by Ray Banks
“That’s correct.”
“So how do they know which ones to boycott?”
Silence at the other end. It goes on so long, I think she’s hung up on me.
“Hello?” I say.
“Bear with me just one second.”
“Take your time.”
Meg doesn’t hear me. She’s stuck me on hold again. That same music, and I realise they’ve only bought a section as hold music. After a minute, the music loops back to the beginning. And after six minutes by the clock in the dash, I can feel sweat prickle the sides of my face. I’m about to hang up and call again when Meg comes back to the phone.
“Mr Innes,” she says.
“Still here.”
“Looks like I owe you an apology, but we really didn’t—”
“You gave a list of Plummer’s properties to the student representative, didn’t you?”
“Not me, no. My boss. And direct to them, yes.”
“That’s all I needed to know. Thanks, Meg.”
She starts to ask me something, but I hang up on her. If the student rep have a list of properties, it’s not entirely implausible that David Nunn could get his hands on it. But it’s still not enough. If I want to push this further, I’ll need more than a handful of coincidences.
I call Plummer at his office. He picks up on the fourth ring. The gravel in his voice makes me think he’s either just woken up, or he’s hammered already. Could be both.
“What?”
“Don, it’s Cal. Look, do me a favour—”
“Where the fuck is Frank?”
“He’s off sick.”
“You heard from him, then?”
“Yeah, I saw him.”
“Where is he?”
“He’s not well, Don.”
“I’m sick of this taxi shit. I don’t have the money or the fucking patience. You see him again, you tell him I want my car back. He doesn’t want to come to work, that’s fine. You two go off, go play whatever the hell you want to play at, but I want my car back. It’s my car. I deserve—”
“Don, shut up for a second. I need you—”
“Who the fuck d’you think you’re talking to, telling me to shut up? I’m telling you, Callum, you’re still in my employ. And so’s Frank. I know he’s your mate and everything, but he needs to understand that he has certain duties. I’m skint, alright? I can’t afford to keep taking cabs. Christ, I might even have to sell the Merc. You know what kind of blow that’s going to be?”
“You want to find out who torched your property or not?”
There’s a pause. Plummer seems to sober up a little. He clears his throat. “You know who did it?”
“I have an idea, but I still need proof.”
“Who did it, Callum?” He coughs, then shouts down the phone at me. “Who started all this? I’ll have their fucking legs broken.”
“You’ll have a job. The bloke I think did it, he’s in the hospital already. But I need you to check something for me. You ever rent to a David Nunn?”
“David Nunn? Why’s that ring a bell?”
“Did you or didn’t you?”
“Whoa, wait a second — David Nunn’s that fucking student, isn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“He burned the Longsight house?”
“I’m not getting into it, Don. Just do me a favour and see if you’ve rented to him. You said you’ve got records of your tenants. Nunn would have rented last year, probably. Guessing at a place in Rusholme. He’s a second-year student, and he doesn’t live there anymore.”
“I can’t go through those files, Cal. You saw them. They’re all over the place.”
“Well, you need to get your arse in gear and do it anyway. If you find anything, let me know.”
“Christ,” he says.
I start the engine. “What is it?”
“That break-in—”
“You said it was vandals.”
“But I’m thinking now, I’m thinking—”
“That it was a bunch of students. Fuck’s sake, Don. Look through the files anyway, I’ll see what I can dig up at my end. There’s light at the end of the tunnel, that’s the important thing.”
I hang up on him, stuff my mobile into my jacket pocket. Head down Wilmslow Road to the property on the list.
I try to tell myself that this lead, it’s probably nothing. My fucked-up perception, coupled with Don’s, everything’s thrown out of whack. But then another voice rages that I’m onto something here. And I don’t know what I’m going to do if I manage to prove this, but I’ll deal with that when the time comes.
First, I need to get someone to tell me what I think is already the case. That David Nunn, for all his left-leaning politics, was down here in Rusholme to set fire to a house.
34
Parked outside 16 Viscount Road, another nondescript terrace in what seems to be a city of them. A short drive from Wilmslow Road, but I’ve taken it slowly. Watching for any miraculous clues to make themselves apparent. You never know, I might be on a roll.
There’s a gang of kids, up and about early to make the best possible use of the last of their summer holidays. They’re banging a football against a garage door, making a hell of a racket. The kid in the makeshift goal tries to grab at the ball, but the other kids delight in kicking too hard for him to risk a catch.
I get out of the Micra, lean against the car and stare at number 16. The house doesn’t look like one of Plummer’s properties. It’s well maintained for a start. Whether that’s down to Plummer, the letting agency or the tenant is another matter. Then again, as Meg said, Dobson & Main aren’t in the business of letting slums.
I push off the side of the Micra, open the small front gate and head up the short garden path to the front door. Press the bell. I can hear it sound inside the house, so I step back and wait.
The door opens on a chain. I can see a guy in the gap.
“Yes?” he says.
“My name’s Callum Innes. Wonder if I could have a wee word with you.”
“What’s it about?”
“It’s a little delicate actually, kind of private. I need to ask you a few questions. Probably best we do it inside.”
He looks at me. Up and down, trying to gauge how important I am. Then he says, “Are you police?”
“No, I’m a private investigator.”
He laughs, then narrows his eyes at me. “You’re serious.”
“I am.” I show him my business card.
He laughs again. “I know you. You were in the newspaper.”
Might as well use it to my advantage. “Yeah.”
“You work for Donald Plummer.”
“That’s right.”
He nods, then slams the door in my face.
I stand there for a moment looking stupid, then I press the doorbell again. From inside the house, I can hear him shouting, “I paid my rent.”
I use the letterbox as a makeshift intercom. “I know you did.”
“I told Mr Plummer, I told the letting agency, I paid my rent.”
“I’m not going to evict you,” I say.
“Direct debit.”
“I know.”
“To the letting agency.”
“I’m not here to chuck you out of your house, alright?” A twinge in my back. “Look, can you open the door so I don’t have to shout?”
“No.”
“It’s not about Plummer, it’s about the student that was assaulted the other night. I need to ask you some questions about it.” Really shouting now, half out of trying to make myself heard, half just because I’m pissed off. The kids have stopped playing football, decided that I’m far more entertaining. “Look, it won’t take up much of your time. And I don’t have to come in if you don’t want me to.”
The door opens. The chain’s on.
I straighten up. “Thank you.”
“I didn’t see anything.”
“Were you at home?”
“The boy was found on
Wilmslow Road,” he says. “This isn’t Wilmslow Road.”
“I know that, but I have reason to believe he was here.”
“Why?”
“Did you hear anything?”
“I heard nothing. I saw nothing. I don’t know why you’re asking me these questions.”
He makes a move to close the door; I stick my foot in the gap.
“You’re sure you didn’t see or hear anything out of the ordinary?”
“That’s what I said. I have to be at work soon. I would like you to leave. Take your foot out of the door.”
“If you didn’t hear anything that night, you heard anything since?”
“Please, remove your foot. I don’t know anything.”
“People talk.”
He shakes his head. Stares at my shoe. Doesn’t say anything else.
“Fine.” I take my foot from the gap in the door, hold up my hands. I’m not a threat to him, want him to know that.
“Thanks for your help.”
He frowns, and slams the door.
Wanker.
It’s one thing to be wary of strangers, but this is ridiculous. I should’ve told him that Nunn was planning to burn his fucking house down, see if that jogged his memory. Nothing like fear to get the old grey cells motivated. I walk back down the path, don’t bother to close the gate behind me. I look across at the kids, and they seem to start moving all at once.
“You got something to say, lads?”
The kid holding the football, taller than the rest, could be twelve or thirteen, he jerks his chin at me.
Says, “What’s it worth?”
I stop walking. “Depends on what you’ve got.”
He bounces the ball to one of his mates, walks towards me. As he gets closer, I can make out a strip of hair across his top lip, pulled back in a sneer.
Thinks he’s a hard lad, this one.
“Fifty quid, and I got a fuckin’ witness statement for you,” he says.
“Witness statement, right?” Lad thinks he’s got the jargon down, too. It’d be sweet if he wasn’t so fucking annoying. I nod. “What’s your name?”
“Tariq.”
“How old are you, mate?”
“What, you trying to pick us up or something, eh?” He grins, looking around at his mates, wagging one hand. “Ain’t into that, man.”
There are a few giggles, nothing too much. Nerves in this gang. Anxious about being out in the open talking to me. Which means they might have something.
“I’m not trying to pick you up, Tariq. I’m just wondering what the fuck a twelve-year-old’s going to do with fifty quid.”
“Whoa, fuckin’ fourteen, innit?” he says. “And back up, mate, ’cause I ain’t in the mood for a lecture.”
“Not about to.” I reach into my jacket, pull out two twenties and a ten from Plummer’s envelope. Christ, but it’s feeling light these days. “But how come you were out the other night?”
“What, ’cause I’ve been grounded, yeah? My father says, I don’t go out unless I got a good reason.”
“So you weren’t out?”
“What you smoking?”
“Nothing.”
“You smoke?”
I give him an Embassy. He lights it up, sucks on the filter. Turns the lit end of the cigarette to his palm like a soldier. Or, and this is probably the effect he’s going for, a con. Playing it up for his mates.
“I don’t listen to him, man,” he says. “He’s not the boss of me.”
“So you were out.”
“Wants me to stay in and do homework. He’s like, I’m gonna be a lawyer, but I’m like, no way, man.” He grins at his mates, and then his voice drops. “He’s a fuckin’ machood.”
“What’d you see, Tariq?”
Another jerk of the chin. “Show us the money again.” He grins, catching a riff. “Show me the money.”
“I’ll show you the money, yeah,” I say, holding up the fifty. “But you look with your eyes, right? Get to look with your hands when you tell me something I can use.”
“You’re a businessman.”
“Whatever, mate. What’d you see?”
“Don’t tell him,” says one of Tariq’s mates. Dressed head to toe in Adidas, kid thinks he’s a gangster, but looks like he’s about to piss himself with fear. Shifting his weight from one leg to the other. “Y’ain’t a grass, man.”
“Nah, you’re a fuckin’ rudeboy, aren’t you?” I say.
“What d’you know about it?”
“Tariq, you want to tell me something, you tell it. You want to also tell your mates to back the fuck off, then we can talk.”
“Naz. Chill.”
“Yeah, Naz. Chill. This has fuck all to do with you, mate.”
“You calling me, man?” says Naz. None of the fear now, fronting with his trackies in a fucking twist, face following suit. “Bhanchood.”
“You want to call me a fuckin’ name, son, try putting it in a language I understand.”
“Fuckin’ racist, man. Fuckin’ calling me ’cause I don’t speak your English.”
“My English?” I shake my head, tuck the fifty in my jeans. “You know what, fuck this. Wasting my time, bunch of fuckin’ mobile thieves, am I right?”
“Hang on,” says Tariq.
“Nah, think I come down here to play gangster with you lot …” I keep walking. “Forget it, son. Had your chance, but you had to keep bucking your gums.”
I’m almost at the car when I hear someone coming up behind me. Turn, and it’s Tariq. Look over his shoulder, and the rest of his mates are still by the garage. Naz watches the ground, knocks the ball between his feet. One of the other lads takes it off him and the game starts up again.
“This don’t go no further, right?” says Tariq.
“Whatever, mate. You think I’m going to tell your dad, I don’t know him.” I lean against the Micra. “And if there’s someone else you don’t want me to tell, chances are I don’t know them either. So anything you say, it’s more than likely private and confidential.”
Tariq opens his arms, then lets them flop to his sides as he takes a breath.
“In your own time,” I tell him.
“There’s this bloke, he’s called Saeed, right? Real gangster, get me?” He chews his lip. “Me and Naz, we do some work for him every now and again. Just deliveries, nothing heavy. He gave us a couple bikes to do the running on—”
I gesture: skip to the end.
“Right, so I’m out there, I’m waiting on him.”
“Where?”
“Up by the garage. Always meets us there. And Saeed pulls up in his car, and he’s got this bloke with him, I never seen him before. Says this is his mate, he just got out the ’Ways, he’s sound, gonna be doing some business, yeah? So I do the handshakes an’ that, y’know, introducing myself. And then there’s this noise—”
“What noise?”
“Like shouting an’ that, ’cept it’s not really shouting. Like, arguing. But they’re trying to keep it quiet.”
“Right.”
“Then there’s these two white lads come round the corner and they’re proper at each other.”
“Uh-huh. You remember what they were arguing about?” I pull out my cigarettes, hold the pack to Tariq, who takes one and slips another behind his ear. I light an Embassy.
“Summat about that house, weren’t it? I didn’t catch it.”
“What house?”
“That house you was at.”
“If you didn’t catch it, how d’you know it was about that house?”
“Just thought it was, didn’t I? It was summat important, and they were like coming from around the back, like.”
I look at the house. Right enough, there’s that alley that leads round the back. I blow smoke.
“You said two of them?”
“Yeah.”
“So what happened then?”
What happened was that Saeed and his big mate just out of prison, they took offence a
t the two white lads. Nothing more than that, really. Same as if a couple of Asian lads were looking suspicious in Ordsall and a couple of tap-headed scallies saw them. Saeed and his mate looked at David Nunn and his mate, saw a couple of strangers with something to hide.
“Describe them,” I say.
“One of them, he was the bloke you were talking about. The student.”
“What’d he look like?”
Tariq frowns with the top half of his face, grins with the rest. “What, you don’t believe me?”
“No. Convince me. What’d he look like?”
Tariq sucks his teeth, moves his hand over his chin, stroking a beard that isn’t there. “Had one of them beards, fuckin’ tramp beard. Dressed like a student. What else d’you need? He looked like a student.”
“You know what a student looks like?” But right enough, Nunn had a beard. Not in any of the photos I’ve seen in the papers, though.
“I seen plenty of them, man. They all live round here.”
“What about his mate?”
“No beard. Biggish.” He laughs. “Fuckin’ hell, I knew you’d be asking me all these questions, I’d have took a photo, know what I mean?”
“Biggish like what? Like a bouncer?”
“Like Jonny Wilkinson big. Like thick neck an’ that. Looked a bit like him.”
“Like Jonny Wilkinson, right. And Saeed and his mate, they just laid into these blokes for no reason?”
Tariq shakes his head. “Weren’t no reason, man. Them bastards, they was up to something, you could tell. We could tell. So Saeed’s all like, “What you doing, lads?” Trying to shit ’em up a bit, y’know? And it was working, they was getting proper scared. ’Cause Saeed’s a psycho bastard once he gets going, and him having that mate with him, tell you they were putting the shits up me. Pfffft.”
“So they kicked off,” I say.
“Shouldn’t have been there in the first place. They should know, we all got bredren in Longsight, man.”
“Saeed and this bloke kicked the shit out of them,” I say.
“You judging us? You hear what I said?”
“I heard some macho fuckin’ bullshit, Tariq.” I look at him. “I’m after what happened, there’s you spinning me a cunt’s yarn. They did the beardy student, so what happened to Jonny fuckin’ Wilkinson?”
“He took off.”
“Didn’t just look like him, ran like him too, eh?”