‘You okay, Charlie?’
‘Yeah.’
But he looked pale and tired and edgy, and Hugh found himself looking for other signs of drugs.
‘Thanks for coming,’ Charlie said in a constricted voice and, eyes averted, stood back to let Hugh in. The hall was cold and gloomy, with scuffed paint over anaglypta wallpaper and a smell of dirt and stale cigarettes and old food.
‘Why didn’t you call, Charlie? We’ve been frantic with worry. Lou’s been out looking for you everywhere.’
‘Sorry . . . Sorry . . . My phone ran out . . .’
‘We thought something terrible must have happened. Not to phone!’
‘I couldn’t leave Elk.’
‘Why?’
‘He’s sick.’
‘Sick? Christ, Charlie, Lou thought you must have been mugged or worse. And I thought—’ Hugh lifted both arms and dropped them again. ‘Well, I thought you must have got into trouble again.’
For once Charlie didn’t bristle at the suggestion. ‘Lou knows I’m okay?’
‘I called her straight away. Wasn’t there another phone you could have used?’
Charlie shook his head.
‘And I suppose Elk—’ Hugh pulled himself up short and said in a calmer tone, ‘Look, why don’t you tell me all about it on the way home, eh? Let’s get going.’
‘Can’t leave yet. Not till Elk’s in better shape.’
‘Well, if you can’t leave, why did you—’ Breaking off again, Hugh said mournfully, ‘I don’t understand.’
With a glance up the stairs, Charlie moved away down the passage, looking back to make sure Hugh was following. They entered a dank kitchen with a filthy stove, cluttered surfaces, a sink full of dishes, and a floor that was dark and tacky underfoot.
Charlie extracted a mug from the sink and, filling it with water, gulped greedily, as if he hadn’t drunk anything for a long time. ‘Elk’s been sick,’ he said.
‘What’s the matter with him?’
‘He OD’ed accidentally.’
‘Did he now?’ Hugh said tightly. ‘I thought he was meant to be in recovery.’
‘He was. For more than three hundred days. But he had a row with his dad . . . Basically told him he was rubbish . . . never wanted to see him again.’ Charlie’s shrug suggested this was quite enough to send anyone back to drugs. ‘And when he shot up he didn’t allow for losing his tolerance.’
‘Heroin?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Shouldn’t he be in hospital then?’
‘The worst’s over.’
‘But you’re really okay, Charlie?’
‘Sure,’ he breathed, though the tension in him suggested a different story.
‘Isn’t there anyone else who can look after Elk?’
‘No.’
‘But this place, Charlie . . . It’s God-awful.’
‘I’ve promised to stay. For another day. Two at the most.’
‘So what are you telling me? That Elk comes first?’ Hugh said, hating himself in the role of martyr.
‘No, Dad, no – but it’s part of the deal.’
‘Some deal,’ Hugh growled.
Suddenly the tension in Charlie was unbearable. ‘Listen, Dad . . . Elk’s got something to tell you.’
‘Me? What can he have to tell me?’
‘Dad, whatever happens you’ve got to promise you won’t get mad at him. He can’t take it right now. He’ll only clam up.’
‘Why should I get mad at him?’ Hugh asked with a pull of dread.
‘Just say you won’t.’
‘I can’t promise something like that when I don’t know what the hell he’s going to tell me.’
‘You’ve got to promise, otherwise it won’t be any good,’ Charlie pleaded.
They glared at each other for an instant. Then Hugh nodded rapidly. ‘Okay . . .’
Charlie hesitated, looking doubtful.
‘I promise,’ Hugh said as the dread circled his stomach.
Charlie led the way into the narrow hall and up the stairs to the back of the house where he opened a door just enough to step into the opening. ‘Hiya,’ he called into the room. ‘My dad’s here.’ There must have been some kind of response because Charlie said, ‘Now?’ Another pause, then Charlie said, ‘Yeah,’ and moved forward to let Hugh in.
The room was small and painted a violent shade of blue. There was just enough space for two single beds pressed against opposite walls, a chair in between, a chest of drawers hidden under a jumble of clothes, and an ancient electric heater which at any other time Hugh would have marked down as a serious fire risk. Elk was in the bed nearest the window, lying on his side in a grey T-shirt, one tattooed arm bent over the grubby duvet. His eyes followed Hugh into the room. The rest of his body was so still that Hugh had the impression his eyes were all he could move. His stubbled head was matched by a stubbled chin, while the pallor of his skin was accentuated by two livid, pustular spots that blazed from his cheek. Charlie sat down on the unmade bed opposite and Hugh sat next to him.
‘I told Dad how I’m gonna stay till you’re okay.’ Charlie glanced at Hugh for confirmation. ‘I told him how you’d had a row with your dad and accidentally OD’ed, and that you just need time to get straight again. So we all know where you’re coming from. Yeah?’
Elk’s gaze lost focus and turned inward.
‘Hey, it’s gonna be okay . . .’ Charlie waited for a moment, then leant forward and tapped Elk’s arm. ‘I’m telling you – it’s gonna be okay.’
Elk’s stare suggested he wasn’t convinced.
‘Wanna sit up?’ Grabbing a pillow from the spare bed Charlie folded it over to form a head cushion and, standing over Elk, waited attentively as he hoisted himself higher in the bed. The cushion in place, Charlie sat down again and said, ‘So . . . just tell us. Yeah? What you saw.’ When Elk didn’t speak, Charlie repeated firmly, ‘I’m telling you – it’s gonna be okay. Nothing’s gonna happen.’
Just when it seemed Elk was never going to speak he said, ‘Yeah . . .’
‘So . . .’
‘So . . .’ Elk inhaled wearily. ‘I came by your place, I saw this guy—’
‘But the reason you were there?’ Charlie interrupted.
Elk frowned.
‘Elk’s phone had got nicked,’ Charlie explained. ‘He knew I was coming down from college, but he didn’t know when, so he came looking for me. That’s why he was at the house – to find me.’ Charlie gestured for Elk to go on. ‘Tell us what happened when you got there.’
‘Yeah . . . there’s these lights on . . . so I go round the back—’
‘He didn’t want to ring the bell, he wanted to see if I was there first,’ Charlie chipped in.
‘Yeah . . .’
‘And then?’ Charlie prompted.
‘This is the night of the fire?’ Hugh asked quietly.
Charlie nodded.
‘What time? Roughly?’ He aimed the question at Elk.
Elk gave a shrug. ‘Must’ve been ten . . . something like that.’
‘That’s another reason he didn’t want to ring the bell,’ Charlie said. ‘Because it was late. So . . . you looked round the back.’
‘Yeah. No one there. So I go round the front again and . . . see what I can see . . .’
‘He tried looking in the living-room windows, but the curtains were drawn.’
Elk lowered his eyelids in agreement, and the livid spots flared like beacons on his face.
‘Then you went to the dining-room window.’
‘Yeah . . .’
‘And the hall door was open so he could see through to the stairs,’ Charlie said to Hugh.
‘Yeah . . .’
‘Go on,’ Charlie urged.
‘Yeah, well . . . when I get there, it’s like I just miss this person. All I see is this . . . this . . .’
‘Glimpse.’
‘It’s like the moment I look, they’re gone.’
‘Man? Woman?’ Hugh as
ked, his mouth dry.
‘Dunno. Couldn’t see that much.’
This time it was Hugh who urged him forward. ‘And then?’
‘Didn’t know what to do . . . without a mobile to call Charlie. So I wait a while . . . Then, just when I’m thinkin’ there’s no point in hangin’ about . . .’ In the pause that followed, Elk tightened his mouth and Charlie flung a tense glance in Hugh’s direction. ‘. . . I see this bloke . . . He’s, like, headin’ upstairs . . . carryin’ someone. . . . A woman.’
Blinking a sudden heat from his eyes, Hugh said, ‘What could you see of her?’
‘Huh?’
‘You could see it was a woman?’
Elk had another think. ‘Yeah . . . saw her feet . . . Knees. Yeah . . . her knees.’
‘So he was carrying her in his arms?’ Seeing that Elk didn’t get the point of the question, Hugh added, ‘Not over his shoulder?’
‘In his arms, yeah.’
‘And this man – what did he look like?’
‘Never got a look.’
‘But was he dark haired? Fair? Young? Old?’
Elk’s eyes swivelled in Charlie’s direction, as if for rescue.
‘Short? Tall? Fat? Thin?’ Hugh persevered. ‘Anything you can remember, Elk. Anything at all.’
‘I wasn’t gonna hang around, was I? The moment I saw the way things were, I was out of there.’
The way things were: a man carrying a woman up to bed. Hugh bowed his head.
Charlie said, ‘But you thought he was wearing jeans?’
‘Dunno.’
‘But you said—’
‘I dunno. Okay?’ Elk said irritably.
‘And you can’t remember anything else?’ Hugh asked.
Elk lowered his eyes: a no.
Charlie said, ‘The motorbike, Elk – tell him about the motorbike.’
Elk said reluctantly, ‘Yeah . . . there was this motorbike . . .’
‘Where?’
‘Side of the house.’
A lot of things raced through Hugh’s mind as he absorbed this. That it was the perfect means of transport for an arsonist. That it seemed to rule out your average drug addict, drifter, schizophrenic, general all-round maniac. That various people he knew owned motorbikes, a couple of the partners in Dimmock Marsh, a few neighbours. That the information both worried and excited him.
‘What kind of motorbike?’
‘I dunno.’
‘Well, was it large?’
Elk was getting drowsy. ‘I dunno . . .’
‘What about the colour?’
Elk was already indicating a don’t know.
Hugh searched desperately for more questions. ‘Did it look shiny?’
Elk paused to consider. ‘Yeah . . . Yeah, shiny.’
‘With lots of metal over the front?’ Hugh sketched a shape in the air.
‘Might’ve.’
‘And . . . it was parked down the left-hand side of the house?’
Elk’s eyelids were drooping heavily now, he was battling to stay awake and Hugh had to ask him again.
‘Yeah . . .’
‘And was it facing outwards? Ready to go?’
‘Yeah . . .’ Elk turned his head away and closed his eyes.
‘Thanks,’ Hugh said. ‘And if you remember anything else . . .’
But if Elk heard him, he gave no sign.
‘You’ll keep asking him?’ he said to Charlie.
‘Sure.’
As Hugh led the way down the stairs he said, ‘I don’t know why you thought I’d be angry, Charlie. God – anything but.’ Then, with the sense of having known it all along, a realisation came to him. Reaching the narrow hallway, he said flatly, ‘Elk came looking for you two days before that, didn’t he? He was the hoodie I chased down the lane.’
Charlie nodded.
‘Why did he run away?’
‘Thought you wouldn’t be too welcoming, I guess.’
Hugh didn’t bother to deny it. ‘But these things he saw, Charlie – we need him to make a statement to the police. Will he agree, do you think?’
‘Yeah.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘It’s part of our deal.’
Once again Charlie had managed to take Hugh by surprise. ‘So, if I can arrange it for tomorrow . . .’
‘I’ll make sure he gets there.’
‘I’ll come and collect you.’
At the door he said, ‘First I’ll get your phone topped up at a cash dispenser. That’s how you do it, isn’t it, at a cash dispenser? And food. I’ll get some food and drop it back for you. And then you’ll come back, won’t you, Charlie? As soon as you can. You’ll come home?’
TEN
The morning was still and bitterly cold, with ice warnings for country roads. Hugh had set off in good time, hoping to have a quick word with the Rev Emmanuel before collecting Elk and Charlie for their appointment with the police, but as he drove up the long hill towards the Carstairs Estate he realised the reverend was otherwise engaged: a hearse and three black limousines stood outside the church.
He slowed indecisively. With forty minutes to spare, he didn’t want to hang about in the dismal house by the railway line, nor get the boys to the police station too early and run the risk of Elk taking fright. Seeing an entrance to the Carstairs coming up ahead, he made up his mind and turned in. He paused by a large map of the estate. The print was faded, the colours bleached, some block names had been almost entirely scratched out, but after checking his notebook he identified the block he was looking for. The road, marked by low kerbs and concrete bollards and punctuated by speed bumps, circled the five giant high-rises, passing between concrete aprons on one side and patches of worn grass on the other. The block he wanted was on the far side. Like the rest of the estate it looked cleaner and brighter close up, though that was probably the effect of the sunlight. He parked in an area marked ‘Residents Only’ because all the other places seemed to have hatched yellow lines and warning notices. Nearby, some kids were kicking a ball around, while outside the entrance two large ladies were talking intently. It all looked very normal, but then what had he expected?
Beyond a pair of battered swing doors was a cramped lobby with a concrete floor that sported a scattering of cigarette ends, a chocolate wrapper and a large ink-like stain. There were two lifts, one of which arrived within a minute or so, which he guessed was fast for a block this size. The lift interior was small but well lit, with an emergency intercom that appeared intact. The cage rattled and rumbled, but delivered him safely to the twelfth floor. He stepped out into an altogether darker world. Two gloomy corridors stretched away in opposite directions, illuminated only by small end-windows and the occasional low-powered ceiling light. There was a strong smell of disinfectant and the loud beat of bass music. Opposite the lift a patch on the wall with torn fixings suggested there had once been a sign to say which flats lay in which direction. He tried right and when the first flat number looked promising kept going. He passed the blaring music and was nearing the end of the corridor when he saw the door of the last flat. The jamb had been compressed and splintered, the door gouged around the battered lock, while two shiny new locks had been fitted top and bottom. Caught up by a dull, incoherent anxiety, he rang the bell once, and again, followed by a series of firm knocks.
After a time he retreated to the flat with the bass music and rang the bell. There was a long pause, then a male voice called though the closed door, ‘Who’s that?’
‘I wanted to ask about the Jameses.’
‘Say a-gain,’ came the voice.
Hugh put his mouth closer to the edge of the door and repeated the request at a shout.
After a moment the latch sounded, the door opened a little, and the music boomed out. A face filled the opening, young and black, with shrewd eyes that appraised Hugh coolly.
‘Who wants to know?’
‘My wife was with the Citizens Advice,’ Hugh said, raising his voice over the music. ‘She used
to help Mrs James. We wanted to know if Mrs James and Wesley were all right.’
The young man gazed impassively at Hugh while the music thumped out behind him.
‘I saw the door . . .’ Hugh gestured towards the end of the corridor. ‘It looks as if it’s been forced.’
The young man canted his lower jaw to one side.
‘What happened?’
A minute shrug.
‘We’re worried. That’s the only reason we’re asking.’
‘They came. . . . They took him away.’
‘Who took him away?’
The young man looked mildly entertained that Hugh should ask.
‘Was it the police?’
Another shrug.
‘We’re really worried, otherwise we wouldn’t ask.’
‘Police, social services . . .’ His expression suggested they were all the same to him.
‘You didn’t see them, then?’
He gave a minute shake of his head.
‘You just heard about it?’
A nod.
‘And when was this?’
‘Two . . . three days . . .’
Hugh thanked him and swung away. Waiting for the lift, his anxiety hardened, he pressed impatiently on the button. When the lift finally arrived, the downward journey seemed endless; he had a sudden fear of being trapped. Emerging fast before the doors were fully opened, he bumped into a youth who cursed him loudly. Driving away, he hit the first speed bump too fast and the car rabbit-hopped. He made himself slow down, but the anxiety was still there, bunched high in his stomach.
Pulling out into the main road, he saw a trickle of black-clad figures coming out of the church and pallbearers sliding a flower-decked coffin into the hearse. He drew up behind the last limousine. John Emmanuel was standing in the porch, resplendent in white and blue vestments, shaking hands with the mourners, listening and talking, his breath vaporising in the freezing air. Hugh hung back until the last mourner drifted away, and approached John as he was locking the church door.
‘Hugh! Hey, how you doing?’
‘John, you know a boy called Wesley James, don’t you?’ Hugh asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Can you tell me what’s happened to him?’
‘Why, yes . . . he’s gone to the hospital. He’s not been well, not well at all.’ Casting a glance towards the waiting cortège, John gestured for them to walk.
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