Play With Fire

by William Shaw

  The woman turned and smiled at him, said something Breen couldn’t hear.

  She would be saying, ‘No, that’s not mine.’ And her guard would be down.

  Quickly Breen moved behind the pickpocket, out of his eyeline, and waited for the moment when his hand dipped into the woman’s open handbag, then lurched forward and grabbed him by the wrist.

  ‘Police,’ he shouted, yanking the man’s arm behind his back and forcing him straight down to the pavement. The man dropped a purse as he fell.

  ‘What are you doing?’ screamed the woman.

  The throng of people, including her, all stepped back, leaving him a circle of space. The pickpocket was strong and struggled, kicking out his legs.

  ‘This man is a pickpocket. Somebody call a policeman.’

  The man was shouting too. ‘He attacked me. Help. He’s bloody nuts.’

  The crowd stood and stared, doing nothing, paralysed by uncertainty about what was happening. Which one to believe: the younger, good-looking man, or the older one, who seemed to have assaulted him? Breen was not as fit as he used to be; he would not be able to hold the man for long.

  The woman noticed what the man had dropped. ‘That’s my purse. Oh my God. That man was trying to nick it.’

  At that, the florist stepped forward and grabbed the man’s kicking legs. Now others approached to help pin the man down.

  It was five minutes, though, before a beat bobby arrived with handcuffs. All the time the man had squirmed and kicked.

  Once he was finally subdued, Breen searched for the woman to ask her to make a statement, but as he had lain on the ground struggling, she had simply picked up the purse and had gone without saying anything.

  Rubbing his bruises, he turned to the florist and thanked him for helping out. ‘Did you see him take anything from her bag?’

  ‘Only thing I saw was you jumping him like a good ’un, mate. Nice piece of work.’ He looked around for the woman. ‘She didn’t even stop to buy you flowers.’

  That’s when Breen noticed a bucket of yellow roses; he realised where he was.

  ‘My colleague talked to you a couple of weeks ago about those, didn’t he?’ he said.

  ‘Young guy. Bit nervous?’

  ‘That’s him.’

  ‘Younger every bloody day.’ The man rubbed his chin. His hands were green with the juice of cut stems. ‘Funny thing. That same feller he was on about came back the evening after I spoke to him. He ordered some flowers to be delivered.’

  ‘The man who bought the yellow roses. That would have been Tuesday?’ Breen’s head was spinning. Mr G. The man who wore flashy clothes and who cried sometimes.

  ‘Yeah. Tuesday. That’s right.’

  ‘Why didn’t you say anything?’

  ‘Well, I’m telling you now, in’t I?’ complained the man.

  ‘What was his name?’

  ‘No idea.’

  ‘Where were the flowers to be delivered to? To Harewood Avenue?’

  ‘Hold on a sec.’ And he delved behind the upturned milk crates that made his counter and pulled out a tattered notebook. ‘What day was it?’ he said.

  ‘The eighth of July.’

  He flicked over the pages, licking fingers on each turn, until he came to the entry. ‘No. Not Harewood Avenue. I got Imperial Cinema, Portobello.’

  Breen blinked. ‘It was delivered to the cinema?’

  ‘That’s what it says.’

  Breen frowned at the man’s notebook, feeling suddenly dizzy. He was out of shape. ‘What about a name?’

  ‘That would have been on the card. We don’t write it down here. Just the address, so we can give it to the driver.’

  ‘You must be able to remember. It was a woman’s name?’

  ‘Well, bloody obviously, yes, a woman’s name. You wouldn’t give roses to a feller, would you? But I do deliveries every bloody day. Can’t be expected to remember the names and everything. Not at my age.’

  ‘What did he look like?’

  ‘I don’t recall. Big bloke, I think.’

  When Breen got back to the office, Inspector Creamer was leaning over Miss Rasper’s desk, checking his diary with her. He lifted his head and said, ‘Productive walk, Paddy?’ as archly as he could.

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Breen, returning to his desk. Creamer retreated to his room.

  Breen sat still for five minutes before he called Scotland Yard, asking to be put through to John Carmichael’s extension on the Drug Squad. The phone rang. Carmichael was not picking up.

  That night he met Elfie and Helen outside the Imperial Cinema.

  ‘What’s wrong, Paddy? You look like you’ve eaten a wasp,’ demanded Elfie. She was dressed for a night on the town in a one-piece orange nylon pantsuit that stretched tightly over her bulge. Breen thought she looked ridiculous.

  ‘Where’s Amy?’

  Helen had just come on the bus from Victoria. ‘I’m exhausted. I’m not sure I want to see this film again anyway.’

  ‘Is something up?’

  She looked away. ‘Nothing.’

  Breen eyed her. ‘How were the Sussex Police? Did they have anything to say about that woman?’

  ‘They were fine. It was her bloody acquaintances who were tricky.’

  ‘You were just supposed to be talking to the police.’

  ‘Supposed to be?’ she said. ‘What does that mean? I talked to them. They told me what they knew, which isn’t much. So I thought I’d go along to the hospital and see how she was.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And she’s still in a coma. I spoke to a doctor and he said they weren’t sure if she was going to make it.’

  ‘You said acquaintances.’

  ‘There was this man waiting outside the ward. Thing is, they don’t let the public in, so the matron kept asking him to leave. There was this room where everybody is supposed to wait. So in he came and I asked him who he was waiting for and he didn’t answer. I wasn’t sure if he was a relative or anything, but if he was, maybe I could find something out. So I said, is it Kay Fitzpatrick you’re here for? And he just looked at me and said, “No.” But really abruptly. And I knew something was up then. He looked really rattled. Next thing he just stood up and left.’

  ‘Don’t say you followed him.’

  ‘Come on, Cathal. You would have.’

  ‘I’m a policeman. And I’m not eight months pregnant.’

  ‘There was this long corridor. And it can only have been a couple of seconds after he’d left I stuck my head out.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘You lost him.’

  ‘Yes. I don’t understand it. The exit was twenty yards away. Either he’d run or he’d gone to hide. I was stupid. I can’t shift fast with this.’ She put her hand on her belly.

  ‘Man doesn’t like being spoken to in a hospital. Walks away. Takes a different corridor to yours.’

  ‘You could be right,’ she said.

  ‘Are you joining us?’ said Elfie.

  ‘Where’s John?’ asked Breen. ‘Is he coming?’

  ‘He’s your friend,’ said Helen. ‘You should know.’

  Amy emerged from the cinema. ‘Christ, it’s hot in there,’ she said.

  Somebody in the queue was saying, ‘Is it a murder film, The Killing of Sister George?’

  ‘You’ve not heard from John?’

  ‘Not a bloody thing. If he turns up, tell him I don’t want anything to do with him any more, anyway.’

  ‘Serious?’ said Helen.

  ‘Deadly. I can’t put up with his absolute… stuff… any more.’

  Helen wrapped her arms around the smaller girl. ‘I know,’ she said.

  ‘You’re lucky, with Paddy,’ said Amy, looking at Breen.

  ‘It’s just what John’s like,’ said Helen. ‘He’s not been used to having a girlfriend.’

  ‘Well, it’s crap,’ said Amy. ‘All that running after me. I wasn’t even interested in him at first. What’s wro
ng with you, Paddy? You look like you’re sick or something?’

  Inside the cinema they were showing the adverts already. Breen said, ‘Well? Is that all? What did the police say about that woman?’

  ‘Local plod reckon that Kay Fitzpatrick’s boyfriend tried to kill her. He’s disappeared. But he’s their only suspect.’

  ‘See?’ said Breen. ‘They have a suspect.’

  ‘But they don’t know for sure.’

  ‘But they’re not looking for any of the Rolling Stones?’

  ‘Course not,’ she said.

  ‘Isn’t that enough?’ The same advert for the orange drink that was on every week came on.

  ‘Aren’t you the one who always says you shouldn’t jump to conclusions?’

  Then the ad for popcorn.

  ‘I was thinking I’d go back tomorrow. You want to come?’

  ‘Don’t. Please.’

  The film was starting now. ‘You think this is just a little game? I’ve played around a bit and now you want me to stop.’ She dropped her voice. ‘Maybe Elfie’s not right. But a woman was attacked.’

  ‘I know. But…’

  ‘I’m interested. I want to find out who did it.’

  Someone behind shushed.

  ‘Oh, bollock off,’ muttered Helen, taking hold of Breen’s arm. He laid his hand over hers. He thought of yellow flowers.

  The movie was about two women who lived together. One was older. She was crabby and ugly. The other was sweet and young and beautiful. He sat there, holding Helen’s hand. When she tried to move hers away, he reached out and grabbed it again.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.

  ‘Everyone keeps asking me that.’

  ‘Because you look strange.’

  ‘I’m just in a bad mood,’ he whispered. ‘The case isn’t going well.’

  ‘Nothing else? Am I pissing you off?’

  ‘No. It’s not that.’

  ‘Have a word with John, won’t you? He’s being an arse.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘He is.’

  And afterwards, they waited outside for taxis. ‘Come on, Hel. Come to the gig.’ Elfie tugged at her coat like a schoolgirl.

  ‘I’m shattered,’ Helen said. ‘I fell asleep in there.’

  ‘I don’t know if I want to go,’ Amy said.

  ‘Course you do,’ said Elfie.

  Amy came up to Breen and said, ‘When you see your friend, tell him I put his bloody flowers straight into the bin. OK?’

  ‘He sent you flowers,’ said Elfie. ‘That’s nice.’

  ‘No it’s fucking not.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Breen quietly. ‘I’ll be sure to tell him that.’

  Helen clung on to Breen’s arm, as if for support. She looked exhausted. He shouldn’t have let her go alone. ‘You go,’ she said. ‘It was so hot in there. I just want my bed.’

  ‘When we’ve had our babies we’ll take them to all the concerts with us,’ said Elfie. ‘Isle of Wight Free Festival. We’ll buy a big tent. Don’t look like that, Paddy,’ she said.

  ‘Christ sake. My name’s Cathal,’ he said.

  ‘Grumpy old man.’

  He looked out of the window as the cab lurched its way east.

  ‘What’s got into you?’ said Helen. ‘I was supposed to be the moody one.’

  He thought of a baby growing inside Helen. He had no idea about babies.

  He should be happy. He was about to become a father. But everything was wrong.

  Helen went straight to bed in her room. He turned the light off in the hallway and went to bed too but couldn’t sleep.

  If he had been Helen, maybe he too would have been suspicious about the man in the hospital, but it wasn’t their case. And besides, hadn’t she said that the Sussex Police already had a suspect?

  He had his own worries. Since his father died last year, there was nobody who had been in his life as long as John Carmichael. They had gone through school together, bunked off together. They had blagged their way into basements in Soho to watch Joe Harriott play the sax. He had followed John into the police and they had covered each other’s backs at Stoke Newington, before both of them left to join D Division together. For years, his best friend. He turned in his bed, unable to sleep.

  He shifted from one side to the other, then lay on his back, eyes refusing to stay closed.

  And then Helen was at the door, light blazing behind her.

  TWENTY-SIX

  ‘Didn’t you hear the phone?’ she was saying.

  He blinked. ‘What phone?’ He must have fallen asleep, but he had no sense that he had done so.

  ‘Elfie’s in the Hackney Hospital,’ Helen was saying. ‘Amy just called reverse charges.’

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘She’s having a bloody baby. We have to go.’ She switched on the lamp, and the light burned his eyeballs.

  ‘Won’t she be OK?’

  ‘Amy is stuck there with no money.’

  He couldn’t shake his weariness. It clung to him. It took him a second to understand what she had just said. ‘I’ll come. Let me go out and hail a cab,’ he said, pulling on his trousers.

  ‘That could take ages.’

  ‘What do you expect? It’s three in the morning.’

  ‘Yeah, but. What if she’s having the baby now? I know a quicker way,’ she said.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It’s stealing,’ said Breen.

  ‘It’s borrowing,’ said Helen.

  They stood outside looking at Klaus’s big old Magnette. ‘Besides, big brass bollocks to him. It’s his baby she’s having.’

  Breen looked at the shiny old car. ‘So it was you, stole the keys?’

  ‘No wonder you’re the detective, Cathal. Stupid thing to do, I know. But I was feeling spiteful.’

  He held out his hand. ‘Only if I drive.’

  ‘I’m just pregnant, not crippled.’

  He stood, holding his arm out until she threw him the keys. Breen got in and turned the key, then pressed the starter button. It was a still night. Hackney was quiet. The old car rattled through dirty, empty streets.

  They found Amy sitting on the wooden bench in the reception area, smoking and shivering slightly in the neon glare of the corridor. She stood up and gave Helen a hug.

  ‘Is she OK?’

  ‘They won’t say. They won’t let me in or anything. They wanted to know who the father was. Sorry I had to call you, only…’

  ‘No. I’m glad. What happened?’

  ‘We were just trying to find a taxi after the gig. Then it started. One minute she was fine and then she was wetting herself. I think she’s scared.’

  ‘Elfie? Scared?’

  ‘We should call Klaus,’ said Breen.

  ‘Stuff Klaus. He doesn’t care about her. She doesn’t need him here.’

  ‘Maybe she wants him to know.’

  ‘Honestly doubt it,’ said Helen. ‘They wouldn’t let him in anyway,’ she said. ‘They’re not married.’

  ‘I have to go,’ said Amy. ‘She’ll be all right, won’t she?’

  ‘We should go home too, Helen. There’s nothing we can do.’

  ‘I want to know if she’s OK.’

  A matron in starched hat and blue uniform burst out of the doors, and stopped, noticing them on the bench. ‘Who are you?’ she demanded. She was a plump woman in her sixties.

  ‘We’re friends of Elfie Silverstein.’

  ‘And who is Elfie Silverstein?’

  ‘She’s in there, giving birth.’

  ‘Well, leave her to it. What are you expecting to see, anyway, this time of night? For goodness’ sake. Visiting time is three in the afternoon. This is no place for you. Go away. The lot of you. Out.’

  And she shooed them out of the door into the night.

  ‘Cow,’ said Helen.

  ‘Is that Klaus’s car?’

  Breen drove the Magnette west across London, the sky in the rear-view mirror lightening behind him. They dropped Amy
at her flat on Harrow Road.

  ‘I won’t be able to sleep now,’ said Helen.

  So Breen parked the car outside an all-night cafe near Westbourne Park tube.

  ‘I was supposed to have mine before hers. I’m going to hate that,’ said Helen. ‘Having the baby.’

  ‘Women do it all the time.’

  ‘You don’t know anything about it,’ she said, opening the car door.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t.’

  The cafe was dirty and served weak coffee that tasted like dishwater. A couple of truck drivers, hands greasy from their work, smoked hand-rolled cigarettes and argued about the unions.

  ‘I’m not ready to be a mother,’ she said.

  ‘You’ll be great.’

  ‘You never understand. It’s nothing to do with that. I just wanted to do all this stuff with my life, that’s all.’

  ‘You’re just worried. It’ll be fine.’

  ‘Christ, Cathal. Sometimes you’re…’

  Her tea cup had a dark thumbprint on the side of it. He offered to take it back, but she said it was OK and spooned in four sugars. ‘Being in hospital is going to drive me mad. I’ve never been to hospital in my life.’

  ‘It’ll only be a few days.’

  ‘Ten days they keep you in? I’m going to go insane.’

  Breen had no idea where he had been born. Somewhere in Ireland. He had never imagined his mother going through what would be happening to Elfie now.

  ‘Before all of this,’ she said, ‘I just wanted to do something, you know. Achieve something. Make something better.’

  ‘You will.’

  ‘Not any more.’

  He looked at his watch. It would be gettting light soon. He should have felt tired, but instead he suddenly felt like he had to do something for Helen.

  ‘Why don’t we go to Chichester again today? To the hospital.’

  ‘I thought you thought all that was rubbish?’

  ‘We could drive,’ he said. ‘And be back here again by three in time for visiting Elfie.’