Read Ramsey Campbell - 1976 - The Doll Who Ate His Mother for Free Online Page A

the Sunday papers wants it as a serial. It’s
to be about how the man who killed your brother was caught, written almost as
it happens. There’s never been a book like this one’s going to be. I can write
it with your help.”
                 “How
can I help?” she said, not at all sure that she wanted to give him Rob to use
in a book with a title like those he’d mentioned.
                 “Well,
do you remember what the man who killed your brother looked like? Average
height, I see. Not as tall as me, then? Don’t worry, nobody could expect you to be certain in the circumstances. What about his
clothes?”
                 “I
thought you were supposed to have met him.”
                 “Yes,
but years ago. I’ll tell you about that in a moment. You can’t remember
anything at all specific? Never mind. Still, you never know what you may have
noticed that might come back to you. That could be one way you’d help me, but
if you can’t, it doesn’t matter. Also, if I can be a bit cheeky, I wondered if
you’d be able to help me investigate a little. A woman might spot things I’d miss,
you see. Besides, there might be sources of information you’d know that I
wouldn’t. All that is no reason for you to help, of course. But it struck me you might want to help catch the man who killed your brother.”
                 Of
course she would. If there really were a man who had done all that to Rob, then
he would be the guilty one, not Clare. But there was something missing from
Edmund’s sales talk. Yes. “Isn’t it up to the police to catch him?” she said.
                 “Yes,
it is, and they will. But they won’t want us tagging along while they do so.
Don’t get the idea I want us to arrest the man. All we’re going to try to do is
track him down and tell them. But, generally speaking, the police here won’t
help me, and I don’t intend to help them at my own expense. I shouldn’t think
you’re too fond of them yourself. Let me reassure you on one thing, though.
This man doesn’t kill, so we’re not putting anyone at risk by keeping away from
the police. I’m sure he didn’t mean to kill your brother, though he certainly
meant to do what he did afterward. So I’ve no qualms about keeping quiet. You
see, I have information the police don’t have.”
                 He
waited until she said, “What information is that?”
                 “I’ll
tell you. Just one more thing.” My God, she thought,
he’s a writer all right. He’s making sure the suspense is killing. “Tell me
honestly,” he said, “does the thought of my making money out of this offend
you?”
                 “No,
I don’t think so. It’s your job. Now come on, Edmund.” She’d call him Ted when she was more sure of him. She
sat forward, prepared at last. “What exactly do you know? What is this man
like?”
                 “He
wasn’t a man when I knew him. He was about eleven years old,” he said. “I was
in my last year at school. Both of us went to St. Joseph’s in Mulgrave Street. You know Mulgrave Street, off Princes Avenue by the statue of Christ—of course you do, sorry. I
didn’t make grammar school—not quite good enough in the exams. I lived a few
miles away, in Aigburth , but my folks had heard St.
Joseph’s was a good school. Besides, we were right in the middle-class
prejudice belt in Aigburth ; they didn’t want me
learning it at school too. So they dumped me in working-class prejudice
instead. Still, it helped me to learn about people.
                 “Now,
I must have seen this lad around the school for years without noticing him. Six
years, if he was eleven. But you know how boys are—someone that much younger
was beneath my notice. Then one day I did notice him, on the bus to town one
Saturday.
                 “He
got on a few stops before Mulgrave Street. I had