Local Poet

by Paul Trembling

  “Well, it didn’t work with me, obviously. So why is he still on my case?”

  “He was already pushing the boundaries when he came to see you. At that point, it was still an RTC and I was the officer in charge. But then the toxicology report came back on Laney. She was dosed up with La Paz.”

  In my mind, I saw her again. That tiny, eternal instant played out in front of me once more. But now it was different. Now I understood the terrible calmness in her face as she stepped out and looked towards me.

  “You OK?”

  I focused on the present, and forced a smile. “Yes. Just remembering.”

  “Ah. Well – now Mickey had a definite link with La Paz. Everything pointed to Laney having taken the stuff at the King William, walked over to the high street, and stepped out in front of the next large vehicle that came along. But he couldn’t act on it. He’d already blown his chance. He couldn’t get another warrant to search the pub – not without better intel. So he decided to keep on hassling you. Not now because he thought you did it deliberately. Even Mickey couldn’t sustain that theory. But he thinks that someone must be a bit annoyed over what happened. Perhaps enough to come looking for payback. So he puts all your details out there in public and – since he can’t get the funds for a proper surveillance, not now – he drops vague hints about getting into CID, and gets a dumb young copper to spend his rest day watching your flat.”

  “He’s using me as bait!”

  “Pretty much. Or pressing buttons, as he’d put it. To see if anything lights up.”

  “That’s… bizarre.”

  “I’d use words like ‘unprofessional’, ‘unethical’, or ‘outright illegal’. I suppose ‘bizarre’ fits as well. But this is Mickey Fayden we’re talking about here. He’s desperate, out of his depth, and he doesn’t think the normal rules apply to him.”

  “And you’re sure about this?”

  “Well, most of it. I’ve been talking to a friend in CID – not everyone there has joined the Mickey Fan Club; not at all. She filled me in on what’s been going on. I didn’t know about the surveillance until you told me, but it fits.” She put down her cup and glanced at her watch. “Is that the time? I’d better get going. I’m on an early tomorrow, and there’s still things I need to do this evening.” She stood up.

  “Hey – just a minute! Is that it?”

  She gave me a quizzical look. “You’re all up to speed now.

  What else do you want?”

  “Well… what can I do about it?”

  “Do?” She raised an eyebrow. “Well, I suppose you could write to the chief constable and complain about your details being made public. You’d probably just get some bland standard letter that sounded vaguely apologetic without actually admitting anything, but it might put a bit of extra pressure on Mickey, which could only be a good thing.”

  “But what about all the newspaper stories?”

  “Not much you can do about that. Don’t talk to the press. That interview you gave was disastrous.”

  “I didn’t know he’d twist everything like that.”

  “Reporters come in good, bad, and ugly. He’s one of the ugly ones. Don’t let it get to you. They’ll be off your back soon.”

  “You can’t be sure of that,” I said gloomily.

  “Oh, I’m pretty sure.” She gave me a broad grin. “This afternoon I arrested a certain well-known sports personality for assaulting a local politician. Argument over an alleged affair with said politician’s wife. It all happened in public, so no chance of keeping it covered up – it’s all over the twitternet now, and it’ll fill the front pages tomorrow. Don’t worry, Rob; you’re old news.”

  “Oh. Good.” I felt vaguely deflated.

  “As long as you don’t do anything to attract attention, this should soon blow over,” she continued. “Keep your head down, stay off social media, and ignore anyone who seems to be watching you. Mickey can’t keep it up much longer, and he’s got no more buttons to press. Thanks for the meal!”

  I watched her till she had disappeared through the door, then went over to the bar and ordered a bottle of cider. Given the example June had set, I thought I could indulge myself that much at least. I sat and sipped it slowly, reflecting on the mountain of information I’d been given. Especially about Laney. I knew so much more about her now. There was still so much to learn.

  After a while, I realized I was staring into an empty bottle and attracting sharp looks from the staff, wondering why I was still taking up space in their pub. Time to go home.

  I had no intention of getting back into my flat the same way as I’d gone out. Apart from my personal injuries, there was the stress on Harold’s marriage to consider. But neither did I want to be spotted going back in – that would make it obvious that I had sneakily managed to get out without being seen, which in turn would imply that I had something to hide. I didn’t need to give Mickey Fayden any more excuse to press my buttons.

  So I parked up a few streets away and approached my front door cautiously, peeping round the corner of the street before I stepped out.

  The Corsa was gone. But in its place was another car that I’d never seen there before: a big, shiny, black Range Rover Evoque. Top of the range model, probably worth about fifty grand on the road, and as out of place on my street as a penguin in the desert.

  I couldn’t see anyone inside, but between tinted glass and poor street lighting, I wouldn’t have expected to. So it might have been empty. It might have been nothing to do with me. It might have been quite safe for me to go back home.

  And it might have been Elvis behind the wheel, but I didn’t think that either.

  What I needed was more information, and I could only think of one person to go to for that. I pulled out my phone and called June. It was reasonable to assume that she wouldn’t be too pleased to hear from me again, so I jumped straight in with an apology.

  “June, I’m really sorry to be bothering you again, and I know you’re busy, but I seriously need your help.”

  “Rob?” She sounded wary, but at least not angry or even irritated. And thank goodness there were no sounds of another person in the background, which I’ve always found makes it a difficult conversation when you phone a girl. “What is it?”

  “I’ve just got back. The Corsa’s gone…”

  “So Andy Hart got fed up and went home.”

  “… but there’s another car there now. A black Range Rover. Do you know whose it is?”

  Her voice sharpened. “What’s the registration?”

  “Ah. Didn’t see that. Hold on a moment.”

  I had another quick look round the corner. “I can’t make out the whole thing from here, but the last three letters are C-O-P.”

  “Thought so. That’s Mickey Fayden’s car.”

  “You mean he’s here himself?”

  “Seems so. Unless he’s lent it to someone else, but that’s not like him. He doesn’t share his toys. Rob, I’m worried about this. If he’s going to this much trouble in person, then he’s taking this surveillance far more seriously than I’d realized. He may even have some sort of official backing for it.”

  “Some sort? What does that mean?”

  “A nod and a wink from the DI, probably. No budget, no overtime, but his back’s covered, and if he turns something up, it’ll be feathers in caps all round.”

  “So how do I get home?”

  “The same way that you got out, I suppose.”

  “No. That particular route…” I paused. That particular route was dangerous and illegal, but I couldn’t say that to June. “… is no longer available,” I finished. “I suppose I’ll have to go to a hotel for the night.”

  “Yes, that’s a good idea. No! Wait a minute – you paid cash for the meal, didn’t you?”

  “Yes. But the sweet course cleaned me out. I’ll have to use my card.”

  “Best not to. Card transactions can be traced.”

  “Would he go that far?”

  �
�It depends how much official backing he has. I don’t think it’s worth risking. Is there anyone else you can stop with?”

  “No.” I suddenly felt very lonely. “I don’t have any mates that close. None that wouldn’t ask awkward questions. Looks like I’ll be sleeping in the car tonight.” There was no immediate reply from June, so I continued. “I’ll drive a bit further away and park up. I’ll check again tomorrow; see if I’m still being watched. Thanks for your help, June. I do appreciate it.”

  “Wait a minute, Rob. Sleeping in your car isn’t a good idea. For one thing, coppers notice things like that. And your face is too well known at the moment. If word gets back to Mickey…”

  “OK. But what the heck am I going to do, then?”

  She sighed. “Number 24 Northumberland Avenue. It’s just off Eastgate Road. Do you know the area?”

  “Yes, it’s on one of my regular delivery routes. But…”

  “Don’t park outside the house. There’s a public car park at the end of the street. Leave your car there. It’ll be safe enough; a lot of locals use it for overnight parking.”

  “Yes, but whose address is it?”

  “Mine, of course! Don’t be too long getting here. I want to go to… I mean, I need to get some sleep.”

  She hung up, leaving me standing there with an entirely inappropriate smile on my face. My non-date was working out better than most of my actual dates.

  Number 24 Northumberland Avenue was a neat little semi in a nice area. Young professionals on their way up, respectable retireds winding down, and unattached police officers, it seemed.

  June had obviously been looking out for me, and opened the door as I approached. She’d changed into grey joggers and a plain blue T-shirt, her hair looked damp, and she had a wary expression on her face.

  “Just so that we understand each other right from the start, we still didn’t have a date earlier, and you are sleeping in the spare bedroom. Are we clear?”

  I nodded vigorously. “Yes. Absolutely. And I’m very grateful for this, June.”

  “So you should be.”

  She led the way into the living room – actually, a combination living/dining room that ran from the front to the back of the house. TV and sofa at one end, glass-topped table at the other. It wasn’t overly feminine, not many frothy frilly bits, but it was all tidy and well organized. A lot more so than my place, certainly. There was an open laptop on the table, with marked books, highlighted printouts, and an A4 pad covered in notes scattered around it.

  “Sorry to interrupt your studying.” I nodded at the table. “What is it – Open University?”

  “Sergeant’s exam. It’s coming up next week, so I’m trying to get as much in my head as possible.” She gave me a wry smile. “Don’t worry, I hate revising, so I was glad of the excuse to leave it.”

  “I’m sure you’ll show Mickey Fayden how it’s done.”

  The smile disappeared, replaced by a frown. “It’s got nothing to do with Fayden. I was always planning to move up. But in my own time.”

  “Oh. Yes, of course.” I hastily took my foot out of my mouth and changed direction. “Have you had any more thoughts about why he’s watching me?”

  She shook her head. “It makes no sense. I can understand him getting someone like Andy Hart to hang around outside your flat – pushing buttons, like I said before – but for him to be there in person suggests he’s taking the idea of you being involved way too seriously. I can’t imagine that even Mickey really believes that. I’m just wondering…”

  “What?”

  “I’m wondering if Mickey has got some intelligence on this. Something I don’t know about.”

  “What sort of intelligence?”

  She gave me a long look. “Well… if he knows about some credible threat.”

  “Credible threat? You mean – a threat against me?” I thought of inflammatory newspaper articles and spray-painted words.

  “Why don’t you sit down?” She nodded at the sofa, and perched on an almost matching armchair opposite. “Don’t get alarmed. It’s just that the newspaper article has already produced some reaction. If Mickey’s got his ear to the ground, he may have heard of something else. Perhaps someone’s been talking about doing more than graffiti. And catching someone making a direct assault on you would, from his point of view, be very useful. It would give him a new line of inquiry. Might even lead back to Canoso.”

  “He’ll want revenge for his sister!” I burst out.

  “Don’t get carried away; it’s just a theory.”

  It sounded all too plausible to me, and I said so. “Revenge killings are a big thing in Spain, aren’t they? They’re very big on family and honour and that sort of thing.”

  June rolled her eyes. “I think it’s bigger in novels than in real life. I’m sure that this is more about what Mickey hopes will happen than anything else.”

  “But he must have heard something to go to all this trouble in person! You just said it yourself, June. There must be a credible threat.”

  “Well, if there is, you’re safe enough here, aren’t you? Look, you need to get some sleep, Rob. Go and have a shower if you like; I’ve put a clean towel out for you and there’s a new toothbrush by the sink. Go and clean up – you still look like you were dragged through a hedge backwards. I’m going to have some hot chocolate – do you want one?”

  It was good advice. I certainly felt better for the shower, even though I had to put the same torn and muddy clothes back on, and sipping hot chocolate afterwards made me feel more like a normal person again. June had put some music on in the background – something bluesy, not really my thing but it went well with the mood – and we talked about unimportant things. Where we came from, where we went to school, how long we’d lived here, and so on. The remarkable thing was that we had absolutely nothing in common. There were no amazing coincidences, no shared dates. It seemed that we had never been to the same places, never met the same people, never had the most remote crossing of paths.

  Not until Laney.

  Finally, she glanced at the clock and frowned. “Dammit, look at the time. I meant to have an early night.” She stood up. “OK, I’m off to bed then. I’ll be up at five tomorrow. Feel free to sleep in, and help yourself to breakfast. Not a lot in, I’m afraid, so don’t expect a full English.”

  “That’s OK. I usually manage with coffee and toast.”

  “Hmm. There’s coffee, but it’s decaf. I get enough caffeine at the station; I try and avoid it at home.”

  “I’m sure I’ll manage. And I’ll get out of your way after that.”

  She shook her head. “It’d probably be better for you to stay here. Keep your head down and stay out of sight. I’ll ask a few questions when I get in – see if I can find out what’s going on.”

  “Can you get the surveillance lifted?”

  She shrugged. “I’ll have to be careful. I’m not supposed to know about it, after all. But I’ll give you a call as soon as I have something, OK? Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight, June. And thanks again.”

  She smiled. “This is going to cost you, you know. Once this is over, you’re buying me dinner – and I’ll want more than a Super Sharer Stag Platter!”

  I smiled back. “Don’t forget the large cheesecake. No problem!”

  DAY 6: HISTORY

  I slept in. Not surprisingly, perhaps – it had been a long and exciting day. I finally dragged myself up at about half past nine, went downstairs, and fumbled around the kitchen for breakfast.

  When June had said that there wasn’t a lot in, she wasn’t joking. I found the decaf coffee, but no sugar to go in it, which ruled out the two main things I needed to kick-start my brain. There were some sweeteners, but they didn’t really have the same effect. The only cereal was bran flakes, so my desperate search for a sugar rush eventually led me to toast and marmalade. I sat munching, and watched morning TV for a while, but found it too intellectually challenging in my decaffeinated state.


  Besides, I had far too much else to think about. My head was still buzzing from everything June had told me. Strangely, though, the biggest revelation of all – that Laney had been blissed-out on La Paz when she stepped in front of me – was the easiest thing to accept. Perhaps because it took the guilt one step further away from me.

  But the window that had been opened into her earlier life – that was somehow more of a shock. There wasn’t a hint in any of her poems that she came from a family of criminals.

  Or was there? She had had a way of laying down multiple layers of meaning in her writing – could there be something I’d missed? I needed to revisit her poems, just as soon as I could get back home.

  I wandered round June’s house, trying to look at things without feeling nosey. I was ridiculously pleased to find a pair of socks stuffed into some trainers and tossed in a corner. I also found that the garage, though mostly full of assorted junk, had had a small gym squeezed into it. Including a treadmill. It reminded me that I hadn’t had a good workout or been for a run since the accident, and I felt the need. Of course, I didn’t have any kit with me, but perhaps a short jog at least?

  My thoughts were interrupted by my phone. I’d allocated a ringtone to June – not that anyone else knew the number – so I answered straight away.

  “Hi, June. Did you find anything out?”

  “Yes, and it’s all sorted. You can go home; the surveillance has been lifted.”

  “That’s brilliant! How did you manage it?”

  “Well, actually I can’t take the credit,” she admitted. “Mickey screwed it up himself. Apparently he’d talked a PCSO into watching your flat from midnight on. And he’d sent Cadenti to take over from her in the morning. But she’d had a shift change and was supposed to be on an early. So she rolls in late and struggling to keep her eyes open, her sergeant has a few words, and she tells him she’s been on a job for CID. Nice lass, but not the sharpest tool in the box. Of course he goes straight to the inspector about it. The inspector’s not happy either, and takes it higher, and by the time Mickey wanders in for his morning coffee, it’s hit the fan and is flying all over the station.”