Looking up as the train pulled into York, he heaved a sigh of relief. Good, not long for home now. He patted Tiny, whose behaviour had been brilliant. Obligingly, the big dog had let anyone who cared to pat him, and revelled in it.
The yellow T-shirt family got off the train, the two smallest having fallen asleep as they were closing in on Peterborough. Thank God, Mike had thought, as he’d watched their lids start to droop. Their chattering had begun to get on his nerves.
Out of habit he scanned the train again, his eyes flitting back to a passenger who had held the newspaper up to his or her face for the whole journey. Mike frowned as the train pulled away.
His curiosity piquing as they neared Darlington, Mike got up and headed for the toilet, his feet poised and his left hand clenched just in case an undesirable hid behind the print. He managed as he came next to the seat to take a look over the top of the newspaper.
'I knew it.' He yanked the paper out of Smiler’s hands. 'What the hell do you think you’re playing at?'
Smiler grinned at him. 'Time for a change?'
Hiding his pleasure at seeing him, Mike pointed back to his seat. 'Get over there.'
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Smiler did as Mike told him. Grabbing his newspaper, and the remains of the can of Diet Coke that he’d nursed for the whole journey, he moved to Mike’s table. Hesitant at first when he saw the huge dog looking up at him, gently he patted the dog’s head as he eased into the seat. Tiny rested his head on the seat next to Smiler and watched him.
'Shift,' Mike said when he came back. 'I can’t bear to travel backwards. Bad for the sinuses.'
'Er, who told you that?'
'Move it.'
'OK, OK.' Smiler hastily changed seats. 'Is, er... is he all right?' He jerked his head in the direction of Tiny, who had turned round and, still watching Smiler out of one eye, was resting his head on the other seat.
When Smiler was settled, Mike said, ' Actually, he’ll have your hand off as soon as look at you. So don’t give him an excuse.' Smiler recoiled, and the look on his face made Mike laugh.
'Just kidding, he’s a great chap. Say hello to Tiny.'
'Tiny!!!' At the sound of his name, Tiny wagged his tail and snaked his tongue out to lick Smiler’s hand. 'You never said you had a dog.''Never said I didn’t… Anyhow, it’s a long story. OK, so what do you have to say for yourself?'
For a moment Smiler just looked into Mike’s eyes, then he blurted quickly, 'First off, Mike, I’m sorry.' Smiler nodded. 'I didn’t think things through before I blew. I should never have…' His voice trailed off as he sighed.
'So you came all the way up here to say that?'
When Smiler didn’t answer, Mike went on, 'Well, for what it's worth, so am I.' He touched the back of Smiler’s hand, the only contact Smiler would allow from anyone. A nod and the hint of a smile let Mike know that they were friends again.
'I’m not going to take the huff again, Mike, honest, I know you can’t help but say whatever’s on your mind like you always do.' Smiler shrugged. 'You’re a good man Mike. I just wish… I wish I’d met you a few years ago.'
Mike swallowed the lump in his throat, knowing how hard it was for Smiler to talk about personal stuff, even though he could ramble on forever about anything else.
'I only did what anyone el----'
Smiler stretched his hand across the table, his fingertips just touching Mike’s hand. Interrupting him he said, 'No, Mike, if you hadn’t helped me I would be worm food by now.'
Mike sighed. He believed that everyone deserved a fair chance in this life. The trouble was, countless thousands, perhaps millions, never got it. 'All right, let's just let it drop now, eh, kid, and agree to disagree on the mumbo jumbo stuff. '
Smiler nodded, sighed his relief. 'Yeah, OK… By the way, I had a dream.'
'Oh, bloody hell.' Mike tutted, looked at the ceiling, then back at Smiler. 'Not the voices again.'
'No, listen, Mike. You’re heading into danger, real, real danger, they told me. It was black, all black, hard to see at first. There’s water though, I know that much… A lot of water!'
Mike frowned at him. 'Well, it would be wouldn’t it?'
'Sorry?’
'Hard to bloody well see, if it was all black! How many times have I told you, all this crap is just your imagination working overtime… That and the shit still rattling around in your brain… You should write flaming fiction. Look.' He opened his newspaper and pointed at the woman in red. 'She’s all over the friggin’ place. You couldn’t help but see her… And the only water in Durham is the bloody River Wear, and I can’t remember a time when it’s burst its banks.'
Smiler looked at the advert and shrugged. He’d seen the poster all over the place this morning and had made the connection, thinking that the poster must have been easy to spot from the place where Mike had been in danger. It proved a point to him, but he knew Mike would see it differently.
Looking Mike in the eye, he went on adamantly, 'Pretty soon you will be involved with something way too dangerous. And it won’t be in Durham… Oh, and the Wear did burst its banks, one night in November 1967. That was before you were born, though. It’s all on record.'
'Well, I needed to know that.' Mike gritted his teeth. Sometimes he felt like strangling the kid. 'And in case you hadn’t noticed, danger comes with the flaming job, Smiler, or haven’t you realised yet I’m a fucking copper? Danger’s the name of the game. It says so on the contract.'
Smiler’s lip twitched, then he said, 'Duh… Of course I know that, but I couldn’t let you go into this frightening business without knowing the danger.'
'Knowing what, for God’s sake?' Mike demanded, going on without giving Smiler a chance to answer. 'You see, that’s half the problem, you never seem to know what, do you? And guess bloody what else, Smiler, there’s danger everywhere. You’re in danger crossing the bloody roads, man.'
Smiler sat back and frowned. 'You saved my life Mike. In some cultures, that makes you responsible for it.'
'Yeah, does it now?
Smiler nodded solemnly.
'OK, let’s just make sure you don’t let me down and turn into an axe murderer or worse, ‘cos I’ll have you.'
He was rewarded with a half-smile, before going on, 'And if it’s my life that’s in danger, kid, how the hell does that involve you and the half-dozen passengers you carry around in your head?'
'Cos I’ll be with you.'
'No you won’t, sunshine, trust me. You’re on the next train back to London.'
Smiler crossed his arms. 'No way, mate. Too hairy down there now.'
'What do you mean?'
'You should know, Mike, there’s some new shit just hit the streets.' Smiler looked at him in earnest, pleased that he had something concrete to tell him. 'Oh yeah, and it’s coming from the north.'
This tied in with what Mike was working on. Frowning, he asked, 'So what do you know about this new gear?'
Briefly Smiler told Mike about his encounter with Snakes and the yellow tablets. 'And that’s all really, I er… I threw it at him and ran like hell.' Smiler put his head down, ashamed to admit that he’d run.
'No, no, Smiler. Trust me, you did the right thing.'
'No I didn’t. I should have found out more.'
'You’re too vulnerable at the moment, mate, to take risks like that. You really did do the right thing… I’m proud of you.'
Smiler lifted his head, his eyes shining. His words full of awe, he said, 'Honest, you really mean it? You’re proud of me?'
Nodding, Mike said, 'I am, kid. It took some guts to walk away.'They both became quiet as the train pulled into Durham and they were greeted with the magnificent sight of the castle and the cathedral.
'Wow,' Smiler said.
'Yeah, always gets me like that. You should see it on a night when it’s lit up, from here the view is fantastic… I know I’m home when I see it.'
Spotting the trolley attendant making her way up the aisle, Mike ask
ed, 'Want a fresh can?'
'Oh, yes please.' Smiler nodded vigorously.
'Crisps, choc bar?'
He nodded again.
A minute later, fresh can of pop in hand, and after a long thirsty swallow, he said. 'Did you know that the castle was begun in 1072 as a defence mound by William the Conqueror? Then various bishops over the years added to it. The cathedral was begun in 1093, took around forty years to build, and really was built as a shrine to St Cuthbert. It’s also the best preserved Norman building, probably in the whole world.'
Mike continued to stare at the castle and cathedral as they pulled away. What the hell can I say to that?
Plus Mike wasn’t always sure if Smiler was spouting the facts to him, or trying to educate the passengers in his head. It was eerie the way Smiler spoke when he recounted anything he’d read.
The kid was always right, though. Never in his life had he known anybody soak up facts like Smiler. He’d used reading as a way to escape from the living hell he’d been born into, spending most of his time, when not earning on the streets, in the library. He’d devoured every single word he came across, and frequently spewed them right back out to anyone who cared to listen and just as frequently to those who didn’t.
They were nearly at Newcastle when Mike’s phone rang. 'Yes, this is Mike,' he said, then went quiet as his frown got deeper. 'OK,' he replied a few minutes later, 'I’ll stay on till Berwick… Right, got it.' He snapped his phone shut and, still frowning, tapped his fingers on the table.
Getting Mike’s attention by doing a little tapping of his own, Smiler raised his eyebrows in a question.
'OK, here’s what we do. Instead of getting off at Newcastle, we’re going on to Berwick on Tweed… It seems that a young woman’s been found dead in the flat she shared with her boyfriend, in the middle of town.'
Smiler shivered, and said quickly, 'She’s got black hair, Mike. I know she has… Bet you anything you want to bet. That her hair’s black.'
'Stop it right now, Smiler. See, this is what I mean, you go off half- cocked and there’s what, a one in three or four chances that she’s got black hair? Now if you said she has pink hair with tartan patches and silver trim on the ends, and it turns out she has, then I might start to believe.'
Smiler shrugged as Mike went on. 'I have an Aunt May, she lives on Holy Island and takes lodgers in. I often pop up for the odd weekend. It’s where I grew up, with Aunt May. Sometime today we’ll get you settled. That’s if she’s not full up with tourists. Until then you’ll have to hang around outside the hospital, or wait in the car, whatever.'
'I can look after myself, you know,' Smiler mumbled, staring at the magnificent coastline as the train headed further north. 'Whatever you might think.'
Mike sighed. 'Smiler, it might not have sounded like it, but I really am happy to see you.'
This seemed to please Smiler. Although he brought his head to the front and kept it down, Mike could see the glimmer of a smile.
'Are you really?' Smiler asked quietly.
And the truth was, Mike really was glad to see him. Smiler had grown on him like a second skin, though, he thought, how the hell I’m going to explain him, God only knows.
He nodded, and relaxing, Smiler tore the wrapper off his chocolate bar and settled back in his seat.
'Oh, one more question,' Mike said, 'How did you know which train I would be on?'
'Rita.'
'Rita!' Mike laughed.
'Apparently she trawled the whole of London looking for me. She found me at five o'clock this morning.'
'Ha, well, it’s true what they say then, isn’t it… One good turn deserves another.'
'Oh yeah, you’re definitely her hero.'
'Well, there you go. Us heroes can’t be picky,' Mike replied, and laughed as he picked his newspaper up. As he turned to the page he had been reading, Smiler put his hand on the paper. 'One other thing, Mike.'
Mike frowned. He could tell by Smiler’s tone of voice that he was not going to like what was coming next. 'Go on.'
'For the last few days there’s been what I can only call a countdown number in my head.'
'A countdown number?'
'Yes… It started a few days ago, this huge burning number, number five. Then yesterday number four… And today it changed and jumped to number three.' He sighed. 'I think it’s a countdown. I think it means you have three days left.'
'Three days left for what?' Mike couldn’t help it – he shivered inside. Listening to Smiler was like listening to an age-old prophet of doom.
'To save a lot of people. Rita thinks the same.'
'What… Rita?'
Smiler nodded solemnly. 'Yeah, Rita. She sees things as well.'
Mike shook his head. 'God help us all.'
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Jill Patterson stood with her hands on her hips, her lips pursed and her brow furrowed. She was staring down at the body on her mortuary slab. She was puzzled, to say the least. Never before had she ever seen anything like this. Something was nagging at her though, right in the corner, scrunched up where she couldn’t get hold of it, like someone’s name you half-remember that keeps slipping away and disappearing back into the mist.
Recently moved from Birmingham to Holy Island, Jill was a thirty- five-year-old divorced mother of two girls. A petite natural redhead, with large green eyes that could wither any opponent who cared to take her on. Especially a man. She would go more than the extra mile to prove her point against a man.
Still not over her bitter divorce, it was rumoured she hated anything in trousers. She did, however, possess a sense of humour and had that rare ability to be able to laugh at herself – most of the time. Lately, even that seemed to have deserted her.
She heard the brief knock, then the door creaking open, and glanced round, annoyed that her concentration had been broken. She frowned at the tall, handsome, dark-haired man who walked in.
'Hello. Detective Inspector Mike Yorke,' Mike said, moving quickly forward with his hand stretched out to shake hers. 'You must be the lovely Jill Paterson I’ve heard so much about.'
Please, she thought, but said a confident, 'Yes,' as she held her gloved hand out, palm up.
She’d heard about Michael Yorke, and on first glance most of what she’d heard was true. He’s certainly a looker, but is he the good, decent bloke they say he is? One thing for sure, he’s certainly full of himself.
Anyhow, she strongly doubted that he was as good as people said. None of them ever are. Scratch the surface and men are all the same. Three meals a day, a shag when it suits them, and that’s only if any of the rest aren’t available.
When she’d found out that her ex-husband had a veritable harem, it had broken her. It had taken her cousin Billy to take control and pick up the pieces. He’d suggested the move north and so far she loved it. The island was fantastic, so much history, and the locals were all very friendly.
'Oh, right,' Mike said, taking in the gloves. He dropped his hand and moved to the far side of the table. Looking down at the body, he slowly shook his head. A pretty girl, her black hair resting on her shoulders emphasizing her paleness. He guessed early twenties, and wondered what her story was. Too young though, he thought, whatever it was, far too young. Dead before the poor soul’s even had a chance to live.
'Can you tell me how?' he queried, looking for any marks, bruises, knife wounds, but could see nothing. Her throat was clear, so she definitely hadn’t been strangled. In fact she looked nothing more than as if she was peacefully asleep, though her lips seemed to be stretched into a tight grimace. Puzzled, he swung his head to Jill.
She turned to a drawer in the long wall cupboard behind her and pulled out a pair of opaque rubber gloves. Handing them to Mike she said, 'Put them on, and help me turn her over.'
Doing as he was told, with a slight lift of his eyebrows, Mike put the gloves on, and together they turned the dead girl onto her stomach.
'You’ve done this before?' Jill asked, tho
ugh it was more of a statement than a question. In her experience most of the coppers would look but didn’t like to touch.
'Once or twice.' Mike replied, wondering why she was such a prickly pear. The gossip is that she’s a man-hater. There has to be a reason, she’s a damn good-looking woman.
He turned his attention to the corpse. 'Oh, Christ.'
'Hu, sort of.'
'What do you mean, sort of?' Mike practically whispered, unable to take his eyes off the horrendous mess in front of him. He had never in all his working life as a police officer seen anything like it. Bodies pulled out of the water after a week slow-waltzing with a dozen crabs didn’t come close.
'The poor girl’s been scourged.' Jill pointed to the bruised wrists. 'Some incredibly depraved, evil thug has hung her up by her wrists to a post or wall. Then whipped her from the top of her arms, down her shoulders and back.' Slowly Mike’s eyes followed the pointing finger. 'Across her buttocks, then down the back of her legs and calves and carried on all the way down to her heels.'
After a moment’s silence contemplating what the poor young woman on the slab must have gone through, though he was hard pushed to even try to imagine it, he said, 'What are these?' Mike pointed to one of the many two-inch-long white ribbons of flesh hanging just about everywhere.
'Muscle.'
He’d half-guessed that’s what they were, and had the crazy thought that no way could she be comfortable lying on that mess.
He looked up at Jill. 'What sort of madman would do such a thing? The agony she must have gone through… It’s… It’s so, so friggin’ well unbelievable.' He shook his head in angry bewilderment, shuddering at the thought of the poor woman writhing in pain. Gritting his teeth, he silently vowed to drag whoever was responsible to the real justice he deserved, and not just a slap on the wrist, and a few years behind bars in a cushy jail.
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