by RJ Dark
But, I do have some social media accounts set up under assumed names, with no content, and each one, though I never post, has, weirdly, attracted followers. Which I don’t mind – it makes them look a bit more realistic. I even have one set up under the name of a guy I knew at school who moved away to America and died. I am pretty sure no one but me knows he died.
I use that one to spy on people I used to know on the Edge.
So, I did very little. I saw clients, I listened to Beryl crash about, I watched people I knew but didn’t interact with on social media. I watched numerous little fights between people I didn’t like and tried not to get a vicarious sort of joy from it. I saw photos of three new babies. I saw pictures of the funeral of Janine Stanbeck’s parents. Not on her account, mind – she was very careful with who she let be her friends – but on Mick Stanbeck’s. I don’t think he even knew everyone could see them, or maybe he didn’t care.
At eight o’clock that evening, I had a visitor. Beryl had gone, and I’d locked the door. I was staring at a bottle of whisky. I don’t know if Beryl knew about the bottle I kept hidden in a cupboard – she probably did. She knew everything else about me.
I wasn’t going to drink it. I was almost sure about that. But I was bored, and that was the worst time for me. I was bored and scared and felt like I should be doing something, but I didn’t have anything to do. So, I tested myself. That was why I had the bottle. Alcohol wasn’t really ever my drug of choice, but it was legal, so I could keep it on the premises and not have to worry about the police finding it if they decided to shake me down, which wasn’t unlikely. I kept a syringe in the same drawer, and an empty bottle of the anti-psychotic risperidone. I often say, when I meet a new client, that it is easier to talk to the dead if you have something that belonged to them; these were the belongings of someone I liked to believe was dead.
A knock on the door shook me from my trance. For a moment, I wondered if it was the police, but it was too polite. I looked through the spyhole on the door and saw Callum Callaghan.
I unlocked the door.
‘Callum?’
As I opened the door, he took a step back out of the light and into the shadows, the streetlights behind him making his face a dark hollow within his hood.
‘Can we talk?’ he said.
‘Yes,’ I said. He sounded worried. ‘Come in, Callum.’
He walked in, looking around as he did, and I realised he had never been inside before, he had only ever come to the doorway of my shop. Now he was in, he looked suspicious, a bit lost. He brought his hand up and rubbed the back of his neck.
‘Have you come because you want to speak to your dad?’ I said.
He shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Oh no. Da was Catholic – he wouldn’t have approved of me …’ He waved a hand around.
‘People change when they die.’
‘He wouldn’t change. Ever.’
‘Of course,’ I said. Best not to push it.
He pulled back his hood and scratched his head. His shaggy hair was a mess. So was he, red eyed and unwashed.
‘Sit down, I’ll make some tea.’
‘Not something stronger?’ he said and pointed at the whisky. I shook my head and picked it up, dropping my keys on the desk.
‘Not anymore,’ I said and placed it back in the cupboard by my desk with the syringe and the empty bottle of risperidone. Stared at them for a bit before turning back to Callum. ‘Come into the back.’
His eyes wouldn’t stop moving as I made tea with cheap and awful teabags – well, cheap anywhere else, but I bought from Mr Patel.
‘We didn’t get on much. Me and Da.’
‘I remember hearing you argue.’
‘Yeah, he didn’t understand me.’
‘I think parents and their children have that argument a lot.’ He tried to smile as I led him back to the desk and sat him down but he seemed to be struggling. ‘Are you uncomfortable in here, Callum?’
‘Mam raised us Catholic,’ he said. ‘Stuff like this …’ He shrugged, sipping at his tea.
‘You must miss your dad?’
He nodded. ‘He was my da, even if he just wanted me to do what he said.’
‘You wanted to be a mechanic, right?’
He stared at me, a curious look as he tried to work out how I knew that. I don’t think he’d been aware I was listening on that day in his yard.
‘I heard you talking to your dad. In the yard.’
He smiled.
‘Yeah, he didn’t like the idea much … Did he suffer, my dad? They only told me he was dead before the fire, from trauma. Wouldn’t give me any details.’
Broken fingers.
Broken teeth.
Torn flesh.
‘Your dad,’ I said, but I didn’t look at him. Couldn’t. ‘I don’t think he was a man who gave in easily.’
He nodded, stood up and walked up to the Queen Anne dresser against the side wall. Ran a finger along the smooth wood before turning back.
‘Do you know who did it?’
I looked up and there was something feral on his face. Something frightening, and I realised I didn’t know Callum Callaghan well at all. I’d thought he would leave the vengeance to Jackie but now I wasn’t so sure.
I’d not thought about how lonely he must be. Callum would have been in his mid-twenties when his mother died. That must have hit him hard.
‘No,’ I said. ‘It must be hard for you, to lose two parents.’
Now he nodded. ‘Mick and Frank are friends now, right? You helped do that?’ Anger in his voice and I wondered if I had made a mistake in inviting him in.
‘Why did you think it was Mick that took your dad?’
‘Who else?’
‘I don’t think it was Mick. Or Frank.’
‘Who then?’ He was staring intently at me, as if searching my face for a lie.
‘Jackie’s out there dealing with it.’
He came back and sat down opposite me, leant forward. ‘He is not the only one who can fight, you know.’
‘You were never much of a fighter, Callum,’ I said. He rubbed his mouth, took a deep breath, then nodded. ‘It’s unusual, for someone who’s part of the Stanbeck organisation to leave the Edge.’ He sat back in his seat, blinked and let out a long breath.’ Your dad sent you to work on the farm so you could escape this place, Callum. Maybe you should think about that?’
‘I was going to come back when Mam got cancer. But she said not to. Said if I did, I would never leave.’
‘She was probably right.’
‘I miss her more than my da. I was at the farm when she died. Looking after fucking cows.’ He took in a breath, pursed his lips and blinked away tears. ‘Where has Jackie gone to?’ he said.
‘Away for a couple of days.’
He nodded. ‘The police said, if it hadn’t been for the bomb scare in town, they’d have got whoever killed my da.’
I fought down a shudder; Jackie and I had so very nearly been caught.
‘Life is like that sometimes, Callum.’
‘I wish the police had got them,’ he said and stood. ‘Everything would have been simpler.’
‘It’s often the way, Callum. Life isn’t simple.’
He shrugged. ‘Thanks for seeing me.’ I walked to the door with him.
‘If I find out anything, Callum, if Jackie finds out anything, then I promise you will be the first one I share it with.’
‘You promise?’ he said. I nodded. ‘Thanks, Mal,’ he smiled. ‘It means a lot.’
I watched him walk down, past the shops and along the road. He took a phone from his pocket and made a call as he walked along, and when he was about two hundred yards away a big four-by-four came to a halt and he got in.
I wondered who it was that he’d called that had come to pick the grieving son up, but I didn’t know enough about him to know his friends. We all live in our own lonely little worlds.
30
The police picked me up at 6.30 a.
m. two days later.
It wasn’t dramatic. Two uniformed police officers knocked on the door of the shop. They asked me to come down to the station. I made them tea that they drank in the galley kitchen while I showered and got dressed. They didn’t even bother to cuff me. We passed Cat Maudy as we drove away. She waved at me, still wearing her fur coat.
Outside the station was busy – a lot of people were being brought in. Some in the casual sports leisurewear I associated with Trolley Mick’s people, and some in the black suits I associated with Russian Frank’s men and women. Inside the police station was even busier; there were queues at the booking-in desks. Mick and Frank’s soldiers were being kept well apart. Frank’s men and women sat down at one end while Mick’s men were being booked in. I’d never known the station be so noisy: the rush of voices in the booking room and reception, the sound of people shouting to each other in the cells. I was taken to the front, past a queue of Mick’s men who, although they didn’t want to go in the cells, were still annoyed that I was jumping the queue.
‘We brought Jones,’ said the constable who had brought me through.
‘Put in him in Interview Four with the other one,’ said the desk sergeant.
‘Wait,’ I said, ‘if I’m being arrested, you need to book me in.’
‘Do you want to be arrested?’ said the desk sergeant. He looked like a man who’d had a long night and was near the end of his tether.
‘Not really.’
‘Then go with the nice police lady.’ He gave me a false smile, and I did as I was told.
Jackie was waiting for me in interview room. He was sitting in a chair, looking relaxed. There were bruises on his left cheek.
‘What are you doing here?’ I said.
‘Waiting for my lawyer before I say anything,’ he said. Then he widened his eyes at me in a kind of ‘Stop talking, idiot’ way.
‘Okay,’ I said, and sat opposite him.
It’s much harder to sit silently than most people think.
‘I didn’t know you were …’ Jackie raised a finger to his lips. I waited. ‘How did you …?’ I pointed at my face. Jackie raised a finger to his lips. ‘I saw …’ Jackie raised a finger to his lips. I decided to go for theatrical sighing rather than speaking again. Eventually, his solicitor appeared. I’d never met his solicitor before, only heard about him. He was called Imtiaz Minhas and wore suits so sharp you could cut yourself on him. He had a permanent five o’clock shadow, and when he wasn’t a lawyer, he was an imam at the local mosque.
‘Jackie,’ he said. He put his briefcase on the table and opened it before turning to me. ‘Mr Jones.’ He gave me a nod. ‘Jackie has asked that I represent you too. It could be said that this may be a conflict of interest. I have to make you aware of this, Mr Jones.’
‘I’m fine with it,’ I said. He smiled at me and put his hand out to shake. He wore a huge gold sovereign ring on his little finger, and his hand was very warm.
‘Good, we’ll get on then, one second.’ He walked out of the room and I heard his voice. He was a slim man, but he had the voice of someone much larger – warm and resonant. Then he came back in. ‘I’m going to go through the files out there’ – he pointed at the door – ‘which handily means no one can stand outside listening in on you. I would still suggest you try not to say anything incriminating though.’ He walked to the table and closed his briefcase, taking it outside.
‘Now you can speak,’ said Jackie.
‘You think they would listen in on us?’
‘Of course they would – that’s why they haven’t booked us in, why they put us in an interview room.’ He sat back in his chair, put his hands behind his head and grinned. ‘It’s all good though.’
‘Good? That we’ve been brought in along with every criminal in and around the Edge?’
‘Yeah,’ he nodded. ‘If they had anything, they’d have arrested us. Instead, they sat us in here and hoped we’d say something they could use. Imtiaz will have us out in no time.’
‘Why is everyone here? When did you get back? What happened to your face?’
‘One at a time, mate.’
‘Okay, what’s going on here?’
‘Whatever peace Frank and Mick had broke down last night, four firebombings and three stabbings. How did you not hear the sirens?’
‘I was asleep.’
‘Well, I heard the sirens, knew they’d want to talk to me so I came here and handed myself in.’ He smiled. ‘No better alibi that being in a police station.’
‘You’ve been here all night?’ He shrugged.
‘Slept in worse places.’
‘And your face?’ He grinned at me, moved so I could see his profile, all angles. ‘I went looking for Benny’s killer.’
‘And you found him?’ He shook his head.
‘I found lots of likely suspects, but none that were likely enough.’ He stared at the table, then lifted his head, grinning again. ‘These came from the BPG in Bradford.’
‘The racists? Did they beat you up for being brown?’
He made a dismissive noise, a ‘pfft’. ‘Nah, they were pretty polite actually, cos I have a reputation, but they had this little clubhouse, and it had a swastika on the wall.’ He leaned forward. ‘And a picture of Hitler too.’ He shook his head. ‘Not having that,’ he said.
‘So you fought them?’
He shook his head again. ‘No, I burned their clubhouse down, then I fought them.’
‘Jackie, why do you …?’
‘Hitler,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Anyway, what have you been up to?’
‘Not much,’ I said. ‘I saw Callum Callaghan.’
‘How is he?’
‘Broken.’
Jackie nodded. ‘Not a shock – I imagine he’ll be worse after the inquest when he finds out what they did to his dad.’
‘Right then, gents.’ We both turned as Imtiaz came in. ‘I think DI Smith has overreached herself a bit in having you here. This’ – he waved the papers in his hand about – ‘is all very vague. In fact, with Jackie being stopped so many times and brought in, but never charged, I can make a good case for harassment. I’ll throw in racism too – always makes them tread more carefully.’
‘So we can go?’
‘Ten minutes,’ he said. And he was as good as his word.
Outside we walked to the car park with Imtiaz.
‘Do you know what kicked off last night’s action?’ said Jackie to Imtiaz.
‘From what I hear, someone firebombed two of Frank’s cafes. So the Russians started firebombing some of Mick’s places – I think they did the fish shop on the crossroads first.’
‘Terry’s?’ said Jackie.
‘Yeah, that’s it.’
‘That was a good chippie,’ He said.
‘Anyway, then they started openly fighting in the streets. Straight-up battles around the estate. So, the police swooped in, picked everyone up before anyone got killed.’ Imtiaz stopped at his car – a red BMW. ‘Some of my friends are making a real killing off this, and I barely even get a chargeable hour from you.’ He grinned, shook our hands then leaned in close to Jackie. ‘Listen, some very dangerous people are very angry – whatever you have got yourself mixed up in, get out of it.’
‘Bit late for that, mate.’
Imtiaz stared at him and sucked in air through the gaps in his perfect teeth.
‘Jackie, tuhadi apni ta nokri hegia.’
‘Dafa ho ja, Imtiaz.’
The lawyer laughed, and he shook his head before getting into his car and driving away.
‘What was that about?’
‘He was just telling me to keep my nose clean.’
Jackie led me to his car, a big Ford of some sort. As I slid in, I noticed it said HYBRID on the dashboard.
‘Never thought to see you driving something like this.’
‘I had a lot of driving to do,’ he said as he started the engine, ‘and I like to do my bit for the environment.’
&nbs
p; I watched him as we drove along, waiting for him to grin or make a joke but he stared fixedly at the road ahead. After a while his frown broke and he added, ‘And besides, last time I parked something decent in the police car park, the pigs keyed it.’ He started to laugh. ‘Jealous bastards.’ As we turned onto the wooded road that led to my shop he said, ‘You were right, you know.’
‘Right?’
‘About the money laundering. You were absolutely right. Mick’s people turned up offering a great return on dirty money, but it had to be quick. So just about every decent-sized criminal group was pulling together whatever money they could to take advantage of the deal.’
‘I don’t understand why Mick and Frank can’t just delay.’
‘Because someone let it be known that the ticket is missing.’
There were clouds in my mind from tiredness and worry. I wished that they would part. There was a heaviness in my forehead, and I knew I had missed something somewhere, but could not nail it down.
‘Why are they attacking each other again, Jackie?’
‘What?’
‘If they are both in trouble because they haven’t got the money, then attacking each other makes no sense. It will only make getting the money together harder.’
‘Stress,’ said Jackie. ‘People do stupid things when they’re stressed. They lash out.’
‘Stress? Seriously?’
‘Being a criminal is very stressful, Mal. Mick has a heart condition.’
‘Mick?’
‘Yeah.’
‘I didn’t even know he had a heart.’
I hadn’t meant that as a joke, but Jackie thought it was and he started laughing. And when he started to laugh, really laugh, it was an infectious thing, and it got to us both, so we drew up to my shop with tears of laughter streaming down our faces. We had to sit there for five minutes until we regained control. When Jackie had finally stopped giggling and I was getting out the car, he turned to me.
‘We’re never going to find this ticket are we, Mal? It’s impossible, isn’t it?’
‘Pretty much,’ I said, and now we weren’t laughing.
‘I think I’m going to have to hurt a lot of people,’ said Jackie, ‘to get us out of this.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘Don’t. Just wait a bit.’
