I was almost trembling with the effort it took not to ask Helen who this man was, even though there was already a horrifying possibility looming up in my mind.
"It was a really bad time. Tim and I were already in a bad place, without any of that other stuff. He was a traditional kind of husband, not the kind you modern girls would go for."Helen threw me a meaningful glance when she said that.
"Helen, can you explain what you mean by that? I know this is very difficult for you, but it's important that I understand the whole situation."
Callum's mother gave a little shrug. "I'm trying to be polite about this, for my son's sake. But if you must know, Tim was a very violent man. Not just at work, if you see what I'm getting at. I was very unhappy."
Callum sat at the table with his eyes focused downwards, not looking at either me or Helen. I could tell he was listening very carefully to everything she said, though.
"OK," I said reassuringly, "I understand. Can you tell me what happened next?"
"Well," she started, even more hesitant than she had been two minutes ago, "after he got told off, he came over one night - to the house. I was, I was..."
She trailed off and reached into her bag for her cigarettes. "Can you give me a couple of minutes? I need to smoke if I'm going to get through this."
I waited to see if Callum would react, and when he didn't I nodded at Helen. After she'd stepped out, I reached over and tentatively squeezed Callum's hand. I wasn't sure how he was reacting to what his mother was saying, or how he was going to react to the revelation I felt sure was coming.
"Are you OK?" I asked quietly."We have to do this, you know."
Without looking up, he just said "I know," and we sat in silence until Helen returned, smelling of cigarette smoke and cold air. She sat down and suddenly started talking, rushing her words, obviously afraid that if she stopped she wasn't going to be able to finish.
"When he came over that night, I was - I had been drinking. I'm not proud of it, but things with Tim were so bad then. I didn't see a way out, so I just drank too much and hoped it would all sort itself out. Anyway, he came over and things happened, they got out of hand. I didn't like this man, not one bit, but I wanted to punish Tim. I wanted to make him suffer the way he'd made me suffer."
I knew what Helen was getting at-and I knew Callum did too - so I didn't push her to be more specific. She continued with her story.
"Tim and I weren't intimate very often by that point. Sometimes he forced me-"
As he heard his mother’s words, Callum slumped forward and held his head in his hands. Helen reached out, as if she wanted to touch him, to stroke his head or his shoulder or something, then withdrew her hand.
"What I'm saying is, Timothy Cross isn't your father, Callum. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."
Helen started to cry silently. She hunched over the table, her body language mimicking her son’s. I knew the question I needed to ask, even though I suspected Callum and I both already knew the answer. But it had to be asked. For his sake.
"Helen. You need to tell us who this man was. We need that information so we can check-"
"It was Gary Wilson," she whispered, sniffling. "Gazza."
The words hung in the quiet air of the pub, singular and undeniable. Gazza was Callum's father. Of course, we would need to run further DNA tests to confirm it, but somehow I already knew it was true. Helen wouldn't have said anything if she'd been at all in doubt.
Finally, Callum lifted his head and looked his mother in the eyes. When he spoke, his voice was shaking.
"Did he force you, mum? Did Gazza force you?"
Helen answered truthfully, but it wasn't enough for Callum.
"No, Callum, I wouldn't say that. He didn't force me."
"But you said you were drunk?"
"Yes, I was. Very drunk. But I knew what I was-"
She didn't get to finish her sentence. Callum stood up, breathing heavily, his fists clenched. I reached up to try and get him to sit down again. He snatched his arm away from me.
"Don't, Callum. Don't," I begged."Please just sit down. Please. I'll have to call the police. Please don't, I-"
"Fuck you, Lily! Don't threaten me."
And then he was gone, slamming the pub door so hard the glass shattered. Helen and I ran out after him, followed by the barman shouting about the door, but Callum was running by then, and I knew we weren't going to catch him. Helen immediately turned to me.
"Well?" She looked me right in the eye, challenging me. "Are you going to call the police? You act like you care about my son but I know coppers, I know none of you give a shit about anyone else, not really. Go on then, call your friends. But do it in front of me, don't run away so you can pretend you're doing the right thing."
She bent over and spat on the ground in front of me, so close to my shoes I had to jump back. My phone was in my pocket. I knew where Callum was going, and so did Helen. I didn't know what to do.
"Helen, if Callum goes to the Club, someone is probably going to die. You know that, don't you?" I asked her, pissed off at the implication that I didn't care about Callum."He's either going to kill Gazza, in which case he's going to prison for a very long time, or Gazza's going to kill him. And you know he won't hesitate."
Helen brought her hands to her face and dug her nails into her skin. I grabbed her arms, yelling at her to stop as the barman, who I'd forgotten about, started bellowing about the door again.
"We'll pay for the door! I'm police, OK? We will pay for the damage. Just fuck off and give us a fucking minute!"
The barman, hearing something in my voice, put up his hands and backed off. I turned back to Helen.
"What do you want me to do? Do you have some other plan? Because you know-"
"Call them," Helen said, her voice suddenly flat. She knew I was right. She knew if Callum got to the Streatham Club before the police, the consequences were going to be dire. "Call them."
I whipped out my phone and dialed Akin's personal number as my heart thumped heavily in my chest. He picked up immediately.
"Morgan?"
"Akin, we need an armed response team at the Streatham Club, right now."
"What? Morgan, what's going on? What have you been-"
"RIGHT NOW!" I yelled.
My superintendent must have heard the desperation in my voice.
"Alright. I'm dispatching one right now." I listened as he made the call. It took all of twenty seconds. He came back to me. "It's done, Morgan. They're on their way. What are they going to find?"
"Callum Cross is on his way there and he's going to kill Gazza. Or Gazza is going to kill him."
"Do they have weapons?"
"I - I don't know," I replied. "Callum doesn't. But there's every chance Gazza - or whoever is there - does."
"We've been on the Streatham Club for over twenty-four hours, Morgan. Gazza Wilson isn't there as far as we know."
Of course. Of course he wasn't at the Club. He probably knew we didn't have enough to arrest him on, not yet. But he'd also be aware that Ian and Dave were in custody, and that Dave in particular did not seem the type to hold out for long.
Callum's life was the only thing that mattered. Him getting arrested was worth it - hell, anything was worth it - as long as he was alive.
"Get into the station, Morgan," Akin said before he hung up. "Now."
I turned to Helen Cross. "I have to go. Can I get your number? We - I might need to contact you. Please."
She hesitated for a second before relenting and entering her number into my phone.
"And yours?" She said, handing me her own mobile. "We're not on the same team, but you care about my son. I can see that."
I entered my number hurriedly before thanking Helen for the information she'd revealed.
"Will it help, do you think?" She asked. All the stridency had left her by that point. She was a mother worried about her son, that was all.
"Yes, I do. It might help quite a bit. But Helen, I have to go, I'm nee
ded at the station."
I hated to rush out on her so quickly. She just nodded her head and gave me a thin smile.
"Of course. Please, uh, please-" She paused, and I could see she was struggling to keep her emotions in check. "Please do what you can for Callum."
I looked Helen Cross in the eyes and told her that I would.
Chapter 21: Callum
I sprinted onto the tube just before the doors closed and sat down on one of the few free seats, breathing hard. A few people looked up, but most of them knew better than to eyeball someone my size in an obvious state of distress. My throat felt like it was closing, like something was rising up inside me and cutting everything off. I could hardly breathe, and I knew it wasn't just from the run to the station.
It's funny how the human mind, in times of extremity, focuses itself. I couldn't face what my mum had said, so I didn't. Instead, everything inside me targeted itself on Gazza - on punishing him, making him pay. On what he'd done to my mum. Not on the fact that the piece of shit was my father, but just on what he'd done that night. Shown up at my mother's house and taken advantage of her when she was drunk.
After about ten minutes, though, as the tube journey stretched torturously on, the thought started to pop up in my mind like a storm on the horizon that never quite breaks. My father. Gazza Wilson was my father.
If someone had asked me if there was a single person on Earth I didn't want to be responsible for my existence, it would’ve been him. And even if I hurt him - which I was going to do - it wouldn't erase that fact. Killing him wouldn't erase it either. But it would be justice of a kind. It would be deserved. I went over various scenarios in my head, imagining the sound his nose would make when I broke it, fantasizing about the look on his face when he saw that it was me beating the shit out of him, making him bleed and scream and beg for mercy.
And how couldn't he have known? Gazza wasn’t the criminal mastermind he thought he was, but he was capable of basic math. He must have known. And still, he'd never treated me with anything more than barely concealed contempt. He hadn't hesitated for a fucking second when it came to sending me to Paris, into a situation he knew was dodgy as fuck.
I switched to the train at Victoria and spent the rest of the journey refusing to let any thought enter my head other than the one that revolved around Gazza and the absolute, unquestionable need for him to pay. Nothing else mattered, including myself. In fact, going out in the process of taking Gazza out didn't sound bad at all. I knew I wouldn't be able to look my mother - or myself - in the eye again if I didn't do something about what I'd just learned. Other possibilities tried to make their way in, but I pushed them away at once. Gazza had to pay. That was it.
There were more cars in the parking lot of the Club than I'd expected, but it didn't even come close to making me reconsider. I stalked across the asphalt, my mouth almost watering with the anticipation of violence, and shoved the front door open.
The next thing I knew I was face-down on the filthy carpet. There was a knee in my back. I almost laughed. Of all the people who knew what I was physically capable of, Gazza thought I was just going to lie down and give up like that? I rolled over, blindly punching up towards the person who was trying to pin me down. My fist connected and I heard a cracking sound followed by a soft 'oof.'
"Gazza!" I shouted as my eyes started to adjust, "Where the fuck are you, mate? You fucking coward! Get the fuck-"
I was thrown to the floor again and this time there was more than one person on top of me. I tried to turn my head to look up but all I could see was legs - a lot of legs, all of them clad in dark trousers.
"Sir."
A male voice I didn't recognize. Out of breath.
"Calm down, sir!"
I started struggling again. I threw off whoever was on top of me and staggered to my feet as adrenaline coursed through my veins.
"CALM DOWN, SIR!"
My eyes focused and I saw, at once, that I was surrounded by police. Two of them had tasers pointed at me and one of them had a gun. I threw my head back and started to laugh."She did it! Holy shit she fucking did it!"
Lily had done it. She'd called the police. She knew that whatever Gazza had coming was deserved in every sense of the word, and still, she'd made the call. She’d robbed me of probably the only chance I was going to get to look Gazza Wilson in the eye and tell him - show him - that I knew what kind of man he was.
When the police tackled me for a third time, I didn't fight back. I just lay there on my stomach with various knees and elbows digging into my body. Lily. Lily.
One of the coppers bent down close to my face and mashed it into the carpet. I didn't even realize I was shouting her name until he bellowed that she wasn't there and that I should shut the fuck up.
It took five men to manhandle me, handcuffed, into the backseat of a squad car. From there I watched Ian, also handcuffed, being led out of the Streatham Club. But I did not see Gazza. It wasn't much of a surprise. The man was a coward - of course he wasn't going to be there. I leaned forward and pressed my forehead into the back of the front passenger seat. What had I been thinking? I hadn't been thinking, that was the problem.
I remembered my mother and Lily screaming at me as I ran to the tube station. The two women I care most about in the entire world, both of them fully aware that I was about to do something stupid, and I hadn't even considered listening. And now what? My mother was probably back at home, hopefully not getting stuck into the gin. She didn't drink much anymore, but if anything could to drive her to it, it was the prospect of me being in prison. Or dead.
And Lily. Smart, beautiful Lily. I could see her face in my mind's eye, that skeptical look she'd give me when she thought I was chatting shit or exaggerating. I wanted to be back in the hotel room with her in my arms, where she should be. Instead she was probably debriefing her superiors on the finer details of my total assholery.
As soon as we left for the station, I asked the two officers sitting in the front seat if Lily would be there.
"Don't know anything about that, mate."
"She is -or was - the lead investigator on this case. Has she been called in?"
The cop in the passenger seat turned around. "Investigation? We got called in because some crazy bloke - and I'm assuming that's you - was about to go on a rampage. I have no idea what investigation you're talking about."
"Lily Parker - I mean, Lily Morgan. She's a DCI. She's-"
"Look, matey," the cop said, speaking to me in a tone you would normally use on a naughty child, "I have no fucking clue who this person is. We're just taking you in. You're going to have to wait and see how it plays out."
Prick. From what I could see of him, he looked soft as hell, too. Coppers are always so full of shit. When they've got you restrained and there are ten of them and one of you, anyway. I gave up asking about Lily and sat back, wondering where Gazza could have gone. Had he killed that woman - Linda Trout - that Lily was so fixated on? He must have. I hadn't done it, and Jake sure as hell hadn't done it. I smiled to myself thinking of all of Gazza's grand plans. He wasn't even smart enough to realize that the real hard men, the ones who made the kind of money he'd barely got a sniff of, never got their hands dirty.
At the station, they put me in a small room with nothing but a couple of plastic chairs and a table in it. I don't know how long I sat there. An hour, maybe? Two? It was a long time. I even rested my head on the table and started to doze at one point, but it was too uncomfortable. They had me. Whatever was going to happen was going to happen.
"Callum."
I lifted my head. It was Lily. She was with an older man and they both looked tired. I could barely look at her. All I wanted to do was get up and put my arms around her, and tell her - tell her what? That I was sorry? I wasn't, really. I was sorry to be caught, but I wasn't sorry for doing the only thing I could have done. Sure, I could have done it better. I should’ve allowed myself some time to think and plan before I marched into the Club with nothing
but beating Gazza to death on my mind, but that was neither here nor there.
"Can we take the cuffs off him?"
The older man shrugged, and Lily walked around behind me to remove them. As soon as my hands were free, she tried to walk away. I grabbed her wrist.
"Callum, don't," she said, irritably."Just don't. We need to talk to you."
"And those cuffs are going right back on if you can't keep your hands to yourself," said the older man.
I withdrew my hand and Lily sat down across from me.
"This is Superintendent David Akin," she said, gesturing to the man.
"Ah, the boss man. You back on the case then, Lily?"
They ignored my comment. David Akin bent down over the table and looked me in the eyes.
“Lily’s told me everything. Now, if what she’s said is true - and that still remains to be determined, so I would advise you to be smart with your answers - you might not be Linda Trout's killer. If you're not, you probably have information on Gazza Wilson's network that could help us find him. And the sooner we find him, the sooner you're off the hook."
I rubbed my wrists where the handcuffs had dug into my skin and pressed my lips together. I had a strong aversion to the police, instilled mainly by my mother but backed up by a lot of the things I experienced growing up. And now I was sitting across from two of them - one of whom I figured I might as well admit I was in love with - and they were asking for my help.
"And what does 'off the hook' mean, exactly? Free to go?"
Superintendent Akin shook his head. "No, not necessarily. You've been involved in some very serious criminal activity, young man."
Ah, there it was. That patronizing tone, as if he was speaking to a particularly dim schoolboy.
"Smuggling guns is something we take seriously even when things are peaceful, but these days? You're looking at a long sentence for that alone. And murder. The men in Paris-"
"That was self-defense," I said, truthfully. "Lily, did you tell this guy it was self-defense? I had no fucking idea what Gazza had planned for that deal. I thought I was there as security only."
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