In the Dark

by Mark Billingham

  Theo snatched up his phone when he saw who was calling, moved quickly into the bedroom and shut the door behind him.

  ‘You did the right thing, belling me first,’ Easy said.

  ‘Where you been at, man?’ Javine was watching TV in the next room and Theo was doing his best not to shout, but it was a struggle. He was relieved that Easy had called back but angry that it had taken so long. He felt like something inside him had been twisted. ‘I walked in there and found them. Jesus, both of them.’

  ‘I know it hurts, man. I feel it too.’

  ‘I found them.’

  ‘Breathe easy, Star Boy.’

  ‘Wave and Sugar Boy all shot up, and that fucking dog.’

  ‘Yeah, that was cold.’

  ‘Where you been?’

  ‘Things have got to be dealt with, T.’ Theo could hear traffic and music. It sounded as though Easy was driving. ‘Shit like this happens and there’s arrangements to be made. Restructuring or whatever.’

  Theo pressed the phone between his chin and his shoulder and tried to light a cigarette. He dropped the lighter.

  ‘You listening, T?’

  ‘It’s like I said the other night.’ Theo bent down for the lighter, managed finally to get some smoke into his lungs. ‘It’s all about what we did in that car, that copper who died.’

  ‘I’m not talking about this now.’

  ‘You see it now though, right? You understand now?’

  ‘Yeah, you’re the smart one, T. Top of the class.’

  Easy had said it as though Theo had just got the right answer on a TV quiz show. Like it didn’t matter. ‘You really need to listen,’ Theo said. ‘There’s just you and me left now, you get me?’

  For a few seconds there was just the noise of an engine, and drum and bass from Easy’s car stereo, or somebody else’s. Then Easy said, ‘No, you need to do the listening, T. You need to shut up and get yourself settled, smoke a couple and stop giving yourself a fucking heart attack. We straight?’

  Theo grunted. He knew there was no point arguing.

  ‘I’ll check you tonight.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Dirty South. Later on, OK? We’ll get it all sorted.’

  Theo listened as the music was turned up, a second before the line went dead.

  THIRTY

  Nice and slow, up and down . . .

  Saturday afternoon was not the cleverest time to be trudging around the supermarket, Helen knew that, but she’d needed to get out. She’d tried to sit there after Moody had left and take in everything he’d told her, all that it had meant, but it was way too much to process. Too much, sitting there, with Paul’s things all around her. With the smell of him still in the flat and a voice, hers or his, letting her know just how stupid she’d been.

  How she’d betrayed him . . . again. How she’d pissed on his memory.

  Sainsbury’s was packed, as she’d known it would be, but still she felt more comfortable negotiating the crowded aisles. The implications of what she had learned were sinking in that little bit easier while she had something else to think about; as she occupied herself with slowly filling her trolley.

  Nice and slow, up and down each aisle in turn. Why had she automatically assumed he’d been bent, or screwing somebody else? Why the hell did nappies take up so much room?

  The hubbub was a welcome distraction, and the voice that announced bargains over the Tannoy, or ushered staff to particular counters and checkouts, was less harsh than the one in her own head. Besides which, a supermarket run was well overdue. Her dad’s muffins had long gone and she was reluctant to drop hints to Jenny about how great her soup had been, so she was all but living on toast and biscuits at home.

  God, she needed more biscuits. She should probably get the ones Paul liked, the plain chocolate ones, because he’d been an honest, hard-working copper and she was an evil-minded whore.

  People were nice too, walking around and getting on with things; normal men and women who didn’t know her, and each small encounter lifted her spirits. A smile from an old man as they both moved their trolleys the same way to avoid a collision. The offers of help as she bent to pick up bottles of water or reached for something on a high shelf.

  ‘Here we go.’

  ‘There you are.’

  ‘Steady on, love, don’t want to be having it in here.’

  And some odd looks as well, of course. And the sly nudges as other shoppers tried not to stare at the heavily pregnant nutter, moving at a snail’s pace and mumbling to herself.

  ‘You’re right, Hopwood, I’m a nasty piece of work, but you always knew that.’

  Cheese, semi-skimmed milk, natural yoghurt . . .

  ‘So come back and haunt me, then. Why not? Rattle your fucking handcuffs at me in the dark.’

  Bleach, toothpaste, toilet roll . . .

  ‘What was I supposed to think, for crying out loud? Maybe if you’d been here.’

  Then she saw the little boy: running up the aisle towards her, sidestepping a trolley in his haste to get to his mum; waving the packet of cereal he wanted so badly. The same sort . . .

  She saw it and froze. Heard the cereal rattle as the boy ran past, and as Paul poured it into his bowl. Then everything started to slip away.

  She was already falling forward as she felt it rise like boiling milk; as she heaved it up. Her foot felt for the brake on the trolley’s wheel and missed. She was hot as hell. She told her hands to let go, but they weren’t listening. Her head was swimming with the people who had stopped to watch, the colours they were wearing, as the trolley took her with it; pulling her down to her knees at the same time as the wail began to escape, and the first fat sob felt like a kick in the chest as she hit the floor.

  A woman, the boy’s mother, asked if she was all right. Helen tried to speak, but then the woman hurried away to fetch someone, and when Helen glanced up again all she could see was the little boy staring at her. He started to cry right back at her while she watched a security guard come marching round the corner. He leaned down behind her and put his arms through hers; asked if she wanted a hand back to her feet. But she was crying so hard that she couldn’t answer, so he stood up again. He told her to take as long as she liked.

  Helen could hear him telling other shoppers that the lady was all right. Then he said something into his walkie-talkie, and, in the gap between sobs, as she sucked in breaths like a baby, she heard it squawk back at him.

  The security guard had refused to let Helen drive, putting her into a cab, taking her keys, and promising to drive her car home for her when he’d finished his shift. He was the second person in a few days whose name she’d asked and who she’d told that she might name the baby after him. He’d told her his name was Stuart and had looked a lot more taken with the idea than the boy she’d met in Lewisham.

  She was thinking about the boy, about the look on his face while she’d been driving out of that car park as she watched the taxi pull away and walked the few yards to her front door. She had the key to the main entrance in her hand when she heard a voice behind her.

  ‘Helen?’

  She turned, half expecting to see Adam Perrin, and was relieved to see a balding, middle-aged man who raised his hands in mock-surrender and looked nothing but concerned. He’d obviously recognised the tension on her face.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. She felt wrung out anyway, and remembered how scared she’d been when Kevin Shepherd had come looming out of the dark at her; had as good as threatened her on the same spot.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ the man asked.

  She guessed he was one of her neighbours. She and Paul had often talked about getting to know them better, perhaps throwing a party for the whole block, but they had never quite got round to it.

  ‘I’ll be better in a couple of weeks. As soon as I’ve got rid of this.’

  The man smiled. ‘That’s good. Only, you know, we were wondering how you were doing.’

  ‘I’m fine. Thank you.’
>
  ‘The funeral’s the day after tomorrow, isn’t it?’

  ‘Sorry?’ She noticed that he was carrying a small recorder. ‘Who’s “we”?’

  ‘Just the local.’ He stuck out a hand, which Helen ignored.

  ‘And locals sell to nationals. I know how that stuff works.’

  ‘It’s obviously a big story for us. A local tragedy.’

  Helen turned back to the door and fumbled to get her key in the right position. She heard the reporter step closer.

  ‘It would be good to let people know how you were really feeling,’ he said. ‘What you’ve been going through. What you think it might be like having the baby after—’

  She turned round quickly and saw another man getting out of a car parked where the taxi had been. She saw him adjust a camera and raise it up. Watched the flash start to fire.

  ‘Come on, Helen, just a few words . . .’

  She pushed past him and moved as fast as she could towards the photographer. ‘Get back in that car,’ she said. ‘Do it now.’

  The reporter was behind her, still asking questions, but she kept on walking; enjoying the look on the photographer’s face as he finally stopped taking pictures and stepped quickly back.

  ‘Sod off before I take that camera and stick it up your arse.’

  There was no DJ playing at the Dirty South that night. A sign that had been taped to the door read: Tonight’s performance has been postponed as a mark of respect to the families of Michael Williamson, James Dosunmo, Errol Anderson and André Betts.

  Mikey, SnapZ, Wave and Sugar Boy.

  Somebody had scribbled ‘live 4 ever’ just above the words promising that those tickets already purchased would be valid for the rearranged date.

  The bar was a little quieter than usual too, for a Saturday. There was no music over the speakers and the sound on the big-screen TV had been turned down. The bar staff were being kept busy enough, though, and there were plenty of coins lined up around the edges of the pool table.

  Theo stood at the bar waiting for his Southern Comfort and Coke. Looking around, he could see most of the crew gathered near the arch through to the back room, several of them already playing pool and the others huddled in small groups. There was no sign of Easy.

  When he’d got his drink, Theo wandered across and spoke to a few of the boys. Most seemed pleased to see him and talked easily enough about this and that, though several of the younger ones were edgy, their eyes everywhere but on him as they spoke. Though he’d been prepared for it, nobody asked him about what he’d found over at the stash house.

  He was relieved that Easy had not spread the word around.

  If it had been common knowledge on the estate, it would only be a matter of time before someone would want to go through it all with him in an interview room, and Theo didn’t fancy that. The police were stretched now, for sure, but he knew they hadn’t stopped looking for whoever was in that car the night the copper died. Even if someone else had already beaten them to the punch.

  But the police were not Theo’s biggest worry any more. He was pretty sure now that the trigger-men were not carrying warrant cards.

  He watched as Easy finally walked in and the atmosphere at the back of the room changed. Easy was smiling, moving casually around the bar, like he was passing out good news. Theo saw him approach each small group and talk for a minute or two before moving on to the next. There was plenty of fist-kissing going on and nodding dogs.

  When a thickset white bloke tried to push past without asking, Easy stared him out and stood his ground. The man said something Theo couldn’t make out and walked the long way round. Easy turned back to the crew like nothing had happened, giving Theo a nod too, through a gap in the crowd, just to let him know that he’d clocked him.

  Theo moved across and tried to talk to Gospel, who was playing pool with one of the Asian boys. He told her she should try to leave as many balls as possible over pockets, and asked if she’d seen anything of Ollie. She looked past him and shrugged; said it wasn’t her job to keep track of everybody. When she finally returned his look, Theo pointed to the blue-green bruising beneath both eyes and the cut across the bridge of her nose.

  ‘Who d’you fall out with?’ he asked.

  ‘Someone who didn’t mind his business,’ she said.

  From then on, she pretended to be concentrating on the game, and when the boy she was playing missed, she hurried around to the other side of the table to take her shot. She fluked one and the boy told her she was a jammy bitch.

  Theo walked across to a table near the big screen and waited for Easy. He glanced over and saw him talking to As If, who had been standing on his own, looking lost. Easy’s mouth was doing most of the work. After a few minutes Theo saw their knuckles touch and guessed that the two of them had sorted things out in a very different way to the one Easy had been threatening.

  Theo turned away and caught Gospel staring. Her eyes dropped quickly down to the table when she saw him looking.

  ‘Still seeming tensed up, Star Boy . . .’

  Theo raised his head as Easy kicked back the chair opposite. He had a Hypnotic in each hand.

  ‘Got a twenty’s worth of skunk in my pocket as well,’ Easy said. ‘Sort us both out for the night, no danger.’

  Theo took his drink and sipped it . . . watched Gospel leave the pool table and disappear into the toilets.

  Easy caught him looking and grinned. ‘Javine would rip your head off, man.’

  ‘Yeah, well, Ollie’s out the frame now, isn’t he?’ Theo looked for some reaction, but saw none. ‘Got everything organised, then?’ he asked.

  Easy shook his head, like he didn’t follow.

  Theo raised his glass and gestured towards the cluster of crew members against the back wall. ‘Things moving on, yeah? Sweet and simple.’

  ‘More or less.’

  It was obvious to Theo that Easy had spent the last couple of days talking to the people in the higher triangles, the ones deciding who went where and who did what. Who plugged the gaps. He’d always been a good talker, better than Wave even, and he looked comfortable enough stepping up into a dead man’s shoes.

  ‘You’re saying I’m not upset about Wave and Sugar Boy, right? Any of them? Trying to make out like I’m not bleeding.’

  ‘I never said that, man.’ Theo knew that Easy had not liked Wave a whole lot, but that he’d felt it good and deep for SnapZ and Mikey, had showed it as much as anyone else. He’d seen him looking like he’d had the breath kicked out of him, saying nothing and close to tears in this very room, the night after they’d found Mikey. ‘Just that you’ve shrugged it off so fast, yeah? Like all you’re thinking about is the next thing.’

  Easy leaned forward. ‘Listen, T. You think if David Beckham was hit by a bus, the chairman and fucking shareholders or whatever would cancel the next Man United game?’

  ‘He doesn’t play for them any more.’

  ‘I don’t care. It’s just an example, man.’

  ‘Nobody got hit by a bus.’

  ‘I said it’s a fucking example. Christ . . .’

  ‘There weren’t any accidents,’ Theo said. ‘None of it is random, you see what I’m saying?’

  ‘Right. We were all sitting in that car, I get it. The night you got moved up, which happened because I stuck my neck out for you, yeah, which you forgot pretty quick, seems to me.’

  ‘You know, but it’s like it means nothing.’

  ‘So what are you going to do, T? If you’re next on the list? You got a nice sharp scheme?’

  ‘No . . .’

  Easy raised his hands like that was that. Point proved. He leaned back on the chair, turned his head to tell a girl walking past how nicely she was moving. When the chair dropped forward again there was something else in his eyes.

  ‘Thing of it is, anyone comes looking for me, whatever fucking car I was in, they better be up to the task.’ He dabbed at his pocket with one finger. ‘I’ve got plenty for them to think
about, you get me?’

  ‘Wave probably thought the same thing,’ Theo said.

  Easy seemed to get bored pretty fast after that and got up without a word to talk to a couple of the younger lads. Theo stayed where he was, thinking that it was a long time since they’d talked about nothing; since they’d just pissed around and enjoyed themselves. He remembered how much Easy had made him laugh, hitting golf balls at that old man, stuff like that.

  Suddenly Easy was at the table again, telling him to get up, that they were leaving. Theo did as he was told without thinking, at least not about anything other than the skunk Easy had on him, and followed him across the bar and out onto the street.

  He saw Easy produce the knife when they got outside. Saw the people smoking at the wooden tables on the pavement scatter, then realised that they were ten yards behind the big white bloke who had fronted Easy out earlier on.

  ‘Fuck you doing, man? This is mental . . .’

  Easy started moving faster, only a few feet behind the man now. Theo stopped, shouted, telling Easy that he was an idiot, and watched as the big man looked round and saw what was coming before cutting hard right into the alleyway that snaked around to the back doors of the bar. Easy screamed something and sprinted after him, waving the blade around at the same time that Theo turned and bolted. As he put his head down and ran, tearing off in the opposite direction until he was streets away.

  THIRTY-ONE

  When she’d called him to pass on the details of the funeral, Helen had arranged to meet up with Gary Kelly. He couldn’t make up his mind which piece to read at the service and she’d promised to help him decide. He’d kindly offered to come and pick her up. ‘I know what it’s like,’ he said. ‘My wife couldn’t squeeze into our Astra at four months.’

  They had a cup of tea at the flat and then drove down to a café behind Brixton tube station. It looked like an original fifties place, but neither had any idea how authentic any of it was. They both went for mugs of tea and fry-ups.