Time Lapse

by Pete Trewin

  ‘Mr Dooley. We’ve been burgled.’ He pointed at a smashed window high up. ‘Must have been kids. Window too small for man.’

  ‘What did they take? Chicken fried rice?’

  ‘No time for joke. They took the oil drum.’

  ‘Fucking hell,’ exclaimed Jimmy. ‘Do you think they knew where the stuff was hidden?’

  Chin shrugged.

  ‘I don’t think they came in through there,’ Jimmy said. ‘This isn’t kids, it’s an inside job. They must have known where the stuff was hidden. I bet they just came through the door with a key. Smashed the window to make it look like a burglary. Who else has got keys to this place?’

  ‘Only Mr Sefton, the landlord.’

  ‘Right, let’s be ‘aving yer!’ boomed a voice from the door. A man in a brown mac and sporting a big white muzzy and a shock of white hair stepped forward. A green trilby hat perched jauntily on his head. A uniformed copper was behind him.

  ‘Hands off cocks, ‘ands on socks!’ the big man shouted like an old-fashioned sergeant major. ‘Stand by your beds. Just getting some practice in for you, Jimmy. It’ll stand you in good stead where you’re going.’

  ‘Detective Sergeant Bert Robinson,’ Jimmy said. Chung’s head was back in his hands. ‘Popped in for some chips on the way to the pub, have yer?’

  ‘Very funny, Dooley, you ‘orrible little creepy-crawly!’ Robinson barked, staying with the impersonation of a sergeant major. ‘Ave you got anything to report? Like the whereabouts of a Mr Edward Sefton?’

  ‘Nothing to report, sah!’ Jimmy barked back. ‘I think you will find no trace of any illicit substances here, sah! If that is what you are looking for, sah!’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Nicked. I’m talking about illegal cooking oil, of course. According to Mr Chung here they’ve robbed the lot. Best check if any of the scallywagons on that estate over there are leaving a smell of frying chips behind them.’

  ‘You stay where you are while we check the place. Braithwaite, call them in.’

  The uniformed copper went outside.

  ‘I thought you were suspended,’ Jimmy said, putting on a friendly tone.

  ‘How did you know that? Well I’m back and I’m going to put you and your crew behind bars where you belong.’

  ‘I think you’ll find that there’s a distinct lack of evidence, Bert. Hey all this talk of chips has got me hungry. It smells like mine are ready!’

  THIRTY ONE

  Stroller shifted his damaged knee into a more comfortable position as he sat on the grass under the tree in the park. He could hear the jangle of swings and the excited voices of children off in the distance somewhere. The park was deserted, apart from a man walking a black Labrador a few hundred yards away. The sun was low now and he felt sleepy. No good going to a doctor or the hospital. They might check with the authorities. Maybe go to a chemist for one of those elastic bandages and a handful of ibuprofen pills. Yes, that would be the thing to do.

  He put his hand in his pocket and stroked the smooth outline of the knife. You couldn’t beat a Stanley knife. Easily hidden, fits nicely in the hand. Extendible blade so you won’t cut yourself accidentally. Always have a new blade in so it cuts through flesh neatly and efficiently.

  He reached for his mobile.

  Chris made a cup of tea and collapsed into an armchair. The sun was going down and shadows were lengthening in the room.

  He began to doze off.

  His mobile went.

  ‘He tried to get my son!’

  Alison’s voice was tight. She was just about in control.

  ‘Who?’ Chris said. ‘Where?’

  ‘At school. Emile had bunked off. He went into this railway cutting and this psycho tried to grab him. Emile says that it was a big bastard with a ponytail. Excuse my language.’

  ‘Built like a brick shithouse? Even uglier and meaner than Sefton?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I’ve got him on the CCTV at Sefton’s house. It’s Stroller.’

  ‘This changes everything, Chris. He’s threatening my kid.’

  ‘Is Emile alright?’

  ‘Yes. He thinks it’s funny.’

  ‘What did this...man say?’

  ‘Not much. He wants the money. He murdered Sefton. And he’ll murder me and Emile if he has to. He said he knows where I live and where my kid goes to school.’

  ‘I’ve not heard that one before.’

  ‘Don’t joke about it. I’ve decided. I’m on my own and my kid’s under threat. I’ve got no protection now Herbie’s laid up. I know you’re probably in with the plods but I’m prepared to join forces to get this sorted.’

  ‘Listen, Alison, I know who this man is. We hid the money from a robbery. He must have tracked us down. He wants the money.’

  ‘What was this robbery?’

  ‘I don’t know. We used to break into cars. We found the money in a sack hidden in the back of a Land Rover. Forty grand. Together with a revolver and five bullets. The Land Rover was parked outside a house where there were lots of drunken parties. The obvious conclusion is that it was drugs money. But then there had been a robbery recently in which a security guard had been shot and killed. And the revolver had an empty chamber.’

  ‘Sounds a bit serious for a bunch of kids. How old were you?’

  ‘Ed had to buy the crisps and cider to celebrate. He was the only one who looked old enough.’ He swallowed hard. ‘This fellow with us threatened to grass us up so Ed did something really unpleasant to him. I’m sorry, Alison, I can’t talk about it over the phone.’

  There was a long silence.

  ‘Sounds like the Mr Ed we all cherish and love,’ she said. ‘Look, Kenny’s dead along with the rest of his crew. Drowned. I don’t even know exactly where. I’ve had to take over. I told Sefton to pack in the drugs stuff. There’s only a bit of it still going on anyway. I’m concentrating on controlling the business side. It’s separate from the other stuff. How do I know you won’t report all this back to the cops or the NCA or whoever you’re working for? They’ll want to reclaim our assets, won’t they? Actually, if they did, a hundred people would go on the dole. And the last thing I want is to go back to prison. I couldn’t stand that, Chris. If you think that what Sefton did was too terrible to talk about you should try a spell in a women’s prison.’

  There was a long silence.

  ‘OK,’ he said. ‘I’ll help, but only until we sort out this Stroller character. Lock all your windows and doors. I’ll be over in a minute.

  ‘OK,’ Alison said, pouring two glasses of Merlot. She motioned Chris to the armchair and sat down on the sofa. Here’s the deal. If I tell you about prison, you tell me about what Ed did to that poor man.’

  ‘Confession time?’.

  ‘You got it.’

  ‘Let’s toss a coin for who goes first.’

  ‘I’d have thought gentlemen would offer to go first.’

  He took a sip of wine.

  ‘It’s not a pretty tale,’ he said.

  ‘Neither is mine. Come on, get it off your chest. Share it with the group.’ She paused. She had masked the cut with make-up. ‘Look, I had some bad experiences myself when I was a kid. And later, when I was…when …’ She took a gulp of wine. ‘I had counseling in prison. Just tell it like it was. How it felt. How it smelt. Shit and all. It’s the only way.’

  ‘O.K., shrink, I’ve warned you.’ He took a deep breath. ‘It all started when we were fifteen and we had this gang. We needed money to go to Redcar. It was a seaside resort near Middlesbrough. I can remember sitting in the gloryhole at home, the air thick with the smell of the grit from the coke ovens coming from my dad's greasy mac. The smell still strong even though he hadn’t worked for months. The taste dry and dirty on the back of the tongue. I found a handful of betting slips and a roll of fivers in the pocket of the mac. Then the door to the kitchen opened. Through the crack between the door and the jamb, I saw my dad shuffling in, opening the oven and ta
king out his dried-up dinner. I can clearly remember watching my dad chewing the meat, his jowls moving backwards and forwards as he ground away deep in thought; his ears and brylcreemed hair moving in time to the rhythm of his jaws.’

  Alison crossed her legs and took a swig of wine.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’ve never told anyone any of this. I’ve tried to not even think about it. Just bear with me.’ He closed his eyes and took some deep breaths. ‘We went to the railway wagon. The smell of dried-out animal hides. And the taste of the glue factory - where they boil bones - in the air. I tell, you what, Alison, that’s the sort of smell that makes you aware of your own mortality. And all the time, Ed’s binjer burning like a little red eye as he dragged on it in the darkness.’

  ‘So we finally get to the delightful Ed Sefton.’

  ‘That’s right. “Show me the way to go home,” he sang, swopping swigs from a bottle of cider with me and Porky. “I’m tired and I wanna go to bed. I had a little drink about an hour ago and it’s gone right to my head. No matter where I roam, over land or sea or foam, you will always hear me singing this song, show me the way to go home!” Do you remember that one?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘“Let’s go rat hunting,” Ed said. We skipped over the railway lines with our iron spears at the ready, stopping to throw the heavy, rusty bolts that littered the ground around the wagons. Heavy iron thumping into rotting wood. I went along the river while Ed and Porky beat the bushes. A rat was sitting on a wall, cleaning its whiskers; very clear in the sunlight. Its back was a fawn colour, and between that and the off yellow of its belly was a thin stripe of pearl grey. The rat sat up, paws in the air, suddenly alert. It leapt down from the wall, and shot off along a well-trampled, greasy run, and up onto the embankment. Ed got him with his spear, and we carried him back to the wagon, the little thing struggling on the iron bar thrust through its belly. We put it in an empty cardboard box, Cornflakes I think it was, and threw it on the fire. At first its fur hissed and crackled, then its flesh began to sizzle.’

  ‘Charming.’

  ‘And later, Ed lying on his back in the wagon, playing with himself.’

  ‘I hope I’ve not guessed what comes next.’

  ‘“Why are you doing that?” I asked. “Because it gives you a thrill.” Ed had a silly little smile on his face. “He doesn’t know nowt about sex and that,” said Porky. He was flicking through one of the mags. They both had a good laugh at this. “Let’s go to Redcar, then,” Ed said shortly afterwards. “And check out the gash.” Ed had got a clapped out Bedford van from somewhere. Probably stolen it. “I hope you’ve all got some dosh for the booze,” he said. “I bet Paterson hasn’t,” said Porky. “Never has two ha’pennies to rub together.” “At least I’m not a spoiled mother’s boy.” “Your family’s as poor as church mice. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Paterson’s kid.” “And your ma’s like a witch,” said Ed. "Well your ma ran off with a toy boy didn’t she?” I said. “No wonder your dad looks shagged out all the time.” “I hate scroungers,” said Ed. “Fellers on the pan crack.”

  ‘What’s the pan crack?’ she said.

  ‘It’s a Middlesbrough expression for the dole. Anyhow, I awoke in the dark, drunk in the front of the van. I knew I’d be sick if I moved. Porky clapped out on the seat beside me. The sweet fungal smell of Ed’s socks. Low voices in the back. Ed’s voice: “I love you, come on, I love you.” Then a girl’s voice going: “No, no, I don't want to, I don't want to.” It took a long time – it went on for what seemed like hours. I wanted to laugh and tell Ed to shut up but I knew that if I moved I would be sick. I fell asleep. When I woke up I discovered that I’d been sick all over myself.’

  ‘So Ed raped the girl?’ said Alison.

  ‘Yep. The next day, a spot on my face developed into a lump which kept growing until it was the size of a large glace cherry. I was sent to the doctor who was fascinated by it. He called the other doctor in to have a look, commenting that it was the largest he’d ever seen.’

  ‘So all this is about an attack of teenage spots?’

  ‘Fraid so. At that age it means a lot. Anyhow, this doctor prescribed a good dose of penicillin and it started to go down, though it was still very noticeable. Guess what Ed called me?’

  She shrugged.

  ‘“Tit face.” In front of the entire class. And when I told him to stop he said: “Oh listen to little diddums, the seven stone weakling. What are you going to do? Skweam and skweam? Can you imagine any bird snogging with him?” That was when I said that one day I’d kill him. But then we found the money and the gun. We were on a high. All the bad blood forgotten. And the next night we beat up a teacher.’

  ‘Nice. What had he done to deserve that?’

  ‘He was a sarcastic bastard. He deserved it. I know that sounds awful but it’s true. Porky blamed me and Ed, making out that we led him on. When it was all Porky’s idea. We were suspended and sent home with letters for our parents. Ed and me met outside school and walked to where Ed had parked the stolen van. We tried to think of what to do. If Porky had grassed us up over the assault on the teacher then he might do the same over the stolen money and gun. We agreed that something had to be done about Porky’s treachery.’

  He glanced at her. Her face was expressionless.

  ‘We intercepted him on his way home. Ed drove the van and we took Porky into a wood to bury the money and the gun. Ed intimated that he had found a den in the wood complete with car seats and porn mags. Danish porn mags from the boats. In the car on the ride over, Porky was obviously terrified, but he relaxed when we passed a bottle of cider and some ciggies round. We all got drunk in the car in the twilight on cider then Ed led Porky into the trees. To find the den. Porky glanced back at me with a “help me” look but I turned away.’

  He winced then closed his eyes.

  ‘Nearly finished. I smoked the last ciggy and finished off the cider. I didn’t know what was going on. Should I intervene? I hated Porky as much as I hated Ed but that didn’t mean that I could stand by and let Ed kill him. Eventually, I went to have a look. Porky was on his face, with his trousers around his ankles. Ed was on top of him, raping him. Porky’s hands were tied behind his back and a rope was pulled tight around his neck. Blood on his head. Ed was concentrating and he didn’t notice me. The bag containing the money was lying by a big tree. Ed was completely engrossed in his work. Puffing and blowing, snorting and panting. I got the gun out of the bag.’

  There was a loud hiss as Alison took in her breath.

  ‘No sound from Porky. Then he sort of gurgled. “Get off him,” I said, pointing the gun. I didn’t know how to cock it, just pointed and hoped for the best. Ed turned. I stepped back in horror. His face was distorted with lust, fear and hate. He jumped up and ran away, or he tried to, for the trousers around his ankles kept tripping him up. I couldn’t stop myself from laughing out loud at the sight. I dug out a hole in the bole of the tree. I hid the bag with the money there - put the gun in as well - and covered it with compost and leaves. I crouched for a while on my hands and knees, getting my breath back. I made the decision and ran for it. And that’s it. I’m not proud of any of it.’ He lay with his eyes still shut. ‘Now it’s your turn,’ he said at last.

  She sloshed the wine in her glass.

  ‘It seems to me, Chris, that for twenty years you’ve thought that you helped to kill this Porky, but in reality you saved his life. Sefton would most likely have finished him off. Have you looked at it like that?’

  Chris turned and stared at her, thinking it through. After several moments he looked away.

  ‘You put me in prison, Chris,’ she said. ‘It wasn’t a pleasant experience.’

  ‘I suppose it wasn’t nice for you but I was only doing my job.’

  ‘Nice isn’t the word I would use. Going from what I was before was total humiliation. Ostracised by my family. Kid put into care. And as for inside. The constant noise wears you down. No one speaks, every
one shouts. And there’s the people who are off their heads. And the ones detoxing. And then there’s the smells. The toilets always seem to be blocked. And the dikey members of staff are always coming on to you. And some cons don’t like it if you had what they consider a posh job before you were sentenced. You can get along with most people but there are the odd ones who are just trouble. This one woman tried to bully me. Six feet tall and built like a brick shithouse. She picked a fight one day in the arts class over nothing. She grabbed a handful of my hair and tried to pull it out by the roots. “Think you’re above us, don’t you, Lady Muck?” she breathed in my ear whenever I tried to move, twisting her fingers more tightly in my hair. “Madam hoity toity. All fur coat and no knickers.”’

  ‘That’s not you, Alison.’

  ‘Thank you. But in there it’s different. Then she got her hands around my throat and tried to strangle me. Anyway, someone pressed the emergency button and Kenny, who was in the men’s class next door, rushed in and pulled her hands away from my throat. Saved my life. That’s how I met him. Then half a dozen warders exploded through the door. It took all six to overpower this bitch. A women’s prison an easy option? Don’t you believe it. So I trained hard in the gym, bashed weights and pedalled bike machines until I was gasping. But it’s not the noise or the smells or the bullies that wear you down so much as the loss of status and worrying about your kids. It’s not as bad as Prisoner Cell Block H. They do try and give you support. But basically it’s shite.’ She looked at him. ‘I suppose you’d better stay in the spare room. ‘What are you grinning at? You’re not going to try anything are you? All that stuff from the old days is in my past. No drugs, no sex, no rock and roll.’

  ‘Come on, Alison,’ he laughed. ‘That’s not my style. I’ll shack up in the spare room.’

  ‘What is your style?’

  ‘More subtle.’

  ‘Well try anything, subtle or not, and I’ll dump you on your arse like a sack of turnips. I’m a bit of a martial arts expert if you didn’t know. As my dad used to say – sling your hook, lad.’