by Geoff Smith
'Kenny!' Simmonds had this way of sounding simultaneously sarcastic and sincere. 'Any chance we could um?'
The owner, a stocky Asian guy, five-five at most, but tough and compact, not someone Bart would want to mess with. He nodded from his waist, and he looked up with eyes that were dark and intense, like the black eyes of a boar.
They sat in wooden chairs at a small table. Bart made small talk and Simmonds listened, giving only the briefest of responses, seeming somehow to hear more than was said to him, or maybe just knowing more than he let on.
'So, Mr. Crowe, we have been in the wars, haven't we?'
'Yes we have,' said Bart. He smiled. 'I'm surprised you don't already know all about it.'
Simmonds looked quizzical.
Bart said, 'I mean, last time we spoke. You made some good guesses. Why did you come and find me?'
Simmonds leaned back in his chair. He looked at Bart, evaluating, staring for several seconds.
'So tell me, Bart, one investigator to another. What do you really think is going on here? Just lay it out for me will you, as you see it.'
'You mean the murder?'
'If you like.'
The dishes arrived. Simmonds announced the names proudly. Yummy Yama curry and Pad Prik Ghang. Kenny placed them down, and he patted Simmonds on the shoulder. Simmonds thanked the man and slipped him a twenty.
Bart leaned forward.
'I think the Raymond Feathers murder has got something to do with that fire, the one in July, at the Ten-Ten Casino. I don't have any proof, except that Torin Malone was tight with Zack Richards and Lola Golden, Richards was tight with Raymond, and Malone was a user, so he probably knew Feathers as well. I know the story is that Malone started the fire himself, but I think there's more to it than that. The Ten-Ten was owned by Lola's dad. And she didn't tell me that, so -'
'Would you have told someone if you were her?' Simmonds asked. 'I mean you'd tell a stranger?'
'I'd like to think I would.'
Simmonds did that slow nodding thing he did.
He said, 'The Ten-Ten's been investigated, Mr. Crowe. A fire in a waste paper basket, possibly a discarded cigarette. What do you think about the idea that Zack Richards killed Raymond Feathers?'
The directness of the question surprised him.
'Well, maybe,' Bart said. 'I know they were dealing and I know drugs can get people very uptight about money. Except Zack has money, pretty much as and when he wants it. He deals for kicks. So I don't know. Maybe he kills for kicks too - but it seems a big step.'
Again Simmonds paused.
'Lola Golden? She's a good-looking girl from what I remember.'
'Yes. Yes she is.'
DS Simmonds leaned forward, stuffing curry into his mouth, and chewing as he said, 'You're blushing Mr. Crowe. Eat up or your food'll go cold.'
15
Lola's hair was tied back and her eyelids had that heaviness he liked. She was dressed in navy and black and she supped on a vodka and coke.
'I'm sorry I had to bring you into it,' Bart said, 'but I expect the police will want to speak with you.'
She touched her neck and looked thoughtful.
'That's okay,' she said, 'seriously. Anyway, I was at home or at school the whole time I suppose, so -'
Bart said nothing.
'What about you though?' she said. 'You found Ray's body. So that makes you a um - I mean, I suppose you haven't been with people all the time, have you? You must be - a suspect.'
Bart's eyebrows rose in the middle and his brow furrowed.
He said, 'A policeman came to see me before I even found the body.'
Lola reached out to put a hand on his.
'What? Why?'
'I don't know. He met me yesterday at the B&B. Detective Sergeant Simmonds. Looks like a refugee from the seventies but seems a nice guy. And he knew something about the break in here at the school, but he didn't seem to want to make anything of it. And he didn't arrest me or caution me about anything. But how he knew what he knew and how he knew where I'd be, I don't know. The only people who knew where I was staying were my Granddad, Ray maybe, and well -'
There was a second of silence then Lola pulled her hand away.
'Oh my God. You want me to deny it was me, don't you? You want me to tell you that I didn't set the police on you, that of course I could never do that to someone like you. That's what you want, isn't it?'
'Well - yes,' he said. 'Yes, okay. I would like that actually. I would.'
'Well I won't deny it. There. That's it. You can think what you like. You know, I am sharing quite a lot with you here, and I don't have to talk to you. And I don't suppose Zack would want me talking to you. But here I am, talking to you, and I'm trusting you. You have heard of trust, haven't you?'
Bart took a mouthful of his pint and he wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
He said, 'Trust is something you earn.'
Lola stood up and she pulled on her coat, her vodka and Coke half-finished.
'No Bart,' she said. 'Trust is something you give. Look. Sorry but I have to go. Got to check in with someone about a Psychology assignment. Someone at school will drop me home.'
She headed for the door. He followed, hurriedly pulling on his coat.
'I'll walk with you.'
'Do what you like.'
He bumped the table with his thigh, turning to steady it.
'Lola - will you just wait.'
But she did not wait, and he had to run to catch her, and when he passed her, he walked backwards with his palms out until she came to a stop.
'It's cold. Let me past.'
'Look,' Bart said. 'I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked you that, okay. It was stupid. I trust you. I do.'
'Okay, well that's really great, Bart, but I have to -'
'Wait. Okay, can I tell you something, Lola?'
'Bart, I-'
'It's about my mum.'
Document E
An email from Bartholomew Crowe to Colin Crowe: 12/11/19. 23:02 p.m.
Dear Granddad,
Have you spoken to any policemen about me and what I've been doing?
Sorry to ask, but I need the truth here.
And I've thought about what you said, and I'm still pissed, but, I'm going to trust you anyway. Just don't start thinking you've earned it, that's all. So anyway I'll tell you everything (well nearly, probably). And I'll be honest here Granddad, I'm only talking to you because I have to tell someone!! - and I'm going a bit mad here. So I need someone who's not in the middle of things, and that's you. And like you say, we Crowes should stick together.
So, are you ready? It's your trial period, partner! If you're not ready, stop reading now.
You have been warned.
So I found a dead body today. Found it in a squat. A murdered, dead body with its face blown off - the most disgusting thing I've ever seen in my life.
And this afternoon I spent with the police. There's a guy there called Detective Sergeant Simmonds - I think he's called Wayne (???). He seems decent. At least, he doesn't seem to hate me yet, but he does seem to know a lot about me - hence the question at the start of this email.
The body is (was) a guy called Raymond Feathers - complete coincidence, but he's the son of my landlady here at The Seaview (awkward!). Feathers was a sort of business partner to Zack Richards - and it's Zack I've been hire to track down and get back on the straight and narrow.
So that's going well then(!).
I've got to tell you Granddad, that I know I should be scared. And I am scared. But there's a part of me that isn't. There's a part of me that's actually excited. Like I know it's illogical but I totally feel like if I can sort this out there will be some kind of a knock-on effect, you know? Like if I can sort this out then somehow that will make Dad's death feel more - well - just - make it more like it meant something - you know? I know it sounds crazy. But it makes a weird kind of sense, in my head at least.
And then, if I can get Zack Richards back with his m
um - well, maybe that will have some kind of a knock on effect too.
You know, I was going to use this mail to write a load of stuff about you and Julia, about you guys playing God with my life. But my brain is so totally buzzing with everything that's happening here, that I really don't care about that right now.
So, thanks for dealing with the school for me.
Bart.
16
'My first lesson's at ten so I can only spare you twenty minutes, and in all seriousness, I have got a ton of stuff to get through. So - how are things Mr. -'
'Bartholomew Crowe.'
'Oh yes. Of course. I do remember. Anyway, you called me, so?'
Hasland handed him a black coffee in a white mug. It was good china. And they faced each across matching settees, Bart leaning forward.
'I want to talk to you about Zack and Lola, and Torin Malone. I thought you could help me get to know them a bit better.'
'So what? I should just talk then?'
'About Zack. Please.'
Steve put his tea on the table. He leaned back and spread his arms across the cushions, tilting his head back, gathering memories.
'All right - well - okay so - Zack Richards arrived at St. Stephen's in April, year before last, just before his GCSEs. And of course that set alarm bells ringing in my head straight away. You know, who changes schools a month and half before their exams? No one. It's madness. Anyway for whatever reason the school let him in, and Zack rocked up, giving it the big I am right from the get-go. Pure bravado. Incorrect uniform. Asking daft questions of staff - all swagger and show, like he wants everyone to see that he really couldn't give a toss about being here. And I thought to myself, well, his parents must have some serious money for the school to take him on like that. And that haircut - dyed and swept like a blonde Justin Beiber. In all confidence, I didn't like the lad. And that is in confidence, Bart. Of course you know his dad is an actual rock star! I suppose you can understand why a kid like that thinks school isn't worth the effort. The girls loved him of course.'
'And Lola?'
'Mr. Crowe, you're a young man, right? You know how it is. Good-looking new boy in town, almost famous to boot - the bad girls compete for him and the good ones stand around a lot and wait to be noticed. I'll tell you, Bart, Lola's a good girl at heart, but she isn't always good in practice. I'm sure you know what I mean.'
Bart touched his cheek. He really needed a shave.
'I could see it from the off,' Steve continued, 'those two getting together. Like I say, Lola's a good girl but she makes some bad choices. But you know what's most frustrating? Can I call you Bart, by the way?'
Bart nodded.
'It's that Lola's one of the cleverest girls we've got. But deep down, she's far too much like Zack to make the most of it. It's the example they get from home isn't it? They can see how their Mums and Dads are doing - plenty of money - not much education, and they think, well, what the bloody hell do I need one of those for, then? Can't see the point, can they? And you can understand it, can't you? It's just common sense when you think about it. And that's Lola and Zack to a tee, both of them. But you Bart, you're not like that at all are you?'
'No,' Bart said. 'I'm not like that.'
'As it goes, Bart, I think that someone like you is exactly what Lola needs.'
Bart blushed. Steve's mouth curled into a smile.
Bart said, 'You mentioned parents. I mean everyone knows Mickey Richards - artistic set, drug issues, all that. But what about Lola? I've read a little bit about Glenn, but mostly it's just quotations about the fire. The one that killed Torin Malone.'
'Ah yes. A tragedy. I had to guide Lola through that one. Things got pretty dark. It's part of why I feel protective of her I think. You know, Torin had been her one constant friend since he arrived in Year 8. He worshipped her, pretty much. And she mothered him back, the way these girls do sometimes, you know? And Lola's very popular, but she flits between social groups, never really settles. So Torin was her one constant, her anchor if you like. Even after Zack arrived. Her and Torin, it was just one of them relationships that worked. Poor old Torin, eh. All alone and starved of attention, and then look what happens to him, poor fella?'
'So you agree with the papers then, that Torin started the fire?'
Steve's grey-green eyes were focused and intense, and he leaned forwards, elbows on knees.
'I don't think we'll ever get the answer to that one. Lola told me after the fact that he was taking a lot of drugs. I mean, obviously, Bart, I'm a teacher here, and I hear things, but there's a lot I don't hear about. Off the record though, I had overheard a few references to Torin's drug habits, so -'
'And what about Glenn Golden? You said you had to guide Lola through it right? How did Glenn Golden deal with it all?'
Steve stood, and he tipped back a mouthful of tea, and he stood in the doorway, his big frame filling the space, then he disappeared back into the kitchen.
'You really think any of this stuff is going to help you find Zack?' he called back. 'You know, he's probably on the other side of the world by now.'
Bart put his mug down and looked up.
'It might,' he said. 'And I don't know. I've got a feeling that Zack wont be far away. He's got too much going on here. Anyway, it's not just a missing person now is it? There's a murder too.'
There was a clink of china and Steve swung out on the door-frame.
'Whoah, whoah, whoah - hold on there - nobody's told me about any murder.'
'Yes,' Bart said. 'Remember the lad who we definitely didn't see ransacking Zack's room. Turns out he's dead.'
'Christ!' Steve's jaw dropped and he stood there, open mouthed. 'You know, Bart, if the police do ask me, I'm going to tell them the truth.' He came into the room, hurriedly collecting his teaching stuff - keys, a whistle, a lanyard. He bent down and picked up a magazine from the coffee table, Christiano Ronaldo on the cover.
'And you do know, investigating a murder is the police's job, Bart?'
'Yeah I know. But I am kind of involved now. And anyway, I think the murder and Zack's going AWOL, well, I think it might be connected. So I'm going to find Zack. It's what I've been hired to do. And so I'm not really investigating a murder unless he did it, am I? Look. Before you go, Steve, can you just tell me about Glenn Golden and the fire. Please. I'd really appreciate it.'
Steve had his bag on his shoulder.
'Okay. All-right but ground rule - you do not tell Lola about this conversation, and I mean any of it. Plus, I'm only telling you for her sake. So don't you go bothering her with any rudeness. Okay, so Glenn Golden, he's what used to be called a self-made man. Working-class lad - like me, and you know I think part of the reason that I can get through to Lola is because of that. And he's driven too, like me again. Except of course, that I took the more conventional route through school and university, and Glenn, well he went in for business - buying and selling and that. Came down here from Birmingham about fifteen or twenty years ago. Opened up a nightclub, a casino, an arcade, bought a whole bunch of properties. And he's done very well. But Glenn's never really been a hands on sort of dad. And, after he divorced his wife a year ago, and probably before that too, being honest, Lola's not had a great deal of what you'd call parenting.'
Bart leaned back and put his hands behind his head.
'And so you've filled that parenting gap?'
'No Bart. I'm a secondary school teacher. I don't have the time to fill those kinds of gaps in these kids' lives. You know, all this lot here, at St. Stephens, they've got money, but that doesn't mean they don't have problems of their own, does it? So I do what I can - just listening really - and not enough of that.'
'And after the fire?'
'Well, that was where the problems came from, you see. Her dad wouldn't talk to her about it. You know, her best friend had just died, but whenever she mentioned it, he shut her down or he went out, and if you ask me that's no way to behave towards your own kid, is it? So Lola, she did talk to me abo
ut it. She doesn't blame her dad, you know, for the fire. She just wanted to talk about Torin, about feeling alone. And God knows, everyone needs to talk about feeling alone sometimes, don't they?'
Bart felt the muscles tense around his mouth.
And Steve said, 'This is the thing, and I don't feel bad being the one telling you, as you'd have found this out eventually -'
'Go on.'
'Glenn Golden's ex, she was Lola's step-mother. Lola's birth mother died about ten years back. She was shot. A random killing. They never found the gunman. And what with having a dad who's distant at best, well that's got to screw you up hasn't it?'
And Bart ran his hands through his thick, black hair.
'Yes,' he said. 'I reckon it has.'
17
The red-ribbed frontage of The Golden Arcade resembled the hull of a ship, its unlit bulbs glistening like raindrops. Water streamed down its sides and dark figures moved beyond the rain-streaked glass.
At a loose end, waiting to hear from Glenn Golden or Zack, or Francesca De Souza, or anyone, and with nothing better to do, he pushed hard on the heavily sprung door and entered The Golden Arcade, waves of retro-electronica rushing over him, the clunking of consoles and claw machines.
A skinny lad in a black polo shirt appeared to be running the place, mullet haircut and acne. He was standing by the fruit machines talking to a couple of teenage boys. They did not look like nice kids. The rest of the customers were fifty-fifty, tired-out wasters in tired-out clothes and tourists in flat-caps and trench-coats, here for the nostalgia and kitsch.
The skinny lad went back into his booth, but the boys didn't leave. And the two boys began hawking from machine to machine. One of them stopped to text and glanced sideways at the other boy, who checked his phone and looked up. Bart followed their lines of sight to a bobble-hatted couple, fishing for toy dragons at a claw machine, an iPhone on the shelf. The boy in the middle moved first, a spiel about a friend who had left with his train ticket and all of his money and, as he spoke, he slid a magazine over the phone. The couple shook their heads as the other boy began his pass.
