Dying Inside (DI Nick Dixon Crime)

by Damien Boyd

  ‘Got any change?’ Jane asked, when they came within earshot.

  ‘No.’

  Mark wouldn’t hear the last of that for a while.

  In for a pound, in for a penny, she thought, walking up to the queue in front of the Hobb’s Lane Collective food kiosk.

  ‘You seen my brother?’ she asked the person at the back of the queue, avoiding eye contact, the fingers of her right hand wrapped firmly around the old iPhone, Monty’s lead wrapped around her left wrist. She knew Dixon was listening, and only a hundred yards away at most, but still her heart was pumping in her chest. She felt sure they must be able to hear it over the wire.

  A shake of the head, then it was on to the next, working her way forwards; a girl, twenty or so, with straggly dark hair. ‘You seen my brother?’

  ‘No, sorry.’

  On to the next; going through the motions this time, the lad swaying from side to side, his eyes glazed over. No response.

  Jane held the phone up to the woman behind the counter. ‘You seen my brother?’ She was gaining in confidence now.

  ‘He was here last evening,’ came the reply. Jane could imagine Dixon sitting bolt upright in the passenger seat of Cole’s car.

  ‘D’you know where he is now?’

  ‘No, sorry. He didn’t say.’

  ‘How was he?’

  ‘Seemed fine. We gave him a burger and some soup. What’s his name?’

  ‘Craig.’

  ‘He said it was Luke. I always ask for their name; sometimes that’s all it takes to remind them they’re human beings. Are you on the streets too, love?’

  ‘I’m just looking for Craig.’

  ‘And what’s your name?’

  ‘Georgie.’ Dixon’s voice in her earpiece, just in the nick of time.

  ‘Georgie,’ said Jane, turning away.

  ‘D’you want anything to eat?’

  ‘No, thanks. I’ll be back later.’

  ‘We shut at ten. Shall I tell him you’re looking for him, if I see him?’

  ‘No.’ Dixon again.

  ‘No, thank you,’ Jane said.

  Three figures were hunched over against the fencing on the far side of the Bearpit, sitting in the drizzle; they might have been dead were it not for the occasional twitch or random shout. Spice, probably.

  ‘You seen my brother?’ she asked, standing in front of them.

  One looked up, his hood covering his face. ‘Fuck off.’

  Jane dragged Monty away when he started growling, heading towards a man standing in the entrance to another of the subways. He was leaning against the wall, smoking and inhaling deep, the sickly sweet smell of cannabis masking the stench of urine. Jane approached, tentatively.

  ‘Twenty quid.’

  ‘I’m not buying,’ she said. ‘I’m looking for my brother.’

  He turned away as she held out the photo in front of her.

  ‘He’s into spice and I need to find him.’

  ‘Maybe he doesn’t want to be found? Maybe I should just take that phone?’ The man leered at her, revealing a gold front tooth. ‘And your dog. He’d be worth a few quid for fighting.’

  ‘You can try.’ Jane felt oddly calm, and not just because she knew backup was only seconds away. Monty’s growl had turned to a snarl before the man had taken even one step towards her. ‘Now, would you like to have another look at the photo?’

  ‘Fuck off.’

  She watched him turn and sprint off up the subway, disappearing around the corner towards the bus station.

  On to the next. It must be a bit like working in telesales, she thought, looking around for someone else to ask.

  ‘Have you tried St Govan’s?’ asked the girl from the queue. She had been watching Jane from the far side of the Bearpit and had finally summoned up the courage to make her approach. ‘He might have gone there.’

  ‘Not yet.’ Jane shrugged. ‘I thought he might be here, for the spice, y’know.’

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Georgie,’ Jane lied. She was getting quite good at it.

  ‘I’m Sam,’ replied the girl. ‘Are you on your own?’

  ‘Apart from Monty here; he’s my defence mechanism.’

  ‘I’m on my own too. Can I see the photo again?’

  She handed Sam the iPhone, the picture of Craig still on the screen.

  ‘There were two coppers out looking for him last night,’ said Sam. ‘I’ve got a tent up on the Downs and they were out speaking to people. What’s he done?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘That’s what they said, but I didn’t believe that crap. Why would they be looking for him if he’s done nothing wrong?’

  ‘There’s someone trying to kill him.’ Jane was watching the queue for the collective kiosk on the far side the Bearpit, which had now grown to ten or twelve people. ‘Give me a minute.’

  ‘You’re wasting your time,’ Sam called after her. ‘Nobody will tell you anything.’

  It took two for her to work her way along the line and she’d got pretty used to being told to ‘eff off’ by the end of it. Some had been more polite, but the gist of it had been the same, and more importantly, no one had seen Craig.

  Sam was still there when Jane had finished, but was now being jostled by two lads in the entrance to the bus station subway. One had managed to get his hand in her coat pocket, the other holding her arms behind her back.

  Jane ran over. ‘Can I help you boys?’ Monty was up on his hind legs now, snarling and growling at the youths. ‘Or I could let my dog off the lead.’ She had her fingers hooked in his collar, the clip in the other hand. ‘You choose.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Sam was watching them sprint off towards the bus station.

  ‘Did they get anything?’

  ‘Just some change I’d scrounged. Not much.’ Sam smiled, her relief evident. ‘You got somewhere to sleep?’

  ‘I thought I might try St Govan’s.’

  ‘You’ll be lucky.’

  ‘Maybe see if Craig’s there anyway. And the . . .’ Jane hesitated. ‘Trenchard Street car park, is it? I was told he might be there.’

  ‘Tell you what, I’ll come with you. We can try the car park and Broad Quay on the way, and if you don’t get in at St Govan’s you can sleep in my tent. How’s that?’

  ‘Go with her,’ whispered Dixon in Jane’s ear.

  ‘Deal,’ she said.

  Sam was leaning over and stroking Monty. ‘I like having your defence mechanism around.’

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  The streetlights had come on by the time Jane reached the far end of Broad Quay. She had spotted Dixon and Cole following them, Louise and Mark quickly taking their place when they sped off around the corner. If they weren’t careful, uniform would be pulling them all over for kerb crawling.

  A few people had been sitting around Broad Quay enjoying what was left of the evening sunshine, and Sam had taken the opportunity to ask a couple tucking into a takeaway for some spare change.

  ‘Catch ’em when they’re eating and they feel guilty,’ she’d said, rattling the coins in her clenched fist.

  The pavement outside the Hippodrome was busy, several people milling about dressed as Elvis Presley.

  ‘We’ll go this way,’ said Sam. ‘I want to show you something.’

  It struck Jane as odd how the crowd on the pavement parted as they approached. She thought at first it might have been Monty making them nervous, but when the same people turned their backs, it hit home. Straggly hair, muddy parka, rucksack: homeless.

  A puppy running loose and they’d have been falling over themselves trying to help.

  Maybe they assumed she didn’t want help, or was past help?

  ‘Hold this.’ She handed Monty’s lead to Sam. Then she started pushing through the crowd, the picture of Craig on the phone in her outstretched hand. ‘Anyone seen my brother?’ Those who turned away were followed, the phone shoved under their noses. ‘Please help me. I’m looking for my broth
er.’

  ‘Do you want money?’ asked one.

  ‘No, thank you.’

  ‘Oh, right. Let me see the photo.’ A shake of the head. ‘No, sorry.’

  ‘Don’t give her money, Simon, she’ll only spend it on drugs,’ a voice whispered behind her.

  ‘There were several people by the ticket machines when we parked, he might be up there,’ said another.

  Then she felt someone pulling on her rucksack, dragging her back out of the crowd.

  ‘You’re not very good at this, are you?’ said Sam, with a tired laugh.

  ‘It just makes me so fucking angry. The assumptions they make and the way they turn their backs.’

  ‘You’ll get used to it. It’s the nearest thing to being invisible. C’mon, round here.’

  Jane followed Sam into the road beyond the Hippodrome and then stopped beside her on the corner, looking at Cole’s car parked on the double yellow lines at the far end. Mercifully, Sam didn’t appear to notice it.

  ‘This is Hobb’s Lane and that’s the collective,’ she said, pointing to the first black door. ‘They run the kiosk down at the Bearpit. They might be able to help you, but the office doesn’t open until ten in the morning now.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘We’ll try the car park, but it’s not a place to hang about.’

  Several people were sitting on the ramp up from the pavement, the bare feet of one poking out from the thin sleeping bag he had wrapped around himself.

  Jane slowed and looked over her shoulder.

  ‘Keep moving,’ snapped Sam, grabbing hold of Jane’s rucksack again.

  ‘He’s someone’s son.’

  ‘His parents are probably the reason he’s here; mine are the reason I am. Is it Craig?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘We’ll try the paystations. People have to get their money out and when there’s a show on it’s a popular spot.’

  The sleeping bags in the alcove on the ground floor were empty.

  ‘Probably gone off to get some food,’ said Sam. ‘You pay when you leave, so it’ll get really busy from ten thirty onwards. We can always come back later as well.’

  Jane’s eyes were watering by the time they reached the top floor. There had been a few people – including Mark – loitering around the paystations, and one asleep in the stairwell, but no sign of Craig.

  ‘We’ll go down the way the cars come up.’ Sam headed for the ramp. ‘It avoids the stairs. And there’s lots of fresh air up on the Downs.’

  ‘What about St Govan’s?’ asked Jane, trotting after her.

  ‘It’s on the way.’

  The heavy glass door was locked, so Sam pressed the buzzer and looked up at the camera above the door. ‘I come in every day to see if they’ve got any room and the answer’s always the same,’ she said. ‘I’d be in deep shit without my tent.’

  The lock buzzed and she snatched open the door. ‘You wait; no room at the inn.’

  ‘No dogs, sorry,’ said the voice behind the Perspex screen. ‘Unless it’s a guide dog.’

  ‘I’m just looking for my brother.’ Jane was holding the phone up to the window. She held it there for several seconds, waiting for the woman in the office to look up from her computer.

  ‘Nothing for you yet, either, Sam, sorry. You’re welcome to spend the night on the sofa.’ Finally, she looked up, her eyes taking a moment to focus on the phone screen and Craig’s photo. ‘Your brother, you say?’

  Jane nodded. Dixon had warned her about Andrea: black nail polish, eyeshadow, hair, clothes; it must be her.

  ‘He is not here.’ A hint of an eastern European accent.

  ‘Have you seen him?’

  ‘No. Sorry.’

  ‘Leave a message on the board,’ said Sam.

  ‘Go ahead.’ Andrea ducked back down behind her computer.

  ‘Leave my number,’ Dixon whispered.

  Jane picked up a red pen: Craig, ring Georgie pls x Am in a tent on the Downs love u, followed by Dixon’s mobile number.

  ‘If he comes in, I tell him.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘And you be careful, Sam,’ Andrea said. ‘Not everyone is who they say they are. We had police in here yesterday looking for this man.’

  Sam waited until the door slammed behind them. ‘She thinks you’re a copper,’ she said, grinning.

  ‘What the hell gave her that idea?’ Jane frowned, trying not to exaggerate too much.

  ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake!’ Sam sighed. ‘Who the bloody hell’s done this?’

  The light from Jane’s phone reflected off Sam’s sleeping bag, which had been dragged out of her tent and left in the mud. An open holdall was visible in the entrance, the contents strewn all over the groundsheet.

  ‘Have you lost anything valuable?’

  ‘I haven’t got anything valuable. It’s just clothes and a few bits. It’s not the first time and I’m sure it won’t be the last. It’s just fucking annoying, that’s all. At least they used the zip and didn’t cut it open. Then we’d really be in trouble.’

  Jane watched Sam on her knees, stuffing her clothes back into the holdall. ‘They’ve had a bloody good rummage through my underwear. I’d only just been down the launderette too. Perverts.’

  ‘What about your sleeping bag?’

  ‘A bit muddy down by my feet, but it’s not too bad.’

  Jane was peering through the trees back towards the road. ‘Can I come in?’ She could just about make out Cole’s car pulling in and watched him park behind Louise and Mark.

  ‘We’re here.’ Dixon’s voice in her earpiece. ‘There’s a patrol car doing the rounds and two PCSOs on foot.’

  ‘Yeah,’ replied Sam. ‘Just do up the outer behind you.’

  ‘Go on, in you go,’ said Jane, pushing Monty into the tent. Then she squatted down and followed on her hands and knees, turning to zip up the flysheet.

  ‘The shits have pinched my torch.’

  ‘I’ve still got some battery on my phone. I charged it up on the train this morning.’

  ‘Where have you come from?’

  ‘London.’ Jane sat down cross-legged and opened the top of her rucksack. ‘Here.’ She handed Sam a can of beer. ‘This’ll cheer you up.’

  ‘So, what’s Craig’s story then?’ asked Sam, her question punctuated by the snap of the ring pull. ‘Why is someone trying to kill him?’

  ‘Prison spice debt,’ whispered Dixon. ‘Gangs.’

  ‘He got hooked on spice in prison,’ said Jane. ‘Now he owes people. When you get out the gangs expect payment.’

  ‘I wouldn’t touch drugs again if my life depended on it.’ Sam took a swig from the can. ‘Some people do it to help them get through the day, but I’d rather not get through the day to be honest.’

  Jane had managed to balance the old iPhone on her rucksack so that it lit up the inside of the tent, and was sitting with Monty resting his head on her knee. ‘How come you find yourself here? You said your parents . . .’ Her voice ran out of steam, as if she had taken the question as far as she dared.

  ‘My stepfather was a bit hands-on.’ Sam’s eyes glazed over. ‘I told my mum, but she believed him when he denied it, so I left. And that was that.’

  ‘He raped you?’

  ‘It never got that far. He just kept trying it on. Even at their wedding, would you believe it?’ Sam took another swig of beer. ‘In the end I walked out, but had nowhere to go, so here I am.’

  ‘What about your real father?’

  ‘He’s in a new relationship and doesn’t give a shit.’

  Voices outside the tent, hushed laughter; Monty started snarling. Jane felt a lump rising in her throat. A tent was a helpless place to be when people were lurking in the darkness outside.

  ‘Oi, you lot, sling your hooks!’ Footsteps, running, then a beam of light was bouncing around, illuminating the tent before swinging away again. ‘Go on, I told you. And if I see you up here again, you’ll be arrested.’

  S
am looked at Jane and raised her eyebrows.

  ‘They’ve gone now,’ said a gruff voice Jane didn’t recognise. ‘Police. You all right in there?’

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ replied Sam.

  ‘Just kids. They probably won’t come back, but we’ll check on you again later.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Jane waited, listening to the footsteps fade into the night. ‘What’s your plan, then?’ she asked.

  ‘I haven’t got one, really,’ replied Sam. ‘I’d like to get my own place and a job, but you need an address for the job and a job for the address . . .’ Her voice tailed off.

  ‘Would you let me help you?’

  Sam sighed. ‘I knew it. You’re not really homeless, are you?’

  ‘I never said I was, just that I was looking for my brother.’

  ‘You’ve been wearing a ring recently too. I can see the mark on your finger.’

  ‘I took it off and left it at home.’ That bit was true, thought Jane.

  ‘You’re married?’

  ‘Engaged.’

  ‘Who to?’

  Jane swept her hair back off her right ear and turned to Sam, revealing the earpiece. ‘I need to watch what I say because he’s listening to this conversation.’

  ‘So you are police?’

  Jane had expected a protest to come over the wire, but none came; Dixon clearly trusted her judgement. ‘Yes, I am.’

  ‘What about Monty, is he yours?’

  ‘Sort of. He belongs to my fiancé.’

  ‘Craig’s not really your brother then, I suppose?’

  ‘No, but his life is in danger; that bit’s true. We have to find him before someone else does.’

  ‘It’s not just about spice, is it?’

  ‘No.’

  Sam drained the can and threw it into the corner of the tent. ‘I’m sharing my tent with a copper. I thought you were too good to be true. And the bloke listening, where is he?’

  ‘Parked over there.’ Jane waved her hand in the direction of the road. ‘You remember Hobb’s Lane, the car parked on the double yellows? The couple walking across the Bearpit; the bloke at the paystation on the top floor of the car park.’