by Helen Black
‘For what?’
Angie shrugged and ground out her dog-end under her toe.
‘I just bloody well swept up,’ the owner shouted from behind his greasy counter.
With her back still to him, Angie gave him the finger. ‘Whatever it was must have been pretty serious cos Grace said he lost the plot and cleaned the floor with her face.’
‘Did she go to the police?’ Lilly asked.
‘Nah. The next I heard she’d put the kids in care.’
That dirty Russian motherfucker. What gave him the right to make threats?
Max felt as if his body were on fire as the fury coursed through him. He reached into his pocket for his knife. The blade felt smooth and cool in his palm. He’d show Eric what happened to those who crossed him.
He’d cut him like a pig if he ever tried it again.
Max breathed hard and reached into another pocket. The rock was wrapped in cling film and had a slight bluish tinge, like a fresh bruise. He rolled it between his thumb and his forefinger.
A few weeks before she died, Grace had told him to knock it on the head. ‘You think you can take it or leave it, but you can’t. It takes over.’
Another one who thought she could tell him what to do. But she learned the hard way that nothing and no one controlled Max Hardy.
The pipe was still hot when Max put it back into his pocket. The effects of the crack were already wearing off and he would happily have smoked another but he only ever carried one rock at a time. It was a golden rule, and discipline was easy for the strong-minded. Only the weak were out of control.
Through the windscreen of the BMW he saw one of Fat Eric’s girls leave the club and head over the road to the all-night café. She remained in the eye-line of the man on the door at all times. When she flicked her hair out of her eyes he could see it was Mandy.
He waited for a few minutes until she came out, clutching a sandwich half wrapped in a paper bag.
‘Hey, Mandy,’ he called.
The woman looked up and smiled but she didn’t approach the car.
‘Come here a second, baby,’ he said.
Mandy hesitated and glanced up at the silent observer on the door of the club. He had turned away momentarily to speak to a group of drunken young men trying to gain access to some pliant women.
She moved towards the car and bent her head towards Max. Her breath smelled of salty bacon. It made Max feel sick.
‘Someone was asking about me,’ he said.
It was a statement, not a question, which Mandy ignored.
‘Do you know who she was?’ Max asked.
‘Maybe,’ she said.
Max sighed and opened his glove compartment. Inside was a kilo of heroin measured out into clear plastic bags ready to be sold individually for £10. He pressed one into Mandy’s palm and closed her fingers around it.
Although not an addict, Mandy, like most of Eric’s girls, couldn’t resist an opportunity to numb her brain for just a few hours. Anticipating the small taste of freedom it offered, Mandy tucked the brown into the greasy paper bag.
‘I no idea who she is …’
Max kissed his teeth and considered breaking one of Mandy’s fingers.
‘… but she sitting right there.’
Max followed Mandy’s eye-line to the window of the all-night café, where an attractive redhead was getting up to leave.
She was one of those women who don’t try too hard. Who don’t need to.
Max was still appreciating the woman’s good looks when he followed her to her car.
The air from the open window fanned her face. Lilly held up her hair at the nape of her neck and felt the delicious chill as the wind caressed the dampness at her hairline.
She checked the mirror and tutted at the BMW that had been hanging on to her tailgate all the way from Tye Cross.
‘Do you want to sit in my lap?’ she muttered, and pressed the brake to force the driver to slow down and keep his distance.
When she arrived at the Clayhill Estate she sent a text to Jack asking him to meet her at number 58, and began the climb up the stairs, her legs heavy in the heat. The walkway up ahead was empty and silent and Lilly wished she’d arranged to meet Jack tomorrow. She’d been so desperate to prove Mrs Mitchell wrong she hadn’t considered how foolish it was to parade around the estate in the dark. Not long ago someone had been murdered here. She forced herself to turn her mind to the case.
Angie had confirmed that Grace was desperate to get away, but from what? The obvious answer was Max. She wanted to escape from him enough to make numerous applications for a housing transfer and even to threaten Max with the police when he discovered her plan. What was he doing to Grace that he hadn’t done a thousand times before? What was sufficiently bad to stand out in a life already heaped high with crap?
Behind her Lilly heard the sound of breaking glass as if a bottle had been smashed. She turned to the noise and caught sight of a figure darting into the shadows.
‘Is anyone there?’ Lilly’s voice was tight. ‘Jack, is that you?’
She peered into the gloom and tried to make sense of the shapes. She could see nothing but was sure she could hear someone panting.
‘I’m calling the police,’ said Lilly, and waved her mobile as if to prove her intentions.
A dark form inched towards her, the rasping louder. Lilly screamed and dropped her phone as it ran across her path, a tongue lolling in the heat.
A dog. A bloody dog. The estate was full of them, roaming from burger box to bin. Most were left to their own devices but well-loved. Just like the kids.
Lilly laughed at her own stupidity and nervousness. She was from an estate herself and knew that danger didn’t lurk in every corner. St George’s Estate, where she had grown up, had housed every cliché from burning tyres in the play area to the man at 37 who slid from an upstairs window onto the garage door below to evade the police. So regular was his unorthodox exit that Lilly couldn’t remember the door ever being closed.
The locals called the estate ‘The Dragon’, alluding as much to the heroin that was rife on its streets as to any connection to England’s patron saint. Rough it certainly was, yet Lilly had never come to harm aside from the odd wallop for going to the ‘posh’ school.
Her dad had been right, the south was making her soft.
She paused to catch her breath outside Grace’s flat and her thoughts returned to Kelsey. ‘If I find out what you’re up to, Max, I’ll find out why Grace had to die,’ she said to herself.
‘There ain’t nothing to find out, lady.’
Lilly spun round at the sound of the voice behind her. Too late she tried to push past the black man blocking her path. Instead he grabbed her shoulders and leaned into her.
‘Who are you?’ Lilly whispered, her shoulder blades pressed against the door.
As he continued to apply pressure the door gave way and Lilly fell backwards into the flat.
‘I’m your worst fucking nightmare.’
Jack reread Lilly’s text and deleted it. He was determined not to spend the next two hours analysing the six-word message for hidden meaning.
He’d tried to tell her that he couldn’t push this line of inquiry any more but she wouldn’t listen. She never did.
And now she wanted him over there. At this hour. Ridiculous. He went back to the cookery channel, where a gremlin of a presenter in strawberry-pink hot pants jumped up and down while ‘an internationally renowned’ chef called John Something-or-other attempted to make a tasty and nutritious meal for six out of a tin of tomatoes, a bag of frozen peas and a mango.
He switched channels and tried to interest himself in a rerun of University Challenge.
‘In Euripedes’ Hecuba, who killed the Trojan Queen’s son, Polydorus, and threw his body into the sea?’
Hmmm.
Anyhow, Lilly only wanted to prove the old battle- axe at number 62 was lying, and bang on some more about Max Hardy. Frankly he could do without it. The C
hief Super had explicitly said to keep resources to a minimum, which definitely ruled out overtime on a Sunday night.
Jack slapped his forehead repeatedly and picked up his car keys.
‘McNally, you are one big eejit.’
Lilly landed on her back and a pain jarred her spine.
‘I don’t have any money,’ she said.
The man leered at her, his mouth pulled back from his teeth. ‘You think I’m a mugger? Baby, you’re gonna wish that I was.’
Lilly shuffled backwards through the hallway, following the trail of bloodstains left by Grace as her body was dragged from the kitchen to the bedroom. ‘So what do you want?’
The man followed her, his large frame blocking the way, blotting out the light. Eventually, Lilly could go no further and was pressed against the door to the bedroom.
‘What do you want?’ Lilly repeated.
The man leaned over her, the heat of his breath filling her face.
‘You should have stayed out of my business,’ he said.
Lilly’s mind raced. This wasn’t some kid desperate for his next fix, he was a man, easily thirty, smart, clean and well-dressed. Was he a dealer? Had she stumbled into something she wasn’t supposed to see?
‘I don’t know who you think I am but you’ve made a mistake. I don’t know you and I don’t care about your business,’ she said.
‘Is that so?’ asked the man.
Lilly nodded her head with the vigour of a toddler.
‘So tell me,’ he said, his mouth so close to her ear she could feel as well as hear his words, ‘what were you doing at Tye Cross asking about me?’
Lilly’s voice was barely above a whisper. ‘Max.’
She froze, but only for a second. This was the man who had killed Grace. She launched herself towards him with a force from deep inside her and toppled Max from his feet. He fell back with a crash that Lilly hoped would stun him for long enough for her to jump over him and head for the door. She rose to her feet and leaped. The door was only feet away and she was sure she could make it. She let out a roar of anticipation that turned to a howl when she felt strong hands grabbing at her legs and bringing her to the ground.
She scrabbled with her hands, reaching towards escape, but her body was held tight.
She tried to struggle free but Max was far too strong and pulled her down the hall. Holding her around the waist he forced them both towards the bedroom, kicked open the door and threw Lilly inside.
She landed on her back again and screamed in pain.
‘Keep quiet or I’ll kill you,’ said Max, and pulled out a flick knife.
Lilly had always considered herself to be one of life’s fighters. As a child she’d been bewildered to learn that the band played on as the Titanic sank into the black waves of the Atlantic. She would have made a boat out of the string section and paddled to safety on a cello.
If yesterday she’d been asked what she would do when faced with an armed attacker she would have envisaged herself kicking, scratching and biting. Instead she found herself paralysed by fear. She didn’t even scream, but held her breath, her eyes locked onto the blade arching towards her.
He was going to kill her. He was going to cut her open and she was going to die here, just like Grace had died.
She heard the pounding of her blood in her head and felt the sharp pain as the knife cut into her throat before everything went black.
Jack lumbered his way up the stairs to number 58 and found the police tape broken, the door wide open. Damn the woman. She shouldn’t be in there on her own, it was a crime scene for God’s sake. Authorised entry only, she knew that.
‘Couldn’t you just wait for me to get here?’ he called through the door.
He waited for the smart-arse reply but none came. In fact he could hear nothing at all.
‘Lilly?’
No answer. She’d been and gone and hadn’t even shut the door behind her. Was that bare-faced cheek or ineptitude?
Then he saw it. Lilly’s bag lay on the floor in the hallway, its contents escaping onto the carpet. A lipstick ground into the carpet, bright red and oily on top of an inky stain of Grace’s blood.
At the bottom of the hall the bedroom door was open. Jack crept towards it and peered through. Everything was dark. He waited until his eyes adjusted and he could make out a shape on the base of Grace’s bed.
He moved closer, his heart pounding. It was a body. It was Lilly.
‘No, no, no,’ he howled and sprinted forward.
Her neck and chest were sticky with warm blood. He held her head in both hands to find the wound but he couldn’t see a thing. The heavy velvet drapes obscured the daylight and Jack did not dare move to open them.
‘Oh my God, oh my God,’ he chanted as he searched his pockets for his mobile, his hands locating his wallet, his warrant card, a packet of chewing gum, anything but his phone.
At last he felt it deep in an inside pocket. He grabbed for it but his hands were slick and it fell from his fingers and landed on the side of Lilly’s face.
‘Ouch,’ she muttered, and passed out again.
Disoriented by the brightness of the neon strip directly above her and the violent way in which her aching body was being thrown from side to side, Lilly realised she was no longer at the Clayhill Estate.
She uttered the immortal lines. ‘Where am I?’
‘Could you not think of anything more original than that?’
Lilly turned towards the voice and focused on the face to her left. Soft lines and dark hair. It was Jack.
She shook her head, still confused.
‘You’re in an ambulance on the way to Luton General.’ His voice was gentle now. ‘I found you in Grace’s flat.’
Suddenly the mist lifted and Lilly could see the equipment all around her and could hear the wail of the siren outside.
She wasn’t dead, she was in an ambulance. Max had tried to kill her but somehow she wasn’t dead. Her system flooded with adrenalin, making her heart quicken and her skin prickle. It felt good.
She struggled to sit up. ‘Did you go to Mrs Mitchell’s flat?’
‘What?’
Lilly tried to clear the rasp in her throat. ‘Did you check out what she’s saying? I’m telling you she’s lying about seeing Kelsey with Grace.’
‘Jesus, woman, I was a bit busy to worry about that,’ said Jack.
‘You’ve got to arrest Max.’
Jack rubbed his head; he looked confused, frightened even. ‘Lie down, Lilly, you’ve lost a lot of blood.’
She instinctively felt the wad of bandages that had been taped over the wound under her chin.
‘He tried to kill me, Jack. It was him. He followed me to the flat and attacked me.’
‘We’ll discuss it when you’ve been seen by a doctor,’ Jack said.
‘He cut me open, Jack, just like Grace.’ Lilly’s voice began to fade. ‘He killed her, ask him.’
‘I will.’
The momentary high was gone and Lilly felt hot and sick. She let her head flop back down. As she looked up into Jack’s face she tried to smile but her facial muscles seemed frozen.
He lifted his hand and reached over to her face. She thought he was going to touch her cheek and longed for the contact but instead he patted her head.
‘I’m glad you’re all right.’
Yes, yes, yes. Lilly noted her doctor’s concern at her intention to discharge herself. Yes, she understood that she had suffered a serious injury. Yes, she realised that they would rather observe her progress through the night. Yes, she appreciated that she needed to rest.
She signed the forms precluding her from blaming anyone if she died in the next twenty-two years, collected her prescription of antibiotics and a flyer for a ‘victims of violent crime’ support group and called a taxi to collect her. More than anything in the world she wanted to see her son.
Jack poured himself a large glass of Jim Beam. He hardly ever drank spirits. Christmas and New Year perhaps,
but his hands were still shaking and, despite three attempts to scrub them with a wire brush that had scraped skin away, his fingernails were still encrusted with dried blood. Each cuticle was outlined like a perfect black rainbow. He held the glass with both hands and swallowed its contents in one gulp.
The sight of Lilly slumped on Grace’s bed played in his mind again and again.
He’d seen many dead bodies before. During his police training, at home, in Belfast, he’d come across worse, much worse. But this time it was different. This time he’d been terrified.
When he’d realised she was still alive he’d held her unconscious body in his arms until the ambulance had arrived, not wanting to let her go even then. As the medics stemmed the bleeding and inserted a drip he had continued to stroke her hair.
‘Leave her to us now, mate,’ said a paramedic, gently but firmly removing Jack’s hands.
But on the way to the hospital his tenderness had failed him and he couldn’t even bring himself to touch her.
What was that about? he wondered. He really was an eejit.
‘I’m glad you’re all right.’
What sort of a thing was that to say? He might as well have shaken her hand.
‘He’s a cold fish, our Jackie,’ his father used to say.
But it wasn’t true. His feelings were the same as anyone’s, he just couldn’t let them out.
Later, when he’d spoken to the doctors and gathered himself, he had so many things to tell Lilly, but she’d already discharged herself. To be honest, he was relieved.
Jack topped up his glass and picked up the phone. He wanted to call her now but what would he say? ‘I’m sorry I was such a tosser but I really am glad you’re all right.’
He was so bad at this stuff. For him actions always spoke louder than words.
But what exactly did he intend to do? It had better be good, because no actions and no words were all Lilly was getting right now.
He abandoned the glass and swigged straight from the bottle. Max Hardy was what he would do. He’d arrange for uniform to drop Lilly’s car back at her home, pick the bastard up first thing in the morning and nail him before lunch.