by Chris Simms
‘I believe you.’
‘And there’s more information about how he died. Is Dad there?’
‘Yes, he’s sat in his chair across from me.’
Good, that meant she was on the sofa. ‘Mum, you know how
I said Dave had been killed?’
‘Yes.’ Her voice had dropped.
He glanced to the side and spotted three men at the rear loading bay of the nearest industrial unit. They were kicking around a football, watched by another two men with cigarettes in their hands. He could hear their laughter as a lump rose in his throat.
‘They’re not sure how he died yet. But afterwards, whoever did it had to dispose of the remains.’
‘What happened?’ she whispered.
He raised a hand to his forehead and pressed a thumb and forefinger against his temples. ‘Mum, he was dead, remember?’ He thought about her religion, her love for the Catholic faith.
‘He’s with God now, Mum. It’s just his body that was left behind. You agree with that, don’t you?’
She was crying now, though not enough to totally distort her voice. ‘What did they do to my boy?’
‘They put him in bin bags. Parts of his body in bin bags – trying to dispose of it that way.’
‘Oh no, oh no.’
He heard the sound of the telephone receiver brushing against something. Mary’s sobs and then his father’s voice, muffled in the background. More movement and Alan came on the line.
‘Jon?’
‘Yes, Dad.’
‘What’s going on? What did you just say to Mary?’
He sucked in air. I cannot go through this again. ‘I was saying—’
His Dad was almost shouting. ‘What’s happening out there? Are you any closer to finding who did it?’
‘I’m working as fast as I can, Dad. There’s—’
Mary’s voice came back on, words spilling out between chokes. ‘Bring him back, Jon. Just bring my baby back home.’
He felt the tears running down his cheeks. ‘I will, Mum. I promise you I will.’
Thirteen
When he got to the cafe just before the main entrance to Piccadilly station, Rick was already waiting for him, knees together, hands on his lap under the table. Jon held an imaginary cup to his face and mouthed the word, ‘Coffee.’
Rick gave a grimace in return.
Once he’d paid for a mug of tea, Jon joined him at the table.
‘No sign of Nikki yet, then?’
Rick shook his head. ‘You certainly pick your bloody meeting places.’
Jon couldn’t help but grin as he glanced towards the menu on the wall. In its centre was a photo of the small circular loaf known in Manchester as a barm. He read the listing:
Barm with cheese.
Barm with bacon.
Barm with chips.
Barm with kebab meat.
Barm with sausage.
Chef ’s special: Barm with sausage and onion.
The kebab in the corner rotated slowly round on its pole, the lump of miserable-looking meat weeping fat into the tray below. ‘It’s the only place I could think of near here that serves a decent cup of tea.’
Rick leaned forward, careful to not let his jacket touch the pockmarked plastic table. ‘Let me enlighten you. There’s a Starbucks in the station.’
Jon took a sip of his dark brew. ‘As I said, it’s the only place I could think of near here that serves a decent cup of tea.’
Rick flashed him a sarcastic smile before his face turned more serious. ‘I’m really sorry about your brother.’
Jon licked his lips. ‘Yeah, well. I’d been fearing that phone call for a long time. I always thought it would be an overdose or something, though. Not this.’
‘What actually happened?’
Jon put his mug on the table. ‘Someone killed him, chopped him up and stuffed him into three bin bags.’
Rick’s face didn’t move and Jon saw the cartilage in his windpipe raise, then lower. ‘Fuck.’
‘Yeah. And now some yokel prick by the name of Mallin is heading up the investigation. Forensics is being handled by an imbecile called Salt and a couple of constables are bumbling about searching for clues. It’s a disaster scene of the highest fucking order.’
‘So you’ve brought in Nikki. Just to help out.’
Jon heard the tone in his partner’s voice and didn’t need to actually look at him to see the disapproving expression. Rick was fully aware of the fact Nikki had a major soft spot for him; and his partner was also aware of how close he’d come to being tempted. ‘I couldn’t stand there and let that man fuck up the crime scene.’
‘Tread carefully, mate.’
He glared at his partner. ‘You honestly think I’m going to use my kid brother’s death as an opportunity to get laid?’
Rick flinched. ‘No. But she’ll be seeing someone who’s hurt, who’s vulnerable.’ He sat back. ‘You know she’s bad news.’
‘Give her some credit, Rick. You make her sound like one of those women who lured sailors to that island . . .’
‘Sirens.’
‘There you go,’ he smiled. ‘Your posh education’s come in useful again.’
Rick smiled briefly, checked the surface was free of spillages, placed his elbows on it and pressed his lips against his interlinked fingers. ‘Jesus Christ. I wish I had something for you on this Zoe.’
Jon’s chin went up. ‘You went to the Booth Centre?’
Rick nodded. ‘The guy who runs it, Norman Green, remembers her. Hasn’t seen her in months though. Who is she by the way?’
‘Dave’s girlfriend, wife or whatever. Seems that way from his recent phone calls.’
‘It’s likely she’s a user, Jon. Green indicated as much.’
‘I’d guessed. The photo of her on Dave’s phone said it all. Skull pretty much showing through her skin. What about the hostels with beds for females?’
‘Checked them. Nothing.’
‘Soup kitchens?’
He shook his head.
‘Custody, maybe?’
‘I checked the system. Two Zoes, but neither matched the description.’
‘Bloody hell, she can’t have just vanished. Styal prison? There’s plenty of female addicts locked up in that place.’
‘I’ll give it a go – but I’ll have to fit it in around this shooting in Cheetham Hill. Buchanon texted to say that’s what I’m on while you’re taking compassionate leave.’
‘Fine. What about this Redino character? Anything from your contact in the Drug Squad?’
‘He’s never heard the name. But he’s back in the office tomorrow, so he’ll check then.’
‘Nice one. Get him to check if it’s an alias of Ian Flynn.’ Jon spelled the surname. ‘I’ve got a good feeling on this one.’
The door opened and both men glanced towards it. Nikki Kingston was shouldering her way inside, a large attaché hanging from her shoulder.
Jon immediately stood. ‘Drink, Nikki?’ She nodded. ‘Tea, cheers.’
‘Rick?’ He grinned provocatively. ‘I’m sure they could try whipping you up one of your frothy coffees.’
He pretended to think. ‘You know what? I’ll pass.’
Jon headed up to the counter with his empty mug. ‘Two more, please.’
While the lady poured them out from a massive silver pot, Jon glanced at the mirrored wall. Nikki had taken the seat opposite Rick and, though neither looked that pleased to see the other, they were conferring across the table in whispers. Good, he thought. You two get the grisly details over with. As he approached the table, the muted conversation came to a halt and they both looked up.
‘How are you doing, Jon?’ Nikki’s eyebrows were raised.
‘You look tired.’
‘I’ll survive.’ He put the drinks down and eased himself back into his seat. ‘So. Any luck with the casts?’
‘Not a lot.’ She released the catches of her case and removed several printed sheets. ‘I wen
t on SICAR first thing this morning. The size nine and the size elevens are Merrill.’ She slid a piece of paper over. ‘Any of these look familiar?’
He scanned the panel of thumbnail photos. The hiking boots the park rangers had been wearing were on the second row down. ‘Those ones.’
‘Well, that’s something.’ She placed a tick next to the image.
‘Now, our other two sets. One I didn’t need to go on the computer to work out. Looking at the cast itself, I spotted a familiar logo halfway down.’ She flipped a piece of paper over.
‘Recognise it?’
As Jon stared at the graphic representation of a tree, Rick clicked his fingers. ‘Timberland, isn’t it?’
‘Ten out of ten,’ Nikki replied. ‘See the circular stamp next to it? The letters inside are BSFP. I went on their website and it’s some sort of efficiency system they’ve trademarked. It’s on all their mass-market hiking boots. Probably tens of thousands of them out there.’
Jon crossed his arms and sat back. ‘And the fourth set?’
‘These are the ones I’ve not had any luck with. They’re size ten and the nearest match SICAR could produce was a pair of Norwegian army boots.’
‘They’ll have been Dave’s,’ Jon answered immediately. ‘He used to buy all his clothes from army surplus stores, like that one on Oldham Street. Camouflage coats, combat trousers, army boots. You know the look. He probably bought a dog-on-a-rope from there, too.’
‘Well, they’re very distinctive,’ Nikki replied without a smile.
Jon nodded, realising it wasn’t the time to be cracking feeble jokes. ‘How so?’
‘Loads of wear and tear to the soles.’
Jon’s eyes shifted to the other sheets in her pile. ‘And the tyre treads?’
‘Christ, Jon. I was in at half seven this morning running the shoe prints. Give me a bloody chance.’
‘Sorry. Do you know when you might be able to . . .’
‘Probably tomorrow. There’s bloody loads on at the minute.’
‘OK, cheers. I appreciate it.’ He sipped at his team, mind running over the scraps of information. Shit, there was so little to go on. Just finding Zoe in Manchester and Flynn in Haverdale.
‘Listen, this Mallin – the SIO – is working on the basis Dave was out in Haverdale to deal drugs. And we’re talking Class A stuff, including crystal meth.’
Rick suddenly seemed fascinated by the surface of the table.
‘Now, I know my brother’s lifestyle wasn’t exactly run-of-the-mill. Maybe he sold a bit of cannabis here and there. But I will not accept he was a full-time dealer pushing the worst sorts of shit on a sleepy little Peak District town. He just wouldn’t. So I need your help, mate.’
Rick looked up and their eyes met. ‘Go on.’
‘I need to find this Zoe, because I reckon she can tell us what Dave was really up to – and who this Redino is. And Nikki, if I get anything more from Haverdale – be it a walking book or a whole bloody motorbike – can I bring it to you?’
‘Of course.’
‘Jon.’ Rick stirred uneasily in his seat. ‘I’ve got to ask you this. What do you think your brother was doing out there?’
Jon pursed his lips. ‘Searching for something, an archaeological find of some sort.’ He looked at them and their carefully maintained expressions of neutrality said it all. ‘I know it sounds stupid, but someone’s been digging on the tops of the hills around the town over these last few weeks. The local paper reckon it’s the work of nighthawks, people searching for buried artefacts. Unearth a fortune for minimum effort; it’s just the sort of plan I could see Dave hatching.’
Nikki gave a sad smile. ‘Not a lot worse than buying tickets for the National Lottery.’
Glad of her support, Jon nodded. ‘Only he stumbled across something that got him killed.’ He turned his eyes to Rick.
His partner shrugged. ‘So what are you actually planning?’
‘I’ve got this poaching avenue to follow up in Haverdale. Looks like the guy called Ian Flynn is into all sorts of other stuff – dealing included. The papers will be sniffing around very soon, so it’s only a matter of time before my brother gets portrayed as drug-peddling scum and I can’t have my mum and dad living with that. Their marriage is close enough to collapsing as it is.’ He pushed aside the last of his tea.
‘Are you driving out there now?’ Rick asked.
‘Yup.’
‘Have you called in on Alice, yet?’
Jon saw Nikki’s gaze suddenly skitter off to the side. Warily, he looked at his partner’s face. ‘No.’
‘You should do. She’ll be worried.’
In the periphery of his vision, he saw Nikki give a single nod.
‘OK. But one thing, Rick. Alice doesn’t realise I’m not officially on the investigation. Things need to stay that way.’
‘Jesus Christ, Jon.’
‘There was no other way round it.’
‘You’ve told her Derbyshire Police requested your assistance?’
‘Basically.’
Rick shook his head. ‘While really you – sorry, we – are going behind everyone’s backs. Including your wife’s.’
Jon kept his silence.
‘Shit,’ Rick cursed. ‘You can be such a bloody fool. I’m seeing her later on. Now I’ll have to lie to her as well.’
‘You’re going over to mine?’
Movement as Nikki got up. ‘I’d better be off.’ Awkwardly, she brushed a straggly black hair from her forehead. ‘There’s loads on back at the lab.’
‘Cheers, Nikki,’ Jon said, one hand held partially out. ‘I really appreciate this.’
Their eyes stayed together for an instant longer and Rick crossed his arms.
‘I’ll call as soon as I have anything.’ She shouldered her bag and headed for the door.
Jon examined his mug, feeling Rick’s hostile stare. ‘I didn’t know you were popping over.’
‘It was meant to be the three of us. She’s making a Thai curry, remember?’
‘Bloody hell.’ Guiltily, he ran a finger along the edge of the table.
‘So you’re not turning up for your own wife’s meal?’
‘I can’t,’ Jon muttered. ‘Flynn is likely to be in a certain pub at some point tonight. When you see Alice, you can just gloss over my role in Haverdale, yeah?’
Rick blew out his cheeks. ‘Yeah. I just hope you know what you’re getting yourself into here.’
As he opened his front door, the sound of nursery rhymes hit him. A piano, accompanied by a lady with a clipped English accent warbling about Incey Wincey Spider.
Keep it together, he told himself. Keep it together, Jon. ‘It’s me!’
Punch appeared in the kitchen doorway, and his head bucked with joy as he bounded down the corridor. Jon heard Holly’s shout of delight as she tottered into view. God, he thought, I can’t believe I was going to avoid all this. He bent forward to grab his dog’s jowls, its tongue lapping against his cheek as Holly shouted again. He opened his eyes to see her running towards him, knees picking up too high, arms jerking as if her movements were being controlled by a puppeteer yet to learn his craft.
‘My princess,’ he announced, wrapping her in a hug and getting to his feet.
Alice hovered behind, a questioning smile on her face.
‘I should have rung, I know.’ He shifted Holly into the crook of one arm. ‘It’s good to see you, Ali. Is everything OK?’
‘Yeah, we’re fine. Have you spoken to Mary and Alan?’ Jon felt nausea wash around his stomach. ‘This morning.’
‘How did it sound between them?’
‘Not good. Mum avoided the question.’
Her face showed both sympathy and admiration. ‘That took a big heart, Jon.’
He felt Holly’s legs begin to flex against his stomach and he put her down, allowing her to totter back into the telly room.
As soon as she was out of sight, he turned to his wife. He opened his mouth to speak, but
raw emotion surged up instead. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed a hand against the wall.
‘Jon?’
He shook his head, eyes still closed.
‘Oh, Jon.’
He felt her palms on his cheeks as she pulled his face towards her. ‘Come on, let it out, Jon.’
Both arms went round her and he rested his face on her shoulder, wanting to whisper the truth into her hair. ‘I couldn’t do it, Ali. Not face to face. So I pulled into a layby and called them from there.’
‘You told them what had been done to Dave’s body over the phone?’
He kept his silence, waiting to be admonished.
‘Well,’ she shrugged, ‘you’ve done it now, that’s the main thing.’
Taking a deep breath, he pulled back to look at her. ‘I feel so shit. Mum was so upset.’
‘What did you say?’ she murmured.
‘The only thing I could think of was her religion. So I told her Dave had gone to a better place – and that all we’re talking about here are his remains. It’s weird, for the first time in my life, I want to believe that stuff, too.’
‘And Mary? How did she take it?’
He looked down at Punch, finding comfort in the absence of judgement in the animal’s stare. ‘She just wants him back.’ He glanced back at his wife and she slid her arms round his neck.
Silently, they embraced. ‘I’ve missed you, Ali.’ The urge to just stay in his house began to overwhelm him and he had to lift his face from her hair. ‘What a bloody nightmare this all is.’
Alice leaned back, her eyes searching his face. ‘You shouldn’t be out there on your own.’
He couldn’t meet her stare. ‘It’s keeping me busy. That’s what they say, don’t they? Don’t sit around and dwell.’
‘Yes, as long as you’re not avoiding the fact he’s gone. It’s natural to feel disbelief or to be numb or depressed. Even angry. People don’t realise that fury is a common response to losing a loved one.’
Fury, Jon thought. Oh, I feel that all right. But I’ll wait for the right person to release that particular emotion on. ‘It’s not helped by the fact the team investigating this whole thing don’t know their arses from their elbows.’