on it. Smurf peered under Mervyn’s armpit to see what he’d found.
‘A suicide note.’
‘It might not be a suicide note,’ said Mervyn.
‘Most likely it’ll be a letter to the hotel, asking for a refund on his room.’
‘Smurf, please!’ Nicholas snapped.
Mervyn opened the flap and pulled out a white slip of paper. He unfolded it and read it to himself. It was a beautifully handwritten note, explaining in three neat paragraphs that Simon had been depressed for some time about the futility of his life, that he hated his day job, that he only lived for the conventions, and that the rumoured new series of Vixens from the Void would inevitably lead to the BBC withdrawing the licence for his little world. He’d seen it happen to other shows like Star Trek and he didn’t want to live with being increasingly marginalised and pitied.
‘He committed suicide all right.’ Mervyn slipped the note back in the envelope. ‘He’s signed it and everything.’
‘Well he would,’ Morris’s voice rumbled, causing Mervyn to jump.
‘What do you mean “Well he would”?’
‘Well it’s Simon, isn’t it? If he was alive he’d be the first to tell you how valuable his autograph is now he’s dead.’ He scratched the scrubland on his chin. ‘Does that make sense? Oh well. You know what I mean.’ He nodded casually at the letter. ‘If you don’t mind, once the police have finished with it I’d like to have it for VixEnterprises. It might offset the losses from this year’s con. I’ll put it on eBay. It’s what he would have wanted.’
They all nodded at the grotesque idea, more out of shock than anything.
‘We ought to call the police,’ said Morris at last. ‘I’ll go and tell the hotel what’s happened. I’m sure they’ll want to stop people coming into the car park.’
Everyone nodded again and Morris disappeared.
It was only at that point, when Mervyn was closing the Styrax door, that he noticed something else inside.
Something resting on the floor.
He looked round. Nobody was watching.
He scooped up the something gracefully in one low swoop and slipped it inside his pocket. He would examine it later.
‘What the hell is going on out here?’ They all turned. Bernard had hurried out of the hotel, his bony wrists and ankles poking out of a hotel dressing gown.
Nicholas fluttered. ‘There’s been a bit of an…incident. It’s Simon…’
‘Oh God, what’s he done to my Styrax?’
‘It’s not what he’s done to it… It’s more what it’s done to him .’
‘What?’
Mervyn moved to one side so Bernard could see Simon’s crumpled body.
‘Is that Simon? What happened?’
‘He’s gassed himself with the Styrax exhaust fumes,’ said Nicholas, calm and brutal in equal measure.
‘Oh good Christ!’ shrieked Bernard, his spindly legs propelling him to the Styrax. ‘You mean it was left running? Without fuel? The engine—is it damaged?’
Nicholas rolled his eyes to the ink-black heavens. ‘Such compassion…’
Prickly as ever, Bernard advanced on Nicholas. ‘What did you just say, you old pouf?’
‘Just admiring your priorities, Bernard old thing. They always said you’d step over the body of your mother to get your hands on a valuable piece of merchandise. Now’s your chance to rehearse.’
Black clouds gathered on Bernard’s face. ‘Look, if he wants to end his short and worthless life that’s his decision, but I took three months to make this thing, it’s a piece of history and I’ve got a right to know if it’s damaged.’ He pulled the bonnet up and dived in to check the engine. ‘After all, the little shit hadn’t paid me yet, so to all intents and purposes, it’s still mine.’
Mervyn suddenly realised he was shaking. ‘I’m sorry, everyone, I’ve really got to go in and lie down.’
Nicholas grabbed his arm. He was shaking too. ‘Of course you do, sweetheart. We should all go in and go to bed. We’ve all had a nasty shock.’
‘I
‘A suicide note.’
‘It might not be a suicide note,’ said Mervyn.
‘Most likely it’ll be a letter to the hotel, asking for a refund on his room.’
‘Smurf, please!’ Nicholas snapped.
Mervyn opened the flap and pulled out a white slip of paper. He unfolded it and read it to himself. It was a beautifully handwritten note, explaining in three neat paragraphs that Simon had been depressed for some time about the futility of his life, that he hated his day job, that he only lived for the conventions, and that the rumoured new series of Vixens from the Void would inevitably lead to the BBC withdrawing the licence for his little world. He’d seen it happen to other shows like Star Trek and he didn’t want to live with being increasingly marginalised and pitied.
‘He committed suicide all right.’ Mervyn slipped the note back in the envelope. ‘He’s signed it and everything.’
‘Well he would,’ Morris’s voice rumbled, causing Mervyn to jump.
‘What do you mean “Well he would”?’
‘Well it’s Simon, isn’t it? If he was alive he’d be the first to tell you how valuable his autograph is now he’s dead.’ He scratched the scrubland on his chin. ‘Does that make sense? Oh well. You know what I mean.’ He nodded casually at the letter. ‘If you don’t mind, once the police have finished with it I’d like to have it for VixEnterprises. It might offset the losses from this year’s con. I’ll put it on eBay. It’s what he would have wanted.’
They all nodded at the grotesque idea, more out of shock than anything.
‘We ought to call the police,’ said Morris at last. ‘I’ll go and tell the hotel what’s happened. I’m sure they’ll want to stop people coming into the car park.’
Everyone nodded again and Morris disappeared.
It was only at that point, when Mervyn was closing the Styrax door, that he noticed something else inside.
Something resting on the floor.
He looked round. Nobody was watching.
He scooped up the something gracefully in one low swoop and slipped it inside his pocket. He would examine it later.
‘What the hell is going on out here?’ They all turned. Bernard had hurried out of the hotel, his bony wrists and ankles poking out of a hotel dressing gown.
Nicholas fluttered. ‘There’s been a bit of an…incident. It’s Simon…’
‘Oh God, what’s he done to my Styrax?’
‘It’s not what he’s done to it… It’s more what it’s done to him .’
‘What?’
Mervyn moved to one side so Bernard could see Simon’s crumpled body.
‘Is that Simon? What happened?’
‘He’s gassed himself with the Styrax exhaust fumes,’ said Nicholas, calm and brutal in equal measure.
‘Oh good Christ!’ shrieked Bernard, his spindly legs propelling him to the Styrax. ‘You mean it was left running? Without fuel? The engine—is it damaged?’
Nicholas rolled his eyes to the ink-black heavens. ‘Such compassion…’
Prickly as ever, Bernard advanced on Nicholas. ‘What did you just say, you old pouf?’
‘Just admiring your priorities, Bernard old thing. They always said you’d step over the body of your mother to get your hands on a valuable piece of merchandise. Now’s your chance to rehearse.’
Black clouds gathered on Bernard’s face. ‘Look, if he wants to end his short and worthless life that’s his decision, but I took three months to make this thing, it’s a piece of history and I’ve got a right to know if it’s damaged.’ He pulled the bonnet up and dived in to check the engine. ‘After all, the little shit hadn’t paid me yet, so to all intents and purposes, it’s still mine.’
Mervyn suddenly realised he was shaking. ‘I’m sorry, everyone, I’ve really got to go in and lie down.’
Nicholas grabbed his arm. He was shaking too. ‘Of course you do, sweetheart. We should all go in and go to bed. We’ve all had a nasty shock.’
‘I
Similar Books
