by Nicky Black
***
Only a couple of reporters remained outside the hospital, looking bored, probably the newbies desperate for their big break. The rest would be writing up other stories, Sally’s recovery no longer saleable news.
‘Detective Inspector!’ They were in his face as soon as they spotted him.
‘Chief Inspector,’ he corrected them, and they fell away in disappointment as the hospital doors slid closed behind him.
Inside, he was greeted by the porter, an old military type with a turban, tattoos, and white chest hair curling from the neck of his green shirt. Other staff smiled or nodded a greeting at him, and he realised he would miss coming here every day where he was greeted with an acceptable level of solemnity.
Pamela had had her hair done, he noticed. It shone, soft curls resting on the collar of her nurse’s dress, the roots gone, the frizz under control. Kathleen had always wanted him to notice when she’d had her hair done, and he did notice, he just hadn’t cared to tell her every Friday for seventeen years. It hadn’t mattered to him what her hair looked like. She had hair, and it was nice, what else was there to say about it?
She’d stopped getting her hair done on a Friday, and eventually it thinned so much she looked like a cancer victim. He’d wished, then, that she would go back to Maureen’s salon every week and he would have happily told her it was wonderful. But she didn’t, and he hadn’t. He didn’t say anything to Pamela now either, but he knew, even from the back, that it looked far nicer than before. Sally’s hair, on the other hand, rested limply on her shoulders, a little mound of it sticking up at the back of her head in a tuft.
As he stood at the edge of the cubicle, he watched Pamela wipe Sally’s face with a tissue, issuing “there, theres” in a soft voice. Turning when she heard Peach clear his throat, the nurse smiled, and he found his lips turning up at the edges without thinking.
Pamela patted Sally’s hand, rose from the bed, and indicated the curtain with her head. Peach followed her into the corridor, and Pamela closed the curtain, speaking in a hushed voice. ‘She’s grieving, Mr Peach,’ she said.
He was about to tell her she should call him Mike, but realised he’d be expected to call her Pamela rather than “nurse,” and he wasn’t too sure about that.
‘You both need to grieve,’ she was saying, her forehead sunk in sympathy.
Sally had clearly unburdened herself, told Pamela the whole story. But Peach had already done his grieving, in private, keeping strong for Sally, not wanting her to suffer any more than she had already. And it had worked – Sally had got on with her life once the grief of Finnegan's encounter with the bin-man's wheels was over; she’d grown up, blossomed, or so he thought.
‘She needs a father,’ he said, ‘not some blubbing idiot.’
Pamela laughed a little, slapped him gently on the arm. ‘She needs a role model, stupid, not a hero.’ It wasn’t a chastisement, just a statement of fact. ‘Go easy on her,’ she said, sliding the curtain open. ‘Tea?’
‘Strong, two—’
‘Yes, yes, I know,’ said Pamela, and she strode off down the ward towards the nurses’ station.
***
Sally’s eyes and nose were red with crying.
‘How you feeling?’ Peach asked, sitting on the bed.
Sally nodded. ‘Bit better.’
‘Can we talk? It’s important.’
She nodded again, sitting up a little straighter. She was so pale, her eyes looked greener than ever; Kathleen’s sunken eyes looking right back at him.
‘I’ve been trying all week to find out who did this to you,’ he said.
‘Nobody did anything to me.’
The confident response was unexpected. ‘Listen—’
‘I knew what I was doing, Dad, I’m not twelve.’
Sighing, he paused, rubbing his chin in thought and looking at her carefully as he took Tommy’s photograph from his jacket pocket and held it up.
‘Do you know who this is?’
‘Tommy. He’s a legend.’
‘He’s a drug dealer.’
‘No, he’s not,’ laughed Sally.
Putting the photograph onto the bed, he put his hand on hers. She was young, naïve, didn’t know that wolves could dress in sheep’s clothing.
He tightened his grasp. ‘I know he gave them to you.’
‘What?’ She was hesitating, unsure what he knew and what he didn’t, hedging her bets.
His hand was in his pocket again and he held up the seal bag with the small blue pills inside. ‘Where did you get them?’ he asked, and when she looked away, he took her chin in his hand, forcing her to look at him. ‘Where?’
‘A friend,’ she blurted.
His eyes cut into her. ‘Now is not the time to lie to me.’
‘I’m not lying!’
He half stood and dug into his trouser pocket, pulling out the “Little Raver!” card. He opened it, showing her the message inside. ‘Who is he?’
Sally stared at it, shook her head, a burst of fear making her face flush.
‘Sally,’ he kept his voice calm and even. ‘Who did you take to the school with you?’
She gulped, a small whine emitting from her throat as Peach held up Tommy’s photograph again.
‘It wasn’t him,’ she said. ‘I don’t even know him.’ She looked at her father with pleading eyes, but he carried on; he had to know, grief or no grief.
‘But Tommy knows who he is, this “Dad” person,’ he said. ‘The two of them are using girls like you to do their dirty business.’
Her face fell with distress, and the words came flooding out. ‘I don’t know his name, I swear. He just said …’ She began to cry. ‘It was Selina, Dad, she started it.’
She wasn’t wriggling out of this one. ‘Started what?’
‘He said we could have a free drink, jobs and stuff. That we didn’t need to waste our time at school, and we could earn loads of money working for him.’
‘Working?’
‘Selling stuff.’ Her breath came in short bursts. ‘He said Tommy’s bouncers wouldn’t look at us twice. They could search your bag and your pockets, but they couldn’t search your body, not if you were a young lass.’
Peach’s chin fell to his chest as he listened to her confession.
‘If we sold everything in two hours, we could have some for free and we’d get fifty quid. He said next time it would be a hundred, then three hundred if we were good at it.’
‘And you agreed?’ The tone was angry, and he regretted it the minute it came out of his mouth. It was as if he could never just shut up and listen; always on the opposing side, always trying to trip people up. It was his job. It was how he operated. But now Sally was scared and vulnerable. How could he have thought she was simply becoming independent, leading her own life? She was sixteen.
‘I’m sorry, Dad, I didn’t mean it, but I hate that school, and I didn’t want to tell you.’ Fresh tears came, and she started to sob. ‘I hate it, I hate it!’ she cried.
Letting her head fall against his chest, he stroked her hair until she’d calmed down and was able to sit back against her pillow again. He handed her a tissue from the box on the cabinet and she blew her nose, long and loud.
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Think. Did you ever hear his name?’
‘Just called himself “Dad,”’ Sally said.
Peach nodded; he knew this already. ‘What does he look like?’
Sally shrugged. ‘Old,’ she said, sniffling and wiping at her nose. ‘Not as old as you.’
Peach stifled a smile, despite himself. From the mouths of babes.
‘His hair was brownish, kind of bushy.’ Sally lifted her hands to the sides of her head to illustrate. ‘Little glasses, old-fashioned ones.’
There was some relief in the fact that it wasn’t Paul Smart, a man that had sat under his nose less than twenty-four hours ago. But he’d known that, in his heart. Smart had some standing in the community, a reputation of sorts. Exploiting y
oung girls wasn’t his style.
‘Was he ever with anyone else?’ Peach could see that Sally was tiring, but he kept on; he was running out of time.
‘No,’ Sally gulped back tears. ‘It was just him.’
Peach held up Tommy’s photograph. ‘Think again,’ he said. ‘Have you ever seen the two of them together?’
Sally closed her eyes, forcing tears down her cheeks. She nodded her head grudgingly. ‘But, he’s all right, Tommy.’
‘He’s not all right,’ said Peach. ‘He’s anything but all right.’
‘Oh my God,’ Sally sobbed.
‘Come here.’ Peach drew her into his arms again, kissing the top of her head. ‘None of this is your fault,’ he said. ‘No one’s blaming you.’
‘You are,’ she hiccupped. ‘I bet mam wouldn’t.’
‘I’m not, and your mam blamed everyone for everything.’ It came out like a fond memory, rather than an attack on her character, but still, he awaited Sally’s rebuke. Instead, he felt her chuckle in his arms.
‘She did, didn’t she?’ she said, pulling away from him, wiping her eyes. ‘I didn’t like him, Dad,’ she said. ‘Not Tommy, the other one. He got sort of … mean.’
Peach swallowed, the question that needed to be asked climbing reluctantly up his throat. He dreaded it, holding her at arm’s length before he allowed the words to come out. ‘Did he …?’ He couldn’t finish the sentence.
Sally’s face turned from sad to horrified. ‘No!’ she said. ‘God, Dad!’
‘All right, all right.’ He held up his hands in submission, feeling the question sliding back down his throat with relief. He had a description at least, something he could go on.
‘Everything okay?’ Pamela had made a re-appearance with the tea, and Peach fought to suppress the rising fury that made him want to pull the bushy, brownish hair from the man’s head with his bare hands when he found him.
‘I need to go,’ he said, getting to his feet.
‘But …’ The disappointment in Pamela’s voice surprised him, so he took the tea from her, finishing it in a few gulps despite its stinging heat.
He handed the empty cup back to her. ‘Nice hair,’ he said, and left the cubicle.
TOMMY
Durham was a city known for its spectacular beauty unless you were spending time there at Her Majesty’s pleasure. The waiting area was a surprisingly bright room considering, but Tommy’s nerves were jangling like pennies in a jar. They’d been through security, frisked to within an inch of their lives, Jed glaring down at the guard when his hands wandered too close to his balls.
Tommy wiped his palms down denimed thighs; they hadn’t been called, and only half an hour remained of visiting time. Staring down at the grey linoleum, he listened to the echoing sounds of clanging doors and voices from the corridor. His heart thrummed in his chest. He hadn’t seen his father since the day DCI Peach had hauled him down the path five years ago. Tommy was in no doubt that Reggie was guilty, not only of his crime, but for his mother’s despair and ultimate demise, for Trevor Logan’s descent into drugs and crime. But something niggled, and he needed to know what contribution Paul Smart had made to the collapse of his family. It hadn’t been perfect, but it was his, and it had been swept from under his feet in a matter of months.
When the call eventually came, Tommy jumped to his feet and followed the guard, Jed tight by his side. They were led into a yawning hall, prison guards lining the walls and pacing between the tables as if invigilating an exam.
‘Table twenty-three,’ said a chunky female guard pointing to one of tables set out like dominoes. Tommy followed the direction of her finger, not recognising anyone in that general direction, but Jed was already striding over to the table and Tommy had to run to catch up. Only when he was stood by the table did Tommy recognise the once handsome face of his father.
‘Son,’ Reggie said.
Two spots of heat ignited Tommy’s cheeks while Jed’s eyes, like Tommy’s, stared unblinking at the ravaged face before them.
‘What happened to you?’ Reggie nodded up at Tommy’s bruised face.
‘Should see the other fella,’ said Jed when Tommy’s reply didn’t materialise. It was one of Reggie’s favourite punch lines, but it didn’t crack a smile this time.
Jed sat down, and Tommy blinked with disbelief at the shadow of a man before him. Thick red lines ran from the bridge of his nose beneath cheekbones which sunk into a mouth now void of teeth. Aged and skeletal, his hands and face were raw, broken veins littering the skin like thorny scratches, his hair, once quaffed into a perfect Teddy Boy curl, hanging thin and grey to his shoulders.
Tommy felt Jed’s hand on his arm and he sunk slowly onto the chair next to him.
The lack of teeth made Reggie’s voice whistle and lisp. ‘I was sorry about ya mam, son. I miss her every day.’
Shame he hadn’t thought of that while he pointed a gun at Billy Logan. Shame he hadn’t bothered coming to the funeral. Tommy knew he had the authorisation, but still he’d stayed away.
‘Didn’t think anyone would want me at the burial,’ Reggie said. ‘I had me own private do in me cell.’
‘She was cremated,’ said Tommy, finding his voice.
Reggie just looked at him, his irises starting to fade at the edges like an old tortoise. He wiped his mouth with the back of a tremulous hand and sat back into his chair, his head almost colliding with that of the visitor behind him.
‘Well, this is very nice, son.’ Reggie attempted a smile. ‘What are you here for?’
The words in Tommy’s throat were wedged in, and Jed filled the void once more, his voice bordering on fondness. ‘How are you, Uncle Reg?’ he asked.
‘Oh, never better,’ Reggie replied. ‘Living the life.’ There was nothing funny about the irony.
‘Paul Smart,’ Tommy blurted out. Only ten minutes left of visiting time; might as well get to the point.
Reggie’s face turned to steel as he leant forward and growled, ‘Keep your bloody voice down.’
Tommy moved towards him, teeth gritted. ‘What did he do?’
Glancing to his side, Reggie crept further forward on his chair, his nose almost touching Tommy’s, breath rancid. ‘Nothing I can’t handle. Now let’s say no more about it.’
Tommy fizzed inside. ‘You owe me—’
‘I said, no more.’ The finger Reggie held up shook – with rage or fear Tommy couldn’t tell.
Reggie blinked his eyes away from his son towards Jed. ‘How’s the family?’ His voice was suddenly loud and jaunty, but Tommy could see the tension in his face and body. ‘Betty and Davie, and the young ’un?’
‘Champion, aye,’ replied Jed.
Tommy looked away, laughing to himself to halt the tears that threatened. He wasn’t going to get answers, not from this man, but he’d find out somehow, even if it meant asking Smartie himself once Trevor Logan was safely back inside a cell and wouldn’t become Tucker’s new target. The smell of sweat and plastic food made his stomach churn. This place was the pits and Reggie deserved every inch of it. Why Trevor would want to come back was beyond him. But when looked back at his father, he thought he saw genuine concern.
‘Are you in trouble, son?’ Reggie asked, almost inaudibly. He extended a hand and Tommy drew away from it as if it were a lit flame. If Reggie wouldn’t tell him about Paul Smart, at least he could enlighten him on another matter.
‘I want to find my brother,’ said Tommy, and he watched his father’s shoulders fall, felt Jed’s eyes on the side of his face. ‘Do you where he is?’
Reggie pursed his lips, eyes flitting to Jed who sat stiffly.
‘I need him,’ said Tommy, hearing the desperation in his voice and feeling Jed’s elbow nudge him.
‘You’ve got me,’ Jed muttered, ‘and Frankie, and—’
‘It’s not the same,’ said Tommy, knowing it would hurt Jed, but unable to keep quiet any longer. And it wasn’t; it wasn’t the same. ‘Well?’ he asked Reggie.
The provocation was like a punch to the gut, and Tommy sprung from his chair, Reggie’s hands reaching out towards his son, grabbing at the air as Tommy leant away from his father’s outstretched arms.
‘Stay a bit, howay.’ Reggie’s eyes were desperate. ‘Gerald, tell him to stay.’
Jed’s hand reached up to pull Tommy back down into the chair, but Tommy resisted, a finger pointing down at his father.
‘Do you know what you did?’ He raised his voice, not caring who heard. ‘Are you even a bit fucking sorry?’
Reggie’s fingers clawed at his lips, as if he wanted to speak out but couldn’t. ‘Sit down, son,’ he said.
But it was too late; two guards were at Tommy’s side and Jed was attempting to appease them.
‘Your brother’s looking out for you, son,’ said Reggie, ‘and all this is getting sorted, I promise you that.’
The chair behind him came slamming backwards, throwing Reggie forward.
‘Time to go,’ said one of the guards.
‘He’s here?!’ Tommy was being pulled away, and Reggie was getting to his feet, flanked by two more guards who had their hands under his armpits.
As Tommy was dragged reluctantly backwards, a familiar cough drew his eyes towards the visitor sitting behind his father. The baseball cap was pulled down low over his face, but the gaunt profile was unmistakable.
Trevor Logan.
Reggie’s eyes warned Tommy to say nothing. ‘Nice to see you, lads,’ he said as he was led away.
PEACH
‘Durham, boss.’
Murphy had said it twice already, but he’d been unable to breach the DCI’s thoughts.
Peach heard the click of Murphy’s fingers in front of his eyes, heard him say that Tommy Collins and Jed Foster had boarded a bus at ten-thirty that morning. He tried to clear his clouded mind and concentrate on his sergeant who ate chips from newspaper, popping them into his mouth in quick succession. ‘And you didn’t follow them?’ he asked.