Ash & Bone

by John Harvey

  He rang the bell again.

  This time there was movement within, an inner door opening and then bolts being released, locks turned. The man who appeared was mid-forties with a thick stubble and close-cropped hair, a V-neck jumper hastily pulled over an otherwise bare chest, patterned boxers and bare, muscular legs.

  'Richard Bland?'

  'Who the fuck are you?'

  'Frank Elder. I used to be on the job.'

  He looked at Elder keenly, squinting a little into the light. 'This better be good, pal.'

  'Katherine Elder, she was arrested yesterday. Possession of heroin. She's my daughter.'

  Bland looked at him again and pulled the door wider. 'Come on in. Tryin' to get some kip. Three late nights on the fuckin' trot. Thought you were one of them bleeding-heart collectors, famine in fuckin' Sumatra or somewhere.'

  Dust had gathered in small circles in the corners of the hall. The room Bland led Elder into was almost bare, crumpled clothes and cans and empty take-out boxes on the floor. The Venetian blinds were two-thirds closed.

  'Cunt took all the furniture when she left. Had a van come round when I was out. Sleeping upstairs in a fucking sleeping bag.' He pointed towards the kitchen door. 'There's beer in the fridge, help yourself.'

  When Bland came back down, blue shirt outside his jeans, he grabbed some beers for himself, lit a cigarette, and instructed Elder to get hold of the pair of plastic folding chairs that were leaning up against the wall.

  They sat outside on a small patio, looking out over a rectangle of unkempt lawn, bare borders, a line of recently planted saplings. In amongst the hum of traffic, children cried and dogs set off a chain of barking. January notwithstanding, there was some warmth in the sun.

  'Get shot of this fuckin' place,' Bland said, 'soon as I fuckin' can. Get back into the city. One of them new flats, by the canal. Only thing, minute I sell it, the bitch gets fuckin' half.'

  Elder said nothing.

  'You married?'

  'Not any more.'

  'Know what I mean then.'

  For a while they swapped war stories about life on the force, Bland quizzing Elder a little about his time with Serious Crime, elaborating on the spread of drugs, the steady influx of guns.

  'Fuckin' Noddies out patrolling St Ann's in body armour with Walther P990s holstered at their fuckin' hips like Clint fuckin' Eastwood. Me, I can walk into a crack house or down some alley in the Meadows and all I've got is a finger to stick up their arse, always supposing they'll bend over and oblige.' He coughed up phlegm and spat it at the ground. 'Every kid dealing out there on the streets has got a Glock or some converted replica stuck down the back of his designer fuckin' underwear. Niggers driving round in thirty thousand plus of motor with their fuckin' rap music blaring out and an Uzi under the fuckin' front seat. All very well to say it's one another they're killin', only problem with that they're not killin' one another fuckin' fast enough.'

  He dropped the butt of his cigarette into the empty Heineken can and lit another.

  'Your kid,' he said, 'she was carrying for the bloke she was with, Summers, no fuckin' doubt. Thought a night in the cells might get her to turn him over, but it didn't. No worries, we'll get him another way.'

  'And Katherine?'

  Bland popped another can. 'Needs to reconsider the company she's keeping.'

  'Tell me about Summers,' Elder said after a moment.

  'Rob Summers. Robert. Early thirties. Moved here from Humberside twelve or thirteen years back to go to university. Hung around ever since the way some of 'em do. Too idle to get up off their fuckin' arses and move somewhere else. That or too fuckin' stoned.' Bland swallowed down some beer. 'Started selling a little dope when he was still a student, nothing too serious. Carried on ever since. Low-level, just below the eyeline, you know the kind of thing.'

  'So why the great interest?'

  'While or so back, six, nine months maybe, his name started cropping up. Heavy hitters now. Not round the estates, either. Clubs and the like. Upmarket.'

  'You've had him in?'

  Bland sneered. 'Clever bastard, isn't he? Loves the sound of his own voice. Reckons he can talk his way out of fuckin' anything. Get the Red fuckin' Sea to part if he's a mind. Talk soft tarts like your Katherine into carryin' for him, carryin' the can.'

  He could see the anger rising in Elder's face and eased forward on his chair, one officer to another, man to man.

  'Listen to what I'm saying, Frank, don't go wading in, doing your indignant-father thing. Okay? Don't rock the boat. Not now, now we're close. Someone coming in from outside, making him jumpy when there's no need. There's too much at stake.'

  'You're asking me?' Elder said.

  'Asking you, yes, that's right.'

  'And Katherine?'

  'She can walk. I'll make the call. Go and get her if you like. After this.'

  'All right,' Elder said, getting to his feet. 'Thanks for that at least.'

  'We're all right about Summers?'

  'Won't lay a hand on him, you've got my word.'

  Bland swallowed down some more lager, belched, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 'Need a lift back into town?'

  Elder shook his head. 'It's a nice enough day, I'll walk.'

  Bland followed him through to the front door. 'Where did you get this address?' he asked.

  Elder hesitated. 'Maureen Prior.'

  'Wasting your time there,' Bland leered. 'Had it sewn up when she was seventeen. I can put you in touch with several blokes counted the stitches, if you like.'

  Elder had to restrain himself from thumping him hard.

  31

  The custody sergeant made Katherine sign for the contents of her pockets and her purse. As soon as she and Elder were outside, she began to walk away.

  'Wait. Katherine, just wait,' Elder said.

  'What for?'

  'We need to talk.'

  'I don't.'

  He took hold of her arm and she shook him off. 'You need to talk, phone the Samaritans. See a shrink.' Anger blazed in her eyes. 'I did. See what a lot of bloody good it did me.'

  He stood and watched as she strode towards the far pavement, forcing the traffic to swerve and brake: one moment she was walking past the corner of the Circus and then she was lost to sight.

  He had a good guess where she would go and it wasn't home.

  Don't rock the boat, Bland had asked him, leave Rob Summers alone, leave him to us. The curtains at the front of the house in Sneinton were drawn again, the same ginger-and-white cat sitting on the window ledge alongside the door. When Summers answered it, Elder pushed him back into the hall.

  'Something you forgot to tell me,' Elder said. 'Left off your CV. Teaching, writing poetry, the odd story. Somehow you left out the fact you deal drugs on the side.'

  'She's not here,' Summers said, 'if that's what you're thinking.'

  'Of course she's bloody here.'

  'All right. But she's upstairs, lying down. She's exhausted, right. Worn out.'

  'Whose fault's that?'

  'She's taken something to help her sleep.'

  'No need to ask where she got that from.'

  Summers shook his head. 'Come though here and sit down. Or do you want to stand yelling in the hall?'

  The room was the same jumble as before, the same sweet afterwash of cannabis in the air. Summers switched on the stereo, but turned the volume low.

  'Okay,' Elder said, 'start talking.'

  Summers retrieved a packet of Rizla papers and a tin of Old Holborn from one of the shelves and began rolling himself a cigarette. 'When I was at Uni I traded a little dope, right. Mostly to friends. It's no secret.'

  'You were arrested. Charged.'

  'Someone ratted me out.'

  'Some honest citizen.'

  'Some creep.'

  'You were found guilty.'

  'Of possession.'

  'Still a crime last time I looked.'

  'Come on,' Summers said. 'A few ounces of can
nabis resin. These days all that'd get you would be a nod and a wink, keep it out of sight.'

  'And you got what? A suspended sentence? Probation?'

  'Something like that.'

  'But that's not all.'

  'I don't…' For a moment, Summers seemed genuinely confused. Then, shaking his head. 'Jesus, you're dredging that back up?'

  'Assault, wasn't it?'

  'Affray. A demo on the university campus. Some arse-hole American right-wing Christian anti-abortionist coming to speak at the Student Union. I'm just sorry I didn't get in a few good punches while I had the chance. He's probably in some think-tank now, advising Bush on social policy.'

  'And you're what?'

  'We've just been through all that.'

  'As much as five grams of heroin, more than enough for personal use.'

  Summers shook his head, more emphatically this time. 'Not mine.'

  'You saying it was Katherine's? Is that what you're telling me?' Elder's voice reverberated in the confines of the room. 'You're saying she's on heroin now?'

  'Of course she's not.'

  'Because if she is, I'll know who turned her on.'

  'Relax, she's not. She won't go near the stuff.'

  'Then how did it get into her bag?'

  'I don't know. We were at a party the night before.'

  'And this was what? Somebody's idea of a joke? A party bag? Smarties and a piece of cake, three balloons and a stash of H?'

  'I don't know. Maybe it was a mistake.'

  'A mistake?'

  'All right, all right. More likely, someone trying to set me up.'

  'And why would they do that?'

  'Look,' Summers said. His roll-up had gone out and he lit it again. 'Believe this or not, it's up to you. Eighteen months or so ago, I was stopped in the street. Stop and search, right? Coming down through Hockley. Late at night. Happens all the time. Well, you know. You should. Two blokes in plain clothes, Drug Squad or so they said. Of course, they didn't find anything, there wasn't anything to find.' A few stray ends of tobacco flaring up from his cigarette. 'Maybe I was a little mouthy, I don't know. Whatever reason, it put a hair up their arse. Been on my case ever since. Oh, not all the time, every day. Just once in a while, when they've got nothing better to do. Pull me over, pat me down. Reason to believe… you know the drill.'

  'That's why you take precautions.'

  'That's why I'm clean.'

  'The reason you make sure you're not caught carrying your own stuff.'

  'There is no stuff.'

  'No?'

  'No.'

  'This place stinks like a cafe on some backstreet in Amsterdam.'

  Summers threw back his head and laughed. 'I'll have to take your word on that.'

  Elder reached forward quickly and took hold of Summers's arm between elbow and wrist. 'I don't give a damn what you do, how much skank and scag and shit you shift. But you get my daughter involved once more, any way at all, and I'll see you pay. That understood?'

  'Let me fucking go,' Summers hissed.

  Elder increased the force of his grip and then pulled his hand away.

  'I mean it. If Katherine ever gets into trouble again because of you, I'll be back. And you'll regret you ever saw the light of day.'

  * * *

  An hour later, he was on the motorway, heading south.

  32

  Karen woke before the alarm and lay there listening to the wind rattle the windows and the occasional vehicle going past on the wet road outside; once, twice, she turned over, pulling the covers higher, trying for another ten minutes' sleep, but it wasn't to be. Sooner or later she would have to brave the first cold journey to the bathroom, the shower.

  'What's the matter with you, child?' her father had said when he'd visited. 'All this promotion, chief inspector now, and you're still content to live like this.'

  Child! She wondered if she would ever reach an age when he ceased, automatically, to call her that? Only when and if, she supposed, she had a child of her own. But there was some truth in what he said, she could afford to move, a bigger flat, bigger mortgage, but where would she move to? And why?

  She was happy here. The damned cold aside. What she should do, she told herself for the thousandth time, was pay to have those old windows, which had been there since the days of Methuselah, taken out and new, double-glazed ones put in. Sort out the damp. Get the central heating overhauled, radiators with individual thermostats attached. Radiators, for God's sake, that worked.

  In the bathroom she splashed cold water into her face, shivered, and squeezed toothpaste on to her brush.

  One reason she didn't do these things, she knew, was the inevitable hassle and disruption. Finding a building firm that wasn't going to mess her around or, worse, rip her off, was the first thing; workmen who would actually turn up to time and do the job until it was finished, instead of the usual two days here, two days there, now you see them, now you don't; the place left looking like a tip while they juggle jobs all over half of London. Someone you could trust.

  Karen rinsed her mouth, spat, wiped her face on the towel and sat down on the closed toilet lid.

  Someone you could trust.

  Someone who would have access to your home, your things; who was adept at climbing in and out, gaining entry, scaling walls and scaffolding.

  She was thinking of Steven Kennet, broad-faced, smiling.

  Now you know why I lied.

  No, she thought, standing up and switching on the shower. Not yet they didn't.

  As the water ran over her, bouncing off her shoulders and the back of her neck, she ran her mind back over what she had learned about the possible break-in to Maddy Birch's flat. Nothing taken, barely disturbed, just a sense that someone had been there.

  Karen reached for the shower gel.

  Yesterday there had been- a message saying that Vanessa Taylor had called, but she'd been too busy to ring back. She would try this morning before the day took hold. A short while later she was dry and partly dressed and spooning coffee grounds into the pot. Not so many minutes past six o'clock.

  * * *

  Elder had contacted Karen from Nottingham, explaining the reason for his absence in as little detail as possible, the bare bones. Back inside the building now, he opted for the stairs instead of the lift and was puffing slightly by the time he reached the fourth floor.

  'How is she, Frank?' Karen asked immediately. 'Your daughter?'

  Elder hunched his shoulders. 'Good as can be expected.'

  He looked tired, she thought; heavy round the eyes.

  'You talked to Kennet again?' Elder asked.

  Karen nodded. 'We pushed him back and forth about Maddy; this most recent woman, Jennifer. Nothing. Nothing we could use. Oh, sometimes you got the feeling he was close to showing us a little, giving something away, but then he'd clam up. As if he was teasing us almost. Enjoying it.' She shook her head. 'By the time we finally kicked him loose I was with Mike, wanting to smack him in the face.'

  'Not enough to hold him?'

  'Not really. No.'

  'No chance of a search warrant then? Turn his place over, see what we can find?'

  'Not without something more solid. Conjecture, that's what the magistrate would say. Supposition. No reasonable grounds.'

  'And what do you think?'

  'I think he's still our best shot.'

  'Denison's not been able to shake anything out about Loftus?'

  'Not a thing.'

  Karen unwrapped a mint and offered one to Elder, who shook his head. 'I spoke to Vanessa Taylor earlier,' she said. 'A couple of nights ago, she thinks there was someone hanging around outside her flat.'

  Elder sat forward sharply. 'She thinks or she knows?'

  'She can't be certain, it was dark. One minute he was there, the next he'd gone. No chance of a description, anything like that. If it hadn't been for what happened to Maddy, I doubt she'd have even bothered getting in touch. Her flat, it's not far from where Maddy Birch used to
live.'

  'You've informed the local nick?'

  'Vanessa had done that herself. I checked. They've promised to have a car drive by at intervals through the night; increase foot patrols.'

  'How did she sound? Vanessa?'

  'A little nervous. Concerned not to be wasting my time.'

  'You think one of us should go and talk to her?'

  'I'm not sure what she could tell you that's any different. My guess, in the circumstances, it's her imagination working overtime.'

  Karen pushed her chair back away from the desk and stretched her long legs. 'I thought I'd drive out and see Estelle Cooper. Talk to her on my own this time. See if I can't get her to loosen up a little. Might learn something useful.'

  'Woman to woman,' Elder said.

  A smile passed across Karen's face.

  'What?'

  'Shirley Brown, Stax, '74. I used to play it all the time.'

  Elder had no idea what she was talking about.

  * * *

  When Karen arrived in Hadley Wood, Estelle Cooper wasn't at home. The children, according to one of the neighbours, were having a day off school. An inset day, isn't that what it was called nowadays? Estelle had taken them out for the day. Somewhere in London. The Science Museum?

  Karen returned to her car. She would try again after the weekend; no sense trying to talk to Estelle when there was a chance her family were around. What she wanted was Estelle Cooper alone.

  * * *

  Maybe, Vanessa thought, she just hadn't been in the mood. Coke and a bucket of popcorn. The Odeon, Camden Town. Wind down. Relax. Love, Actually. They had to be kidding, right? And of course, sitting there on her own hadn't helped. She remembered when she'd been to see Bridget Jones's Diary with Maddy. How they'd loved it, every minute, right down to the slushy ending. Practically wet themselves with laughter.

  Poor Maddy. God, she missed her!

  Somehow she didn't fancy the Tube home and waited fifteen minutes for a bus instead, her and a couple of dozen others, half of them hungry from the pub and scarfing their way through burgers or chicken chow mein, the stink of onions, kebabs and hot sauce, fast-food litter swirling round their feet. She was just about to give it up as a bad job, walk back to the Tube station after all, when there it was at last, veering towards them from the lights, a 134.