by John Barlow
“You always did have a nose for perfume,” she says. “Do you remember traipsing round the markets with your mum, checking on the sellers?”
“God, do I!” he says. “If you think there are dodgy characters in the secondhand car business, try fake perfume. Present company excepted.”
“It’s hard to believe, isn’t it? Chanel No.5 in a backstreet pub in Armley! It is genuine, isn’t it? they’d ask…”
“As they paid a fifth of the shop price!”
She chuckles into her glass.
“Charlie, Poison, Obsession, Opium… Come to think of it, they all sound a bit dodgy. Couldn’t sell Charlie under the counter these days. The kids’d think it was spray-on cocaine.”
“There’s one I still like,” he says. “Coco, Chanel. That’s an innocent enough name. Did Dad ever have that one?”
“Dunno.”
“Me neither.”
They both take a drink.
“That’s the small talk over, then,” he says, and takes another sip. “I need to talk to you about the Eurolodge Hotel.”
She sighs. “Do you know what your dad used to say, whenever I asked about you? Working on his own stuff, he’d say. And there’d be that wink…”
“I thought the small talk was over.”
“It is. Got high hopes for him, he’d say. Always mentioning that you’d been Head Boy, and that you went to Cambridge an’ all that.” She takes a drag of her cigarette, the smoke escaping from the sides of her mouth. “If I was you, I’d keep it that way.”
“Meaning?”
“You’re the one who left all this shit behind. I wish I didn’t have to say this, John, but do you wanna end up like your brother? Cos you’re going the right fucking way about it.”
“Out of my depth, eh?”
“I’m out of mine, that’s all I know.”
He looks around at the room, the saggy armchairs, ancient telly, black and white photos.
“You been working up at the hotel long?”
She shakes her head. “You won’t be told, will you! If you must know, I’ve been there about three months. The pay’s nothing special, but it’s cash in hand. Without it I’m eating Pot Noodles for Sunday dinner.”
“Adrian Fuller, owner-manager…”
She sniffs. “He’s all right, Fuller. He inherited the building a couple of years ago, had an idea for business hotels, budget ones. Eurolodges all over the country. Told me one night when he was pissed.”
“So what happened?”
“Place didn’t take off. Then he started getting funny guests. Blokes, groups of ’em all in one room, asking for big discounts. They’d book by the week, or longer, and they’d be coming and going at all hours…”
“Let me guess. The kind of people my dad used to employ?”
“Something like that. Before he knew it, his normal customers had disappeared.”
“I bet.”
He watches as she puts out her cigarette and immediately lights another.
“Ahh, that hits the spot,” she moans, almost curling up in pleasure.
“Jesus, I spend years trying to get it down to two-a-day, then one-a-day. Suddenly I’m surrounded by women who just adore tobacco.”
“It’s about the only pleasure I can afford, love,” she says, and takes another huge draw.
“So, what can you tell me about the Ukrainians?” he says.
“Don’t you ever give up…”
“The older one, Bilyk, what you make of him?”
She blows a massive cloud of smoke out in front of her. “Clever bastard, and he looks like he can mix it. But he’s not just muscle. That’s all I know, John. I don’t want to…”
“Yeah, yeah. The young one, Fedir?”
She shudders at the name.
“He treated that girl like a bloody animal.”
“Just him?”
“Other one didn’t seem interested. Always on the phone, or talking to Fuller in the office. Poor lass. She had some face. But that’s not enough, not in a situation like that. She was tense, every time I saw her, tense. She’s always been a cocky bitch, but…”
“You knew her?”
“Knew her mum, from years back. As for Donna, I don’t know what she put up with in that room, but she wasn’t in control.”
“And Freddy, what’s he doing whilst all this is going on?”
“One minute he’s playing the big shot with Bilyk. Next minute he’s Fedir’s fun-loving brother, dragging him out to clubs, twenty-four-hour party people, all that shit.”
“And with Donna?”
“I’ll tell you one thing. When Freddy was around, she was a lot happier. Different girl.”
“Do you think he was protecting her?”
“Didn’t do a very good job, did he?”
She turns away, looks at the wall.
“You’ve been to see her mum, I hear.”
“She told you, did she?”
“Yeah. I didn’t let on I knew you, but the way she described you, it wasn’t hard to work it out.”
“Well something tells me the police might miss a trick or two on this one, so I’m having a go myself.”
“Look, John,” she says, sitting forward in the armchair. “You’re in a lot of danger. You should be going…”
“Never mind that. Tell me about Craig Bairstow. Please.”
She sighs.
“Craig? Been working there longer than me. Bit of a creep.”
“Did he know Donna?”
“Used to buy her enough drinks.”
“Installing a digital surveillance system, is that right?”
“If it costs money, it’s not gonna be on Fuller’s shopping list.”
“But Craig’s in charge of the system?”
“Spends a lot of time in that room, whatever he’s doing.”
“Since when?”
She frowns.
“I don’t know. I never thought about it. Last few weeks I suppose. He’s been working more shifts recently. Evenings. Someone’s gotta do it. Mike does nights, Fuller does days. Then it’s just Craig and me.”
“Staff of four?”
“We still outnumber the guests most days.”
Her phone rings.
“Shit,” she says, eyes down as she answers it.
Outside, a car comes to a stop. Doors slamming. Voices.
Her head snaps up.
“Ah,” he says. “I should have known…”
“Sorry love,” she whispers.
“The surveillance camera outside the hotel,” he says as they both struggle up from their sagging armchairs, “how long had it been broken?”
She looks astounded, like she’s going to explode.
“Bloody hell, are you for real? Do you know who’s out there, I mean, now?”
“I’ve got an idea,” he says calmly. “The camera?”
“Never worked since I’ve been there,” she says, staring at him as if he’s gone mad.
“The police ask you about it?”
She nods.
“What did you tell ’em?”
“Nothing. Like I said, the money’s not great but it’s cash in hand. I never noticed it, right?”
“Right.”
She stops, puts her hands on his neck, holding his head still as if inspecting it.
“You’re not scared! You’re really not. There’s a bit of Joe in you, after all.”
There are tears in her eyes.
“Do as he says, love. Just do what he asks.”
“Why should I?” he asks.
“Because you don’t fucking understand. It’s… Donna.”
She kisses him on the lips.
Now why didn’t you do that quarter of a century ago?
***
He breathes long and slow as he takes the stairs down to street level.
Pauses, hand on the door.
He is scared. He’s never been so scared in his life.
Pulls the door open.
“Hell
o, Lanny.”
Thirty-one
Lanny takes it nice and steady, eyes on the road, the Land Cruiser rarely making it past third. From the passenger seat John watches as they follow what looks like a random route out of town, winding around tree-lined residential lanes in the dark until he’s not sure where he is. In the back are two young men, difficult to say how big. Big enough.
He tries to let the silence run on, give himself chance to think. But this is too weird.
“I thought you were in Malta,” he says in the end, looking at the dash in front of him and feeling stupid, as if he’s been caught playing truant from school and now they’re taking him home.
“I was,” says Lanny, staring straight ahead. “And now I’m here.”
Forty-five or thereabouts and he’s in good shape. Medium height, well groomed, yellow polo shirt and Chinos. Never done time, never been charged with anything. Lanny Bride is the exception that proves the rule.
“Freddy still in Millgarth?”
“Yep.”
“And you’re putting yourself about, like Miss fuckin’ Marple?”
Lanny’s breathing is a little wheezy and he’s straining to keep calm.
“Just trying to get him out,” says John.
“Question is, did he do it? ’Cos somebody did.”
“It’s not Freddy. You ever heard of a Ukrainian called Bilyk?”
“Course I fuckin’ have.”
“He’s working for you, is he?”
“Nah, not really. He approached me, needed some help setting up. I take a percentage, that’s all. Funny money was never my thing. Have you seen the notes he’s bringing across?”
John nods.
“Any good?”
“On the good side of average.”
“Eastern Europe,” Lanny says. “Loads of currency presses, state owned, very corrupt. Mainly euros but someone in the Ukraine fancied having a go at sterling.”
“And you told ’em to get Freddy involved, just in case things went wrong, turn the suspicion on the Rays.”
“Freddy’s a big boy. Nobody forced him. Plus, I didn’t know he was gonna get banged up for murder.”
“It wasn’t Freddy. What about Mike Pearce?”
Lanny snorts. “It’s Freddy they’ve got in the cells. Mike? You tell me. Loser with a violent record, was there when she died… He even told plod he messed with the video, the twat.”
“You heard that?”
“I’ve seen the video, mate. You think you’re the only one with friends in Millgarth?”
“And Fedir? The young one who gave Donna…”
The Land Cruiser lurches to a halt. Trees on both sides. Not a soul about.
“Like I said, I saw the fuckin’ video. Fedir got what he deserved.” His whole body is tense, but he says it with satisfaction, as if the knowledge pleases him deeply. “I’ve gotta know for sure who killed her, John. And you’re gonna fucking find out.”
Lanny squeezes his own hands together, then examines his fingers.
“Let me fill you in. The hotel, it’s useful to us,” he says, still looking at his fingers. “I’m not based here anymore. Sometimes we need a quiet place. Fuller needs the money. Everybody’s happy. I put Mike Pearce in there. He’s a lame brain, not the type that’s gonna be asking too many questions, dialling 999 the first sign of trouble.”
“Same as Sandy?”
“Took a university education to work that out, did it? Whatever you know, John, you’ve gotta tell me. I’m not messing about. If you know anything…”
“Ever met Freddy? You know him?”
“I knew Donna better.”
Lanny turns, looks at John for the first time. His eyes are bloodshot, but his expression is arrogant, defiant.
“All I want’s a name. You can leave the rest to us.”
“But I…”
“Just tell me.”
“I don’t know,” he says, hands pressed flat on his thighs. “And when I know anything for certain, I’m going to the police.”
“Jesus Christ. I know you’re shagging one, but do you have to act like one?”
“Your name won’t come up, I’ll guarantee that. It’ll be in everyone’s interest if the police sort this out,” John says.
Lanny inhales long and hard, trying to retain his patience, as if he’s speaking to a child.
“You’re right. No more police snooping around at the Eurolodge. Get it sorted out quickly. Yes, you’re right. Thing is, though, it’s not going to happen like that.” He reaches behind his back. “Whoever killed that girl won’t be going to jail, just like Fedir won’t be going back to Kiev.”
In his hand is a gun, small and stubby, as if it was made to measure. He rests the gun on his leg, the barrel pointing at John’s crotch.
“What you gonna do, castrate me with a Luger?”
John hears the words coming out of his own mouth, can’t believe he’s saying them.
Lanny grins.
“That the nerves talking, is it, John?”
“You’re going dish out your own justice, simple as that?”
“Are you listening, lads? Little Johnny Ray getting all brave on me!”
Lanny’s laughing now, but it’s like he’s in pain, or losing his mind, as if he’s gonna break down and cry.
“Do you always pull the trigger yourself, Lanny?”
What the fuck are you saying, John?
Lanny stops laughing.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just what it says. Do you send someone in, or do it yourself?”
Lanny’s head seems to nod in slow motion. But he looks puzzled.
This is the only time you’ll get a straight answer. Go on. Ask him. Now.
John feels his chest getting tight, tries to keep his voice steady: “What I asked was, do you normally pull the trigger yourself, or do you send someone else?”
Lanny pulls his head back, almost a double-take.
“Is this about Joe? Is that it? You’re asking me…”
“Well, it’s a thought, isn’t it? I never did find out. I mean, the guys he beat up and chucked out of those houses up in Harehills, they were working for you, I dunno exactly w…”
He doesn’t see it coming.
Feels the butt of the pistol smash into his head. Then again, just above the eye, three times. Then into his cheek, Lanny grunting with each blow. John’s eye is awash with warm blood and he can feel more of it tickling down his face.
Lanny pulls back, panting, one arm on the ceiling of the car as he takes aim and slams a foot into John’s side.
He’s winded, doubled up on the floor fighting for breath, his head against the door. Lanny comes in closer, punching the crown of his head and his ear, short stinging jabs, three, four, until all John can hear is the pumping of his own blood and the dull buzz of adrenalin and fear.
“I killed your fuckin’ brother, did I?”
Lanny’s on top of him now, one knee on the passenger seat, the other on John’s stomach. The gun is pushed so hard into his throat he gags.
Lanny’s voice is ragged, screaming. “You think that was me?”
His hands are shaking as he fumbles with the gun, turns it around, pushes it into John’s hand.
“Go on then.”
He wraps John’s fingers tight around the butt of the pistol and brings the barrel up until it touches his own lips, which are quivering and wet.
“So shoot me, you cunt. Go on. Do it.”
He can’t move. He can hardly breathe, Lanny’s knee pushing hard up into his stomach, all his weight on it. Tears roll down Lanny’s cheeks, one neat line on each side of his face.
They stare at each other like two kids. Frightened and vulnerable.
Then the tension drains from Lanny’s body. He hauls himself up and seems to hang there, breathing heavily, as if he’s not finished but he doesn’t have the energy to carry on.
“You know how many times he’d’ve been dead without me?” he says b
etween breaths. “The stuff he used to do, idiot stuff, always looking for trouble.”
The waver has gone from his voice. He wipes the tears from his face, then takes the gun from John’s hand and pulls out the magazine, holding it so that John can see the copper bullets inside.
“You never knew Joe, not like I did. I was his fuckin’ brother. We grew up together, while you had your nose stuck in a book, all safe and warm at home with your mum. But things caught up with him.”
He grabs John by the jacket, hauls him up to a sitting position. With a thumb he eases the first bullet out of the magazine and puts it into John’s jacket pocket, using the lining to wipe the bullet clean.
“This one’s because of who you are. The next one goes through your skull. Now get out.”
John tries to reach behind him for the handle.
“Get the fuck out!”
The door flies open and Lanny kicks him out onto the pavement.
“Think you’ve got balls, eh? If I’d done that to Joe he’d’ve blown my fucking head off.”
John gets onto all fours, his body shaking, ready to puke.
“I’m not Joe,” he manages to croak, the salt-taste of blood in his mouth.
“You can say that again, my friend.”
He hears the Land Cruiser’s engine rumble into life.
“Another thing,” Lanny shouts out, holding the gun up, a look of uncontained madness in his bloodshot eyes, “there’s one in here for that copper girlfriend of yours. None of that eye-for-an-eye shit with me. I’ll pop as many as it fuckin’ takes. Just tell me who killed Donna.”
With that the car’s motor roars and away it goes, passenger door still swinging open.
Thirty-two
The River Aire curls around the lower reaches of the city, moving a little faster than you might expect, picking up sparks of light from windows on both sides. A dark ugly river, he’s always thought, something sinister about it, especially down here between the brewery and The Falls, where the old warehouses back right up to the water. This is where David Oluwale’s body was found, kicked to death by two Leeds coppers and thrown in the water like a dead dog.
“Are you sure you don’t want some ice for that?” she asks, joining him on the tiny steel balcony suspended above the river and handing him a glass of wine.