by Matthew Ross
I was thinking about Perry when the car pulled up. God knows what she must think, first I turn up battered and bruised, then she’s roped in as the alibi for the prime suspect to a triple murder. That’ll put the kybosh on anything happening there. Shame. I trudged on, lost in my thoughts of what might have been, idle daydreams of Perry, me and happily ever after. I didn’t notice the car crawling beside me, not until it flashed its blue lights and gave a short sharp scream of its siren to grab my attention.
The patrol car window slid down.
‘Mark Poynter, get in.’
I hesitated, and decided I’m not going back. If they wanted me again, then this time I’d want a lawyer and I’d want everything done official and on record. I kept walking.
‘I’m your ride home, get in,’ the voice said. I hesitated again, my feet were cold and damp, and my clothes weren’t any protection against the chill seeping deep into my bones. I opened the rear door and sat in the back of the patrol car. As I did so the car’s interior lit up for a second. I immediately recognised the driver – the policeman from the Wilkes’s house with the footballer swagger. The door slammed closed and the car went dark again.
‘Thanks,’ I said.
The heating burned fiercely inside the car. I sat on my hands to try to warm them up and felt my face tingle as the dry heat began to thaw it out. The silver details of the driver’s uniform flashed in the shadows, but otherwise he was masked by the dark. The driver proceeded in the direction of the university channelled by the one-way flow of the dual carriageway, but against my expectations he didn’t do a full loop of the roundabout at the university approach to head back on the opposite side towards my house, instead he continued straight ahead into the gaping mouth of the tunnel taking us down and under the River Medway only to emerge on the other side a couple of minutes later in the heart of a sprawling industrial estate full of huge crinkly tin warehouses locked up and deserted for the night. The driver slowly cruised the network of estate roads, flashing his full beam to read the street signs, picking his way through the maze until he finally came to a stop behind a dilapidated old unit, its perimeter guarded by spiky bare metal palisade fencing.
‘What’s all this about?’ I said. I hoped my voice carried enough annoyance and belligerence to mask the worry and fear trembling inside me. Why was I here? Part of me tried to urge calm, knowing cops couldn’t just pick people off the street and take them to dark deserted areas to beat confessions out of them, but another part of me was anything but calm as I knew this cop was dirty, and he knew I knew.
‘Just wait. You’ll see,’ he said.
The opposite door opened, again the car’s interior lit up for a second, then the door slammed closed and the car went dark once more. Hamlet shuffled to get comfortable in the back seat, he leaned up close to me, and then, to be sure, flicked the interior light on then off. ‘Shit mate, what happened to your face? Did Senia do that?’
‘No,’ I self-consciously rubbed my forehead. ‘I fell off my bike.’
‘Yeah? Well if you need a couple of guys to help you sort out your bike let me know, okay? Danny, give us a minute?’
Obediently the driver got out of the car. I looked to Hamlet for an explanation. ‘Senia’s after you, Mark, he’s trying to get authority to tap your phone calls and have you watched full time. The only safe way to talk privately is by using the hospitality of friendlies, such as PC Brennan here.’
PC Brennan sheltered in the doorway of the building to keep out the drizzle. He looked cold and pissed off.
‘Listen, Marky, I need your help.’ His voice had changed, it was weak, helpless, and he carried the smell of whiskey on his breath. I didn’t need to see him in the dim light to know he was in a bad way.
‘Danny says they told you about Sally, what happened to her,’ he sniffed. ‘I want you to help me find out who did this; she liked you, she’d want you to. Whoever it was, I’ll make them pay for it.’
I didn’t know what to say, so gazed out of the window. PC Brennan was using this opportunity to relieve himself and stood with his back to us unloading his bladder; a small cloud of steam emerged between his knees as the hot flow hit the cold brickwork.
‘He could get nicked for that, lucky there’s not a copper around,’ I said.
I couldn’t help myself, always one for gallows humour: lighten the mood, change the subject, if they’re laughing it means they’re not hitting you. As soon as I said it, I regretted it, knowing it wasn’t the right time or place, but Hamlet wasn’t listening anyway.
‘You’ve got the…’ Hamlet struggled to find the right word, and I sat quietly letting him find it. ‘You’ve got the way with people Mark, they like you, they open up to you.’
‘I don’t know about that,’ I said, thinking how little I actually knew Tommy despite all our history.
‘The other day when you were at the club, what’d you talk about?’
‘Tommy mostly.’
‘And?’
‘Her kid.’ I thought it prudent to leave out the bits about her hoping to get away to set up a new life with a new family, I didn’t want to be the messenger Hamlet was planning to shoot.
‘Did she say anything about a new boyfriend? About getting serious?’
‘Yes.’ I replied, he obviously knew so there was no point in denying it.
‘And?’
‘That’s all. She had a boyfriend, sounded keen, hoped it would go somewhere.’
‘Who is he?’
‘I’ve no idea. Honestly. No idea.’
‘Then that’s what I want you to find out. Who is he? You will come to me with his name.’
‘But...’
‘No buts. Look, here’s the deal. You get me his name, I let you off what you owe me.’
‘What I owe you? What are you talking about, we agreed, you bought the debt off me.’
‘He’s dead Mark.’
‘And whose fault is that?’
‘Don’t go blaming me! The boys went to collect, no answer at the door they thought your man was avoiding them, they get inside and find the silly fat bastard dead in his chair. They never laid a finger on him.’
‘That’d explain why he didn’t answer any of my calls.’
‘Well he wouldn’t, carked out in front of the telly, all over and out, Elvis has left the building.’
‘Hold on, you haven’t even given me any money yet, you said Friday, so I don’t actually owe you anything.’
‘Oh yeah, I forgot, this is for you.’ He passed across a small Peppa Pig tote bag that had been between his feet. ‘Happy Christmas.’
‘Piss off, I don’t want it now, you can keep it.’
‘Too late, you asked for it, you’ve got it. You’ve got no idea what I had to go through to get that, so you’re bloody well having it. As for the fat man, he’s no good to me in that state, so the debt comes back to you, sorry but that’s how it works.’
‘Seriously, you’re telling me you have a refund policy?’
‘Look, relax, I’ve told you I’ll let it go, just get me that name.’
‘Me? Why? You don’t need me. You’ve clearly got PC Pissy over there who’s better equipped than I’ll ever be to find out, ask him.’
‘I have. You seem to forget just how large your debt is Mark. This right now is the most important thing to me. I’m asking everyone who owes me a favour, I want this sorted in days not weeks or months. I’m perfectly aware your debt is way in excess of the task in hand, that’s the same as everyone. I want people hungry for this so I’m stirring up a bit of competition, winner takes all, scoops the jackpot, if one of you finds the bastard, it’s money well spent as far as I’m concerned. Senia knows exactly who Sally was to me, so he’ll keep a tight lid on it – as soon as he has him, he’ll be whisked off in to the wide blue yonder of protective custody. I want him before Senia’s even out of bed. I will take care of this, not Senia.’
He opened the car door and stepped out, but before closing it he leaned i
n and added, ‘First instalment’s due a week today. Get that name.’
Hamlet walked off into the shadows, a slam, then headlights pierced the darkness and a big car, it was too dark to be specific, whisked him away.
‘Come on then, I’ll give you that lift home,’ said PC Brennan, climbing back into the car.
I sat quietly watching the scenery slip by. I wondered how I’d managed to get myself into this mess, and tried working out the sums. Chapman owed me a load of money, that meant I couldn’t pay anyone, the money from the Wilkes job would have enabled me to pay off some of the debt, but went wrong when the police shut the job down. I’ve given most of Tommy’s money to Blunt to avoid bloodshed and I need to find a way to repay that, and to cap it all, I’ve now been handed another bag of cash which even if I give it straight back to Hamlet tomorrow will cost me fifteen percent on top for the privilege of just looking at it. Basically by my rough calculation that adds up to, more or less, a heap load of trouble I can’t afford, squared.
‘I’ve never seen him like that before,’ said Brennan after a couple of miles in silence. ‘Who was she, girlfriend?’
‘No, most definitely not.’ Sally was more important than that, but I knew better than to gossip about Hamlet’s private life, especially to the police – he might be Hamlet’s man but it doesn’t mean he’s mine.
‘Shit, she’s not his daughter, is she?’
‘No.’
We were back through the tunnel by now, back to the back-to-back houses, walls caked in grey traffic grime, the occasional all-night shop or petrol station lit up brightly against the gloom. I held my gaze out the window to let him know I wasn’t in a chatty mood. He wouldn’t hear it from me. If Hamlet wanted him to know he’d tell him, like he told me.
Way back, when we were close, at a long boozy lunch, holding court, he got a little maudlin and took the conversation in a peculiar turn. He talked about his son. During the 1989 Summer of Love, after seventy-two hours dancing in a field, he first came down and then came home to find his wife had gone, and the baby with her. ‘She used my boy as a weapon, turned him against me.’ The boy Jonathan had grown up with the wife’s family and a top-grade education paid for by a father they tried to forget. But aged 18 and with the promise of a car, a reconciliation between Jonathan and Hamlet was attempted
Jonathan took a shine to one of Hamlet’s new barmaids, a pretty young thing called Sally, but a fortnight later after one paternal bust-up too many, Jonathan returned home in his new motor, the same one he would spread across a bridge support on the M3 a few years later. Sally, on the other hand, left her job and her college course suddenly, only to show up again eighteen months later looking for part-time work to fit around her childcare arrangements. Hamlet, adding two and two together and coming up with eleventy-seven, gave her a nice responsible job and protected her like his own blood. As far as he was concerned, Sophia was his granddaughter and Sally his family. Was she Jonathan’s kiddie? I don’t know, but Hamlet had decided she was and if that was good enough for him, it was good enough for everyone else. And now he’s out for blood. Someone has attacked his family, and he wants retribution. How did I get stuck in the middle of all of this?
I asked PC Brennan to drive me to where I’d left the van, no point wasting money on a taxi tomorrow. It looked sad and abandoned in the corner of the otherwise empty car park, thankfully it didn’t have a parking penalty stuck to the windscreen, so at least I can be grateful for one little win today. As I got out of the car Brennan called me back.
‘Don’t forget this,’ he said, handing me the Peppa Pig tote bag, and then a brown envelope. ‘And take this, you might find it useful.’
I took them both from him without speaking, opened the van door and tossed them on the passenger seat before buckling up and driving away.
24
I lay back in bed watching the morning sunlight track across the ceiling, wondering what might have been. Everything had seemed so simple. Get the Wilkes job finished, get the money, pay Blunt, breathe out and relax. It had all been planned so nicely, but that plan was now more tits up than a nudist beach in July.
My phone, sat on the window sill, began to ring, forcing me to haul my tired carcass out of bed. I didn’t recognise the number and let it ring off to voicemail. I looked out the window hoping to see Mr Skinner, and spotted him on a shed roof a few gardens over. He stretched out to his full length and rolled over to expose his tummy to the warmth from above. He looked content, lucky chap. The phone chimed the voicemail prompt. Mr Skinner wriggled against the rough surface of the shed’s roof felt to ease an itch that simply couldn’t be reached. ‘I know just how you feel, mate,’ I thought as the message began to play.
‘Hi, hello, Mark? It’s Charlie. Just phoning to say hi. And wondering whether you’ve had the chance to look, did Tommy leave anything with you for me? Anything at all? Let me know. Oh, and purchase orders, all of them, don’t forget, I’ll pay you for them, all of them. Call me back, cheers.’
He’s becoming a nuisance I thought. I cut the call midway through him reciting his phone number, and I mentally filed it as one to ignore in future. I plugged the phone back on to the charging lead and then put it on the bedroom window sill beside my keys, loose change and the other pocket junk that had been dumped there when I got home late last night, including I noticed, Brennan’s envelope. I’d forgotten all about that. ‘You might find it useful.’ Those were his words. Feeling curious, I ripped it open and found a plain brown unmarked folder, nothing else.
I flicked through the folder’s contents. The front sheet had handwritten at the head of it ‘DeFreitas, Sally’ and then a list of documents. It looked as though Brennan had given me a copy of Sally’s case notes. I wasn’t comfortable about this, convinced I could get into a brand-new level of trouble if anyone caught me with it. I debated whether to rip it into shreds and then burn the pieces and then bury the ashes. The doorbell rang. I flipped the folder shut and slid it out of sight under the bed, next to the Peppa Pig tote bag already hidden there, and went to the door.
I opened the door, and was taken aback. Perry. And adding to my genuine surprise she didn’t look angry.
‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Can I come in?’
I ushered her in, and followed her through to the kitchen.
‘How have you been? I’ve not seen you for a couple of days, I looked out for you but you weren’t home. Although, I later found out you were a little, err, busy yesterday afternoon,’ her rising inflection on the end gave it a teasing tone from which I took I wasn’t in trouble with her.
‘That’s one way of putting it I suppose. I’m guessing the police spoke with you.’ She nodded. ‘Thanks, I’d probably still be in there if you hadn’t vouched for me.’
‘That’s right. You owe me. Big time!’ she said, prodding me in the side; this was getting playful. ‘So, I was thinking you could take me out for dinner to say thank you. All I’ve had to eat since getting here is hospital food, so how’s about you show the new girl somewhere nice.’
This morning had suddenly changed for the better. ‘Okay, sure, I’d love to,’ I said. ‘Tonight?’
‘Tonight suits me fine, pick me up at seven?’
I agreed, we looked at each other and smiled, holding the moment long enough to mean something. She took a sip of the tea I’d passed her and noticed the mug. ‘When did you go to Belgrade?’ but before I could answer something outside caught her eye. ‘You see that cat?’ she said.
‘Mr Skinner?’
‘Yes. Wait. What? Never mind. That cat, who does it belong to?’
‘Me, I suppose’ I said.
‘You, you suppose?’
‘He just appeared in the garden one day.’
‘Doesn’t make him yours.’
‘Agreed. But nobody stays long around here anymore, I didn’t know if he got forgotten or maybe abandoned because they got told no cats by the landlord, or whether he just ran away one day and got lost.’
&nb
sp; We both watched Mr Skinner as he hoisted his back leg perfectly straight up across his shoulder and behind his head making Perry chuckle. ‘He looks like he’s about to play the cello,’ she said.
‘You can tell he’s been loved and cared for, but something’s happened that’s made him wary of people, something he can’t recover from. Not yet anyway.’
‘But how does that make him your cat then?’
‘I don’t know, maybe we recognised each other as kindred spirits. It wasn’t long after my dad died. I was under a dark cloud feeling down and lonely. Then he appeared, this skinny sad little thing hiding from the rain near my bins.’
‘Ah, two lost souls.’
‘But anytime I tried to go near him, he’d run away. Poor little fella’s terrified of hands, won’t go anywhere near them. He’s always kept his distance. I feed him every day, and he’s beginning to trust me, he’ll approach now, and he’ll sit near me but it’s always more than an arm’s-length away.’
‘Close enough for company, far enough for safety?’
‘Exactly. But he will never ever come indoors, he simply doesn’t trust people.’
‘That’s what I was going to tell you. I found him asleep on my sofa this morning. I came down and there he was, curled up fast asleep like he owned the place.’
‘Mr Skinner? Never. Mr Skinner doesn’t go indoors. It couldn’t have been him.’
‘It was, I promise. Look, let’s see.’ She opened up my back door and stepped outside on to the patio deck. ‘Come on,’ she gestured to me. I obeyed and followed her.
‘Pusspusspuss,’ said Perry, leaning forwards with her arm straight out before her, her thumb rubbing between her fingers.