The Edge

by Chris Simms

‘Will he die?’ Rick repeated.

  The doctor glanced at him. ‘Depends.’

  This, Rick had thought, is what being a parent really boils down to: being responsible for someone else’s very life. Am I ready for that?

  He rapped on the door again then tentatively tried the handle. It swung open. Closing it behind him, he walked past Jake’s empty bedroom and into the front room. Empty. With a sigh, he stepped through to the kitchen.

  Her arms were rigid, jaw set tight and he knew it would be easier to take a bone off a hungry rottweiler than deprive her of the hit. Instead, he watched as she made circles with the lighter flame, sucking all the time. Finally the heroin burnt out and she looked at him with red-rimmed eyes. Her lips pushed out slightly as a breath escaped her.

  ‘Finished?’

  ‘Is he all right?’ Each word seeped into the next.

  ‘He’ll live. They’re keeping him in for observation.’

  ‘Salvio promised. He was meant to be getting the medicine.’

  ‘Don’t,’ Rick said. ‘Don’t try and excuse yourself.’

  She continued staring at the spot where he’d just been standing as he filled the kettle at the sink. Inside a cupboard, he found a half-empty bag of sugar and a box of economy tea bags. From the fridge he took a plastic carton of milk. As he waited for the kettle to boil, he regarded her. Both hands had now slipped off the table into her lap. He reached down and slid the dirty foil and cigarette lighter from her slack fingers. The action stirred her and she slapped a protective palm over the little bag of powder.

  After placing the square of foil with the others on the table, he splashed plenty of milk into a cup, added two sugars, poured in water, mashed the bag against the side of the cup, flipped the tea bag in the sink and banged the mug of tea down in front of her. ‘Drink some, will you?’

  Her head lolled forward.

  ‘Zoe?’ He thought about lifting her head and placing it against the cup. Shit. ‘Zoe?’ he tried again, sitting opposite her. ‘I need to ask you some questions. Zoe!’

  Nothing. Just a lump, slouched on the chair.

  Rick tapped his fingers on the table. How the hell am I going to get anything about who Redino is out of her? He sat back, wondering whether it would come to slapping her about the face.

  The sharp banging made them both jump. ‘Zoe! Open up, Zoe!’

  Suddenly, her eyes were wide, pupils unfocused.

  As Rick looked over his shoulder towards the corridor, the hammering began again.

  ‘Zoe! It’s me, Salvio! Don’t you make me bust the lock off this door!’

  She started breathing more quickly. ‘Don’t say you’re police.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Have you got money?’ Her eyes were on his jacket. ‘Cash?’

  ‘Who’s Salvio?’

  ‘Just pay him. Say it’s for the night.’ She got unsteadily to her feet and raked a hand through her hair. ‘Tell him you’re a punter and I’ll tell you everything you need to know.’

  The shouting started again. ‘Zoe! Come on!’

  ‘How much will he want?’ Rick asked.

  ‘Eighty? I don’t know.’

  Rick set off down the corridor, reaching for his wallet. He got to the front door, noticing jagged holes in the metal panels where several bolts had once been. Opening up, he looked out. A greasy-looking scrote in designer gear was standing beside an unshaven, overweight man in his late fifties.

  The scrote peered over Rick’s shoulder. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘I want to pay for the night.’

  He looked Rick up and down, smoothing long strands of black hair behind both ears as he did so. ‘The little minx.’ He smiled, before directing his next comment into the flat. ‘You been busy already? Good girl, Zoe, good girl.’ His eyes slid back to Rick. ‘The night?’

  ‘Here.’ Rick held out several twenties. ‘Eighty do it?’

  The man looked at the wallet. ‘One hundred.’ He winked and lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘One twenty and she’s yours any way you want her. Just make sure she can still work tomorrow.’

  Rick added another two notes and handed them over.

  They vanished inside the man’s shirt. ‘Come on,’ he said to his companion, nodding towards the stairwell. ‘I’ve got someone else you’ll like.’

  Rick took a step forward. ‘Oh . . .’ The man glanced back. ‘Yeah?’

  Rick made a half-hearted wave into the flat, feigning indifference. ‘She mentioned something about medicine you were bringing. Make any sense?’

  Salvio rolled his eyes. ‘Tell her tomorrow.’

  ‘OK,’ Rick replied. Her son, he thought, could be dead in that room and you wouldn’t give a shit. ‘Tomorrow.’

  Back in the kitchen she had sat down again. Gradually, she lowered her hands from her face. ‘Is he gone?’

  ‘He’s gone.’

  Her shoulders relaxed and her hands fell to the table with a thump. Rick moved round to the sink, took a glass off the window sill, held it up to check it was clean, then filled it from the tap. Right, he thought. Redino. I’ve got to find out who the hell he is. He gulped back the water, then turned round. Her chin had sagged back to her chest and she appeared to be fast asleep.

  He stood behind her, hooked his hands under her armpits and started trying to lift her up.

  ‘Get off !’ She twisted from his grip. ‘I’m not a fucking cripple.’

  ‘Let’s sit through there.’

  ‘Let’s sit through there,’ she parroted, shuffling through into the front room and collapsing on the sofa.

  He sat at the other end. ‘Zoe, you called Dave when he was out in Haverdale, left a message on his phone.’

  ‘Left loads of messages on his fucking phone,’ she murmured.

  ‘In one message you mentioned a name,’ Rick continued. ‘It was the last message you left. You rang from a public payphone near the cathedral. Do you remember?’

  Her eyelids had started to droop. ‘Cathedral?’

  Seeing she was drifting off again, he stood. ‘Zoe! I’m leaving this flat and sending Salvio back in.’

  ‘No.’ She struggled upright and began rubbing her face.

  ‘What did you want?’

  Rick stayed standing. ‘You asked Dave how things were going. You mentioned if he’d struck gold yet.’

  ‘That treasure. I told you.’

  ‘I know. You also mentioned a name. You asked if someone called Redino had been any help. Who is Redino?’

  She snorted.

  ‘Zoe, we think this Redino is vital to finding out what happened to Dave. Is it a name used for someone called Ian Flynn?’

  She shook her head. ‘Redino’s right here.’

  Rick glanced about. ‘Here? Redino is here in this flat?’

  ‘Yeah.’ She nodded at the Power Ranger next to her on the sofa. ‘Meet Red Dino.’

  Thirty Two

  The car’s suspension jolted as Jon drove across Haverdale’s level crossing at almost forty miles an hour. He took the second left, slowing to a halt outside the Spread Eagle. Lights were still on inside, but there was no sign of Flynn’s bike out the back. He drove on, retracing the route Flynn had taken the night they went back to his bungalow.

  A few minutes later, he pulled up and surveyed the dark property. He’s gone, a voice in his head announced. Left town already. Jon checked the dashboard clock: . . Maybe he’s in bed, catching up on some sleep. Quietly, he opened his car door, climbed out and closed it. He walked up the steep drive, checking the side of the garage and the rear garden. No bike. Shit! You’re too late, Jon. This has all been for nothing. He flexed his fingers, then reached for the porch door. It opened and he stepped inside. He closed his eyes. OK. Living room on the left. Kitchen straight ahead. That leaves a bathroom and probably two bedrooms. The glass was frosted on the bungalow’s corner window. So, that’s the bathroom. Bedrooms will be after that.

  He turned the handle of the front door, puzzled to find it open
, and stepped into the hall. No sound, no lights on. Placing his heels down first, he transferred his weight slowly onto the front part of his foot and made his way forward, creeping past the deserted living room towards the door on his right. It was half open and he could see the bath inside. The next door was also ajar. He peered in, just able to make out furniture and boxes piled up. The spare room.

  The last door was closed. He listened for over a minute. Nothing. Quickly he turned the handle, pushed the door open and scrabbled for the light switch. It clicked on, bathing the room in a harsh glow. The bed was empty. He pushed the door right back on its hinges so he could be sure no one was behind it. Then he stepped fully inside.

  Dirty clothes were piled in one corner. He examined the bedside table, seeing about ten quid in scattered change. A wallet with sixty-five pounds in notes, a Halifax cashpoint card and a Debenham’s store card. The chest of drawers was littered with more stuff: membership card for a video shop and another for topping up his mobile phone. He pulled open drawers. T-shirts and tops, badly folded. A few pairs of combat trousers and jeans. He checked the wardrobe for a pair of Timberland boots, but found none. In the front room, he closed the curtains and turned on the light.

  The Haverdale Herald was open on the coffee table and Jon looked down at the photo of himself. He walked over to the desk in the corner. Bills for electricity, gas and water. Another for the man’s mobile phone. Jon pocketed the piece of paper.

  He rummaged round in the top drawer, finding a driving licence. Below it was a passport and he checked it was Flynn’s. The guy hasn’t done a runner, I’m sure. He looked round the room. So where could you be, gone eleven at night? Not that nightclub, Kelly’s. You’re barred from there, you told me. You’re somewhere you needed your bike to get to.

  The evening they’d spent together in the Spread Eagle came back to him. William Beaumont pulling up in his Aston Martin and the exchange that had taken place. Could Beaumont be supplying Flynn with his drugs? If so, there was a chance Flynn was at Beaumont’s place. What had Shazia said? Grinstay House, that was it. Huge place to the west of town.

  After five minutes of driving, Jon’s headlights lit up a pair of imposing gates at the mouth of a sweeping turn-off. To the side of the left-hand gate was an octagonal-shaped building, lattice-work windows set in narrow, arched frames. Jon continued past, parked a hundred metres further along at the base of the huge wall bordering the road, then jogged back to the gatehouse.

  It was plunged in darkness and Jon could tell no one was in. He stooped to examine the chain looped through the wrought- iron gates. Padlocked. The sinking feeling inside him rapidly growing, he paced about, searching for Flynn’s motorbike. A door was built into the wall a few metres to the side of the building. He grasped the handle and tried to shake it. The thing felt solid enough to withstand a battering ram.

  He turned and leaned against the wood. Where the hell could he be? Probably hiding in some village in the middle of nowhere. Jon thrust his hands into his pockets and set off back along the deserted country lane, wondering how many hours could be spent scouring CCTV footage of the nearby motorways in the hope of glimpsing Flynn as he raced by.

  Face it, he thought. It’s all been for nothing. The thought of Alice brought a lump to his throat. I should be with you, he thought. Not here, poking around in the bloody countryside. He glanced about, and as he pictured the miles of empty hills separating him from his wife, a thought occurred. Could Flynn be out poaching? He felt the familiar surge of his pulse. Is that what you’re up to? Out looking for deer? There was just a chance the bloke was stupid enough.

  The roads were deserted as Jon drove back to the high street. He crossed straight over and pulled up in front of the National Park visitor centre so his headlights were trained on the front of the building. At the front doors, he stooped forward to read the notice he’d spotted on his initial visit: ‘Visitor Centre Opening Hours: 8.00 a.m. to 5.00 p.m., Monday to Saturday.11 a.m. to 5 p.m., Sundays and Bank Holidays. In the event of an emergency that requires a park ranger, please call the mobile number below.’

  Jon keyed the digits into his phone and pressed green. Come on, come on, he jiggled from foot to foot. Someone fucking answer. His call was picked up on the fourth ring.

  ‘Michael Lumm, Peak District Park Rangers.’

  Lumm, Jon thought. The younger ranger who’d been with the RSPB officer the other morning. God, how long ago did that seem? ‘Michael, it’s DI Jon Spicer here.’

  ‘Detective Spicer?’

  The man couldn’t have sounded more taken aback. ‘I know, sorry to ring you on your mobile so late. I didn’t wake you, I hope.’

  ‘No, it’s fine. What’s up, Jon?’

  You need a drink of water, Jon thought. Your voice sounds painfully hoarse. ‘I need to locate Ian Flynn. I’ve been to his bungalow and there’s no sign of him or his bike. It occurred to me that he might be out poaching. If anyone knows where that might be, I thought it would be a park ranger.’

  ‘You need to find Ian Flynn?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is this to do with the murder?’

  ‘Correct. It’s absolutely vital I find him.’

  ‘You mean right now?’ For Christ’s sake. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Have you not spoken to Sergeant Brooks – or whoever’s on duty at the police station?’

  Jon raised his eyes to the night sky, barely registering the immense spray of stars. ‘I haven’t. I thought the ranger service would be a better bet. Any ideas?’

  ‘Sorry if I’m being a bit slow, but how did you get this number, then?’

  ‘It’s on the front doors of the visitor centre.’

  ‘You’re here? In Haverdale?’ Surprise lifted his voice.

  ‘Yes. Michael, any idea where he might be?’

  ‘Who’s with you?’

  His arms tingled with irritation. ‘Is that relevant?’

  ‘To help with the search, I mean.’

  ‘It’s just me.’

  ‘You’re on your own?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Detective, I saw the local paper. Is this part of Superintendent

  Mallin’s investigation?’

  Bollocks, Jon thought. He’s not going to help me. Not without the say-so of that twat. ‘He hasn’t sanctioned it, no.’

  ‘So, you’re here alone. Do any of your colleagues even know your whereabouts?’

  ‘No, it’s just me. Listen, Michael, I have to find Flynn. Can you help me, or not?’ There was a long silence. ‘Michael?’

  ‘Do you know where Sharston Edge is?’

  ‘Yes – the A6187 just out of town.’

  ‘Deer often shelter at the base of the cliff. Can you meet me in the car park there?’

  ‘How soon?’

  ‘I’m here right now. Just been checking on a badgers’ sett nearby. And Detective, I saw Ian Flynn heading up to the top earlier on.’

  His headlights swept across the trees lining the car park’s perimeter, picking out Michael Lumm in the far corner. Nervously, the man beckoned Jon across, directing him to park behind a squat hedge. As Jon scrabbled in the glove compartment for a pair of cuffs, he thought his car would be invisible from the road. He got out and raised a hand in greeting. ‘I really appreciate this, Michael.’

  They shook hands, Lumm’s grip loose and slightly shaky. ‘No problem. Why the urgency to find Flynn?’

  Jon looked around. ‘I thought you’d be on your quad bike.’

  ‘I am. It’s parked further up, closer to the location of the badgers’ sett.’

  ‘Oh. I’ll explain everything as we walk. It’s up this path, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’ Lumm led the way up the gravel track. ‘So, Flynn’s of some importance?’

  ‘Prime suspect. I just need to find the bastard.’

  ‘You think he killed your brother?’

  ‘I found that egg thief. He’s given me some information. And we have more on the crime-scene forensics.’
<
br />   ‘Well, I’m pretty certain we’ll find him up here.’

  ‘Good. I’ll make the arrest, OK? You just point out where he is.’ He paused. ‘How will you spot him?’

  Lumm half turned, raising a baton-like torch. ‘This has plenty of range. But he’s probably made a kill by now, in which case his own light will give his position away.’

  ‘He’ll be armed with a crossbow, won’t he?’

  ‘Yes, but I thought about that. If he’s started butchering the deer, he’ll have packed that away by now. Though he’ll have a knife.’

  Jon examined the other man. He sounded nervous as hell.

  ‘Michael, you don’t need to worry. I’ll deal with him, knife or no knife – especially if you lend me that dirty great club of a night light.’

  ‘No problem.’

  They continued upward, Jon running the situation over in his head. ‘So, he uses Sharston Edge as a vantage point?’ he whispered.

  ‘Yes. It’s got great views across a huge swathe of the country. But the beauty from a poacher’s point of view is the deer come to you. Just position yourself on the cliff then take one out once they’ve settled for the night directly below you.’

  Jon nodded. ‘Looks like I’ve got myself the perfect guide.’ Lumm continued his plodding pace, slowing a few minutes later. ‘The top is just up there.’ Crouching down, he picked his way forward.

  Jon followed, coming to a halt as Lumm waved a hand. The other man slowly straightened. ‘No sign of him. That means he’s probably made his kill.’

  ‘Can we take a look?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Jon stopped out onto the summit, just able to make out the sentinel-like formations of rock standing guard on the precipice itself. The night seemed unnaturally quiet. ‘You reckon he’ll be at the bottom?’ Jon murmured.

  Lumm nodded.

  Not caring how comical he looked, Jon tiptoed towards the edge.

  Rick stared at the plastic toy. ‘I’m confused.’

  ‘Red Dino. That’s what Dave called him.’

  ‘Flynn? He named Flynn after a Power Ranger?’

  Zoe slumped back. ‘I need a cigarette. Get us one from the kitchen, will you?’