Even in his hung-over state Erasmus knew what had happened. Cowley had set him up. This was payback for interfering.
Erasmus was going to keep quiet but he couldn’t help himself.
‘Is there time for a slice of toast and a cup of tea?’
Harris held out some cuffs.
‘Do I have a choice?’
He put out his hands and Harris slapped the cuffs on him.
‘Scumbags like you don’t deserve breakfast,’ said Harris, his breath was heavy with the evidence of the coffee and cigarettes he had already enjoyed.
‘That’s enough,’ said Pobrosky angrily to Harris. ‘You’re coming with us, Mr Jones.’
It wasn’t the first time he had been in a cell and he wasn’t unduly worried by the situation. DCI Pobrosky had asked him who he wanted notified of his arrest and he had given her Pete’s details. Now it was just a matter of waiting. There couldn’t be any physical evidence and they hadn’t charged him yet so once Pete arrived there would be some shouting, legal threats and then an eventual interview followed by a quick release. Well, that’s what he hoped.
Erasmus sat back on the rubber mat that covered the concrete bed and leaned his back against the cold wall. He closed his eyes and waited.
He didn’t have to wait long. There was the sound of keys being rattled and then inserted in the lock. Admiral Police Station was an old Victorian station and he guessed the budget hadn’t stretched yet to electronic doors.
The door opened. Harris stood at the door. His face twisted into a smile and his little eyes gleamed with delight.
‘You’ve got company.’
It wasn’t Pete.
Harris winked at Erasmus and then stepped back and to the side of the door disappearing from Erasmus’s view.
A man, at least six foot five and nearly as wide as the door took his place. He was bald and red faced with rat like features. He glanced at Erasmus and then squeezed through the opening before walking slowly to the bench on the opposite wall. He sat down and stared straight at Erasmus.
‘Say hello to the Duke. I’m going to go for my lunch now so I won’t be able to look after you two but I’m sure you’ll play nice,’ said Harris and then he slammed the door shut.
The Duke made a noise that to Erasmus’s ear sounded like a dog’s growl. Instinctively, Erasmus moved his back away from the wall and shifted his weight forward.
Just above the mass of the Duke’s head was some graffiti on the wall: DIE OR BE SAVED. Someone else had added a coda in green ink: FUCKING DIE CUNT.
The growl turned into a word. ‘Nonce.’
Saliva ran down the side of the Duke’s mouth and thin, red spider tracks covered the pinky whites of his eyes. Erasmus recognised the look and the contorted facial expressions. He had seen them before on clients of his who had been arrested for crystal meth possession.
For the first time since the Duke had entered the cell, Erasmus felt scared. He hadn’t been worried by the guy’s bulk, his muscles or his aggression but add in crystal meth and that changed the equation. He had known women, high on meth, slice away at their own fingers with a kitchen knife, removing pieces and remaining oblivious to the pain.
Erasmus looked down, avoiding eye contact but not fully averting his eyes. It was like waiting for a wild animal to pounce. He knew it was coming, it was only a case of when, and could he survive it?
He had a quick look to the left, nothing but a small, reinforced glass window, only two feet square and six feet off the ground. The room was bare and he had been stripped of anything – belts, shoe, pens, even his watch – anything that could possibly be used as a weapon.
Erasmus looked up towards the door and almost immediately realised his mistake, the realisation gaining him the millisecond that probably saved his life.
There was a rush of displaced air as the Duke shot forward, head lowered and his right arm pointing at Erasmus who dived off the bed and onto the floor, avoiding the arm and then the rest of the Duke that slammed into the wall where he had been reclining only a second earlier.
There was the sound of something metallic hitting the concrete and Erasmus saw that the grapefruit-sized fist of the Duke was clutching a crude, homemade shiv. Harris had obviously been in charge of the search at custody.
Erasmus leapt to his feet. The panic button was by the door but Erasmus was at the far end of the cell and the route to it was now blocked by the Duke, who had turned around and was getting to his feet. He could see the knife clearly now. A piece of forged steel and a black tapped handle: a classic shiv.
‘Listen, I don’t know what he told you but I’m innocent and I’m no nonce.’
The Duke spat something green and lumpy on the floor and lowered his head again preparing to charge. There was nowhere to go this time.
The Duke charged again, Erasmus dived to the floor and through the Duke’s legs. He quickly jumped to his feet and hit the panic button hard with the palm of his hand. No sooner had he done so than the Duke’s knife was plunged into the fleshy part of his right hand between his thumb and index finger and pulled out again.
Erasmus let out a yelp of pain and kicked backwards as hard as he could with the heel of his right foot. His bare foot connected with something hard and bony and there was a snapping sound.
Erasmus span round and saw the Duke looking down at his right leg. Erasmus could see from here that the Duke’s femur was broken. There was a bulge above and to the side of the Duke’s right knee where the bone had pushed out again the skin and the Duke’s jeans started to flower red.
The Duke looked down at his deformed leg and then a clown like grin, crimson lips and bulging eyes, tumbled onto his face. He started to limp forward, jabbing the knife towards Erasmus’s face.
For a second Erasmus considered sliding through the Duke’s legs again but he was too close now, he didn’t have the space to pick up any momentum. He would have to fight.
Erasmus was of the school of strike first and strike hard. He swung his left forearm in an arc colliding with the Duke’s forearm which sent him crashing backwards, he followed up by slamming his palm hard into the Duke’s face, smashing his nose into splinters. Erasmus screamed with pain as the open wound on his hand connected and he could feel the exposed bone slide up the Duke’s face.
He thought he would pass out with the pain, and he bit the inside of his lip hard. Passing out now would be fatal.
The Duke’s face was now smeared in blood, his own and that from Erasmus’s bloody palm. His nose was a mess of cartilage and skin that hung loosely from the broken fragments of bone.
The Duke smiled again, bloody stalactites dripping from what remained of his nose. He still had the knife and he began to advance again. Erasmus realised he couldn’t use his right hand, he couldn’t feel it, and even an attempt to make it into a fist was impossible.
He swung his left arm to ward off the knife arm again, but he couldn’t follow up with an attack. The Duke swung his left arm and his fist slammed into Erasmus’s right ear sending him crashing to the floor at the foot of the bed he had been sitting on when the Duke entered the room.
The Duke shifted unsteadily and started to turn, readjusting his position slowly. He may not have been feeling the pain, the dopamine overloaded synapses misfiring, but the broken leg had slowed him. Erasmus, laying at the Duke’s feet, started to feel faint, sounds seemed far away and he realised he couldn’t stand up. He had one chance and he took it. He fell rather than moved forward and his head came to rest on the Duke’s right knee. Erasmus raised his hands and he jammed his thumbs into either side of the lump of broken bone that he could feel just above the knee.
The Duke screamed and then staggered backwards.
The door to the cell was flung open and he saw a pale looking DCI Pobrosky raise a Taser and point it at the Duke.
And then Erasmus passed out.
***
At first he thought he was in a heaven that he didn’t believe in. There was a beautiful white a
ngel standing above him, moving in and out of focus. He reached towards her with his right hand but he couldn’t move his hand more than a few inches.
A familiar voice chipped in, ‘You’re handcuffed to the bed, numb nuts.’
Pete.
‘I thought it was heaven not hell,’ said Erasmus.
The nurse, now in focus and perhaps not quite as angelic as he had first thought, smiled at him and then turned to Pete. ‘He’s fine now.’
‘You hear that, Raz, it’s official, you’re fine. If only that were the truth, eh? Can you give us a moment?’
‘Sure, I’ll be down at the end of the corridor if you need me.’
She left the room. Pete sat down in the chair next to the bed.
‘I always wondered who got a hospital room to themselves. Now, I know: private patients and suspected rapists.’
Erasmus tried to sit up but a shooting pain drilled through his skull.
‘Lay back. You’ve got a concussion apparently, that and a hole in your right hand. Luckily for you that Goliath didn’t hit any tendons.’
‘That cop put him in there deliberately, he told him I was a nonce.’
Pete shrugged. ‘Can you blame him? Lots of people would think he did a good thing. A nonce getting a kicking doesn’t bring out people’s innate feelings of sympathy.’
‘Can it, Pete. You know I haven’t raped anyone. It’s a set-up. Cowley wants me out of the picture until the transfer with Anzhi is a done deal.’
‘The girl Natalie says you went round to her house last night and raped her. What were you doing last night? If you have an alibi you are out of here. If not they will charge you and you ain’t likely to get bail.’
Erasmus groaned. Every part of his body seemed to ache but the thought of what he was about to do hurt even more.
‘I’ve got an alibi, but you are going to have to tell them to be discrete.’
‘I have a feeling that DCI Pobroksky is not the type to let emotion get in the way of justice. She probably saved your life today, by the way, I arrived a couple of minutes later, and the Duke was shaking like a jelly on a ship. She had to put two Taser’s into him to put him down.’
‘Tell her thank you and, please, the watchword here is discretion,’ said Erasmus. A sharp pain sliced through his head and he winced.
‘I’ll tell her. No need for the dramatics. Now if you want to get out of here give me your alibi.’
Erasmus told Pete about his night with Cat.
‘You dog, Erasmus, and there was me and Debs thinking you were going to be sucked in by Karen all over again.’
Erasmus shut his eyes and told himself that the guilt he was filling was a ridiculous emotion, he owed Karen nothing. He didn’t believe that for a second though. He had let her down and now he was letting down Cat.
Pete left the room to go and call DCI Pobroksy.
Erasmus must have fallen asleep but when he awoke the curtains to the room were drawn and Pete was back.
‘Awake at last. Good news, Cat came through for you. She confirmed that she spent the night with you. Good job for you she did or you’d be spending tonight in the cells. You are still under caution though and have to remain available for enquires etcetera, etcetera. Pobrosky came down here herself and uncuffed you. You snored right through it. I hope you weren’t planning on hitting on her as well as frankly I don’t think she was too impressed by your sleeping walrus impression.’
Pete was pulling some clothes from a bag. He noticed Erasmus’s quizzical look.
‘Yours are covered in blood, yours and Dukes,’ he offered by way of an explanation. ‘Come on, out of bed!’
Erasmus’s head was still delicate but he swung his legs out of the bed and looked down at the clothes Pete had laid out for him.
‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’
Pete looked offended but it was impossible to tell if this was real or put on for effect.
‘Erasmus, what we have here are blue, rinsed Levis, a Ben Sherman button down shirt, a black Baracuta G9 Jacket and Clarks desert boots. This, my friend, is the finest look you will ever achieve in your sartorially challenged life.’
Erasmus shook his head.
‘I’m going to look like an extra from Quadrophenia.’
When he had dressed Pete looked him up and down approvingly.
‘You look ace. So what’s the plan now?’
‘Now, Cowley gets a taste of his own medicine. Come on, we’ve got a rat to trap.’
Erasmus headed towards the door with Pete shaking his head in tow.
CHAPTER 33
Frank Tallow looked like he was living a pretty good life for someone who was meant to be broke. He was sitting at the bar of the Hilton’s PIMA room, the kind of high-end place that catered for lawyers, entrepreneurs and gangsters. It was also the type of bar were you came to network rather than meet friends, and Erasmus watched from a corner table as Frank Tallow networked the life out of the place. He couldn’t help but be a little impressed. Networking was still something he thought train companies and computers should only be allowed to do. It probably explained his devastating lack of success as a lawyer and his sparse client list.
Tallow sat at the end of the plush leather bar, a bottle of champagne on ice beside him, talking to a seemingly inexhaustible supply of similarly suited types who would plant their expensively suited derrieres on the stool next to him, exchange a few words and then move on.
Erasmus had been watching the same scene unfold again and again now for at least thirty minutes and he suspected that Tallow had spotted him. When Tallow looked over for the second time while in the middle of a conversation with a middle-aged man dressed in a tight-fitting blue tonic suit, Erasmus knew for sure.
Erasmus wasn’t hiding. On the contrary he very much wanted to speak to Frank Tallow. In fact everything depended upon it.
The middle-aged hipster speaking to Tallow stood up and moved away to join a crowd of similarly dressed, middle-aged men who were standing further along the bar and ogling a group of young girls sitting at a table next to Erasmus. The girls were pretending not to notice but Erasmus had heard one of the girls describe the group as ‘sad old pervs’ so he knew they were aware of the attention.
Erasmus waited a few moments, until Tallow glanced up, catching his gaze, and then he got up and walked across to the empty seat.
He sat down and looked directly at Tallow.
‘It’s customary to ask whether a seat is free before taking it,’ said Tallow.
Erasmus took an empty champagne glass from the stack next to the bucket and then poured himself a glass of champagne, shaking out the last few drops of the now empty bottle.
Tallow started to splutter and the capillaries in his face lit up like a blood red Christmas tree.
‘That’s my champagne, you fucking cunt!’
Erasmus took a swig of the champagne and then laughed. ‘Nice. No wonder you had some trouble getting Terry TV off. Tell me, did you pick him up as a client because you move in the same social circles?’
Tallow started forward and grabbed hold of Erasmus’s lapels. Erasmus didn’t resist and he was aware that the conversation in the bar had dropped away, as it always did when violence was excitedly expected.
‘I know people, people who could hurt you, fuck you up real bad,’ snarled Tallow.
Erasmus leaned forward until his lips where next to Tallow’s left ear. Erasmus held up his bandaged right hand. ‘Someone beat you to it. By the way, I know you are blackmailing Wayne.’
The alcohol charged blood in Tallow’s face receded like a crimson tide exposing white salt flats. He sank back onto his bar stool and let go of Erasmus. The bar noise level slowly returned to normal.
‘You are a washed-up piece of shit that doesn’t even practice law. You don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Jessica had an affair with Wayne and she got pregnant. You lost all your clients defending Terry TV and you needed some money. What’s more natural
than deploying your legal skills in a negotiation for your daughter’s silence? What loving father wouldn’t do the same?’
Tallow said nothing but he started to pick the skin on the side of his left thumb with his index finger.
‘You went to Steve Cowley, put forward a proposition, a sum of money for her silence, no press, no pack drill and he paid you off. But you came back for more, isn’t that right?’
Tallow looked up now. His lips were pursed but he wanted to speak, he wanted to negotiate but he was unsure of his bargaining position. Erasmus pressed ahead.
‘Negotiations not going too well? That was some shiner.’
Erasmus raised his voice and heads began to turn again.
Tallow shook his head. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘You were broke, about to lose everything – no clients, just debts – and then a gift horse dropped into your lap. But you settled too soon, before this proposed transfer and now you want a second bite at the cherry. That’s right, isn’t it?’
Tallow seemed to regain some of his composure.
‘Don’t you presume to use your piss poor cross-examination on me, Erasmus. I did some digging on you after you called at my house. It made interesting reading. You’re an army reject and a second rate lawyer with the shakes. What did they used to call it? Shellshock? Do you want me to read you some Wilfred Owen, dulce et decorum est and all that? Would that make you feel a little better?’
Tallow snorted and then sank the champagne in his glass and jumped off his stool. He unhooked a blue mac from underneath the bar and turned to leave.
‘I know she’s not in Australia, Frank,’ said Erasmus underneath his breath.
Frank almost didn’t pause, almost but not quite, and then he carried on walking out of the bar without looking back at Erasmus.
CHAPTER 34
Pete hated a lot of things. If he was honest with himself, and occasionally, when he had some precious time to himself, away from the kids and Debs, like today, he would ask himself questions about why he hated those things. The usual answer was that he had learned to hate things from his dad. His father, an old-fashioned Labour councillor, had bestowed upon the young Pete a hotchpotch of prejudices that he had been trying to shake with varied degrees of success every since he left home at the age of sixteen to join the army.
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