by Geoff Smith
'So let's have a look at it,' Granddad said.
Bart loaded up the picture.
It was the image of the blurry figure standing in a doorway, grey and taken from a low angle. The figure was most likely male and taking up the whole of the door-frame it looked like he might be a pretty big man.
'So what do you think then?' Granddad asked.
'I reckon,' Bart said, 'that maybe this picture is from Torin's phone, and if it is, and the creation time of the file is right then we could be looking at a picture of an arsonist, or a burglar, or a murderer.'
'Do you recognise him?'
'Not from this, Granddad. It's just a blur.'
Granddad said, 'You know what boy? If I'd done any one of those things - I mean, arson, manslaughter, murder - the very idea of this picture coming to light might frighten me into doing something a bit silly.'
Granddad pushed his pen behind his ear and flattened his hair.
'Okay,' Bart said. 'So?'
'Well I was just thinking, that if someone was to blackmail me - what with modern technology being what it is and everything - I'd be rather afraid that they would simply copy the picture and come back for more. Again and again. And - if I couldn't be sure about them deleting the picture - then maybe - well - maybe I'd want to delete the person instead. That's all.'
Bart stood up. He paced the room and he pulled at his hair.
'You know what, Granddad. Scratch buying that computer. I'm going to go back. I mean I'm going back down to Margate, tomorrow.'
Document I
Text messages from Sophie Heath to Bartholomew Crowe: 18/11/19. 09:37 a.m.
[Dear Bartie Boy. This is gonna be a biggie so get ready. It's sort of like a letter. So DO NOT REPLY UNTIL I'M DONE OKAY! I'll tell you WHEN. ]
[1 I AM ALIVE! So I've cleared that up.]
[2 I am definitely not in Heaven and I definitely HATE HATE HATE hospitals! Plus I am in pain. Lots and lots of pain!!!]
[3 There's this big hole in my side. I've had an emergency laparotomy, which basically means they slit you open like a fish and they dredge out all the crap, and then they sew you back up again - it hurts like NOTHING ELSE!]
[Sophie's first rule of a happy recovery is - NEVER - EVER - FUCKING - MOVE!!!!! If you move you're so fucked.]
[Not kidding about the hole in my side btw. There is an actual hole. Seriously gross!]
[Thanks for the apology but you can stop it now. And I mean it. You didn't know that guy was there - assuming it was a guy - do girls even shoot people??? - Googling the stats on that. Oh and thanks for lying on top of me - I've heard you did. Your - accidental ??? - attempt at chivalry was pretty much useless, but weirdly I still kind of appreciate it.]
[YOU HAVE TO COME AND SEE ME!!!!!!!! I'M DYING HERE!*]
[* I'm not dying, just in EXCRUCIATING PAIN. Jokes - ha ha.]
[Oh, and when you come, bring books. Lots of books. You know what I like. And btw I think you're beautiful too. Sophie X]
[Also check before you come - Dad's still pissed! ]
[Xx -WHEN!]
29
Light glinted on the buckle of her black suede boots and Bart's eyes travelled up her legs. Lori Cole sucked elderflower cordial through a straw.
'So, what happens now, babe?' Lori said. 'You'll drop the case?'
'No,' he said. 'I don't think so.'
'Okay. It's just that I am going to need you to talk through all these photos for me, I mean for whatever evidence you have. And don't worry about the money babe, you know, if that's the problem,' she said. 'You can keep the change.'
And she rolled her head around, slow, in a catlike arc, and it was as if she saw everything and everyone, all the shoppers, the passers by.
Bart laid a brown A4 envelope on the table.
'Everything's in there. Nothing conclusive. But I'm pretty sure Zack was dealing out of the Athelstan Road address, only low level but -'
'And this is where the boy got murdered, yes?'
'Yeah. I mean yes, yes it was.'
Lori slid the prints from the envelope and inspected them one by one, then she stacked them face down on the table.
'So, am I okay?' Bart said.
'Okay for what, babe?'
'To keep looking. Honestly, I'm really close. I reckon I can give you a result in a day or so and -'
'Did Zack do that to your eye?' she said.
Bart touched the bruise.
'Oh, yeah,' Bart said. 'I mean yes. Yes he did. Sorry.'
'Why are you sorry?' she said. 'What did you do to him?'
She took her phone from her clutch bag and she photographed his face. Bart frowned.
'It's all evidence,' she said. 'I'm sorry he hit you.'
Bart said, 'I was wondering, what do you want me to do when I find him? I mean do you want just the address? Do you want me to arrange a meeting? I'll be honest, I don't think he likes me enough for persuasion to work.'
She had coloured her hair. A shade darker than before.
'Do you think you can arrange a meeting?'
'I think I can.'
'And you'll give me his address as well, yes? Straight away, as soon as you find it?'
'Yes. Of course.'
She sucked on her elderflower cordial and her cheeks pressed against her teeth. She held the straw in her mouth, deep in thought.
'Actually,' she said, 'a meeting might work for me. Okay, Bartholomew Crowe. You're on. Do it.'
30
He looked over the cliff-top railings. The murky Ramsgate horizon. The green tinged sea and the smoke grey sky. The seagulls wobbling in the wind. Tangled weeds that clung to the cauliflower cliffs. Below that, a glimpse of the promenade and a narrow beach at high tide.
'Watch it!'
Bart gripped tight to the rails. His body jolted. Steve Hasland laughed.
'Oh dear, I am sorry about that. I couldn't resist - lost to the world you were.'
Bart fastened the top button of his coat.
'Thanks for seeing me, Mr. Hasland,' he said.
'You can call me Steve,' he said. 'You're not one of mine are you? So first names is just fine. So come on fella, let's walk, let's talk. Before it gets dark.'
His grey fitted shirt tucked neatly into his dark skinny jeans, he wore black brogues and a jacket lined with synthetic sheepskin.
The two of them passed through the gate and into the George III memorial park where rows of trees, some bare, some evergreen, darkened in the dying November light.
'Did you get to talk to Lola?'
'I said I would talk to her and I have done. But you know, the thing is - Lola - well, I'll be honest with you, Bart. She doesn't want to speak to you right now - at least, that's what she told me. The shooting. It's affected her badly. And quite right too, of course it has. It would anyone really. But you know, with Lola's past as well, I mean, with her mother being - well you know, with her mother going out like that. Well, you can understand a bit of sensitivity, can't you? You got a hell of a shiner there, by the way!'
Bart touched his eye.
'I keep forgetting it's there - I had a little run in with Zack. Being honest it hurts less than the bullet that scraped a chunk out of my arm.'
Steve raised an eyebrow.
'Vicious little so and so isn't he, Richards?'
Bart nodded and Steve took a deep breath and looked at the sky.
'You know when I was growing up, my mum got married, and because of that I picked up these two step brothers, Jake and Kane. Jake was the oldest, and Kane and me shared a bunk. Every single night the two of them would spit on me before I went to sleep. Kane would spit, and Jake would smack me if I moved. I just had to keep still till Kane got me full in the face enough times to get bored. I was four years old. And every single bloody night they'd do it, just the same - years it went on. But then one day - and I think I was eight - I just snapped. I went for him - Kane - I pulled him right down off that bunk bed. And I picked up this little mini cricket bat we had and I smacked h
im, right round the head, hard too, not messing about. And you know what I did after that?'
'No.'
And Steve was staring straight ahead.
'I hit him again. And again after that.' And he mimed taking a cricket shot. 'Jake had to get my step-dad to pull me off.' He smiled. 'They made me sleep in the shed for the next three nights after that as punishment. And when I came back in, Jake and Kane had said they wouldn't share a room with me anymore - they wanted me to stay in the shed - but my step-dad was scared of the neighbours and social services, so I started sleeping under the dining room table instead. I had magazines and a couple of comics and a torch - it was the best bloody thing that ever happened to me, Bart.'
'Didn't you ever tell anyone, about what your brothers were doing?'
'And get smacked about by my step-dad as well? And get it worse from my brothers for being a grass, an' all? No way. And Mum was too out of it to care. Listen, I'm only telling you this, Bart, because, well - I rocked the boat, you see - and you, well you're rocking the boat too, aren't you? Nobody likes the one that rocks the boat, Bart. And they'll try and stop you doing it. Almost anything they'll try. But you know what? Sometimes it's worth it. I mean, in the long run.'
Steve looked at Bart and his eyebrows raised in the middle.
'I hope you're right,' Bart said. 'I'm not exactly feeling the love right now.'
Steve snorted. He didn't speak. Just kept staring ahead, his gaze hardened. The heavy mesh of twig reminded Bart of the cloistered corridors of an elfin fortress, Steve becoming more distant.
'So did Lola say anything else?' Bart asked. 'Besides that she hates my guts, I mean.'
And Steve didn't reply and Bart began to think that maybe he would get no more from him, but then the big man said, 'Look Bart,' and his eyes were suddenly lively, engaged again. 'That bullet, it was meant for Zack, wasn't it? You know it was. I know it was. And you can bet your bottom dollar that Lola knows it too. She likes you Bart. I know she does. But she just wants to protect everyone she loves. No more bullets. That's all. That's where she's coming from. How's your friend doing, by the way?'
Bart reached up and snapped off an overhanging branch and he cast it beyond them on the path.
'Well she isn't dead, but I haven't seen her yet. I'm going in tonight. They think she's through the worst.' He hunched his shoulders, pulled the coat tighter, realising that he didn't know for sure if even that was true. 'You know, she wasn't involved in any of this shit. Hardly fair is it?'
Steve turned left, striding up the hill.
'This way,' he said. 'We'll circle back around.'
'You were telling me about Lola,' Bart said chasing again. 'What did she actually say?'
And Steve stopped and turned and he put both hands on Bart's shoulders.
'Listen. We're emotional beings Bart - remember that - we're emotional beings, that's all - emotions change.'
'So what did she say?'
And Steve placed his palms together and he took a deep breath.
'She said - that unless you could take her to Zack, or get that gunman arrested, then you should probably stay away. And I'll admit I may have toned down the language of that a touch.'
'I see.'
Steve slapped Bart on the back and he resumed his brisk walk.
'Don't worry,' he called back. 'I'll work on her. She'll come around.'
On the promenade Bart shook Hasland's hand and he watched him drive off down the hill. Then he started up the Mini, entered the hospital's postcode in the Sat-Nav. He pulled away, a grey saloon appearing in the driver's side mirror.
31
Mr. Heath whispered to his wife as Bart walked down the corridor towards them.
'Is that -'
'Yes.' And Mrs. Heath tried to smile. 'Hello Bart.' Nobody offered him a handshake. 'Sophie's sleeping right now. I'm afraid she's very tired. We're off to get lunch. I don't think you'll get very much out of her, I'm afraid.'
There was an uncomfortable silence.
'Noah's coming in tomorrow,' Mrs. Heath said. 'Maybe you should -?'
'I'm just going to drop off all this stuff I brought. I won't even talk -'
'Well, we could -'
'I promised,' Bart said.
And he ducked his head down and he pushed past. Sophie's dad made to follow but her mum held his arm. She hissed in his ear and he changed his mind.
At the ward entrance, Bart pressed the button and waited.
*
Sleeping deeply, she looked so peaceful. It was hard to imagine the big chunk of flesh gone from her side or the heavy stitching from the laparotomy that would be hidden beneath the clean white sheets. And lying there, sleeping, thick dark curls and pale skin, she reminded him of Snow White. And he hovered over her for a while, with that idea playing on his mind.
And from his bag, he took a photo, the four of them at Glastonbury, and he took out an e-reader. Bart had stuck post-its to the screen.
I've loaded up the Heartstriker series - can't remember how far you said you'd got!
And
Download whatever. Use my account - Bart x.
And he watched her and he willed her to wake, touched her hand, just for a moment, then he sat on the chair. He took out his phone and began to type.
Document J
Text messages from Bartholomew Crowe to Sophie Heath: 18/11/19. 19:21 p.m.
[Dear Sophie, I am beginning these texts like a letter because I'm not that imaginative and I'm copying you. Plus you're asleep and I don't want to wake you - that's a lie - I REALLY WANT TO WAKE YOU UP! But I can't - so, I'm typing this instead.]
[Btw - I passed your parents in the corridor and I don't think they were very pleased to see me. I wanted to tell them how sorry I am about everything - God I want to tell YOU how sorry I am!!! I know you don't want me to - but anyway - I'm worried that if I do apologise I'll just make your parents angry.]
[So I don't know what to say here and it feels weird. So WAKE UP! I want to hear your voice. I want to see your eyes! And I know it's selfish, but I need to hear you speak before I can believe you're okay.]
[I should tell you that I'm sticking with the case. The missing person part anyway. And I know you'd prefer it if I went back to school - be a good boy - but I can't. Not yet. You know out of everyone, Granddad's actually been really cool about it - I'm starting to appreciate the old guy!]
[Anyway I'm rambling so I'm going to finish now - God I wish you were awake! Thinking of you always. ]
[Love Bart-ie Boy xx]
32
Bart drummed on the bonnet of the grey BMW. The driver's door flew open, the stocky, leather jacketed driver getting tangled in his seat belt as he sprung from the car. Graham Cameron, Golden's man.
'Whatdya think you're doin' eh?' And his arms swung, tight against his side. 'Hey you! You hear me? I asked you a question!'
Bart turned. Cameron was a good four or five inches shorter than he was, but Cameron had the weight advantage.
Bart said, 'I'll tell you what I'm doing. I'm visiting my friend. She's in this hospital. She's been shot - shot by some guy who follows people around and sneaks about in the shadows. That's what I'm doing. So how about you tell me what you're doing?'
'I hope you're not accusing me of anything there son!'
'I don't know. Maybe I am. Are you denying it?'
'Ach, you! You're in fuckin cloud-cuckooland!'
Graham Cameron lifted his chin and the flecks of grey in his black stubble glinted under the streetlights. Bart tried to turn away but Cameron grabbed his shoulder. He spun him back round and he shoved his forearm against Bart's throat.
'Don't you turn away from me! Now you better fucking apologise or I'll break your fuckin neck?'
The muscles were tight in Cameron's face and his eyes were like stones.
For a moment Bart did nothing.
Then he twisted. He twisted and swung his palm against Cameron's head and he thrust his knee into the Scotsman's groin. More surprised th
an hurt, Cameron staggered back, and his dark eyebrows furrowed.
'Fuck -' and he pulled himself up, a hand on his crotch. His eyes flicking right as he tried to calculate the best response.
'See you! When my boss is finished wi' you. I'm gonny finish you my-fucking-self. So you watch your back, son. Okay? Watch your fuckin' back!'
33
The light from the landing made a silhouette of DS Simmonds in the frame of the open door.
'Come on, Mr. Crowe. Get dressed. McDonald's only serves breakfasts until eleven.'
Bart forced his fingers through his bird's nest hair.
He yawned.
'What? Okay. Oh right. Just give me ten, okay.'
When Simmonds went downstairs he left the door open.
*
Thirty-five minutes later, and the black Mondeo swung into the car park at Margate Police Station.
'Remember,' he said, 'we're just taking a statement here about that computer and those pictures. You're not under arrest and you're free to end the interview at any time. Capeesh?'
Bart nodded.
Simmonds passed Bart the waxy wrapping from his breakfast.
'Great stuff. So let's go. There's a bin over by the wall.'
*
DS Simmonds sat behind the table with WPC Stock and Bart felt his eyelid twitch.
Simmonds highlighted the SD Card for the recording and Bart said that he recognised it, said he'd found the card concealed in a football trophy at the scene of Raymond Feathers' murder, that he figured the drugs were being sold from the premises. He said he thought the murder might be drug related. Simmonds listening and nodding and guiding him along while Stock just stared, not saying a word, disapproving of something.
'And you chose to tell us about the card on the 19th of November, following the shooting at The Ramsgate Music Hall on the night previous. Is that correct, Mr Crowe?'