Look Closer

by Rachel Amphlett

  Erin’s eyebrows shot up. ‘What happened to him?’

  ‘The vicar at the church told me Avery died when a bomb he was building blew up in his face.’ Will shrugged. ‘Needless to say, he wasn’t very sympathetic.’

  Erin tapped the earlier photograph with her fingernail. ‘What on earth would they be doing hanging around with a mercenary?’

  Will shrugged. ‘I don’t know – security maybe? I mean, they seem to have easy access to the sort of people that can track vehicles, don’t they?’

  Erin pursed her lips. ‘And maybe they used those same people to carry out the attack on Monday.’

  ‘It sounds like a possibility.’

  Erin handed back the photographs. ‘Why would Amy hide the bible at the church where Colin Avery is buried, though? What’s so dangerous that she couldn’t just tell you to get it from your mum?’

  ‘I think she left me a clue in here somewhere. And I think she was scared these people might do something to my mum to get it. She told my mother that she’d left it somewhere safe, so it must be important to her investigation.’

  He continued to flick through the pages, the thin paper creasing under his touch.

  He ran his fingers over the inside back cover of the book, lost in thought, and then glanced down.

  The material had puckered around the edges, as if it had been damp at some point. Towards the spine, a jagged edge stuck out from the otherwise neat saddle-stitched pages.

  He glanced sideways at Erin, who was staring at the seam.

  ‘Go on,’ she urged.

  He ran his finger over the cut, before he tried to lift the binding. His finger broke the seal, and he realised the inner cover had been sliced open, and then glued back together.

  His heart racing, he gently peeled back the rest of the paper until he could slip his fingers inside. They grasped a separate piece of paper – thicker in consistency, and he carefully extracted it.

  He put the bible on the bed next to him and unfolded the lined notepaper, his breathing shallow with expectation.

  ‘What the…?’

  In his hands, Amy’s writing looped across the page, except he was holding it upside down. He turned it between his fingers.

  A name, and an address were printed neatly across the lines, together with a message from Amy.

  Find this man, Will. He has what you need.

  29

  Will stood at the bus stop and lifted his gaze from the newspaper he held.

  Across the road, another hundred yards away, a group of smokers sat huddled around a collection of tables under an awning outside a pub, their cigarette smoke wafting on the wind that rattled down the street.

  He’d reached the address Amy had left for him, only to see the occupant slam the front door shut and begin walking away in the opposite direction.

  For a moment, Will considered waiting until the man returned, except that the terraced houses had no front gardens, he’d had to park the rental car half a mile away, and there was nowhere else to wait without the neighbours becoming suspicious.

  By the time he’d made up his mind to follow the man, his quarry was at the end of the road and about to turn the corner.

  He’d jogged to catch up, and then followed him along a busy road lined with a mixture of larger houses and an occasional shop. The man turned left once more, and then Will groaned as the man had stopped and pushed open the door of a pub.

  Realising he could be in for a long wait, he’d spied the bus shelter farther down the road on the opposite side and had picked up a discarded newspaper from the bench seat.

  The man had emerged with a pint glass in his hand – Will guessed it to be his second – after forty minutes, and proceeded to join the small group of smokers outside, his back to the bus stop.

  When he’d suggested to Erin that she accompany him, she’d shaken her head.

  ‘No – this is something you have to do,’ she’d said. ‘Besides, both of us turning up to question him might frighten him off, don’t you think?’

  In the end, he’d agreed, but had made her lock the door as he’d left, with the promise she wouldn’t open it to anyone in his absence.

  After half an hour and two buses, he wondered whether he should move. He couldn’t stay any longer without becoming suspicious.

  On the other hand, he tried to reason with himself, maybe the man only had two pints of beer at mid-day.

  He jerked his head sideways at the rumble of an approaching bus.

  It wheezed to a standstill, and an elderly couple clambered down its steps onto the pavement, calling their thanks to the driver as they wandered away.

  ‘Do you want this one?’ asked the driver.

  Will shook his head, and the doors hissed closed.

  As the bus drew away, his attention went back to the pub across the street.

  He blinked.

  The man was no longer sitting at the smokers’ table.

  Will dropped the newspaper to the seat and leaned forward.

  Had he gone back inside for another drink?

  As the bus reached the end of the street and turned right, Will’s eyes caught the flap of an overcoat as the man turned the corner.

  ‘Shit!’

  Will sprinted along the pavement, and then checked over his shoulder to make sure the road was clear and dashed across both lanes. He slowed as he reached the corner, and edged round it.

  The man was strolling back along the busy street, in the direction of his home.

  Will wanted to make sure he caught up with the man on his front door step. He didn’t want to cause a scene on the street in front of all the neighbours, not until he worked out if the man could help him – and what his relationship to Amy’s story was.

  As they turned right and entered the street of terraced houses once more, Will quickened his pace so that by the time the man reached into his pocket and drew out his keys, he was within speaking distance without having to raise his voice.

  ‘Mackenzie Harris?’

  The man’s head shot round, a hunted expression on his face.

  He turned the key in the lock, and pushed the door open.

  Will didn’t want to miss his chance. He stepped forward, his arm out to stop the door from being shut, and was taken aback when the man turned, grabbed his arm and dragged him into the house, slamming the door behind them.

  The strength of the older man took him by surprise. The man shoved Will hard against the wall of the hallway, his arm across his throat.

  Will’s head hit a picture frame with the force of the man’s weight against him, and he flinched as the hard wooden surface struck the base of his skull.

  ‘Who the fuck are you?’

  Will held his hands up in front of him. ‘Will Fletcher,’ he gasped. ‘Amy Peters told me you’d help me.’

  Recognition flickered in the man’s eyes, and he lowered his arm. ‘Say that again.’

  ‘Amy – she said you’d help me.’

  The man stepped back. ‘Did she now? Did she speak to you?’

  Will shook his head, kept one had raised, and reached into his pocket. ‘She left this for me. It was hidden.’

  He held out the piece of paper with Amy’s handwriting on it.

  The old man’s hand shook as he took it, reading the message twice before giving it back. ‘I think we need to have a talk, Will Fletcher.’ He held out his hand. ‘I’m Mackenzie Harris. You can call me Mack,’ he said. ‘Sorry about the dramatics, but I have to be very careful about who calls me that these days.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Will. ‘Isn’t that your name?’

  Mack shrugged off his overcoat and hung it on a hook on the wall next to the door. ‘I haven’t been called that for a long time, Will.’ He gestured towards the back of the house. ‘Come on, I’ll put the kettle on.’

  Will followed him along the gloomy passageway, the wallpaper peeling off the walls at the corners. He raised his eyes to the ceiling and saw damp patches yellowing the
once-white paintwork, the dank smell filling his senses as they passed underneath.

  The threadbare carpet gave way to linoleum as they entered the kitchen, the plastic surface sticky under the soles of Will’s shoes.

  The older man made tea, handed Will a chipped mug full of the strong brew, and gestured towards the front living room.

  Will sank into one of the thinly-stuffed arm chairs while Mack patted the pockets of his cardigan before extracting a crumpled packet of cigarettes.

  He tapped one into the palm of his hand, then scrunched up the packet and stuffed it back into his pocket before easing into his armchair. Reaching out for a cigarette lighter on a small table next to his chair, he finally spoke.

  ‘So Amy’s in hospital, then?’

  Will nodded and looked at his hands. ‘It didn’t sound very good when I last spoke with her surgeon,’ he said.

  Mack tipped his head back and exhaled a plume of smoke towards the ceiling. ‘That’s a damn shame to hear, lad. A damn shame.’

  ‘I was hoping you could help me. I need to find out what she found out.’ Will broke off, his voice choked. ‘I need to make this stop.’

  ‘They’re after you now, I presume?’

  ‘Yeah.’ His eyes met Mack’s. ‘How much do you know about what’s been going on?’

  The man held his stare. ‘Everything, lad.’ He took another drag on his cigarette. ‘Everything.’

  As he turned to tap his cigarette on the edge of the ashtray, Will slumped in the chair, finally recognising him.

  ‘You’re the fourth man in the photograph I have, aren’t you?’

  30

  Mack nodded.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I worked with them.’

  Will leaned forward, his heart racing. ‘Recently?’

  Mack shook his head. ‘A long time ago. Before Rossiter got it into his head that he could be Prime Minister.’ He sighed, a trace of smoke chasing his words. ‘Now that’s a fucked up idea, if I’ve ever heard one.’

  ‘What did you do for them?’

  Mack looked away, his gaze falling on the logs burning in the fireplace. He stubbed out the cigarette in an ashtray beside him and rubbed his hand over his chin. ‘I was an enforcer.’

  Will’s eyes narrowed. ‘You mean you tortured people?’

  ‘No,’ said Mack and lowered his gaze to his hands. ‘I didn’t have the stomach for that. I just roughed people up a bit – the ones that owed money or needed a bit of convincing to sign deals.’

  ‘How did you get involved?’

  ‘I needed the money.’ The older man shrugged. ‘I’d been a boxer in my youth. Pretty good. Took a fall too many, and my career was over by the time I was twenty-two.’

  ‘So you became a criminal?’

  ‘Lad, when everyone else in your neighbourhood is taking turns to blow things to shit, you do what you have to,’ Mack snapped. ‘It’s not like I had a lot of choice.’

  Will frowned. ‘I don’t remember anything in Amy’s notes about Rossiter being paramilitary,’ he said. ‘I thought he worked in construction.’

  Mack fidgeted in his seat, pulled out the cigarette packet, and lit up. ‘I’m not talking about paramilitary groups, Will,’ he said, putting the packet next to the ashtray. ‘I’m talking about organised crime.’

  ‘What, like the mafia?’

  Mack cackled, and then started to cough. ‘Oh, if we were that organised, we would have done some real damage.’ He shook his head. ‘No – once the Royal Ulster Constabulary got disbanded, there were a few months where the politicians had their heads up their arses, all trying to agree how a new Northern Ireland police service would work. Everyone had to have their say-so, of course.’ He took a drag on the cigarette, his yellow fingers shaking. ‘In the meantime, a few enterprising men took advantage.’ He shrugged. ‘You can check out the statistics yourself with your…’ he mimed typing with his fingers, ‘internet search or whatever. Crime shot up after 1998. Made some people rich men. Very rich men.’

  He leaned forward and glared at Will. ‘And some of those very rich men are now very powerful men. And they don’t want people like your girlfriend digging up their past.’

  ‘Hang on, Ian Rossiter isn’t Irish – nor is Gregory. So why the hell do I have a copy of a photograph showing you with them and Colin Avery in camouflage?’

  ‘Rossiter could see the writing was on the wall for the smaller groups running around with guns,’ said Mack. ‘The ones who were never going to get a say-so in the whole devolution process. He started out by offering work to some of them. Y’know – security at construction sites, debt collecting rents, that sort of thing.’

  ‘What was he doing over in Belfast, though? Isn’t he from Liverpool?’

  ‘He saw an opportunity,’ explained Mack. ‘Or so he told me. Thing is, once they stopped blowing buildings up and started talking to each other instead, there was a lot of money to be made in redevelopment and construction across Northern Ireland. He got in early, made his mark, and got out quick before the authorities caught up with him.’

  ‘Where does Gregory come into all this?’

  Mack cursed under his breath, and Will was taken aback at the profanity that escaped the older man’s lips.

  ‘He’s the real brains of the whole set-up,’ said Mack once he’d got his temper back under control. ‘And just as dangerous. He ran the money side of the business for Rossiter – and his security. As far as I can tell, he still does.’

  ‘I wonder who’s idea it was for Rossiter to run for Prime Minister?’

  ‘Gregory I expect. He always was the more ambitious of the two, but Rossiter’s more photogenic.’ Mack shrugged. ‘Gregory would be more than comfortable acting as deputy. He’ll be pulling strings in the background, though, mark my words.’

  Will leaned back in his chair and ran his hands through his hair. ‘I still can’t understand why they’d kill to cover that up, though – I mean, okay, it might cost him the election, but arranging to murder someone? There must’ve been something else going on.’

  ‘Like what? Got any ideas?

  ‘No. There’s nothing else in Amy’s notes. I don’t understand why she thought I’d work out what she had found.’

  Mack’s eyes narrowed. ‘Well, you seem to have been doing all right so far. Who’s helping you?’

  Will wondered whether he should tell the old man about Erin’s involvement, and then figured he’d probably find out somehow anyway.

  ‘Rossiter’s niece.’

  It was Mack’s turn to be surprised. ‘Really? What’s her name?’

  ‘Erin.’

  ‘Do you trust her?’

  ‘Yes, I do. She’s already saved me once from Rossiter’s hired thugs.’

  The older man grunted and pointed at the fireplace. ‘Put another log on that, would you? I’m too comfortable to move.’

  Will rose from the chair and walked the short distance to the hearth. He leaned down, picked out a log, and slung it onto the fire, before straightening. As he was about to turn back to the room, one of the photographs on the mantelpiece caught his attention, and all thought of what he was going to ask Mack froze in his throat.

  The silence filled the room, until Mack’s voice reached him.

  ‘So, you see, I’ve known Erin for quite a while.’

  Will stared at the framed photograph in his hand of a man and a small girl, no more than five years old. She clutched a teddy bear, thumb in mouth, while the man pointed at the camera, trying to get her to smile for the photographer.

  ‘She’s your daughter?’ he said, holding up the frame. ‘When the hell were you going to tell me?’

  ‘Like you said yourself,’ said Mack. ‘We didn’t know if we could trust you.’

  ‘So, what’s this all about? A family vendetta or something?’

  Mack nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving Will’s. ‘That’s exactly what this is.’ He stabbed his finger at Will. ‘And Amy decided to use it to her advantage.�
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  Will sank back into the armchair, setting the photograph on the small coffee table next to it. He stared at it for a moment longer, and then tore his gaze away to face Mack.

  ‘What do you mean, Amy used it?’

  Mack slumped back into his own chair and rubbed his hand across his eyes. When he lowered his arm, Will noticed tears glistening in the corners of the man’s eyes and waited.

  The older man took a shuddering breath before speaking again.

  ‘Ian Rossiter molested my little girl,’ he whispered. ‘I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know until she told me.’ A gasp escaped his lips, and he reached into his trouser pocket and extracted a paper tissue, dabbed at his eyes, and then blew his nose.

  ‘Jesus, Mack – I’m so sorry,’ murmured Will and looked at his hands.

  He waited until the older man’s sobs quietened, then raised his head. ‘Is this why you agreed to help Amy?’

  Mack nodded. ‘No one would ever believe Erin if she tried to tell them what he did – he’s got too many powerful friends who would rush to his aid and rubbish her story.’ He blew his nose again, then stood and threw the paper tissue into the hearth.

  Will stared into the flames as the tissue flared and caught fire, the material quickly turning to ash.

  ‘Why didn’t you report him?’ he asked. ‘Why didn’t you do something?’

  Mack sniffled, picked up the brass poker and jabbed at the logs in the grate. ‘Because I was too damn scared,’ he said. ‘I don’t know how Amy found me,’ he added. ‘When I moved over here, I changed my name and laid low for a few years. Managed to get Erin into a small village school without someone asking too many questions.’

  He straightened, and Will saw the fear in the man’s eyes. ‘Ian Rossiter isn’t someone you just go to the police and expect help,’ Mack said. ‘He was terrifying back then – now he’s got too many friends in high places these days.’

  Mack leaned down and put the poker back into the bucket next to the fireplace, before returning to his armchair with a sigh.