by Tania Carver
arina opened her eyes. For a few blissfully empty seconds, she was at peace. Then the full horror of what had happened kicked in and she felt emotionally bereft, physically sick.
She was cold, lying in Anni’s living room, back on the sofa, the duvet kicked off during the night and tangled round her ankles. She was wearing a T-shirt and a pair of old jogging bottoms she’d brought with her to sleep in. Despite the cold she was sweating. A cold, shivery, prickly sweat.
She pulled the duvet up over her once more, tried to take comfort from its weight on her. No good. She thought it would be a long time before she found comfort again.
But not as long as it would be for Anni.
She had returned to Colchester the previous night. Mickey was nowhere to be seen back at Southway. Anni had had a few choice things to say about his non-appearance but Marina could tell that she was worried. He was solid, dependable. Not showing up when he was supposed to wasn’t like him.
Marina, thinking about those few hours in hindsight, could even claim that Anni was suffering from a premonition that something had happened to him. Or if not a premonition, then at least a sense of dread.
Then Gary Franks appeared, Anni and Mickey’s DCI. He took them into his office, made them sit down. Then he told Marina and Anni about the road accident.
And Anni folded, crumpled, her world collapsing in on her.
‘A road accident?’ asked Marina, holding tight to Anni who was sobbing her heart out. After speaking she didn’t know if she wanted to hear any more. Not now. Not ever.
‘A12,’ said Gary Franks. Then, searching desperately for something to say, ‘Notorious, that stretch, down from Ipswich.’ His voice tailed away.
Marina felt her grief threaten to overwhelm her. Anni was still sobbing. Marina almost felt her spirit leave her body and look down on the scene. Like it was something once removed, something that only happened to other people. Always only happened to other people. Still life with tragedy.
Franks was still talking, scrabbling to find words to breach the void. ‘Apparently there were… no other vehicles involved.’
Anni was attempting to control herself, fall back onto her training, ask questions. ‘What… what happened?’
‘We… we don’t know. His car seems to have gone off the road. Burst – you sure you want to hear this?’
Anni nodded through her tears, eyes closed.
Franks looked unsure but continued. ‘Burst into flames. Hit the, hit something at the side of the road and… and burst into flames.’
Anni opened her eyes. ‘A burnt-out car. On the A12…’
Marina knew what she was going to say next. Dreaded to hear the words.
‘A burnt-out car… we passed that. Marina, we passed that – we had to slow down.’
Marina said nothing. They had been part of the queue of traffic forced into one lane, Anni complaining that they would be late home. They barely spared it a glance as they drove past, grateful as they were for the traffic to be speeding up again.
‘We… we passed him,’ said Anni. ‘My, my Mickey in that car, we passed him… And we, we —’
Her sobbing renewed itself.
‘He… he would have died instantly, if that’s any consolation,’ said Franks.
Anni looked straight at him. ‘No, sir, it’s not. It’s really, really not…’
She trailed off again, Marina gripping her tightly once more.
Marina didn’t know how long they stood like that, Anni sobbing, Marina holding her, Franks clenching and unclenching his fists, desperate to be of some use, knowing anything he could do was useless.
Eventually Anni looked up, wiped her eyes, her nose with the back of her hand. Looked at Franks.
‘Did you laugh?’ she said.
Franks frowned.
‘Did I what?’
‘Did you laugh? Did you have to practise what you would say to me to not laugh? I’ve done enough death knocks to know you have to do that.’
Anni had told Marina about that one time. About how officers would sit in their cars before knocking on some soon-to-be-grieving relative’s door to give them the news that their loved one was dead. They had to practise, not to say the wrong thing, not to laugh. And they would laugh not because it was funny, but because it was such a serious and solemn moment, sometimes too serious, and the strain would manifest itself in terrible ways.
‘No,’ said Franks, looking hurt, ‘I didn’t laugh. What have I got to laugh about?’
And Anni started crying again.
They stood like that for a long time. So long that it felt to Marina that this was all they would do for the rest of their lives.
‘What about Fiona Welch?’ she asked eventually, breaking the silence.
‘What about her?’ said Franks.
‘She was in the car with Mickey,’ said Marina. ‘He was bringing her back here.’
Franks looked stunned. ‘There was… there was no one else in the car, just Mickey. No sign of anyone else.’
‘Then where is she?’ asked Anni, the words coming out pained.
Where indeed? thought Marina.
Anni had been sent home, given something to help her sleep. She had protested, fought, said she wanted to go out and find Fiona Welch. Find out what had happened to Mickey. Franks had been adamant that she needed rest.
‘We’ll start looking for her, get onto it right away. But you won’t be part of the team, I’m afraid. You know you can’t be.’
Anni knew, but she still wasn’t going to give in without a fight.
‘Look, Anni, if there’s anything I can do,’ said Franks, ‘anything at all…’ His words, well-intended, ran out.
Anni nodded. Marina wasn’t even sure she had heard him.
Marina had taken her home. Sedated, she had gone straight to sleep. And Marina had sat up, thinking.
She had tried to phone Phil, several times, but got put through to his voicemail. Must be sleeping, she thought. Or working. She hadn’t left a message. Thought it wasn’t the kind of news that could be imparted like that. Not about one of Phil’s close friends and colleagues.
Marina had sat up watching Anni sleep, waiting to hear if there was any news of Fiona Welch. She had had no time to grieve for the loss of her friend. She had to be strong, supportive for her other friend. Grieving could come later for Marina. She kept half expecting the phone to ring, to pick it up and hear someone tell her it was all a dreadful mistake, that Mickey was alive, the car was someone else’s. That it was a case of mistaken identity. But no one phoned. No one told her that.
It had happened. It was real.
She reached for her phone once more. Checked the display. Nothing. From anyone.
She was going to call Phil again but thought better of it. She knew he must be working or sleeping and couldn’t be interrupted for either thing. She had given Eileen a call, just to check on Josephina. Her daughter was fine, Phil was working late, she said. Eileen was a godsend.
She put the phone down, threw back the duvet, walked to the bedroom, opened the door. Anni was still sleeping. She looked so peaceful that Marina wanted to her to sleep for ever, spare her the pain that waited for her when she woke up.
But that wasn’t how life worked.
She went back to the sofa, back to the duvet. Pulled it up tight.
Tried to keep out the cold, the depressing thoughts.
Then her phone rang.
66
‘H
ey,’ said Phil.
‘Hey yourself,’ Marina replied.
‘Sorry, did I wake you?’
‘No, I was…’ Marina looked around the room. Hoped the noise of the call hadn’t woken Anni, although that seemed unlikely, the amount of drugs she’d been given. ‘No. I was awake.’
‘Right. Josephina got you up.’
‘No, I’m… still in Colchester.’
Phil’s voice became serious. ‘Really? Why?’
‘Oh, things became – there was something
else to do. Went on longer than I expected. You know how these… things go.’
‘Sure I do. I had to sleep at the office last night. No point in coming home. This case is a bastard.’
Marina was glad that Phil hadn’t questioned her further. It wasn’t the right time or place to tell him about Mickey. Not when he was in the middle of his own investigation. Not when he was so pumped up about it. He hadn’t even asked her about Fiona Welch, for which she was glad.
‘What’s happened?’
He sighed. ‘There’s… I’ll tell you when you get back. But…’ Another sigh. ‘Ian’s in hospital.’
Marina sat bolt upright. ‘What?’
Phil seemed startled by the pitch of her surprise. ‘Yeah, this operation last night went wrong. We tried to catch the Lawgiver, that’s this vigilante, but instead he got away with his target. And Ian got stabbed in the process.’
Marina felt the news stabbing her also. ‘Oh no… oh no…’ Not after Mickey, she wanted to say, stopped herself from saying, Not him too…
‘It’s… it’s fine,’ Phil said. ‘Well, as fine as could be expected. Ian’s in intensive care. They’re looking after him. Everything’s hopeful.’
‘Oh, thank God,’ she said, expelling a breath she hadn’t been aware she had been holding.
‘Yeah. So not to worry too much. But I need a favour.’
‘What?’
‘I need a favour.’
‘Yes, I heard. What kind of favour?’
‘If I send you over everything we’ve got on this Lawgiver character, could you put together a quick profile?’
‘How quick?’
‘Twenty minutes?’
Marina laughed through sheer relief. ‘I thought you were going to say ten.’ She looked around the room once more. The news about Sperring had set everything at an angle, made it all seem even more unreal. This might be just the thing she needed to take her mind off things.
‘I’ve got the morning briefing in half an hour,’ said Phil. ‘Be good if I had something to present them with.’
‘This’ll be very basic, you know. Not a magic wand.’
‘I know. But at least it’s something to go on. If needs be, I’ll commission you for a proper one when you get back.’
‘Okay.’
‘Bit of nepotism never went amiss. I’ll get that stuff sent straight across.’ Phil paused. ‘You sure you’re okay?’
Marina’s voice was guarded. ‘Yeah. Why?’
‘Just… I don’t know. You sound… distracted.’
‘It’s been a big couple of days. Heavier than I thought they’d be.’
‘I know what you mean.’ He sighed. ‘I miss you. I need you here with me.’
‘And I need you too. Right now.’ At that moment Marina had never felt a yearning like the one she was experiencing. Phil would make everything better. Just being together would make everything together.
There was silence on the line as the pair of them seemingly communicated without words. Then Phil broke the spell.
‘I’ll get that stuff sent off.’
‘I’ll look forward to it.’
Marina took out her MacBook and, glad of the temporary distraction, set to work.
67
M
oses hadn’t been able to sleep.
Tossing and turning all night, the events of the last few days screening before his eyes, over and over again. And then another set of days were replayed, days from a few years ago. Days involving the Chicken Shack Crew. The Handsworth Boys. Julian Wilson. The days before the peace. The days that led to the peace.
Eventually he had got up. No point in trying to sleep, lying there with his eyes tight shut, willing the dreams to go away, his mind to shut down, peace to come. He knew he was going to get none of that. So he had got up. Showered. Had a coffee. He had wanted to go somewhere, do something, but hadn’t known where, what.
His first thought had been Letisha. Go and see her. Talk to her. No. He couldn’t do that. Not yet. There were things that needed sorting out before that could happen again. If it could happen again. But that had been his first thought. She had been his first thought. He should have been surprised by that. But somehow he wasn’t. Somehow it felt right to think of her first. And that, he knew, could be dangerous.
No. He had to do something else. He knew what to do. Wasn’t looking forward to it.
He sat on the edge of his bed, looked around the room. This was his. All his. He liked to think he had taste, style. Had decorated his crib in a way that showed he was a successful young man. Not like what was expected, like all the other kids in the gang used to talk about. They would watch that show on MTV, Cribs. Watch rappers and sports stars show the cameras around their mansions. Be proud about what they had achieved. Fair enough, Moses had thought watching it, you can’t take that away from them. Most of them had started with nothing and made something of themselves. Something positive. Used their talent to further their lives. Good. That was the right thing to do. But some of them seemed to think that money brought them style. It didn’t. He could understand coming from the ghetto and wanting to show off, have a whole room panelled in gold and marble, but there were still such things as class, taste. And he liked to think he had both. When he used to watch that with the other gang members, they would all speak with reverence about what they saw. Then talk about their own plans, what they would have in their own cribs, feeding on each other’s fantasies, helping them grow.
He thought about where those boys were now. Some of them were still with him, one or two. A few had gone to prison; in and out at first but eventually settling down to life on the inside of the big, metal door. The rest were dead. Didn’t ever have the chance to realise their fantasies, tasteful and stylish or not. Street casualties. That was the biggest amount.
He stood up, checked his watch. Tiny would be there by now, at the studio. No point putting it off any longer.
Was the day overcast, dark clouds hanging heavily over the redbrick Victorian building, or was Moses just imagining it? He didn’t know, didn’t really care. The dark clouds were hanging over him and that was what mattered.
He locked his car, went inside. Walked down the corridor to the studio like he was a death-row prisoner facing his last day on earth. They always asked for ribs or chicken or burgers for their last breakfast. He’d had toast. Hardly seemed fitting.
He reached the studio. The green light was on. He pushed the door open, made to enter. He heard a sound behind him: sucking teeth. He turned. Tiny was already there.
‘Thought you’d show up.’
Moses ignored the disrespect, nodded. ‘Tiny.’
Tiny came nearer. ‘Fuck you playin’ at?’
Moses said nothing.
‘Eh? Fuck you playin’ at? Bringin’ that skank here?’
‘I didn’t bring her,’ Moses said, trying to keep his voice calm and reasonable.
‘No? Why she here, then?’
‘She wanted to see me.’
Tiny got even closer. ‘She wanted to see you.’ He nodded. ‘Nice. Wanted to see you. Good.’
Moses again said nothing. Waited.
Tiny moved in close. His voice dropped low, dangerous. ‘You fuckin’ her?’
‘Tiny…’
Tiny nodded. ‘You fuckin’ her. Jesus Christ. My dead brother’s girlfriend. His whore. How long this been goin’ on?’
‘Tiny, I’m not. She came to see me yesterday on something else entirely.’
Tiny came even closer, got right up in Moses’s face. ‘Yeah? Like what?’
Moses looked into Tiny’s eyes. Really looked. They were black, empty. He had seen that same look in some of the younger kids in the gang, the next generation. Like they had no empathy, no connection. As if they hadn’t been wired up properly. As if they could kill and not care.
It scared him, what was happening to the kids. Really scared him.
Tiny was nineteen.
‘The cops were talking to her. About
her ex-boyfriend. His new girlfriend and kid got killed. You probably heard about it.’
Tiny gave no indication that he had.
‘They came to see me, remember? Pulled me in, thought I might have done it.’
‘Did you?’
‘No, man. Course not. Why would I?’
‘So why’d she come back to you?’
‘The police have been round to her again. She wanted me to get my brief to help her.’ It probably wasn’t a lie, if he thought about it. He tried to make it sound like the truth.
‘Didn’t sound like that when I heard you two talkin’ yesterday.’
Moses felt something snap inside. Anger, fear, he didn’t know what. But he was sick of being threatened by a teenager. Even one as unnerving as Tiny. ‘Then you heard wrong, didn’t you?’
Something sparked behind Tiny’s eyes. A fire was lit that Moses knew would be hard to put out. ‘You dissin’ me?’
‘No, Tiny, I’m not dissing you.’
‘Sounds like it to me.’
Moses didn’t reply.
‘That whore was with my brother when he got killed. She wouldn’t give up the shooter’s name. She got no respect round here, not wanted. She whorin’ herself out, last I heard. That true?’
‘So I hear.’
‘She found her level, man. Good. Hope she gets AIDS. Hope she fuckin’ dies screamin’. She might have killed my brother. Might have got someone to do it.’
‘We couldn’t prove anything,’ said Moses. ‘No one from my side did it. You know that. It was terrible what happened but it got us talking. Got us together. Brokered the peace. Remember?’
‘Yeah, I remember.’
‘We still got peace, bro.’
Tiny stared at him. ‘We had it, till you brought that whore round again.’
‘It was nothing to do with anything. You know that.’
Tiny stared right into Moses’s eyes. ‘You look scared, man. You scared?’
Moses swallowed hard. ‘No.’
‘Why you scared, man?’
‘I’m not scared.’
‘You fuckin’ her.’
‘Not a question this time, a statement.
