Next to Die

by Neil White

  She tried to keep her eyes open, to take one last look at her life, but all she could see was the woman, her eyes wide, manic, gleeful, and then she started to fade. Her chest was pushing out for air but Monica started to feel peace. Her cheekbone didn’t hurt anymore, and the scene started to fade in front of her, like someone turning up the brightness control. There was the sound of laughter, someone shouting, and a child crying, not far away. Another screech of a tram, city sounds, but as her vision faded, so did the noise, and as everything went white she felt herself start to fall backwards. As her body hit the concrete, it felt like it pushed through it, carrying on, a long tumble into darkness.

  Forty-Two

  The morning did little to make Joe’s soreness go away. He tried to sit up and winced as jabs of pain shot across his head. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

  ‘Don’t get up, not yet.’

  It was Gina, her voice soft.

  He tried to focus, and as the room came into view, he saw she was holding a glass of water and some pills. ‘Take these,’ she said. ‘They’ll take away some of the ache.’

  Joe swung his legs out from under the covers. ‘I don’t look my best at this time of the morning,’ he said, his voice thick with sleep, and then he coughed, which made his head hurt more. He thanked her for the pills and swilled them down.

  ‘None of us do,’ she said, and then got off the bed to open the curtains.

  He watched her go, squinting through tired eyes. She was wearing a nightdress, cream silk, short and sexy, so that when she reached for the curtains, it rode up, showing her white panties. Despite his headache, he marvelled at her figure. He looked away as she turned around, although the smile on her face told him that he’d been spotted.

  ‘It looks like you’ve recovered enough,’ she said, and then headed for the door. ‘Breakfast in ten minutes. I’ll see you down there.’

  He laughed to himself and then creaked out of bed.

  Joe was in Gina’s spare room, the bed small, meant for emergencies only. He remembered the night before and he winced. Gina had opened a bottle of wine once she thought he had got over his dizziness. He didn’t think it was sound medical advice, but the booze had dulled some of the pain, although not all of his sluggishness was down to being hit on the back of the head.

  He stumbled his way to the bathroom. The mirror on the wall cabinet wasn’t kind to him. His face was swollen around his eye socket and was turning purple. He would have to endure some questions, but there was no point in hiding away. He splashed water on his face, making him wince, and then he left the bathroom to get dressed. He put on his clothes from the night before. Gina had washed his shirt and hung it over the bedroom door to dry. The bloodstains were still visible, but it wasn’t the horror show it had been.

  When he went downstairs, Gina was dressed and frying up food. Bacon and eggs, with sausages under the grill.

  He eased himself into a chair, grimacing, and sat back as Gina spooned fried food onto his plate.

  ‘So what next?’ she said. ‘Have you thought any more about involving the police?’

  ‘I told you last night, no,’ Joe said. ‘I’ve got a black eye and a sore head. Perhaps I deserved it. I don’t know who did it, and I’m sure all the police will do is laugh at the smart-arse defence lawyer running to them as soon as things go wrong.’

  ‘They’re not that bad, you know,’ she said. ‘Most understand the game.’

  ‘But they aren’t the ones who will make the most noise.’

  ‘We need to know, though,’ she said. ‘Me, Monica, and anyone else involved with Ronnie’s case.’

  Joe frowned. ‘I know, I’m sorry. Just leave it with me, okay.’

  He started to eat, realising that he’d had no food the night before, dipping his sausage into his egg, when Gina’s phone rang. He could tell from the way Gina smiled at him that the call was for him. His phone had been smashed in the attack.

  ‘It’s for you,’ Gina whispered.

  When Joe answered, it was Kim.

  ‘Are you all right?’ she said, her voice a whisper.

  ‘Groggy, but I’ll survive. Where are you?’

  ‘I’m at home. Sean is in the shower, so that’s why I’m calling, because I won’t get another chance until I get to work.’

  ‘Don’t get into trouble on my behalf.’

  ‘I was worried about you, Joe,’ she said, and he could hear her concern in her voice. ‘You were attacked.’

  Joe looked up to see Gina smiling at him.

  He turned away.

  ‘I’m fine, don’t worry.’

  There was a pause, and then she said, ‘Joe, I want to see you later. Will you meet me again?’

  ‘As lawyers?’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘As friends.’

  He closed his eyes as memories came back to him. That tone in her voice, soft, gentle, not the brusqueness he had seen in court. Joe remembered the Kim from college, the soft murmurs in the dark, gentle moans and her hands on his back.

  ‘Do you think we should, because of Sean, I mean?’ Joe said.

  ‘Don’t you?’

  A pause and then, ‘No, I don’t.’

  There was silence on the other end, and then, ‘Okay, I’m sorry. Take care, Joe.’ The phone clicked off.

  He stared at the phone and then exhaled loudly.

  ‘Have you turned the lady down?’ Gina said. When he didn’t respond, she said, ‘You’re scared of women.’

  ‘How do you work that out?’

  ‘Because you go to too much trouble making sure that you don’t get involved with any.’

  Joe didn’t respond. He could try to defend himself, fill the silence with emotional stuff about how he had never found the right woman, the special one, but he knew that there was too much truth in what Gina said.

  ‘She’s got a partner already,’ Joe said.

  ‘What if she isn’t happy? Isn’t it for her to decide how to feel?’

  Joe shook his head. ‘I don’t cross that line. It only ever brings trouble.’

  ‘Do you want her?’

  Joe didn’t answer. He concentrated on his food instead.

  Gina’s hand reached across and gripped his. ‘You’re a better man than you think you are.’

  He smiled at that. He had just acquired a virtue.

  The morning had been a long time coming for Sam Parker. He had tried to sleep, knowing that he needed to be alert for his day ahead, but Ruby’s account of being followed had made sleep impossible. He wasn’t sure he believed her, but he needed to be sure, because he couldn’t have it on his conscience if this was the one time that his hunch let him down.

  So he had made his way to the path where Ruby said she had been followed, to see if anyone appeared who troubled him. He sat on a small bench near the end of the path, so that he looked like someone taking a rest, in plain sight, not obviously keeping watch.

  It was a woodland space between two housing estates, with his mother’s estate on one side and a modern redbrick on the other, built on the site of terraced housing that had been swept away in the rush to modernise the city. A gravel path ran through it, lined by trees, and a small brook trickled alongside, with a steep bank that ran towards the estate where his mother lived. He had a good view towards the trees, so he would be able to see if anyone was trying to hide in there.

  His mind went back to Ellie and how she had once walked down the same path. It had been familiarity that put her in danger, because she had walked it so many times, and so what was just once more? She had been wearing headphones and wouldn’t have heard the footsteps. The path twisted and curved, so that parts of it became hidden and sounds were soaked up by the small thickets of trees. It had been in one of those that Ellie had been found, dragged through the brambles and slumped against a tree, her knickers pulled to her ankles, her top ripped from her shoulders.

  Sam closed his eyes. He tried to never think of that, but Ellie’s body had been described to him and so he had
constructed the picture in his own mind. That made him get close and see the scratches on her skin, pale and young, her face bloodied from where she had been hit. Just one wrong turn, the failure to heed the warnings, and his sister was gone forever. He wasn’t going to let that happen again.

  The pavements further along were filled by schoolchildren, their uniforms dark blue. Some used the path through the trees, and he fought the urge to tell them not to do so, but he knew how he would be perceived, a lone man talking to teenagers.

  Sam thought he heard something. Crunches on the gravel. Then two pupils came into view, one of them using the quiet of the path to have a cigarette.

  He sighed. It was pointless. It was just an ordinary path near a school, a frequent shortcut, but Ruby knew that it meant something else to him. He got to his feet. He was angry with her. She had used Ellie’s memory to exploit his emotions and get his attention.

  Sam set off walking back to his car, his hands jammed into his pockets, when he heard a scream.

  Sam whirled round. Two school pupils were looking back down the path.

  He bolted towards the noise. It had been a young woman, loud and shrill. He rounded the first bend in a sprint, just the twist of the path ahead, his head filled with the sound of his own feet and the rattle of car keys and coins in his trouser pockets.

  He stopped when he saw what was ahead. It was a schoolgirl, lifted in the air by one of her friends, maybe even a boyfriend, shrieking and laughing.

  Sam took some deep breaths to get over the exertion. He raised his hand in apology when they saw him, the girl who had shrieked now embarrassed, pulling her skirt back to her knees from where it had ridden up. They both rushed past him and he turned to watch them go.

  This wasn’t good, he knew that.

  He started to walk back along the path, his head down, when he heard something in the woods to his left. He looked quickly. There was something there. The sound of movement, audible as swishes through the undergrowth, and he thought he could see a shape through the trees. Flashes of green, almost impossible to make out, but it was there. Someone running.

  Sam set off again, his feet moving quickly over tree roots and uneven ground, but all he was following were shadows and the rustles of movement. He was panting quickly, too long spent at a desk looking at financial statements, but he knew the area well. There was a gate at the top of the slope that led to a small children’s park, and beyond that the modern housing estate. It would give him a good view of whoever he was chasing as they broke into the open.

  He tried to speed up, despite the ache in his lungs, but was looking forwards and not down. His right foot caught on a loose stone. He was falling, and as he hit the ground, a root winded him as it caught him in his ribcage. He groaned and held his side, and then looked up the slope. Whoever was there had got away.

  He stamped at the ground with his heel and shouted, ‘Fuck!’ Then he thought about Ruby, and he knew now that she had been right.

  Someone was watching.

  Forty-Three

  As Joe left his apartment, fresh from a shower and change of clothes, he tried to let the sunlight take away the heaviness inside his head. Whoever hit him the night before must have got in a good shot, because if he moved his head too quickly his vision seemed to lag, like a video buffering on a slow internet connection.

  He followed his normal route. It started at the waterside, two willow trees trailing over the surface, the idyllic country scene out of step with the industrial backdrop, and then over a long metal bridge that connected the apartment blocks to the brick railway arches that rumbled with the passing trains and the electric squeal of the trams.

  It was a walk he usually enjoyed, but he saw it differently now. What was once industrial history became dark bridges filled with shadows and echoes. Whoever had hit him must have been watching him, and so the threat might still be there.

  Joe turned as he walked, felt himself speed up. It had been easy to shrug off the attack while he was still at Gina’s, but now that he was alone and not far from where it had happened, his bravado slipped and his fear materialised as a burst of cold shivers. He was waiting for the sound of footsteps behind him, or a shout, or some blow to his back. Would it be more than a fist next time?

  He made his way towards St Johns Gardens, where normally he relished the green of the trees and the calm before the grind of the working day. As the gate closed behind him, the gardens seemed empty, with only the crunch of his shoes to disturb the birdsong. He would have enjoyed that on an ordinary day, but after the events of the night before, he saw it as a threat, and imagined people lurking behind bushes. It didn’t help that it was also where he had been watched from the previous day.

  He stopped and turned around and went back through the gate to walk to his office the longer way, around the gardens rather than through. When he went inside the building, Marion, the receptionist, stared when she saw his face but didn’t say anything.

  ‘I slipped,’ he said, and headed for the stairs. As he got to the top, he heard the click of a keyboard. Marion was emailing someone about his eye, no doubt.

  He closed the door to his office. He knew everyone would find an excuse to walk past to take a look if he didn’t. He realised that his chest was heaving, and when he looked at his hands, they were trembling. He would save the sideshow until later.

  He went to the window. Although it was partly out of habit he was also checking for the sight of someone watching. There was no one there.

  He stepped away from the window. He had to forget about the night before. He tried to tell himself that it was just a punch in a pub, perhaps just a random drunk, or someone he had once cross-examined too roughly who saw a chance for revenge. Random events happen.

  But the man at the back of the courtroom, and who had been outside his office, loomed large in his mind. And if he was at court, it was connected with Ronnie’s case.

  There was a knock on his door and Lisa, his secretary, came in, holding a coffee. She grimaced when she saw.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, and then, ‘I slipped.’

  ‘So Marion said.’

  Before he could even take a drink, the phone on his desk buzzed. It was Marion.

  ‘There’s someone for you in reception,’ she said.

  He checked his watch. It was just past nine. ‘Can Monica see him?’

  ‘She isn’t in yet.’

  That was unusual. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘He won’t say.’ Then she whispered into the phone. ‘He said it’s about last night.’

  Joe went to rub his eye, but the painkillers were wearing off and he pulled his hand away, remembering how sore it was. ‘Tell him to sit down and wait.’

  When he put the phone down, Joe sighed. He didn’t want to know anything about the night before, but now people were coming to the office to tell him what had happened.

  Then he remembered Kim. If someone had seen him, then Kim had been spotted too, and he didn’t want them to become the subject of gossip.

  Joe went along the first floor and then to the long sweep of the staircase. It gave him a view towards the waiting area. He stopped.

  It was a tall man, in grey trousers and a navy jumper, dressed up to see a lawyer.

  Joe carried on towards him. As the man looked up and saw him, his hand went to his mouth and tears popped into his eyes.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ he started to say.

  Joe held up his hand to stop him and clenched his jaw. It was the man who had been watching the office, and who had been in the courtroom.

  ‘You better come up,’ Joe said.

  Joe held the door open to his office as the man walked past him. He took another look at Joe’s face and then turned away quickly.

  Joe gestured towards a chair, and as the man sat down, Joe took his seat on the other side of the desk. He wanted it as a physical barrier, to prevent an attack.

  The man fidgeted for a while, so that the only sound was the creak of the chair legs
, and Joe let the silence build. He was going to let him start the conversation.

  The man dropped his hands and said, ‘I’m sorry, Mr Parker, about your eye.’ A tear ran down his cheek and his chin trembled.

  Joe was confused. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘I hit you. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Yeah, I get that, but what the fuck? Why did you do it?’ The man didn’t answer, and so Joe let him sob quietly for a while before he said, ‘Okay, we’ll start with your name.’

  The man looked up and wiped away a tear with the heel of his palm. ‘David Roberts.’

  ‘I don’t know it,’ Joe snapped, his impatience showing.

  ‘My son was Nat Roberts.’

  Joe closed his eyes for a moment. He should have guessed. He had been receiving cards highlighting events Nat Roberts would have enjoyed had one of his clients not killed him in a pointless street-fight, if you could call it that. Nat had been in the wrong place and looked at the wrong person, who was angry, drunk and looking for a fight after being thrown out of a club. Nat had walked past him, and then there had been a shout, and whatever Nat had said got him a punch for his troubles, except that when he went down, he cracked his head on the edge of a pavement. Nat bled his young life away on a Manchester side street, and his attacker pleaded guilty to manslaughter. He received just five years in prison, and would have many decades of life in front of him when he got out – decades Nat would never have.

  So Joe had received pictures of Nat’s grave, and a birthday card on the day he would have been twenty, and photos of the niece he never got to meet.

  ‘Nat would have been twenty-one on Monday,’ David said. ‘I came down here to tell you, to shout it at you, because you have no idea how angry I feel, how cheated. But I couldn’t do it. I’m a coward.’

  ‘I’m sorry for Nat,’ Joe said quietly. ‘I know you won’t believe me, but doing my job doesn’t make me less human.’