by Helen Black
She thought the thing on her head might be a bag because, although her face was completely covered, the bottom was open all the way round. She could bring her hands to her mouth easily enough. She could start chewing her way through the tape if she wanted, but what if the man came back halfway through? So far he hadn’t done anything to hurt her, but if he caught her trying something like that he might lose the plot.
She just had to wait a bit longer, listen as hard as she could, assure herself that he wasn’t in the flat. She’d once had the same thing happen with a punter. A girl she knew vouched for him, said he was a bit weird but harmless, that he liked it a bit rough but never actually hurt anyone. Not properly. Happy to pay double. That sealed the deal.
After only a few minutes in, Daisy had had him pegged as a wrong ’un, but she already owed her dealer fifty quid. There’d be no chance of anything else on tick, not even a taste. He’d tied her up, pulled out a knife and started chatting shit. ‘I’m going to cut off your tits and make you eat them,’ he’d said, along with a whole string of snuff-movie staples. She’d waited him out until eventually he got bored and let her go.
That was one of the good things about working at the Cherry. The punters were regulars more often than not and even the one-offs were given a proper once-over by the girls before anyone offered services. It kept them safe. Mostly. It wasn’t a hundred per cent, though. Sometimes a nutter slipped through the net, like that bastard Rance.
The creak of the door opening made her jump. Thank God she hadn’t tried to get through the tape. Footsteps came towards her until she could see a pair of white Nike Air Max. Then there was a whoosh of air. She coughed and blinked, suddenly dazzled by sunlight.
‘All right, Daisy?’
The man towering above her came into focus, smiling down on her, fag behind his ear, all south-London-cheeky-chappie. He held a rucksack, which she realized must have been over her head. He grabbed her by the chin and yanked her head so that she had to look him in the eye. ‘I said all right, Daisy?’ When she nodded, he seemed satisfied and let her go. ‘Glad to hear it. Like to look after my guests. Only good manners, you get me?’
Daisy nodded again.
‘That’s my girl,’ he said. ‘Now, I need you to do something for me, okay?’
Daisy nodded a third time.
‘Come on now, girl,’ he said. ‘Cat got your tongue? I need to know if you can do something for me.’
‘Yes,’ Daisy replied.
‘Now that’s what I like to hear.’ The man wagged a finger at her. ‘Positive thinking. Gonna get you a long way in life, Daisy.’ He plucked the cigarette from behind his ear and lit it, leaving it in the corner of his mouth. ‘Wanna fag?’
‘Yes.’
The man made a mock-frown. ‘I’m disappointed, Daisy. Manners are a two-way street, don’t you think?’
‘Yes, please,’ said Daisy.
The smile returned to his face and he bent down so that he was at her level, took the fag from his mouth and held it to her lips. She took a grateful drag.
‘I need you to make a phone call for me, Daisy,’ he said. ‘But I need you to say exactly what I tell you, word for word. Can you do that?’
‘Yes.’
He let her take another pull on the fag before tossing it to the carpet, grinding it out with his heel and pulling a mobile from his back pocket. From the screensaver she knew instantly that it was Frankie’s.
Jay paced back and forth on his patio, flicking a front tooth with his thumbnail. The sound of his boys’ squeals floated through an open upstairs window, followed by their mother’s laughter. Liberty couldn’t remember their own mother laughing. Not real laughter. Not unless she’d been drunk. She checked Jay and Crystal’s faces to see if they were thinking the same thing, but their serious expressions told her that Paula Greenwood was far from their thoughts.
Crystal’s mobile rang and Jay stopped dead.
Crystal slid the unlock button, pressed answer and held it six inches from her chin. ‘Frankie?’
‘No.’
Crystal had the phone on speaker so they could all hear. Jay and Liberty stepped closer. The person calling was female. She had a local accent and Liberty recognized the voice, though she couldn’t immediately place it.
‘Who, then?’ Crystal asked.
‘It’s Daisy,’ the woman replied. ‘Daisy Clarke.’
‘Daisy the Dog?’ Jay said. ‘What the actual fuck?’
Crystal slapped her hand over his mouth. ‘Where’s the man who called earlier, Daisy?’
There was a muffled sound, as if Daisy was saying something but away from the phone. Then she came back on the line. ‘You need to listen,’ she said. ‘I’m only going to get to say this once, okay?’
‘Okay,’ Crystal replied.
‘I’m with Frankie.’
‘What?’ Crystal barked.
‘If you want to see him again, you’ve got to pay. If you don’t pay, he’ll get hurt. It’s as simple as that.’
‘How do we know Frankie’s not already hurt?’ Crystal asked.
‘I’ll call again soon to tell you how much you’ve got to pay,’ said Daisy.
‘Is Frankie . . .’
The line was already dead.
Jay hit his forehead with his knuckle. ‘I told that girl to stay away from him. I told her that. What the hell has she got him into?’
Liberty thought about Daisy in the back room of the Black Cherry, fidgeting and scratching as she retracted her statement. ‘I can’t imagine her as a key player here.’
Jay’s eyes flashed.
‘I doubt she’d even know how to get to London,’ Liberty said, ‘let alone manage to lure Frankie down there for God knows what.’
‘She’s a junkie. And a whore,’ said Jay.
The words ‘like your mistress’ formed on Liberty’s tongue.
‘Frankie’s just a kid,’ Jay continued.
‘He’s thirty-four,’ Liberty said.
Jay tapped the side of his head. ‘Not up here he’s not.’
Liberty sighed. Maybe Jay was right. She didn’t know Daisy or Frankie, did she? And, anyway, what did it matter? The important thing was what was going to happen now.
The lights in the kitchen came on, flooding the patio. Someone had dropped half a sandwich, the bread bearing the perfect imprints of a child’s teeth. A long line of ants marched steadily towards it, more and more pouring out of a small hole in the edge of the lawn.
Jay gestured for them to move away from the house into the shadows.
‘What now?’ Liberty asked.
‘She said she’d call back,’ Jay answered.
‘We can’t just stand here and wait,’ said Liberty. ‘It might be hours.’
Jay shrugged.
Liberty had a suggestion. It was exactly what she would have done if you’d asked her yesterday. Her first response. ‘We could call the police.’
Jay and Crystal looked at her as if she’d suggested calling the pope. She understood. She was now the sort of person who provided false alibis, the sort of person who paid for evidence to go missing. She was no longer the sort of person who called the police.
‘She’s right about not hanging around, though,’ said Crystal. ‘We’ve no idea when Daisy will call again. We might as well try to find out what we can.’
‘I’ll go to the Cherry,’ said Jay. ‘See if Mel or any of the girls know what Daisy the fucking Dog might be doing in London.’
‘I’ll ask around and see if Frankie’s said anything to anybody,’ Crystal added. ‘He’s not good at keeping secrets.’
They moved back towards the house away from Liberty. A breeze lifted, bringing with it the scent of jasmine from a pot by the kitchen door. Liberty assumed Rebecca had planted it, or perhaps a gardener. ‘I can help,’ she called after her brother and sister.
They turned to her, their faces saying it all.
‘I can go to Daisy’s flat,’ she said. ‘I know where it is. I can have
a poke around, see if there’s something that might help.’
Jay and Crystal glanced at one another, then replied as one: ‘Fine.’
Chapter 14
November 1985
‘Are you absolutely certain you can’t remember, Elizabeth?’ The policeman puts his elbows on his knees and shoves his face up against mine. His breath smells of cigs and mints.
Mr Reid sighs, like he’s getting pissed off now. We’ve been in his office for what seems like hours going over and over the same stuff. ‘I’ve explained the nature of my patient’s memory loss to you, Officer,’ he says. ‘These endless questions are not going to change anything.’ He pushes a plate of biscuits towards me.
Not long ago his secretary brought us all a cuppa and the biscuits. I’m the only one who’s eaten any so far. I’ve had a Jammie Dodger, a custard cream and a chocolate finger. There’s just a ginger nut and a pink wafer left. I go for the wafer, sucking it, letting it dissolve on my tongue. I shouldn’t have had that many, really. When I see the kids later, the foster-parents are bound to ask me if I’d like anything to eat and I don’t want to look fussy or stuck-up, do I? I’ll just have to force down whatever they offer me.
The copper sits up. ‘Jimmy Greenwood is saying there was another man present at the scene, that he fought with this man and that together they accidentally pushed his wife over the balcony.’
Mr Reid sniffs. ‘To paraphrase Mandy Rice-Davies, he would say that, wouldn’t he?’
I have no idea who Mandy Whatsherface is so I just lick my fingers. I’ll leave the ginger nut because I don’t want to look greedy. And, anyway, I don’t like them much.
‘Greenwood says his daughter can confirm his version of events,’ the copper continues.
Mr Reid folds his arms across his chest. ‘Well, she can’t.’
The copper rubs the back of his head and lets out a long, faggy, minty breath. ‘I don’t want him getting off.’ He gives me look. ‘I don’t think you want that either, Elizabeth.’
‘Right.’ Mr Reid claps his hands making me jump. ‘That’s quite enough. This line of questioning is becoming abusive. I know you have your job to do, Officer, but so do I and I am calling a halt to this right now.’
The policeman says something under his breath, stands up and leaves the room. Mr Reid follows him. I can hear them rowing outside the door. Not shouting and that. More sort of clipped. I swipe the ginger nut, but as soon as I bite into it I regret it. It makes my tongue fizz. I need a drink now and there’s only a bit of cold tea left in my cup. I swallow it but it’s not enough.
Eventually Mr Reid comes back in on his own. ‘He’s gone,’ he says, and I smile back at him. ‘We’d better get you back to your ward.’
‘I’m going to Bramhope,’ I say. ‘To see the kids.’
He frowns at me. ‘Not today, Elizabeth.’
‘Yes, today,’ I say. ‘Four o’clock, remember?’
‘You’ve had a terrible ordeal,’ he says. ‘Your dad coming to the hospital. The police arresting him like that.’
My heart plunges in my chest. ‘I’m all right.’
Mr Reid shakes his head. ‘No, you’re not. You’re already suffering from memory loss and now this on top. A long car journey followed by what is bound to be an emotional reunion with your brothers and sister? I simply can’t countenance it.’
I let my head hang. What can I do? I can’t let on my memory’s just fine, can I? They’d probably put me in the same cell as Dad.
* * *
Liberty tried not to notice that her sister was pushing seventy-five as they sped across town. ‘Do you like it?’ she asked.
Crystal shrugged and floored the accelerator.
‘I bought it a couple of months ago,’ Liberty went on. ‘Spur-of-the-moment thing, really.’
Crystal raised an eyebrow.
‘What?’ Liberty asked, but Crystal didn’t respond, keeping her eyes on the road as she slowed only fractionally to take a sharp bend. ‘You don’t think I’m a spur-of-the-moment sort of person?’
‘I have no idea what sort of person you are.’
As they entered the Crosshills estate, a man was pulling down the metal shutters over the doors and windows of the Happy Shopper. On the first shutter someone had sprayed the words ‘Police Free Streets’. On the second there was a picture of a giant pair of boobs. ‘It’s over there on the left,’ said Liberty, pointing at the stairs to Daisy’s block.
Crystal pulled up with a screech, making Liberty’s head lurch forward, then smack back against the head rest. Crystal scowled. ‘You sure you wanna do this?’
‘Yeah,’ said Liberty.
‘This isn’t a nice part of town, Lib.’
‘Crystal, we grew up not five minutes away.’
‘A lot’s changed since then.’
Liberty laughed. ‘Don’t tell me all the posh people moved out?’ Crystal turned her head, presumably so Liberty wouldn’t catch her smiling. ‘It’s fine. You go and do what you need to, come back for me in an hour.’ She opened the door, got out and watched her sister roar away. Only then did she drop the act. Coming back to the Crosshills was a very bad idea indeed. If the police caught her, Hassani would throw the book at her, and Connolly probably wouldn’t try to stop her. Even Raj would most likely leave her to her fate.
She looked over her shoulder at the graffiti on the first shutter and prayed it was true. The stairs were steep and she breathed hard as she climbed to the third floor and Daisy’s flat. She paused in the stairwell on the first floor. It smelt of the chips that were liberally scattered around. She prayed that the yellow stain up the wall was curry sauce. The third floor stank but Liberty didn’t hurry on. Instead she paused, watching the walkway in front of the flats. No one came in or out. Most of the flats were in complete darkness, the residents either out or in bed.
She waited another second or two, then strode along the walkway, head down. When she reached Daisy’s flat, she could see that although someone had shut the door it wasn’t completely flush with the jamb, presumably jarred out of position by being kicked open. In one deft movement, she pushed it wide and bobbed under the yellow police tape. Once inside she pressed the door as near to closed as it would go.
Her hand automatically hovered to the light switch, but she snatched it back just in time. She needed to be as discreet as possible and draw no attention from anyone. She pulled out her iPhone and turned on the torch setting, keeping it low.
The hallway was empty again. No bags, no shoes. Just an old radiator that looked like it had been painted a million times. The first door on the left to the kitchen was open and Liberty stepped inside. She swung the beam of light across the worktops. What should she be looking for? Post? A phone? A laptop? A diary? The surfaces were covered with crockery and old food cartons, cigarette butts clinging to every plate, bowl and cup. The tap at the sink dripped relentlessly onto a mound of teabags and a smashed glass.
To the right of the cooker was a small fridge. Liberty opened it, but the light didn’t come on. It was broken and empty, except for a bag of unused syringes. On top of the fridge there were more cups, but as Liberty arced the torch beam across it, she also made out a pile of letters. She reached over, picked them up and rifled through. The first was a demand from an electrician, urging Daisy to send a cheque, or telephone with credit-card details to avoid damage to her credit rating. The second was from her GP, requesting that she make an appointment for a blood test as a matter of urgency. The rest were flyers for pizza, curry and kebabs.
Liberty moved out of the kitchen and down the hall to the living room, though there was little evidence that any living was done there. She felt a pang of sadness for Daisy. Something had led her to this dog-end existence. Whatever it was must have been bleak. She scanned the room, realizing that this was a fool’s errand. She wasn’t going to find any clue here in the detritus as to Daisy and Frankie’s whereabouts. Nothing but overflowing ashtrays and anything that could be turned into a crack pipe.
Empty Coke cans, crushed and pricked, water bottles topped with foil. Even a blue asthma inhaler had been converted.
Just as she was about to give up and call Crystal, she spotted something on the floor by the side of the sofa. A piece of paper scrunched into a ball. Liberty reached over, picked it up and smoothed it out. It was a receipt for two meals at a pub called the Butcher’s Arms with yesterday’s date. At least they now knew one place where Daisy had been.
Suddenly, through the darkness, she heard a creak. Someone was opening the door.
Surely it couldn’t be Hassani again. How could she even know Liberty was here? Of course she couldn’t, not unless she’d been following her. Would Hassani do that? Liberty recalled the look on the young policewoman’s face when she had walked out of the station. She wouldn’t put anything past her.
She heard footsteps. If it was Hassani, she was already inside the flat. A spike of adrenalin rushed through her, clearing any residual panic. She snapped off the torch on her phone and ducked quickly behind the sofa. Then she held her breath. The footsteps moved from the hall into the kitchen, pausing, pre-sumably to check it was empty. Then they came down to the doorway of the living room. A beam of light pierced the room, brighter than that made by Liberty’s phone. It swept along the sofa, illuminating the stains and rips. Liberty remained stock still, squeezed her eyes and mouth shut.
At last the light and the footsteps moved away, heading to the bedroom.
Liberty knew she had only seconds to get out of there. Checking the bedroom would be a distraction but only a brief one.
She crept from behind the sofa to the door and listened. No footsteps, only breathing.
Then the smallest sound as Hassani, or whoever it was, stepped out of the hall into the bedroom. Knowing it was now or never, Liberty bolted from the living room to the front door, yanked it open and burst through the police tape, like a sprinter winning a race. She sprang onto the walkway and ran along it to the stair-well. Behind her, she heard something or someone but didn’t break her stride. She took the steps two at a time, then three, using the wall to push her ever forward. Her breath came in jagged bursts, her heart breaking out of her chest.