Fear No Evil (Debbie Johnson)

by Debbie Johnson

  ‘Well, I’m female. I can think and lick at the same time.’

  He raised his eyebrows at me as he stood up.

  ‘That’s good to know,’ he said, and wandered off.

  I stared off into the distance. You could just about see the outlines of the Welsh hills, and the peak of Blackpool Tower rising into the heavens. It all looked about five minutes away, so close you could touch it. Some idiots even tried to drive there, along the beach once. Had to get rescued by the coastguard when the car sank into the mud.

  Dan returned, and passed me a cone – 99 with Flake and strawberry sauce. Brilliant.

  ‘What’s bothering you?’ he said.

  ‘What, apart from the fact I’ve just told someone the baby he never knew he had is dead? A lot of things. There’s something not right, and I need to worm it out of my brain before I lose it. Solitaire’s reactions – how did they strike you?’

  ‘Real grief about the baby. Not sure about Geneva herself. He’s not exactly love’s young dream, and if he’d cared for her that much, wouldn’t he have tried harder?’

  ‘That’s what I was thinking. He’s probably right. About what Eugene would have done to him. But he clearly valued his own skin more than he did her. She was, by all accounts, like a pit bull once she latched onto an idea – she’d have been determined to tell Eugene, and Solitaire was equally determined she shouldn’t. How far would he have gone to stop her?

  ‘And then there’s this thing that Dodgy Bobby said to me. It’s always been there in the back of my mind, annoying me. He said when he went to Hart House, and met the Demon Family, its voices talked about Geneva. About how much they wanted her. That much we knew from what Geneva told Theresa, she was being stalked like Joy was. But he also said it was angry – because it didn’t get to have her in the end. All along we’ve been making the assumption that Geneva was killed by the demon. And you know what Tish says about assuming. So if the demon thing didn’t kill Geneva – who did?’

  ‘Okay,’ he said, licking ice cream drips from the edge of the cone. ‘So now you think differently. You think it was him? Solitaire? Why?’

  ‘Because she was going to out him. Because she was going to tell her granddaddy, who would have had his balls on a platter with extra ketchup for breakfast. Because whatever he says, I don’t think he was ready to hand over the reins of his business to some little upstart fresh out of college. It’s not fitting together right.’

  ‘And you like things to fit together right, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I do. I’m a genius at jigsaws. I need to make a call. Remember our charming pal Jason Quillian? The little pig-faced scrote we met in the park?’

  ‘How could I forget? Ah, I see… he was the witness to Dodgy Bobby’s death by drugs. And you never believed that was what happened.’

  ‘Gold star for you. Hold on. And don’t you dare eat any of that,’ I said, passing my ice cream over for him for safekeeping.

  I hit Tish’s number, and prayed she wasn’t mid-shag. Even if she was, I needed her to stop what she was doing and find something out for me.

  ‘What?’ she snapped. Ooops. Bad time, it seemed.

  ‘Tish, sorry to interruptus your coitus, but I need your help. Big time.’

  ‘Oh fuck,’ she muttered, and I heard her moving around. The Divine Richard was moaning in the background, and not in a way that implied a happy ending.

  ‘Okay. I have disengaged. Now what is it?’

  ‘Can you call Dave, that court reporter, for me? I need to know something. There was a hearing in Mags a few days ago, just a bail for possession. Jason Quillian. When we saw him, he said his brief was Solitaire. Who by the way was Geneva’s mystery lover. Solitaire denied knowing Quillian, and when I checked the records, sure enough he was represented by someone else. Someone I’ve never heard of, called Darren Brady. I put it down to Quillian being a liar and a tosser, both of which are still true, but I need to know if Brady is connected to Solitaire.’

  ‘Right. You need this yesterday, I presume?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Five minutes. I’ll get Dave and call you back.’

  I took the ice cream back from Dan and wolfed it down. I stayed silent, let him figure it out for himself. He was a bright boy. He’d get there in the end.

  ‘So,’ he said eventually. ‘If it turns out Quillian was involved with Solitaire, it tells us what?’

  ‘It tells us that Solitaire was lying, which in itself wouldn’t be surprising. It also tells us that Solitaire was representing someone outside the Casey clan, which would be far more shocking. Not only representing an outsider, but covering it up. Why? Why would he do that? He has plenty of work with the Caseys alone – and I’m 100 per cent sure Quillian wasn’t paying him big bucks, so the motive wasn’t financial.’

  ‘He was looking after Quillian because Quillian had done something for him. A favour of some kind. They had a deal.’

  ‘Yes,’ I answered. ‘And if I’m right, that favour could have been to do with Dodgy Bobby. Never in a million years did he die of a drugs overdose – not willingly anyway. But it was Quillian’s testimony that persuaded the police he did. They never looked any further because it fit too well. They had a witness saying Bobby bought the drugs off him. What if Quillian didn’t just sell Bobby the drugs? What if he administered them as well? Dodgy Bobby was a mystery package. Nobody ever understood how much of what he saw or heard was genuine, which could be considered the ultimate loose end.’

  ‘I see where you’re coming from, but Quillian didn’t seem the type to have the brains for that kind of plan. And how would Solitaire have found Bobby anyway?’

  ‘Quillian wouldn’t need the brains,’ I said. ‘The brains came from Solitaire. You remember those brand new trainers Quillian had on? They’d have cost well over £100. He’d been splashing out already. Come on Tish, for fuck’s sake…’

  The phone rang and I snatched it up. It wasn’t her. It was bloody Wigwam again.

  ‘Stop stalking me, you arsehole,’ I said. ‘And tell me one thing – you knew where Dodgy Bobby was living the whole time. Did Solitaire know that? Could he have found out?’

  ‘I’ll stop stalking you when you tell me what’s going on, you cheeky cow. And yes – he could have known. I kept it from Eugene ’cause I didn’t want him getting any ideas in his head and taking his anger out on Bobby. But yeah. If I knew, Solitaire could have. I can hear seagulls and an ice cream van. You’re at the beach aren’t you? Tell me what you’re up to or I’ll drive round there myself and kick it out of you.’

  ‘Yeah, right. You and who’s army?’ I snapped. The old ones are the best.

  ‘Me and Eugene’s army.’

  Okay, maybe they’re not always the best.

  ‘Give me an hour. I’ll explain everything then. I’ll come in to town and we can sit down and I’ll talk it all through with you. Just leave it for now, all right? Trust me on this.’

  There was a pause at the other end. Probably busy loading up his semi-automatics and putting on his best balaclava for a trip to the beach.

  ‘Okay. Make sure you do.’

  Phew. I’d bought a bit of time, but not much. My brain was racing now, thoughts crashing through my mind like the waves rolling into the shore. It all fit. It suited Solitaire to be rid of Geneva, so he got rid of her. Thought he’d got away with it, thought the whole Dodgy Bobby thing had settled it – Eugene was off chasing ghosts, never once casting a suspicious eye in the direction of his trusted aide and legal advisor. Until I came along, and started upsetting the apple cart. Asking questions. Finding Bobby. Raising the whole issue up for examination again.

  I wasn’t easy to get rid of, but Bobby was. One less loose end to worry about. And we played right into his hands, carrying on believing in demon deaths when the truth was far more mundane. In a nasty, twisted, completely human kind of way. I might not have pumped the smack into Bobby’s veins, but one way or another, I’d been the first step on the path that led
to his death.

  That was one to torture myself with later. Right now I had to find out if all this was true, or if I was just letting my imagination run away with me. I started to curse Tish under my breath, hoping she hadn’t stopped for a quickie before she made her calls. No. She wouldn’t.

  The phone sang out, and I answered on the first ring.

  ‘Darren Brady is nobody. He doesn’t have his own firm, and he doesn’t have his own clients. He’s the legal version of a locum doctor or a supply teacher. He works for whoever pays him on whatever day to do pretty much anything. And according to Dave, one of the people who pays him on an occasional basis is Mr Solitaire himself. No official relationship, but known to people who work in the courts day in day out. Is that what you needed?’

  ‘Yes. It is. Thanks Tish. Keep an eye on the police calls tonight, okay?’

  Dan looked at me. I allowed myself a couple of seconds lost in the blue of his eyes, then shook my head back to reality.

  ‘The lawyer working with Quillian was one of Solitaire’s,’ I said. ‘So Quillian wasn’t lying. Solitaire was trying to hide it, but he had a deal with Quillian. And the only motive he could have had for wanting Dodgy Bobby dead was the fact that he—’

  ‘Might have known something about Geneva, and the fact she wasn’t killed by the ghost she’d talked about. And might have told you. Who in turn might have stirred things up again…like you say, the ultimate loose end. it’s not your fault, you know. That Bobby’s dead.’

  ‘I know that. It’s fucking Solitaire’s fault. He killed Geneva, and he killed Bobby. I don’t know exactly how, but he did. He might not have known about the baby, but he killed them both. And he needs to pay for that with more than a mope over his whisky bottle and a long walk with the dogs.’

  ‘What are you going to do now?’ he asked. He was probably worried I was about to commit a mortal sin. So was I.

  I picked up the phone again. How did we live before mobiles?

  Solitaire answered on the second ring, his voice dripping with pain and booze.

  ‘I know about Quillian, and I know about you setting up Dodgy Bobby’s death,’ I said. ‘And I know about Geneva. I’m giving you two hours’ notice before I tell them. Consider this the start of the countdown. Pack your bags and go, or get yourself to a police station and tell them what happened. They’ll protect you.’

  ‘I see,’ he replied. I could hear the dogs whooping away in the background, poor things. They’d be heading for the RSPCA sometime soon. ‘Well, I appreciate it. All things considered, very fair of you.’

  The phone went dead. I stood up, stretched out.

  ‘Why did you call him? Did he deny it?’ asked Dan, getting up and walking beside me, back to the car.

  ‘No. He didn’t deny it, which is confirmation enough I suppose. I have to tell Wigwam all of this. Bastard as he is, Eugene deserves to know. So does Lorraine. There’s nothing the police can do now – it’s too late for Geneva, unless he chooses to confess all. Somehow I don’t think he will. He’ll probably run.

  ‘As to why I called him – well, that’s because in a couple of hours’ time, I’ll be meeting Wigwam. And I’ll effectively be signing that man’s death warrant.’

  Chapter 36

  ‘Two hours. At the Craic,’ I said to Wigwam over the phone. Dan was driving us back to town. I might be able to think and lick and at the same time, but handling Dock Road traffic was too much to ask.

  ‘You said one.’

  ‘I need to get my hair done. Two hours. The Craic. I’ll wear a red carnation in my buttonhole.’

  ‘And I’ll carry a copy of Assassin Today. Be on time.’

  Dan parked up at the flat, and we went inside for a coffee. Yes, I know, that sounds odd under the circumstances. But I needed to give Solitaire the time I’d promised him. The time to take the cash he undoubtedly had stashed somewhere, and get the fuck out of dodge. I wouldn’t rest easy with handing him over to the Caseys. But I wouldn’t rest easy with letting him off the hook with two murders, either.

  I’d toyed with the idea of telling Alec Jones everything and letting the police handle it, but there was no proof. Geneva’s murder was old, cold and never to be told. And the only way they could get him on Bobby was if Quillian turned him over. I could see him doing that, with the right pressure applied, but Solitaire would have been careful to cover his tracks. Officially, he’d never dealt with him. He’d have paid Darren Brady to do it, who wouldn’t know any of the backstory.

  Jack Moran, duffer that he was, had played right into their hands both by accepting Bobby’s death at face value, and by allowing Quillian slack on the charges he was holding over him.

  Dan wanted to come with me to meet Wigwam, and I didn’t object. There’s a fine line between valuing your independence and needing a frontal lobotomy.

  He checked in with Betty, who told him Justin was well enough to be grouchy, and was being discharged in the morning. He’d be going back to Will’s place, with Betty as nursemaid, until he was recovered enough to get out and about on his own. The doctors suggested a week of bed rest; Justin suggested the doctors go screw themselves and was all for storming back in to Hart House that night. Go, tiger.

  Just before eight we left. I checked the double locks on the doors, went back to ping in the alarm code, and checked the locks again. I was about to go in to the lion’s den, and wanted to make sure my nest was safe.

  The Craic was booming by the time we arrived. We walked in, and Mickey Flynn headed us off before we even had a chance to laugh at any of the jokes. His cheeks were so red it looked like somebody had repeatedly slapped him with a wet mackerel.

  ‘Back room,’ he said, leading us through the crowds to a side door. Inside was Wigwam, sitting with his feet up on a battered table, reading a copy of Variety magazine. Not quite Assassin Today after all.

  He looked up, gave Dan a once-over, and stood to shake hands with him. I couldn’t help smirking. Wigwam wasn’t the kind of man to shake hands with new acquaintances. Not unless they happened to be tall, blonde and gorgeous, that is. I couldn’t fault his taste in men, it has to be said. Maybe we could go out on the pull together one day. Not.

  We sat around the table on fold-out chairs so flimsy I thought they might fold up with me still in them. Wigwam pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered one to Dan. Not me, I noticed – and I suspected it wasn’t because he had any idea I was a non-smoker.

  ‘Go on then. Tell me all,’ he said, lighting up and streaming a nicotine cloud into the air. Apparently nobody had told him about the workplace smoking ban.

  ‘It was Solitaire,’ I said.

  ‘What was Solitaire?’

  ‘It was Solitaire who was having the affaire with Geneva. Solitaire who got her pregnant. Solitaire who killed her.’

  ‘No fucking way!’ he said, voice raised loud enough to make me jump back. Under the table, Dan moved his leg over to touch mine and steady me.

  ‘Yes way,’ I replied. ‘He killed Dodgy Bobby as well. Or had it done. Through that Quillian bloke I asked you about. I’ve already spoken to him, Wigwam. It’s true.’

  He stared at me, his brown eyes narrow and deep and terrifying. I’d really quite liked to have run out of there right then, for fear of meeting the traditional fate of the messenger.

  ‘Fuck. Fuck. Fuck…’ he said. ‘I never even suspected, not a bloody thing. Did he know about the baby?’

  ‘No. No he didn’t. But he knew Geneva was planning to tell Eugene all about their romance, and he knew that Eugene would—’

  ‘Kill him. No doubt about it. Nobody was going to be good enough for Geneva, but he’d have maybe settled for a footballer or a multi-millionaire. Never a fucking lawyer old enough to be her dad. Jesus. He’s going to go nuts when I tell him.

  ‘Fuck,’ he repeated. His vocabulary had taken a turn for the worse in the last few minutes, as he struggled to process it all. ‘Hang on,’ said Wigwam, still reeling. ‘You said you’ve talked to hi
m about this? So he knows you know?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, waiting for the table to get thrown at my head and the knife to come out. Any second now he’d twig about the delay in me getting to town.

  ‘You warned him. You stupid, stupid cow. I’ve got to tell Eugene. Now. Get out, before I do something you’ll regret.’

  ‘I will,’ I said, my leg muscles already primed to scarper. ‘But sort the CCTV out will you? I don’t know what will happen to Solitaire next. He may have gone already. But either way, there’ll be questions asked, and I don’t want to be involved.’

  ‘I don’t want you involved either. You haven’t got the brains you were born with. Now fuck off. If he’s gone to the pigs, love, you’re going to be in a lot of trouble. If he’s legged it, you’re going to be in a lot of trouble. If—’

  ‘Okay. She gets the picture,’ said Dan, standing up, nudging the table sharply towards Wigwam as he did, catching him in the stomach with its edge. ‘She’s in a lot of trouble. We’re leaving now.’

  He took hold of my arm and I got out of the chair. My limbs were trembling, but I tried not to look like a mental patient as we walked, slowly and calmly, out of the room. You should never turn your back and run from Wigwam. He was like a wolf – he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from chasing.

  Mickey Flynn gave us the evils on the way out, but didn’t bother us. As soon as we were a couple of streets away I stopped, did a shake test on my fingers and found out I was all right. At least I still had all my fingers. I was absolutely exhausted, though. It really had been a bastard of a day.

  ‘Are you all right?’ said Dan.

  ‘Yeah. Bit shaky. As to be expected. I think maybe tomorrow I better write a will, just in case. But right now, I think I need to go home.’

  On my own. To an empty flat, where I could happily spend the whole night worrying about Casey hit men or dead psychics or Demon Things or Joy Middlemas, lying broken on the ground in a vat of her own blood. Home sweet home.