I want to ask where he got it from, did he know it was hers, was he the one who took the last photo and then stole it, could he even be the…
‘Millennium Pervert.’ The words I thought were confined to my head escape my mouth in a whisper.
‘What’s that?’ he says.
‘Nothing,’ I say. I think I get away with it and decide to keep my own counsel for the time being. I’m feeling so confused about Grace right now, I don’t think I even care if he was. Questions that seemed so important an hour ago now go unasked as Herb continues.
‘Well, as I was saying, it was pure chance I got chatting to your old dear. She told me your news and I saw an opportunity to help you out.’
‘To help me?’ I say with a nervous laugh. ‘By sending me on a wild goose chase?’
‘You make enemies in this game…’ he says, his face setting like concrete. ‘Rivals that will literally steal your business and leave you for dead. It was a matter of time before they’d make their move. But with you on board, we could push back; maybe even recover some lost ground. In time, you could take the lead. One day, we might even be able to take down the whole corrupt empire.’ I stare back at him, not knowing whether to be flattered or terrified.
‘So why is Grace in the middle of all this?’
‘Oh, that was unexpected,’ he says. ‘I needed to see what you’d do when I had to go to ground, so I had you watched. At first you did all the right things. Then I started getting reports you were sleeping with the enemy.’
‘No,’ I say. Although I’m shocked to hear he’s been watching me, my head is shaking, because I can’t believe he’s got it so wrong about Grace. ‘She thinks she’s your daughter.’
‘Don’t get taken in lad,’ he says. ‘She’s a clever girl, I’ll grant her that. Precocious. And cunning. Just like her father.’
‘She told me she was adopted,’ I say.
‘All I’m saying,’ he says, hands outstretched with the innocence of Fagin, ‘is a bad apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. And her old man’s the one you should be worried about. He’s corrupt and contemptible. He conspired to ruin my life and he will pay for it. I’ll destroy his family and then I’ll destroy him. As for you, you’d do well not to get in the way.’
‘I really think you’ve got it all wrong about her.’
‘There you go again,’ he says, and just I shake my head as he continues. ‘The one thing I’ve always been concerned about with you, Mickey. You can’t stop yourself getting emotionally involved. And here you are again, on the wrong side.’
‘What do you mean, again?’
‘Oh, I think you know what I mean, lad.’ He sneers at me and I have to look away. ‘Anyway, it was a big disappointment… at first. And then I remembered where I got that old camera, and maybe it all started making sense. More importantly, it gives you a way back.’
‘So, let’s just assume I did find her,’ I say, trying to shift the balance of power by playing along with him. ‘What do you want me to do with her?’
‘Well,’ he pauses, as if thinking aloud. ‘As she’s joined the game, I’d like you to bring her to me. Not yet. I’ll let you know when and where. In the meantime, keep her on a short leash.’
‘What do you want her for?’ I stare back at him.
‘That’s not your concern, lad.’ He’s starting to sound very sinister and I’m struggling to keep up with him, but he just keeps talking. ‘How much does she know?’
‘I thought it best not to tell her anything until I had some idea of what was going on,’ I say, trying hard to maintain eye contact.
‘Good, you’ve done well. I’m glad I bumped into you today.’
‘I don’t suppose that was down to luck, either.’ He smiles and I imagine him in the pub earlier, waiting out of sight for Grace to step away before making his big entrance. It occurs to me for the first time how pissed off she must have been when she got back from the ladies. Truth be told, I can’t find much sympathy for her right now. ‘So who torched your old house?’
‘Oh, I’ve got a pretty good idea.’ He stands up and walks to the drinks table in the centre of the room. With his eyes finally off me I relax back into the chair and the embrace of soft-padded leather emboldens me to tell him something he doesn’t already know.
‘Someone answered your phone… that night.’ He spins on his heels and stares at me, eyes bulging.
‘You spoke to him… what did you say?’
‘Oh, nothing really,’ I say, defensively. ‘I thought it was you… I think I just mentioned the camera and that I had it…’
‘You didn’t give him your name?’
‘Uh… I don’t think so… I, uh… really can’t remember. I was quite drunk...’
‘You need to keep your guard up, lad.’ He raises his fists momentarily in a southpaw stance and then lets them drop before adding: ‘You’d better let me know if you hear from him again.’
‘Who is he, Herb?’
‘Oh, don’t concern yourself. For the moment that’s my problem, not yours.’ He looks into thin air like he’s weighing up what else to tell me. ‘Suffice to say, we were on the same side back at the start. Before… things went bad. Ancient history. Before your time, lad. Should have gone down… instead he sets up on his own and he’s been pushing me hard ever since.’ His voice drops almost to a whisper: ‘That bastard ruined everything. I won’t let him do that again.’
‘Is he dangerous?’
‘No…’ he says dismissively enough but turns away so I can’t judge his expression. He starts pouring drinks from a crystal decanter. ‘No more than an occupational hazard, lad. No harm done. We’d already wound down the operations at the old place.’
‘Operations?’ I say, trying to sound surprised whilst thinking back to all the stuff I’d seen in his garage.
He comes back with two large blown glasses and hands one to me. The woody aroma of cognac is seductive, but I resist the desire to drink and limit my appreciation to swirling it around.
‘You know as well as I do, lad, it used to be a lucrative trade… back in your day.’ He dismisses my puzzled frown with a smirk and adds, ‘It’s much harder now. A lot more people involved. It’s global these days, what with the Internet. Demand outstrips supply. The stakes have never been higher… And that, lad is what makes it a nasty business.’
‘So you were lucky,’ I say, mesmerised as much by his entrepreneurial zeal as by the whirlpool of liquor in my glass. ‘Getting out of there just in time.’
‘Moved everything. Memories and all.’
‘You lived there a long time. And… with your wife before.’
‘It’s like I said...’ I think I hear a crack in his speech until he clears his throat and raises his voice, forcing me to look up at him. ‘You can’t afford to get emotional. Not in this business. It makes you complacent and that makes you weak.’
‘Mum saw you shipping out the evening it burned down.’
‘Yes. I know.’
‘And at the bank a couple of days before.’
‘I didn’t mean to be rude, but I did want to keep my distance. I wouldn’t want her getting mixed up in something like this, after what she’s been through. She deserves better.’
‘She’s been worried about you too.’
‘She’s a good woman. I’ll miss her.’
‘So that’s it, you’ve left Gravesend for good?’ He nods back at me. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say and I mean it.
‘Don’t worry, those bastards will get what’s coming to them soon enough. I’m sorry it meant I had to go to ground for a few days and that left you hanging in the wind.’
‘I’m okay,’ I say, nodding back with equal sincerity.
‘Stroke of luck about the girl, though,’ he says. ‘It’ll be useful to find out what she knows.’
‘Really?’ The word comes out like a squeak and I try to disguise it by gulping down the brandy, grateful at least for its instant burn.
‘Hmm, we’ll see,’ he
says, while I try to stop my pupils dilating too much. ‘Anyway, no real harm done, eh?’ He gestures around the room. ‘I’m still doing okay. What do you think?’
He starts making small talk about the opulence of his second home. It seems this magnificent country pile, a stone’s throw from civilisation, has been a regular retreat for a number of years, and has recently become his permanent residence. He offers to show me around, even suggests a frame of snooker but I decline. Pool’s more my game. As much as I would love to learn more about his mysterious alter-life, there are only so many surprises I can take in one day, and I’m keen to get out of here. I need time to think and I’m finding it difficult to keep up this act of being at one with Herb when I don’t know what his intentions are towards Grace. I find myself fearing the worst, given that he must have watched and photographed her as a fifteen year old, and seems to have used me to find her. To keep the pretence going I have one last question.
‘My little challenge may have all been a game to you,’ I say. ‘To me it was a job and I...’ He’s seen where I’m heading and cuts me off before I get there.
‘Ah yes, your banker’s bonus. Let’s discuss settling our mutual obligations once you’ve met the final deliverable, shall we?’ There’s a menacing grin on his face, and I remember there are always two ways of taking Herb’s words.
‘I didn’t sign up to…’ He raises a hand to bat away my protest.
‘Don’t ruin it now lad, when you’re so close.’
‘Still being tested, right?’ I say, and he nods. I wonder whether he’ll pay up in the end. Then again, whether I deliver Grace to him is another matter entirely. At least he doesn’t seem to have missed the large wad of cash I took.
‘Okay…’ I say. ‘We’ll see. Right now, if it’s alright with you, I’d like to be off home.’
‘Mac?’ Herb calls out and his driver looms into the doorway like a solar eclipse. ‘Take young Mickey home, will you. And let him have the phone number here.’
The Giant turns and leaves without a grunt, and I get up to follow him.
‘So what happens next, Herb?’
‘I’ll call you lad… when we’re ready.’
During the journey home, with the incongruous strains of Scheherazade wafting from the speakers, I sit in the back seat and ponder the irony that while Grace was following me, Herb’s been watching us both. It comes as no real surprise when Mac the Chauffeur doesn’t need to ask for my address or directions. He drops me off and my wits return like I’ve been snapped out of a trance. I memorise the licence plate as he drives away.
Keeping Mum
Back home, I’ve just put down my mobile. Grace didn’t answer and I’m guessing that’s because she’s pissed off with me. Right now, I don’t know how I feel about her. Before getting her voicemail, I was going to apologise and tell her about Herb’s reappearance. Instead I left a terse message telling her that something came up and I had to dash out of the pub. I need to keep her on the hook, or should that be a short leash? Not least because there are too many missing pieces to this jigsaw puzzle and I need to figure out what to do next before Herb contacts me again. I’ve decided that, for the time-being, it’s better for her to think she’s pissed me off while I try to figure out where my loyalties lie. I guess she’ll call me back when she’s ready. I hope she does anyway.
I’m thinking about getting some food together for dinner when the landline rings. It can only be Mum.
‘Michael,’ she says without her usual greeting. ‘That policewoman just came back with a detective.’ Hairs stand up on the back of my neck.
‘What did they want?’ I say, breathing heavily.
‘They said they were following up on the statement I gave about seeing Herb the other night. They wanted to know if I’d seen a girl or a young woman with shoulder-length blonde hair acting suspiciously near the house when I walked past.’
‘What?’
‘Yes, and when I said no, they asked if I’d passed the house earlier in the day when I might have noticed her then.’
I slump down onto a kitchen stool and picture Grace snooping around outside Herb’s house, having followed me there. This morning the thought would have been absurd. Now anything’s possible.
‘Of course, I had to tell them you’d been down that day, didn’t I?’ she continues, and without giving me the chance to react, adds: ‘I said we’d done some shopping and on the way back we stopped off at Gladys Wilmott’s before driving past the house. I told them we didn’t see anyone hanging around.’
‘It’s okay Mum, that’s true, we didn’t.’
‘But then they asked for your name, address and phone number. Oh, I hope you don’t mind Mickey. They said they might contact you and if I spoke to you first could I ask you to think about it and if you remembered seeing someone to contact them.’
‘Don’t worry, leave this to me. We’ve got nothing to hide.’
‘Have you got a pen? I’ll give you the number. His card says he’s Detective Sergeant Melville.’
I don’t know why I’m writing this down. It’s not like I’m going to be phoning the Old Bill. And if they call me, I’ll tell them I didn’t see any girl near the house. I’ll be telling the truth and that’ll be the end of it.
‘Oh, there was one other thing,’ Mum adds. ‘The woman said she remembered seeing you at the gate the last time she called in. She said I was very lucky to have a son who would come to see me so often. I knew it was just flannel, especially when she asked if you’d stopped overnight. I told her you hadn’t and then she asked if you usually came to see me that often every week. I said no, not every week.’
By now, I’m cringing and starting to convince myself they must have my handwritten note, and before long they’ll be more interested in my visits to see Herb than in my caring son routine.
‘What did she say to that?’
‘Just more nonsense; about me deserving to have such a good son.’
‘Was that it?’
‘Well, apart from the detective asking as they were leaving how well you know Herb.’
‘Huh?’ I say a bit too high-pitched as my foot slips from the rung of the stool.
‘I told him you knew him as a neighbour but you’ve been living north of the river for a long time.’ I calm down momentarily, until she adds: ‘Then he asked if it was possible you might have seen him recently.’
‘What did you say?’
‘I said I thought he might have been in touch with you, although I didn’t think you’d met him. That’s right isn’t it?’
‘And did that shut him up?’
‘No, he suddenly seemed more interested that you’d driven down here on Thursday and Friday without stopping over. I started to feel a bit threatened. It was like he was suggesting you’d not actually gone back home.’
‘Bastard,’ I mouthed silently. ‘You told him I did though, yeah?’
‘I might have got a bit too defensive. I said there was a whole group of friends could vouch for you drinking with them in Hornchurch that night.’
‘That’s right Mum. You told him!’ I say, impressed by her quick wits.
‘Yes I did. Coming round here, drinking my tea and making wild inferences about my boy.’
‘Then what happened?’
‘He started repeating what the woman said; that you must be a good son to drive back down to see me again early the next morning. Then he said all sarcastic like, ‘especially with a hangover’. Well, I was livid. I said you came back because you were concerned with what I’d said about Herb the day before and wanted to make sure he was okay.’
‘You didn’t?’
‘I know. It just came out. I was only trying to say you were a good person. Oh, I hope I didn’t say the wrong thing Michael.’
‘Then what?’
‘All of a sudden they needed to leave. I just thought you should know.’
‘Thanks Mum,’ is all I can manage as I put the phone down.
Park Life
/> The only food in the fridge is a ready meal and the dessert from Saturday. The chilled spag bol is on its last day; the mascarpone is starting to ferment. I stab the film lid and put the plastic tray of pasta in the microwave. The Harrods cheesecake goes in the bin. What a bloody waste of money.
Quality pasta with a rich, authentic sauce should be accompanied by a good Chianti, but a small bottle of Stella is all this one deserves. I put the piping hot food on a tray with the beer and four slices of bread and butter and take it into the lounge where I turn on the TV. Crimewatch is on BBC, showing a reconstruction of a recent aggravated burglary, and I flick over to ITV only to see two coppers chasing a bloke down a dark alley in The Bill. I hit the standby button and finish the meal in silence. Cradling the half-empty bottle, I reflect on the fact it’s a brew with a reputation. Some people call it wife-beater. But I never laid a finger on her.
With the fork in the sink and the plastic tray and bottle in the recycle bin, I put on my jacket. I need a walk so I can think, make some sense of the last week. I pick up the mobile phone by instinct and then throw it back on the sofa. Right now, there’s no one in the world I want to talk to. As I turn the corner at the end of the street, a keen breeze wipes my face. It feels good to breathe it in and I stride on towards the park.
I used to believe problem-solving was a logical and conscious process: you consider all the facts one by one, analysing each element before taking them all together and concluding which one, or which combination, is at fault. You then make adjustments to the erroneous components, re-run the scenario and validate the results. That’s how I used to think. Correction, that’s how The Banker thinks. Now I just switch off and walk. Somehow the thinking seems to do itself. I suppose it’s since I’ve had time on my hands, but I find the sub-conscious mind is so much better at sorting things out, left alone to ruminate. Right now, I don’t need to run through all the events of the last seven days to scrutinise the facts I know and identify the ones I don’t. I don’t have to replay the conversations and assess the things that have been said in order to articulate in my head the things that haven’t. I don’t even find it necessary to separate out what I understand from what I don’t. My subconscious mind already knows it all. It doesn’t have to systematically sort and file it in an efficient, organised chronology. Its approach is more holistic. Organic. The only input it needs from me is time. So I leave it to do its thing and I just walk.
Mickey Take: When a debt goes bad... Page 17
