by Rob Parker
Amongst all the circling what-if’s was one big concrete fact, cemented in place by Okpara’s visit: whoever had tried to kill him was still out there. And the longer he was stuck here, the more he became a sitting duck, protection or no protection. Besides, Roisin was stuck in a ward somewhere nearby too. If they wanted to get to him, they could go after her.
He didn’t like it. At all.
What were his options? Sit tight, and wait for Okpara to do his job and make his enquiries? Thor knew just how the community would receive him, and it filled him with little confidence. The stubborn streak in him begged for an audience, and it told him he could get more done by himself.
He couldn’t stay there. Staying there, with a wannabe killer at large, was suicide. And if he left, then his adversaries would be on the back foot, not knowing where he’d got to.
He had to get out of there. As soon as possible.
18
Visiting hour came and went with no visitors. It surprised Thor in precisely no way, so he focused instead on a plan to escape, and most importantly, how he was going to get past the policeman on the door.
He had been stripped out of his clothes, which had then been dry cleaned and folded in the wooden locker by his bed. His wallet, keys, and phone, blank-screened thanks to its battery running down, sat on top of them. He had been dressed in a backless gown with demeaning paper knickers, and tried not to think of how or when that had happened. The nurse said he had been awake for a bit when he came in, not that he could remember any of that.
As soon as it hit eleven o’clock, he got up and dressed. He winced as he pulled his t-shirt on, but overall he felt pretty good. His neck was fine now, and his head even felt clearer than it had done in days.
Fully clothed, he did a sweep of the room. He was going to pretend he needed the loo, and try to engineer a diversion somehow, but before he could take another step, the curtain swished open.
Thor turned, expecting to explain himself to a nurse, but was stunned to see Lionel Clyne standing there. Clyne looked resplendent in a black suit with an open-necked white shirt, his face clean shaven with wrinkles that he’d adopted as his own rather than try to hide— which looked to be about the only natural thing about his appearance. He beamed at Thor, who stared back at him with wide eyes.
‘Mr Loxley, I’m so glad to see you’re alright. God, what a terrible accident.’
‘How did you get in here?’ Thor said, backing up to the bed, his mind bolting. With no will, the field would end up for sale, in would swing Clyne and COMUDEV. The man who would benefit most from Thor’s death was right here in his hospital ward.
‘I . . . walked?’ Clyne replied, answering Thor’s own question with a question of his own.
‘There’s supposed to be a policeman on the door.’ ‘Well, there isn’t now.’
Thor felt the thinly veiled menace in Clyne’s words, but he couldn’t tell if he was just being paranoid. Where the hell was that policeman?
‘Visiting just finished,’ Thor said, gathering his wallet, phone, and keys and putting them in his pocket. He was not planning to hang about.
‘I asked them for just two minutes, given how close I was to arriving.’
‘And they just let you have that, did they?’
‘It’s surprising what you can get if you ask nicely.’
‘Have you ever thought of asking me what you want to know—
nicely?’
Clyne smiled, showing his pearly whites.
‘I really do like you, you know. You’re so direct, it’s refreshing. I usually just deal with yes men. You know, yes sir, no sir, three bags full, sir. You certainly make things far more interesting.’
‘I know what you want, Clyne.’
Clyne’s eyes narrowed. ‘Do you? Do you really?’
‘My land. You want my field for your little building project.’ ‘That would be nice, yes. Do you fancy giving it to me?’
‘You’re a slippery customer, Clyne. What I fancy is telling you to fuck off.’
Clyne laughed. ‘And there he goes again. I did picture you’d feel something like that, although I could never have put it as succinctly.’ He reached into his jacket pocket, causing Thor to tense visibly. ‘Calm down, Mr Loxley. If I was going to do something stupid, I definitely wouldn’t do it here.’
Thor’s eyes widened at the prospect. It certainly seemed that this snake was the man behind his problems, so much so that he was almost toying with Thor.
Clyne pulled his hand out, and in it was a piece of paper—a cheque.
‘I’m so grateful that you came to the meeting yesterday. I hope you can see what it is I’m trying to achieve with the Crook’s Hollow project. Affordable homes are such a big requirement these days in the development sector, and as the UK economy continues to flounder like a drunk lying in a pool of his own vomit, that necessity is more pressing than ever. We can do real good in Crook’s Hollow— together. Please see this gesture as an attempt to get you on my side.’
Thor glanced down at the cheque. It was made out to him for 1.2 million pounds. Thor’s knees felt suddenly weak.
‘A bribe,’ he said.
‘Not a bribe at all! That’s for the purchase of your field. I did a land registry search, I know it’s in your name. That’s what I’ll give you for it.’
‘You want to buy it off me?’
Thor stared at the cheque, unable almost to look away. It would change his whole life… but his family would despise him forever. If there was a future to make things up with his family, it would be lost if he accepted.
Words would hardly come, but he tried his best to tap into his bravado. ‘Bit of a change of tactic for you, this.’
Clyne cocked a perfectly shaped eyebrow. ‘We all try to get where we are going the best way we know how.’
‘Cut the bollocks. You think, after trying to have me killed, you can just pay your way out of it?’
Clyne threw his head back and laughed. ‘Oh dear. The bump on your head must be worse than we thought. I’ll get the nurse in here.’
‘Answer the question, you wrinkled old shit.’
The bite in Thor’s words seemed to make Clyne hesitate.
‘Take the cheque,’ he said. ‘Keep it for a couple of days. And think long and hard about what it means for you if you accept, and what it means for you if you don’t. Forty-eight hours from now, I cancel the cheque, and things may get a lot less civilised. You cash the cheque in the meantime, and I’ll assume we have a deal and I’ll send a notary over to you with some papers to sign. You’re above the post office, I believe?’
Thor remained silent.
‘Gosh, that place is going to get so much busier,’ said Clyne.
Thor had heard enough. He needed to get out, find Roisin, and speak to his family, and he couldn’t bear another minute of Clyne’s presence. The guy gave him the creeps with his goading riddles and his arrogance, not to mention that Thor was now sure Clyne had tried to have him killed, not once but twice, and was brazen enough to visit his quarry in hospital with a different attempt at getting his own way.
Clyne had said there was no policeman on the door—and that was enough to push Thor into action. Shoving Clyne aside, he ran from the curtained cubicle and headed for the door, leaving Clyne with a surprised smile on his face. Thor could see no PC on the other side of the door, so he bounded through at speed. Out into the hallway, he was facing a long corridor bathed in insipid halogen, with a nurses’ station to his left and double doors to his right.
In an instant, he chose right, and burst through the double doors. His mind was fixed on Roisin and getting to her, but he knew he didn’t have much time. What was it Okpara said?
The women’s ward along the hall.
He ran past some vending machines, doors he guessed opened on private rooms, and a group of people in street clothes leaving another set of double doors. Thor thought that must be another ward. He got to the doors just as the last person was ushered out by a n
urse. Seeing Thor, she held her hand up.
‘Hang on, no more visitors, it took me donkey’s years just to get this lot out.’ She wore a weary, hangdog expression.
‘Roisin Crook, is she in there?’ Thor asked, panting. ‘Who are you?’
‘Her… boyfriend.’ They’d never had the discussion of putting a formal name to their relationship, but despite how awkward it felt, Thor found himself enjoying saying it, plus he knew it would get results.
‘Well, boyfriend, Miss Crook was discharged this morning.’
That stopped Thor stone dead, but he knew he couldn’t stay. ‘Thanks,’ he said before running down the corridor. He was confused. Confused that he didn’t know. It made him worry—surely she would have tried to contact him? But then he remembered that his phone was dead.
He needed to get out of there, then he needed a phone charger, and he needed to call her. Only when they were together, and he could see she was OK, would he feel safe. Because he damn well didn’t feel safe in here. Would he feel safe at home? He doubted it. But at least out there he could hide out, and turn enough rocks over to reveal something which would tie Clyne to the attempts on his life.
19
Thor took a taxi from the hospital back to Crook’s Hollow, which cost him twelve quid. He wouldn’t usually spring for something like that, not with a bus service he could hop on to for a fraction of the cost, but with a cheque for 1.2 million in his pocket, he felt a bit flush.
The Hollow was situated almost exactly in between the two cities of Manchester and Liverpool, and about five miles from Warrington itself. It took about twenty-five minutes of stop-start Monday lunchtime traffic. Not to mention, it was heaving cats and dogs, and the roadways were so awash he could probably have Jet Ski’d home, given the chance.
‘Have you ever seen anything like this?’ asked the cabbie in a thick Liverpudlian twang.
‘Never,’ Thor replied. ‘You think they’ll be right? The reports of flooding?’
‘It’s town I worry about. The River Mersey runs right through it.’ The driver said Mersey like a Frenchman might say thank you. ‘The villages will be fine because there’s no large bodies of running water to overflow.’
That made Thor feel better; after all, there was no better source of information than the humble cabbie.
When they got to Crook’s Hollow, after some idle chit-chat about football teams (the cabbie was a red from Manchester, Thor a red from Liverpool, yet they somehow managed not to come to blows), Thor got out at The Traveller’s Rest. He took the rear entrance next to the car park, away from any eyes that might catch him going in the front.
As he entered the back bar, once the Smoker’s Bar before the EU decided they’d had quite enough of that, he saw the old Guinness clock over the dartboard reading 12:03. The bar itself was double sided, with one side for the back bar, a small door, and then the main lounge on the other. It let the same barman, usually Thor, cater for both sides, and it was split accordingly. Locals in the back, tourists in the front.
Martin Campbell came through from the front, and proceeded to empty a bowl of dry roasted nuts into a dish by the door frame, which he nibbled on throughout the day like a sparrow at a garden feeder. He jumped when he caught sight of Thor.
‘Christ, I thought you were one of the locals in early. I haven’t even connected the cask yet.’
Martin knew, above all else, how particular the locals could be about their beer. He was a nervous sort, a perennially negative soul whose glass was always half empty and even then the half left was arsenic. With his apparent discomfort with social interaction, one was forced to ponder how he’d ended up a pub landlord in the first place.
Martin changed tack quickly. ‘God, Thor how are you? Sorry, you just… caught me on the hop.’
Martin had been at the meeting yesterday when Thor had almost been jackknifed quite literally into an early grave. ‘I’m OK, I guess,’ he replied. ‘I’ve just come from the hospital.’
‘I wasn’t expecting to see you back in today, so I’ve got your shift tonight covered already. Is that OK? I’m sorry about that, after what happened I just assumed…’
‘It’s fine, Martin. Really. But if you’re feeling generous, could I borrow a phone charger and a pint of cask? When it’s ready of course.’
‘Of course,’ said Martin. ‘I’m glad you’re alright.’ He shuffled off to locate the charger.
Thor watched him go, feeling a bit funny. He couldn’t place it, but there was something about the way Martin was acting that didn’t sit right. It was like he had caught him up to no good; he had explained himself very quickly, and seemed quite flustered.
It could also be the nature of our relationship, thought Thor. Martin was his boss after all, and despite him always being considerate and fair towards Thor, there was still an employee–employer relationship there. Perhaps he felt sheepish about giving Thor’s shift away so hastily, without checking with Thor first?
Or maybe, Thor thought, I’m just fucking paranoid. He looked forward to that beer, as he felt it would give him calm and clarity. He was always a better pool player after he’d had one or two, maybe even three or four. How he could use such confidence and judgement today. He slumped on the bar stool.
As if to strike out any notion of not being paranoid, the back door opened with a clang, causing Thor to jump in his seat. He turned to see one of the oldest locals walk in, Pat Hurst. Despite being utterly soaked through, Pat looked like the human incarnation of an old English sheepdog, only a fraction of the size and with a flatcap balanced on his unruly grey hair. He walked almost at half speed and could barely see Thor through his wild, sodden fringe.
‘’Ow do, Thor. A pint please,’ he said as he took off his cap and actually wrung it out with a wet dribble onto the floor of the pub.
‘I’m not actually on today, Pat, but… ah, what the hell,’ said Thor as he hopped from his seat and went round to the other side of the bar. ‘Martin is changing the cask, but is there anything else I can get you?’
‘Nay, jus’ cask,’ Pat replied. He had brought an odour in with him— the outdoors, dirty wet clothes, and a soupçon of poor hygiene.
Thor shrugged and started pulling a pint from the cask pump regardless. He knew better than to argue with Pat, who was a stickler when it came to his beer. As he was pulling what looked to be the grimmest pint in the pub’s history, Thor remembered that Pat worked as a farmhand up on Crook’s Farm.
‘How are things up there today, what with the weather and all?’ he asked.
“Tis teeming, and awe’m jiggered,’ Pat said. His thick Lancashire accent with its quaint phrases always took a moment to decipher. In this instance, it was raining heavily and Pat was tired. ‘Suff’s buggered already.’
Thor had to think about that one. ‘Suff’s?’
‘Drains, tha doowerstop.’ Drains, you doorstop. Sounded like Crook’s farm was in a bit of trouble with the excess water.
‘And the plans? I assume they’ve been talking about it?’ Thor put the pint on the bar.
‘Plans? Dunno. By ’eck, tis flatter than Chernobyl.’
Thor frowned. Hurst didn’t know anything, and he thought his pint was flatter than Chernobyl, a phrase he’d heard Pat use only a couple of hundred times before, even when the pint in question was just fine.
Still, Thor had learned the farm was in a bit of turmoil with the weather at least. It made him even more anxious to see that Roisin was alright.
Martin reappeared, greeted Pat with an ‘’Ow do’ of his own, and handed Thor the charger.
‘Thanks,’ Thor said. ‘Mind if I plug it in here?’
‘Go for it,’ Martin answered, before catching sight of Pat’s desperate pint. He shook his head. ‘Couldn’t wait, could we Pat?’ he said as he pulled the freshest looking pint of creamy ale into a new glass for Thor.
‘Bugger,’ muttered Pat, watching the gold flow.
Martin turned to Thor as he was plugging the charger into a
socket under the bar. ‘Is there anything I can do for you, Thor?’
Thor saw the earnest honesty in Martin’s eyes. He felt in his gut as if he could trust him, even if he didn’t know what Martin knew about things, nor what his stance on the building development might be.
‘Not right now, Martin, but thanks. I’ve got to get a few things straight, but if I end up in a pickle, I’ll let you know.’
‘You and getting in a pickle is pretty much iron clad. In that case, I won’t go too far.’ Martin patted his shoulder as he left for the front lounge.
20
As soon as Thor had ten percent charge, he went down into the pub cellar, nestled himself between the pipes, barrels and cobwebs, and called Roisin. She answered immediately, as if camped by the phone.
‘You’re there!’ she gasped. Thor knew immediately that she had been crying, the words spilling weak and ragged. ‘Are you OK? Tell me, you are OK? They wouldn’t let me see you, and I worried…’
‘Roisin. I’m fine, I’m fine,’ Thor interrupted. ‘It’s OK. Are you OK?’ ‘Yes, I’m fine, they just thought I was in shock, so they kept me in.’
Thor thought she still might be in shock.
‘Listen, don’t worry, sweetheart. The police are involved now.’
Roisin exhaled sharply. ‘You told that detective? I didn’t say anything.’
‘I know you didn’t. Thank you.’
‘I’m so glad you did, though. Someone has to stop this.’
‘I know. Listen, I think I know who it is. In fact, I’m sure of it. Do your family know about the building plans for Crook’s Hollow?’
‘You think it’s to do with that?’ ‘I do.’
‘Mum came to pick me up from the hospital. She knows, but she didn’t say much. I think it’s all a bit much for her. I tried to come and see you but there was a policeman on the door who wouldn’t let me in.’ That reassured Thor a touch, but it still didn’t explain where the policeman had gone when Clyne had turned up. But Thor could well imagine Clyne stuffing a crisp fifty note into the officer’s pocket and