by William Shaw
When the song had ended, Ferriter said, ‘I quite like that.’ She began tapping the phone with both thumbs. ‘Let’s assume you’re not insane. Ruby Tuesday. It’s a women’s clothes shop in the shopping centre in Dartford. Jesus. What would the boys be doing there? Buying frocks?’
Cupidi frowned. ‘I don’t know. Are they open tomorrow?’
But Ferriter was still looking at her phone. ‘No. Hold on.’ She scrolled down the search results. ‘Bloody hell. That’s weird.’
‘What?’
‘Ruby Tuesday Drive. Look.’ She held her screen up, pinched out on Google maps. ‘It’s a place. Those new builds north of the town. Look.’
Ruby Tuesday Drive. Barely a quarter of a mile from Frank Khan’s flat. Less than half a mile from where the Co-op guard had been killed. Cupidi shivered again, but this time it was not because of the cold.
FORTY-FIVE
When they reached the Ninety-Nine Steps they paused.
After a week out in the open, out on the mudland by the Thames, the town seemed crazy busy to Tap, with cars coming at them, and people crowding the pavements. They were twitchy, nervous and unwashed.
Tap was still weak. ‘I need to rest.’
The woods by the houses seemed bigger and greener than they had when they had last been here, running away from the phone man.
‘Let’s wait here for a bit,’ he said. ‘Think of the plan.’
They ducked under the railing at the top of the steps and sat in the copse, among the discarded sweet wrappers.
‘Only one way to stop this.’
A boy of about six, with purple shorts and a red T-shirt burst into the undergrowth. The park was full of kids mucking about while their mums sat on the benches. A gang of them were playing hide-and-seek.
His eyes went wide when he saw the two older boys crouching in the darkness.
‘Go away,’ said Sloth.
The boy hesitated, unwilling to give up the perfect hiding place.
‘Bog off,’ hissed Sloth, raising a hand.
The boy jolted backwards, falling back out into the sunshine.
‘How?’ asked Tap. ‘He shot Mikey. And he stabbed Frank.’
‘Don’t know yet,’ said Sloth.
The noise of the town seemed so loud. Tap had liked it out on the marsh, just the two of them and the sound of the birds. ‘My mum’s sister killed herself by drinking drain cleaner.’
Some girls were chanting, ‘I went to the barbershop, to get my hair cut off . . .’
Sloth frowned.
‘Cut it long, cut it short, cut it with a knife and fork . . .’
‘You can’t just make him drink poison. You’d have to pour it down his throat, wouldn’t you?’
‘Suppose. What about electrocution? Put wires on the door handle.’
‘How do you actually do that? We can’t even steal a phone without cocking it up.’
‘Don’t know.’
‘Don’t know, don’t know.’
‘Shut up.’
‘He snipped with his scissors, he slipped with his shears, he cut out my eyeballs and both my ears.’
‘Petrol. Burn your house down,’ said Sloth.
‘It’s my house,’ protested Tap.
‘What if we use the phone as a trap?’
‘Frickin’ hell, Slo. You still got it, you dick?’
It was Sloth who’d dug it up, after all.
‘If we got it, he’ll come to us. That’s all I know.’
‘And kill us like he killed Mikey.’
Stupid, dirty and useless, that’s what they both were. The kind of boys for whom nothing would ever go right.
*
Dressed in a filthy blue nylon housecoat, Annie Lee was in her kitchen, scrubbing a pan.
‘Almost had a heart attack. What you doing sneaking up on me?’ She was that deaf they had made it over her back fence, up to the open back door without her even noticing.
Tap grinned. They were standing in Annie Lee’s back garden. When he was a kid, he’d played here all the time, but recently she had let the place go. Brambles had overtaken her rose beds. The new grass was poking through last year’s dead leaves and a broken dining chair lay in pieces under her kitchen window. ‘Your mum was asking after you,’ she said.
‘Was she?’ asked Tap, cautiously.
‘Just once. Saw her out on the street. Maybe a week ago. Don’t think she’s been too well.’
But she was alive. Something lightened in Tap. If that was true, anything could happen.
Tap said, ‘Drinking?’
‘She can’t help it, Tap. She tries.’
‘I know.’
‘That new man doesn’t help.’
Tap glanced back at Sloth again. ‘What new man, Annie Lee?’
‘Don’t like him at all. He doesn’t talk. He’s a bugger. He’s not good for her. I seen him turn up with the bottles. She must ’a fell over and banged herself a bit, I think. Black eyes.’
‘Brown jacket?’ Tap said. ‘Got a little earring?’
‘Only ever seen him at night. I can’t sleep. I’m up with my bladder. He’s sneaking in there.’
Tap pictured the man slapping his mother; her falling down. Anger grew inside him. He thought of the house, just a few doors away, wanting to go there now. But Sloth asked, ‘Got anything to eat, Annie Lee? We’re starving.’
She pursed her lips disapprovingly. ‘What’s wrong with your mum, Benjamin? Don’t she want you any more?’
‘Please, Annie Lee,’ Tap said. ‘Going to die of starvation if we stand out here any longer.’
She grunted. ‘Come on then.’
Annie Lee’s was the first house they had been inside since they had run out of Frank’s place, leaving him dying on the floor. When they closed the back door behind them, the house felt strangely solid and comforting.
*
More or less opposite Tap’s house were two double garages, set back a bit from the road, with a little space between them that created narrow alleys in which the boys could hide, peeking round at the house.
Saturday night and they were stuck in an alleyway, crunching discarded McDonald boxes underfoot.
‘Had enough of all this,’ said Tap. A proper meal and the news about his mother had given him new energy. Time to end this.
In the darkening evening, they could see that there was one upstairs light on in Tap’s house but that didn’t mean anything. His mum always left it on.
‘What if we sneaked round the back?’ suggested Sloth. ‘Took a look?’
Tap shook his head. ‘Look. It’s a spike. Get him through the heart.’ In the undergrowth, he had found an iron pole, sharp at one end. Must have been an old fence, or a park railing. He lifted it, hesitated.
‘Scared?’ said Sloth.
‘You saw what he did to Frank. We’ve got to have a plan.’
‘If it was my mum, I’d be straight in there.’
Tap smacked Sloth on the head. ‘You ain’t even talked to your mum for a week. You’re frightened of her.’
Sloth laughed. ‘Yeah. Right.’
‘’K off. We got to do this right.’
At around eight, a bunch of fifteen-year-old girls emerged from number nine in full make-up, arguing. One of them was a girl who’d had a crush on Tap when she was ten. Tap ducked back out into the shadow. If she saw him she’d want to come and say hello or, worse, shout out his name and ask what they were doing hiding there, looking like a couple of rough sleepers.
‘Trouble,’ muttered Sloth.
‘They’re all right,’ said Tap.
‘Serious. Them girls are trouble. Slags.’
‘You don’t like girls anyway,’ said Tap.
‘What you frickin’ mean, bro?’
Tap didn’t answer.
‘Bollocks, man. What you mean? You’re telling me I’m scared of my mum, next minute talking shit about me and girls.’
‘Just saying.’
‘I’m going to smash your mouth in.
Seriously.’
‘Shh, you idiot,’ said Tap. ‘They’ll hear us.’
‘You’re the one who’s never had a girlfriend. You’re the weirdo. I’ve had millions.’
Tap giggled. ‘Yeah. Like who?’
‘Plenty, bro.’
‘Pfff.’
‘’K you, Tap.’ Sloth swung an arm, catching Tap on the side of the face. Tap’s head jerked back and banged against the pebble-dashed wall of the garage.
‘What you do that for?’ he asked, shocked.
‘Just shut your face, OK?’
Tap rubbed the back of his head to see if there was blood but there wasn’t any. ‘You need to smoke something, bro. You’re crazy. Me, I ain’t ever going to be bothered with girls.’ He was looking his friend in the eye, remembering the afternoon at Frank’s, when Sloth had lain with his arm around him. Sloth looked away.
Tap peered out into the road. It was quiet again, now the girls had disappeared. As he looked left, towards his house, the street lights came on, making the evening suddenly feel darker.
‘I looked after you when you were sick. I did that because I’m nice, not because . . .’
‘Please, bro,’ Tap pleaded. ‘Leave it.’
‘You’re frickin’ strange, bro,’ muttered Sloth behind him in the darkness.
‘I just said I’m not interested in girls. That’s all.’
‘I don’t deal with that.’
Tap turned back. ‘Forget it. ’
And then Sloth was grabbing his hoodie, face contorted, one hand on each arm, and shaking him.
‘Let go of me. What’s wrong with you?’
But Sloth kept on pushing him and pulling him back and forward, harder and harder.
‘Ow. That frickin’ hurts, man.’
‘Is that what you’ve been thinking about all this time?’
‘What? Let go of me, man.’
‘You’ve always been faggy, Tap.’
‘Jesus. Calm down. We’re mates, aren’t we?’
‘I saved your life last week. I bloody turned up on my bike and saved your life.’
‘I didn’t say nothing, bro.’
Sloth started to kick out. The first time, he hit Tap on the shin, the second, right on the kneecap. Furious now, Tap fought back, slapping Sloth hard on the ear. In retaliation, Sloth shoved him backwards.
Tap fell into the grass and rubbish. Looking up, he said, ‘We’re supposed to be mates, Slo. We’re supposed to be getting the phone man.’
‘Your mum’s fine. Didn’t you hear Annie Lee? Your mum’s been looking after him. All that shit about how he killed her.’
‘What about Uncle Mikey?’
‘Your uncle. Not mine.’
‘What about Frank? You saw what he did.’
‘Frank was a paedo. You like a bit of that, Tap, do you?’
‘I didn’t mean it about the girls, bro. Honest.’
‘You’re the one who should be worried about girls. You homo.’
The last he saw of Sloth was him disappearing off into the darkness, leaving him lying in the dog shit and rubbish.
*
He woke shivering. It was still dark, but he had no idea of the time. The fever was back and his head hurt, but there was a lump in his chest too, a heaviness too big to lift. The kind of sadness that felt so big, as thick and cold as the big river.
Stupid Tap. Opening his stupid idiot mouth. Getting a meal in him had made him feel confident that things were going to work out. But they never were. Everything had been fine until he had tried to get Sloth to talk about things, trying to make them more real. But they weren’t real. They would never be. He was a freak and he was alone and nothing would ever be right. He cried for a while, worrying that someone would hear, unable to stop himself, more alone than ever.
When he raised his head, the pain worsened and he felt sick. He thought an alarm must be going off somewhere, the noise was so loud. Placing palms against the rough wall, he lifted himself, swaying slightly as the world whirled around him. The ringing, he realised, was in his own head.
He sucked in air and steadied himself, then walked out of the alleyway into the open.
Ahead, the sky was already brightening. It would be morning soon. The light was still on at his house.
He went to the front door, iron spike in his hand.
Didn’t care any more about anything.
Pressed the bell and held his finger on it while it played the two-note chime, over and over. And when the shadow appeared behind the glass of the uPVC door he saw right away that it was larger than his mum’s would have been.
FORTY-SIX
Sunday morning, Cupidi was woken at eight by the sound of someone moving downstairs. She found Jill Ferriter in her shirt and knickers, poking through a box of herbal teas Cupidi’s mother had left there. She had stayed over. ‘Couldn’t sleep. Everything going whoosh in my head. You think those boys live round there? Ruby Tuesday?’
‘Maybe,’ Cupidi said.
Ferriter picked out a bag. ‘I was thinking. Let’s go there.’
‘Now?’
‘You and me. Why not?’
‘Because it’s, like, Sunday morning.’
Cupidi smiled. It was something, to see Ferriter looking eager.
‘I may never get another chance.’
‘I suppose we might,’ said Cupidi. ‘Your last day on the case.’
‘Don’t.’
‘Of course you realise if we go we should call Peter Moon? Let him know.’
‘Oh for pity’s sake. Why?’
Cupidi looked out of the kitchen window. A spring dew and low sunlight were making the world out there shine. The sea kale that sprouted between the stones took on a deep blue green. ‘Because he was working on it. Trying to look for them. We have information he needs to know. Whatever you think of him as a man, he’s always been a good copper.’ Ferriter’s smile vanished. Cupidi poured coffee beans into a grinder. ‘He’s doing his job. Besides, if it’s him who finds them it’ll look good and he might not be so hard on you when he talks to McAdam.’
‘I hate him, you know.’
‘Well aware.’
She looked out of the window. ‘Oh great. Now I have to make him look good, don’t I?’
‘Yes. You do.’
Cupidi pressed the button on the grinder. For the next minute the kitchen was filled with noise. When it finished, Ferriter spoke again. ‘Bollocks. You call him. I’m not going to.’
Then both of them looked round. Zoë was standing at the door.
Cupidi watched as Jill wrapped her arms around her daughter and kissed her forehead. ‘Sorry I called your friends trouble. Your mum told me off.’
‘Some of my best friends are trouble,’ said Cupidi.
‘Blah blah,’ said Ferriter.
Zoë folded herself into Ferriter and yawned.
*
Cupidi hesitated before knocking on William South’s door. He was in there; she knew he was.
His curtains were open. He was awake. ‘Let me in, Bill. Please.’ She kept knocking until he opened up.
He looked older when he didn’t shave. The grey hair had turned to a beard that hid the bottom half of his face.
‘I want your help.’
He paused, looked at her, lips pressed together hard.
‘Let’s go inside, Bill.’
He had been a neat man when he was still a copper. A man whose kitchen surfaces had been spotless and whose windows had shone. Cupidi had hoovered the week before; already there were new cobwebs in the corners of his room.
‘Mind if I make tea?’
She went to the kitchen and started opening the cupboards.
‘Leave me alone, Alex. I’ll be OK in a while.’
‘You’ve been home a week and you’ve barely emerged from your house.’
‘What’s it to you? I’m just finding my way.’
‘I’m not here about you, Bill. It’s about Zoë. I want you to look after her for me. I have to g
o out today.’
‘Work?’
‘Yes.’
‘That murder?’
Even if they’d kicked him off the force he would always be a copper.
‘Two boys. Pretty much Zoë’s age, I think. If I’m right they’re in real trouble.’
He chewed on his lip.
‘It’s a hangover, Bill. You’ll live.’
‘I’m not ready, that’s all. I’m not well.’
‘All I want you to do is go to my house. Keep an eye. She was caught up in a bit of trouble yesterday. Maybe go and look at some birds. It would do you good. Just be there for Zoë again. Please, Bill.’
He turned his back on her and started clearing dirty plates off the dining table.
‘Or you can sit here and be miserable for the rest of your life.’
He didn’t answer. She was halfway back to the Signals Cottages when she heard the shout behind her.
‘Wait.’
She looked up while he caught up with her. Overhead, jet trails criss-crossed a blue sky.
*
‘Are you sure it’s a good idea? Convicted murderer as childcare?’ Zoë was sitting on the couch, still in her pyjamas, eating a bowl of Cheerios and watching Friends on the TV.
‘Kindest man I ever met.’
‘Did you speak to Moon?’ asked Ferriter.
‘He’s going to see us there at eleven.’
Outside, Ferriter checked her watch. ‘We’ll be there long before then. Give us a chance to look around. What did he sound like?’
Cupidi opened the door to her car. ‘Pissed off with you, for a start.’ Her car, as always, was filthy inside. There were chocolate wrappers on the dashboard and mud in the footwell from where she hadn’t changed her boots after walking. The unmarked car they’d swap it for when they reached town would be cleaner, at least.
*
Another long drive from the south coast of the county, up towards the northern edge, alongside the wide Thames estuary. Sunday morning and the roads had been clear. They started ringing the bells the moment they got there. The street was mostly maisonettes and flats. Many weren’t even occupied.
‘Two lads. Sixteen to eighteen years old. One Afro-Caribbean, one white? Wearing hoodies.’
‘Nope. No idea. What’ve they done?’ Nobody had seen them; nobody had a clue where they were.
