by Mark Timlin
‘Have you got any others?’
‘No.’
‘Then that’s him.’
‘Jesus.’
‘And a pair of his workmates.’ I didn’t want him to think I’d got a beating one to one. ‘They weren’t happy about me visiting your mum.’
‘He’s a bloody fool, my brother.’
‘You can’t blame him for thinking the worst after what Khan’s sons did.’
‘So what happened?’
‘I went to the site where he’s working. He came at me with a hammer.’
‘And you’re still around?’ He sounded surprised.
‘Just about.’
‘I’m really sorry.’
‘Not as sorry as they are,’ I said.
‘You took on three of them?’
‘I had no choice. They took me on.’
‘And you walked away.’
‘Ran, more like.’
‘But you won.’
‘It wasn’t Marquis of Queensberry rules. I fought dirtier than them. I was lucky.’
‘Still. Maybe Meena’s right to trust you.’
‘Thanks,’ I said.
‘I don’t suppose you think much of me, Mr Sharman,’ he said after a further short silence.
‘I don’t know what to think.’
‘I suppose Meena’s father had plenty to say.’
‘Plenty,’ I agreed.
‘And nothing good.’
‘Not a thing.’
‘I thought as much.’
‘He told me that you sneaked your way into the family to get Meena.’
He laughed without humour. ‘Are you kidding? I had it good up there. A steady job, friends. A future. The last thing I wanted was to end up in a mess like this. We couldn’t help it. We really tried. But there was something there. Something we couldn’t fight. I know. It sounds corny as hell, but it just happens to be true and you can believe it or not.’
‘And he told me you’d been inside,’ I went on.
‘Mr Sharman. I was a kid. I did bad things. Nicking, fighting, skanking people. I ain’t proud of it, and if I could go back and change how things were I would. We all make mistakes. I made my share. How about you?’
I couldn’t deny that. ‘Me too,’ I said.
‘But now I’m with Meena I’m going straight. Christ knows there’s been enough times we haven’t had enough to eat and it would’ve been easy to go on the rob. But she won’t have it. She said right at the start that we had to be honest. Well, after we ran away anyway. We couldn’t be honest about that. But Jesus, we’ve paid for it. We’ve been dumped on, stitched up, lied to, treated like dirt. Treated like criminals, and our only crime was to fall in love. You wouldn’t believe it. The DSS let on where we were. Even the cops, though I shouldn’t expect any better from them. Believe me, I’m telling you the truth.’
‘I believe you,’ I said.
He looked surprised. ‘Do you? Why?’
‘Because of the other people who believe in you.’
‘Who’s that?’
‘Your mum and Meena. Even though I’ve only met them for a few minutes they seem like good people. And if they trust you…’ I didn’t finish.
‘Thanks, Mr Sharman,’ he said. ‘I appreciate that.’
We gave the first restaurant we came to, an Indian, a miss. A few doors down was a small Chinese. We went inside. It was empty when we arrived, and it remained empty the whole time we were there.
We took a table at the back partly sheltered by a palm tree plant. Meena unhooked her veil so that she could eat and the waiter gave her a funny look but that was all.
I ordered beer, Paul and Meena had water. I left the food ordering to them and they seemed to want everything on the menu apart from the phone number, and I’m pretty sure that if there’d’ve been some way to get it down their throats they would’ve ordered it as well.
‘So will you help us?’ asked Meena after the waiter had filled three pages of his pad and gone to warn the kitchen that the gannets were in town.
‘I’m expensive,’ I said.
‘How much?’ said Paul, with an ‘I thought as much’ look on his face.
‘Got a pound coin?’ I asked.
He frowned, reached into the pocket of his denim jacket and brought out a handful of change. He found a pound.
‘Give it to me,’ I said.
He handed it over.
‘I’m hired,’ I said.
‘For a quid?’ said Paul.
‘For a quid. For as long as you need me, all expenses paid.’ I must’ve been crazy. ‘Now here comes the food.’ That shut them up.
The meal wasn’t up to much by my standards of Chinese, too much MSG for my taste, but Meena and Paul loved it. Of course they’d gone hungry recently and I hadn’t. It’s all subjective. Even though it seemed we’d ordered enough for ten we managed to finish the main courses and they still wanted ice cream afterwards. I had a coffee and brandy. The coffee was foul, the brandy not quite so.
‘Right,’ I said when all plates and dishes were wiped clean. ‘I’m going to have to go away and have a think. You know of all the cases I’ve ever taken on this is the most difficult. I’m buggered if I know what to do.’
‘You’ll think of something,’ Meena said.
Paul nodded agreement.
I had a feeling they were already relying on me to perform miracles.
‘You two better go,’ I said. ‘I’ll settle up the bill and have another drink.’
Paul went out first and turned right. Meena waited a minute, clipped her veil up and went after him, turning left. Before she went she put her hand on mine. ‘Please do what you can?’ she said.
‘Give me a couple of days,’ I said. ‘Then call me.’ I offered her money before she went but she refused, even when I told her it was mine, not her father’s. She was a proud one all right.
I watched her leave as I sipped at my drink and wondered just what I was letting myself in for, and how come a restaurant could stay open for three hours with only three customers.
I don’t remember now to which question I gave the most attention.
48
I drove back to my flat then and phoned Melanie at work and told her what had occurred. ‘You be careful,’ she said. ‘I don’t trust any of that lot.’
‘I trust Paul and Meena,’ I told her. ‘Don’t ask me why.’
‘Is she as good looking as the photograph?’ she asked.
I told her she was.
‘Then she probably just fluttered her eyelashes at you.’
‘Paul didn’t, and I trust him too.’
‘You south London boys always do stick together.’
‘Not always. Remember his brother.’
‘So what next?’
‘Wait and see. Try and come up with some solution. I tell you, Mel, this is a tough one.’
‘When will I see you then?’ she asked.
‘I thought you’d’ve had enough after the weekend.’
‘Enough of you? No. Not yet.’
‘You will let me know though?’
‘You’ll know. I won’t be around.’
‘Fair enough. When do you want to see me?’
‘How about tonight?’
‘You are a glutton for punishment.’
‘That’s me.’
‘Well if you want.’
‘I want.’
‘OK then. Come round after work.’
‘I’ll be there.’
‘Good.’
We hung up then and I poured a drink and chased the problem of Paul and Meena round inside my head until the doorbell of my flat rang.
I went downstairs to answer, and there on the doorstep were the cops.
49
&nb
sp; There were two of them. Plainclothes, waving warrant cards. One tall, one short. One with a lot of hair, one with not much. The big one with the hair introduced himself as Sergeant Patterson, the small one without was Detective-Inspector Ramsey. ‘Nick Sharman,’ said Ramsey. ‘We’ve got a few questions. Mind if we come in?’
I think he’d’ve liked me to have minded. ‘What’s it about?’ I asked.
‘All in good time. And not in public, eh? Top floor isn’t it?’
‘You’ve been peeping,’ I said.
He cocked his head like a dog with a rabbit in its sights. I pulled open the door and stepped back. ‘After you,’ said the inspector.
I went up first with the two coppers on my tail. All the way up I wondered what the hell this was all about and what I had in the flat that could be used against me.
When we got inside the door, Patterson closed it behind him and Ramsey looked round. ‘Nice,’ he said. ‘A little palace.’
‘Can we get to the point, Inspector?’ I said. ‘What do you want? Not interior design tips, surely.’
He sat down on the sofa and opened his jacket as if he was in for a long stay. Patterson took one of the stools by the breakfast bar. ‘Do sit down, Mr Sharman,’ said Ramsey. ‘You’re making me nervous.’
Of course truth to tell it was me with the nerves. He looked as comfortable as could be sitting there in front of me. I shrugged and sat on the only chair.
‘You see, what it is Mr Sharman is that we’re the Old Bill and our job for the next few minutes is to ask you some questions, and your job is to answer them. Get me?’
Amusing geezer, I thought and opened my mouth to make some smart remark, but he held up his hand to silence me. ‘Stop right there for a few seconds before you answer in the negative, and let me explain further. Because we know all about you, son. We know your predilection for big boys’ toys. Guns and suchlike. You see the way it is we can do this here all friendly like and you can tell us exactly what you know and part on good terms. Or…’ and he emphasised the word, ‘we can do it down the station and that means we get a warrant to spin this place, and God knows what we’ll find. Because we can. And there’s other things we’ve heard about you isn’t there, Sergeant?’
‘We heard you’re a dope fiend,’ said the hirsute sergeant.
‘A dope fiend,’ repeated the inspector. ‘Now that’s not an expression you hear too often these days is it, Mr Sharman? Junkie is the word we use now. But dope fiend will do. So tell me. If we did give this place a going over what do you think we’d find?’
‘Something that wasn’t here when you started,’ I ventured.
‘Very good. You must’ve been taught well when you were on the drug squad. Always bring something to the party yourself. A good motto. What do you say, Sergeant?’
The sergeant nodded and grunted.
‘See. Think of all the time and aggro you’d save all of us if you just cooperate right from the get-go. A couple of hours for us and maybe as much as ten years for yourself. It’s like the old saying: “For want of a horse the battle was lost.” Only in your case it’s more like “For the want of a little chat your arse is mine.” So what’s it to be?’
‘I’ll cooperate,’ I said.
‘Maybe you could make us some tea while we’re here. It’s thirsty work chatting,’ the inspector said with a mean smile.
What had I got to lose? Only my freedom. ‘OK,’ I said and got up to put on the kettle.
‘Got any bikkies?’ he added. ‘Digestive’s favourite. Got any digestive, have you?’
‘I might be able to find some,’ I said.
‘Milk chocolate, I hope.’
‘Milk chocolate,’ I echoed.
‘See,’ he said, sitting back with a big smile on his chops. ‘We’re getting along like a house on fire already. We even share the same taste in teatime snacks.’
50
Whilst I was preparing the tea things and finding the biscuit tin, I was trying to work out exactly why these two were here. I’d been a good boy lately, and apart from the pistol hidden in the roof outside my flat door I was as clean as clean. Not that that doesn’t mean a couple of years in the chokey, no danger. But it wasn’t exactly in the flat and no one had ever found the little hidey-hole I keep it in before, so I wasn’t that worried. Maybe there were a few traces of spliff scattered about inside, but it would take a sniffer dog with a very keen nose to find even that.
I put everything on a tray like a proper little ladies’ tea party and when the kettle was boiled made the drinks.
‘Cheers,’ said Ramsey when I handed him his. Patterson just grunted. Manners, I thought.
When we were all happy with our refreshments Ramsey said round a mouthful of chocolate biscuit, ‘So what have you been up to lately, Mr Sharman? Or may I call you Nick?’
‘Mr Sharman will do,’ I replied.
‘Formal,’ said Ramsey, obviously enjoying himself immensely. ‘That’s good.’
‘I like to keep things formal,’ I agreed.
‘Best way. So? Tell us all?’
‘Nothing much to tell,’ I replied.
‘Earning a crust?’
‘You might say that.’
‘Got a new girlfriend too. Quite a looker from what I hear.’
‘You must’ve had your ear close to the ground.’
‘That’s what I do, isn’t it, sergeant?’ he said. ‘Keep my ears close to the ground.’
Patterson grunted again and surveyed the inside of his mug as if looking for the meaning of life.
I took out my cigarettes.
‘Don’t mind if I do,’ said Ramsey.
I threw one to him. He reminded me of another copper I knew of the same rank. DI Robber. Or to be exact ex-DI Robber who had helped me in a few cases since his retirement and ended up the worse for it. He never smoked his own fags either.
‘My sergeant thinks it’s a filthy habit,’ Ramsey said, accepting a light. ‘But it’s one of my very few pleasures.’
Alongside giving recalcitrant interviewees a good bashing, I thought, but didn’t vocalise it.
‘So tell me about Meena Khan,’ he said.
I was so surprised I almost corrected him about her surname, but bit my tongue just in time. So that was it, and me knowing she was married would put me right in it.
‘Who?’ I said.
‘Oh don’t,’ he said. ‘No. Don’t insult my intelligence. Meena Khan. Inamorata of Paul Jeffries. You’re looking for them.’
‘Was,’ I corrected him. ‘In the past tense. No longer. I resigned.’
‘That’s not what we heard.’
‘Then you heard wrong. And that’s what this is about, is it? You’re taking the piss, aren’t you? Jesus, I might’ve known. You come in here threatening beatings and search warrants and trips down the station and all sorts. And what it really is, is this is your part-time job. You’re bought and paid for, aren’t you? This is freelance, right? How much did it cost Khan for a home visit? What’s the call out charge?’
‘Don’t know the man,’ said Ramsey.
‘But someone does, don’t they?’ I said. ‘Someone you owe a favour to. Bloody hell I thought all this had stopped.’
‘All what?’ Patterson chimed in.
‘Backhanders. Interviews without benefit of PACE,’ I said.
‘When did you think it stopped then?’ Patterson asked. ‘When they threw you out of the force? Don’t you believe it, Sharman. We’re here for information and we mean to get it.’
‘You going to knock it out of me?’
‘If we have to,’ said Patterson.
‘Not so fast, Sergeant,’ interrupted Ramsey. ‘I don’t think that will work. Anyway it looks like someone already tried it.’
I touched my face, almost by force of habit by then.
‘No,’ the DI continued. ‘We’re going to leave Mr Sharman to think about it. To think how difficult we can make his life in the future. No beatings. No Gestapo tactics. Just consider, Mr Sharman. You do what you do with our consent. And by our, I mean the forces of law and order, from traffic wardens to Her Majesty’s Department of the Inland Revenue. We leave you alone to carry on your sleazy little business as you want. But if we put a magnifying glass to your life I bet we’d come up with all sorts. And we can. Believe me we can.
‘You’re right. We owe a few faces a few favours. Important faces. And they want to collect. So, we’ll leave you now, but we’ll be back. Tomorrow evening I think, and we’ll want some answers. And by then I think you’ll be in a position to supply them. Otherwise…well otherwise doesn’t bear thinking about, does it?’ He got to his feet and Patterson did the same. ‘So until then Mr Sharman it’s au revoir. Not goodbye.’
And they left, leaving only the dregs in the mugs and a few biscuit crumbs behind.
‘Shit!’ I said aloud after they’d gone. ‘Shit! Shit! Shit!’
51
Melanie arrived at six-thirty. By that time I was walking the floor. ‘What’s up?’ she said.
‘I’ve had the police here.’
‘What?’
‘The Met’s finest. A couple of chancers earning a backhander by giving me a hard time.’
‘What about?’
‘What do you think? Or rather who. Meena and Paul of course. Khan’s pulling a few strings.’
‘Do they know you’ve seen them?’
‘Not for sure. But the hounds have got the scent and they’re moving in.’
‘Oh Nick.’
‘Oh Melanie.’
‘You don’t seem to be treating this very seriously.’
‘Don’t you believe it. It’s serious all right. The Bill are threatening all sorts of nasty sanctions. And a good smacking as well of course.’
‘Can’t you do anything?’
‘Like what? Go to the police complaints board? I don’t think so. I can hear them laughing up their sleeves from here.’
‘I wish you’d never got into this, Nick.’
‘So do I. But whose bright idea was it that I got into the real world?’