Mainlander

by Will Smith

  ‘I presume he was more forthcoming with you than me.’

  ‘Yes. I can tell you that I’ve eliminated him from your enquiries. He was never seriously on mine. He doesn’t sell drugs, trust me. I know the people who do, and I put them in La Moye. And he doesn’t know Duncan Labey. So he can’t have sold him drugs on two counts – he doesn’t sell drugs, and he’s never met Duncan. Happy?’

  ‘I’m still not convinced he’s an upstanding member of society.’

  ‘That’s a separate issue. You want a second-hand car with a doctored mileometer, he can probably sort that through his brother. That’s the extent of Mickey’s wrongdoing.’

  ‘Another shot?’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Colin had opened a bottle of Dalwhinnie for this nocturnal peace summit, in part because he needed a drink to sleep but the prig in him frowned on imbibing on his own.

  ‘Now what I have to ask you, Mr Bygate, is – who was the boy in your car outside Mickey’s?’

  ‘Not Duncan, if that’s what you’re asking.’

  ‘If I thought it was Duncan I wouldn’t be here sipping your very fine single malt. I’d be putting cuffs on you, and making sure you banged your head as I shoved you into the back of a panda.’

  ‘Then why do you care who it was?’

  ‘Christ, mate, I’ve come here off the record to apologise and try to reassure you I’m not the Devil. Play the game, get off my back, stop muddying the waters. Otherwise I can go the other way, the way I was veering this morning.’

  ‘The last two times we’ve met, you’ve apologised and said you want to make things right, then treated me like a piece of shit, so forgive me if I’m not completely won over by this sudden honesty. I’d rather we just cut to the chase. The genuine chase.’

  ‘All right. Back off. You’re not from here, you don’t understand the way things work. You may have lost your job, and your wife’s not here in the middle of the night. If you want things to get worse, they will. Your choice. Thanks for the whisky.’

  With the evidence of Vautier’s visit removed, Colin crawled again to the kitchen, knelt in front of the bin to empty the dustpan, then lay down on the floor, the cold of the lino seeping into his bones.

  The doorbell rang. He looked up at the clock again – 7:23. He got to his feet and slouched towards the door, adjusting his pyjamas so that nothing unexpected popped out of the fly. He didn’t want Vautier to come back and arrest him for flashing at the postman or a delivery person. Actually, who would be calling this early? Maybe it was a set-up by Vautier – maybe he’d decided to make things worse anyway. No, it was probably Mrs Le Boutillier, obsessing about a cat that wasn’t hers.

  He opened the door and blinked at Debbie, momentarily unsure as to whether she was real.

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Looking for you?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Can I come in?

  Colin sighed and held the door as she entered. In his depleted mood he began to wonder why he had found her attractive, noting blemishes on her skin, and how lank her hair was tied back, a far cry from the elegant bob from whose curtains her dimpled smile had once enchanted him.

  ‘Sit down. Do you want tea or coffee?’ he asked, not feeling able to face another dramatic showdown.

  ‘Tea, please,’ she said, sitting.

  Colin remained motionless. ‘Why are you here, Debbie?’

  ‘I wanted to check you were okay.’

  ‘I’m great, never better.’

  ‘Le Brocq’s an idiot, and the way you’ve been treated is crazy, appalling.’

  ‘Well, everyone seems to think Duncan will turn up.’

  ‘You’re not going to do any more.’

  ‘Nope. Nothing to do.’

  ‘Why did you take John Duval out of school yesterday lunchtime?’

  ‘Who says I did?’

  ‘I saw you drop him back on College Lane. A3 looks down on it.’

  ‘I called up pretending to be his dad, told him to meet me outside the bottom gate at lunchtime and paid him twenty quid to take me to Mickey Rouain.’

  ‘Who’s he?’

  ‘No one apparently. Duval said he sold drugs to Duncan. Rouain told me to fuck off. And a policeman came to see me in the middle of the night to politely tell me to fuck off. He’d told me to fuck off in a more aggressive way earlier. I think he was trying to reason with me. Which I’m thankful for, because he’s the sort of guy who looks like he could put me through a wall.’

  ‘So you’re just giving up.’

  ‘I’m tired, Debbie. I haven’t really slept much and, as you may be aware, I have some personal issues to deal with.’

  Debbie looked down. Colin blew out his cheeks. ‘So, if it’s okay with you, I’d like to—’

  ‘Why are you being like this?’ Debbie looked up, her eyes pooling with tears. Colin froze. ‘You’re a monster, an absolute monster.’ The tears fell, and she wiped them away quickly, as though unable to keep up with their flow. ‘I love you, okay? I know you don’t want to hear that, but that’s how it is. It’s not something I can just turn off, like a tap. I will turn it off, or the tap will run dry, and your behaviour is certainly helping with that, so thanks. But everyone around you has turned their back on you, your colleagues, your wife, but I’m still here. I don’t think you have any other friends. Maybe you do but you just don’t talk about them. You’re so bloody lonely! And it kills me. It kills me to be here and see you so angry and so bitter. I don’t want you to be like that. It wasn’t easy for me to come here, you’ve made it plain you don’t want anything to do with me, but I don’t want that, so just – just—’

  She broke down sobbing. Colin faltered, walked over to the sideboard, grabbed some sheets of kitchen roll and handed them to her, standing in front of her.

  ‘Is this all you’ve got? Kitchen roll? Why don’t you hug me? Do you hate me that much? I’m in pieces here!’

  ‘Debbie, if I hug you, we’re going to end up in bed. And it’s the bed I share with my wife.’

  The sobs slowed.

  Colin took a breath. ‘You’re right, I’ve been horrible. But it’s because I feel things that I shouldn’t. I’m married, that’s a big deal for me. And we work together. I can’t—’

  ‘I thought you’d been sacked.’ She shuddered.

  ‘Not completely. And anyway—’

  She reached up for his hand and pulled him down to sit next to her. He left his hand in hers, but his arms remained rigidly by his sides.

  ‘I know.’ She sighed.

  ‘I wish things were different. But they’re not. And I don’t know what’s happening, whether I still have a job or a wife, and I just need not to do anything crazy.’

  ‘Being with me would be crazy,’ she hacked, in a cross between a laugh and a cry, but with enough lightness for Colin to risk a playful shoulder nudge.

  ‘Stop fishing for compliments.’ He frowned warmly. ‘You’ll have to be content with my silence speaking volumes.’

  She laid her head on his shoulder. ‘I miss being friends.’

  ‘Me too,’ he said. ‘I could use a friend. Friends again?’

  She lifted her head to nod. He withdrew his hand and stood. ‘I’ll get that tea.’

  ‘Actually, make it coffee. I didn’t sleep that well.’

  Colin went over to the kettle. ‘Well, the weekend’s nearly here. Just today to get through. I imagine the pupils are talking about me.’

  ‘They’re missing you.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah. Perchard’s filling in for you, so it’s pretty dry. I’ve heard them moaning.’

  ‘Christ. His favourite author is Disraeli. Do they know Duncan’s missing?’

  ‘They know something’s going on, but they’re not sure what. Obviously they’ve clocked he’s not around.’

  ‘They’ll find him soon. The police are searching the hotels and B-and-Bs. And they’ve got the airport covered, and
the harbours. And Le Brocq will make it all go away and sack me instead of Blampied.’

  ‘What if he’s already left the Island?’

  ‘They have passenger records. I presume they’ve checked those. I mean, he could have given a false name, but a teenager travelling on his own would stand out. And he’d need a passport to get to France.’

  ‘You can leave the Island and still be in the Island. I was last weekend.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I stayed at St Aubin’s Fort. And there’s also the towers – La Rocco, Seymour, Portelet and La Tour de Vinde. All accessible at low tide.’

  ‘Would Duncan know about them?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t he?’

  Colin picked an old Island News off the coffee-table. ‘We’ve just missed low tide, have to wait till nine this evening.’

  ‘Certainly for Seymour Tower – that’s over a mile out. But we can get to some of the others sooner. In the meantime we could check out the Martello and Conway Towers on the land. Plus L’Etacquerel Fort.’

  Colin rubbed his temples. ‘Okay. Yes. We should. We can ask him about Blampied before he gets sat on. You should call in sick.’

  ‘And go home and change.’

  ‘There’s no time for that, the amount of places we have to get through.’

  ‘I’m not clambering over Napoleonic fortifications in heels and a pencil skirt.’

  ‘Grab some clothes of Emma’s.’

  ‘Sure.’

  Colin couldn’t tell whether this was a question or a confirmation, so he covered the awkwardness by telling her to phone the school while he got dressed, then headed to the bedroom.

  Twenty minutes later, they left the flat, Debbie in a fleece and Barbour jacket of Emma’s, and a pair of her jeans rolled up over the hiking boots that had stayed in the box since Colin had given them to her two birthdays previously. It was eight fifteen so they ran straight into Mrs Le Boutillier.

  ‘Morning, Mr Bygate. Hello, dear.’

  ‘Hello,’ said Debbie, hesitantly, not sure whether to introduce herself, or follow Colin as he barrelled down the stairs.

  ‘Did you get my note?’ Mrs Le Boutillier called after him.

  ‘Yes, sorry, not seen him.’

  ‘Marmalade? Or Mr Ozouf?’

  ‘Neither. Sorry, I’m in a bit of a hurry. See you later.’ Colin and Debbie stepped out of the front door. Mrs Le Boutillier stared sadly after them, then pulled her trolley to the top of the stairs and began her careful descent.

  13

  LOUISE

  Friday, 16 October 1987

  Another perfect fist-sized purple pebble shattered against a ruddy granite rock that was jutting out of the rising tide. Louise was in a rancorous mood, dully furious at the unheralded obstructions that had altered her plans not just for the day but, by extrapolation, the rest of her life. Someone was going to suffer for this, and the coloured stones of whatever unpronounceable bay she was sitting on were nearest to hand.

  She was supposed to have met Rob here bang on midday. That had been her stipulation. She had got here at quarter past. He hadn’t waited, if he’d even shown up in the first place. She’d already had a scare that morning, panicking that the copper who’d knocked on her door just as she was about to set off was there at Rob’s behest. Maybe he’d come clean with his wife, spun himself as a drunken, wretched fool and Louise as a professional honey-trapper, thus gaining not only forgiveness but a fervent ally who wanted to assuage the hurt her husband had dealt her by punishing the Jezebel who had cruelly exploited his momentary weakness. Maybe she was one of those fucking fools so lacking in self-awareness and -esteem that she blamed her partner’s bed-hopping on her own sexual reticence. But, no, that fat filth, with his seventies ’tache, had come looking for another man in her life.

  ‘Louise O’Rourke?’

  She’d known he was police before he even produced his ID. The cheap suit, the shapeless hair – he even had the piggy-eyes to go with his nickname.

  ‘Detective Vautier. Mind if I come in?’

  He was blocking the door so she couldn’t make a run for it. Best ask him in, then go to the loo on the landing, climb out on to the flat roof below, jump down and then, what? He knew her name: she wasn’t getting off the Island without feeling his hand on her shoulder.

  ‘Sure. I was just heading out, but … What’s this about?’

  ‘Just a little chat about a friend of yours, nothing to worry you.’

  She’d stood back and beckoned him in, catching herself just in time before she said, ‘Yeah, you guys normally come in twos if there’s a problem’, not wanting him to think she had any familiarity with police procedure beyond the plot lines of Juliet Bravo.

  ‘Surprised to catch you in in the middle of the day. Day off, or in between jobs?’

  ‘The latter.’ Front it out, pretend you’ve nothing to hide. ‘I was at the Bretagne, but things quietened down for the winter.’

  ‘I heard they’ve quietened down there full stop.’

  He’d looked around for somewhere to sit. She gathered up a bunch of clothes from a folding plastic chair and dumped them on the unmade bed. ‘Here,’ she said, settling herself on the bed, trying to size him up. So, who was he? An emissary of Rob’s bringing a compromise – back off and there’ll be no charges? She hadn’t broken any other laws recently. Okay, there’d been that piss in front of the door of the Five Oaks pub on Wednesday. Closing time meant closing time, the arsehole landlord had said, blocking her way to the toilet out of sheer malice, or possibly revenge for her repeatedly mocking the local accent and beer at the apex of her drunkenness in the final hour. She realised she probably had her fierce face on. Best play it sweet to start. ‘Can I get you a brew, Officer?’

  ‘Yes, thanks. Milk, three sugars. And, please, Barney.’

  ‘Right you are, Barney,’ she’d said, springing up. ‘Just fetch some water from the well.’ She went out to the landing with the electric kettle and filled it from the sink in the loo, pausing to ponder and reject again escape from the window. She needed to leave soon, but maybe he was about to tell her the rendezvous was off.

  Vautier was scanning the room when she returned to set the water to boil on the small table next to the hob and toaster. ‘Live here alone?’

  ‘Not really room for two.’

  ‘Where do you wash, if you don’t mind me asking?’

  ‘There’s a communal shower down the way. Queue starts at six.’ The kettle clicked off. ‘I’ll get the tea,’ she said. Further silence as she added water to the bag. She walked over to the window, drew back the sheet that masqueraded as a curtain, and opened the sash. ‘What do you think of my fridge?’ She smiled as she brought in the milk from the sill. It also afforded her a look into the street, to see if he’d brought back-up. Was he taunting her into making a run for it? Why would he do that, though? She returned the milk and handed him his tea.

  ‘Thanks, love,’ he said. Maybe it was nothing, she’d thought, calming herself as she sat back on the bed. Maybe this was a case of mistaken identity.

  ‘I want to ask you about your ex-boyfriend. Billy McCaffrey.’

  No, it wasn’t.

  ‘Ah,’ she replied, with as much nonchalance as she could muster.

  ‘I can see he’s not staying here. I just wondered if he’d made contact.’

  ‘How would he have done that? He’s doing time.’

  ‘He got out two weeks ago. Now, either that’s news to you or you’re an extremely good actress.’

  ‘It’s news to me. He got seven years.’

  ‘I’d say that was light for what he did. Pistol-whipped that kid.’

  ‘Well, they never found the gun.’

  ‘Doesn’t really matter whether he used a bit of metal or his fists. Boy’s in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. He was in a coma for six months. Lucky he came out of it, otherwise there would have been no one to testify. Everyone else in that nightclub came down with a severe case of “I
didn’t see nuffink”.’

  ‘Jesus. Why is he out so soon?’ She’d felt a rising panic, the shock of Billy’s release blending with the agitation that while this guy wasn’t here officially to stop her meeting Rob that was exactly what he was unwittingly doing. The taxi would arrive any minute.

  ‘I don’t wish to denigrate your fine home city, but a fair chunk of the constabulary seems to be on overly cosy terms with the likes of Billy. Same goes for the screws. He got time off for good behaviour. Although I find it hard to believe. Can’t see him spending his time inside campaigning for more books in the library and putting on the Christmas panto. You visit him much?’

  ‘Never.’

  ‘Not once?’

  ‘I was with Billy since I was fifteen. I’d wanted to leave him for a while. Him getting banged up made it possible.’

  ‘So that kid getting beat half to death was a bit of a result for you. Every cloud.’

  ‘I wanted another life.’

  ‘One where your dad’s car doesn’t get torched.’

  ‘That wasn’t Billy. It was a rival. Like I say, it’s another life. I’ve moved on.’

  ‘You think he’s happy about that?’

  ‘He knows the deal. You go away, some people can wait and others can’t. It’s just the way it is.’ The beep of a horn: that would be the taxi.

  ‘Well, if you see him, give me a call.’

  ‘I’m not going to see him. I’m not going home, and he’s never travelled further than Manchester.’

  ‘To torch a pub as I recall.’

  Louise had shrugged. ‘There’s nothing for him here. I don’t think you or me have anything to worry about.’

  Barney nodded as he cradled his tea, then sat back in his chair. ‘We had an incident last night – pretty unpleasant by the standards of our Island. I’ve got a friend in Liverpool CID. One of the good guys. We’ve ended up liaising a lot over the years because of the odd undesirable that washes up here from the Mersey. So when I ring him this morning and say, “Scouser, likes to stick knives in people’s mouths”, it takes him all of two seconds to reply, “Billy McCaffrey.”’ Vautier stood up, looked around for somewhere to put the mug, then placed it on the chair he’d vacated. ‘He’s here, Louise. Watch yourself.’