by K E Coles
‘Mmm,’ I said.
‘They were great pals, and it were Art who found him, see? In a terrible state, he was - carrying on alarming.’
That sealed it. It had to be a different Art. I exhaled, relaxed - almost laughed with relief.
‘Oh, dear,’ I said, wondering how I could get away without seeming rude.
Eileen leaned forwards again and lowered her voice. ‘He’d been sent up from Brighton . . .’
Brighton. The word slammed into my stomach, winded me.
‘. . . doing something for that church of his. He does a lot with them, I expect you know.’
Brighton, and church. It had to be him.
‘I cleaned for Mrs A, see - saw a lot of them boys. So, this one night, I gets a call from Art. Screaming, he was, down the phone.’ She sat back, shook her head. ‘Time I got there, he’d cut Ben down and was doing that pumping the chest stuff, blowin’ in ‘is mouth, but I mean, anyone with eyes could see he was a gonner.’
‘Oh, my God.’ I struggled to imagine the Art I knew behaving as Eileen described.
Eileen picked up another Rich Tea, took a bite, and chewed. Beige mush collected at the corners of her mouth. Tiny crumbs clung to her lips.
‘I mean,’ she said, spraying my tea again, ‘why’d he do a thing like that?’
‘I – don’t know.’ I pushed my tea away, suddenly queasy. Art knew Mrs Arnold. Did that mean Mrs Arnold knew about us, about me and him? She’d have said something, surely.
‘Only been laughin’ that afternoon, telling me and Mrs A how he was going to follow Art, see this mysterious church of his.’
I shivered. ‘And did he?’ If he had, I could well imagine what he saw.
She shrugged. ‘Don’t know. We asked Art if he’d seen ‘im down there, and he went proper hysterical. Mrs A had to get the doctor in to sedate him, that’s how bad he was.’
That Art, that was the one I wanted, the real one, the one who cried for his friend.
‘Where is this church?’ I said. ‘Do you know?’
She nodded. ‘Show you if you like.’
Why I wanted to see it, I don’t know. Because I was obsessed with him, I suppose, and any connection was better than none.
The church was only two streets away. Eileen leaned close to me and pointed at a building surrounded by hoardings. ‘That’s it, there.’
There was little to see except a small, blackened tower and a portion of grey roof.
‘Was derelict even then,’ she said. ‘A real eyesore. At least they’ve closed it off now. Supposed to demolish it, but never happens.’
There was something sad about the decrepit building, as if it was a metaphor for Art’s life. There was no chance of saving the church, it seemed. Perhaps Art too was beyond salvation.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT SPICER
Spicer and Nico spent every day in front of computer screens in Nico’s lair.
On the first day, Nico had given Spicer a list of names.
‘Check them out. Make a note of anything we can use, anything at all, even small stuff. Some’ll fold for a parking fine.’
‘Right.’ Spicer had checked the first name on his list, typed it in. Immediately, police records, court documents, private emails, text messages came up on screen, information he knew would never be in the public domain.
‘How d’you get this?’
Nico tapped the side of his nose.
Spicer read on. ‘This is confidential stuff,’ he said. ‘Top secret. It’s got to be encrypted.’
‘Not any more.’ Nico smiled. ‘We have some very clever guys working for us.’
‘Under duress?’ Spicer bit his tongue. Shit! Law speak. It felt as if his heart had stopped.
Nico smiled. ‘Of course.’
Spicer exhaled. Jim was going to be interested in this – more than interested. ‘So all these guys are part of the investigation?’
Nico nodded. ‘Oh, yeah.’ He smiled a wolf smile. ‘Got something on most of them already. Just want more. Want it watertight.’
The pair of them trawled through legal documents day after day, watched hours of CCTV and video footage, listened to conversations, voicemails, read texts and emails.
‘All you have to do,’ Nico had said, ‘is find something they don’t want splashed all over the front pages. Got it?’
‘Yeah.’ Spicer nodded. ‘But what if there isn’t anything?’
‘There’s always something.’
‘But what if there isn’t?’
Nico laughed. ‘You and your questions. If there’s nothing, we put some illegal stuff on their computer, fake an affair, plant drugs, whatever. If that doesn’t work, there’s always someone they don’t want dead – always.’
‘Right.’ Spicer stared at the side of Nico’s face, realised he saw nothing wrong in any of it. He had no conscience, no empathy, no concept of right and wrong. At least Spicer still knew the difference, or hoped he did.
Day by day, the memory of his blood-spattered jeans, and the image of Naden’s lifeless body faded a little more. Absorbed in data, Spicer forgot about them for longer and longer periods of time. They were all crooked anyway, so what did it matter? Nico was right – there was something on each member of the inquiry. Not one of them was squeaky clean.
Whenever they found something usable, Nico and Malki paid whoever it was ‘a visit’.
Spicer saved coded messages into his phone when he finished each night. He’d send them to Jim at some point, if the tension ever let up, but Jim seemed distant, almost a memory himself.
Stories about Mesmeris cropped up in the press, rumours about the home, about Papa.
Art appeared on TV standing in front of Papa’s house. The wind blew his hair, ruffled it up.
‘These feeble attempts to discredit us,’ he said, ‘are nothing more than a conspiracy by mainstream religions – a pathetic attempt to destroy the opposition.’ He smiled - white teeth, eyes crinkled, with just a hint of sadness – a good-guy smile.
‘Look at him,’ Nico said. ‘He’s loving it. Thinks he’s a rock star.’
A wavering, female voice came from behind the camera. ‘And is it true that . . ?’
Art held up his hand. ‘I’m sorry, that’s all I’m going to say.’ He turned his benign smile to the camera. ‘Thank you.’
The rumours died down for a few days, until another lurid exposé appeared in the tabloids, quoting an unnamed source close to Art himself. Images of paparazzi camped outside Papa’s house in Brighton were beamed into the living room.
‘Shit,’ Nico said. ‘Bet Papa’s going ballistic.’
Art, once again, stood outside the electronic gates. He waited while the reporters shouted over each other, held up a hand.
‘I can’t hear you,’ he said, ‘if you all talk at once.’
Relative silence.
‘Right.’ Art pointed at a windswept, middle-aged woman. ‘You.’
‘Is it true that members of your religion are not able to leave?’
‘No.’ Art pointed at a young man with glasses.
‘It is true they’re afraid to talk to the press, though, isn’t it?’
Art laughed. ‘I’m talking to you, aren’t I?’ He pointed to a grey guy Spicer recognised from primetime news.
‘If there’s nothing to hide,’ the guy said, ‘why are your activities secret?’
‘They’re not. Inspectors are free to come to the home whenever they wish.’ Art pointed at someone else, but the grey guy wasn’t having it.
‘They’re not, though, are they? They have to arrange it beforehand. And your services, for want of a better word, aren’t open to the public or the press.’
‘No.’ Art’s whole face tightened. ‘No,’ he said. ‘That’s true. But it’s not unusual to be open only to members. Look at the Freemasons.’
‘Yeah, but you’re a religion, aren’t you? Isn’t that what you call it?’
Art’s lips whitened. ‘It is.’
‘Ah, shit,
’ Nico muttered.
‘Our source . . .’ Grey guy said.
‘Your source?’ Art laughed – harsh, irritated. ‘Your unnamed source. Always unnamed. That makes these accusations meaningless, and you know it.’
‘So you deny there’s any coercion involved?’ Someone shouted from the back of the crowd.
‘Absolutely.’ Art blinked, slowly, let the camera have the full force of his gaze. ‘Until you have a witness, a name, some evidence, I suggest you leave us to our peaceable religion. Inciting religious hatred is, after all, a crime, and this is beginning to resemble harassment.’ With a cold smile, he turned and went back inside the gates, and into the house.
Nico yawned, leaned back in his chair, stretched, arms over his head. ‘True what they say about publicity. Got kids hammering at the door to join. They all want to bed him.’ He nodded at the TV.
‘That’s good, isn’t it?’ Spicer said. Surely, that’s what they wanted, after all – to rule the world.
‘Not the right kind of kids,’ Nico said. ‘Anyway, all this’ll be forgotten next week.’
And it was – and yet Art stayed on with Papa, which suited Spicer just fine.
The evenings dragged. They played poker or watched movies and drank beer. When Ruby was around, Spicer went to his room, played music, lay on his bed, like a teenager. He’d spent too long shut inside, spending twenty-four hours a day with the same company.
He got up, had a shower, and went out.
The club was heaving. Pulsating lights flashed in time to the music. Spicer bought a beer, stood near the bar, and watched. A few girls caught his eye – dancing, laughing. He downed his drink, bought another two.
He spotted a leggy girl leaning against the wall. Pretty, red lips, bleached blond hair - bingo.
He downed his second bottle, wandered over. She’d clocked him for sure, was pretending she hadn’t, playing with her phone.
‘Drink?’ he shouted.
She raised her eyes, gave him the once-over, shrugged. ‘Okay.’
‘What you having?’
She pointed at the bottle in his hand.
By the time he’d queued at the bar and got back there, some other guy had his hands on her backside, his mouth slobbering over hers.
A dark-haired, dumpy girl sitting nearby looked up at him and smiled.
She wasn’t too bad, Spicer thought. Annoying the way she kept chewing her gum with her mouth open, but he was too keyed-up to be fussy.
He held the bottle of beer out, raised his eyebrows.
She nodded, moved over to make room for him. She crossed her legs – tiny, tight skirt, no tights.
Spicer looked away, drank his drink, could think of nothing, nothing to say to her.
She put a hand on his thigh.
Electricity shot through him.
She shouted in his ear. ‘Wanna go outside?’
As soon as they were out of the door, she lit up a fag, inhaled, chewed, exhaled. She took his hand, led him to a doorway that smelled of urine.
He fumbled with the condom, while she stood watching, chewing that damned gum.
His mouth slid off her greasy lipstick. The taste of fag ash and mint. She held her cigarette up over her head as he hitched her skirt up over her hips. Skimpy knickers, hardly worth wearing.
He lasted seconds.
‘Shit,’ Spicer said. ‘Sorry. It’s been a while.’
‘No worries.’ She took a drag on her fag, pushed out her lower lip and blew the smoke up like a screen between them.
While he sorted himself out, she wriggled her skirt back down.
‘D’you want to go somewhere,’ he said, because he felt he should.
She waved her fluorescent wristband at him. ‘Paid seven quid for this.’
‘Right.’
‘You not coming back in?’
‘No,’ he said.
She shrugged. ‘Please yourself.’ She hobbled away on her six-inch heels, fag in her right hand, chewing her gum.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE SPICER
Despite sleeping like the dead, Spicer was still drowsy the next day. He woke feeling grubby and depressed, made his way to Nico’s room.
‘Good night?’ Nico said.
‘Crap.’ Spicer yawned, began trawling through yet more footage. His concentration wandered. Despite downing a strong coffee, the words and figures in front of his eyes just didn’t register. It was hard to remember what he’d hoped to gain from this. Every day he seemed to move him further and further away from what he wanted to be – a decent guy, someone his mother would be proud of.
He looked up to see Nico staring at him, eyebrows raised.
‘Sorry.’ Spicer straightened up, eyes back on the computer screen.
‘Ah, bollocks.’ Nico pushed his chair back from the desk. ‘I’ve had enough. What we haven’t found by now ain’t there to find.’ His phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket. ‘Yeah?’
He frowned. ‘You what?’
He clapped his left hand to the back of his head. ‘You what?’
Leo’s panicky whine was clear to hear, even if the words weren’t.
‘No, stay there,’ Nico said. ‘Stay - there.’ He slipped his phone into his pocket. ‘He’s fucked up.’
They ran downstairs. Nico grabbed his coat from the hook by the door.
‘Rubes?’ he shouted. ‘Get your arse in gear.’
Ruby appeared in the kitchen doorway. ‘What’s up?’
‘You’ll see.’
Nico sat in the front passenger seat, Ruby, the driver’s. Spicer climbed in the back on his own.
Nico gave directions as the car sped through quiet side streets. They pulled up outside a two-storey, terraced house, and piled out of the car. The hallway was bare – plastered wall, concrete floor, no lampshade. Uncarpeted stairs rose straight ahead of them into darkness.
A grunting noise came from above. Spicer’s vision adjusted to the lack of light. Leo stood near the top of the stairs. It looked as if he was hugging someone. Thick rope hung from the landing rail, leading to a noose around a guy’s massive neck. The guy from the hallway – shark eyes - Umar.
‘Shit!’ Spicer legged it up the stairs, gripped Umar’s thighs, taking his weight, and lifting it. ‘I’ve got him.’
He was unconscious, a dead weight, but appeared to be breathing okay. No sign of choking, no swollen eyeballs.
‘Can you slip it off?’ Spicer said.
‘Off? Leo’s face shone with sweat. His hair dripped with it. ‘Just got the fuckin’ thing on.’
Spicer felt sick.
‘Get his legs over the stair rail, then,’ Leo said.
‘What?’
‘For fuck’s sake.’ Ruby ran up the stairs and manhandled Umar’s feet over the banisters, then his calves.
Spicer gripped his waist, felt his centre of gravity shift.
‘Okay,’ Leo said. ‘Let him go.’
Ruby released her hold.
Spicer felt the downward pull, but couldn’t move his arms, couldn’t unclench his fingers. He sensed Nico watching him from the bottom of the stairs.
‘Let go, for fuck’s sake,’ Leo yelled.
Umar was alive, his body warmed Spicer’s arms, but what choice did he have? Let him go, commit murder, or refuse to let him go. Then what? Blow his cover for nothing, only to be the next one in the noose.
He let go, stepped back, and Umar dropped a foot, maybe a little more. Spicer stared at the back of his head, at his twitching limbs. I did that, he thought. I killed him.
An ominous creak from above distracted him. The creak grew louder, accompanied by the crackling of splintering wood. The three of them pressed their backs to the wall, as half the landing rail fell past them. Umar’s body plummeted to the concrete floor, landed with a sickening crunch.
‘Brilliant,’ Nico said. ‘Just brilliant.’
Spicer leaned back against the wall, tried to quell the rising nausea.
Ruby and Leo peered down after the body.
>
‘Oops!’ Ruby chuckled.
Nico stared up at Leo. ‘You did clear the place, didn’t you?’
‘What?’ Leo said. ‘No. I mean, there was no one else here.’
‘How do you know,’ Nico said, ‘if you haven’t checked?’
Leo swallowed. ‘I . . .’
‘Oh, God!’ Nico closed his eyes, took a deep breath, opened them. ‘Spicer and Ruby take upstairs – Leo, you and I will clear down here. Understood?’
Leo nodded, clattered down the stairs.
Ruby looked Spicer up and down. ‘You take the front, I’ll take the back.’
‘Yes, Miss,’ Spicer said.
Ruby stared at him, jaw clenched. ‘You get on my tits, Spicer.’
‘Ditto.’ Spicer found the girl repulsive, and yet, on paper, Ruby was every man’s dream – beautiful figure, pretty face. But to Spicer she was ugly.
He did as she said, all the same. He took the box room first. The door barely opened, blocked by crates and bags, overflowing with junk – car parts, mostly, along with electrical goods, plugs removed. An old analogue TV stood in the corner, covered in a thick layer of dust. Spicer took a look behind the boxes, tipped a couple out on the floor, sneezed and left the room. ‘Clear,’ he said, feeling like a prat.
The main bedroom was better than he was expecting. The carpet was threadbare, and didn’t fit the room, leaving bare boards around the edge, but it was better than nothing. To his left was a double bed, unmade, the covers disturbed. A wooden table stood in front of the window.
On it stood a mirror, hairbrush, and make-up.
Make-up. Shit!
Spicer crouched down next to the bed, lifted the covers and peered underneath. Frightened, almond eyes stared back at him – a half-dressed child/woman. She opened her mouth, took a breath.
‘No!’ Spicer hissed. He held a finger to his lips.
The woman’s mouth was still open, but she held it in.
‘You done, Spicer?’ Ruby yelled.
Spicer turned to the door. ‘Yeah. Be there now.’ He turned back to the woman.
She gabbled something in a foreign language, the whispered words harsh, breathless.