Western Approaches

by Graham Hurley

  The line went dead. Suttle put his head round Houghton’s door and promised to bell her later. Only when he was in the Impreza, wondering about an off-licence, did he remember to give Lizzie a call.

  She was on the point of preparing supper. Suttle told her not to bother. Something had come up.

  ‘Something that involves a meal?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And a lonely policewoman?’

  ‘Do me a favour.’

  He was relieved to hear her laughing. He said he’d be back later, no real idea when but it shouldn’t be late.

  ‘No problem.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yeah. Another wild night in with my knitting? Bring it on.’

  Suttle arrived in Lympstone with time to spare. He parked beside the railway halt and walked down to the Londis in the village centre. He’d already decided to end the day with a modest celebration and bought two bottles of Côtes-du-Rhône, one for Lenahan and one for afterwards once he’d got home.

  Lenahan was alone once again in the tiny cottage. His lodger, he said, was doing Christian things at some night shelter in Exeter and wouldn’t be back until God knows when. The kitchen formed part of the living space downstairs and Suttle caught the rich tang of ginger the moment he stepped in. When Lenahan broached the wine and offered him a glass, Suttle shook his head.

  ‘You’ve got tea?’

  ‘Has to be green, I’m afraid. Goes with the meal.’

  ‘Whatever.’

  Lenahan returned to his wok.

  ‘We nearly had another body on Sunday. Did you hear about that? A fancy little tribute to our dead leader and this slip of a girl goes overboard. Another minute or so and we’d all be talking to the Coroner. Jesus, am I glad I listened when they taught us all those resus drills.’

  Suttle expressed polite interest. One day, when Constantine was history, he’d come back and buy this man a serious drink. For the time being, he wanted to find out more about Donovan.

  ‘Tash?’ Lenahan was giving his rice a poke. ‘That girl’s a force of nature. Truly. I mean it. Astral Tash. Forty-plus years old and still at it.’

  ‘At what?’

  ‘Everything. With pretty much anyone. You know the story with Tash? Pendrick tells it best. It’s Christmas Day. Pendrick’s having a quiet one because he’s that kind of guy and there comes a knock at the door and he looks out of the window like you do and there’s Santa Claus outside, red coat, hat with a bobble on, funny beard. He thinks it’s a piss-take to begin with but Santa’s not going away so in the end he does the seasonal thing and opens the door. It’s not Santa at all. It’s Tash. She’s spent half the day with Angel Dust and she’s bored to death, and when she opens that red coat of hers it’s pretty plain what kind of present she’s got in mind.’

  ‘Angel Dust?’

  ‘Young Milo. That’s what she calls him when the drink takes her.’

  ‘She’s drunk? Christmas night? On the doorstep?’

  ‘Pissed as a rat. Pendrick gets her in, sits her down, gets her a mince pie or whatever treat he’s giving himself, but she’s not having it. Are we getting the picture here? Pendrick’s under the cosh. And what’s worse, he can’t get rid of her. Took him hours to hose her down. And even then she was still giving him lists of what turned her on.’

  ‘He was complaining? Pendrick?’

  ‘Big time. He thought it was gross, and I think I would too. You could arrest a woman like that for something. Rape’s too polite a word.’

  ‘So she went? In the end.’ Suttle was trying to picture the scene.

  ‘Yeah. He managed to find a taxi. He stuffed her in the back with a note for Angel Dust. Return to Sender. Happy fucking Christmas.’ Lenahan threw garlic and ginger in the wok and gave it a stir. ‘So there you go. Astral Tash and Angel Dust. What else do you guys want to know?’

  They sat down to eat minutes later. Out of deference to Lenahan’s cooking skills, Suttle had changed the subject. The stir fry – prawns with Chinese lettuce – was excellent. His eye, once again, was taken by the scatter of photos on the wall. Some village in sub-Saharan Africa, every shot ablaze with the overwhelming brightness of the sunshine.

  Lenahan caught his interest. Winter by the river in Lympstone had been arctic, he said. On Christmas Day, while Pendrick had been fighting Tash off, he’d been trying to get the ice off his crappy old Mondeo in case the call came from the hospital.

  ‘You miss Africa?’

  ‘Yeah, I do. Mid-morning you’re talking forty in the shade. By lunchtime it’s fifty. You type with tissue under your wrists to protect the circuits in the laptop from your own sweat. Wherever you go, you end up walking in zigzags just to stay in the shade. It takes for ever to get anywhere.’

  ‘You speak the language?’

  ‘No. A couple of words maybe, the odd phrase, but no. And that’s a huge barrier. You know why? Because in my trade the backstory is 90 per cent of the diagnosis. A guy turns up at your door and he looks half dead. He probably is half dead. But if you don’t know what’s been going on in this guy’s head, if you don’t know what he’s been up to, the pair of you are probably stuffed.’

  Suttle nodded. He said it was exactly the same in his line of work.

  ‘You’re kidding.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘I thought it was all forensics these days? DNA? CCTV? Some other fucking acronym? You’re telling me you have to listen to people?’

  ‘Exactly. And it’s often what they don’t say that really matters.’

  ‘Right. Good. Excellent.’ Lenahan took a long swallow of wine. ‘So try me. Any question. Whatever you like.’

  ‘OK. Let’s go back to Tash.’

  ‘Anything, my friend. Your call.’

  ‘Was she shagging Kinsey?’

  ‘Of course she was.’

  ‘And did anyone else know? Apart from you?’

  ‘We all did. She made no secret of it. And neither did Kinsey.’

  ‘So what did that do for Symons?’

  ‘Not a lot, the way I read the boy. She’s older than him, of course. Maybe that’s why he hated the word motherfucker.’

  ‘Who called him that?’

  ‘Kinsey. When he wanted to wind the poor eejit up.’

  ‘You’re kidding me.’

  ‘Never. Kinsey never got his head around conversation, simple stuff like talking to people and not giving them a thousand reasons to punch your lights out. It didn’t stop with Tash, either. He was a walking boast, that man. We all knew he was rich because he kept telling us, and we all knew you could buy girlies for a price if Tash wasn’t enough, but it took Kinsey to treat us to the full à la carte. He was partial to Thai girls. He’d go on about them like it was some kind of meal he’d just had. What they did for him. How he liked them best. Garlic and ginger and a sprinkle or two of soy sauce. Are you getting the picture?’

  Suttle nodded. When Lenahan offered seconds he shook his head. He had enough. He was nearly through. Nearly.

  ‘So when do you go back?’ he said.

  ‘To the Sudan? The sooner the better. You know something, my friend? I’ve spent the last six months trying to find trouble in paradise but it’s hopeless. There’s no civil war, no bodies by the side of the road, no dodgy situations to talk yourself out of, no so-called drinking water that will probably fry your guts. Everything works, or sort of works, so where’s the challenge? Where’s the fun?’

  Trouble in paradise, Suttle thought. Didn’t Kinsey’s death qualify as trouble in paradise?

  ‘That depends on your definition of paradise. Kinsey had it all, didn’t he? Money? View? Girlies? Astral Tash? Us? Jesus, we even won him a cup. But it wasn’t enough. Because it’s never enough. Kinsey should have taken himself off to Africa. He should have seen the half-open eyes of the starving. That might have done him some good.’ He reached for his glass again and then paused, struck by another thought. ‘You’re asking me for a diagnosis? Is that it? You want a hand h
ere? From your tame little medic? The wild Irish guy from out yonder? You want a steer on what happened?’

  ‘Go for it.’

  ‘Kinsey ended up dead because he had too much. The poor wee guy choked to death on all that stuff. Me? I’d chuck the whole lot off the balcony. The bling. The money. The goodies. The extras. The Thai girlies. The Porsche. All that dinner-party shit. Everything. The lot. I’m with yer man.’

  ‘Yer man?’ Suttle was lost.

  ‘Pendrick. He’s like me, don’t you see that? The guy’s been around a bit. He’s seen too much.’ He tapped his head. ‘Think too hard about what we’ve become and you end up fucking ruined.’

  Lizzie was wondering about giving Jimmy a ring when she caught the sound of footsteps outside. Puzzled to know why she hadn’t heard the Impreza, she got to her feet and went through to the kitchen. It was dark outside. She checked her watch. Nearly half nine. She switched on the light. She sensed a movement beyond the door that led to the patio. Then she heard a noise, a hard metallic noise, a snip. She froze, knowing now that there was somebody out there. She hadn’t heard the Impreza because there was no Impreza. Someone else, God help me.

  She edged slowly around the table. The door was unbolted. She’d been expecting Jimmy any time. Then a shape emerged from the darkness, someone big, someone clad in black. Black jacket, black T-shirt, black jeans, black everything. The whiteness of a face pressed itself against the glass panel in the door. A hand lifted wearily in salute. Pendrick.

  He let himself in. He’d been drinking heavily. She could smell it. He reached for the support of the table, unsteady on his feet. Then he sank into a chair. He wanted to talk to her. He needed to explain one or two things. She wasn’t to take offence. She wasn’t to be frightened. He’d do her no harm. He’d never do her any harm. He’d treasure her for ever. And that was a promise.

  ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘The pub. Up the road.’ He nodded vaguely towards the garden. ‘The Otter? I left the van there.’

  She stared at him. His eyes seemed to have lost focus. There was a terrible emptiness in his face. He seemed unaware of where he was, of how he’d got here, of what was supposed to happen next.

  ‘Get out of my house,’ she said softly. ‘Please.’

  He lifted an eyebrow. He hadn’t heard a word of what she’d said. She repeated it, much louder, letting her anger show. Go. Leave. Now.

  He stared at her for a long moment then shook his head.

  ‘I can’t,’ he said. ‘It’s just not possible.’

  ‘I’ll phone the police.’

  ‘Yeah. Sure.’

  ‘I will. I’ll do it now.’

  ‘Whatever.’

  She reached for the table, but his big hand had already closed over the mobile. He gazed up at her, trying to remember how to smile.

  ‘I love you,’ he whispered. ‘I really, really do.’

  Lizzie held his gaze a moment longer. When he tried to reach for her she avoided his outstretched arm and darted into the living room. The telephone was on the table beside the fireplace. When she lifted the receiver, she could hear nothing.

  ‘I’ve done the line.’ Pendrick was still at the table. ‘Come back and talk to me.’

  Lizzie was eyeing the stairs, but the last thing she wanted was Pendrick following her up to a bedroom. Grace was up there too. She couldn’t leave the house without her.

  She returned to the kitchen. A pair of wire cutters lay beside her mobile. Pendrick nodded at the other chair.

  ‘Please. For me.’

  She asked him again to leave. She promised not to breathe a word to anyone that he’d been here and frightened her shitless. She promised to keep it a secret.

  ‘Just us?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I like that. Why don’t you sit down?’

  The cutlery drawer was directly behind Pendrick. Even if she could grab a knife she knew it would be hopeless. He was far too strong.

  With great reluctance she sat down. Pendrick asked for a drink.

  ‘We haven’t got any.’

  ‘No?’

  He got to his feet, his eyes never leaving her face. There were three Stellas in the fridge. He helped himself and returned to the table. He popped the tag and offered her the can. She shook her head.

  ‘Here’s to Kate,’ he said.

  He tipped the can and took a long swallow. Stella dripped down his chin.

  ‘You remember Niran? The little Thai kid? The one who disappeared? Kate used to see him. Years afterwards, he kept turning up. He was the wind that opened the door. We’d get back home and he’d have put the lights on. We’d go fishing and he was the tug on the end of the line. He was everywhere that kid. And he was here too.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Just now.’ He nodded towards the window. ‘He was the cloud in front of the moon. You should have seen it. I should have got you out there. He was beautiful, that child. Still is.’

  ‘Please leave.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You said you loved me.’

  ‘I do. You know I do.’

  ‘Then go. It’s for the best, believe me.’

  ‘For you?’

  ‘For us.’

  ‘You mean that?’

  ‘I do, yes. If you want the truth, I loved being with you. I loved going to Cornwall that day. Trezillion. The dunes. The picnic. I meant everything I said. But it’s like your cloud. Your Niran. It’s gone.’

  ‘You’re wrong. He’s still alive.’

  ‘No, he’s not. He’s dead.’

  ‘But he’s here. He’s around us. And we’ve got a second chance. Both of us. That’s what we said, isn’t it? At Trezillion?’

  Lizzie didn’t answer. Pendrick, she knew, was talking to himself. Some of her anger had gone. What he’d done tonight was inexcusable. She’d never forgive him. She’d never let it happen again. But way down inside, somewhere deeply private, she was beginning to feel sorry for this big man with the lostness in his eyes.

  She got to her feet. He looked at her, suddenly alarmed.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I’m going upstairs to get my daughter,’ she said. ‘Then I’m going to put her in the buggy and we’re going to take you back to your van. It’s in the pub car park, right?’ He nodded. ‘Is the mattress still in the back? The sleeping bag?’

  ‘Bags.’ He was trying to smile again. ‘Plural.’

  ‘Whatever. Stay there. Don’t move.’

  She began to edge round him but he extended a leg, barring the way.

  ‘I want to sleep here,’ he said. ‘With you.’

  ‘That’s not possible. Not now. Not ever.’

  ‘Then when?’

  ‘I just said. Never.’

  He was staring up at her, wet-eyed, trying to coax some sense from the conversation.

  ‘I just want you to hold me,’ he muttered. ‘Nothing else.’

  She began to shake her head, to tell him he had to get a grip, to tell him to accept that whatever they had was over, but then came the burble of the Impreza coming down the lane and the glare of Jimmy’s headlights reflected in the hedge beyond the patio. The car swung onto the gravel and Lizzie heard a brief snatch of Adele before Jimmy cut the engine. Then his footsteps quickened and his shadow darkened the window and he was pushing on the kitchen door.

  For a second he stood there, holding a bottle of red wine, not understanding. It was Pendrick who spoke first. He’d seen this man only yesterday.

  ‘Police?’ He looked bewildered. It must be some conjuring trick. His gaze went to Lizzie. ‘How the fuck did you manage that?’

  ‘He’s my husband. His name’s Jimmy.’

  ‘Hi, Jimmy.’

  Suttle studied the outstretched hand.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he said.

  Pendrick didn’t answer. He was looking at Lizzie.

  ‘In your heart you know I love you. Isn’t that right?’

  Lizzie shook her head.
Suttle hadn’t moved.

  ‘He’s pissed,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Yeah, I can see. So what the fuck’s going on?’

  Pendrick stirred. He drained the Stella and crushed the can. His eyes had never left Lizzie.

  ‘Tell him. Lizzie. Just tell him.’

  ‘There’s nothing to tell.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No. There never was and there never will be.’

  ‘Really?’ A smile had warmed the big face. ‘You don’t remember? You don’t remember Trezillion? All that?’ His hand sank to his midriff and then crabbed down still further. ‘Is it the scar? Is it that? Don’t be ashamed, my love. I’ve seen worse.’

  At last he got to his feet and slipped the wire cutters into his pocket. He offered Lizzie a dip of the head, a courtly little bow, then headed for the door. Suttle stood his ground.

  ‘What is this?’

  ‘Ask your wife.’

  ‘I’m asking you.’

  ‘Then I can’t tell you. Either you see it or you don’t. That’s the thing about life, yeah?’

  He gently pushed Suttle aside and stepped into the darkness. Suttle hesitated a moment, then followed. When Lizzie tried to get between them, he told her to go inside.

  ‘Leave it, Jimmy.’

  ‘Fuck off.’

  He spun Pendrick round. Suttle’s first blow caught him full on the mouth, the second put him on on the ground. Suttle began to kick him, driving the point of his toe into the big man’s ribs. Pendrick offered no resistance, just soaked the punishment up. Finally, breathless, Suttle stood over him.

  ‘If you set foot in my house again,’ he said, ‘I’ll kill you. Right? You understand that? You hear what I’m saying? Do this again and you’re a dead man.’

  Pendrick peered up at him. His mouth was bleeding and he was nursing his bruised ribs.

  ‘Too late, my friend.’ He spat a tooth into the long grass and struggled to his feet. Moments later he’d disappeared into the darkness.

  In the kitchen Lizzie was pale with shock. Suttle eased her into a chair, stood over her. She was shivering, her hands wrapped round herself. She wanted to know whether Pendrick had gone.