To Catch a Rabbit

by Helen Cadbury

  ‘Bit late for this lot, isn’t it?’ he said over his shoulder to Len, who’d just come back from the van for another load.

  ‘Leave that,’ he snapped at Phil. ‘It’s none of your business.’

  ‘It’s only fruit. Calm down!’ Phil laughed. When he turned round Len was standing in the entrance of the container arms by his sides and fists tight as if he was squaring up for a fight.

  ‘I can’t make out if you’re a fool or just playing at it’, Len growled, ‘but you keep your mouth shut from now on and do exactly what I tell you.’

  Phil held up his hands in submission. He decided that when he got home he would look in the paper for a proper job. He’d had enough of being part of Mackenzie’s empire; it stank.

  He worked silently until the last box was in the van. He shut the rear doors carefully, taking care not to slam them, although there seemed to be no one around to notice. Then he locked up and waited for Len. He could hear him shuffling around inside the container but he was taking his time. Phil went to see if he needed any help and was struck by a new smell. Something was smouldering. He walked slowly, making as little noise as possible, into the container. He couldn’t see Len at first, but then he noticed light filtering through the wall of fruit boxes. He went closer and put his eye up to a gap where the corner of a box was crushed inward. Through a tiny triangle of space he could see an area of about eleven foot square with nothing in it except a pile of sleeping bags. The light was coming from a flame, which was curling up over a blue nylon cover. Len was holding his cigarette lighter against the fabric of another bag but he was struggling to get the flame to take hold. A part of Phil’s brain wanted to tell Len that they were probably fire-retarded so he might have a job with just a lighter, then something else clicked in and Phil felt sick. Someone had been living here, sleeping here. The other smell, of unwashed bodies in an airless room, made sense now. No wonder Len didn’t want Phil anywhere near the fruit boxes, they were a screen, so highly pungent that even a port-side sniffer dog wouldn’t know there were people in the container. Phil crept back out and stood by the van for a moment. Fuck Len, he could find his own way back, Phil wanted no more to do with this. He would get rid of the laptops at Mackenzie’s shed and go home.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sean stepped off the bus and turned up the collar of his jacket against the wind. His uniform was at his nan’s house. He was on his own time now. There was a parade of shops, shuttered against the dark, some of them closed for good. A couple of takeaways lit up the pavement before the Balby Post Office and General Store. It was seven-thirty in the evening and there was nobody around. He pulled a piece of paper out of his jeans pocket and unfolded it. He studied the blurred letters but the print-out from his camera phone wasn’t great. He checked the street sign, Derby Street, and traced the letters on the paper carefully with his finger. This was definitely it.

  There were two doorbells at number seventeen. He pressed the top one and waited. Nothing happened. If he hadn’t been looking up when he pressed it the second time, he wouldn’t have seen her. A slight shift of the curtain revealed half a pale face and an eye at the upstairs window. Then the curtain dropped. He rang again. This time a light came on and he heard footsteps on the stairs. The front door was opened on its security chain. A woman stood back from the gap.

  ‘What you want?’ Husky, a hint of foreign. Sean had rehearsed what he wanted to say.

  ‘I’m a friend of Flora’s. Is she here?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘When will she be back? I can wait.’

  She came forward and looked at him, then slipped the chain off and opened the door a little wider. Her foot was behind it. She looked ready to kick it shut again.

  ‘You say you are friend of Flora?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where you know her from?’

  ‘Used to see her now and again, have a drink and that.’

  ‘You are punter?’

  Sean had his story. He hoped it was going to work. ‘No, I’m part of a church group. We try to help, where we can. You know. We just struck up a friendship. She’s hasn’t been around for a while, I was…’

  ‘You can’t see her. She’s dead.’

  ‘Dead?’ Sean hoped he sounded convincing. ‘God, that’s terrible. How?’

  ‘How you think?’

  ‘I can’t imagine, she was so young…was she ill?’

  The door opened a little wider. She was framed by the light behind her, a slim woman with dyed red hair and pale green eyes, a long brown cardigan pulled round her waist over her skinny jeans.

  ‘You better come in, church boy.’

  He followed here up the stairs. The flat seemed bare. No television, a battered settee, but no table or chairs. A suitcase was open on the floor, half-packed.

  ‘Sit please. I can’t offer you drink, I just sold kettle.’ Then to Sean’s surprise, she laughed. ‘Just like home.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘My home in Pristina. There was nothing left. My father sell everything for drink of brandy. My clothes even.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Do you, church boy? It’s shame you not a punter, I could use some money now.’

  ‘Tell me what happened to Flora.’

  ‘Overdose. Heroin.’

  ‘Were you with her when she died?’

  ‘No, she is dead when I come. You think I sit and watch my friend die? You very unkind church boy.’

  What was he trying to do? He’d thought he’d find some answers but he just had more questions. This woman didn’t look like an addict, her skin was clear and she was a normal weight, but maybe she knew who her friend’s supplier was.

  ‘Where did she, I mean how did she, get her stuff?’

  ‘You really from church or from police?’ The woman fixed him with her wide eyes.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry. I had no business coming here.’ He stood up. ‘I don’t even know your name.’

  ‘Arieta.’

  ‘Arieta.’ He shook her hand; it was cold. ‘Thank you for telling me about Flora. It must have been terrible to lose your friend. If there’s anything I can do.’

  ‘Okay. Yes, you drive me to train station. I lie on my back for bloody weeks to buy ticket. I sell everything, now I go.’

  She flattened the pile of clothes in the suitcase and closed it.

  ‘I came on the bus,’ Sean looked down at his trainers, ‘but I can get your bus fare into town, if that’s any good.’

  As she stood up, she was laughing. ‘I run off into sunset with knight in shining armour on number fifteen bus. It is not a movie, no?’

  ‘Not a movie.’ Sean smiled. ‘Let me take your case.’

  She was twitchy as they stood at the bus stop. Her eyes flicked up and down the quiet street and she stood back in the shadows when a car passed. They didn’t speak. Even when the bus came and he paid both fares, she just went to sit in the corner of the back seat, with her suitcase on her lap. Beyond the bus windows, traffic went by, people walked their dogs and the houses were lit up against the dark evening. She watched it all as if she was drinking it in. They were almost in the town centre when he summoned up the courage to ask her another question.

  ‘Who are you running from?’

  She leant her forehead against the glass.

  ‘Nobody must run. Nobody should leave,’ she mumbled.

  ‘What did you say?’

  But she just stared out of the window at the late shoppers and early clubbers struggling against the wind.

  They came to a standstill inside the bus station. He offered to take the case but she held it tightly. She looked more nervous than ever as they walked the short distance to the railway station.

  ‘Where are you going to go?’

  ‘A
way from here. Far as I can.’

  ‘And then what? How are you going to live?’

  ‘Same as before. Always men to pay for sex.’

  ‘Please, let me help.’

  ‘You and your church, what can you do?’

  Sean wished he really did have a church backing him up: some kind old ladies who’d donate this girl some clothes, maybe a vicar who’d offer her a room in return for some housekeeping. The only kind old lady he knew was his nan, and she wouldn’t thank him for describing her like that.

  There was a queue at the booking office so they went to the automatic ticket machine. She didn’t want to hang about. Together they looked at the A to Z of station names, and Sean explained where each one was. She wanted a big city and he suggested Birmingham.

  ‘No way. That is where I start. Internet bride to man with teeth like a horse. Find another.’

  She looked over her shoulder and froze. Then she dropped to her knees and started tugging at the zip on the suitcase. She lifted the lid and hid behind it.

  ‘Stand there, no there!’ she hissed. ‘So legs cover me. And look normal.’

  How could he look normal with a woman’s head and torso disappearing into a suitcase between him and the ticket machine?

  ‘Who are we hiding from?’

  ‘Sh! Don’t speak. Look, on ramp. With pram.’

  A mousy brown ponytail bounced over the hood of a light-blue tracksuit. The pram was top of the range, black with wheels like a mini mountain bike. Then the girl pushing it was gone, out of sight, around the corner to the platforms.

  ‘Who was that?’

  ‘She look all friendly, nice girl. But she work for Miss Estelle. She hang around. Talk to lonely girls, offer them job in massage parlour, offer them nice little something to take their mind off bad feelings. She’s going on platforms now to sniff out sad girls too late to go home.’

  ‘Who’s Miss Estelle?’

  ‘You don’t want to know.’

  No, he did want to know. That was the whole point. ‘Arieta, who is she?’

  ‘She runs All Star Massage Parlour. She is bitch.’

  Sean took her arm and pulled her to her feet. ‘Come on.’

  The lid of the suitcase fell shut and without letting go of her, he leant down, tugged the zip closed and picked up the case. He propelled her across the forecourt but she tried to twist her arm out of his grip.

  ‘Look,’ he held tight, ‘I don’t want to make a scene, and of course it’s your life. But that girl’s on the platform, and if you’re as scared of her as I think you are, you don’t want to go that way. So what are you going to do?’

  She made a grab for her bag, but he spun it behind him. It was surprisingly light. As if her whole life only weighed a couple of kilos.

  ‘You have to trust me,’ he hissed.

  ‘Okay, church boy, I don’t have choices. But where are you taking me? I have right to know. Otherwise I scream. Okay?’

  ‘My nan’s. Grandmother. You understand?’

  He felt the muscles in her arm relax. She let him lead her outside to the taxi rank, where he was relieved to see there was no queue. He gave the address to the driver and took out his phone.

  ‘Lizzie? Can you get over to my nan’s place, 12 Clement Grove? I’ve got someone I think you should meet.’

  Maureen looked at the woman on the doorstep. She looked at her grandson, and waited for an explanation.

  ‘Nan, this is Arieta, she needs our help. This is Maureen, my grandmother.’

  ‘I see. Well you better come in.’ Behind the girl’s back, Maureen raised one plucked eyebrow at him.

  She offered the girl a cup of tea and the three of them sat at the kitchen table. Silence. This felt wrong, really wrong. Bringing work home and not just flipchart paper and a bit of Blu-Tack.

  ‘Someone’s coming to talk to you Arieta. Someone who can help.’

  ‘From church?’

  Sean rubbed a spot on the vinyl tablecloth.

  ‘What’s she on about?’ Maureen sat back in her chair and looked from the girl to Sean, as if she was watching a tennis match. Sean cleared his throat.

  ‘Wait there, don’t go anywhere, okay? I just need to get something from upstairs.’

  When he came down with the flipchart paper, they hadn’t moved. He wondered if they’d said anything at all or just sat listening to rush of the gas boiler.

  ‘I need to explain something.’ He paused, positioning himself between Arieta and the door in case she ran. ‘I don’t go to church, I’m sorry that wasn’t true. I work for the police, but I’m just a PCSO. Do you know what that is?’ She sat still, looking at him, her back straight. He spread the chart out across the table. ‘I work in the community, keep an eye on things and, well, there’s been a few things going on round here that you might be able to help with.’

  The strange, dead image of Su-Mai lay at the centre. Arieta held the handle of her mug tight, but her face gave nothing away.

  ‘You knew Flora of course.’ He touched the newspaper cutting lightly, watching her for any sign of emotion. ‘But did you know this girl? Su-Mai isn’t her real name, but we don’t know what it is. Maybe you can help?’

  He should have waited for Lizzie. She would have known how to do this properly. Arieta hadn’t taken her coat off. She sat with her suitcase by her side, her eyes darting to the back door.

  ‘And this girl,’ Maureen tapped the picture of Taneesha McManus, ‘was a pretty little thing. I remember her when she was tiny. Her mum went off the rails too. I knew her nana, nice woman, she used to do my hair.’

  The doorbell rang into the silence and all three of them flinched. As Sean got up, he saw Maureen lay her hand on Arieta’s.

  ‘It’ll be all right, love. My Sean will make sure you won’t come to any harm.’

  Arieta met her eyes. Her spine softened and she released her grip on the mug.

  The bolts to the front door were stiff; everyone else came round the back at his nan’s. When he finally got it open, Lizzie stood on the doorstep in the same smart coat he’d seen her wearing at the football ground. She seemed to have grown three inches and he caught a glimpse of some pricey looking black fabric poking out from under her coat.

  ‘Sorry, were you...?’

  ‘Out? Yup. Charity dinner at the racecourse. Don’t worry it was very dull. I had to get a lift from Guy because I didn’t have the car and even if I had, I’m over the limit. Sean, whatever you’ve got for me, I’m definitely not on duty.’ Over her shoulder he could see a silver Audi TT parked at the kerb. ‘It’s okay. He’ll wait. He’s very good like that.’

  ‘Is he? Where did you find one ready house-trained?’

  ‘Don’t be mean. You’ve met Guy haven’t you? He was at Doncaster Rovers with me, on firework night. He’s their marketing manager. Friend of my dad’s.’

  He didn’t want to hear about her chauffeur, or her date, or whoever he was. She seemed to have forgotten that on firework night he’d been on duty and not exactly one of her party.

  ‘Come on in.’

  She stepped into the hall and he saw her glance quickly around, taking in the purple and green walls that Nan had asked him to paint the way she’d seen them on a makeover show. The laminate floor he’d laid last summer looked cheap and ragged already, especially where he hadn’t lined it up flush under the skirting. Her heels struck it like lead shot on plastic as she made her way towards the kitchen.

  ‘Wait.’ He needed to fill her in on Arieta’s story.

  She listened, glancing every now and then at the framed poster of Elvis, which had pride of place in the hall. He guessed they had proper artists on the walls at her house.

  ‘Okay,’ she said, when he’d told her what he knew, ‘let’s talk to her, but we’l
l have to get someone else involved if she tells us anything material. You know that.’

  Maureen offered to take Lizzie’s coat but she decided to keep it on. When she undid it, he could see the beads and sequins of a strapless evening dress.

  It didn’t go well. Maureen watched the proceedings, her lips tight. He could tell that Lizzie’s accent got her back up, while Arieta’s response to most of Lizzie’s questions was a shrug. It was only when she was asked again about Su-Mai that Arieta paused, looking at the picture.

  ‘There was Chinese girl. It could be her. She went a little before.’

  ‘Before?’ Lizzie said. ‘Before what?’

  ‘Before I am offered new job and I leave Miss Estelle. Couple of weeks before maybe.’

  ‘Was she a heroin addict too, like Flora?’

  Again the shrug. Then nothing. Her shoulders sank and she stared into the empty mug. Lizzie shifted in her seat and he could hear the rustling of whatever stiff material her skirt was made of. She took a business card out of her little beaded handbag.

  ‘Here’s my number. If you think of anything, call me.’

  The card lay on the table while Arieta carried on staring into her mug. He saw Lizzie to the door.

  ‘Sorry if that was a bit if a waste of time,’ he said.

  ‘These things happen. Guy understands.’

  ‘Yeah. I’m sure he knows you wouldn’t be seen dead in this neighbourhood unless it was a work matter.’ He tried to sound offhand, like it could be a joke, but it didn’t come out like that.

  ‘What’s up? You seem touchy.’

  ‘No, I’m not.’ It came out too fast and even to his own ears, he sounded like a five year-old answering back.