by Ali Harper
‘Why would a copper be after Jack?’ As soon as I asked the question I realized I could think of a few reasons, many of them locked up in the safe back at our office. I changed tack. ‘Why would a copper come to us for help?’
‘Because she’s desperate.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Jack always said she was bad news. Me, I keep by brain down here.’ He patted at his crotch area as I kept my eyes on the road. ‘And he’s right. It’s like she’s been beamed down from planet Mars. One day no one’s ever heard of her, next day everywhere we go she’s there.’
‘The Chemic?’
‘Yeah. She made a beeline for me. I should have known she was after something.’
‘A copper wouldn’t take heroin.’
‘Double bluff.’
‘Big risk.’
I noticed a red Escort on the other side of the road, driving towards us. As it passed I tried to peer in through the windscreen, but the glare of the headlights made it impossible. Luckily, I now knew the area pretty well. I hung left, did a 360 round the mini-roundabout ahead then headed on after it. I found it again in less than a minute, accelerated hard and overtook it. Driving parallel on the wrong side of the road, I peered past Brownie. An alarmed-looking older man stared back at me. In his fifties, looked like a builder. I took the next right and slowed the pace.
‘Roll me a fag, would you?’
Brownie did his best. Passed me something as fat as a Tampax.
‘Why hasn’t she arrested you then? If she’s a copper.’
‘Dunno. Keep asking myself that.’
‘It’s not like she hasn’t got enough evidence.’
‘Maybe she’s after Bernie and Duck.’
‘She hasn’t arrested them, either,’ I pointed out.
‘Maybe she doesn’t know where they live.’
‘It was her that gave us the address.’ I shook my head, trying to shake up my thoughts, see which one settled. I went with my gut. ‘She totally loves you.’
‘That’s what got me suspicious.’
‘Save the violins.’
‘No one loves me.’
‘Rubbish. Women love a fuck-up. Florence Nightingale complex.’
We passed the mini-roundabout again and this time I nailed it. But I knew I was wasting my time. I wasn’t going to bump into a red Escort carrying Jo. I took three deep breaths, allowed the exhale to last as long as I could hold it, to run to the end of each breath. The thought that had been waiting at the edge of my consciousness crystallized. As soon as it hit, it was so blindingly obvious it made my head hurt. I pulled into the kerb and turned to face Brownie.
‘We were set up.’
Brownie scratched his forearms.
‘The whole thing was a fucking set up.’ I hit the steering wheel with the palm of my hand. ‘Someone tipped them off.’
A car honked at me as it passed, presumably indicating its disapproval of my choice of parking spaces. I flicked it the finger.
‘Can you give us a lift to me mate’s house?’ Brownie asked.
Anger boiled inside me. I allowed it to swell. Knowledge is power. A phone rang, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.
‘That you?’ I said to Brownie. Stupid question. The man was in his underpants. I remembered Jo’s mobile in the glovebox and reached across to retrieve it. The screen glowed.
Unknown number.
I swiped to accept the call. ‘Yes?’
‘We got your mate.’
The fingers on my right hand tightened against the steering wheel. ‘And?’
‘You want to see her alive again, do exactly what we say.’
‘Go on.’
‘We want the money and the tin. The tin that Jack sent.’ Like there could be any confusion.
I focused my gaze on the rear-view mirror. I watched a pair of headlights get closer then pass me by. ‘What do I get?’
‘Your mate.’
‘What about Jack?’
‘We ain’t got Jack.’
‘I want to speak to Jo.’
‘Get the cash, and the tin. We’ll ring you in an hour. You can talk to her then.’
‘What cash?’
‘Brownie knows. You found him?’
‘I haven’t got the cash.’
‘Better find it. You’ve got sixty minutes and you’ve just wasted one.’
The phone went dead.
‘What did he say?’ asked Brownie.
‘He wants twenty-four grand and then he’ll give Jo back.’
‘Jesus.’ Brownie slumped in his seat, his chin almost level with the dashboard. ‘Nightmare.’
‘How did you get through twenty-four grand’s worth of smack?’
He didn’t answer, and I set off again, my mind racing. What was I going to do? I didn’t like reacting to situations as they presented themselves to me. I needed a more proactive approach. Just had to think of one.
‘We need to get off the streets,’ I said to Brownie. ‘Where can we go?’
‘The squat?’
‘Too obvious.’
‘I’ve got a couple of mates.’
The idea of going to see any of Brownie’s mates didn’t appeal. It was just past ten o’clock on a Saturday night, the chances of anyone I knew being in were small. The offices were the first place they’d expect us to go, especially now it appeared Jo had told them we had the money. ‘We need to go somewhere they don’t know.’
‘Martha’s?’
‘She said she was going out tonight.’
‘I’ve got a key.’
I glanced across at him. ‘You’re in your underpants. You don’t have anything.’
He grinned and for the first time I noticed the gap between his front teeth. It was kind of endearing.
‘I stashed it.’
‘What?’
‘Saw him coming. So, I stashed my stuff. The key’s in my wallet.’
‘Where’s Martha live?’
‘Burley.’
‘Where did you stash your wallet?’
‘The Ridge,’ said Brownie.
Guilt stabbed me again as I thought back to the night before, remembered seeing Duck slip through the gate, his shoulders hunched. Something had nudged me at the time, a feeling that something wasn’t quite right, but I’d been keen to get back to the streetlights and I’d let it slide.
Martha’s place. I thought it over in my mind. Either I was right, and she did love Brownie, in which case she’d be delighted to see him again, even, or perhaps especially, if he was only wearing his under-crackers. Or Brownie was right, and she was a policewoman. In which case, she could take over and arrest some people. Including the ones who had snatched Jo.
And, my mind ticked on, if she was the one who had grassed us up to the dealers she would have to take responsibility for what had happened to Jo. I couldn’t think of a single reason why she would have, couldn’t see what she would have had to gain. But there was one question that she hadn’t answered last time we saw her that I needed to ask her again. One question that lent credibility to Brownie’s story about the break-in. If she was Brownie’s girlfriend, how come she had a photo of Jack in his school uniform? One thing I knew for certain: driving round the streets of Gipton was getting us nowhere. It had been almost an hour and a half since I’d seen Jo and I didn’t want to think what was happening to her. I kept trying not to notice the bruises on Brownie’s arms and legs. If there was anything like that on Jo, I swore to God I’d kill them.
So, for want of a better idea, I took the next left turn and headed back towards Woodhouse, up to The Ridge. I pulled up outside the last row of terraced houses just before the gate. Brownie didn’t move. I turned the engine off, rolled another cigarette and handed it over.
‘Well?’
‘I can’t go back in there.’ His hands shook so much he could barely take the roll-up from my fingers.
‘I’ll come with you.’
‘I’ve not got shoes. It’s full of dog shit. And broken glass.�
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I sighed. ‘Where exactly?’
‘Just past the gate, there’s a wall on the left. You’ll pass a bin, a metal bin, and about three or four strides past it, there’s a brick missing, in the wall, at the bottom. There’s a rock on the floor, just in front. My stuff’s in there. My wallet. Just bring it to me.’
I popped the van door and got out.
‘Don’t open it,’ he called out.
I slammed the door and paused on the pavement for a moment. I could see the tops of the trees looming above the last row of houses but, I realized, I didn’t fear it as much this time. Things had happened since last night. Dirty pervy tramps seemed like Toytown in comparison.
I didn’t hold out much hope as I made my way to the spot that Brownie had described. Brownie wasn’t in a fit state to be relied upon for anything. But I found the bin, saw the rock and when I felt inside the gap in the wall my fingers brushed against a leather wallet, exactly where he said. His wallet and a small bunch of keys.
I don’t want to be one of those people who doesn’t believe the best of people. I’d rather trust and have things blow up in my face every now and again than live my life in a state of distrust. But I couldn’t help myself. I knew that if I was going to get us both out of this alive I had to be tough. People were out there, yanking my chain. I know what it’s like to be like Brownie, to live a life with dependency, with need. You never let yourself run out. Because running out isn’t an option.
So, standing with my back to the wall, I flicked open the wallet, and rifled through the contents. It had less than a couple of quid in it, which only increased my suspicion. A junkie isn’t worried about losing his wallet, a junkie’s worried about losing his stash. And sure enough, there, tucked in the corner, was a small paper wrap. I tugged it out and held it in my hand. Drugs are a ticket to another world, a pass out from real life. I knew if Brownie got hold of it, he’d be lost to me and I needed him. I needed someone with me, and while he wasn’t there yet, maybe he’d come around.
I knew it was mean, but there was another thought in my mind. Men do it to dogs. Keep them hungry and they work harder. If Brownie needed a score, maybe he’d be more use coming up with ideas as to where the dealers might be. I opened up the piece of paper, unfolding the creases and let the contents fall to the ground. I scraped the powder into the mud with my foot and put the loose change in my back pocket. On the way back to the van, I threw the empty wallet into the bushes.
‘Someone’s had your wallet,’ I said, before I’d even climbed into the van. ‘But the good news—’
‘You’re shitting me.’
‘But the good news is I’ve got your keys.’
I held them up and gave him the biggest grin I could, hoping that I could somehow convince him that the keys were more of a find than a wrap of brown. ‘So, what’s the address?’ I asked, turning the key in the ignition.
He slammed his way out of the van, seemingly no longer worried about his bare feet. I watched him charge through the gate and wondered whether I should follow him. But it was freezing out there and I knew he wouldn’t get far. He stalked back less than a minute later.
‘Fuckers. They’ll nick anything round here. Total fucking scumbags.’
To give him his due he didn’t take long to come around, but I knew what he was thinking. Not difficult. Junkies only think about one thing. Where’s the next place, that’s what he was thinking.
‘The address?’ I said again.
‘Burley. Cardigan Road. The flats at the bottom.’
Had I known what was in store for us at the flats on Cardigan Road, I would have turned the van around and headed straight for the nearest police station, I swear. But at the time, all I could think was that Martha had got us into this mess, and so she was the one that had to get us out. Every time I thought of Jo, my palms got sticky and my chest felt tight. I fastened my seatbelt and prepared for a showdown.
Chapter Twenty-One
I never wanted to believe in sixth senses. I spend most of my life trying to hang on to the rational. What do I know? What can I prove? But once you’ve noticed something, you can’t pretend it’s not there. As soon as I turned into the small car park outside the flats at the bottom of Cardigan Road, I knew. I had a bad feeling. Something wasn’t right. Which was weird, because I hadn’t ever been there before. But something struck me like it was out of place.
Brownie hopped out the van. Whether it was the thought of seeing Martha again, or whether he had an idea that there might be drugs in the flat, he appeared anxious to get inside. I followed behind. Uneasy.
She lived on the third floor, he said. They were small, the flats. Not the high-rise kind of the city centre. There were three or four separate buildings, clustered together around the car park. Low-build, two flats per floor. I followed Brownie up the staircase, struggling to keep pace. He was fit, especially for someone who spent most of his time getting wasted.
It was dark now, like, proper dark, but there was a light switch to press on each floor, which then illuminated the next staircase. My stomach churned, and at that point I put it down to fear. Would Bernie and Duck think of coming here? As far as I knew they didn’t know Martha, but then Martha had given me their address. Did that mean they knew hers?
The third floor was the top floor, and there was only one flat door at the top of the staircase. Brownie let himself in with the key without knocking, which I thought a bit presumptuous, but I didn’t say anything, thinking I’d feel safer once we were inside. I couldn’t escape the feeling I’d had since we arrived, that someone was out there, watching us, and it made me anxious. We both fell over the threshold and into the flat, and I closed the front door behind us, sensing immediately that no one was home. The hall light was on, but there was something about the atmosphere that said empty.
Brownie made straight for the room at the end of the small corridor in front of us. I followed him into a square and sparsely furnished box-like front room. Brownie attacked the set of shelves in the corner, opening up pots, looking behind the row of books. He didn’t find what he was looking for because he crossed to the window, opened it and leaned outside.
‘What you doing?’
‘Nowt.’ He pulled himself through the opening, until all I could see was his arse hanging out.
I left him to it – we were on the third floor – he wasn’t going anywhere – and glanced into the kitchenette, saw the knife sharpener fixed to the wall. A few empty wine bottles next to the bin, three burned-out tea lights and a couple of side plates stacked by the sink.
Back in the front room, Brownie closed the window. I noticed a half glass of red wine on the coffee table and an ashtray empty of butts, but full of ash. I remember a shiver ran down my back, like someone had stepped on my grave. I sloped back down the hallway and opened the nearest door. Another box-sized room, a double bed taking up most of the floor space. I flicked on the light switch, half expecting to see a figure under the sheets. Nothing. The bed was made. A chair in the corner of the room with a pair of jeans folded on it, trainers on the floor, a purple-and-red striped shirt hanging over the back. The shirt she’d been wearing that afternoon. I skirted the bed to the bedside table and opened the drawer. Inside was a Patricia Cornwell novel, and when I flicked the pages a photo of Brownie and Martha fell out. I picked it up and looked at the pair of them, arms around each other, Martha grinning, Brownie with a small smile playing around his lips. He wasn’t a bad-looking bloke with his clothes on.
I replaced the photo between the pages of the book and put the book back in the drawer. I turned to leave and trod on a set of keys that were sticking out from under the bed. I crouched to see if there was anything else under there but nothing, not even fluff. I picked up the keys and examined them. Three on a single ring. One just like the one I’d given to Brownie to let us in here, the second a car key and a third, a smaller one. I slipped them into my pocket and hesitated. The curtains were drawn, and the room was warm. Too warm, I reali
zed. I went over to the window and checked the radiator. It was scalding to the touch.
I went back to the front room. ‘Wonder where she is,’ I said. ‘Heating’s on.’
Brownie sat on the two-seater sofa, licking cigarette papers. He didn’t seem to notice my presence.
‘I need you clean,’ I said. ‘What’ve you got?’ I moved towards him.
‘Relax. It’s only resin.’
I saw the chunk of dope and let him get on with it, thinking it might help with his shakes. Watching him warm the dope reminded me again of Jo and another bolt of dread hit me.
What next? We were running out of options. I thought again about whether we should go to the offices, get the cash, and hand it over. More and more it appeared like that was my only option. It was Martha’s money, according to Brownie. And she’d given it to Brownie, or at least she thought she’d given it to Brownie, so he could pay his debt. So perhaps that was the right thing to do. Something held me back, and as I glanced around the front room, I knew what it was. Martha’s flat didn’t look like the home of someone with twenty-four grand to burn. Where had Martha got that much money from?
But I had to get Jo back. And if that meant handing over the cash, that’s what I was going to have to do, even if it felt like giving in.
A silence fell until I realized it wasn’t a silence. Beyond the rustle of Brownie’s cigarette papers, there was a noise. A gentle humming. It tugged at my memory. A moment’s pause as I worked to place it and recognition dawned. The sound of speakers when there’s nothing left to play. I’ve woken up to that sound often enough. I saw the iPod dock on the shelves and crossed the room. Sure enough, the speakers were on. I tried to fire up the screen of the iPod, but it needed a code. I turned the volume control knob on the speakers until they clicked off and the hum died away.
Dread pricked my skin.
‘Something’s not right,’ I said.
Brownie didn’t speak. His eyes scrunched up against the smoke, inhaling his first lungful.
I crossed back into the hall. One last door. I’d dismissed it as a broom closet or something, but of course there was a room I hadn’t discovered yet. Even in flats this small, there has to be a bathroom.