Crack Down kb-3

by Val McDermid

  I’ve known Frankie almost as long as I’ve known Richard. Before he moved in next door to me, he lived in Chorlton-cum-Hardy, that Manchester suburb whose trendiness quotient rises and falls in tandem with the Green Party’s electoral share. He lived in the downstairs flat of an Edwardian terraced cottage. Frankie had the flat upstairs. Luckily for her, that included the attic. I don’t know if that had always been her bedroom, but after Richard moved in downstairs I suspect that sleeping at least two floors away from his stereo became an imperative.

  Of course, as a trained social worker, she couldn’t avoid helping him out; cooking the odd meal, picking up his washing from the launderette, grabbing a stack of pizzas every now and again as she whizzed past the chill cabinet in the supermarket on her weekly shop. I don’t expect she got any thanks, but he did take her out to dinner a few times, and so she became another victim of the Cute Smile.

  The bonking bit didn’t last too long. I suspect they both realized after the first time that it was a big mistake, but they’re both much too kind to have hurt the other’s feelings by saying so. Luckily, Frankie also has the good social worker’s ruthless streak, otherwise they’d probably both still be hanging on till the last minute every Saturday night because nice people come second. Under normal circumstances, I was glad she’d forced a return to uncomplicated friendship so he was unencumbered when he met me. After the events of the past few days, I wasn’t so sure.

  I could have short-circuited the waiting period by picking up my mobile phone and dialling Frankie’s direct line, but I was glad of a breathing space to try to organize my thoughts into something approaching order. I didn’t get one.

  I’d been sitting there less than ten minutes when Frankie’s spiky black hair appeared like a fright wig on top of a stack of files. The files teetered forward above a pair of black leggings and emerald green suede hi-tops. I jumped out of the car and rushed forwards to help her. ‘Hi, Frankie,’ I said, putting my arms out to steady the files as I stopped her in her tracks.

  The hair tilted sideways and two interested brown eyes peered round the stack of files. Her granny glasses were slowly sliding down her nose, but not so far that she didn’t recognize me. ‘Hi, Brannigan,’ she said. She didn’t sound surprised, but then she’s been a social worker for the best part of ten years. Nothing surprises Frankie any more.

  ‘Let me help,’ I said.

  ‘The car’s over there,’ she said, sounding slightly baffled as I grabbed the top half of her pile. ‘The red Astra.’

  I carried the files over to the car and we did small talk while she fiddled with her keys and unlocked the hatchback. It wasn’t easy, avoiding the subject of Richard’s incarceration, but I managed it by dragging Davy’s visit into the conversation two sentences in. We loaded the boot, and Frankie slammed it shut, then leaned against it, catching me eye to eye. Not many people manage that, but Frankie and I are so alike physically that if I ever get signed up to star in a movie with nude scenes I could get her to be my body double. ‘This is not serendipity, is it?’

  I shook my head sheepishly. ‘Sorry.’

  She sighed. ‘You should know better.’

  ‘It’s not business, Frankie,’ I said in mitigation. ‘It’s personal, and it’s not for me.’

  She raised her eyebrows and looked sceptical. I can’t say I blamed her. ‘I’m in a hurry,’ she said. ‘I’ve got a meeting this evening. I was on my way to grab a quick curry since I skipped lunch. If you think there’s any point in telling me what you’re after, follow me to the Tandoori Kitchen. You’re buying. Deal?’

  ‘Deal,’ I said. I’ve always liked the Tandoori Kitchen. The food’s consistently good, but the best thing of all is the chocolate-flavoured lollipops they give you when they bring you the bill. I wasn’t particularly hungry, but I ordered some onion bhajis and pakora to keep me occupied while Frankie worked her way through the biggest mushroom biryani I’ve ever seen.

  ‘So what’s this favour you’re after, Brannigan?’

  ‘Who said anything about a favour?’ I said innocently.

  ‘A person doesn’t need to have A Level Deduction to know you’re after something more than a share in my poppadums when you turn up on the office doorstep. What are you after?’ Frankie persisted.

  So much for gently working round to it. I plunged in. ‘You took a couple of kids into care this afternoon. Daniel and Wayne Roberts. Their mum was shot in Brunswick Street?’

  Frankie nodded cautiously. ‘Mmm?’

  ‘I knew Cherie quite well, because Davy always plays with Daniel and Wayne when he’s staying with Richard. Also, I helped her out when she was trying to get a divorce from Eddy, her ex.’ I paused, but Frankie didn’t lift her eyes from her curry.

  Nothing for it but to soldier on. ‘I was driving home with Davy this afternoon just after Cherie had been shot. The place was jumping with police and ambulance crews, and we saw the boys being taken away in a police car. Then when we got home, all the neighbours were talking about Cherie being shot. The bottom line is that Davy’s in a hell of a state. He’s terrified because Cherie’s been shot, but he’s even more frightened because Daniel and Wayne have been carted off in a police car.’

  ‘Not particularly surprising,’ Frankie said sympathetically. ‘Poor Davy. So what do you want me to do?’

  ‘I just wondered if there was any chance you could fix up for me to take Davy to see Daniel and Wayne this evening. I know it’s bending the rules and all that, but I don’t see how I’m going to get him to sleep otherwise. He’s climbing the walls. He thinks Daniel and Wayne have gone to prison, you see.’ I sighed and shrugged. ‘I’ve tried to explain, but he won’t believe me.’

  ‘I wonder why not,’ Frankie said drily. She gave me a shrewd look. ‘Are you sure you’re asking for Davy and not for yourself?’

  ‘Give me a break, Frankie,’ I complained. ‘You know I don’t do murders. Strictly white collar, that’s Mortensen and Brannigan.’

  She snorted, not a wise move when you’re dealing with curry spices. After she’d finished spluttering and sneezing, she said, ‘And Patrick Swayze’s strictly ballroom. OK. I believe you. God knows why. But if I find out you’ve been lying to me, Brannigan, I’ll be really disappointed in you.’

  Just as well I’m not a Catholic or I’d never get out of bed in the morning with the weight of guilt on my shoulders. I smiled meekly and said, ‘You won’t regret this, Frankie.’

  ‘Where is Davy now?’ she asked. ‘Is he with Richard?’

  ‘My friend Alexis is looking after him. She was going to take him to the pictures to see if she could take his mind off what’s happened.’ I glanced at my watch. ‘They should be back within the next half-hour or so.’

  Frankie ran a hand through her spiky hair. ‘I hope for your sake I don’t live to regret this, Brannigan. I’ll tell you what would make me feel happier, though.’

  ‘What’s that?’ I asked, willing to go along with anything half-reasonable so long as I still had the chance to hit the boys with a few questions.

  ‘I’d be a lot happier if Richard brought Davy along rather than you. Then I could be sure there wasn’t a hidden agenda.’ Frankie said calmly.

  I hoped the dismay I felt didn’t reach the surface. I pulled a face and said, ‘You and me both. But the boy wonder is out of town tonight. He’s gone to Birmingham to see some international superstar I’ve never heard of at the NEC. He went off this afternoon early. He doesn’t even know about Cherie.’

  Frankie sighed. ‘I’ll just have to live with it, then. OK. We’ve placed Wayne and Daniel with emergency foster parents in Levenshulme. Normally, it would take a few days to organize a visit while we checked out the credentials of the person claiming to be friends or family, but in this case, I don’t see why we shouldn’t speed the wheels of bureaucracy since I know both you and Davy. Besides, it might just help the boys to settle, feel less abandoned. After we’ve eaten, I’ll find a phone box and call the foster parents, see wha
t time will fit in with their arrangements.’

  I put my mobile phone on the table. ‘Have this one on me,’ I said, nudging it towards her.

  Frankie shook her head, smiling wryly. ‘Since I’ve known you, I’ve come to realize what the essential quality of a private investigator is,’ she said, reaching across and picking up the phone.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘You simply don’t recognize the point where the rest of the world backs off,’ she said. ‘Now, how do I work this thing?’

  It was just after seven when Davy and I pulled up outside a trim between-the-wars semi off Slade Lane. The street was quiet; one of the few in the area that motorists driven demented by traffic don’t think is a short cut to anywhere. I’d had a difficult half-hour with Davy, explaining what had happened to Cherie and the boys. I thought I should keep it low-key so I wouldn’t frighten him, but I’d forgotten how small boys like things to be gory. He hadn’t seen it happen right in front of his eyes, so it was no more real, no more frightening than a cartoon or a video. I was glad Frankie had gone off to her meeting; anything less like a terrified nervous wreck than Davy it would be hard to imagine.

  You couldn’t say the same for Daniel and Wayne. They sat huddled together on a settee in the front room. The television was on and their eyes were pointing at it, but they weren’t watching. They didn’t look up when the foster mother showed Davy and me into the room, but when she spoke, they both turned their heads towards us, a look of bafflement on their faces. They had the bewildered, desperate air we’ve all grown used to seeing in endlessly recurring TV film of refugees from disaster areas.

  ‘Hi, lads,’ I said. ‘Davy and I were wondering if you fancied going to the ice-cream parlour.’

  Wayne got to his feet and, after a moment, Daniel joined him. I felt like a monster, dragging these two shattered kids out of the nearest thing they were going to have to a home, just to satisfy my curiosity. Then I looked at Davy and remembered my front door. That reminded me there was a lot more at stake than my nosiness. ‘Or we could go somewhere else, if you’d rather,’ I said.

  ‘It’s good there,’ Davy said anxiously, disturbed by his friends’ silence. ‘I want to go home,’ Wayne said. ‘That’s where I want to go.’

  The foster mother, a bulky, comfortable-looking woman in her late thirties, stepped past me and gave Wayne a hug. ‘You’ve got to stay with us for a while, Wayne,’ she said in a soothing voice. ‘I know it’s not the same as home, but tomorrow we’ll go back to your house and get your clothes and the rest of your stuff and you can be at home here, OK?’

  ‘We’ll go to the ice-cream place, then,’ he said grudgingly to me. Wayne shrugged off the woman’s arm and pushed past her into the hall, where he stood expectantly by the door. Daniel followed him, and, after a quick glance at me for permission, so did Davy.

  ‘I’ll have them back in an hour,’ I promised.

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ she said. ‘Quite honestly, love, the more worn out they are tonight the better.’

  For the first twenty minutes, I said nothing about Cherie or the shooting. We pumped money into the Wurlitzer, we argued the relative merits of everything on the menu. Then I sat back and watched while the boys wolfed huge ice-cream sundaes, gradually returning to something approaching normal behaviour, even if it was tinged with a kind of hysteria. I even joined in some of their fun, dredging my memory for old and sick jokes. When I reached the point where the only one I could remember was the one about the Rottweiler and the social worker, I reckoned it was time to change tack.

  ‘Davy got a lot of new transfers yesterday, didn’t you?’ I said brightly.

  ‘Where did you go?’ Daniel asked.

  ‘VIRUS,’ said Davy and proceeded to enthuse about the virtual reality centre.

  ‘Maybe we could all go together the next time Davy’s up,’ I suggested. ‘Show them your tattoos, Davy.’

  He took off his New York blouson to reveal tattoos that spread up from his wrists and finally disappeared into the sleeves of his T-shirt. Wayne and Daniel studied the intergalactic warriors and dinosaurs, desperately trying not to look impressed.

  ‘Huh,’ Wayne finally said. ‘I’ve had ones just as good as that.’

  ‘Where from?’ Davy challenged.

  ‘From Woody on the estate. You know, him that gave you a load last week.’

  There is a god. ‘I don’t think I know Woody,’ I said. ‘Where does he live?’

  ‘Up the top. Near the Apollo. Where the chip van parks,’ Daniel said positively.

  ‘Wasn’t your mum going to go and see him last night?’ I asked, feeling like I was walking on eggshells. It was the first time Cherie had been mentioned, and I didn’t know how they would react.

  Wayne stared into his sundae dish, scraping his spoon round the sides. But Daniel didn’t seem bothered. ‘Nah,’ he said scornfully. ‘It wasn’t Woody she went to see. She’d already seen Woody and gave him a right gobful about giving things to us. And Woody said he was just doing what he was told to do, and she said he was a waste of space and who told him, and he said, the guy in the house on the corner. And that’s where she went.’

  ‘What guy is that, do you know?’

  Daniel shook his head. ‘Don’t know his name. We don’t go there.’ ‘What house is it?’ ‘You know I said where Woody lives? Well, if you was standing at the chip van and you looked across the street that way,’ he said, gesturing with his right arm, ‘it’s the house on the corner. That’s where my mum went last night,’ he added.

  I was impressed. ‘Were you with your mum when she saw Woody?’ I asked. Daniel’s information seemed almost too good to be true.

  ‘Course we weren’t,’ Wayne said contemptuously. ‘She didn’t even know we were out. We followed her. We always follow her. She says we’re the men of the house and she needs us to take care of her, so we follow her, but she don’t know. We watch and listen so we’ll know if anyone did bad things to her and we could get them back later. She never saw us,’ he added proudly.

  ‘I wish I was that good at following people,’ I said. ‘It would come in really handy in my job. You’ll have to give me lessons one of these days. Where did you learn your tricks? From the TV?’

  Wayne shook his head, swinging it elaborately from side to side. ‘Our dad showed us. He trained us to be silent and deadly, just like the Paras.’

  I felt a chill in my heart. According to Cherie, Crazy Eddy hadn’t been near the kids in years. ‘When was this?’ I asked casually.

  ‘For ages. He just turns up at the common where we go with our bikes and takes us up Levenshulme and trains us. But he made us promise we wouldn’t tell anybody because he didn’t want Mum to know. But now Mum’s not here, it doesn’t matter about telling, does it?’ Wayne’s face crumpled and he rubbed his eyes savagely with his fists.

  ‘No, it doesn’t matter. Your dad must be really proud of you. When did you see him last?’

  ‘We saw him yesterday,’ Daniel said. ‘But he’s been around for ages. He came back at Easter.’

  Chapter 23

  I knew that if I betrayed my surprise I wouldn’t get another word out of Daniel or Wayne. Somehow, I had to keep superficially calm at the news that Crazy Eddy was back in town. I breathed softly and thought about something restful; a room freshly painted barley white, actually. ‘I thought your dad worked away,’ I said.

  Daniel stuck his chest out like a sergeant major. ‘He does. He’s a warrior, my dad. He teaches whole armies how to fight like him. But when they’ve learned how to do it, he comes home and sees us.’

  ‘Does he come home often?’ I asked.

  ‘Once or twice a year,’ Wayne muttered. ‘The first time was just after I was five. We were playing in the playground at school at break time and this soldier came up to us, and he crouched down beside us and said, “You know who I am, don’t you?” And we did, because Mum had his picture on her dressing table.’ At the mention of the photograph, something cl
icked inside my head. Wayne looked up and met my eyes. ‘Do you think we can go and live with him now? Be soldiers with him?’

  ‘You’ll have to ask your foster mother about that,’ I said, distracted by the piece of the jigsaw that had just fallen into place. ‘Where does your dad stay when he’s here?’ I tried to sound casual.

  ‘In the Moss. With a man that used to be one of his squaddies,’ Daniel said. ‘He’s never taken us there. He’s too busy training us.’

  ‘Of course he is. It’s a tough job, being a good soldier.’ Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Davy getting restive. I pretended to be stern. ‘And you soldiers are letting the side down now.’ All three looked puzzled. ‘Do you know what’s wrong with this picture?’ I asked, gesturing at the table. They all held their breath and shook their heads. ‘Empty plates!’ I mock-roared. ‘Time for seconds! Who wants more?’

  I didn’t have to ask twice. After the waiter had brought the second round of ice-creams, I said, ‘So what training were you doing with your dad yesterday?’

  ‘Tracking and observation,’ Daniel reported. ‘We met Dad round the common, and then we went and hid across the main road, on the waste ground. We had binoculars, and we watched the outside of the flats and we waited for Mum to come out, then we trailed her and spied on her talking to Woody. Dad said she should keep her nose out of other people’s business when we told him she was on about the transfers.’

  ‘Did he know about the transfers, then?’ I asked through a mouthful of chocolate hazelnut. I’d succumbed the second time around.

  ‘Course he does,’ Wayne said, scornful again. ‘He told us to get the transfers off Woody and get the other kids to use them. He said they’d all want them and that way they’d do what we told them to. But we don’t use the ones we take off Woody. Dad said that would be a sign of weakness, so we don’t.’

  Eddy wasn’t wrong about the transfers being a sign of weakness. I couldn’t help wondering just how much he knew about what was going on in the house on the corner. It was time I paid it a visit. But first, I had to keep my side of the bargain I’d made with myself. I’d had my needs met; now, Daniel and Wayne were entitled to the same thing. I dug my hand in my pocket and dumped a handful of change on the table. ‘Who wants to play?’ I demanded, gesturing with one thumb towards the array of video-game machines at the far end of the ice-cream parlour.