by Kevin Brooks
It made me feel kind of stupid, to be honest. Seeing Evie with her grown-up boyfriend was like a sudden – and embarrassing – reality check. I was just a kid. I went to school, I rode a bike, I lived with my nan and grandad. Why on earth would a beautiful sixteen-year-old girl want anything to do with me?
I really wished the ground would open up and swallow me then, and for a moment or two I seriously considered just turning around and walking away, but Evie was still smiling at me, still watching me as I headed over towards her, and I knew I had to go through with it.
‘Hey, Travis,’ she said again as I went up to her. ‘It’s really good to see you.’
‘Hi, Evie,’ I said.
She broke away from her boyfriend and came over to me then, and to my surprise she threw her arms around me and gave me a hug.
‘How’ve you been?’ she said. ‘How’s your grandad and Courtney?’
‘Yeah . . . good, thanks,’ I told her. ‘Everything’s pretty good. How about you? What have you been up to?’
‘Same as ever, you know. This and that.’ She took me by the arm and led me over to the boy she was with. ‘This is Daniel,’ she told me.
I nodded hello to him.
‘You remember Travis, don’t you?’ Evie said to him.
‘Yeah,’ he said smiling. ‘How could I forget?’
I gave Evie a questioning look. I was pretty sure I’d never met Daniel before, so how come he seemed to know me?
‘Daniel was at the gym that day when I challenged you to a fight,’ Evie explained.
‘Oh, right.’
Evie had been quite belligerent towards me when I’d first met her, and we’d ended up getting into the boxing ring together. She’s an excellent fighter, strong and aggressive, with a really hard punch, but I’m a better boxer than her, and after a bruising few minutes I’d finally knocked her out.
‘You’ve got a good right hand,’ Daniel said to me now. ‘She never saw it coming.’
‘He just got lucky,’ Evie retorted, punching him playfully on the arm. ‘I was off balance, that’s all.’
‘Yeah, right,’ Daniel said, grinning at her.
The final whistle blew then, and as the watching crowd cheered and clapped, and some of them started to leave, I saw Daniel looking around, as if he was trying to find someone.
‘Listen, babe,’ he said to Evie, ‘I’ve just got to go and see Royce about something. I won’t be long, OK?’
‘I’ll wait here,’ she told him.
He gave her a quick kiss, then headed off through the throng of spectators.
Evie turned back to me. ‘Were you watching the other game?’
‘Yeah. I was on the subs bench.’
‘Really?’
I nodded. ‘We won 4-0.’
‘It’s us against you in the final then.’
I looked out at the celebrating Slade Lane players. ‘What was the score?’
‘5-2.’
I knew Evie lived on the Slade Lane estate, but I wasn’t sure if she went to Slade Comp or not.
‘Are you here with the school?’ I asked her.
She shook her head. ‘My brother’s in the team.’ She looked across the pitch and pointed out a young kid who was clearly the centre of attention. He was surrounded by other kids, and there were also a couple of men in suits trying to talk to him. ‘He scored a hat-trick today,’ Evie said proudly.
‘That’s Quade Wilson,’ I said.
‘Yeah.’
‘He’s your brother?’
‘Well, half-brother . . . he uses his dad’s surname.’
I didn’t know Quade Wilson personally, but I knew of him. Everyone who had any interest in football knew about Quade Wilson. He was easily the best young player in Essex, possibly one of the best in the country, and it was rumoured that three or four Premier League teams were interested in signing him. He was still only thirteen, but he not only played for Slade Lane Under-15s, he’d also played for the England schoolboys Under-15 side.
‘Who are those men in suits?’ I asked Evie.
‘One of them’s from Arsenal, the other one’s an agent.’
‘So it’s true the big clubs are after him?’
‘There’s a lot of interest, yeah. The only trouble is . . .’
‘What?’
‘Well, they all know how good he is, and there’s no doubt he’s got the skill to make it to the top. And he really wants it, you know? Football’s his whole life. Being a pro is all he’s ever wanted. But it’s just. . .’ Evie sighed. ‘He gets kind of anxious sometimes. I mean really anxious.’
‘Panic attacks?’
‘Not exactly . . . it’s more like a lack of belief in himself. Most of the time he’s perfectly OK, and outwardly you’d never guess he had any problems. It’s just every now and then, when he’s under a lot of pressure, he finds it really hard to cope.’
‘Do the clubs who want to sign him know about it?’
She nodded. ‘He’s already had schoolboy contracts with a couple of Championship clubs, one when he was nine and another two years later, but with both clubs he just . . .’ She sighed. ‘Well, you know, he just couldn’t deal with it. And for anyone else that probably would have been their last chance, but Quade’s so good that the big clubs still haven’t given up on him, despite his problems. That’s why they’re watching him all the time – they want to see how he copes when he’s put under real pressure.’
‘What about seeing a counsellor or a doctor?’ I suggested. ‘I mean, there’s all kinds of help you can get for anxiety and stuff.’
‘Quade’s from the Slade,’ Evie said. ‘If it got out that he was seeing a counsellor, he’d never live it down.’
I gazed over at him again. He was smiling and joking, talking to everyone around him. Evie was dead right, you’d never guess from looking at him that he had any problems at all.
I was just about to say something else to Evie when I spotted Daniel talking to someone on the far side of the pitch. The man he was talking to – who I assumed was Royce – was a really nasty-looking guy with heavily tattooed arms. A girl was at his side, her arm looped through his. She was staring up at him with adoring eyes, as if he was some kind of superhero or something. She had short blonde hair and heavily made-up eyes.
It was Bianca, the new secretary at Jakes and Mortimer.
‘Who’s that guy Daniel’s talking to?’ I asked Evie.
She looked over at him. ‘That’s Royce. Royce Devon.’
‘Devon?’ I said. ‘Is he related to Drew Devon?’
‘Yeah,’ Evie said. ‘Royce is Dee Dee’s brother.’
A stream of questions suddenly burst into my head. What was Bianca doing with Dee Dee’s brother? Did he know that she worked for the solicitors who were currently investigating Dee Dee’s tanning salon? Was that why he was with her? Why wasn’t she at work? And what about Daniel, Evie’s boyfriend? What was his connection with Dee Dee’s brother?
It could all be perfectly innocent, I told myself. It could be just a series of meaningless coincidences.
Yeah, I thought, and Millwall could buy Lionel Messi and Cristiano Ronaldo in the January transfer window and get promoted to the Premier League.
My mobile rang then. I took it out of my pocket, hoping it wasn’t Mr Jago. It wasn’t. It was Grandad.
‘Hi, Grandad,’ I said.
‘Where are you, Travis?’ His voice sounded urgent and serious.
‘Is something the matter?’ I asked.
‘Where are you?’ he repeated.
‘I’m still at school. Is something wrong?’
‘It’s Courtney,’ he said. ‘She’s been attacked.’
‘What?’
‘It’s all right,’ he said quickly, ‘she’s not too seriously hurt. But she’s taken a pretty bad beating.’
‘Who did it?’
‘We’re at the hospital. Get yourself down here as soon as you can, OK? I’ll explain everything when you get here.’
�
��I’m on my way.’
I ended the call.
‘Is everything all right?’ Evie asked me.
‘Courtney’s in hospital. Someone beat her up.’
‘Oh, no!’
‘I need to get to the hospital as quickly as possible. I could go on my bike, but—’
‘Daniel will drive you,’ Evie said without hesitation. ‘That’s his car over there.’ She pointed towards the car park. ‘The green BMW 640.’ She took out her phone and hit a speed-dial button. ‘Daniel? Travis needs a lift to the hospital . . . yeah, right now.’ She looked at me. ‘Go . . . he’ll meet you at the car.’
24
At eleven o’clock that morning Courtney had had a meeting with Jakes and Mortimer, ostensibly to give Mr Mortimer her report on the Tanga Tans investigation and to ask him if there was anything else he wanted Delaney & Co to do. Gloria had accompanied her to the meeting.
I don’t know much about Graham Mortimer, but he’s always seemed a nice enough man to me. I’d guess he’s in his mid-fifties. He’s the kind of man who always wears a suit and always looks a bit weary and bored, as if he’s not particularly happy with his life, but has long since accepted there’s not much he can do about it.
At eleven o’clock on the dot, he’d invited Courtney and Gloria into his office, shaken their hands, and asked them if they wanted tea or coffee. They’d politely declined his offer, and then they’d all sat down at his desk and got on with the business in hand.
It was clear to Courtney and Gloria that Mr Mortimer had no real interest in the case, but he was courteous enough to go through the motions of dealing with it professionally and efficiently – opening the relevant file on his laptop, asking a few straightforward questions, occasionally remembering to jot down a few notes. As Gloria said later, it was as if he was just cruising along on automatic pilot – doing and saying all the right things, performing his job perfectly adequately, but at the same time giving the impression that he wasn’t actually there. His mind and his heart were worlds away.
Which, for the purposes of Courtney’s plan, was ideal.
At a pre-arranged signal, Gloria had stood up, picked up the written report, and said to Mr Mortimer, ‘There’s a couple of things I’d like to point out to you, if that’s OK?’
‘Of course,’ he’d said, smiling vaguely.
According to Courtney, Gloria’s performance as a slightly doddery old lady was perfect. As she’d moved round the desk towards him, walking with a slight limp and stooped shoulders, the report ‘accidentally’ slipped out of her hand, and as she stopped to pick it up she seemingly lost her balance and toppled backwards to the floor, letting out a frail yelp of pain. Mr Mortimer immediately jumped to his feet and hurried over to help her. There was no doubt he was genuinely concerned, and it was equally clear that Gloria’s apparent mishap had sparked some life into him, focusing his mind by suddenly giving him something vaguely interesting to deal with.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ Gloria said, wincing with pain. ‘I’m such an old fool sometimes.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ Mr Mortimer said, bending over her. ‘Are you all right? Have you hurt yourself? No, don’t try to get up yet. . . just stay where you are, get your breath back. . .’
While Mr Mortimer was tending to Gloria, Courtney quickly leant across the desk, spun his laptop round, and scanned the Tanga Tans file for the name and address of the client.
Half an hour later, after a few phone calls and a quick look at some databases (which, officially, she shouldn’t have had access to), Gloria had already compiled a potted biography of Jakes and Mortimer’s client.
‘Raisa Ferris,’ she announced, reading from her notes. ‘Twenty-six years old, single, no children, presently unemployed. She’s lived on or around the Slade Lane estate all her life, but she’s only been at her present address for six months. She’s been in trouble with the police since she was fourteen, mostly minor offences, and she has a string of convictions for petty fraud – false benefit claims, insurance scams, identity theft. She’s known to be associated with several high-ranking gang members, and she’s been arrested on numerous occasions, but never charged, with intent to supply class-A drugs.’
‘She’s not exactly Snow White then,’ Courtney said.
‘Apparently not.’
‘Right,’ Courtney said, getting her coat, ‘well, I think it’s time to go and see Miss Ferris and find out what she’s really up to.’
‘Be careful,’ Grandad told her.
‘I’m always careful.’
The block of flats where Raisa Ferris lived was no more than a hundred metres away from Mason and Jaydie’s block, and it looked exactly the same – a squat, grey, rectangular building, three storeys high, with little balconies outside the windows. Raisa’s flat was on the second floor. Although Courtney’s presence certainly hadn’t gone unnoticed on the estate – strangers never go unnoticed on the Slade – the only hint of trouble she’d come across as she’d made her way to Raisa’s block of flats was a few intimidating looks and a fair bit of staring. The staring didn’t bother her in the slightest. Because of her striking appearance, she tends to get stared at wherever she goes, so she’s used to it. And although she didn’t like the more intimidating kinds of looks, she didn’t think they were anything much to worry about, and by the time she got to Raisa’s flat she was beginning to wonder if the Slade’s reputation as a no-go area was something of an exaggeration.
She told me later that in hindsight she realised how stupid she’d been to venture into the estate on her own, and that in the future, no matter how safe she felt, she’d never let herself get lulled into a false sense of security again.
It was around two o’clock when she got to Raisa’s flat. The first thing she noticed was that the front door was ajar, and the second thing she noticed was that the frame of the door was cracked and broken. The door had been forced open, probably kicked in. Courtney didn’t do anything for a while, she just waited outside the door, listening for any sign of life inside. She didn’t hear anything. She looked up and down the corridor, but there was no one around.
‘Raisa?’ she called out. ‘Hello? Are you in there?’
There was no reply.
She cautiously pushed the door open and called out again. ‘Hello? Is anyone there? Raisa? Miss Ferris?’
Still no reply.
She thought about leaving then. It was probably the sensible thing to do, she thought. Go back to the office, talk it over with Gloria and Grandad, maybe call the police. But Courtney knew in her heart that she wasn’t going to do that. Somebody had obviously broken into Raisa’s flat. They might have attacked her, hurt her. She could be lying on the floor, in desperate need of help, and Courtney wasn’t the kind of person to turn her back on someone in need of help. And if she was wrong, if Raisa hadn’t been attacked, or if she wasn’t even in the flat, what was the point in calling the police? All it would do was make her look foolish and attract unnecessary and unwanted attention.
She went into the flat, leaving the front door open.
‘Raisa? Can you hear me?’
No reply.
She went down the hallway, looked in the kitchen. It was empty. She went into the front room. There was no one there. She went back out into the hallway. The front door was closed now, and two men were standing at the far end of the hallway. They were both wearing hoods, their faces covered by scarves.
Courtney’s pretty tough. She’s strong and fit, she’s won a couple of kick-boxing competitions, and she’s learned a few street-fighting tricks from Grandad. So she’s a lot better at looking after herself than most people. And from what I can gather, she put up a hell of a fight against the two thugs who attacked her in Raisa’s flat. I heard afterwards that she kicked one of them so hard between the legs that he eventually ended up in hospital, and the other one didn’t escape without injury either. But there were two of them, and they were both bigger and stronger than her, and no matter how hard she fought, the
re was only ever going to be one outcome.
The second-to-last thing she remembered before she passed out, she told me, was being literally thrown across the room by one of the men, and then a sudden searing crack as she smashed head first into a solid stone mantelpiece. And the very last thing she remembered was the sound of the front door crashing open, then footsteps running down the hall, and someone yelling out, ‘Get your stinking hands off her!’
25
Courtney was in a private room at the hospital, and when I eventually found my way there, Grandad was waiting for me outside her door. I was desperate to go in and see her straight away, but Grandad assured me that she was OK, and insisted on sitting me down and explaining what had happened before I went in to see her.
‘I should never have let her go on her own,’ he said after he’d told me everything he knew. He shook his head. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking.’
‘There’s nothing you could have done to stop her, Grandad,’ I told him. ‘You know what she’s like when she sets her mind on something.’
‘That’s no excuse. I should have done something.’
‘Like what? You couldn’t have forced her not to go, could you?’
‘Well, no, I suppose not. . .’
‘Can I go in and see her now?’
He nodded. ‘She looks pretty bad,’ he warned me. ‘But she’s been thoroughly examined and the doctor’s assured me that most of her injuries are superficial. She’s got a couple of broken ribs and a fractured finger, lots of cuts and bruises, and she took a really bad whack to the back of her head which the doctors are still a bit worried about. So far though, they’re fairly confident that there’s no permanent damage. She’s quite heavily sedated at the moment, so don’t expect too much from her, OK?’