Burning Crowe

by Geoff Smith

  'Yes! Yes, yes I did Bart. I let him in. That's what makes it so horrible! I just feel so - people get deliveries all the time - I just - I just -'

  And she nuzzled his shoulder and she squeezed his back.

  'You didn't know,' he said. 'Tell me what happened.'

  'Oh Bart I've literally just told it all to the police lady - but okay - no questions though. Please, promise you won't ask questions?

  He held her tight.

  'No promises,' he said.

  And her grip eased on his back and the weight of her head lifted from his shoulder.

  'He - ' she said. 'I mean - the man - he said he had a delivery to leave in the hall for upstairs. Said there was no answer from the bell. He had this dark skin, like tanned maybe, and this long hair sort of swept back. He had a package. He was wearing a cap and a black polo shirt. You know - he looked right! He said he needed a signature. And he had this weird accent, gruff and gravelly, cockney I suppose. But when I opened the door -'

  Her voice trembled.

  'Then what?'

  'He kicked the door open almost before I'd unlocked it and he came at me and he grabbed me. He told me to get in the bathroom. He had my arms pulled behind my back. Mrs Malone tried to stop him, but he was just too tall, too big. She just bounced off him. He threw me into the bathroom and he hit her with the back of his hand - but like really hard! - and she just dropped. He tied my mouth and my hands and he took my phone and he shut me in the bathroom and he barricaded the door. I didn't see anything else.'

  'But you heard things,' Bart said. 'Didn't you?'

  She dipped her head, looking up under the heavy lids of her big blue eyes.

  'Oh Bart,' she said, 'it was so horrible! And it wasn't what I heard. It was the silences - and the thumps - like working dough. And the silence again after each beating - horrible. The man wanted Zack's laptop. He kept going on about it. Over and over. The same. The same. And I could hear things being turned over, things being emptied and like, smashed. Threats and crying, and the longer it went on the angrier he sounded until he was just kind of making like animal noises. But I think someone in the building must have called the police because I heard sirens, and as soon as he heard them, he was gone. Didn't say a thing. And so I kicked at the bathroom door until - well - until I found her - Mrs Malone. Oh Bart, she was just lying there. And the sofa was turned over and the TV was cracked.'

  'But the guy didn't find it,' Bart said, 'the computer I mean?'

  'I don't know. I don't think so.'

  She pushed herself away from him, looking over his shoulder.

  WPC Stock, was talking to a resident, but she looked at Lola, and she followed her gaze to a figure on the edge of the bend, a figure with a loose way of walking, arms like pendulums. More stagger than swagger, but there was no mistaking him. Zack Richards. And Lola left Bart where he was, walking quickly. Zack straightened, steadying himself, then he stumbled as she reached him. Lola putting her arms around him, kissing him on the lips. And Bart followed, not far behind, but Zack was already pulling away. His eyes swinging about wildly. Police. Neighbours. Ambulances. And the ambulance carrying Mrs. Malone drove past and Zack tried to free himself from Lola, but only stumbled, and he fell to his knees.

  So Bart gripped him beneath his arms and he pulled him up and he hissed in Zack's ear,'Stay quiet, okay. You'll get yourself arrested.'

  'I'm drunk,' he said.

  'I know' said Bart.

  'I'm drunk - and I'm stoned - I am as stoned - as a motherfucker, motherfucker!'

  And he laughed, and then he coughed and his eyes rolled upwards. Lola leaned in, and she helped Bart to lift him.

  'What's going on?' Zack said.

  'Nothing's going on, baby' Lola said. 'Nothing at all. Come on. Let's get you out of here.'

  And they steered him around, guiding him back up the street, the way he had come, away from the dissipating action. Three police officers stood at the edge of things and one of them looking their way. And WPC Stock began to walk towards them.

  'Where's Mrs. M?' Zack said. 'What's going on Lola? Where are we going? Oh God - I am so fucking fucked!'

  And Zack kept talking, a loose carousel of questions and swear words. And each time he spoke it was as if he couldn't remember what he'd said just moments before.

  And WPC Stock was getting closer, but her colleagues had paid them no further attention. Stock didn't call them. She was out on a limb, working a hunch.

  'I could divert her,' Lola said, seeing Bart look over his shoulder again. 'Say I've left something in the crime scene. Something like that.'

  Bart thought.

  'It could work. But you know Lola, I've got him under control for now but I think he needs you here. He doesn't trust me.'

  'I said, where the fuck is Mrs. M?' Zack interrupted.

  Lola whispered in his ear.

  'Where is she? Where's Mrs. M?' he repeated.

  'I need you to keep walking baby. Stay with me, okay. Just keep -'

  'Mrs M! Where the -' He wrestled himself out of Bart's grip and he staggered backwards and bumped against the fence. 'Where the fuck is Mrs M.? You - you fucking answer me now, or I'm not going - fucking anywhere!'

  And Zack Richards wrenched himself away. He made his break for freedom. And he strode straight at WPC Stock. She held up her hand, instructing him to stop, but he barrelled right on past her. He shouldered her aside. Lola gave chase. And she called his name.

  And then Bart knew they were screwed. And he put his hands in his pockets and watched as Zack strode on.

  Stock had turned, following briskly at Zack's heels. She grabbed his shoulder but he batted her away. And now the other officers noticed, turning to face him, their big hands on their big hips. And they looked at Zack - his drunken lumber and his flailing arms. And a couple of them elbowed each other and laughed.

  The pensioners and residents were shuffling awkwardly and backing away as Richards pushed through.

  And Zack reached inside his Parka and he pulled out a gun. He waved the pistol in the air and he roared. The police officers weren't laughing now. They made for their radios. And one officer, a small, muscular looking guy, made a move. But Zack pointed the gun straight at him and shouted.

  'Get back! Get the fuck back!'

  He was in the middle of it now, surrounded by squad cars and police. And he swung his gun about, lingering on each of them. He grinned. Then he turned back, and eyes on Lola, he brought the gun back around, and he pushed the barrel against his own head, the muzzle in his ear.

  And turning back to the cops he shouted, 'All right you fuckers! Look! Just look! You think you're the fucking law! You don't control a thing. You don't control a fucking thing!'

  And he pulled the trigger.

  The silence stretched out like a rubber band. The hammer of the pistol's mechanism clunked.

  And then nothing.

  Just silence.

  The gun clattered to the ground and it cracked on the tarmac. And Zack Richards laughed. A loud and angry laugh that was as close to a cry as a laugh has ever been.

  And the police were on him, and they crushed his face into the tarmac. And Zack Richards laughed and laughed and laughed.

  Document L

  Text messages from Bartholomew Crowe to Sophie Heath: 21/11/19. 16:04 p.m.

  [Dear Sophie. Good news. Bad news.]

  [Good news - my client met Zack Richards today. So job done. Case closed. Getting a bonus too. The client wasn't exactly what I thought she was, but the job's done, chalked off, finito! I should be proud, I know, but I don't feel like I thought I would. You know, am I making a difference to anything? Yeah. Probably. I just don't know if it's a good one. That's all.]

  [And now - in the bad news bit - I'm writing this from a police station. They're taking a statement from me - again!!! And Zack Richards is in the custody suite. I'm here with Lola - the girl from the gig - yes that one. There was a break-in where Zack was staying. And when Zack got back he pulled
a gun on the police! Not at all smart.]

  [So now the Police are talking about public possession of an imitation firearm and assaulting a police officer, resisting arrest. Could be a year in prison. Maybe more.]

  [Note - the gun was an imitation - so not used in the murder or - you know.]

  [Other news - sorry Soph, but your philosophy sucks. It sucks because there's already disorder EVERYWHERE! Just nobody WANTS to see it! I mean I used to do everything right before - school, university plans, career plans, family. So did YOU!!! And bad stuff still happened! So let's be clear. Chaos sucks. And it hurts people. And there's no escape. And no one's ever safe. And you can hide from it, sure, but chaos doesn't like that. It wants to be everywhere. And so we've got to fight it. It's down to us. For everyone. We can't just think about ourselves.]

  [So anyway, I'm not coming home just yet. Not until I sort out who this gunman is. Because he's out there and I'm going to find him. And that's a promise.]

  [How's that for A grade macho bullshit? Love to Noah, Bart X]

  41

  Simmonds parked on the jetty and looked out across the bay, rippling reflections on the water.

  'And you're telling me you think this break-in guy is the Feathers guy is the Music Hall guy is the casino guy too. Is that right?'

  'I think it's possible.'

  'Anything's possible, Bart, but all right. I'll get the computer people to check the CCTV from the flats against that picture of yours. See if there's a possible match.' And Simmonds face took on a wry look. 'I'll tell you what. How about this? You give me your current theory. I like hearing it. Helps me to clarify my own thoughts, you know.'

  'I'm not sure I have a theory exactly.'

  'Humour me. Free associate.'

  Bart pulled his beanie down over his ears and bounced the back of his head on the headrest.

  'Okay - well - all right, so, what do we know? We know the photograph guy is a big man.'

  'Like Zack?'

  'Could be bigger even - Golden maybe.'

  'He's got an alibi.'

  'Well maybe the alibi's falsified or he hired some other tall guy to do it, Feathers let's say - Okay. So how about this? It's Feathers in the photograph.'

  'So it's not the same guy then?'

  'No. Whatever. I only said it was a possibility. Still is. But let's say for now it is Feathers, right. Zack gets a hold of the pic but through someone else. Like a small closed group or something. And Zack confronts Feathers about it. Feathers panics. He tells Golden, thinking his boss will clear everything up. Except Golden decides that actually the cleanest thing to do is have Feathers killed. So he sends someone - someone like Graham Cameron say - army guy - firearms experience - sweet temperament - and he has Feathers shot.'

  Simmonds scratched his ear and said,'Okay. So Golden solves the Feathers problem. But why on Earth does he need to continue? You know, why the shooting at the Music Hall? Why the break in?'

  'Because, when Cameron turns over the squat at Athelstan Road he expects to find the memory card, but he doesn't find it. Golden puts the feelers out, tries to find out if Zack still has a copy - and of course Zack does have a copy! Plus Zack already knows about the connection between Golden and Feathers, and so Golden's been paying Zack off ever since, and he'll keep paying until he can find a way to kill him too!'

  Simmonds stared hard at him and the stare lasted several seconds. He lifted an eyebrow.

  'Wait. Just rewind there. Paying him off? Sorry, but have I missed something?'

  Bart felt the heat rise in his cheeks.

  'Yeah,' he said. 'I saw it, yesterday, at The Mechanical Elephant. Cameron left this package. Zack picked it up - like a drop off.'

  Simmonds sighed through his clenched teeth.

  'You know, I really would like to be friends with you, Mr. Crowe. I really would. But you're going to have to share these little gems with me a bit sooner, yeah. So let's just be clear. You've seen Zack being paid off by this Graham Cameron, so possibly Golden's involved. Do you have any other vital pieces of information that you'd like to share? You know, just while we're here.'

  'No,' he said. 'Nothing else. Anyway. Sorry. That's it. That's my theory. I'm finished. By the way, Zack's gun. It was a dummy, right?'

  Simmonds looked out across the bay to the lights of The Golden Arcade.

  'Yes, it was a dummy. 8mm, Baikal. Russian. Very trendy, if you can use the word 'trendy' about a gun. Crooks get them converted, but this one was clean. The report says the gun used at the Music Hall was a 9 mil. So, not the same one, old boy, even if it wasn't a fake.'

  'And Feathers.'

  'Also a 9mm. Could have been the same weapon as the Music Hall, but you'd probably guessed that.' Simmonds paused and he milked the tension. 'You know there is one little problem with your theory, Bart?'

  'Go on.'

  'I can see how the gunman could have known that Zack would be at the Music Hall. Richards is the girl's manager after all. That makes sense. But, how did the same guy find out about the flat in Roselawn Gardens? I mean you are still making that link aren't you? And so soon after you found it too. Speaking of which, how did you find it?'

  'I followed him home.'

  Simmonds frowned.

  'I never trust a short answer, Mr Crowe. But okay. Lola Golden - you didn't tell her the address in advance. So who else?'

  Bart pulled his hat from his head. He twisted it in his hands.

  'No one. I didn't tell anyone. Only Lola and my client and myself - maybe there's some other way - I just don't think Lola would -'

  'Could it be your client, then?'

  'She's not that stupid, Wayne. Anyway she's not involved in the rest of this stuff.'

  'Were you tailed, then?'

  'No.'

  'Tracked?'

  'I don't think so, but -'

  'So it must have been -'

  'Lola? No it couldn't -'

  But Simmonds performed a drum roll on the steering wheel and said, 'Might explain why the attacker didn't give her the rough stuff though, wouldn't it? Blood is thicker than water, after all.'

  Simmonds pressed the starter and the car lit up, headlights flaring on the waves.

  'Come on,' he said. 'Time I clocked off. Where do you want to go?'

  42

  Eight o'clock, Friday, young men in skinny jeans filling the seats outside The Lifeboat pub, smoking, vaping, drinking beer, spilling out from the door in groups and huddling for several minutes, before filing back inside and into the warm, where middle-aged men squashed in at the bar, heavy built locals and Londoners in Crombies and DMs, women in twos and threes, voices slicing the background swell and sinking into it again, and at the back of the room, a blonde kid in a black sweater stood on a chair, forming a loud hailer with his hands.

  'Hey buddy! Over here!'

  Bart was the last to arrive. Zack and Lola were already there, Francesca De Souza too, in bright orange and teal, all had finished one drink at least. Lola's eyes met his and a thin silver pendant sparkled around her neck.

  'Good to see you, man.' Zack waved a twenty in his face. 'A G&T for Lola, erm whatever Franny's having, an I'll have an IPA and a JD and Coke, and yeah like whatever you're having too, okay.'

  Bart was ten pounds down when he came back from the bar. He brought the drinks back in two trips. He kissed Lola on the cheek. Francesca offered him her hand. He kissed that too and she grinned, and she winked at him as he perched on the edge of the bench.

  Zack was beaming, and he slapped Bart on the back as he sat.

  'Imitation firearm in a public place, buddy! That's it! Probably just a suspended sentence. Dad's lawyers are shit hot, man. Freedom!' He raised his glass, and he laughed as beer spilled over his wrist.'So listen buddy,' his breath wet in Bart's ear, 'what do you make of my stand-in mother then? Piece of work isn't she?'

  'Okay, she's no angel, but -'

  Zack cut him off.

  'She's a fucking bitch, man. Anyway, her people are coming to pick me
up tomorrow. Take me home. Maybe I'll even go. Hey man, Lola told me about you, I mean what happened with your mum. She totally dumped you, buddy! That sucks.'

  Bart's jaw tightened.

  'Maybe it's for the best,' he said.

  Zack stared at him, blank for a moment, and then he said, 'Whatever. Let's drink.'

  But Zack's eyes were already floating, his head swaying. His body too. He lolled over, patting Bart on the back. 'You're all-right, man, you know.'

  'Where'd you get the toy gun?' Bart said.

  'What? Oh that! London. Had it a couple of years now. One of Dad's mates bet me he could get a real one in 24 hrs. Took him a week and he only managed to get me that fake! I love it though! Been carrying it everywhere. Gone forever now the cops have got it, though eh. Gutted!'

  'Maybe you shouldn't have pointed it at them.'

  A flash of irritation on Zack's face, but it was quickly replaced by something else, mischief and malice. His blonde hair flopped across his face and he lurched forward as he made a grab for Bart's cheeks. He wobbled them when he spoke.

  'Come on, Bartholomew! Live a little!'

  And then he slipped off his chair.

  When he got up, he sat still for a while, head down and deep breaths. And Lola, who had been making small-talk with Francesca about clothes and hair holidays, glanced over but she didn't look concerned.

  'He's okay,' Bart said, and he turned to face her. 'How are you? Are you good?'

  'I'm fine,' said Lola. 'Nice end to a bad day.'

  And Bart said, 'Have you been to see Mrs -'

  'Zack's going tomorrow before he goes back to London. He knows her best. I really don't want to think about it. So tell me, how are you now you've solved your case?' And Bart must have frowned because Lola said, 'Oh dear.'

  'Oh I don't know. I know I should be happy,' Bart said, 'but it's like a pint of beer. I mean, I have it and I want it and I'll drink it all and be satisfied in a way. But then I'll remember that the world's just the same, except I haven't got a beer anymore.'

  She smiled at that. She reached over and she ruffled his hair.