#159

Some things in life will always remain a mystery. The wheelchair on top of St Mary's I suspect is one of those things. If anything, it should go down in history as a personal challenge.... something one man had to do to free himself from the shadow of another.

But mystery or not, the very obvious consequence of the wheelchair's reappearance will be an almost certain visit from the Boys in Blue. As soon as the chair is positively identified as the same belonging to John, the police will be around wanting to speak with him. But I'm not at all worried, and quite honestly I think it is much less suspect the police discovering John has left in that way rather than him being reported missing. Also, at least in this way I brought the police to my own door and so could properly prepare for it.

By preparing I of course mean getting rid of certain bits of incriminating evidence - clothes and all the things John certainly would not have left behind if he had really deserted ship. So today I passed my time doing that. It wasn't difficult. One black bag full of clothes and shoes, knotted at the top, and plonked down outside The Imperial Cancer Research Charity Shop.

Concerning John's glasses and 'Super Dong' ankle chain, well, I've put them in a special place for now. The chain because it is too distinctive to give or throw away, and the glasses because of an emotional attachment I have to them. They were so much a part of John's face, that pounding them to dust or something, feels as though it would erase his existence completely and I don't think I could bare that just at this time. They are quite safe where they are, and anyway, the police will be here on routine questioning duty not to search the apartment. Still, they are certainly things I will need to carefully dispose of in the future.

By far the hardest part of my preparations was setting Marlowe free. He'd not even been with me for twenty four hours, but in just that short time he had brought a special warmth to the apartment and relieved me of feelings of sadness and isolation. But keeping him here was never really an option, it could only have brought a snooping Mr Bartholemew into the yard, and the last person I need finding a foot in my window box is him. So at just gone eleven this morning, after making sure the coast was clear, I opened the front door and let Marlowe out. It was then when I remembered just why I had dog-napped him in the first place. Instead of scooting down the yard, out the gate and home, he veered left and leapt straight up at the windowbox that I used to put his meat in. Thankfully this time he didn't remain there long, but it's still a major concern. Over the next days I will need to re-educate Marlowe and I just hope that won't require another visit to the garden centre.