Your Deepest Fear

by David Jackson

  It’s a bluff. Ozone hasn’t been to the pub and hasn’t spoken to Kieran Willis, but he’s relying on Lee here being too dumb and too scared to question it.

  ‘All right,’ says Hassell.

  ‘Good. So tell me what the fight was about.’

  ‘Nothing. I mean, we hadn’t hurt her or anything. We just spoke to her in the pub, that’s all. And then, when we left, she jumped us.’

  ‘Okay. And then what?’

  Hassell squirms. ‘See, this is when it gets a bit fuzzy, like. I smacked my head hard on the ground. I’m not quite sure—’

  ‘Lee.’

  ‘Swear to God, I’m not trying to pull a fast one. It’s just a bit hazy . . . Wait, I remember she was asking about Metro again.’

  ‘Asking what?’

  ‘Who he was, and where he could be found.’

  ‘And you said what?’

  ‘I tried to frighten her off again. I told her Metro works for Joey, and that if she had any sense she’d leave well alone.’

  ‘You brought Joey Pearce into the conversation.’

  Hassell seems suddenly to wish he could retract his previous statement. ‘Yeah, but like I say, it was only to scare her off. I mean, nobody in their right mind would want to mess with Joey, would they?’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘You said she asked where she could find Metro. Did you tell her?’

  Hassell flashes him a look of incredulity that such a thing should even be considered. ‘Don’t be daft. I’m not that stupid.’

  Ozone punctures him with his gaze again. Watches him wither in his chair. ‘Lee, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. What’s it gonna be?’

  Hassell starts to chew his lip, but winces when he bites into the scab there. ‘I might have mentioned one or two places.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘The pool hall. The gym.’

  Ozone nods. ‘The pool hall and the gym.’

  ‘And maybe the club in town.’

  ‘The club. Anything else? His home address, maybe?’

  ‘I don’t know his home address. Look . . .’ He pulls down his collar to reveal some small scratches on his neck. ‘She had a broken bottle. She was going to slit my throat. She’s a fucking head-the-ball. What was I supposed to do?’

  Ozone keeps a cold glare on him for another few seconds. Then, abruptly, he gets to his feet. His hands are still in his pockets.

  ‘Are you going?’ Hassell asks.

  ‘I’m going,’ says Ozone.

  Hassell gets out of his chair. His relief is evident. ‘All right, O. I’m really sorry about last night, okay? Tell Metro I wasn’t trying to cause him any trouble.’

  Ozone stands his ground, facing Hassell. ‘There’s one more thing before I go.’

  ‘Yeah? What’s that, then?’

  And now Ozone brings his hands out of his pockets. He watches Hassell’s gaze as it drops to those hands, as it takes in the sight of all the large, chunky, glinting rings on the fingers.

  Ozone knows that he can be arrested for carrying a knuckleduster. Not for wearing rings, though. Lots of people wear rings.

  Hassell’s Adam’s apple bobs, and then he looks up at Ozone. ‘Do you have to? I mean, is there anything I can do to make up for it?’

  ‘Sorry, Lee. Orders. You know how it is.’

  Hassell’s eyes shift left and right, and for a moment Ozone thinks he’s contemplating making a break for it. Which would be idiotic.

  Hassell says, ‘Can we, er . . . Do you mind if we do it in the bathroom?’

  ‘The bathroom?’

  ‘Yeah. If that’s okay. Easier to clean up afterwards. My nan’s just had a new carpet fitted in here.’

  Ozone looks down at the carpet. It’s beige. Spotless.

  ‘Sure,’ he answers. ‘I wouldn’t want to upset your nan.’

  *

  When he’s done, Ozone uses the phone in the flat to call for an ambulance. He gives his name as Lee Hassell and says that he’s just fallen down a flight of concrete stairs.

  As he leaves the flat, he pulls his jacket to one side and sniffs his armpit. All the exertion has made him perspire, so now he’ll have to go home, shower, and freshen up again.

  Personal hygiene is so important.

  29

  As usual, Cody drives. It gives him something on which to focus. Being a passenger allows him too much time to think.

  Webley is thinking right now.

  He can tell. She goes quiet when something’s on her mind, and being quiet isn’t in her nature. Eventually, when she’s built up a good head of steam, she’ll let it out.

  ‘So,’ she says. ‘How’d it go with your friend Sara?’

  Thar she blows, thinks Cody.

  ‘She’s not my friend. And it went fine, thank you for asking.’

  ‘What was it about?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean the desperate rush to speak to her. What was the urgency?’

  Cody shrugs. ‘You heard Blunt. She thinks Sara Prior knows more than she’s saying.’

  ‘And does she?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘You don’t think so. You made a mad dash over to Sara Prior’s house because you don’t think she’s in this thing up to her neck. That makes a lot of sense.’

  ‘It wasn’t a mad dash. I was ticking another thing off the list.’

  ‘It looked like a mad dash to me. Why couldn’t it have waited until after we’d seen Fulton again?’

  ‘We’re going to see Fulton now, aren’t we?’

  Webley lapses into silence again. Then: ‘Why didn’t you want me to go with you?’

  ‘There was no need. You’ve seen the action list. There’s a million other things we need to follow up.’

  Another pause. ‘Cody, what’s going on?’

  ‘What do you mean? Nothing’s going on.’

  ‘Yes, there is. I know you. You act weird at the best of times, but at the moment you’re at the top of the weird charts. You’re Weirdy McWeird from Weirdsville. Talk to me.’

  Ha, he thinks. The things I could tell you. About Waldo; about the key sitting in my pocket right now; about the shit Sara’s getting involved in. Megan Webley, you don’t want to be in that world.

  ‘There’s nothing to say. Everything’s hunky-dory. I’m just doing my job.’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ says Webley.

  *

  Lewis Fulton seems a tad irritated that they’ve turned up at his door again.

  ‘Is everything okay?’ he asks them. ‘Did you talk to Ann?’

  ‘Yes, we spoke to her,’ Cody says. ‘As you know, some of my colleagues have spoken to your other staff too. That’s why we need to clear up a couple of things with you.’

  It’s Ann who has pointed the finger, but Cody doesn’t want it rebounding on her.

  ‘Oh?’ says Fulton. ‘What kind of things?’

  They’re in the meeting room again, only Fulton doesn’t seem as much at ease as he did last time. Not so much of the slouching.

  ‘There seemed to be a general sense that things weren’t entirely . . . friendly between you and Matthew Prior.’

  ‘What? I’m not sure what you mean. What have they been telling you?’

  ‘They seemed to think you had a habit of belittling Matthew.’

  ‘Belittling him? What? Seriously? I told you yesterday: I had the utmost respect for Matthew. His work was exemplary.’

  ‘I’m not talking about his work. There’s a feeling that you objected to him on a more personal basis.’

  Fulton’s mouth drops as he switches his gaze to Webley, and then back to Cody. ‘That’s ridiculous. What exactly are they saying?’

  ‘We’d like to hear it from you, Mr Fulton.’

  ‘Hear what?’

  ‘What you thought of Matthew. You said yesterday that you didn’t like him.’

  ‘No . . . wait. You’re twisting my wo
rds. I didn’t mean I hated him. I just meant I didn’t see him as a friend. He wasn’t someone I’d go out for a pint with.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘He just wasn’t. I’m sure it’s the same for you. I bet you pick and choose who you drink with, right?’

  ‘So who do you go drinking with? Anyone from work?’

  ‘Sometimes, but not on a regular basis. It tends to be birthdays and special occasions like that. I’m their boss, don’t forget.’

  ‘Where do you go? The pubs round here? The Tar Barrel?’

  ‘Not that dive, no. If I go anywhere near here, it tends to be the Wetherspoons.’

  ‘But not with Matthew?’

  ‘Sometimes he’d be there, but he wasn’t much of a socialiser. He wasn’t into drinking.’

  ‘What was he into?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. Like I say, he wasn’t a mate. Look, I’m not sure where—’

  ‘Do you like sports, Mr Fulton?’

  This from Webley. Fulton turns to look at her.

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘Sports. Do you like sports?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so.’

  ‘Do you do any yourself?’

  ‘Yeah. Quite a bit of squash. A weekly game of football.’

  ‘What do you think of men who aren’t into sports?’

  ‘I don’t think anything. That’s their choice.’

  ‘You don’t think they’re a bit namby-pamby? A bit girly?’

  ‘No. Not at all.’

  ‘Would you ever criticise someone for not being into sports or drinking?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘What if they don’t talk about women much?’

  ‘That’s fine too. I don’t—’

  ‘Did you ever make fun of Matthew for being like that?’

  ‘No. Don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘You never suggested he was a bit effeminate?’

  ‘No! I would never do that to anyone.’

  ‘That’s not what we heard.’

  Pure shock on Fulton’s face now. ‘From who? Who told you that? Was it Ann?’

  ‘We’re not at liberty to say who—’

  ‘I can’t believe it. I’m gobsmacked.’ He stabs his index finger into the table in a show of fury. ‘You know what, we’ve got formal channels for this kind of thing. If someone wants to make a complaint, they should do it in the proper way, not go spreading rumours and gossip that can land people in trouble. This is unbelievable.’

  ‘Did Matthew ever make a complaint?’

  ‘No. Of course not. And if you don’t believe me, you can go to Human Resources and ask them. We take things like that very seriously. It would have to be investigated and fully documented. Go ahead if you like – speak to HR.’

  ‘What about an informal complaint? A private conversation between you and Matthew. All off the record.’

  ‘No. Nothing like that. Not once in all the time he worked here. Matthew wasn’t exactly the life and soul of the party, but he seemed happy enough in his work.’

  ‘Again, there are some who would disagree with you. There has been a suggestion that he was quite upset at some of the things you might have said to him.’

  Fulton shakes his head in apparent disbelief, but then he suddenly seems to decide on a change of tack.

  ‘Look, I can be a bit . . . laddish sometimes, okay? A bit blokeish. It’s just the way I am. And maybe Matthew found that a bit intimidating. I have no idea. But I can assure you that I never deliberately set out to – what was your word? – belittle Matthew. He was just a guy who worked here in the office. That was the full extent of our relationship.’

  ‘What about his wife?’ Cody asks. He catches Webley glancing at him as he tosses in this question.

  ‘Sara? What about her?’

  ‘You mentioned her a couple of times yesterday. I got the feeling you like her.’

  ‘Yes. As a person. Yes. She’s nice.’

  ‘Nice? You mean attractive, right?’

  ‘Well, that too. She’s good-looking, yes.’

  ‘Ever come on to her?’

  ‘What? No. She’s— no.’

  ‘Ever meet up with her when Matthew wasn’t there?’

  ‘No. I only met her a few times, and that was back when Matthew first started working here.’

  ‘What about since they split up?’

  ‘I didn’t know they’d split up until you told me yesterday. But to answer your question: no, I haven’t ever seen her without Matthew being present.’

  ‘Ever been to her house?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What about Matthew’s new place?’

  ‘No. I didn’t even know he’d moved out.’

  ‘So we wouldn’t find your fingerprints or DNA in that house?’

  ‘No. How could you?’

  ‘Mr Fulton, would you be willing to come into the station and give us your fingerprints and samples of your DNA?’

  Fulton stares at Cody for a long time. ‘W-why?’

  ‘I thought that would be obvious. To eliminate you from our enquiries.’

  ‘Do I . . . Do I have to?’

  ‘No, you don’t have to. All we’re trying to do is to make it easier for you and for us. Assuming everything you’ve told us is true, and the forensic samples you provide support that, then we can put these rumours about you to bed and we’ll never need to bother you again.’

  Fulton mulls it over for a while longer. ‘No. I don’t want to do that. If I don’t have to give you those samples, then I’m not going to.’

  ‘Mr Fulton—’

  ‘That’s my final word. You said it’s my right to refuse, yes? Well, then, I’m exercising my rights.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ says Cody, but in a tone that makes it clear to Fulton that this isn’t over.

  Webley says, ‘Mr Fulton, do you own a maroon woollen sweater?’

  ‘A maroon sweater? No. It’s not really my colour.’

  ‘Ever shop at Marston’s?’

  ‘Sometimes. Not for a while.’

  ‘How long is a while?’

  ‘I don’t know. Six months, maybe.’

  ‘When did you last have a haircut?’

  ‘At the end of last week. Friday, I think.’

  ‘It’s nicely shaped. Do you put wax on it?’

  ‘Yes. What’s that got—?’

  ‘What brand do you use?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’d have to look in my bathroom cabinet. Look, how many more questions—?’

  ‘No more questions, Mr Fulton. For the moment.’

  ‘We’ll see ourselves out,’ says Cody.

  *

  ‘What do you think?’ Webley asks on the stairs.

  ‘I think he’s a little shit who gets a kick out of bullying his employees. But as for nailing them to the floor . . .’

  ‘Why’d you ask about The Tar Barrel? Of all the places you could have picked, that seems the least likely for a guy like Fulton.’

  ‘Dunno. It was the first local that came to mind.’

  ‘It’d be the last on my list.’

  As they exit the building, Cody’s mobile rings. He pulls it out and answers it without even checking who it’s from. He hears, ‘Hello, Cody.’

  It’s Waldo.

  30

  Cody tries to regain his composure, but he knows his shock has already splashed itself across his face. Webley has seen it and is giving him questioning looks.

  ‘Hold on,’ he says into the phone. Then to Webley: ‘I’ve got to take this. Wait for me in the car.’

  She eyes him with suspicion, but starts walking away, glancing back every few yards.

  Cody brings the phone to his ear again. ‘How did you get this number?’

  He’s had many weird calls on his landline, but this is the first time Waldo has ever contacted him on his mobile.

  ‘You haven’t said hello yet, Cody. It’s only polite.’

  ‘Fuck you. How’s that for polite? Answer the d
amn question.’

  ‘Your number is one of the most trivial things I know about you. I’ve been in your apartment, don’t forget. I’ve looked through your possessions, your files, your life.’

  ‘Which begs the question, how did you find out where I live?’

  ‘Surely you don’t want me to reveal the secrets of all my tricks? I’m a clown. This is a circus. Just believe the magic and enjoy the ride.’

  ‘The ride to freedom, you mean? Do I need a key for that?’

  ‘Ah, you got my little present. Excellent. You may be needing it soon.’

  ‘How about telling me what it’s for?’

  ‘Don’t worry, Cody. Even someone with the limited IQ and imagination of a police officer will be able to work it out. Give your brain time to work on it.’

  ‘And to what do I owe the pleasure of today’s call? Feeling bored?’

  ‘On the contrary, you’ve kept me very busy.’

  ‘Doing what?’

  ‘Making my next move. Setting things up for you.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Patience, Cody. You know how this works. Quid pro quo, as Hannibal Lecter might say. Tell me something new about yourself.’

  ‘Didn’t you just say you already know everything about me?’

  ‘Indulge me. I like to hear how you see things.’

  ‘What kind of things?’

  ‘Why don’t we do what we did last time and begin with the day’s events? Are you having trouble paying your taxes, Cody?’

  He knows, Cody thinks. He knows I’m at the tax office.

  He looks up and down the street for any sign that he’s being watched. The only eyes he sees on him are those of Webley sitting in the unmarked car along the street.

  ‘How do you know where I am?’

  ‘I followed you from the police station. It wasn’t difficult. I’ve done it many times. Got it down to a fine art now.’

  ‘Are you still here, watching me?’

  ‘Ah, that would be telling, wouldn’t it? Besides, we’re straying off-topic. What were you doing in the tax office?’

  ‘Investigating a case. That’s what I do, in case you don’t know. I catch criminals. Murderers like you.’

  ‘Is that what this is, then? A murder case?’

  ‘Yes. And that’s all you get to know about it.’