When I raised my eyes back to the TV we were looking down from a bird’s-eye view. The crowd had become fluid, police distinguished only by the odd neon yellow jacket amongst the black.
‘It’s just so fucking wrong, what they’re doing. Only hits the poor kids the hardest.’
‘Speaks the Oxford student with the trust fund,’ I said, sarcastically.
‘Just because I had it easy doesn’t mean I have to become a wanker.’ There was a hint of a smile. ‘I miss that place.’
How we had both arrived here wasn’t a topic either of us talked about often, not that I wanted to. The years I’d spent in juvie he’d spent cycling beside canals, but at least my path was an obvious one; I’d never understood why Mark was here.
‘Did you bring any whiskey with you?’
‘Yeah.’ I went back to the suitcases and found the bottle wrapped in T-shirts. ‘Triple?’
‘We’re watching the prospects of a generation being obliterated, on a widescreen TV, in real time. You bet I want a triple.’
I poured two glasses and sat down beside him. It had started raining outside, again.
‘Cheers,’ he said. ‘You know, when the world ends, if we’re around to see it, this is how we’ll be watching it too. We’ll all be on News 24 watching the mushroom clouds coming towards us… Can you imagine? We’ll watch the correspondents cutting out one by one.’
I brought my knees up and rested my forehead on them. ‘I’m so fucking sorry about this.’
‘Don’t be daft, we’ve all done it.’
‘You’ve never had to move me out.’
He ignored me and slapped the side of my leg. In the ten years we had known each other he had never let me apologize for anything. He was the only person I’d met who looked as if he belonged in his world, as if he had made peace with the spectres of self-loathing, doubt and morality that hounded the rest of us.
Over the rim of his glass he watched the TV with a kind of wistful brutality in his expression as the camera panned over the Houses of Parliament.
I wished that I could clear my mind of the girls. There were too many girls, girls with scars on their wrists and women with death in their eyes and girls without faces left in alleyways.
I considered telling Mark about the piece of paper and the familiar phrase but decided against it, for now.
Bring thee to meet his shadow.
Wikipedia told me it was a line by Edgar Allan Poe, some guy who apparently invented detective fiction. Whoever left the note was obviously some public-school wanker. I wasn’t, so I figured I’d track him down the old-fashioned way.
‘Will you come to Emma Dyer’s funeral with me?’ I asked, staring at my drink. ‘Just for another pair of eyes, you know.’
‘If you like, of course I will.’ He paused. ‘Why is this job getting to you so much?’
‘I don’t know.’ It was the only answer I had and it was the truth. ‘The coldness of it, maybe? Maybe her age? I don’t know… How can you tell?’
‘We’ve been in situations like this before and I’ve never seen you drink a whiskey that slow.’
10
I parked my car in a lay-by and hoped that the loitering gang across the road didn’t turn it into a bonfire before I got back.
I knocked on the door of Matt’s house in Shooters Hill and heard nothing. I got out Emma’s address book and tried calling the number tagged as ‘Matt’, but I suspected that, like me, he would be unlikely to answer to numbers he didn’t recognize. Kicking the door through seemed like a good idea at first, but there were too many people in the street. I turned and crossed the road again, planning to wait a while.
The group of boys was still there, watching me and the car they could never afford. They would crash it, set it on fire and destroy as much of it as they could, just because they could never do the same to its owner.
‘Hey,’ I said, taking them by surprise with the acknowledgement.
The oldest of the group, a black boy with cynical lips on a bike, glared.
‘Yeah, you.’ I knew they would all be armed. My insides clenched out of habit but I reminded myself I could fight them off. I was armed too, this time. ‘You know a guy called Matt Masters who lives there?’
‘Who wants to know?’ The boy on the bike looked me up and down. His knuckles were worn and clenched around the handlebars.
‘He isn’t answering his phone and I usually buy off him,’ I said, my hands in my pockets and one around the butt of my automatic. ‘Do you know where he might be?’
‘No.’
‘No?’
‘No.’
A quieter voice said, ‘What about his crib in Deptford?’
The boy on the bike scowled down at the younger boy beside him and cuffed him across the back of the head. ‘You shut up, yeah!’
‘What place in Deptford?’ I asked.
‘Aw, fuck’s sake!’ The boy stood up straight astride his bike again, regaining his composure. ‘OK, you wanna go to Deptford? What you got?’
‘How much do you want?’
He gripped the handlebars tighter. ‘No, you say!’
‘You want fifty?’
He glanced at the rest of the group, flustered. ‘OK, OK, yeah. Fifty.’
I got out my wallet and handed the money over.
The boy crumpled the notes up and put them in his pocket. ‘Daubney Tower. That’s where he keeps most of his gear. We only been over there once when he paid me to shift some stuff for him, dunno if it’s still the same.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Whatever.’ The boy raised his eyebrows. ‘I never seen people who buy off Matty driving fucking Audis.’
I nodded, half smiled and walked back to my car. They were watching me in the wing-mirror as I drove away.
A discoloured block of grey flats came into view and I found a place to park in its shadow. I looked up at the tower and felt my heart sink at the prospect of knocking on every door. Putting it off would be pointless, so I got out of my car and found the main entrance.
The concrete was dappled with grey ice.
I picked a number at random and listened at the intercom.
‘Hello?’
I raised my voice, guessing that the woman must be hearing-impaired from the volume at which she had answered.
‘Oh, hi. I’m meant to be meeting Matt at his flat and I’ve completely forgotten the number he gave me, I’m afraid.’ I added a self-deprecating laugh. ‘Can you tell me which one he is?’
‘I’m afraid I don’t know any Matt, dear, what’s his surname?’
I could already tell that continuing the conversation would be pointless.
‘No, it’s no problem, thanks,’ I said, backing away from the doors and starting to think about another way in.
‘Eh. Who’re you looking for?’
I turned to see a trio of boys, all aged around ten and dressed in a mixture of football shirts. They didn’t look too menacing but I still took a step back to keep a sensible distance.
‘Matt Masters,’ I said, looking between their blank stares. ‘Do you know him?’
‘Might.’ The tallest of the three wiped a grubby hand across his nose; he had a spattering of red marks down his arms that might have been eczema or something else. ‘What ye got for us?’
I held the boy’s gaze and mentally chalked one up to him when he didn’t look away. I got out my wallet and took out a ten-pound note, watching their eyes follow it through the air.
‘Do you know him?’ I asked again.
‘Gi’s the money first ’n’ I’ll tell ye.’
I handed it over, amused.
The boy shifted the football he was holding under his arm to stuff the note into the pocket of his torn jeans.
‘Ain’t heard of him,’ he said. ‘Sorry.’
The laugh escaped me before I could stop it.
He frowned as if he had been expecting an angrier response and the other two shifted, looking ready to run should I make any sudden
movements. One of them was wearing shorts and the sight was enough to make me shiver.
‘OK, fine, you don’t know him,’ I said, pointing up at the flats. ‘But can you get me in there?’
‘Might. What else ye got for us?’
Despite myself I took a liking to the kid, so I took out my wallet again. This time I found a twenty. They were just trying to get by, to survive, like everybody else.
‘Can you get in there?’
‘Gi’s the money first, ’n’ then—’
‘No.’ I held a hand up. ‘We’re doing this one my way. You get me in there, and then I’ll give you the money.’
The boy’s eyes narrowed.
‘I give you my word.’
The boy glanced at his mates and strutted forwards to stick out a hand.
I stared at it.
‘When ye promise somethin’ ye spit on yer ’and ’n’ shake on it. Then ye can’t break it.’
He seemed completely serious.
I glanced around the deserted estate before shrugging. ‘OK, you’re on.’
The boy spat on his hand and held it out.
I followed suit and shook it firmly.
‘Right.’ The boy brushed past me and jabbed a finger at the intercom, listening for a few seconds. ‘Mam, we’re back, can ye let us in?’
The locks of the door clicked and the boy pushed it open. He escorted me over the threshold before sticking out his hand again.
‘Ye promised.’
I handed over the twenty and turned to the stairs.
‘’N’ by the way,’ the boy said, ‘I lied when ye asked me that first thing. Matt plays football with us sometimes, and he lives on the eighth floor somewhere. Dunno which one, I never been up there.’
I nodded at him. ‘What’s your name, kid?’
‘Gary Steele.’
I smiled. With a name like that he was destined to become either a Face or a Premiership footballer.
‘Thanks, Gary.’
Gary went back outside, indifferent.
I took the stairs two at a time, trying to ignore the smell of acrid piss and damp. When I reached the eighth floor I saw someone had spray-painted ‘Muslim Scum’ across the landing in baby blue.
I observed it until I left the stairwell and knocked on the nearest door.
A young woman with bleached hair and a smoker’s mouth opened it.
‘You my one o’clock?’
I faltered. ‘Er, no. I’m actually looking for Matt Masters.’
‘He don’t live here, he’s next door.’ She inclined her head and gave me a quick once-over. Her clothes were several sizes too small and the bare skin bulged, white and taut. ‘You sure you don’t wanna come in, it’s only a tenner for head?’
I looked past her at the flat, at the toys in the hallway, the dust hanging in shafts of light.
‘No thanks, you’re all right.’
She shrugged and went back inside to wait for her one o’clock.
I tried the door of the neighbouring flat.
‘Yeah, ’lo?’ A young lad answered it wearing nothing but a baggy pair of jeans, with dishevelled hair and a scattering of teenage acne across his chin.
I got out my automatic and aimed it between his eyes. ‘Matt Masters?’
‘What the fuck! Wo, wo, mate, just…’ He raised his hands above his head and backed away. ‘Chill yeah, chill! Fucking hell, what the f—’
‘I’m here about Emma Dyer,’ I said as I walked him back into the flat and kicked the door shut. ‘Sit down.’
‘I ain’t this guy you’re looking for! Matt… Matt, who?’
‘Oh yeah? So you’re not Matt?’ I raised my eyebrows and took out my phone with my other hand. ‘Right, OK, let’s see about that.’
I redialled Matt’s number, only having to wait a few seconds before a phone began ringing from the bedroom.
‘Oh.’ I feigned surprise, enjoying the game. ‘Oh dear.’
Matt shot a calculated glance at the front door. There was a sound of movement from elsewhere in the flat and I pointed my gun at the kitchen. He leapt forwards to seize my arm and I put a bullet in the wall.
Two more shots went into the sofa and he punched me across the face. I wrenched my arm out of his grasp, losing the gun. It spun across the carpet and I lunged for it, but instead of going for the gun Matt made a break for the front door.
I grabbed the gun and followed him, skidding on the slick floor as I ran into the stairwell.
Matt was flying down the stairs in front of me without appearing to tread on any of them. Every so often I tried to aim but he was too far below. I reached the bottom just as he crashed through the main doors and on to the green.
Gary and his two friends stopped swinging the metal bar they had been playing with and watched, open-mouthed, as we tore across the grass towards them.
‘Come here, you bastard!’ I stopped and aimed at the backs of his knees, but before I could fire a shot something stopped me.
An agonized cry pierced the relative stillness of the estate. Matt flew through the air as if in slow motion before landing in a crumpled heap a good way away from where he had been halted.
Gary was standing with a blank look on his face. In his hand was the metal bar that he had just swung into Matt’s shins.
I approached the groaning tangle of limbs on the ground, staring at Gary in astonishment.
‘Who the… who the fuck are you?’ Matt said through gritted teeth, hands around his calf and writhing.
‘Nic Caruana.’
‘Fuck…’ His head fell back against the grass.
‘Now you’re going to sit up, I’m going to give you a cigarette, and then you’re going to answer my questions, OK?’
Matt scowled at the boy standing a few yards away, still grabbing at his calf and flushed with pain. ‘Why the fuck did you do that, you little shit?’
Gary looked away.
Matt struggled to sit up and accepted the Marlboro Light that I lit for him. He took a long drag and gingerly felt his other leg.
‘I’ve heard of you,’ he said. ‘So, I suppose you’re here to kill me, right?’
‘No. Not necessarily. I’m just going to ask you some questions.’
‘Oh? Right…’ He took another drag. ‘Look, you’ve got no fucking idea of the people involved. You think you’re just looking for a kid like me? Well, sorry. There’s a reason that stupid bint ended up dead and it’s not something you want to be sticking your nose in.’
I lit a cigarette for myself. ‘Where’s Kyle?’
‘Kyle?’ He laughed, a high-pitched laugh that sounded a little too hysterical. ‘Try under the M4, mate.’
I shivered, feeling the cold more keenly in the middle of the green. ‘What do you mean?’
He blew smoke out of his nose, breathing through his teeth now. ‘I’m really sorry if you knew the girl or whatever. But you can do what you like, take that kid’s crowbar to me again, shoot me, whatever. I’m not telling you anything.’
I crouched, unimpressed by his dramatics. ‘Oh yeah?’
‘Yeah.’ He nodded, his mouth set in a grim line. ‘Cos I tell you this, I don’t give a fuck who you are, what you’ve done, or what you say you’re going to do to me. I’m more scared of him than I am of you.’
There was no one else around, save for the boys behind me. I stood up from my crouch to address them as they stood in an orderly line.
‘I want you to do exactly as I say,’ I said. ‘Turn around, walk thirty paces and cover your ears. Whatever you do, don’t turn around, no matter what you might hear. OK? I will tap one of you on the shoulder when you are allowed to turn again. Understand?’
They did as I said without question. When I was satisfied they wouldn’t be able to hear much I took Matt by the neck of his shirt and dragged him behind the only tree, out of sight of the flats.
‘What’re you gonna do?’ he cried in mock bravado as I let him drop to the ground. ‘I ain’t gonna tell you—’
> His words were quickly replaced by a scream as I yanked his arm up behind his back and stamped down on the inflexible bone. It snapped beneath my trainer without resistance.
‘OH GOD, OH FUCKING HELL!’
‘You’re going to give me a name and you’re going to give me one now.’
‘OH PLEASE, PLEASE STOP!’
‘A name, Matt!’ I crouched again and dug my fingers into the break.
‘OH GOD I CAN’T… OH MY GOD OH FUCK!’
He screamed again as I twisted the arm, grinding the splintered bones together and hissing the words into his ear.
‘The other arm will go too. You think I won’t?’
‘FELIX! FELIX FUCKING HUDSON. STOP, PLEASE!’
I let him go as soon as the name came out.
Matt fell forwards, curling into a ball on the ground and hugging his broken arm to his chest. His skin had taken on a grey hue.
‘Felix Hudson?’ I said. ‘You mean the drug trafficker?’
‘Me… and Kyle… we did some dealing for him…’ he breathed, tears streaming down his cheeks. ‘Kyle never said why… but I know he killed Emma… Kyle knew it. That’s all I know… I promise, God I promise.’
I wasn’t sure if I believed him. His finger-pointing seemed too quick and his pleading too theatrical, but he was hardly in a state to start constructing coherent lies.
‘Really? Felix Hudson?’
‘I swear, I fucking swear, I fucking swear…’
‘If I find out you lied to me, you know I’ll kill you.’
Matt somehow managed to laugh through the pain. Laugh or cry. ‘When he finds out I spoke to you I’m dead anyway.’
I didn’t know what to say, so I left it at that.
On the way back to my car I gave Gary a tap on the shoulder. The three of them took their hands away from their ears, watching me through guarded eyes as I gave them a wave.
Gary paused, before running after me. ‘Oi!’
I stopped.
He held out a hand and smiled. One of his front teeth had a diagonal chip.
‘I tripped him for ye!’ he said.
‘Oh really?’ My eyes narrowed. ‘What do you want now?’
He beckoned with his fingers and I made a show of sighing as I got out my wallet.
Something You Are Page 8
