Fallen Idols

by Neil White

  ‘Okay, okay,’ she mumbled, and then the car swung to the right. ‘He’s still behind us,’ she said, her voice getting higher. Her eyes flicked to her mirror. ‘He’s catching up.’

  ‘Floor it,’ I bellowed.

  Laura looked at me, her eyebrows flicked upwards. ‘A pursuit? Are you fucking crazy?’

  Then she saw my look of determination. She had doubts for a moment, but then she shook her head and put her foot down hard.

  I was pushed back against the seat, and then I heard the wail of a police siren behind us. I was thrown to my right as Laura took a bend.

  ‘Where now?’ she shouted.

  I tried to work out where we were. Memories were flooding back, and I tried to reconcile them with the images rushing past the windscreen, the whistle of the tyres on the tarmac getting louder as Laura tried to pull away.

  ‘Keep going down here. There’ll be a turning to your left. I’ll shout out when to turn. You’ll go over an old canal bridge.’

  The police siren was getting louder. Maybe just a few yards behind us.

  ‘Get across the bridge,’ I continued. ‘There’s a space to pull in just after it. Pull over so that I can jump out of the door. By the time he rolls across the bridge, I’ll be under it.’

  The car rocked as she swung it into the middle of the road, and then the traction got loose as Laura took another bend. I was jolted around as the car straightened.

  ‘What do I do when you’ve jumped out?’ asked Laura, shouting. ‘Watch my career float down the fucking canal?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said softly, ‘but if I get hauled in now, it’s all over.’ I took a deep breath. ‘Let him catch you up and keep him busy.’

  She braked hard into a bend, and then the rear wheels slewed as she accelerated out of it.

  ‘Jack, are you sure? What do I tell them?’

  I thought for a moment, and then said, ‘Answer every question honestly.’ I smiled. ‘Except about me.’

  ‘And what are you going to do?’

  ‘I can’t tell you,’ I said, ‘and then you can’t give it away.’

  She started to slow down. The police car was just behind, the siren getting loud in the car.

  ‘Don’t mess me around, Jack. I need to know.’

  ‘Okay, okay, just keep going.’

  She accelerated again.

  ‘I’m going to wait for Liza Radley,’ I said. ‘And I’m taking your phone. Tell Tony that I’ll call him when I get set.’

  Laura didn’t say anything. I put my hand on her knee. She looked at me, shook her head and smiled. ‘I must have gone as crazy as you.’

  ‘It’s the country air.’

  Laura laughed, but then I shouted, ‘We’re getting near the bridge, just there on the left.’

  I was thrown forward as she stamped on the brake, the car skidding in the road, and then she swung it hard into a turn, the scream of tarmac replaced by the rattle of a grit road. I gripped the door handle as the car swung violently and then jumped and bounced. The siren got quieter as he overshot the turning so Laura pulled away fast. Her hands were shaking on the wheel as we bounced out of potholes, and then the car took a lurch upwards as she shot over the bridge. I could hear the police car get back on track, and then we skidded to a halt as we got to the other side, the grit spewing out from under the tyres.

  I didn’t look. I just threw the car door open and rolled onto the floor, my shoulder kicking up dust as I landed. I reached behind and slammed the door shut. I hurled myself down the bank, wincing as my back hit tree stumps and rocks, before I landed with a thud on a brick towpath.

  I heard the police car slam to a stop, gravel kicking up, siren screaming, so I scrambled to get under the bridge. I listened.

  A car door opened and I heard slow footsteps. Then a voice. ‘In a rush, miss?’

  I listened out as the policeman took Laura’s details and got on the radio. He talked about traffic offences for a while, and then his radio burst into life. He checked the message again, and then said, ‘Laura McGanity, I’m going to have to take you with me.’ There was silence again, and then, ‘Have you seen Jack Garrett today?’

  I didn’t hear the response, but I heard Laura’s door open and the policeman talk into his radio again. It was time to move on.

  FIFTY-FOUR

  Laura looked around as the police car arrived back in town. The policeman hadn’t said much on the way in. He’d talked into the radio mostly, let everyone know that she was on her way. Laura just didn’t know what to expect. She was meddling, not even on the case.

  Turners Fold seemed darker as it came back into view, more threatening. The last leg into the town square was done at a crawl. As she made her way round, Laura saw the media build-up. She wondered whether word was getting out, whether Tony’s meeting with Glen Ross had made David Watts a news headline.

  The cameras didn’t pay her any attention and the car swung around the back of the police station without anyone stopping to look. They parked in the yard, and when she looked up she saw two people in suits walking across to meet her, male and female.

  The car door opened and Laura got out. She stayed by the car, let the two suits come to her. As they got closer, it was the woman who spoke.

  ‘Hello, I’m Nell Cornwell, and this is Mike Gray. We’re from New Scotland Yard.’ Nell was smiling. Mike seemed pensive and withdrawn.

  Laura held out her hand. ‘Hello, I’m Detective Constable McGanity.’

  ‘Yes, we know,’ replied Nell.

  That made Laura pause, and then she asked, ‘Am I under arrest?’

  Nell looked at Mike, and then back at Laura. ‘No, not yet, but if you walk away, you just might be.’

  Laura made as if to consider her position, but then said, ‘Looks like I’m helping then.’

  Nell smiled and stood aside to let Laura walk into the station.

  After leaving Laura, I walked for around twenty minutes, along the canal on a slippy brick towpath. The buildings that backed onto it were solid blocks of stone, all the windows looking towards the road on the other side. A barge passed me, green and red, gypsy paintwork. The canal would take me right into town, but I wasn’t going that far. I remembered a long-forgotten track that ran around the town, which would take me around the school and then drop me off right by Victoria Park.

  The walk was short and dusty, an old bramble track. Once I got near to Victoria Park, I looked around. No one there yet. No police. No Liza Radley. No one at all. There were football fields running away from the park, with the nearest cover a few hundred yards away, so no one could be hiding down there with a decent view.

  I was by an old stone church. I looked over the wall. All I could see were gravestones, like bad teeth, grey and uneven.

  I ran across to the park, waiting for either a shot or a shout. I got neither. I dived into the bushes, large buddleias, butterflies resting on the flowers, laurel bushes just alongside those.

  I could see the aviary, about forty yards away. It was just a brick block, nothing more. But as I looked, I saw the remnants of crime scene tape fluttering against the corners. It was like a kick to the stomach, maybe even where my dad had been when he had seen David Watts running ten years earlier. I could hear the tape crackling in the wind like it was snapping at my heels.

  I looked at the floor. This was going to be worse than I’d thought. I would have to sit and wait for something to happen.

  Liza avoided Turners Fold. The events at the house told her she had little time left. She expected the town to be busy with police. As she drove around it, cutting along the dusty back roads, she could sense no difference.

  Despite this, she felt nervous, excited. It was getting near the end, she could feel it. She drove for a few miles more before she found the track that led down to the high school. It had only been a few days since she had been there, but everything had moved on so much since then. It had always felt like it had haunted her, but now it felt different, like she was coming to
reclaim it.

  She could see the park ahead, the trees tall and strong, dark green against the grey slate of the town. Her eyes flicked around, looking for movement. It looked quiet, empty and desolate, dark and moody, despite the blue sky. She didn’t think the police would be waiting, David Watts was too much of a coward to call them, but still she didn’t expect to find it so empty and quiet. It just looked like what it was: a small park on the edge of a small Lancashire town.

  She looked again. She couldn’t see David Watts. She smiled to herself. She had time to get set, she’d spent the last ten miles working out what she was going to do. She had to get Emma down there.

  She went back to her car and reversed hard before swinging it round to head away from the high school. She had driven down to remind herself of the layout. It was just how she remembered it. Now she had to go and wait for him. But he couldn’t see her first. She had worked out where she was going to be.

  She put her foot down and sped along the track, leaving a cloud of dust behind.

  FIFTY-FIVE

  Laura was taken into a room at the police station, away from the front window and the growing clamour outside. She was following Nell, with Mike behind her, and when she went into the room she saw Tony leaning against the wall.

  He was quiet, seemed subdued. When he looked up, he was expressionless.

  Laura walked over. ‘It’s good to see you, Tony,’ she whispered in his ear.

  He shook his head. ‘Glen Ross is dead,’ he said.

  Laura’s eyes went wide with shock. ‘What happened?’

  Tony looked towards Nell and saw her nod. He looked back towards Laura and said simply, ‘I played the recording.’

  ‘What, and it killed him? The shock? Heart attack?’

  Tony shook his head. ‘I wish it was that simple.’ He sighed. ‘He blew his brains out, Laura.’

  Laura was silent again for a few moments. She was tinkering with her conscience, but there was nothing there. She tugged at her lip. ‘If he’d been less of a coward ten years ago, maybe things would have been different.’

  Tony sighed. ‘I saw a man die this morning. Go easy.’

  Laura rubbed her eyes. She was tired. ‘Last night, I was chased by a madman,’ she said. ‘He tried to kill Jack, maybe me as well. I have a few awkward questions to answer now, because I went along with Jack when I should have brought him in, and I was almost killed by Liza Radley. All of this because Glen Ross did nothing about a dead girl ten years ago. I’m feeling pretty strung out right now, so no, I don’t feel like going easy. I just wish he’d hung around to answer some questions.’

  Tony said nothing.

  ‘Don’t you feel the same, Tony?’

  He looked up at Laura. Then he gave a thin smile. ‘Maybe I do, in my own way. I just wish he hadn’t done it in front of me.’

  Laura said nothing, but she understood.

  Then they both looked over as Nell coughed.

  ‘Sorry to split you two up, but we need to talk.’

  Tony and Laura exchanged glances, and then they both grimaced. They each hoped their stories came out right.

  David Watts was hurtling into town, bouncing out of dips in the road, his eyes shining with anger, his mouth set fixed and firm. He kept on checking his rear-view mirror, sure he was being followed, checking out colours and makes, seeing if they were keeping up.

  He jumped when his phone rang. He looked down at the passenger seat. The phone was flashing green, ringing out. He snapped out a hand and put it to his ear.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Here she is, David.’

  ‘I’m on my way to kill you,’ he snarled.

  ‘Good. I’m waiting for you.’

  Then the earpiece went silent. He was about to throw the phone down when a voice came on that he recognised. ‘David, David, help me.’

  It was Emma. His breaths sank to nothing, his mind slowed down. He had thought it was just a bluff.

  ‘Emma?’

  ‘David, please help me. Just do as she says. Please.’ She was crying now.

  ‘Don’t worry, Emma, I’ll be there.’ He felt a new urgency. ‘You’re coming home.’

  Then he jumped when he heard a noise, like someone being hit, and the metallic voice returned.

  ‘You know where to go, David. I’m waiting. You go there and you get Emma back.’

  He started to shout, his hand gripping the wheel tight, too tight, when he noticed the call had ended.

  He threw the phone back on the passenger seat and put his foot down harder. He could see Turners Fold getting bigger, the dots on the landscape turning into houses, the grey pinpricks into lines of chimneys.

  This was going to end only one way.

  FIFTY-SIX

  Laura was sitting down, cradling a coffee Mike had brought in. He was leaning against the wall with his arms folded. He didn’t like acting as waiter.

  Laura had told Nell all about the trip to Liza’s house. Then she’d told her all about the visit during the night from the American. Laura couldn’t see, but Nell had transcripts of the 999 calls by people woken up by the shooting. It all matched.

  Then Nell asked more about the American.

  Laura stared into her coffee and shook her head. ‘I don’t know who he was.’

  Nell moved her head in query. ‘Was?’

  Laura looked up. ‘He’s dead. He got on the wrong side of Liza Radley.’

  Nell looked surprised, her head cocked like a hawk. ‘Are you sure he’s dead?’

  Laura laughed. ‘If he’s not, that was some trick, because his head ended up a few feet from his body, and the last time I saw him, he was covered in flames.’

  Nell raised her eyebrows. ‘Where’s Jack?’

  Laura took a drink of coffee, tried to think about her answer. She smiled when she remembered what had been said in the car.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she replied. It was an honest reply.

  ‘Don’t mess us around,’ Mike barked, but Nell held up her hand to quieten him.

  ‘Where was he the last time you saw him?’ she asked.

  ‘Where I was picked up,’ she said.

  Nell looked at Mike and raised her eyebrows. Mike shrugged.

  ‘He thinks he’s wanted for Rose Wood’s murder,’ Laura added. ‘He just wanted to be out of town.’

  Nell blinked. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘We’ll get the maps out.’

  I was starting to lose concentration, tiredness creeping up on me, when I was jolted awake by movement.

  I sat upright, my mind switched on again. It was a man. He was on the other side of the road, just emerging into view along the field that ran away from Victoria Park. It was a familiar walk. A tall man, well-built, I could see that, even from a distance. I smiled to myself. I recognised him straight away. It was David Watts. Every sports fan in the country knew that walk. And he was heading towards Victoria Park. My hunch had been right.

  But then it struck me how right my father had been. Same man from the same distance. Unmistakable.

  But as I looked around, I realised I only had one part of the puzzle. Where was Liza Radley?

  David Watts stopped in front of Victoria Park.

  He had stocked up on coke, just enough to get through, so his eyes were wild, his hand darting to his nose, twitchy, arrogant. He looked around, saw the trees, shadows, as his childhood rushed at him. The place looked deserted. It always did. But as he stared, the park filled up with noise, teenage dreams. He rubbed his eyes. It was too bright. Memories came in flashes, noises of the pack, his friends, secret cigarettes, stolen kisses.

  He shook his head, tried to clear it out. There was no one there.

  But he knew the answer was there. The whole of the last three days would melt away when he came out of the park. He would go back to London, maybe take some time off, but he would be back. He had to believe that.

  He stepped forward, his steps nervous and slow, crossing the road, a thin grey strip, until he reached Victoria Park. When
his foot touched the grass, he felt a tingle like a current as the blades crushed under his feet. He smiled. He started a slow walk, his feet pressing the grass gently, like he thought it might break. The memories came back so he began to spin as he walked, the park turning fast, his feet skidding on the grass. He laughed, the sound loud in the silence, bouncing around the park so that it came back on him and made him shut his eyes. He thought he saw something for a moment, a flicker, a movement on the edge of his vision, but there was nothing there. There was nobody there. Just trees, seats, grass. It was the same old Victoria Park.

  He carried on spinning, laughing, the view blurring now, his head turning. Then he stopped. He felt a jab to his head, a flash of light. He looked up and saw it. The aviary. A broken brick cube. He gasped as he felt another stabbing pain, like the scrape of glass. His hands shot to his head. He tried to look again. He thought he saw moving shadows, blurred struggles.

  He stepped back quickly. His forehead was damp now, his hands trembling. The sunlight was piercing, making him cover his eyes again. He could still see trees and grass, but he thought he could see into the shadows as well, people hiding, watching. Where was she? His nerves were cocked, waiting for the sniper’s gunshot.

  He stepped forward and began to walk across the grass, turning round, backwards now, his hand shielding his eyes from the light. His mouth was dry, wrung out by nerves. He felt isolated, exposed. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was coming for her. He began to curse, spitting venom. He stopped and stuck his chest out, arched his back to shout.

  ‘Where are you?’

  The noise echoed around the park, no one there to hear him. When the sound ebbed away, he stopped. The grass was about to turn into tarmac. He waited for a reply. There was nothing. He put his head back and laughed, manic and loud, driven by drugs and panic.

  ‘Where the fuck are you?’ he shouted again, and began to spin on the spot, the shout dying, the world screaming past in greens and blues and whites, a blur of daylight.