The Driver

by Mandasue Heller

  But she really needed to speak to him about it, find out what was going on from his point of view – and remind him what would happen if Eddie found out.

  ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can,’ Cheryl said decisively, heading for the door.

  Joe didn’t answer when she knocked, so she started calling through the letter-box flap instead.

  After a few minutes Kettler came out and informed her that Joe had gone out last night and hadn’t returned yet.

  ‘And I would appreciate if you didn’t yell like a fishwife in future,’ he added tetchily. ‘I’ve already had a disturbed night, thanks to him and that friend of his making an unholy racket in the early hours.’ He cast a disapproving glance at Carl’s door. ‘When you see them, perhaps you could tell them that I’ve had just about enough of it and shall be calling the police if it happens again.’

  ‘Get a life!’ Cheryl snarled. Then, smiling tartly, she said, ‘Oh, but I forgot, Joe is your life, isn’t he? You know every move he makes, don’t you, you freak?’

  ‘I don’t think there’s any call for that,’ Kettler retorted indignantly.

  ‘Well, I don’t think there’s any call for sending stupid letters making up lies about your neighbours,’ Cheryl spat back angrily. ‘So just fuck off back to your fantasy world and keep your nose out of everybody else’s business!’

  Snorting with disgust when Kettler went back inside and slammed his door, Cheryl marched over to Carl’s flat.

  Mel’s hair was all over the place when she finally answered the door, and her dressing gown was crooked so Cheryl could see almost everything.

  ‘What do you want?’ Mel demanded, peering out through bleary eyes.

  ‘Where’s Carl?’

  ‘You tell me,’ Mel said huffily. ‘Probably still at his mum’s, sulking.’

  ‘No, he came back yesterday,’ Cheryl told her. ‘He didn’t have his keys, so he was waiting for you to let him in. Haven’t you seen him?’

  ‘Nope.’ Mel shook her head and yawned. ‘That it? Can I get back to bed now?’

  ‘Yeah, whatever,’ Cheryl muttered, thinking that if it was her man she’d be a bit more concerned about where he’d spent the night. But then, Mel had probably guessed that he’d been with Joe, because the two of them had been pretty much joined at the hip since they’d been working together.

  ‘Wanna see nana,’ Frankie piped up just then, banging his feet on the pram wheels. ‘Nana, nana.’

  ‘All right, we’re going,’ Cheryl said, pushing him towards the lift. The girl in Molly’s place would just have to wait until she got back.

  She’d just entered the lift and pressed the button for the ground floor when the stairwell door opened and a man in a suit walked hurriedly across the landing, followed by two uniformed police officers. Stabbing the button to reopen the door when it began to slide across, Cheryl popped her head out in time to see them knocking on Joe’s door. Almost immediately, Kettler rushed out of his flat.

  ‘I’m the one who made the call,’ he informed them with a pious look on his face. ‘It’s me you need to speak to. Phillip Kettler.’

  Incensed now, Cheryl bundled Frankie’s pram right back out of the lift.

  ‘Whatever he’s told you, it’s a lie,’ she blurted out. ‘Joe’s nowhere near as loud as he makes out. He’s just got it in for him because Joe doesn’t want to be his friend. No one does,’ she added, flashing Kettler a spiteful glare. ‘Look through your records – you’ll see Joe’s not the first neighbour he’s harassed.’

  ‘How dare you,’ Kettler spluttered, his face reddening as his weird staring eyes almost popped out of their sockets. ‘This is no concern of yours – it’s a private matter between myself and the officers.’

  The suited man held up his hands to shut them both up. Then, passing a key to one of the uniforms, he turned back to Kettler and said, ‘Could you please go back inside, sir.’

  ‘But I’m the one who called you,’ Kettler protested, his gaze flitting towards the uniform, who had opened Joe’s door with the key and was entering the flat.

  ‘If you did, I’m not aware of it,’ the man informed him. ‘But I’m sure more officers will be dispatched to talk to you shortly, so if you wouldn’t mind . . .’ He waved an authoritative hand towards Kettler’s door.

  Kettler stiffened visibly but did as he’d been told.

  Cheryl was nervous now. If the police weren’t here because of Kettler, why were they here? And how come they had let themselves into Joe’s flat like that? Was he in some kind of trouble? Was he being raided?

  She backed away, hoping to slip back into the lift so that she could get away and ring Joe to warn him. But the lift door had closed, and by the time she’d pressed the button to reopen it the man had turned around.

  ‘Just a moment, miss . . . I’d like a quick word.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘You wouldn’t happen to be Cheryl, would you?’ Guessing that he was right when a cagey look leapt into her eyes, he gestured towards Joe’s open door. ‘Could you just step inside for a moment, please?’

  Recovering from her shock, Cheryl shook her head and backed away.

  ‘That’s illegal. You’re not allowed to just let yourself into people’s houses while they’re out. That’s against the human rights act – or whatever they call it.’

  ‘Inside,’ the man repeated sternly, flashing his badge at her.

  ‘All right,’ Cheryl huffed. ‘But I want your name, ’cos I’m reporting you as soon as I get out.’

  When they were both inside Joe’s flat the man closed the door. Keeping the pram between them, Cheryl folded her arms and glared at the uniform who had just come out of Joe’s bedroom.

  ‘Anything?’ the man asked. Shaking his own head when the PC shook his, he said, ‘Check the front room, then. And be thorough.’ Turning to Cheryl now, he said, ‘I’m Detective Inspector Moore, and I need to know when you last saw Joe.’

  ‘And why would I tell you?’ Cheryl replied snappily. ‘People don’t grass their mates up around here.’

  ‘I have reason to believe that he may be in danger,’ Moore informed her. ‘And I happen to know that he trusts you. So if you know anything about his whereabouts you need to tell me.’

  ‘Why, what’s going on?’ Cheryl asked, frowning at Frankie when he started kicking at the pram again. ‘And what do you mean about him being in danger?’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you that,’ Moore said evasively. ‘But it is urgent that we locate him. Do you know of a place called the arches?’

  ‘No.’ Cheryl shook her head, her frown deepening.

  ‘But you do know Eddie Quinn?’

  Wary again, Cheryl shrugged. ‘So what if I do?’

  ‘So, have you ever heard him mention this place?’

  ‘No, I just told you – I’ve never heard of it.’

  ‘And have you seen Eddie Quinn today?’

  ‘No,’ Cheryl said. ‘But why are you asking about him? I thought you said you were looking for Joe.’

  ‘We are,’ Moore affirmed. ‘But we think that he might be with Quinn.’

  His stare was so intent that it raised the hairs on Cheryl’s arms, and she started to read between the lines.

  ‘Are you saying he’s in trouble with Eddie?’

  ‘I’m saying it’s imperative that we find him,’ Moore repeated, refusing to confirm or deny her suspicions. ‘Do you know a woman called Patsy Mills?’ he asked now.

  Confused by the sudden shift of subject, Cheryl said, ‘Yeah. But Joe doesn’t, so what’s she got to do with this?’

  ‘Have you seen her lately?’ Moore asked. ‘Or her baby?’

  ‘I didn’t even know she had one,’ Cheryl said truthfully. Then, ‘Look, I don’t know why you’re asking me all these questions, but I haven’t seen Joe since yesterday. Or Eddie. And I haven’t seen Patsy in months. We all thought she’d moved till Carl saw her the other week . . .’ Trailing off when she remembered something that th
e girl, Katya, had just said, she narrowed her eyes thoughtfully.

  ‘What were you going to say?’ Moore asked, pressing her.

  ‘Nothing,’ Cheryl murmured, an invisible curtain dropping over her eyes. ‘I’ve just got to go, that’s all. My mum’s taking the baby to playgroup today and I’m going to be late if I don’t go now.’

  ‘Sir,’ the uniform said, coming out of the living room just then.

  Glancing towards him, Cheryl’s eyes widened in horror when she saw the blood-covered pink rubber glove that he was holding.

  Hearing her gasp, Moore said, ‘What is it? What do you know?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she lied, her chin beginning to wobble.

  ‘This is serious,’ Moore said firmly. Then, aware that Cheryl was getting ready to bolt, and that he had no grounds to hold her, he said, ‘Look, just come and sit down for a minute. Let me get you a glass of water.’

  Waving for one of the PCs to keep an eye on Frankie, he led Cheryl through to the living room and sat her down on the couch. After pouring her a glass of water, he sat beside her.

  ‘Look, I know you and Joe are friends,’ he said, softening his tone. ‘And I also know that you have history with Eddie Quinn, so I’m guessing that you’re struggling with your loyalties right now. But would it make any difference if I told you that Quinn is the one that Joe’s in danger from?’

  A flicker of fear passed through Cheryl’s eyes and then came the tears. Struggling to hold them at bay, she said, ‘I don’t know anything. If I did I’d tell you, but I don’t.’

  ‘Please, Cheryl, just think,’ Moore implored. ‘Joe left a message last night telling me that a woman called Patsy Mills might have been murdered. And we know that Quinn called Carl Finch and told him to bring Joe to a place called the arches, where, we believe, the body was being prepared for disposal. We also received a separate anonymous call telling us that Quinn was planning to kill Joe. That is why this is so urgent. So, whatever it is that you’re hiding, I need to know.’

  Cheryl was way out of her depth. The detective had been right about her struggling with her loyalties, because she’d known Eddie for a long time and he’d treated her really well since she’d moved here, making sure that everybody knew they would be answerable to him if they messed with her. But now that she was being forced to choose, she had to choose Joe. And not just because he was gorgeous, because she’d put that crush into perspective a long time ago, but because he was such a genuinely nice person. And a friend that you knew you could really rely on was worth a thousand Eddies.

  ‘I don’t know where that place is,’ she told Moore. ‘But someone said something about Eddie. She – she said her friend had heard him arguing with a woman about a baby he was supposed to have had with her. And then, last night, his girlfriend found out about it and went mad.’

  ‘Chrissie Scott?’ Moore asked.

  ‘Didn’t know that was her surname.’ Cheryl sniffled, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. ‘But, yeah, Chrissie.’

  ‘And you say she and Quinn fought about this other woman?’

  ‘No, her and the girl who told her about it,’ Cheryl said. ‘And now I’m wondering if that was her baby you found yesterday – Patsy’s.’

  ‘If it was, we’ll know soon enough,’ Moore assured her. ‘There’s a unit searching her flat now. Who is this girl who told you about the baby?’

  ‘Just someone who used to live in Chrissie’s flat,’ Cheryl told him. ‘She left last night, but she didn’t say where she was going.’

  It was a lie but, after everything she’d heard, Cheryl was beginning to believe that Katya had been telling the truth after all. Joe had obviously thought so to go to those lengths to protect her. And if she’d already suffered all that, Cheryl didn’t want to add to her suffering by grassing her up and getting her deported. That wouldn’t help anybody. Especially not Joe.

  ‘You should speak to Chrissie,’ she suggested. ‘She’d be able to tell you more.’

  Nodding, Moore said, ‘I’ll be calling up there after I’ve finished here.’

  ‘She’s in St Mary’s,’ Cheryl told him. ‘She was supposed to have lost her baby after that fight last night, and she got rushed in.’ Looking worriedly up at the detective now, she said, ‘You don’t really think Joe’s in danger, do you? I mean, I know Eddie’s got a temper, but he likes Joe. Everyone does.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it,’ Moore said. Then, sighing softly, he pushed himself to his feet. ‘Thank you, you’ve been very helpful.’

  Cheryl dipped her gaze and leaned forward to put her glass on the table. She felt guilty now, because she knew that she’d wasted a lot of time being obstructive. ‘You will find him, won’t you?’ she asked, standing up.

  ‘I sincerely hope so,’ Moore said quietly, leading her back out into the hall.

  ‘And you think he’ll be all right?’

  ‘Again, I can only hope so.’

  Cheryl paused by the door and bit her lip. Then, asking the question that had been on the tip of her tongue since the moment when Moore had first said her name, she said, ‘How come you knew who I was? And all that other stuff – about me and Joe being friends, and that?’

  ‘He told me all about you,’ Moore said, smiling as he showed her out. ‘And, for the record, he genuinely likes you. Just remember that when you find out what’s been going on here. Okay?’

  ‘Okay,’ Cheryl murmured. Then, her frown deepening in line with her confusion, she pushed Frankie’s pram into the lift. Pulling her mobile out of her pocket when it started to ring, she said, ‘Sorry, mum, something came up. I’m on my way.’

  30

  After crying herself to sleep, Chrissie had soon been woken again and she hadn’t managed to drop back off for the rest of the night. That was the cruel thing about maternity hospitals. They were designed for the delivery of healthy babies, and the specialised care of sickly ones. But they all got lumped in together, so even though Chrissie was in a single room she couldn’t escape the sound of the babies in the ward on the other side of the door. The living breathing babies that had been crying throughout the night, while she had lain here crying for the dead one that had slipped all too easily from her body.

  All night, and all morning so far, she had been blaming herself for that, telling herself that it must have known that it wasn’t wanted; that it must have heard her at that clinic begging them to terminate it. And God must have heard her, too, and decided that she wasn’t fit to be a mother after all. In fact, the whole sorry mess had probably been part of His grand plan, from her agreeing to move in with Eddie to him moving those girls into her flat, to that bitch pushing her into the table last night and finishing what Chrissie had left too late to finish for herself.

  And now, just when she needed him most, Eddie had done what he always did and had let her down. He’d promised to come back but she should have known that he wouldn’t. He was a liar and he always would be, and she’d lost absolutely everything because of him. Her flat, her independence, her self-respect. And now her mum, because there was no way Chrissie could ask her to come back after the way she’d upset her last night. She’d messed her about too many times, and it wasn’t fair to expect her to come running when she called.

  Lying in the bed now, Chrissie stared into space as the clock on the wall steadily ticked her life, her hopes and her dreams away. Too immersed in self-pity to bother looking around when the door opened, she closed her eyes when the man spoke her name. She was trying to make it clear that she wanted to be left alone.

  ‘Miss Scott?’ he repeated, a little louder this time. ‘I know this is a bad time, and I’m sorry for your loss. But I really need to speak to you about Eddie.’

  A tiny spark of fear flared in Chrissie’s heart.

  ‘What’s happened?’ she asked, snapping her eyes open and twisting her head to look up at the man.

  ‘That,’ Moore told her, ‘is something I’m hoping you’ll be able to help me find out. You see . . .’

 
; Chrissie listened as he outlined what he already knew and her fear turned to bitterness, to anger, and then to pure, burning rage. It was true. The baby that bitch had told her about had been his. And now that she knew for sure, she also knew that he’d not only known about it but must have been seeing it regularly, whenever he went to the flat to pick up the gear or the money that he’d been stashing there.

  But he wouldn’t be seeing it again, or its mother, because they were both dead. And, according to this man, Eddie had not only killed the mother, he was now in the process of destroying the evidence. It wouldn’t be the first time – or the last, by the sound of it, because right now he was holding a policeman hostage, too.

  ‘I know where the arches are,’ Chrissie told Moore when he’d finished. ‘I was in the car with him once when his friend rang and asked him to drop some stuff off down there. He left me around the corner, but you’ll easily find it. It’s under the railway bridge, next to the canal off Warburton Street.’ Pausing now, she breathed in deeply before continuing. ‘There was another one. Last year. Tommy Jackson. And one a couple of months after that. I think his name was Jeff Price.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Moore’s eyes were calm as he peered down at her, but his heart was already pounding like a jackhammer in his chest.

  ‘Positive,’ Chrissie murmured, sighing, because she knew that there was no going back now.

  31

  It was fully light outside, and shafts of brightness were leaking in through the numerous cracks in the brickwork around the metal-shuttered door. No one wanted to be here, but since Eddie had completely flipped and threatened to shoot the whole lot of them if they dared to open their mouths again they had all resigned themselves to waiting until it was over.

  Clive had taken the other chair over to the opposite side of the room. He was slouched in it now with his eyes closed, trying to convince himself that he was at home in his warm, comfy bed. Fred was sitting like a ghost in another corner, while Carl sat in a crumpled, traumatised heap beside the door.