There were turf wars, of course, but Metro was never afraid of a little confrontation. On one occasion he caught a rival artist covering up Metro’s tag with his own. Metro beat him up, stripped him naked, and left him tied to a lamppost on the platform, a huge letter ‘M’ sprayed across his face.
Those were the days.
His life is very different now. His art is less refined. Resculpting someone’s face doesn’t require the same finesse and attention to detail.
He continues to pound the bag, even as he hears the approach of footsteps behind him.
‘All right, Ozone,’ he says.
A figure shuffles round to the front, where he can be seen.
‘How’d you know it was me?’ says the arrival.
‘Are you serious?’ Metro asks.
Ozone is also not this man’s real name. It derives from his penchant for dousing himself in vast quantities of anti-perspirant, body spray, foot deodorant, hair product, and aftershave. Ozone Fisher likes to smell nice and doesn’t give a toss that he makes the air unbreathable for everyone else in his vicinity.
He likes to look good, too. He prefers leather jackets and highly polished shoes to sportswear, his thick hair slicked into precisely the right position, and his teeth gleaming. He brushes and flosses after every meal, just as his mother told him.
‘Wanna see something funny?’ Ozone asks.
Thump.
‘You’re not going to take your clothes off again, are you?’
Ozone looks hurt. He reaches into his pocket and takes out a top-of-the-range iPhone. ‘It’s a video.’
Thump.
‘It’s not another one of those cat videos, is it? You know I can’t stand them.’
‘Better than that. This one’s got Kieran Willis and Lee Hassell in it.’
Thump.
‘Oh, yeah? Doing what, exactly? Can’t be anything more stupid than the stuff they usually get up to.’
‘Oh, this one is. They’ll never live this one down.’
Thump.
‘Go ’ead, then. What is it?’
‘This is a video of the pair of them getting the shit kicked out of them.’
Metro is suddenly interested. If this is a move by some opposition muscle . . .
‘Who does the kicking?’
Ozone shows his pearly whites. ‘You’ll never believe it.’
Metro stops hitting the bag. He feels like landing one on Ozone instead.
‘Are you gonna fucking tell me, or what?’
‘It’s a girl.’
‘What is?’
‘The one who does them in. It’s only a fucking girl.’
And now Metro is really interested. ‘Show me.’
Ozone plays the video for him on his iPhone. He laughs hysterically, but Metro doesn’t join in. Metro is more concerned with studying this woman’s moves and appreciating her skill and power.
‘When was this?’ he asks.
‘Last night, just after they’d had a few bevvies in the Barrel. Awesome, isn’t it?’
‘Do we know what it’s about?’
Ozone puts his phone back in his pocket. ‘Ah, now that’s where it gets even more interesting. Apparently, this woman – whoever she is – was in the Barrel some time before the fight, and she was asking about you.’
‘Me? Why?’
‘Didn’t say. It was you she wanted, though. You dumped any blonde bunny-boilers lately?’
Metro ignores the question. ‘I think you need to pay a visit to Lee Hassell. Find out what he said when he was acting like this woman’s bitch.’
Ozone grins again, as though he’d been hoping for a mission like this.
When he’s gone, Metro stares at the bag, but in his mind’s eye he still sees the video.
He didn’t tell Ozone, but he’s been expecting something from this girl. Just not so soon, and not so dramatic. She’s got some tasty moves on her. Could be more of a problem than he thought.
But all problems are solvable.
Thump.
27
Cody is shrugging on his coat, walking along the corridor, when he meets Webley coming the other way.
Shit.
‘Hang on,’ she says. ‘I’ll get my coat.’
‘No, it’s okay,’ he tells her.
She halts. ‘Well, we need to talk to Fulton, don’t we?’
‘Fulton?’
‘Yes. After what Ann Staples told us, we should look into this possible animosity between him and Prior.’
‘Oh, yeah. We can do that later.’
‘So . . . where are you going now?’
‘I need to talk to someone else.’
‘Okay,’ she says, but she doesn’t budge.
‘I’m off to have another word with Sara Prior.’
‘Sara Prior? Well, okay. All right if I come with you?’
‘I, er, I don’t think that’s necessary. No point in making this more difficult for her than it needs to be.’
‘More difficult than . . . Cody, you did hear what the boss said earlier, didn’t you? About turning up the heat on Sara?’
‘I heard it. And don’t you think I’m perfectly capable of doing that?’
‘I . . . Well, what about bringing her in? Put her in a formal interview situation? Maybe we’d get more out of her that way.’
Cody shakes his head. ‘This way’s fine. See you later.’
He starts to move away, but she grabs hold of his arms. ‘Cody, I really think—’
‘Don’t, Megan. I know what I’m doing. Can I go now?’
She releases him, and as he turns to leave, he knows he’s just shattered a piece of her trust in him.
*
Sara seems surprised to see him, but not unhappy about it. More hygge than Scandinavian chill.
She makes him tea again. Resumes her cross-legged position on the sofa opposite him.
‘Has there been some progress on the investigation?’ she asks.
Cody is unprepared for this most natural of questions. ‘Sorry? Oh. Yes. We’ve been analysing forensic evidence, and we’re following up some leads from those. We’ve also been talking to the people Matthew worked with. They’ve been really helpful.’
‘Good. Do you have any suspects?’
Other than you? Cody thinks.
‘No strong suspects at the moment, but we’re hopeful.’
She nods in a way that signals it’s the answer she was expecting.
‘How have you been managing?’ he asks.
‘As well as can be expected. It’s not easy.’
‘No.’ He pauses. ‘Do you mind if I show you something?’
‘What is it?’
‘It’s a video. It was taken last night.’
She sips her tea. ‘All right.’
He puts down his tea and moves across to her. Sits down and takes out his mobile phone.
As he plays the video, he searches her face. She gives nothing away, but then this woman has been trained to withstand the most severe forms of interrogation.
‘I don’t understand,’ she says when the recording finishes. ‘What is that?’
‘I was hoping you could tell me.’
She looks directly at him. ‘I’m not sure what you mean.’
‘The attacker in that video is a woman.’
‘Yes, I gathered that.’
‘It looks a bit like you.’
‘Do you think so?’
‘Yes, I do. Do you have a dark hoody like that?’
‘I do, but don’t a lot of people? Don’t you?’
‘What this woman did to those two lads was . . . unusual, to say the least. I don’t think there are many women who are capable of it.’
She smiles. ‘There you go again with your gender stereotyping, Sergeant Cody. Have you heard yourself? You find a video of a woman overcoming two young men, and automatically assume there is only one woman in the country capable of such a feat? What century is this, Sergeant?’
‘
Your background isn’t the only reason I came to you.’
‘It isn’t?’
‘No. This fight was caught on a CCTV camera in Bootle, just a few minutes from where your husband worked.’
‘Ah, I see. So, two lads get beaten up in Bootle, my husband worked in Bootle, so it must be me – is that what you’re saying?’
‘You need to add into the mix that the woman in the video looks like you.’
‘No, she doesn’t.’
Cody sighs. ‘It was late at night. The lads had been drinking. One of them still had a bottle in his hand. My guess is that they had just come out of a pub called The Tar Barrel. Have you ever been in that pub?’
She shakes her head emphatically. ‘No.’
‘You seem very definite.’
‘I have never been drinking in any pub in Bootle, so that’s an easy one. Next?’
‘What about your husband? Did he ever drink in there?’
‘I doubt it, unless it was with people from work. I certainly never went there with him.’
‘So if I showed your photograph to the staff and customers at the pub, they wouldn’t recognise you?’
‘I don’t see how they could.’
It was a bluff, and she’s called it. Cody knows only too well that the regulars at The Tar Barrel wouldn’t give the time of day to a copper.
‘Mrs Prior—’
‘Sara.’
‘Sara. The two lads in that video are nasty pieces of work. They’re involved in drugs and gangs. Making enemies out of them wouldn’t be a wise move.’
‘It’s a good job I haven’t, then, isn’t it? I’m sorry, but did you want a biscuit with your tea?’
Cody looks across at his cup where he left it on the table. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve had any blinding flashes of insight into the meaning of the message that Matthew left on your phone?’
‘I’m afraid not. It makes no sense at all.’
‘You will let us know if you figure it out, won’t you?’
‘Of course. It might be important.’
‘Hmm,’ says Cody. And then: ‘Sara, I want you to understand that we really are doing everything we can to catch Matthew’s murderers. But if there’s a vital piece of information being kept from us, then it could greatly hinder the investigation.’
‘I fully understand.’
‘I also want to stress that we’re dealing with highly dangerous people here. You saw what they did to Matthew. I think you’re a very brave woman, but there’s a fine line between bravery and foolhardiness. I don’t want to see you ending up like your husband.’
Sara puts down her empty cup. ‘You’re a good man, Sergeant Cody. I have no doubt you will do everything to find Matthew’s killers. But please don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.’
Cody smiles at her and hopes that she isn’t overestimating her own abilities.
*
Sara sees Cody out of the house and goes back inside. When he gets to the street and starts walking to his car, he can’t stop thinking about her. She is one impressive woman. Capable of killing, yes, but not a murderer.
And how do I know that? he asks himself.
She’s definitely up to something, isn’t she? That was her in the video – I know it was. Sneaking around at night, beating up scallies. I should report my suspicions to Blunt. Get her put under surveillance. Find out what the hell she’s playing at.
So why don’t I intend to do that?
Because she’s not a murderer.
No, there’s more to it than that.
It’s because . . . It’s because she’s like me. There, I said it. She knows something about whoever killed Matthew, just as I know something about the people who mutilated me and killed my partner. She’s not revealing that information, just as I choose not to. She’s undertaking some secret mission against her enemy, just as I am. She’s dealing with past trauma, just as I’m trying to do.
She’s me. Sara Prior is me.
That’s how I know.
28
Ozone Fisher doesn’t like the smell of this place. These old blocks of flats always stink. Too many people crammed into too small an area. You get the mingling of stale food, animals, rotting garbage, cheap air fresheners and bodily functions. It’s disgusting. How can people live like this?
As the lift finally arrives and the doors squeal with the effort of opening, he expects to be hit by another wall of stomach-heaving odour. Needs must, though, because no way is he walking up fifteen flights of stairs.
A large middle-aged woman with a limp bundles herself and her shopping trolley out of the lift. She takes a look at Ozone and wrinkles her nose. He takes it as a signal that things aren’t pleasant in there. He steps inside and takes a cautious sniff, and is surprised to find that it’s not pungent enough to penetrate his barrier of freshness.
He presses the button and experiences a jolt as the lift drags itself wearily back up the shaft. While he waits, he keeps his back to the door and studies his warped reflection in the finger-smudged steel. He’s happy with what he sees.
When the door opens on the fifteenth floor, the bottom of the lift doesn’t quite line up with the corridor, and Ozone catches the toe of his shoe on the steel edging.
‘Shit!’ he says.
He crouches to study his shoe. There’s a definite scrape there.
‘Fuck!’
And now he’s in a bad mood that will colour his actions for the rest of the day.
He finds the right door, raps on it sharply. While he waits, he breathes into the palm of his cupped hand, then takes a good sniff of the captured gases.
Could be better, he thinks, but this isn’t exactly a date. It’ll do.
When he hears the chain being put on the door, he slips his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket.
The door opens a fraction. An eye surrounded by a cluster of freckles appears in the crack.
‘All right, O!’ says Lee Hassell. ‘What’s up?’
‘Open the door, Lee,’ says Ozone.
‘Why? What’s going on?’
‘Just open the door.’
‘Er, yeah, okay. Hang on.’
The door closes again. The chain is taken off. The door opens.
And now Ozone can see that Hassell’s nose is twice its usual size and bent to one side, and that a crusted scab has formed on his lip.
‘You on your own?’ he asks.
‘Er, yeah. My nan’s gone out to bingo.’
‘Then I’ll come in.’
‘Oh. Er, yeah, sure.’
Hassell steps out of the way, allowing Ozone to pass.
Ozone looks around the flat. It’s full of nan stuff. Ornaments and knitting and faded cushions and crossword magazines. He takes a seat on the sofa and hears the springs whine in complaint.
Hassell bounces around nervously in front of him. ‘What’s happening, O?’
‘You tell me. That’s a heck of a schnozz you’ve got on you there.’
Hassell touches his nose gingerly. ‘Yeah. I, er, I fell over, like. I was a bit pissed.’
‘Have you seen a doc? It looks broken to me.’
‘Nah, it’s fine. Look, do you want a cup of coffee or something? My nan’s got custard tarts in the fridge. I’m sure she won’t mind if you have one.’
‘No, thanks. Sit down, will you, Lee? You’re giving me eyestrain the way you keep bobbing about.’
‘Yeah. Sorry. Yeah.’
He takes a seat on a winged chair by the window, but his legs are still restless.
‘Have you seen anything of Kieran Willis lately?’
‘Kieran? Yeah, I had a few bevvies with him last night. That’s when this happened.’ He points to his nose.
‘I imagine he’s got a bit of a sore head today.’
Hassell looks at Ozone as though he’s trying to work out how much he already knows.
‘Probably. We did have a bit of a session, like.’
‘Whereabouts?’
�
�The Barrel.’
‘Is that where you fell over?’
‘No. That was outside. I tripped on a broken pavement or something. I should sue the council.’
He smiles as he says this. Ozone doesn’t.
‘Meet anyone else while you were in the pub?’
‘Oh, just a few of the lads.’
‘What about women?’
‘Women?’
‘Yeah. You know. The opposite sex. The curvy ones who smell nice.’
Hassell pauses for far too long. ‘Actually, now you come to mention it, there was this one bird. I think she was foreign. That’s right – it’s coming back to me now. She was asking about Metro.’
‘Metro?’
‘Yeah. Don’t worry, though. Me and Kieran had a quiet word with her. She won’t be going there again.’
‘Are you sure about that?’
‘Dead sure. We got the message across all right.’
‘I can believe it. I bet she got out of there sharpish.’
‘Too right she did.’
‘Never to be seen again.’
‘Is right. Stupid bitch.’
Ozone doesn’t move. He remains on the sofa, legs crossed, hands still deep in his pockets. His eyes bore into Hassell, who can’t return his gaze.
Eventually he says, ‘I take it you haven’t seen the video.’
Hassell’s eyes are suddenly blinking as furiously as those of his drinking buddy. ‘Video? What video?’
‘The one of you pair getting the shit kicked out of you last night. By a girl.’
‘I, er . . . what?’
‘I’d show it to you, but to be honest, I can’t be arsed. You can take a look yourself later. You’re a celebrity, Lee. For all the wrong reasons, like, but you’re definitely a video star now.’
Hassell goes quiet, which Ozone thinks is probably the wisest move right now.
‘Before we go any further,’ says Ozone, ‘you need to understand the rules.’
‘Rules?’
‘Yeah. The first one is no more lies, okay? The second is no leaving anything out. I’ve already spoken to Billy and others who were in the pub last night, and I’ve had a quiet word with Kieran.’
‘You’ve spoken to Kieran?’
‘I have. Despite what he may have told you, he was fully conscious when he was lying on that pavement. He was just pretending to be out so that he didn’t get another kicking. He heard pretty much every word of what was said between you and the girl. And now I want to hear it from you.’
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