by Jake Barton
"If you must know," returned Dexter, "I hold a deep-seated contempt for these damn birds that foul the stone buildings of my native Liverpool."
eSorry." Touchy, but inwardly she saw the irony of the situation. Here, on the Wirral peninsula, the offshore bird sanctuary of Hilbre Island which attracted thousands of birds to the area, would be doing nothing to improve his temper.
Dexter had just motioned for them to leave when a faint sound from behind the solid front door persuaded him to return. The door swung inwards, revealing an unshaven man in his mid to late thirties.
"Police, eh? What do you want?" The deeply etched pain-lines in his face gave added emphasis to the aggressive and unwelcoming tone of his voice.
Dexter smiled ruefully, rearranging his craggy features into a lopsided smile. "That obvious is it? There go my hopes of an undercover career." The man did not respond. Dexter flashed his identification. "Not police, actually. My name’s Dexter from R and D Security. My colleague, Miss O’Prey. Can we speak to you for a minute or two? It is Mister Rudd, isn't it? Mister Gary Rudd?"
The younger man looked him up and down. The sight of his milk bottle, a victim of seagull vandalism, distracted Rudd for a moment. "Fuck!" he said, glaring across the road at the birds whirling and swooping above the terraced houses. Dexter smiled and nodded, the movement of his head attracting Rudd’s attention once more.
"What do you want with me?" The voice was softer, the expression contemplative, with strong hints of an intelligent mind at work behind the carefully guarded expression. He looked at Donna briefly then looked away.
"Let us in and I’ll tell you," Dexter said firmly, obviously unwilling to continue this discussion on the doorstep.
Rudd jerked his head, indicating they should come in, squeezed himself against the wall and allowed them to enter the hall.
"Go straight through to the kitchen, just keep going," he said. "I’ll be with you as soon as I collect the milk. Oh, and I like the hair." Donna assumed the final remark was aimed at her and smiled for the first time that morning.
Dexter walked briskly down the length of the narrow hall, not even glancing at the arrangement of prints by Edward Hopper and Jack Vettriano on the plain walls.
Donna followed, looking at the pictures and smiling at the other man’s continuing tirade against thieving sea gulls and their disgusting habits. Dexter sat himself on a plain ladder-backed chair, placing his briefcase on the large scrubbed pine table. Donna chose an elm rocking chair with a bright yellow cushion. The kitchen was straight out of Homes and Gardens – freestanding pine units, a big cream-coloured Aga with copper pans dangling from a central overhead rack and an original Belfast sink with wooden draining board under the tall sash window. It was immaculate, although from preliminary enquiries they’d already discovered Rudd lived alone.
No reason for it to be untidy, just because he’s a man, Donna thought, feeling guilty at her ready assumption of the male stereotype. Peg would love this kitchen. She could get a whole sheep’s head in that oven and have room over for tripe and onions.
"Sorry to keep you," said Rudd, propelling himself past Dexter and placing the milk bottle on the draining board. "I was out early and I’ve not got myself organised yet. I go swimming most mornings. Early doors at Guinea Gap baths with the pensioners and a few bored housewives. Only fifty laps or so, but it keeps me fit."
"I’m sorry about what happened, Mister Rudd." Dexter spoke from the heart, his sincerity obvious. The other man looked at him quizzically. "It’s only a drop of milk," he said. "And less of the Mister Rudd. Gary will do fine."
"I meant," Dexter murmured gently. "That business in Heswall."
Donna was mortified. The man’s wife and children had been murdered and all Dexter could say was ‘that business’.
Rudd looked at him, his head inclined towards the light, with an almost feral gleam in his eyes. "What would you know?" He spoke without malice, a pure statement of fact. "I think about it every day, dream about it at night."
Rudd combed fingers through his thick tawny hair. Make the most of it, while you’ve got it, Donna thought, glancing at the stubble bristle that was all that remained of Dexter’s hair. It won’t be there forever.
When Dexter spoke, his voice was soft, careful, as if he were aware of the tension hanging in the air.
"I know. I lost my own family. Oh, nothing to compare with the circumstances of your loss. My own fault, entirely, too involved with the job to see what was happening to my marriage. I’ve come to terms with it since, but there’s not a day goes by I don’t miss seeing my daughter growing up. We’ve drifted apart over the years, but, even so, I still miss her terribly. I know at least some small part of what you must feel."
"It’s the unfairness of it I begrudge most." Gary Rudd’s voice quavered with emotion. "I have really serious regrets about some of the things I’ve done with my life. Even worse, though, are regrets for things I didn’t do when I had the chance. But worse of all are regrets for what my girls could have done, but will never have the chance to do now. Am I making sense?"
Dexter nodded.
"I miss them so much," he continued, his voice drying up as he spoke.
"People are always telling me I should move away, that there are too many memories around here. They know nothing. What else do I have left apart from memories?" He fell silent, staring without seeing.
Dexter coughed. "It’s about the fire," he said, hesitantly. "The boy who did it. Marcus Green?"
"Bastard!"
Donna thought for a moment that the outburst had been directed at Dexter for raising the topic, but immediately realised the other man’s anger was directed elsewhere.
"I’ve asked myself why so many times. All I could come up with was that he was insane. That’s what they tried to say at the trial, but when he looked at me, I knew. He wasn’t insane. Pure evil, that’s what I saw. I’ve wished him dead so many times."
"You know he’s out?"
Rudd nodded. He reached forward and grasped Dexter’s arm, his fingers digging into the flesh of his arm. "They sent a reporter round, one of the tabloids. Wanted to know what I thought about it. Human interest, the reporter said. Human fucking interest? I threw him out, into the road." He released Dexter’s arm. Donna saw the depth of passion in his face and could imagine the reporter’s fate.
"I’ve looked for him, Marcus Green. I’ll find him. That’s all I live for now. That reporter, he’d asked me if I was angry he’d been released, or did I feel he’d paid the punishment for what he’d done. Fucking stupid question. That’s when I threw him out. I wasn’t angry. I was glad he was out. I couldn’t reach him while he was locked away. Now I can find him." He sat back in his chair, facing them with defiance indelibly etched into his features.
Donna shuffled awkwardly on her chair. The man saw it and appeared concerned. "Would you like another cushion, love?"
"No really, I’m fine," Donna said.
She’d been through phases where she’d resented being called ‘love’ by complete strangers, but not in this case. She’d had the opportunity to study the man while he’d been involved with Dexter. He could do with a shave, she thought, noting how the shadow darkened the line of his jaw, emphasising the angles of his face. About thirty-five or so with one of those lived-in faces that age women, but somehow look good on men. His somewhat crumpled appearance should have made him seem unkempt, but didn’t. If anything, it added to his appeal.
He glanced her way, and Donna caught her breath. His eyes were amazing. Clear swimming pool blue, blazing with a life all of their own. He caught her looking at him. He’s got balls, she thought, approving of the way he held her gaze without flinching. Confident, sure of himself, but something more, something Donna couldn’t place for a moment. When it came, she had to concentrate to avoid laughing out loud. She fancied him.
Where the fuck did that come from?
Donna slotted her mind back into gear. Dexter was on a roll. He’d told the oth
er man about Celine and the ransom demand. He’d also propounded the theory that the person responsible could possibly be Marcus Green.
Gary Rudd sat quietly, absorbing Dexter’s words. "How’s Paula hanging up?" His voice was expressionless.
Dexter shrugged.
"He’ll be no use, her husband. Never was. She’s the strong one."
Dexter nodded. He’d obviously reached the same conclusion.
Donna was puzzled. The man seemed so calm, almost disinterested. As if she’d spoken her thoughts aloud, he turned towards her and Donna saw she was mistaken. His eyes burned. "I want in, to be part of it," he said.
"No can do," Dexter said hurriedly. "We want background details from you, a history, that’s all. I don’t want you involved."
"My kids are dead. Don’t you tell me to keep out of it. Now you’re telling me the bastard responsible has kidnapped my niece?"
"We don’t know that for sure. It’s a theory, nothing more."
"No it’s not. You know it’s not. If you didn’t think it was likely, you wouldn’t be here. What about the police? What do they think?"
Dexter looked almost embarrassed. "No police," he said. "The parents want them kept out of it."
Rudd smiled. "Good."
Dexter hesitated. "There’s more," he added. "You could be in danger."
"Me?"
"If there is a connection, and it’s a big ‘if’ at this stage, it would seem Green bears the family a grudge. Why not you? You’d be best off keeping out of the way for a while."
"Like where?"
"You could stay with me." The words were out before Donna knew it. Her own temerity amazed her. Both men stared as Donna shuffled nervously. "At my place, I mean. There’s enough room and you’d be out of sight."
Dexter glared. "That won’t be necessary," he said.
"Why not?"
God, what was the matter with her? Hardly said a word all morning and now she couldn’t shut up.
"He’s involved, whether we like it or not. He has the motivation to catch this man, and I think that could be helpful."
Was she trying to prove something to Dexter, or was it something else?
Donna pushed that thought to the back of her mind.
"I don’t have a problem with that." Gary Rudd was looking at Donna, a faint smile on his face. He must think I’m a real prat, she thought.
Dexter frowned. "This isn’t a game. I appreciate the degree of your motivation." He laid particular stress on the last word. It was one of his favourites; he’d used it that very morning when questioning Donna’s sulky attitude. "But this is a serious matter. Best leave it to professionals."
"Listen," Rudd said, poking Dexter’s chest with his index finger. "Get this straight. You involved me. Don’t think you can shut me out when you’ve got your, what did you call it, background? I’m in this now, whether you want it or not. If you think I should move out, then I’ll move out. Just don’t think you can shut me out. I want to see Celine back home safe, but I also want to find Marcus Green. If your colleague can provide a place for me to stay, what’s that to you? It’ll suit me. Not so much chance of you shutting me out of things." He sat back. Dexter said nothing. Donna dared not move. Her offer had turned out to be even more of a problem than she’d envisaged.
"So, that’s it then," Rudd announced. "Give me ten minutes and I’ll be with you."
Donna started. She hadn’t intended the offer of lodgings to be immediate. Noting her discomfort, Dexter smiled for the first time that morning.
"I’m a freelance graphic artist. You won’t mind if I take my work along?" Donna shook her head, almost in a trance.
"Well, I’ll let Donna sort out the details," Dexter said, with some relish. "I’ll get off to Meols Drive, see how things are doing." He stood and shook hands with the other man. "I’ll see you later, go over anything that occurs to me after Donna’s taken a statement from you. I’ll not pretend I want you involved, but, as you say, you’ve got reasons of your own to want this man caught. That may yet make you useful."
Rudd released Dexter’s hand. "Oh, I’ve got reasons," he said. "I’ve been through the bad times and I’m still here. One thing keeps me going. I’m not interested in putting him back in prison. All I want is the chance to get close to him. Close enough to kill him."
Dexter nodded. He’d obviously suspected as much which meant Rudd could turn out to be a problem, but had decided it was a problem that could wait.
He left, leaving Donna standing awkwardly in the kitchen. "I’ll have a quick shave and pack a few things," her new prospective lodger announced, taking the stairs two at a time. Me and my big gob she thought.
They arrived back at Donna’s house just as the bin men were leaving. She’d forgotten to bring the wheelie bin round to the front. It was in plain sight, but unless it was parked at the kerb, handle facing towards the road, it didn’t exist as far as the bin men were concerned. Her own fault. Peg had reminded her as she’d left the house, but she’d still forgotten. Stupid cow. Donna sat in the car, grinding her teeth, until her passenger coughed politely. "Something wrong?"
"I forgot to put the rubbish out."
He smiled. "Full is it, your bin?"
Donna nodded ruefully.
"Is that it?" Gary nodded to the solitary bin standing forlornly at the porch, the only one not on the pavement.
Donna nodded again.
"I’ll cut through the jigger and catch them in the next road," he said, jumping out of the car and wheeling the bin down the alley between the houses. Donna sat there in amazement. If this was what having a man around the house meant, she was all for it.
Opening up the house, she shouted up the stairs to Peg that she’d brought a guest home to stay for a few days. Peg was down the stairs before Donna had a chance to pick the mail off the mat. She must have slid down the banisters. She wore a bright orange shirt and an inquisitive expression. Not a pleasant combination.
"Work," Donna said, forestalling the inevitable questions. Get your retaliation in first. "He needs a place to stay." Peg’s eyes widened as the gender of the putative guest was revealed. Donna pretended not to notice.
"We can put him up on the sofa," Peg said, smiling broadly. A man in the house. Peg Heaven.
"Where is he then?"
Donna hesitated for a moment. "He’s taken the wheelie bin round to the next street. I forgot to put it out and the bin men have just gone." Peg beamed approval. Not just a man in the house, but a useful man in the house. Donna heard the gate open and Gary tapped on the door behind her. Donna still had her fist full of letters and turned to him in some confusion. "Come in," she said. "Peg, this is Mister Rudd."
He smiled, waiting for her to move to one side. Seeing him this close, Donna was struck once again by the startling blue of his eyes. Under delicate lashes any woman would die for, they blazed like precious jewels in the otherwise unremarkable setting of his face. Aquamarines glinting in a rocky out-crop. The analogy didn’t do him justice. His face had character and strength, but she wouldn’t call him handsome. Certainly not within his earshot. To be conventionally handsome, as well as possessing such devastating eyes, would imply a pact with the devil on his part. Donna felt her neck reddening and swiftly moved aside.
"Mister Rudd was my dad’s name. Call me Gary," he said, stepping forward to press a kiss on Peg’s cheek. "I hope I’m not intruding."
"Not at all," Peg replied.
*****
Thick banks of fog were rolling in from the river, clammy tendrils swirling between the buildings.
"Jesus," the doorman grunted as Donna pushed past him, drawing his jacket up to his neck. "Look at this shit. Thicker than fucking elephant spunk this stuff."
There are bouncers, sorry, door security personnel (everyone's so sensitive to titles these days) outside every pub and club now. Heads shaved or hair clipped to the absolute minimum, thick necks and steroid-assisted muscles. Donna read recently that the use of steroids shrinks the testicl
es. She'd not be mentioning that in present company. Not the most tactful of subjects.
She screwed up her eyes on entering the pub at the sudden change from the foggy gloom of the street to the bright artificial light of the interior. The large main room was full of kids, most of them underage by the look of it, drinking exotic beers straight from the bottle, and probably thinking they looked cool. Oh well, at the inflated prices they were paying for stuff that cost next to nothing in its country of origin, they were entitled to their illusions.
She’d not been here before, but it was said to be a favourite haunt of Alex Melia and she’d been ordered to track down Celine’s missing boyfriend. A teenage girl brushed past her in the doorway, the harsh strip lighting revealing a dubious tan and even more questionable hair colour – the regular, out-on-the-town uniform of short Lycra skirt revealing mottled bare legs, stiletto shoes, push-up bra under a skin-tight top and full strippers’ makeup. Her male escort wore a capped-sleeve tee shirt, the norm for supposedly hard lads in both winter and summer. Yuck! Donna looked around the bar, but saw nobody she knew. Not surprising. All a bit young for her. Listen to Granny O’Prey!
Half a dozen girls were gyrating on the small dance floor. Nose rings and dinky little rose tattoos all round. Donna reckoned she must be the only person her age that didn’t have a tattoo or part of her body pierced for some chunk of dangling metal. She didn’t even have pierced ears and kids round here got studs in their ears before they were out of nappies. It wasn’t a fashion decision, Donna just couldn’t stand needles. As a former martial arts devotee, she could take a punch without flinching, but needles gave her the creeps. She sat at an empty table, thinking about what to do next, and within moments she had company.
"You holding?" Donna shook her head. God, now I look like a pusher. The boy sported what he probably imagined to be the start of a goatee beard but, from Donna’s viewpoint, it was a pathetic failure. The stubble on his chin amounted to little more than a light fuzzy coating, although she surmised the razor had been a stranger to his face for a couple of weeks at least. He cracked the joints of his fingers, and then stopped as he saw her wince.