The Aden Vanner Novels

by Jeff Gulvin

  ‘Difficult to say. He/she could have been crouching. They probably were.’

  ‘How tall?’

  ‘Between five-six and five-nine I would say.’

  ‘Definitely female?’

  ‘I can’t tell you that. But you found hairs which were definitely female.’

  Vanner and Jimmy Crack trawled slowly through Harlesden. Vanner was weary, fatigue plucking at the corners of his eyes. He had not slept since yesterday. He had not seen Ellie. He knew he should phone his father. They trundled up the High Road and got snarled up in traffic. In the square by the lights a large sweating black man brandished a Bible and shouted at passers-by to redeem themselves. Jimmy watched him through the window.

  ‘Think it makes any difference?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘What he does?’

  Vanner caught the rolling eye of the black man. ‘To him maybe.’

  By the mobile phone shop on the corner two black kids in bomber jackets and red bow ties handed out ‘Final Call’ newspapers. Jimmy looked beyond them to ‘Ska Cuts’ the barber’s shop. ‘Run by Jig,’ he said. ‘Stepper-Nap’s cousin.’

  ‘He cuts hair?’

  ‘Not him. Others. A front, Guv’nor. Cash business. The Western Union money goes back to Jamaica to pay for the coke. That place,’ he nodded across the road again, ‘the arcades, just fronts for the cash.’ He stopped talking as Pretty Boy walked out of the barber’s shop. He wore a black suit over a white silk granddad shirt.

  ‘Look at it,’ he muttered. ‘And kids look up to him.’

  Pretty Boy was oblivious to them. He walked half a dozen paces and climbed into his car.

  ‘How many mobile numbers have you got?’ Vanner said to Jimmy.

  Jimmy pulled his mouth down at the corners. ‘Young Young’s. Pretty Boy’s. Couple of others.

  ‘Who do they call?

  ‘Each other mostly.’

  They drove up Craven Road, past Harlesden nick, then headed up Church Road towards Willesden.

  ‘Any fresh word from Kingston?’ Vanner asked.

  ‘I’m talking to the DLO. They watch Stepper’s brother over there but can’t get close to him.’

  ‘What about Rafter?’

  Jimmy looked at him then. ‘He gave us the doctor didn’t he. I want to go see him again, Guv. One of his girls is a runner for the posse. He might be able to organise a trip for her from inside. If we pay him enough we might set up a plot and follow her when she gets home.’

  ‘The doctor?’

  ‘Yeah. She’ll carry internally.’

  They drove on and passed the Willesden Community Hospital. ‘Eilish McCauley,’ Vanner mused.

  ‘The BMW in the photos.’

  ‘You reckon Stepper’s got something going with Jimmy Carter?’

  ‘Young Young got hammered instead of killed didn’t he?’

  Vanner scratched his head. ‘Carter worries me, Jim. He’s big-time in the real sense of the word.’

  They came to the slip road by Roundwell Park and pulled in. The park stretched away from them, uncut grass matted by the breeze. Vanner wound the window down and lit a cigarette. Jimmy pointed to the houses on the right of the street directly opposite the park.

  ‘Brown pebble-dash council,’ he said.

  Vanner flicked ash over the sill of the window and looked at the houses. ‘Third one in, I reckon,’ Jimmy said. ‘You want to take gander?’

  ‘Drive by in a minute.’ Vanner glanced at his mobile phone on the dashboard.

  ‘You got to make a call, Guv?’

  Vanner looked sideways at him.

  ‘You just keep looking at it.’

  Vanner smiled. ‘My father,’ he said, ‘had a heart attack last month.’

  Concern lifted in Jimmy’s eyes.

  ‘Second time,’ Vanner went on. ‘He’s old you know.’

  ‘Bell him then.’

  ‘Later.’

  They looked again at the houses. A smallish man with dark hair was walking down the street with two half-caste girls on either side of him. They were young, swinging off each hand as if to pull his arms from their sockets. He crossed the road in front of them and the girls skipped away from him into the long, wet grass. Jimmy hunched into the door.

  ‘If we can get Rafter to set something up with his girl we might get a result.’

  ‘We need one, Jimmy. We got nothing on Pretty Boy and even less on the Daddy.’

  A car pulled up in front of them and a woman got out. She was petite, dressed in blue jeans and a padded leather jacket. Her hair was tied in a ponytail but it was long and red and hanging over her shoulders. Vanner looked at Jimmy.

  Eilish had spotted James with the girls in the park as she was about to turn into their road. She pulled over into the slip road and got out. James had not seen her, chasing the girls in circles with his back to her. She made her way across the grass towards them. Caran saw her first and shouted. James looked round then and she smiled at him. The girls rushed up to her and jumped into her arms.

  Vanner and Jimmy watched from the car. ‘Stepper-Nap’s kids?’ Vanner offered.

  Jimmy shrugged.

  ‘Who’s the bloke then?’

  They watched the greeting, the girls in their mother’s arms. The man hung back, hands in the pockets of his jeans. Jimmy looked at Vanner. ‘Pissed-off boyfriend he looks like.’

  Eilish kissed the girls then produced a bag of sweets for each of them. They skipped away again and began to compare the contents. Eilish looked at her brother. ‘They been good have they?’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Anybody call for me?’

  James hunched his shoulders into his neck. ‘The other night,’ he said. ‘Mary-Anne came round.’

  ‘What did she want?’

  ‘Didn’t say’ He kicked at a tuft of grass.

  ‘Anyone else?’

  ‘The tall one. Young Young. Somebody beat him up.’

  Eilish shivered as she thought of her night with Jimmy Carter.

  James was watching her. ‘How’s our mam then?’

  ‘Not too bad. She sends her love.’

  James nodded. ‘I’ll go next time.’

  ‘Whatever.’

  He looked beyond her to the two men sitting in the car with the window down. Eilish came up to him. ‘I’m tired,’ she said. ‘And I need a bath.’

  He nodded. ‘Mam any closer to getting a phone?’

  ‘She hates phones, Jamie. You know that.’

  ‘Don’t call me Jamie.’

  She looked at him then. ‘Your dad called you that didn’t he.’

  ‘Don’t remember.’

  ‘She still goes on about him you know. Even now.’

  ‘What did she say this time?’

  ‘The usual — what a useless waste of space he was.’

  ‘She’s right.’

  ‘Aye. So she is at that.’ She yawned then. ‘I’m going back. Bring the girls when you’re ready.’

  Vanner and Jimmy watched her get back in her car and drive across the road. She parked outside the third house on the right and walked up the path.

  Webb sat at his desk in the Exhibits room and put down the phone. He had been talking to the Disabled Police Officers Association in Belfast, seeing if they had had any more word from Tim Phelan in Yorkshire. All was quiet they told him. Swann sat opposite him. ‘It was just the cracks then.’

  Webb pulled a face. ‘Had a good look didn’t we.’

  Swann nodded. ‘You’ve not heard anything from your mates up there?’

  Webb shook his head.

  ‘Cracks then.’

  ‘He probably just misses it.’

  The door opened and the sergeant from the Special Branch cell came in. Webb swivelled round in his chair.

  ‘What’s happening?’ the sergeant asked him.

  Webb shrugged. ‘I told you we got a print from the belfry in the church. Matches the size from the ESLA lift. Flat woman’s shoe, size seven I reckon.’ He
rested clasped hands behind his head. ‘I talked to the pathologist yesterday. He confirms the subject’s five-six to nine.’

  The sergeant squatted on the edge of the desk. ‘Doesn’t make any sense, Webby.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  Swann made an open-handed gesture. ‘Maybe they just want to make us think it’s a woman.’

  Webb wrinkled his brow. ‘They don’t go to that much bother.’

  ‘I’ve checked the body, Webby,’ the sergeant said. ‘Word’s gone out through Box and no-one knows anything about her.’

  ‘Wrong target,’ Swann said. ‘We knew that already.’

  Webb stood up and went to look out of the window. When Canary Wharf blew they could all but see it from here. He looked over Westminster Abbey, where people thronged on the pavement. ‘Any ideas on the right target yet?’ he said without looking round.

  ‘We’re looking.’

  ‘Snouts,’ Swann said.

  The SB sergeant nodded. ‘Box are looking at it, Jack. There’s a few nervous women out there.’

  Webb grinned. ‘Should keep them on their toes then. We got any close to Ealing?’

  ‘Hammersmith’s the nearest.’

  Webb scratched his nose. ‘What about possibles for the shooting?’

  ‘A couple of nominals. They’re based over the water.’

  ‘Maybe PIRA have changed the rules,’ Swann said, ‘sending hardcase babes instead of volunteers.’

  Webb ignored him. ‘Who’ve we got?’

  ‘Two definite maybes,’ the sergeant said. ‘One from Belfast and the other from Silverbridge.’

  ‘Silverbridge. Now there’s a fine friendly place.’ Webb sat back at his desk.

  Eilish lay in bed with Stepper-Nap. His breathing grew harsh in his throat and he exhaled stiffly. Then he rolled off her and lay on his side. She lay flat on her back, resting her palm on her stomach. For a few minutes he lay facing away from her. She could hear James creeping back to his room and the past grew up in her head. Seeing Cahal had done it, sparked off memory that had freshened and freshened until Tommy’s face burned in her mind. In that moment she hated Stepper and all she had become.

  Stepper broke in on her thoughts. He lifted himself to one podgy elbow and looked at her through the darkness. She could see the white of his eyes.

  ‘Carmel got busted,’ he said.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Holding two Jamaicans.’

  She laughed. ‘Oh Stepper, lover. That’ll teach you to spread your wings so far.’

  He looked at her. ‘I’m a diplomat, baby. I like to keep things sweet.’

  ‘Too sweet ends up making you sick.’

  He touched her nipple with his fingertips. ‘Never mind about that. What happened?’

  She looked at him again. ‘What I said would happen. I made the contact, lover. Don’t worry, he’s an old friend and he trusts me.’

  He grinned then, showing the white of his teeth. ‘Jimmy came good then.’

  ‘Jimmy put in a word. But this contact is mine.’

  ‘Whatever you say, baby.’

  He sat up, lit two cigarettes and handed one to her.

  ‘How’s Young Young?’ she asked him.

  ‘Pissed off. But’s he’s alive.’

  ‘How bad was the beating?’

  ‘Bad enough. Ribs, I think. Couple of teeth.’ He squinted at her then. ‘You’re not worried about him are you?’

  She did not say anything.

  He blew smoke through his teeth. ‘Young Young’s history anyway.’

  ‘You losing him?’

  ‘When I’m ready.’

  ‘What about Pretty Boy?’

  ‘Baby, I can take care of Pretty Boy. He’s just a jumped-up nigger. I don’t need Young Young for him.’ He paused then and inspected the glowing end of his cigarette. ‘So you reckon we’re on then?’

  ‘They want a kilo and a half.’

  ‘Already.’

  ‘A tester. They want it in powder first.’

  He pushed away the bedclothes and walked naked to the window, the thickness of his waist sagging over his buttocks. Young Young was built so much better.

  ‘I want you to carry, babe.’

  ‘Somehow I thought you might.’

  He turned and looked back at her. ‘You can do it. They never check the ferry. You told me that yourself.’

  She drew smoke in through her nose. ‘I’m taking all the risks.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I don’t know I like it much.’

  ‘You earn don’t you?’ He gestured to the open wardrobe doors. ‘You reckon the social pays for this?’

  ‘I know I earn, Stepper.’

  ‘And your little brother — keeps him in smarties don’t it.’

  Eilish sat up then and stared at him. ‘He looks after the kids.’

  Stepper looked back at her. ‘Whose kids are they anyway? The little one looks like Young Young.’

  Eilish got up then and went through to the bathroom. James’s door was closed and the silence lifted from within. She flushed the toilet and walked back across the landing. Stepper was getting dressed. Eilish lay down on top of the duvet. He squinted at the Gaelic inscription tattooed across her thigh. ‘What does that mean? You never did tell me.’

  Eilish touched the blue ink with her fingertips. ‘You really don’t want to know.’

  He finished dressing and looked across the landing towards her brother’s bedroom. ‘Tell me something, baby?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘How come your little brother gets to watch us fuck.’

  She stared at him.

  ‘I heard him on the landing. What is it—gets his kicks that way?’

  ‘Leave him alone.’

  He held up a palm. ‘I’m just asking, baby.’

  Eilish sneered at him then. ‘Go home, Stepper-Nap. Go home to your wife.’

  When he was gone she climbed beneath the duvet and drew her knees up to her chest. James moved onto the landing and started for the bathroom.

  ‘Come in, James,’ she called to him.

  He pushed open the door and stood there framed in the half-light. He looked vaguely lost, standing in T-shirt and boxer shorts. Eilish threw back the bedclothes and beckoned him. He hesitated and then climbed into the bed alongside her. She drew his head to her chest and smoothed fingers over his brow.

  ‘You all right?’

  He did not answer her.

  ‘I do love you you know.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘And I’m grateful for all that you do.’

  James eased his head into her shoulder. ‘Did you see Cahal, Eilish?’

  She did not reply right away. ‘Yes, love. I saw him.’

  ‘Did he say anything?’

  Webb and DCI Westbrook sat down in the incident room with Weir, Morrison and Ryan. Ryan smoked. Weir chewed gum. Morrison looked at Westbrook. ‘Well?’

  Westbrook shifted in his seat. ‘You know about the print. The ESLA lift separated it from the others.’

  Morrison nodded.

  ‘The lift gave us something we could compare with what we found in the church. Now we know the size and roughly the sole pattern.’

  ‘A woman’s shoe,’ Weir said.

  Webb nodded.

  ‘The same woman the vicar saw in the church.’

  ‘We don’t know do we.’

  Morrison sat forward in his seat. ‘So who is she and why are the IRA suddenly using women to do their close-quarter stuff?’

  ‘And why Jessica Turner?’ Ryan twisted the end of his roll up. ‘It’s more likely to be a jealous wife with a gun.’

  Webb shook his head slowly. ‘PIRA personal protection weapon? Don’t think so, Slips.’

  ‘So who then?’ Morrison repeated.

  ‘We don’t know yet.’

  ‘Who might it be?’

  Webb glanced at Westbrook. ‘We’re looking at a couple of nominals.’

  ‘Over here?’ Wei
r asked.

  Westbrook shook his head. ‘Not at the moment. But we’re checking to see if they were.’

  Ryan drew smoke into his lungs and Morrison wrinkled his nose. ‘I thought this was a non-smoking office.’

  ‘Sorry, Guv’nor.’ Ryan smoked on regardless. He looked at Webb. ‘Who did they mean to hit, Webby? Because it certainly wasn’t who they got.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’ Westbrook asked him.

  ‘Because I’m not fucking stupid — Sir.’ Ryan looked back at him. ‘Jessica had nothing to do with PIRA. And they never claimed the killing.’

  Webb scratched his thigh through his jeans and said nothing.

  Ryan looked at Weir. ‘I reckon this is bullshit,’ he said. ‘What about the dummy in the road?’

  ‘We don’t know there was one.’

  ‘Case reckons there was.’

  ‘It doesn’t make it connected.’

  ‘It’s a hell of a coincidence.’ He looked back at the Anti-Terrorist officers. ‘Webby, PIRA wouldn’t ponce about like that.’

  ‘No. They’d do exactly what they did do. In — bang — and out.’

  Silence then. Ryan breathed deeply and stood up. ‘I’m out of here,’ he said. ‘I finished hours ago.’

  He met Vanner and Jimmy Crack for a swift one in the Irish pub on Wembley High Road. Jimmy grinned as he came through the door, collar up, unshaven, roll-up cigarette flapping in the corner of his mouth. Vanner drank Caffreys and looked him up and down. ‘I thought AMIP wore suits.’

  ‘Lager,’ Ryan said. ‘Tall and cold and you’re paying for it.’

  ‘Not Guinness then?’ Jimmy said.

  ‘Fuck your Irish beer.’ Ryan slumped onto a stool and slapped his cigarette tin on the bar.

  ‘Good job is it then, Sid,’ Vanner asked him, ‘working with Frank Weir?’

  ‘Weir’s all right, Guv’nor. It’s 13 that get up my nose.’

  ‘Rattled your cage did they?’

  ‘They don’t tell you anything. I mean I thought we were on the same side.’

  Vanner laughed then. ‘National security, Slips. Positive vetting and all that. You only get told what they think you need to know.’

  ‘It’s our investigation.’