by Joseph Knox
‘In that case, I think I’m looking for your father …’
‘I know you fucking are,’ he said, crushing my hand and stabbing a left into my stomach. He hit me so hard I felt the blow in my spine. I folded on to the floor and he dragged me by the leg through to the next room where I was lifted up and thrown, roughly, into a chair. I heard duct tape being torn off a roll, and then felt it, binding my wrists behind my back.
I tried to speak.
Felt the bile climbing up my throat and clenched my jaw.
When I looked around I was in a shambolic, out-of-time office, sitting opposite an empty chair.
A spit bucket was emptied over my head and when I opened my eyes, gagging, Nicky Fisk Jr threw a right at me. I winced and he stopped one inch from impact, laughing strangely. The taste of stale, bloody spit in my mouth was making me retch, and he pushed me back against the chair so I stayed upright. He grabbed a sports bottle from the desk and sprayed my face with water. When I opened my eyes again the chair opposite me was occupied.
Nicholas Fisk, senior.
The thinnest man I’d ever seen in my life.
The tragic, emaciated figure I remembered so vividly from twenty-odd years before had become somehow sharper, somehow more angular. It looked like he hadn’t eaten a meal since. He had his legs crossed and I could see the bones in his knees outlined through his trousers. Despite being so slender, so tall, every visible part of his ashen skin sagged.
‘What do you think, Nicky?’ he said. ‘We got a contender?’ He sounded like Johnny Rotten giving elocution lessons.
‘Guy’s faded,’ said Nicky, his son, leaning against the far wall with his arms folded. ‘Some journeyman who’s reached his final destination.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Fisk, jerking his head to the right. ‘Maybe he’s not much of a technician but he looks like a brawler. You didn’t do that to him, did you?’
‘The bruises?’ said Nicky. ‘Naw. Guy’s just got one of those faces …’
‘I have to apologize for the boy,’ said Fisk. ‘He got the hip-hop patois from his mother’s side. Now every word out of his mouth sounds like an insult. And I suppose I should apologize for him gutting you before you could get to me. But there’s an old boxing saying I try to live by. Be first.’
I looked up. ‘Carver told you I was coming …’
‘I’m glad he did,’ he said, using his cynical, false-toothed smile as a full stop.
‘Listen—’
‘No, you listen.’
I heard the hammer being drawn back on a gun next to my head. I heard myself breathing in and out for a moment, then I turned to stare down the barrel. The gun was being held by another young black man. Nicky’s exact double. They were twins.
‘Fool really turned up, then?’ said the twin.
‘What’s left of him,’ said Fisk. ‘Which isn’t much. He thinks we should listen to him …’
The gun pressed into my temple. ‘Why’s that?’
‘Carver’s playing you …’
Fisk sucked his false teeth for a moment and jerked his head to the left. ‘Carver says you’re not to be trusted. Says you’re an informant. Says you’ve come here to kill me …’
‘I’m a police officer,’ I said. I felt the pressure of the gun at my temple increase. ‘I’m serious, check my ID.’ Fisk nodded at the twin, who felt inside my jacket pocket, found my wallet and threw it at his brother. He caught the wallet and picked through the various cards and receipts inside it, dropping them on the floor as he went.
‘Well, fuck me …’ he said, handing my badge to his father.
Fisk examined it then jerked his head to the right. ‘Is that supposed to get you out of my bad books, Detective?’
‘No, but it proves I’m on the level and Zain’s pouring shit in your ear.’
He squinted. ‘Why does he want you dead, I wonder?’
‘It’s about a girl,’ I said. ‘You know what he’s like.’
‘This girl didn’t get herself killed, by any chance …’
‘The opposite.’
‘The one that got away?’ He gave me his false-toothed smile again. ‘Well, I shouldn’t wonder he’s upset with you, he usually likes to brick his little problems up into the walls of old houses. Sometimes while they’re still breathing. Which begs the question: if Mr Carver’s telling me porky-pies about you coming here to kill me, and if he wants you dead so badly, why didn’t he do it himself?’
The gun was pressing back into my temple.
‘He tried to. My superior told him if anything happened to me, he’d go down for it.’ Fisk didn’t say anything but his head kept feinting from side to side, like a fighter trying to provoke a reaction. ‘As we speak, Carver’s making a scene in a very public place, creating a cast-iron alibi, praying one of your boys decides to be his triggerman. You’re doing his dirty work for him.’
‘So, why are you here?’
I didn’t even know where to start so I got straight to the point. ‘Bateman,’ I said. The gun was removed from my temple and Nicky’s twin spat into my ear.
‘Don’t even say that fucking name in here.’
Fisk gave me his false smile. ‘Bad form,’ he said. ‘It was a man called Bateman killed the boy’s mother, my wife.’ He watched me cautiously. ‘What about him?’
‘He’s out,’ I said. ‘He’s walking the streets.’
Fisk didn’t move for a minute, until his boys had both turned to look at him. Then he shuffled forward in his chair. I saw that he was holding a walking stick and, with difficulty, climbed to his feet. He was so tall that he had to hold his head to one side so it wouldn’t hit the ceiling. He swayed there for a moment then walked slowly to the door, leaning heavily on the stick.
‘Thanks for letting me know,’ he said gravely, his back to the room. ‘But it looks like I owe you another apology …’
‘Wait a minute—’
‘What do you think, Nicky?’ he said.
‘Fuck him,’ said Nicky, pushing himself off the far wall with his strange non-smile.
‘Donny?’
The gun was pressing into my temple so hard I thought it might pierce the bone. ‘Guy’s got no etiquette.’
‘Sorry, friend,’ said Fisk. ‘But you’re a cop. You’ve been beaten up by my boys. Heard their names, seen their faces …’
‘Wait—’
‘Another boxing term, I’m afraid. Unanimous decision.’
‘Wait,’ I said. ‘They were holding you in the cellar. You got out, you called the police, you found a gun on the kitchen table.’
‘You’ve read the papers, well done—’
‘Tracy,’ I said. He stopped in the doorway. ‘You were crying and you heard someone behind the door, someone in the hallway, and you called out for your wife.’
Fisk turned to look at me.
My vision was blurring, my voice was shaking. ‘Bateman sent a little boy into that house to get the bag and he heard you behind that door.’ The gun pressed harder into my head. ‘He couldn’t take it,’ I was shouting now. ‘He couldn’t take it so he unlocked the door and let you out.’ I saw them exchanging glances. ‘He saved your fucking life.’
Fisk was breathing heavily, staring straight into me, leaning on his stick. He tilted his head again, but this time to get a better look. His eyes focused on mine. Neither of us moved for a moment. Acknowledging, perhaps, that we were both prisoners.
‘Untie him,’ he said, with some feeling. ‘Now.’
11
I was driving away from Nicky’s Gym as fast as I could. I had all the windows down, blasting the smell of sweat, spit and fear off myself. What I really needed was a shower. Ten hours’ sleep and a locked door I could rely on. Instead, once my hands were shaking too much to drive, and once I’d put enough distance between myself and the Fisks, I pulled over to a lay-by. I stepped over the guard-rail and walked out into the botched roadside landscape, and was sick, repeatedly, until there were tears in my eyes. Return
ing to the car I saw I had a missed call from Constable Black.
The smiling man was the furthest thing from my mind.
I leaned into the roof, breathing deeply, trying to force the shake out of my voice, then pressed call. ‘Constable Black …’ I said.
‘Waits. I was calling to tell you that an IC1 female, mid to late forties, just entered the Palace.’ That sounded like Natasha Reeve. I looked out at the road for a moment.
‘OK,’ I said. ‘I’ll be right with you. Keep an eye on that top floor for me.’
‘Copy that.’ She hesitated. ‘Are you OK?’
My phone beeped twice, indicating another incoming call.
‘I’ve got someone on the other line,’ I said. ‘Stay in position, I’m twenty minutes away.’ I hung up and answered the incoming call. ‘Waits.’
‘… Can’t stop …’ said Bateman.
‘You went to my fucking sister’s place.’
‘Can’t stop now, Wally,’ he said. ‘… Aidan …’
I swallowed. ‘We’ll drive out to the house tomorrow. Look for the bag, whatever. You win.’
12
Constable Black was sitting on the first floor of the Metropolitan University media hub, over the road from the Palace. I parked illegally, carded my way through the front desk and approached the table she was sitting at, by the window.
‘Constable,’ I said. She took in my dishevelled appearance without comment. What were a few more bruises?
‘I was about to text you. A couple, a man and a woman, just entered the building—’
‘OK,’ I said, trying to think. ‘OK, call for back-up. When they arrive, cover all the exits. You’d better get hold of Detective Inspector Sutcliffe as well.’
‘What should I tell him?’
‘That there’s been a development in the Palace Hotel death. To get down here immediately.’
Black nodded. As she did, her eyes went to the building across the road. I looked. Saw that the light in room 413 had been switched on.
‘That’s where they found him, isn’t it? Smiley Face?’
‘Back-up,’ I said, going for the stairs. I pushed my way out of the building and crossed the road through screaming traffic, holding my hands up to stop cars and cyclists.
Everything was moving too fast.
I reached the entrance and pushed the door.
To my surprise, it was open.
I stepped inside the lobby and called out to no answer. As with my first visit here, the only light came from the front desk. It was hopeless against the enormity of the space, gleaming off the glazed stone floor, and shrouding the rest of the room in darkness. I looked about me. At the gathering shadows, the pillars lining the walls. Then I started toward the light, stopping in the centre of the room, beside a pool of dark liquid. I crouched and put a finger to it. Against my skin it was brilliant, bright red. Unmistakably blood. It was still warm, and I could see spots beyond it, leading away from me.
‘Hello …’ I called out.
There was no answer.
I went forward, towards the corridor that led away from the lobby and to the grand staircase. Turning the corner I saw a man standing over a prone woman.
There was more blood on the floor.
‘Step away from her, Ali,’ I said. He had his back to me and for a moment he didn’t move.
‘She’s hurt …’ he said.
‘I can see that.’
Ali drew himself up, turned around and glared at me. I went towards them. Saw that the woman was Natasha Reeve. As I got closer he stepped back, leaning into the wall with his hands in his pockets. I crouched beside her, feeling for a pulse. She was alive. I took out my phone and called an ambulance, keeping a protective arm on her shoulder and both eyes locked on to Ali. When I was done, I took off my jacket, rolled it up and supported her head.
Ali stared at me, unblinking.
‘What happened here?’ I said.
‘You tell me …’ His formerly smooth accent was hardened with cynicism. I watched him. Waited. ‘I found her,’ he said finally.
‘Like you heard two men arguing on the night someone died here?’
‘Just like that …’
‘If there was any truth in that at all, one of those voices belonged to you.’
‘Whatever I say, you’ll hear the same thing.’
‘I think I’d have heard it if you’d told me that you knew the dead man.’
‘I did not.’
‘You were seen with him,’ I said, standing up. Ali looked, smoothly, both ways down the corridor, as though weighing up his options. ‘The exits are covered. No one’s leaving unless I say so. It’s time for the truth.’
His gaze fell to the floor. ‘The prostitute …’ he said. ‘She shouldn’t have been here.’
‘Marcus brought her here earlier that day. She wedged open a fire door and came back after his shift ended. She’d still be alive if she hadn’t seen you, wouldn’t she?’ He took a heated step towards me, stopping when he saw that I wanted him to. ‘Not tonight, Ali. It’d take more than a fucking fire extinguisher to put me down. Do you know what happened to Cherry?’ He shook his head. ‘Someone crushed her throat and dumped her in a canal like she was fuck-all.’
‘Shit in, shit out,’ he said, but I thought he was trying to convince himself.
Natasha stirred on the floor.
‘Turn around,’ I said. He didn’t move. ‘Turn around,’ I repeated. He did and I handcuffed him. I crouched to Natasha as she opened her eyes. ‘It’s OK. There’s an ambulance on the way.’
‘He hit me …’ she said weakly.
‘Who was it? Ali?’
Her eyes went to the security guard. ‘A stranger,’ she said. ‘At least, I thought …’
‘You knew him?’
‘He knew me,’ she said, frowning, trying to interpret the memory. ‘He looked at me with such hate …’
I looked at Ali. ‘Tell me the truth. Did you find her like this?’
‘I already told you the truth.’
‘What about the dead man?’
He looked at the ceiling, at me. ‘I never saw him before last week.’
‘And?’
‘And he came to the door. Slurring. Drunk, I thought. He said he was sick, dying. He looked like it. He said he spent his honeymoon in a room in this hotel, many years before. He offered me a large sum of money to let him see the room for a final time. I’m ashamed to say that I accepted it.’
‘Except, when you took him up there he dropped dead …’
He shook his head. ‘When I took him up there he was insane. Laughing. He told me that the money wasn’t real. Nothing was real. Life was an illusion.’
‘He’d been poisoned. Did he say anything about that?’
Ali closed his eyes. ‘He said many things. He was laughing. Screaming. Talking to himself like he was many people at once. I was afraid, and when I left the room I saw the prostitute. She’d been watching us, listening, and so I chased her, to make her go. But then more voices.’ He looked at me. ‘You. Coming up the stairs.’
‘You hit yourself over the head …’
‘It had to look like I was nothing to do with the man.’
‘Sounds drastic to me. What did he say to you in that room?’ Ali didn’t answer. ‘Did you kill Cherry?’ He shook his head. ‘Then you told someone about her.’
‘I had nothing to do with the rest of it.’
There was a sound from the lobby and I turned to see Constable Black approaching, truncheon extended.
‘Watch him,’ I said. ‘There’s an ambulance on the way for Ms Reeve.’
She nodded and I went towards the grand staircase.
Natasha had been assaulted by a man she hadn’t recognized, which counted her husband, Freddie Coyle, out. When I reached the second floor I saw Aneesa Khan, one staircase up, coming back down. I stopped but she didn’t see me for a moment.
She looked like she was in shock.
‘Oh,’ she said
simply.
‘Oh,’ I replied.
She was on the opposite flight of stairs, with the gap between us, and I didn’t want to get any closer.
‘I wish you weren’t here,’ she said.
‘The building’s surrounded. There’s nowhere to go.’
She thought about this for a moment and nodded. She climbed over the bannister and, holding on to it, looked down at the drop.
It was at least fifty feet to the floor.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ I said.
‘Why? Why shouldn’t I be ridiculous?’ There were tears in her eyes.
‘Because you’re a young woman, your whole life ahead of you, this is—’
‘What?’ she laughed. ‘What is it?’
‘Something you can still come back from.’
‘Now who’s being ridiculous? What do they give people for murder?’
‘It depends if they did it, it depends if they were coerced or threatened.’
‘Let’s say that they weren’t. Let’s say they were in love and got swept up in the whole thing …’
‘Years,’ I said. ‘A decade at the most. With good behaviour, you’d be out in less. Still you, still young.’
She barked out another laugh. ‘To do what? Stack shelves until I’m eighty-five? I’d rather fucking die.’ As she said this I looked at the hand she held the bannister with. The wrist it was connected to. It seemed at the time like I’d never seen such a slender body, such thin fingers and bones.
‘No you wouldn’t,’ I said as she looked at the drop again. ‘No, you wouldn’t,’ I said more urgently. ‘The first time we met, do you remember how you felt when you saw the violence against Ali?’ She looked at me. ‘Death’s worse. It’s a thousand times worse in every way.’
She looked at me pitiably. ‘I was concerned and upset. I was horrified. I knew it was all fucked. Even then. I knew it had caught up …’ She looked at me. ‘I was worried about myself, Detective. And death? I’ve seen that close up, too.’
A heavy thought occurred to me. ‘Cherry,’ I said.
‘Cherry? He was a man in a fucking wig. He was disgusting.’
‘What happened?’
‘He’d heard everything,’ she shrugged. ‘He’d heard the man in 413 telling Ali about us. He was laughing. He was going to leave a mystery behind, he said. With any luck it’d make us sweat. Lead the police to us.’ She looked at me meaningfully. ‘After, when you lot arrived and saw the body, we knew we could rely on Ali not to talk. But Cherry …’ she said, satirising the name. ‘He wasn’t hard to find from Ali’s description. A man in a pink wig and a mini-skirt, selling his arse on Oxford Road. I did offer him money, I did try.’ She momentarily lost her balance and then gripped the bannister tightly. I could see her knuckles turning white. ‘He actually thought I wanted to fuck him.’