‘Nab used to call Ben Street Boy, but I don’t know his surname.’
The army sergeant pulled out her phone and flicked through the menu. She showed the recent police photo of Ben Jackman to Pete.
‘That’s Ben. Do you know him?’ Pete asked.
She placed her phone back in her pocket and sighed. ‘No, but I know of him.’
‘He’s all right, is Ben.’ Pete pointed at the sheds. ‘He’s giving Abe a lift. He wasn’t going to at first because he thought Abe was a prisoner and he didn’t want no truck with a prison breakout. But then I convinced Ben Abe was no prisoner. No driver either, was he?’
‘And Abe was the driver?’ the copper said. He’d removed his cap and the early morning chill wind ruffled his dark hair. He pulled on his cigarette and blew long and hard to exhale the smoke. ‘Abe was the driver of the van who left fifteen children to die?’
The army sergeant clasped her hands behind her back. Wisps of her hair, having escaped the purple beret, waved in the wind. She turned to Pete, impatient for his answer.
‘Yeah, Abe hid out in the same shed as the children.’
‘What children?’ the copper and the sergeant said in unison.
‘Abe said there was children in the shed.’
‘How many?’ the copper asked.
‘Loads. Twenty maybe. Abe didn’t say. It could’ve been more. It was a big van.’
‘So fifteen die just down the road and the driver hides in a shed full of more children. Is that right?’
‘Yeah, but I didn’t know the children was in the truck. I didn’t. Honest.’
‘So in total we had thirty-five children in a one mile radius. All foreign and kept by the Smiths.’
Pete scratched at his beard as he pondered the quandary the army sergeant voiced. The copper and the sergeant paced the small area overlooking the house.
‘What’s going on?’ she asked. ‘Are we in the middle of some bad arse child smuggling shit?’
The copper shook his head. ‘And what do they want with children round here?’
Pete shoved his hand in the air, waiting for someone to notice him. They stopped pacing, raised their eyes and waited for him to speak. ‘Out,’ he spluttered. ‘They’re smuggling them out of Old London Town to the mines and Griff reckons his mate is always on the lookout for children. So they’re smuggling them in too.’
‘Who’s Griff?’
‘Griff’s a farmer. He’s got a sheep called Nellie who has real grief trying to lamb, but she did okay this year Griff said this morning. He was here earlier. He was here to blow up the Smith’s caravans. I told him not to because them Smiths are trouble. But they did it anyway.’
‘How do you know?’ the copper said. ‘You’re a prisoner, so how do you know so much about this stuff?’
‘Abe told me about the children and I just told you about Griff. Abe didn’t talk about the children in the truck. He didn’t tell me about them. I think he felt guilty about killing them, but it was an accident, you know. I’m working my time off here because I accidently killed children. I didn’t know I was doing it. I just love children, you know, and I was loving them too much. Ben told me that. Don’t hug them. Don’t even talk to them and don’t fight them for their scout badges.’
The army lady turned to face Pete. ‘When did you last see your friend, the man you say you hid in the shed?’
‘If you’re talking about Abe, then we aren’t friends, actually. I was just helping him out. He got hurt in the accident, you know.’
‘So where is he now?’
‘He’s in Henwell. He went there with Ben.’
‘How?’
They nicked a jeep from the Smiths’. Pete’s phone bleated. He pulled the phone from his pocket and read the message from Tommy. He smiled and replaced the phone in his big checked coat.
‘You’ve got a phone?’ the copper said.
‘Yeah. It’s for emergencies. Because I look after the sheep and I’m well away from the prison building, like. They like to keep in contact, not that they ever call. Sometimes I need help. I mean the sheep are pretty stupid, and some of them are fat, and there’s the wolves. Twice I’ve had to call for help with the wolves.’
‘So where is he now?’
‘Henwell, at the mine. He went in the van with Ben, chasing the children.’
‘Why?’
‘Because of Lucas.’
‘Lucas is…’
Pete shrugged. ‘I don’t know who Lucas is. But everyone seems to want him.’
Chapter Twenty-Five
Tilly has a Gun
Wynona stood with Barney outside a small, terraced house waiting for Wynona’s rap on the glossy red door to be answered. Barney stood with his hands clasped behind his back watching the house opposite. It had metal paneling tacked to its lower windows and front door. A rusted trike sat on the cracked squares of concrete garden. Rusted brackets hung limply, the baskets and flowers long gone. Jagged windows gaped at the street from the upper floor with tatty curtains falling from the rails.
‘This is dire,’ Barney said. ‘All these houses are empty, boarded up and falling apart. Why is that? It don’t make any sense, when we got so many people homeless.’
Wynona turned and smiled at him. ‘I didn’t realize you cared about our housing situation.’
‘Of course.’ He pointed up the street. ‘These houses look awful and they’re so close to town center. The Man should round up the homeless and put them to work. Clean them up with a lick of paint and rent them out and the city tills will be ringing loud. Tidy sum could be made, employment for the idle and the streets looking spic and span. Job done.’
Wynona’s smile turned to a dejected shake of the head. ‘Who’d have thought it was so easy,’ she said. ‘You should write the Man and tell him your thoughts. He could do with a good man like you on the team. This time next year you could be running for Mayor of Ostere, like. Or Police Commissioner. That’s more your gig right. Twat.’ She turned to the door and offered it another sharp knock.
‘Jesus, is it a full moon tonight?’ Barney said.
‘What?’
‘You go whacko when there’s a full moon.’
‘I’ve been working with you for a week, and you think that last statement was whacko? Really?’ Wynona flicked him on his long pointed nose. ‘You don’t want to see whacko, Boyo.’
Barney brushed at his nose, straightened his back and sniffed. The door opened before he could respond. Tilly stood with her phone to her ear. She motioned them into her house and indicated they take a seat at the kitchen server. They stepped through the foyer and stopped between the dining and sitting rooms. Tilly nodded into the phone while filling the kettle and setting the power to boil the water. Again she nodded and then hung up.
‘That was quick,’ she said. She leant back against the kitchen counter. ‘Ostere coppers have done the city proud. And that’s a compliment I never thought I’d be paying.’
She flicked through her phone menu and held her phone up to Wynona. ‘That’s him. Well, you know Harry, don’t you, but I’ll email you this photo.’
‘Why?’
‘So you can find my Harry?’
Wynona removed her police cap and brushed a loose strand of hair back behind her ear. She refitted her cap while Barney looked from Tilly to Wynona and back.
‘Ma’am we’re not here about your boy.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because we didn’t know he was missing,’ he said.
‘Of course we’re here now,’ Wynona said. ‘So we’ll take all the details—’
‘But,’ Barney interrupted. ‘We’re here to talk to you about Ben Jackman.’
‘Fuck Ben Jackman. Who gives a shit about that idle vagrant?’
‘Well, we do, ma’am. He’s wanted for murder.’
‘Murder? Him? He couldn’t kill a mouse, trust me. Jesus, Wynona, why are you bothering me with this shit?’
Tilly pulled mugs from the cupboard. ‘You
know what?’ she said, turning with a spoon in hand. ‘Men are good for one thing and one thing only.’ She waited, nodding her head, the spoon bouncing in the air to keep time with her words. ‘One bloody thing. And that’s getting spiders out of the house. That’s it. But not Ben bloody Jackman. He did everything but scream if there was a spider in the house. This man you guys call Street Boy is no killer.’
‘Well thank you for the character reference,’ Barney said. ‘But we believe he murdered two police officers, and it occurred in your house.’
‘News to me.’
‘You have nothing to offer? I mean… Well…I would guess you’d have noticed blood or bodies in your house.’
Tilly looked at Wynona. ‘Is he serious?’
‘Street Boy is your boyfriend isn’t he?’
Tilly shook her head.
‘He used to share your bed…’ Tilly continued shaking her head. ‘So you will feel a mother’s need to protect him. But this is serious, ma’am. He’s accused of murdering two Old London Town police detectives and a civilian. Marvin Cooper. Did he ever mention that name?’
‘No, it’s just no. You don’t know Ben Jackman. I do and it’s just no. He’s no killer. He’s an idiot, bone idle, irresponsible, but not a killer.’
‘One of the detectives made a call which was traced to this street,’ Barney continued. ‘Bin men found his body the next day, with his partner, dead, in a dumpster, with their hearts removed.’
Barney pointed at his chest, pincer like, and plucked the heart with a popping sound.
‘Oh yeah. Plucked from their chests.’
He stepped in front of Wynona, moving closer to Tilly. She crossed her arms and slid backward along the counter. ‘Now I’m not one for coincidence, ma’am, because that stops me solving crimes. And I like to solve crimes. I like to lock bad people up and make sure the evidence is tight.’
Another step forward and Tilly found her arse pressed against the cooker. ‘I’m here because the law demands those two detectives receive justice.’
His finger pointed at Tilly’s crossed arms. ‘And those two detectives were here in your house following a lead in the murder of Marvin Cooper. They died in this house. So why don’t you tell me what happened.’
‘I don’t…’
Tilly’s denial trailed to nothing as Barney’s phone bleated. He ignored the phone, knowing he had Tilly cornered and ready to talk. It bleated again, louder and insistent. His curiosity bettered his taste for the hunt and he removed the phone from its case on his belt and stalked outside.
Tilly grabbed Wynona’s hand, looking to the door before she spoke. ‘I’ve got a gun,’ she said.
‘Why do you have a gun? Why are you telling me? Please don’t pull it on Barney. I don’t know what his reaction would be, but I’m guessing he’d shoot you.’
‘It’s not my gun. Harry says it’s a Black Hat gun. I don’t want it in my house. I don’t want to get caught with it in my house. That arse…’ She pointed at her front door. ‘That arse out there wants to lock me up. It’s not the first time he’s been here and he’s real sleazy when he’s alone.’
Wynona shook her head and rubbed Tilly’s arm. ‘He’s an arse and he wants to lock everyone up. He won’t be happy until he has the jails full to capacity. To walk through our station and see the cell empty buggers with his day.’
‘But this gun is causing me grief. I’ve had it for months and it’s keeping me awake at night. Please take it. I don’t want that copper finding it.’
‘Where is it now?’
Tilly pulled a drawer open to reveal a tray of knives. She reached into the back of the drawer and withdrew a plastic bag. She held it open so Wynona could view the large black gun.
‘Right. Why does Harry believe it’s a Black Hat gun?’
‘Ben didn’t carry and Harry says…’ She shook her head. ‘You know I caught Harry with a bag of guns?’ She offered a rueful smile. ‘Those Punkster children from the camp were storing them in Harry’s room. I tried to ground him, but I’m a single working mother and locking him in his room wouldn’t have worked. Did you know that Weismann at the Camps teaches them how to pick locks? Why does a child need to learn that?’
Tilly walked out of the kitchen fidgeting with her jumper sleeve. ‘I found a diagram of a bomb the other day. I grabbed Harry and gave him a good shake and he laughed.’ She turned to face Wynona. ‘He just laughed at me, like I wouldn’t understand. And then I slapped him.
‘What’s going on,’ she said. ‘Guns and bombs, and he’s not yet thirteen. Not that there should be an age limit, but he’s a child and I want him to do childlike things. Play football, listen to music too loud and maybe chase girls. Hell, chase boys, but I didn’t bring him up to be a terrorist.
‘And now he’s gone.’
Wynona reached for Tilly and she bowed her head and snuggled into Wynona’s embrace. ‘Anyway.’ She lifted her head. ‘Harry said it wasn’t one of the Punksters guns and he said he’d get rid of it for me. Weismann is always on the lookout for a good gun. But he never did.’
‘So it must be a Black Hat gun. Ben told me the coppers didn’t move much further from the door. He said one of them died at the front door and the other died on my rug.’
Wynona followed the finger as Tilly pointed out the points of interest. ‘No rug,’ Wynona said.
‘Don’t go there. I loved that rug.’
Wynona stepped back to the kitchen drawer. She was thinking about the two bodies in the ground at the Black Hat’s house. A gun, bodies, and bullets, and if they matched up, then a new scenario had to be considered as to how the coppers died. Wynona was guessing the coppers guns had to turn up soon, possibly at the Camps, and they would match the bullets in the men buried in the Black Hat garden.
As she reached for the gun, Barney sauntered into the house with the phone settled on his hip and Tilly quickly stuffed the bag and its deadly cargo back in the drawer. ‘Got to go, girlie,’ he said. ‘Trouble at the mill.’
‘I’ll call you about your boy,’ Wynona said. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll sort it out.’
Wynona made the gun gesture with her thumb and finger, before offering the thumbs up. She turned and followed Barney out the door.
‘Ben Jackman was my boyfriend?’ Tilly said to the empty room. She laughed as she closed the drawer and picked up her phone. ‘In what bloody universe?’
She tapped at the numerals and leant against the counter waiting for her call to be answered. ‘Weismann,’ she said. ‘You don’t know me, but you know my boy, Harry.’
‘Yes, Ms. Harry. You have a good boy.’
‘I know that, Mr. Weismann. I don’t need telling. But my boy is missing and he hasn’t called. Since you got my boy shot he and I own phones. If he leaves the house he calls on the hour, every hour, or he dies, and he understands this rule. He signed in blood to this rule.’
‘Boys struggle with instructions.’
‘Fuck off, Weismann. Have you got my boy at your Camp?’
‘No.’
‘Do you have a child called Alex at your camp?’
‘No, Alex went to stay with mother’s boyfriend.’
‘Shit.’ Tilly slapped her hand on the counter top. ‘He’s not her mother’s boyfriend. He’s her mother’s pimp. He beat her mother rotten and left her hooked to shit, dependent on shit and whoring to get more shit. You’re a very irresponsible man, Mr. Weismann. Little Alex’s mother is in jail for possession of her boyfriend’s shit. And you’ve let Alex follow him to the East End. And my boy has followed her. If any harm comes to that child you will be receiving a visit from a mother pissed at your piss poor efforts at living. Do you hear me?’
Tilly hung up the phone before Weismann could reply and grabbed her coat from the hook. With her bag over her shoulder she hesitated at the door. Her thoughts were panicked, but she couldn’t leave. Her gaze focused on her kitchen. The drawer. The gun.
She ran into the kitchen. ‘I’m coming, Harry,’ she said.
The kettle bubbled with steam easing from its spout. She placed the gun in her hessian bag, pulled the pointed elfin hood of her multi-colored jumper over her dark hair and ran from the house.
Chapter Twenty-Six
That’s not the Army
A jeep appeared at the edge of the forest overlooking the Smiths’ property. The man in the passenger seat produced a set of binoculars and focused on the burnt shell. Beyond the house he watched a lad, a big old boy with a shepherd’s crook walking across the field with his sheep. An army jeep bumped across the grass heading for the driveway. The firemen turned their vehicle and followed the jeep. The building omitted numerous wisps of smoke, with embers bursting into flame as the gentle wind crossed the hillside.
‘Secure the area,’ he ordered. He pointed at the house and the soldiers in the second jeep accelerated forward, splashing through the brook and skidding up the muddy incline. At the top of the hill they parked and split, the taller soldier approaching the front of the property. The second soldier wearing a rumpled camouflaged army hat clambered toward the rear.
In the dog pen, the hounds jumped at the wire. Pigs snuffled at mud in the first paddock beyond the house. The soldier dived through the front door with his rifle pointing into the charcoaled mess. His comrade stepped over the burnt timbers and stopped to survey the charred mess of the utility room and kitchen. He kicked at debris, stepping back as a gust of wind ignited embers. Flames danced and threatened, but the house was burnt out.
The second jeep took off as the two soldiers met on the porch. They sat on the steps leading to the drive, sharing a flame and puffing on butts. The men eased the packs from their backs and leant against the bulk. The jeep splashed through the brook and churned up the slippery bank. It burst over the hill and skidded to a stop before the soldiers.
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