by Phil Rickman
Then, when it started to go badly wrong, the reality of her old man’s world thrown in her face like a bucketful of ice.
After which, she might have been expected to wash off the white-face in a hurry, go running back to Essex to hide under the bedclothes, avoid reading the papers for a while.
Only she hadn’t. A few coloured sparks started crackling across the drabness, the rippling electricity of sex.
‘Tell me,’ he said. What made Riggs decide drastic action was called for?’
‘Oh,’ she said. Well …’ She lay back in the arms of the playground slide, looked up at the darkening sky. ‘All right, what the hell? A guy called Percy Gilbert — I don’t know these people, I don’t spend much time up here — this guy’s a police informer, right? They all know that, but it’s tolerated because it works both ways, in his case, and these days he only grasses up the people they want grassed up.’
‘The little turd,’ Maiden said.
‘So this Gilbert knows you’ve been asking questions about Tony. But it was the Messenger that did it.’
‘The local rag?’
‘You had a brief thing going, word has it — Percy’s word, anyway — with a certain Siobhan Gallagher, journalist with the Messenger.’
‘Oh no,’ Maiden said weakly.
‘Whose boss — Roger Gibbs, Gibson …?’
‘Gibbs.’
‘… was informed by Laurie Argyle, the estate agent, who’s a member of his lodge, something like that, that this Gallagher’s been making inquiries about the unnamed names behind the Feeny Park development.’
Maiden moaned.
‘Not getting anywhere, because the Riggs connection’s buried much deeper. But it caused some anxiety. Not very bright, Bobby, if you don’t mind me saying so, letting your pillow talk stray into areas this dangerous. Mr Gibbs gave Ms Gallagher a very serious talking to and she buggered off back to Belfast anyway. But this is when — I understand — your Mr Riggs suggested it might be better all round, knowing you as he did, if Pa were to have you popped before you did any damage.’
‘You understand? ‘
‘This isn’t something I would normally ever learn about in a million years, because, as far as the little girl is concerned, her daddy is a bona fide businessman, a straight-down-the-line plain dealer. But I was up for the weekend and he was drinking like the proverbial. Worried? I’ve never seen him so worried. It’s not his thing, really it isn’t. The reason he moved up here in the first place was he was winding down. “It’s nothing but drugs,” he kept saying. “Drugs are taking over. It’s all hard kids now. I’m too old.”’
‘Somebody send for a violinist,’ Maiden said.
She scowled, sat up in the slide. ‘I’ll deny all this, of course.’
‘Of course.’
‘I said, Have you never tried … you know? “Nah,” he says, “the geezer don’t do the circuit. Stays at home on his days off, apparently, painting pictures, you believe that?” Well, I thought you sounded interesting. I said, I want to meet him. Then I get all this “you’re staying out of it, princess, and that’s final” stuff. But I could always get round him.’
‘You surprise me.’
‘Honest to God, Bobby …’ Emma Curtis stood up. ‘I know when I’ve blown it. I was ready to go crawling back shamefaced that night. Then you just walked into us. Like you couldn’t give a toss. What the fuck came over you?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘I made Vic stop. I sent him to phone for an ambulance. I ran back. I thought you were dead. I didn’t know what to do. Vic came back. He’d parked down near the main road. When we heard the ambulance, he dragged me away. I’m sorry. I couldn’t be more sorry.’
He saw tears in her eyes. He believed her. She went to sit on a swing, kicked at the ground to get it moving.
‘What happens now, then, guv? They call you guv up here? I’m only au fait with the London vernacular, as you know.’ She found a shallow smile. ‘Life gets complicated, don’t it?’
‘Ain’t got nothing on death.’
‘Really?’
‘Never mind.’
The other side of the playground, Vic Clutton coughed impatiently, stamping on his cigarette end, sparks flying up.
‘He your regular chauffeur?’
‘Pa thinks I need a good, strong minder.’
‘You don’t live with Tony, then?’
‘I’m in one of his single-person’s apartments for the moment. In the, er, Feeny Park development. It’s quite nice, actually. For Elham.’
‘Has it got a bed?’
She stopped swinging. Her eyes widened, but not very much.
‘Bobby, pardon me for saying this, and I don’t wish to sound unflattered or anything, but quite frankly, at this moment, you don’t look like you could screw the cap off a bottle of Ribena.’
‘I meant a spare bed, actually. I’ve got a problem. Just for tonight?’
She bit down on a smile.
XIII
Vic Clutton drove them back towards the town centre. It was dark. Maiden hadn’t thought about death for nearly ten minutes. It was a start.
‘Your poor eye.’ She stroked his hair back, put her fingers on his forehead. ‘State of the health service. A few years ago, they wouldn’t have discharged you like this.’
‘Where’s Mr Curtis?’ He leaned his head back on the parcel shelf, closed his eyes under her hand.
‘Everybody’s allowed one mistake.’
‘Only one?’
‘Mr Curtis was a commodities broker.’
‘And you got tired of being a commodity.’
‘He liked to handle a variety of commodities.’
‘What a loser,’ Maiden said.
‘Thank you.’
They turned into Old Church Street and then left into Telford Avenue.
‘Here?’ Vic Clutton said. It was Suz-Emma’s idea that Vic should assist Maiden to gain access to his flat to pack some clothes, spare chequebook, whatever.
‘Fine.’ Maiden didn’t want to move. Possibly ever.
‘Let’s not hang about.’ Vic slid the Sierra into the kerb. ‘Em, you keep a serious eye open. Any problems, honk twice, all right? Little short ones, bip, bip. Not just a police car, any car.’
‘Especially any car,’ Maiden said. ‘Especially if it’s a biggish Rover.’
‘Whatever he says,’ Vic said. ‘Shake yourself, Mr Maiden, let’s get this sorted.’
From the glove compartment, Vic took gloves. Soft leather motoring gloves which he put on. Plus a small tool kit in a canvas pouch. Plus a little torch.
‘When we get in we don’t put lights on, all right, Mr Maiden? And don’t take too much out. One suitcase. Otherwise it looks like a bleeding robbery.’
Maiden got out, noticed Emma doing a little smirk. ‘Nothing criminal, Bobby. It’s just like hiring a locksmith.’
Maiden still felt about five feet from his brain.
‘Bump on the head’s a funny thing,’ Vic said conversationally, not whispering, as they let themselves into the yard behind the flat. ‘You read about people, their whole personality changes, sorter thing. Previous to this, I’ve never seen it at first hand.’
‘You don’t know what I was like before.’
‘I know you were a copper. This ain’t the way a copper does it, he loses his keys.’
‘Wasn’t my idea.’
‘No. Full of ideas, little Em. Well.’ Vic lowered his voice. ‘Seems like you’re in trouble, Mr Maiden. Somebody wants your balls on a saucer. Where you gonna go? I mean after tomorrow.’
‘Somewhere at least fifty miles away. Maybe more.’
Vic shut the yard gate behind them, screwed the latch back. It was very dark in the yard. There was one light above them on the third and top floor. Curtains drawn. Vic stood with his back to the gate.
‘Look, Mr Maiden. Something I want to get out the way, sorter thing.’ Lowering his voice considerably. ‘The boy. It was me planted the stuff on t
he boy.’
‘Dean?’
‘He was dealing, he was using … He wouldn’t listen. I put the stuff in his motorbike. Smack. A lot. Enough to get him off the streets. I give him to Beattie. For Riggs. Only regret it wasn’t soon enough. As it turned out.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Maiden said. ‘How it turned out …’
‘Yeah, well, remand centres are bad places. They can get you that way. If you’re already jittery. I just didn’t see no alternative at the time. Could’ve worked for Tony, he didn’t wanna know. Wouldn’t listen to me. Big man, you know?’
‘As I recall,’ Maiden said, ‘three other mavericks got lifted not long after Dean. Cowan … Sharpe … Tommy Singh?’
Vic looked momentarily uncomfortable.
‘All very surprised to find they had a few ounces around the house, in their cars, wherever. No surprise to Parker, though. No surprise to Riggs.’
‘If you had any proof, Mr Maiden, we wouldn’t be discussing it.’
‘And not a protest from any of them. Especially not after what happened to Dean.’
‘Now look. Don’t think I never considered it. Don’t think the issue was never raised with Tony.’
‘And Tony said?’
‘Tony said it was bollocks.’
‘Maybe Tony doesn’t know. Wouldn’t be the first time somebody on remand got an assisted passage. Screws don’t earn a fortune.’
‘You’re suggesting Riggs had him waxed?’
‘I’m suggesting nothing, Vic.’
‘All right, I don’t like Riggs. Too clever. Cut above. Important friends. One day he’ll dump Tony in the shit, walk away clean as a whistle like one of them bent Tory MPs. Yeah, like I said, I thought about it, but in the end I’m not buying.’
‘So you wouldn’t consider giving evidence.’
‘Oh, Mr Maiden, ever the humorist.’ Clutton walked up a couple of steps to the back door. ‘Right then. Good job you’re ground floor. Mortice, I take it.’
‘Three lever.’
‘Not very clever, area like this.’
‘I never cared enough.’
‘What they say about you. Wild card. Loose cannon. Not one of the lads. No-one likes a copper who’s not one of the lads. ‘Specially if he’s good at his job. Very dicey combination, that. Beats me what she sees in you.’
‘You’re fond of her, aren’t you?’
‘Like an uncle. Smart kid. University, the whole bit. Understands about her dad, what he does, don’t try to change him. But clean. Tony’s seen to it she’s clean.’
‘What a parent.’
‘She fancies you rotten, that’s the problem. In my view, a very serious problem. Comes over dead cool and street-smart, as you know, but the night we run you down, she’s all over the place. Beating her lovely breast, sorter thing. What I’m saying, Mr Maiden, I would hate any harm to come to that girl. I lost my boy. Lost him a couple of years before he did for hisself, that’s by the by. But if anything happens to that girl, you really are a dead man, you get the subtlety of what I’m saying?’
‘Victor,’ Maiden said, ‘all I want out of Emma is somewhere to sleep for one night, no complications. Then I’m gone.’
‘Make sure you are.’ Vic bent over the lock, feeling his way with his gloved hands. ‘Hello. Well, well.’
‘Problem?’
‘Saves us a job. In one respect.’
He stepped back, flicked his torch briefly at the lock and then off again. Long enough for Maiden to see splintered wood.
‘Somebody must’ve read about you being indisposed, sorter thing. I don’t know what society’s coming to.’
‘Hardly worth going in now, then.’
Surprised at himself. There was no feeling of anger or violation. The flat had belonged to someone else. Someone who was dead, so it didn’t matter. Bobby Maiden felt very strange. An image floated into his head of a streetlamp going on and off; he heard the buzzing sound it made.
He shivered.
‘You want to go in, anyway, Mr Maiden?’
He didn’t want to. ‘OK. I’ll grab a few clothes. No burglar would bother with my clothes.’
‘After you, then.’ Vic pushed back the door. Maiden went into his tiny kitchen, where the only lights were the ones you could see through the small, high window. It smelled musty. It smelled of cigarette smoke. Suzanne’s perhaps. Except she couldn’t have had more than one, and that was … how many nights ago? No, somebody had been in here for some time.
He decided he ought to make the effort.
‘I think I’ll put a light on after all, Vic.’
‘Make it quick, then. Shit! ‘
Maiden’s hand hadn’t reached the switch before all the lights came on, the room flooded with glare and movement.
He saw flat eyes in a shaven head. Denims. The guy kicking a table out of his way as he advanced on Maiden. Fat hands around a crowbar. Another one behind him.
‘That him?’
‘Yeah.’
The crowbar went back, knocking cups off the shelf over the drainer.
‘Do it.’
Maiden raised an arm, but not fast enough and the crowbar smashed into the side of his head and he fell, seeing the bar going back for another one, before a steel toecap took away his sight.
XIV
Norah picked up, sounding relieved. Said it was real thoughtful of Grayle to call and she would be only too happy to prise Lyndon out the tub before he cut his wrists.
Huh?
‘No, hey, listen, I’ll call back …’ Grayle yelled.
Knowing that if she put down the phone she’d do no such thing, that once the effect of the final half-bottle of California Flat had worn off she’d change her mind about this. But Norah had already gone and Grayle waited, biting her lip.
She found her voice also was shaking, when Lyndon McAffrey arrived on the line, sounding just as dry as usual, and she just said it, the words spurting out.
‘Lyndon, I’m going crazy. I have to quit.’
‘Uh huh.’
‘You’re surprised, right?’
Lyndon said, ‘Uh huh.’
‘See, I’m nearly thirty years old …’
‘Mm-mmm.’
‘And all I do is write about other people’s searches for answers to what it’s all about.’
‘I think that’s called journalism, Grayle.’
‘And I’ve been doing this going on four years now, the New Age column, and at first I felt it was, you know, really important, like in a kind of evangelical way. Making people aware of … of more. I have like tens of thousands of readers, and most of them write to me, and I used to reply to all of them, but now when the guy comes in hauling this huge sack, I’m like, Take it away, take it away. The whole thing is way out of control. I’m just not … not big enough. All these poor, perplexed people who obviously think I’m this major guru-person when really my life’s more screwed up than theirs, in most cases, and I’m just serving up spiritual junk food.’
‘This is your sister brought all this on, right?’
‘Well, I just wonder whether this whole thing’s like conveying a message to me, that I need to get away. Find … I don’t know … spiritual first base. That what I need to discover is not so much Ersula as me. Find out if there’s really anything underneath the shlocky facade, and … and if you say … if you say uh huh one more fucking time …’
Silence.
‘But you can, you know, say something.’
‘You know,’ Lyndon said, ‘I thought at first you were going to say it was because of me. That you couldn’t face life on the paper without someone to share nauseous doughnuts with.’ He chuckled mirthlessly. ‘Ah, how we overestimate our own status.’
‘Lyndon, what are we talking about here?’
‘I’m forced to conclude no-one on the Courier saw fit to inform you that our masters have formally requested my retirement.’
‘Whhaaat?’
The god-collar fell to the carpet.
> ‘Shouldn’t have been a surprise. I’m fifty-six years old. Couple days ago I was telling myself, Hell, Lyndon, you’re only fifty-six. I guess I was looking at it from the wrong end. Young guys been walking over me for years like there’s a white line down my back.’
‘Goddamn cult of youth. Oh, this makes me so mad, Lyndon. I’m so sorry.’
Lyndon found another arid chuckle. ‘The editor is thirty-eight. He thinks he’s already kind of old for the job. What he told me today, he said, Lyndon, I give myself five more years at the sharp end. So you see, Grayle, I am a fortunate man indeed to have survived so long.’
She was in tears. The column would have lasted about two weeks but for Lyndon. He’d pull off-the-wall snippets from the news mush, pass them on to Grayle who, in the early days, with only student and underground newspaper experience, was, frankly, floundering. Lyndon was a great newspaperman.
‘Of course, after more than a quarter of a century, the payoff, as you would guess, is considerable. We could retire to Florida, Norah and I. Play a little golf. Maybe edit the senior citizens’ community newsletter.’
‘Without you there … I wouldn’t want to stay anyway.’
‘You don’t need me any more. You’re established. Why, you’re almost … never figured I’d say this … almost a pro.’
‘That’s the kindest thing I ever heard you say to anybody. But even if I really was a pro, it would make no difference. It wouldn’t be the same paper.’
‘You know,’ Lyndon said, ‘I was just lying in the tub thinking, this is how a life goes. Leastways, the years between sunup and sundown. Just wish I’d realized twenty years ago that the higher you go the thinner the air gets. What I mean is, yesterday, I would have been trying to talk you out of this. Now … Well, nearly thirty … In the novelty-column department, you could be close to peaking, Grayle. Close to peaking. How important’s the money?’
‘The money never was important. Money just holds you down. I have enough to get by. I could always sublet the apartment.’
‘You plan to go find Ersula in her Neolithic sanctuary?’
‘I think we could talk now, for the first time, on something like level ground. I think we need to talk. Because, in some ways, she’s been the big sister. You know?’