working with people, I’m usually up here alone, and I didn’t mean to stare.’

He didn’t say anything, just smiled, a consoling smile. He didn’t push the issue but it was too late, she felt her cheeks burning red.

The rest of the day passed without any conversation, without any incident, and Parker walked out at five o’clock exactly. She wondered if she offended him with her question, if his past was somewhere he didn’t want to revisit. She really wasn’t used to dealing with people, or, in particular, men. When she finally came to leave, Parker was there, leaning against the street lamp, brows furrowed, concentrating on the notebook in his hands. When he looked up and saw her, the tension left his face, melted away and was replaced with the most genuine smile. She felt special for a moment. It had been a long time since she felt that way. If she had to put a number on it she would say it had been five years. It was five years since she had left college, five years since she had to restart her life all over again.