Sirens

by Joseph Knox

  The room was dim. Dull winter sun bleeding through the curtains. I flipped on a light – that bare bright bulb in the centre of the ceiling – and confirmed what I thought I’d seen.

  Glen Smithson. Neil. The barman.

  Passed out on the sofa. His beard had grown out, taking over most of his face and all of his neck. His eyebrows nearly met in the middle. His right leg was encased in an almost satirically off-white cast, the exact colour of mould. The room was a wreck, and I recognized some of the chaos from when I’d found Zain Carver in a similar state.

  Newspapers, food wrappers, notebooks.

  The barman didn’t move when I went towards him, and I saw the small wooden box that Carver must have left. There was a needle beside him, but the Eight must have been clean. He didn’t look like Isabelle or the Sycamore Way kids, and I was relieved.

  I nudged him to no response. I slapped him and he murmured slightly. Finally, I heaved him up and into the bathroom. I dropped him in the shower, so his upper body would be hit by water, and turned it on.

  Ice cold.

  He sat up when it hit him, taking a deep, sharp breath like he was coming back from the dead. I let the water run a few more seconds, then turned it off. His quick, calculating eyes flashed about the bathroom, then up at me, scared, confused.

  ‘The fuck?’

  ‘I need to ask you some questions.’

  ‘Where am I?’

  ‘You’re in Zain Carver’s flat on Fog Lane.’ The name spooked him and he tried to sit up, sliding back down wet tiles. ‘He’s not here. He’s under arrest. You’d passed out so I put you in the shower.’ He tried to look around me. ‘I came alone.’

  ‘You can leave, same fucking way.’

  ‘I can’t leave until you’ve answered some questions.’

  ‘Got shit to say.’

  I crouched down so I wasn’t standing over him. ‘You’ve got shit in your veins, Glen. Shit for friends and shit to say. They’re all things you can change.’

  ‘You? You’re gonna come here, dishin’ out motivational speeches? You ruined my fuckin’ life.’ He was already crying and started to shiver. ‘They broke my leg …’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, standing up. Looking at him then I meant it.

  I let him cry a minute while I went next door and found a towel. ‘Here.’ He squinted at the towel for a second like it was a trick, then he took it and began drying himself. While he did, I looked at his cast. A new colour, somewhere between yellow, brown and grey. It smelled awful. He saw me watching and began towelling it down, embarrassed.

  ‘You should get that seen to.’

  ‘Can’t show my face outside, though, can I?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘White’ll kill me.’

  ‘If he wanted you dead he’d have done it already.’

  He looked up at me.

  ‘You’re not important enough.’ I sat down on the bathroom floor. ‘Don’t be offended. I’m not important enough, either. We’re the only ones left, Glen. Isabelle’s dead. Carver’s in prison. Sarah Jane’s left town and Cath’s missing.’

  ‘’Bout Grip?’

  ‘He’s dead. White killed him, the same night he broke your leg. So, if he’d wanted to do you as well …’ What colour there had been in Glen’s face drained from it. But he nodded, finally.

  ‘How …’ He frowned. ‘How long’s it been? Since we saw each other?’

  ‘A few weeks.’

  ‘You look older,’ he said, like I was trying to trick him.

  I nodded. I felt it. ‘I’ve got a suggestion. Answer some questions, off the record, and help me clear this up. That’ll be your part in it over. After that, we’ll get you something to eat. Get you to a hospital. They’ll take care of that leg and get you straight again, if that’s what you want.’

  He screwed his eyes shut. An unexpected show of kindness can be more effective than threats or shouting. It can make a person come apart after too long holding the same pose. He cried again, holding the towel over his face, then looked up at me, scared.

  ‘Did you kill Isabelle?’

  ‘No. And I know you were with Mel that night.’ I got up and held out a hand to help him. ‘So let’s talk about who did.’

  5

  I sat him back on the sofa in the messy studio room.

  I began by asking about his relationship with Isabelle Rossiter. He told me they’d met for the first time in Rubik’s, a few months ago. That tallied with what Sarah Jane had said about Isabelle doing the rounds for a while before running away from home. Glen had seen that Isabelle was underage from the off and hadn’t wanted to serve her in the bar. He’d been careful not to turn her away, though.

  ‘Looked like she had nowhere else to go.’ He sniffed, wiped at his face to cover some emotion. I assumed he knew the feeling.

  ‘Were you sleeping together?’ He looked away. ‘No judgement, Glen. I just need to know.’

  ‘Why? Why do you need to know?’

  ‘She was being, or had been, sexually abused. If she slept with you, you might know something – even if you think you don’t.’

  ‘Know something like what?’

  I shrugged. ‘What she liked, what she didn’t, what her experience was …’

  ‘This a fit-up?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Yer not pinning that on me.’

  ‘I’m not pinning anything on anyone. It was a member of her family. I just thought there was a chance you might know something, if you were close.’

  ‘Member of her family?’ He slumped down on the sofa, ran a hand over his face. ‘Jesus. Listen, I liked her. Much for her gob as her looks. We kissed once, but nothing else. She …’

  ‘She what?’

  ‘She started losing her breath. Crying.’

  ‘Like a panic attack?’

  He spoke distractedly. ‘I s’pose …’

  ‘Did she tell you what it was about?’

  ‘Dint ask. Worried it was me. What member of her family?’ I didn’t say anything. ‘Her dad?’

  ‘Did she ever talk about him?’

  ‘Nah,’ he said, thinking about something else. ‘I once asked her why she’d run off, though.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘She said she hadn’t really.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘She said: “He knows where I am, right enough.” ’

  I asked about his deal with the Bug and he confirmed what I’d been told. He was selling stuff on the side. He’d thought I was trying to get Isabelle drunk the night before she died. The night he’d thrown a drinks crate in my face and I flushed his drugs.

  After that, he’d run.

  First to Mel’s, then to the Siders, and finally to the Bug after Sheldon White broke his leg.

  ‘Tell me about that night,’ I said. ‘What happened after I left Rubik’s?’

  ‘White took me in. Was sound with me at first. Then he started pressin’ for details on the Franchise. How it worked. Went in there knowing I’d have to give some things away, but it didn’t stop. Just got more and more intense. They kept me awake for a few days, out at the Burnside. Made me drink the whole time. Do lines.’ He went quiet for a minute, then swallowed. ‘I told ’em everything.

  ‘That last day, they put me in a van. Drove a bit. Scary stuff. I started wonderin’ how useful I’d be with nothing left to say. Was actually relieved to pull up at Rubik’s. White wanted me to show him about. See things first-hand. We had a scout, then I saw you, sat in Cath’s usual booth. I pulled Sheldon aside, told him about you. What I knew.’ He looked at me. ‘I fucking hated you, Waits. He buys us a drink and we sit on the other side of the room, watching you from behind. He says we’ll give you a scare. I never thought he’d end up hurting Cath …’

  ‘What happened to her? Once I’d left?’

  ‘I was drunk. High. Don’t remember it too well.’ He went on quietly. ‘They argued, though.’ I thought of her hand going protectively to her stomach when she swo
re on her life for me.

  ‘Did he hurt her, Glen?’

  I could see him concentrating, trying to remember. ‘They were talking about Joanna Greenlaw. Zain’s ex from back in the day.’

  ‘What about her?’

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t know. Just remember the name being thrown about. In the end, she agreed to leave with him, I think. Go somewhere. I was really spinning by this point and walked out with ’em. White turns to me an’ says: “Bye then, Glen.”

  ‘I was respectful. Fuckin’ respectful. But I said, didn’t he owe me anything? For all the help I’d given him?’ Glen touched his broken leg. ‘Well, this is what I got.’

  Sheldon White had beaten Glen in the street, then broken his leg by stomping, repeatedly, on the knee.

  ‘Had his hand round my throat and I started to go light-headed, but then Cath …’ He was shaking, scared at the memory. ‘Is there someone outside?’ he said, trying to look past me.

  I glanced over my shoulder. ‘There’s no one outside, I promise.’

  ‘I can hear someone.’

  ‘There’s no one there. Go on.’

  ‘Well, Cath calmed him down. Got her hand on his arm, started rubbing it. Talking into his ear. She gave him the come-on and he got off me.’ The come-on.

  ‘Where did she go?’

  ‘With him. Right off.’

  ‘They must have said where.’

  ‘They didn’t.’

  ‘What direction did they go in?’

  ‘Didn’t see …’

  Useless. It felt like he’d told me nothing. I tried to think. ‘Greenlaw,’ I said. ‘How did you work out where she was?’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Joanna Greenlaw, Zain’s ex. You gave Mel from Rubik’s a note about her …’

  ‘That was Cath.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘When White got off me, she pressed this letter in my hand, said to get it to you. I was gonna keep it. But I didn’t know what it meant. When I heard Cath had never turned up, I felt bad. Wondered if it might help.’ He looked up at me, hopeful, keen to have done something, anything, right. ‘Did it help …?’

  ‘In a way,’ I said. ‘Do you know where they might have gone, Glen?’

  ‘Burnside somewhere. Was always in the van when they moved us. You think she’s …?’

  ‘Is there anywhere else she might have gone?’

  ‘Like where?’

  ‘Like anywhere. Anything she mentioned? Friends? Family?’

  ‘Not to me.’

  ‘What about other Carver places?’

  ‘Wha?’

  ‘He owns this place, Fairview … There must be more.’

  ‘None I know about.’

  I stared at him.

  There was a cough from behind the door. Glen tried to get up, but put the weight on his bad leg and sat down again in pain. The Bug walked into the room. The twitches and tics were gone. He spoke to the barman in a low, steady voice.

  ‘Now that’s not what you told me, Glen.’

  Glen looked at me, panicking. ‘You said you were alone.’

  ‘What’s he talking about, Glen?’

  The barman had started to cry. The Bug stepped forward, cradled his head.

  ‘Shhh, come on now, you need to let that go. Tell Aidan what you told me.’

  Smithson sniffed. Wiped his face. ‘Cath gave me a key an’ all …’

  ‘A key to what?’ He didn’t answer. ‘A key to what?’

  ‘Some flat in London,’ said the Bug. ‘One of Carver’s. A safe house, I believe, for when it hits the fan. She gave him an address, too. Told him to pass it on to you.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I …’

  ‘He wanted to see if there was anything there he could sell first,’ said the Bug.

  I couldn’t even be angry with him. It was a direction. It was hope.

  ‘The key and the address,’ I said. ‘Now.’

  We helped Smithson up, down the stairs and out to the car. None of us spoke on the way to the Royal Infirmary. The Bug took the car as close to the entrance as he could get it and turned to Glen. ‘You’ll be all right from here.’

  Glen nodded, seeming to take some comfort in that assessment.

  ‘I hope you find her,’ he said, before he got out and limped away. The Bug sat back in his seat and sighed. Then he took the address from his jacket pocket and held it up to the light.

  ‘Who is this Catherine, then?’ he said. When I didn’t answer he put the note back in his pocket, smiled to himself and started the car. ‘It was funny, listening to you talk in there. Anyone’d think you cared about the girl …’

  6

  The Bug merged on to the M56 without saying anything else. Took it to the M6 and kept on going. Stoke. Birmingham. Milton Keynes. A hundred places with no names at all. He stayed a steady five to ten miles an hour above the speed limit and I was grateful. Tired but expectant. Willing the car forward through grey skies, grey streets and grey people. It was a four-hour drive, and neither of us spoke for the first one. I realized I’d been grateful for the madness. Without it, memories swelled, bruised and blossomed, until I thought I must be wearing them on my face like black eyes. I turned and looked out the window.

  Grey Britain.

  I couldn’t help but wonder what we’d find at Carver’s London flat. On one level, I hoped it wouldn’t be Catherine. Like a coward, I let myself imagine her, happy, on the other side of the world somewhere. I thought of Grip, tortured, scared, murdered. Like a coward, I hoped I’d never see Catherine again.

  ‘There something between you and this girl, then?’ said the Bug. I saw a sign for a service station.

  TIREDNESS CAN KILL.

  ‘Can we pull in here?’

  ‘Hm,’ said the Bug. ‘You’re the boss.’ He indicated for the turn. I needed to make a call to Superintendent Parrs. A mobile would be stupid. A phone in the city would have placed me too easily. A service station on a motorway seemed like a more infuriating place to be traced to.

  It was still early. After ten on a Thursday morning. The Bug rummaged on the back seat for a neon-pink wig and headed towards the canteen.

  He shrugged. ‘I’ll go put a scare into the straights.’ I watched him go, then went to the bank of payphones at the station’s entrance and dialled. It only rang once.

  Click. ‘Parrs speaking.’

  ‘It’s me.’

  ‘Waits,’ he said. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Laskey’s our man.’

  He took a breath. ‘You need to come in, now.’

  ‘I can’t do that.’

  ‘You’ve been playing both sides, son. They say they found you at the Greenlaw house last night. You assaulted Laskey. You ran.’

  ‘That’s not what happened.’

  ‘It’s what her fucking ladyship Chief Superintendent Chase thinks happened.’ His voice dropped. ‘You’re lucky you even caught me. I’m clearing my desk.’

  I held the phone away from my ear, thought about hanging up.

  ‘Riggs can back me up if you apply some pressure,’ I said finally. ‘Laskey had him believing they were under orders from you. I assume that’s a lie. An easy one to catch him in.’

  Parrs didn’t say anything.

  ‘They had me in headquarters at gone midnight yesterday. All but kicked my head in.’

  ‘Central Park? There’ll be a record.’

  ‘They didn’t book me in but if Laskey hasn’t got to the tapes yet they’ll make for interesting viewing.’

  ‘Assuming I believe you, what did he want?’

  ‘I think he wanted to see how much I know. How much of it he can spin.’

  ‘What do you know?’

  ‘Glen Smithson,’ I said. ‘Checked himself into the Royal Infirmary this morning with a broken leg. Find him.’

  ‘Why do I know that name?’

  ‘A rape trial against him collapsed a few years ago due to missing evidence: Laskey’s doing.’


  ‘Why?’

  ‘Smithson was a bar manager for the Franchise at the time. He’s recently fallen foul of them. Recently fallen foul of everyone. He’ll probably give you the lot, if you can keep him safe.’

  Parrs didn’t say anything.

  ‘You need to ground Laskey now. He’ll be cleaning up his mess while we speak.’

  Parrs waited. Five seconds or so for me to twist in. ‘No, son. I need to go home and you need to turn yourself in.’

  I steadied myself. Looked around.

  ‘What was your relationship with Joanna Greenlaw?’

  He spoke quietly. ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘I just found her body under a bath. Answer the fucking question.’

  Steady. ‘Not what you think.’

  ‘Tell me what I think.’

  ‘I think you’ve had a long night.’

  ‘You took the picture of her that ended up in the appeal.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘She’s standing in the safe house, so it was you or another cop. She looks like she’s with someone she trusts, though. She’s about to laugh or frown.’

  ‘Aidan Waits, telling me about people.’

  I waited.

  ‘Yes, I took it.’

  ‘Were you sleeping with her?’

  ‘Sleeping with her? Jesus Christ, son. Don’t be so fucking squeamish.’

  ‘Did you kill her?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you leak information that allowed the Franchise or the Siders to find her?’ I could hear him breathing into the phone. ‘She’d agreed to testify against Carver. She’d been working against Sheldon White for years. She had secrets with you …’

  ‘I was keeping her safe,’ he said, a rare edge of emotion in his voice.

  ‘How did you miss her, crushed under a bath?’

  ‘How did you find her?’

  ‘We’re not talking about me.’

  ‘No, son, we never are.’

  ‘Did you have anything to do with Joanna Greenlaw’s disappearance?’ My voice sounded strained, insane.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Find the surveillance from Central Park. Interview Glen Smithson.’

  ‘We’re not done here, Waits. Tell me where you are.’

  ‘I can’t trust you.’