Easy As Licking One's Bum
by >^^<
part:325

The next day, after a fitful sleep I called in at the police station with Tom. I gave a statement as I remembered things and asked some awkward questions.

"This man had a history of mental illness, why didn't you know about it?"

"We were still waiting for information to arrive."

"He was a paranoid schizophrenic for God's sake, he should still be alive."

"It was an accident, you said as much yourself."

"We have a secretary who will probably need psychotherapy and a dead body, some bloody accident!"

"There is no need to be abusive, Miss Watts."

"Abusive? I think I shall be contacting the police complaints people."

"That is your prerogative."

"Watch this space." I turned and stormed out of the building with Tom in hot pursuit.

"Where is that going to get you?" he asked me when we got to the car.

"I don't know, but I fully intend to find out. I'm going to Bristol, coming?"

"To do what?"

"Find out some more about our mystery person."

"What do you want to know?"

"A lot more than they told me. All they said was he lived with his parents. I am going to see his parents."

"Isn't that a bit intrusive?"

"He tried to kill me. I want to know why."

"They might finish the job."

"Save the Dean a job, then."

"Cathy, this can only be bad."

"I'm going, you have two minutes to come or get out."

Tom picked up his mobile and called the office, "I may be in later, I'm looking after my daughter, she's a bit shocked since yesterday. Bye."

"That's the second time you've called me your daughter."

"Don't you like it?"

"I love it, Daddy!" I sniggered and we set off for Bristol. I handed him my mobile, call Gordon Wild and ask if he knows where Martin Hickman lived?"

Amazingly, Tom did as I asked and Gordon knew roughly where it was. Once he said, so did I. Patchway is near Filton. Filton is where the aerospace factory is, there is also an airfield there.

Two hours later we were driving around the large council estate which makes up part of Patchway. I was looking for a red Ford Sierra, a car which is now quite rare, according to Gordon, it would be parked on the drive of a house in Conniston Road. Sure enough it was.

"You can't just go walking in there, they've just lost a son," cautioned Tom.

"Watch me." I said as I shut the car door and walked towards the house.
I rang the doorbell. Then my stomach flipped over, what was I going to say to these people.

A large man filled the open doorway, he was clad in a pair of trousers which stopped somewhere about niple line and were held up by a pair of braces, which he wore over an ageing green striped shirt.

"Mr Hickman?"

"If you're from the paper, you can piss off."

"I am not, I'm from Portsmouth University."

"What?"

"It was me, Martin came to see."

"Haven't you done enough?"

"I didn't do anything."

"You killed my son, you bitch!"

"I haven't killed anyone, in fact he was trying to kill me."

"How dare you come here to torment us!"

"Please, Mr Hickman, I need to understand why it happened."

"Why? You're why!"

"What do you mean, I'm why it happened?"

"You'd better come in." I followed him into a beige coloured hallway, then into a cream coloured sitting room. A large woman sat in an easy chair, her expression was one of exhaustion and depression, her eyes looked empty and forlorn. "This girl has come from Portsmouth." The woman's eyes rose to look at me again.

"I was with Martin when he died."

She looked at me, those empty eyes, staring right through me. She said nothing. Her husband sat down in the other easy chair, and I sat myself down on a settee opposite both of them and the fireplace with its glowing gas fire.

"I came here because I wanted to meet you. I'm sorry Martin died, I didn't know him and I don't know why he came to see me. On the day he died, he held me and my secretary hostage, he had a knife. We were in a biology laboratory and he slipped on some wet on the floor and fell on the knife. He died very quickly."

"He saw you on 'is computer thing, droppin' a dormouse down yer blouse. 'E fell in love with yer."

"What!"

"Di'n't ya 'ear what I said, 'e fell in love with yer."

"How? He didn't even know me."

" 'Ow the 'ell do I know? But you wan-ned to know what 'appened, that's what 'appened."

I gasped as I took on board what he was saying.

" 'E had scrap books full of yer photos and things."

"I had no idea."

"We used to leave him up in 'is room, he used to like dressin' up like a woman. Queer, but it was 'armless. He used be on 'is bloody computer all night long, some nights."

"He was dressed as a woman when he first came to see me. He pretended he was a journalist, only I saw through him and asked him to leave. He turned up in my garden and we called the police, he was arrested but bailed. Then he somehow got into my lab and went funny, then the accident happened and he died. I'm sorry."

"He 'ad a mental problem."

"I know, paranoid schizophrenia, I'm sorry."

" 'E used to forget to take his pills an' it would get worse."

"I am sorry, but perhaps that's what happened, he didn't take his medication. I'm sure he was a good man at heart."

" 'E never 'urt a fly before."

On the coffee table was a large scrapbook, my picture from one of the bank posters was on the cover. It was surrounded by a number of pink hearts. I had learned enough.

"Thank you for seeing me, once again, I'm sorry that this happened. I must go."

They both just looked at me as I left the house, neither said anything or came to see me out, they just sat there in what was almost like a form of inertia. I hurried across to my own car and Tom.

"Well?" he said to me.

"Let's go and get a coffee or something, Cribb's Causeway is just up the road."

"Which is?"

"A large shopping mall place. If we go to Debenhams, we'll get a reasonable coffee there."

We drove in silence to the shopping area or 'retail park' as they call it. We spotted a coffee place, so never got to Debenhams. After a good swig of dark fluid, Tom sighed and said, "So what happened?"

I had a mouth full of almond slice, so he had to wait until I could speak.

"It was awful, he was completely obsessed with me."

"Like Simon?"

"No Simon does have a life outside me. This guy didn't. There was a scrapbook full of pictures of me."

"Ugh!" said Tom, "weird or what?"

"Exactly, he used to sit up in his room in his best dress and watch me on Youtube."

"So his parents knew about the dressing up then?"

"Yeah, it didn't worry them, why should it? It's not a crime. Actually, he wasn't that bad at it."

"I'm surprised the police weren't here."

"They probably were yesterday. It wouldn't be too hard to present a case to the coroner, mental health patient, obsessional/stalker, didn't take his medication, went a bit strange, threatened two hostages and ended up falling on his own knife. The only query is, that if the police had got their act together, he'd be in hospital being stabilised, not in a mortuary waiting for a funeral."

"Until next time, maybe he'd have got lucky and killed you then."

"I don't know that, nor do you. I'm sorry he's dead, it was avoidable and lessons need to be learned."

"So what are you going to do about it?"

"I'll write to the police complaints people and copy the letter to the coroner."

"You'll be popular."

"I don't care, it mustn't be allowed to happen again. Those two people were absolutely devastated. His mother, her eyes were dead, as if she was only waiting to bury him before she died herself. It was awful, but I'm glad I met them."

"So you understand things now?" asked Tom.

"Not really, I think I know what happened, I can't say I understand, because I don't. I mean how could anyone in their right mind be obsessed with me?"

"Ah, but he wasn't in his right mind was he? So you've answered your own question. Obsession is not normal, it's an out of balance thing."

"Yeah, you're right, Tom, as always."

"That's why I'm the professor and you aren't."

"And I thought it was just an age thing."

"Ha bloody ha, let's get home, I have work to do even if you don't."