by Jeff Gulvin
‘Fancy a cup of tea?’ she said.
They sat in the staff room, Anne holding her cup in both of her hands. She smiled a little wearily.
‘Hard work,’ Ellie said.
‘Pays the bills.’
‘Does it?’
‘Just about.’ She looked at the floor. ‘Must be nice — living with your boyfriend — only half to pay?’
Ellie thought about that. ‘I’ve still got my own flat to pay for. Not that I spend much time there.’
‘Like to be with him do you?’
Ellie grinned. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I do. Mind you—I don’t seem to see him much.’
‘Works shifts too, huh?’
‘Sort of. He shouldn’t. He’s a Detective Inspector with the Drug Squad. It’s supposed to be regular hours but it never seems to work out that way.’
‘A policeman, eh?’ Anne sat back. ‘What is it with nurses and policemen—the uniforms?’
Ellie laughed. ‘Aden doesn’t wear one, Anne. Detective. Plain clothes.’
‘Of course. Anne sipped her tea. ‘Aidan. That’s Irish isn’t it?’
‘ADEN. Different. He was born there. Somewhere in the Middle East.’
‘The Yemen,’ Anne said.
‘Is it?’
‘Yes. The capital.’
‘I think I should’ve known that.’ She smiled. ‘You got a boyfriend, Anne?’
Anne shook her head. ‘Not any more.’
‘Walked out on you did he?’
Anne’s face clouded. ‘Sort of. He got killed, Ellie. In Ireland. A long time ago.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be.’ Anne held up a hand. ‘Like I said — it was a long time ago.’
‘What happened to him?’
She looked at her then, as if she saw her and yet did not. Her eyes had darkened a fraction. ‘He got shot, Ellie,’ she said quietly. ‘Shot dead by policemen.’
Ellie was stunned. She put down her cup and then picked it up again. ‘My God,’ she said. ‘I’m really sorry, Anne. I shouldn’t have asked.’
‘They thought he was a terrorist, but he wasn’t. He was unarmed. They shot him down like a dog.’ She smiled then. ‘Policemen. Not always what they seem.’
Jimmy Crack and Keithley inspected Young Young’s car. Vanner was with them, bent on his hands and knees. ‘Rear light’s new,’ he said. ‘Look at the screw. They forgot to put the rusty one back.’
‘Paint’s fresh too.’ Jimmy was flicking through his electronic notebook.
‘Snout?’ Vanner asked him.
‘Sandra, Guv. I can’t get her. I’ve got another number somewhere.’
Vanner looked at Keithley. ‘You been to the McCauley house yet, John?’
‘Spotters left this morning. We’re going over now.’
Vanner nodded. ‘Take Jimmy with you eh?’
Keithley chuckled then. ‘I’m old school, Vanner. I’m not going to spoil your plot.’
Vanner grinned and apologised.
‘Got it.’ Jimmy tapped the little screen with his fingernail. He took his mobile from his belt and dialled. Three rings then an answerphone. ‘Sandra. This is Lofty,’ he said. ‘Phone me please—soon as you can. It’s urgent.’ He switched off the phone and placed it back on his belt.
‘Result you reckon, Jim?’ Keithley asked him.
‘He was shagging her, Guv. If anyone knows she will.’
Vanner went back to Campbell Row. He looked at his watch as he parked. He must phone his father. He climbed the steps from the High Road as the darkness fell. Not long now till the clocks went forward again. Ellie was off at five. He really ought to get home soon after. He smiled at himself as he punched in the combination and went upstairs. A long time since he had rushed home to a woman.
Sammy met him at the top of the stairs. ‘Message for you, Guv’nor. Slippery.’
Vanner nodded, went into his office, thought briefly about the report that Morrison wanted and picked up the telephone. ‘Sid, it’s Vanner.’
‘Hello, Guv’nor.’
‘What you got for me?’
‘The Coalman. He belled me. I’m meeting him at a hotel off Old Brompton Road in an hour.’
‘I’ll meet you at the Trade Hall,’ Vanner told him.
Ryan was sheltering from the wind in the porch of the Cricklewood Trade Hall. He wore a lumberjack coat over his suit. Vanner hooted his horn and Ryan trotted across the road. ‘Old Brompton Road,’ he said as he got in. ‘There’s a hotel round the corner. You got the bottle?’
Vanner nodded to the back seat and spun the steering wheel one hundred and eighty degrees. Old rain water hissed from the tyres as he pulled out into traffic. They drove the length of Kilburn High Road and on to Maida Vale. The traffic bunched and Vanner drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.
‘Why Old Brompton Road?’
Ryan lit two cigarettes and passed one over. ‘Gives him a night out I suppose. He won’t come anywhere near a nick.’ He sucked hard on the cigarette. ‘Used to be a bird puller, Guv. I think it reminds him of the old days.’
They headed into the West End, skirting Hyde Park before swinging the loop into Knightsbridge. Vanner half-opened his window and the smoke zig-zagged from his cigarette.
‘How’s the bird then?’ Ryan said.
‘Fine, Sid. How’s Frank Weir?’
‘Frustrated.’
‘Inquiry going cold?’
‘You could say. Sharing it doesn’t help.’
‘They found anyone yet?’ Vanner asked. ‘Got to be a mistake. They took out the wrong party.’
‘That’s what they reckon yeah.’
‘Takes time, Slips. But they’re good.’
‘That’s what Webby keeps telling me.’
They parked outside the Cleveland Hotel and Vanner took the bottle of Jameson’s from the back seat. He flipped it over in his hand and looked up at the windows. Rain was falling again, grey against the white of the building. Vanner shook the moisture from his shoulders and they went inside.
The Coalman was waiting for them in a bedroom on the second floor. He opened the door in his socks, took the bottle from Vanner without speaking and fetched glasses from the bathroom. He poured two, splashed some more into a coffee cup which he handed to Ryan. He raised his glass to Vanner. ‘Here’s to swimming with bow-legged women.’ He knocked it back, sucked breath and poured another.
He stretched himself out on the bed and crossed his legs at the ankle. Ryan sat in a chair, Vanner stood by the window and sipped at the whiskey. He took cigarettes from his packet and threw one at The Coalman who caught it smartly and clamped it between his teeth.
‘This is my old Guv’nor,’ Ryan said. ‘DI Vanner, Coal.’
The Coalman’s eyes shone for a moment. ‘I’ve heard of you so I have.’
‘All bad I trust.’
The Coalman smiled thinly. ‘Bad as it gets,’ he said.
Vanner looked at him, then glanced at Ryan before looking back again. He tipped the last of his drink down his neck and placed the glass on the table. ‘Where’d you know Jimmy Carter from?’ he said.
‘Knew Jimmy Carter.’
‘Whatever.’
‘Same place as you I reckon.’
‘Is that so?’ They looked at one another. ‘Got himself in a fight back home.’
‘Naw.’ The Coalman shook his head. ‘He switched sides long before that fight started.’
Vanner stood up straighter. ‘So what do you know?’
The Coalman poured more whiskey. ‘Enough.’
‘What d’you know about Carter and Eilish McCauley?’
The Coalman smacked his lips together and lit a second cigarette from the end of his first one. ‘Eilish McCauley,’ he said as if tasting the name on his tongue. ‘Bonny wee thing she is. Red hair, just how I like them.’
Vanner glanced at Ryan who made a calming motion with the flat of his hand.
‘She’s bright too, even if she has taken to hanging
out with the wrong colour o’ company.’ He sat straighter and fixed his eyes upon Vanner. ‘She had a little deal going with Jimmy. Jimmy knew certain people who knew certain other people.’
‘Over the water,’ Vanner said.
‘Aye, over the water. It was those people she was interested in.’ He looked at Ryan then, and back again at Vanner. ‘Your black man from Harlesden—the big fella—he’s using her to set something up back home.’
Vanner was still. ‘Set what up exactly?’
‘All I know is she was in Belfast the other week having words wi’ a fella from the past. In The Crown it was. Remember The Crown? Nice pint in The Crown.’
‘Crack,’ Vanner said. ‘In Belfast?’
‘Not crack. Cocaine. Pure as the driven snow. The white stuff, Mr Vanner. Never tried it myself but they say it kicks like a mule.’
Thirteen
VANNER DROPPED RYAN OFF back at the Trade Hall and asked him to speak to his contact in the Anti-Terrorist Branch to see if he knew anything about Eilish McCauley. Ryan nodded, closed the door and walked through the rain to his car. Vanner drove home, late. He called Ellie but got the engaged tone.
When he got there the house was in darkness. It disturbed him, the first time he had not come home to lights in three months. She had left him a note in the kitchen, telling him that an old friend had called and they were having a drink in the pub across the road.
The silence of the house seemed to resonate inside him like an empty noise in itself. He shook the feeling away, sat down on the couch and thought about phoning his father. Instead he dialled Jimmy Crack’s mobile number. The sound of children crying emanated down the line.
‘Vanner, Jimmy. You’re obviously at home. Sorry.’
Jimmy laughed. ‘Twilight zone, Guv.’
‘What?’
‘You’ve never had kids have you.’
‘No.’
‘The twilight zone. Sort of lost time between four thirty and seven thirty. They’re tired but not tired enough to go to bed. I’m told it gets better.’
‘Right.’ Vanner stared at his reflection framed in the darkened glass of the window. ‘Eilish McCauley, Jim. She’s a patsy for the posse.’
‘Slippery’s snout?’
‘Yeah. She’s been over the water just recently. He reckons Stepper-Nap’s trying to supply them with coke.’
‘That’s serious, Guv.’
‘Indeed.’ Vanner heard the children’s noise subside as a door was closed. ‘What happened at the house?’
‘Got her brother. He told us Young Young hadn’t been there.’
‘And Eilish?’
‘Gone home to visit her mother.’
Vanner gripped the phone that little bit tighter. ‘Where’s home?’
‘Ireland.’
He phoned his father and got Anne. His father was resting. Anne told him he wasn’t any better but he wasn’t any worse. Vanner said he would drive up again at the weekend. Anne told him his father would be glad to see him.
‘He’s dying isn’t he, Anne?’
She was silent for a moment. ‘Yes, I think he is.’
A crushed feeling in his chest as he put the phone down. He had been hungry when he came in but now a knot filled the space in his stomach. Father dying. He stood up, rationalised with himself and paced the room in the half-light thrown out by the lamp. He lit a cigarette, smoked it quickly and lit another. He looked out of the window, across the empty street to the lights of the pub on the corner. He wanted to see Ellie, needed her suddenly to hold him and hated himself for his weakness. He exhaled heavily, crushed the second cigarette and unscrewed the cap on the bottle. He thought of the Coalman’s eyes as he splashed whiskey into the glass.
For a while longer he sat on the couch, smoked a third cigarette and memories of unfulfilled childhood wove images in his head. He thought about the black and white photograph of the mother he had never known and wondered what regrets he would have when his father finally died. He would die. There would be no getting better from this. He could feel it, a sense of dread he had not experienced since Jane had left him, when he had travelled home on a grim flight from Aldergrove twelve years earlier. The dread of unlooked-for certainty. A feeling that crept in his bones.
Getting up he shook himself, set his mouth in a line and went out. He crossed the road, rain water splashing up his legs from the puddles. The pub was half-full, warm, cigar smoke drifting in a swathe from a fat man at the bar. Ellie was sitting in a booth with Valesca, the girl who had introduced them, the girl who had sewn the thirty-seven stitches that marked his back to this day. Ninja’s sword. The gypsy. A year ago now. He bought a round of drinks and sat down on a stool. He had the distinct impression he had interrupted something. Girl’s talk. Ellie reached across the table and squeezed his hand.
‘You look tired,’ she said. ‘Where’ve you been?’
‘Brompton Road.’ Vanner sipped Caffreys and licked the froth from his lips. ‘I tried to call you. Sid Ryan’s snout. The deal we’re working on.’
‘I thought Sid was in the Murder Squad.’
‘He is. Old contact from his Drug Squad days.’ Vanner looked at Valesca. Hers had been the first face he had seen when he woke up after the beating he took last year. ‘How’re you?’ he said.
‘Fine.’
Vanner looked at Ellie, who sipped Coke with ice but no lemon. ‘I phoned my father, Ellie. I think I need to go up this weekend.’
He knew she could see the fear in his eyes. He did not say anything. She did not say anything. Vanner swallowed beer and got up. ‘I think I’ll go home,’ he said. ‘Not much company tonight.’ He glanced down at Valesca. ‘Good to see you again.’
‘You too,’ she said and she smiled. Vanner glanced at Ellie across the table and left them.
Sid Ryan took George Webb to one side after the AMIP briefing. Webb was there with Westbrook again. Nothing to report. The AMIP team still had no idea who Jessica’s lover might have been. They were re-checking all the people they had spoken to — but so far all they had was a blank.
‘My old Guv’nor, Webby,’ Ryan said. ‘2 Area Drug Squad. He thinks he’s got a donkey carrying over the water. Eilish McCauley. You know her?’
Webb made a face. ‘No bells ringing. I’ll check when I get back to the Yard. If we know her I’ll give your Guv’nor a call.’
Weir came up to them. ‘So no joy with number two subject then?’
Webb shook his head. ‘Not so far.’
‘But you’re looking.’
‘We’re always looking, Guv’nor.’
‘What about the real target — I mean if this was a PIRA mistake?’
Webb grinned at him. ‘We’re looking.’
Weir glowered at him and Webb made an open-handed gesture.
Webb went straight to the Special Branch cell when he got back to the Yard. He bought two coffees and placed one at the DS’s elbow.
‘Eilish McCauley,’ he said.
‘What about her?’
‘Nominal?’
The DS turned to his computer and punched in the name. Nothing came up. He looked round at Webb. ‘What does she do?’
‘I don’t know. But 2 Area Drugs Squad thinks she’s a runner for a crack team working out of Harlesden.’
‘There’s not much crack over the water, George.’
‘I know that. She’s running coke.’ He lifted his shoulders. ‘Maybe they make the crack themselves.’
‘Or maybe they sell coke.’ The DS looked again at the screen. ‘She’s a non-player, Webby.’
‘What about RUC or 90 Section?’
‘I’ll have a word.’
Webb got up. ‘I’ll bell the DI at Wembley — see if we can get a handle on her movements.’ At the door he paused. ‘Any more word from the DPOA about your man in Yorkshire?’
‘Not a whisper.’
Webb nodded. ‘Must’ve just been the cracks.’
‘Comes to all of us, George.’
Vanner spoke to the Drug Squad officers working on the crack posse, Sammy and China and Anne. ‘Slippery’s snout gave us Eilish McCauley,’ he said. ‘Stepper-Nap seems to have done a deal with Jimmy Carter before Young Young blew him away. Carter had serious contacts in Belfast. It seems that Eilish is a donkey for the Brit-Boys. They’re ambitious, very ambitious, trying to start up a route to Ulster.’
Sammy entwined his fingers on his knee. ‘Crack in Belfast,’ he said. ‘Antrim Road won’t know what hit them.’
‘If it is crack. It might just be coke.’
‘Either way it makes our Daddy a player.’
‘Tell me about it,’ China said. ‘What with the Tottenham team and now this.’
Anne looked at Vanner. ‘He must be stretching himself very thinly. Guv.’
‘Let’s hope so, Anne. It might mean he makes a mistake.’
Sammy got up then and leaned on his desk. ‘PIRA control all drugs in Ulster.’
‘They get a kickback, Sam. Yeah.’
‘SO13?’
‘Slippery’s speaking to a mate of his there. I’ve asked them to check on Eilish. If she’s running coke one way who knows what she’s bringing back.’
‘Let’s hope it’s just the coke, Guv. The last thing we need is 13 all over the manor.’
Vanner grinned at him. ‘You sound like Slippery, Sam.’ He looked at the pictures of the posse on the chart behind his head. Taking down one of Eilish he scanned the contours of her face. ‘She’s over there now,’ he said. ‘Supposedly visiting her mother.’
‘Where does she live?’
‘In the south, Sam. Trouble is — Eilish took the night boat from Liverpool to Belfast. It’s a ninety-mile drive to the border.’
They were quiet then Sammy said, ‘Have you spoken to Antrim Road, Guv?’
‘First thing this morning. They’ve got spotters watching for her.’
‘They going to pull her?’
Vanner shook his head. ‘I’ve asked them not to for now. We need to get to Stepper-Nap. I reckon this’ll be our best shot.’
‘He’s sleeping with her?’ China said.
‘Yes. And without her his Irish deal doesn’t work. They won’t deal direct.’
‘Hang on a minute,’ Anne said, a troubled expression creasing her brows. ‘Surely Young Young shooting Carter messed this up.’
