Mickey Take: When a debt goes bad...

by Steven Hayward

  Wednesday, 23rd

  It’s mid-afternoon and someone’s pummelling on my front door. It sounds like they’re trying to knock it through. When I get downstairs and turn the knob the door crashes inwards.

  ‘Police!’ is the accompanying announcement, but it’s more of a battering ram than a greeting. It isn’t the sickly-sweet WPC who’s been visiting Mum. Nor is it the slightly pushy Detective Sergeant who accompanied her the last time they popped in for a chat and a cup of tea.

  Standing on my doorstep, filling the frame, he says his name is Pinner and that he’s a Detective Chief Inspector. I step back to let him in and he launches himself at me.

  ‘What the fuck are you doing with my daughter?’ he bellows.

  I want to ask him what he’s talking about and tell him I don’t know his daughter and say who the hell does he think he is, pushing his way into my house and spitting wild accusations at me. But I get the sense he wouldn’t be interested in what I had to say, even if I could speak, my protest throttled by the hand gripping my neck and pinning me against my own coat rack.

  ‘You’re a fucking pervert,’ he roars, heeling me in the chest with his other massive hand, pushing me back against the stairs. ‘I’ll put you in a fucking wheelchair if I catch you anywhere near her.’

  Before I can say a single word, he’s left as quickly and noisily as he arrived, ranting as he barges his way back out the house and down the drive, the front door slamming behind him. I sit on the second stair stunned, my throat and chest throbbing.

  Fair Cop

  Several hours later, I’m sitting in the lounge getting meagre comfort from the warmth of an empty glass and even less from the encroaching darkness when the landline rings.

  ‘Hi Mum,’ I say half-heartedly, dreading a conversation with her right now. As I’ve said, I find it hard to lie to her, and this afternoon’s dubious brush with the law is still the only thing on my mind.

  ‘This is Detective Sergeant Melville, North Kent CID. Can I talk to Michael Field?’

  ‘That’s me,’ I splutter.

  ‘It was your mother who gave me your number, sir. Are you waiting for her to call? I can ring back later if you prefer?’ He’s very civil, in a copper kind of way.

  ‘No. It’s just she’s the only one who... never mind. What do you want?’

  ‘Your mother told me you may have been in contact with Herbert Long recently.’ The hairs on the back of my neck prickle. ‘We’re keen to trace him in light of the fire at his house last week. We’d also like to ask you some questions about the last time you were in Gravesend and whether you saw anything strange or anyone acting suspiciously near his house.’

  ‘I… er…’

  ‘Mr Field, I would prefer not to do this over the phone so I wonder if I could make arrangements to visit you at home.’

  Great that’s all I need more fuzz in here giving me grief.

  ‘Whatever. When?’

  ‘How would tomorrow morning suit you, say ten o’clock?’ he says.

  ‘Yeah, okay.’

  ‘Can I just check the address I have is correct?’ He starts reading it out.

  ‘Oh, it’s correct alright,’ I say, before he’s even finished.

  I’m about to hang up when he adds: ‘And if it isn’t me, it will be my boss, is that okay?’

  ‘You’re all the same to me.’

  ‘Right… Well, it’s DCI Pinner.’ The name spins around in my head.

  ‘Did you say Pinner?’

  ‘That’s right sir, Chief Inspector Pinner. Is there a problem?’

  ‘Too right there’s a problem,’ I yell. ‘That bastard’s already been here this afternoon throwing his weight around and intimidating me about some girl. I didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. Don’t you send that psycho back here.’

  ‘Sir, calm down. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Er… I didn’t realise… Look, if you’d prefer to deal with me then that’s fine. I’ll see you in the morning.’ He puts the phone down before I can say another word, and I’m left with the distinct impression it isn’t the first time DS Melville has had to pour oil on troubled water in connection with the rogue actions of his boss.

  It’s later in the evening when Grace calls to ask if I’ve heard from Herb.

  ‘No, but there’s been no shortage of entertainment around here,’ I say.

  ‘Why? What’s happened?’

  ‘For some reason the police are suddenly very interested in my movements last week. They’re investigating the fire and trying to trace Herb. And my old dear’s let slip I made several trips down there last week. Apparently, they also want to know about a young woman who might have been acting suspiciously in the area on the day of the fire.’ I remember noticing Grace blanch a little the other day when I told her about Herb’s house burning down. ‘You still there?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m still here,’ she says.

  ‘Grace, do you have something to tell me?’

  ‘It wasn’t me,’ she says. ‘The house was fine when I left it.’

  ‘Jesus, Grace! You were there? Someone must have seen you. That probably makes you the prime suspect.’ When she doesn’t respond I realise she’s already come to that conclusion. ‘Grace? What were you doing there?’

  ‘I was hoping to see what you were doing there,’ she says, ‘with the old man, after your adventures the night before.’

  ‘What, you followed me again?’

  ‘I know,’ she says and I can almost see her cringing through the phone.

  ‘You seem to have been more interested in my movements than Herb’s.’

  ‘Yes, I know… It’s just that I knew you were up to something for him and… well you were a bit easier to keep tabs on that he was. I mean, just living a few streets away.’

  ‘Yeah, okay. But you were wasting your time that day.’

  ‘Not exactly. I kept watching the house for ages, waiting to see if he’d go out.’

  ‘But he wasn’t even there,’ I say with a certainty that’s instantly challenged by her silence. ‘Was he?’

  ‘Yes, he was.’

  ‘Not first thing, he wasn’t… or when I popped back at lunchtime.’

  ‘It looked to me like he was avoiding you.’ Now the line goes quiet on my account.

  ‘Right,’ I say with an ironic smirk. ‘Nothing should surprise me now.’

  ‘After I saw you on the doorstep getting no answer, I kept watching for ages. I was sure I eventually saw some movement inside and I was trying to decide whether to go and bang on the door. That was when the car pulled up.’

  ‘What car?’

  ‘It was the same one I’d seen the week before. This big wrestler-type got out and went to the door. The old man came out of the house with a suitcase, got in the back of the car and it pulled away.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘At first I followed them, but when I realised they were turning onto the motorway, heading north, I didn’t fancy a long drive to God-knows-where. So I came back and kept watching the house to make sure it was definitely empty. That’s when I decided to take a look inside.’

  ‘So you just broke in,’ I say with fake surprise, remembering the ease with which she’d got us into Bleak House.

  ‘Yeah, I went in through the back door,’ she says. ‘There was an inner door into the garage and I was about to try and unlock it when the doorbell rang. As I watched the front door a piece of paper came through the letter box and then I saw you walk back down the path from the front window. For some reason I picked up your note and put it my pocket.’

  ‘Nice of you to tidy up,’ I say. ‘It would’ve ruined the immaculate style of the place.’

  ‘Maybe when you saw it last,’ she says. ‘By then it was empty. I mean completely bare. No furniture, nothing. It was like he’d moved out.’

  ‘But Mum only saw them loading up in the evening.’

  ‘It must have all been in the garage. I didn’t manage to get in because that door wa
s like Fort Knox. Anyway, I didn’t see much point in leaving your note on the mat; it didn’t look like anyone was coming back to see it… and God knows, no one else would have had a clue what you were on about!’

  ‘That was the general idea,’ I say.

  ‘Very cloak and dagger,’ she says. ‘Then I got out of there before anyone else came. I would have sworn I hadn’t been seen. I can’t believe I’m being suspected of burning it down.’

  ‘Well, the fire didn’t start until the early hours of Friday.’ I try to console her. ‘And in any case, I think I spoke to the person who did burn it down.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I was trying to get hold of Herb… when I got home from the King’s Head. And someone else answered his phone.’

  ‘Oh my God! Why didn’t you say before, we could have reported it.’

  ‘I didn’t want to tell you. It really freaked me out. Besides, I’m not sure reporting it would be a good idea. Herb made it sound like the people after him are pretty ruthless. I don’t think we should do anything hasty until we understand what we’re dealing with.’

  ‘But at least we can show I wasn’t the last one in there.’

  ‘Sure. All I’m saying is let’s keep it up our sleeve until we have to, okay? In any case, you already have an alibi for being back here during the evening. The guys will vouch for both of us if it comes to it.’

  ‘Yeah, I suppose so.’

  ‘Talking of which,’ I say. ‘Here’s a question that’s been bugging me: how did you know I’d be in the King’s Head that night with my mates?’

  ‘Would you believe me if I said that time really was a coincidence?’

  ‘Right,’ I say, unconvinced. ‘Anyway, the cops are coming to see me in the morning.’

  ‘Who’s the investigating officer?’ she asks, like she might have heard of him. My head starts to spin at the thought.

  ‘He said his name is Melville.’

  ‘Oh!’

  ‘You know him?’

  ‘Yeah… kind of.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you’re familiar with a Chief Inspector Pinner as well, by any chance?’ The line goes quiet again. ‘He’s already paid me a visit though I didn’t get the impression he was on official business.’

  ‘Oh my God! What did he want?’

  ‘I think he was just trying to be the protective father figure,’ I say. ‘It seems he doesn’t approve of our… friendship.’

  ‘Oh, Mickey, I’m so sorry,’ she says exasperated. ‘It must have been Simon, that conniving little runt. Don’t worry, I’ll deal with them. You’ll be okay with Melville; he’s a good guy. Give me a call tomorrow once he’s out of your hair and I’ll come over if that’s alright.’

  ‘Yeah, fine,’ I say with a sigh. ‘I’ll try not to incriminate you in the meantime.’

  ***

  Bella Donna

  It is a clatty shit hole. He knows it. Deserves better, but he doesn’t care; it serves a purpose. And no one ever comes here… ever came here. Just now it’s getting like Argyle Street in August. It’s as well he cleaned up in time. Especially now he’s heard they’ll be back again.

  He’s done as he’s been told. Now he’s in the scullery, boiling an old whistling kettle on a camp stove. He reaches up to take a mug from the shelf and with the other hand, his large fingers tweak the dial on an aging transistor. The pure tone of a mezzo soprano radiates like sunshine around the room. His smile doesn’t reach the surface; it never does. But inside he’s floating.

  When his eyes re-focus, it’s the empty space on the shelf they dilate upon. Where the last time he’d left her. His sweet Jasmine. He lunges at the radio and sends it splintering against the wall, crashes through the door, out into the night air, and howls like a wolf at the moon.

  12.

  Thursday, 24th

  I needn’t have worried. Melville doesn’t show. He doesn’t call to apologise for wasting my time either. Perhaps I should be glad there’s something more important keeping him away. I ring Grace in the early afternoon and she agrees I shouldn’t bother waiting in any longer. Her voice down the phone seems to bring out the sunshine and we decide to meet in the park for a stroll.

  As I walk towards the cafe I wonder if she’s spoken to Pinner. I find her outside by the concrete slipway, feeding the ducks out of a bag of bread. She empties the last few crumbs onto the water and takes my hand as we walk off around the lake.

  ‘Simon’s an ass,’ she says as we approach the wooden bridge. ‘It’s sad really. We were quite close at first. He was a fragile little boy, physically and emotionally. I think that’s why they were so keen to have a second child, to try and bring him out of himself.’

  We stop halfway across and watch little coots darting around on the water. Everything about them is black except for their bulbous white beaks that seem to start from the back of their heads.

  ‘Seems hard to believe now,’ I say, dismissing the thought of Simon as The Ugly Duckling. ‘How come they didn’t just have another baby?’

  ‘He was born in Gibraltar while his dad was working there. I think there were complications with the birth and his mum wasn’t able to have any more kids.’

  ‘What’s she like?’

  ‘Who, Gillian? She was really nice.’

  ‘Was?’ I say, dreading the inference.

  ‘She’s gone back to Gibraltar but we still keep in touch.’

  ‘Doesn’t sound like the perfect environment for an adoption,’ I say as we continue to walk.

  ‘It was okay back then. I was the one with the problems when I first met them. By twelve I’d already been in trouble with the police a few times. I knew the father was a copper so I was a bit apprehensive. At first, little get-togethers were orchestrated in parks and zoos. There’d be three or four of us from the kids’ home and a couple of families looking to adopt. Course, they didn’t tell us that.’

  ‘They didn’t want to build up any hopes?’

  ‘I suppose the idea was to see how everyone got along without putting pressure on any of us. I was the eldest. And starting to realise adoption was becoming unlikely.’

  ‘I suppose most people want babies.’

  ‘Yeah, the little ones never seemed to hang around for long,’ she says pensively. ‘Except for me; I must have used up all my luck getting born in the first place. Course, by then, after all the problems, a lot of the homes had been closed down and they were trying really hard to get the older kids back into families.’

  ‘So the Pinners took a shine to you.’

  ‘No one was more surprised than me. I suppose Simon must have only been six and I remember there was a boy of a similar age in the group, probably younger. I’m sure everyone was expecting the two boys to bond. But for some reason, right from the start, Simon latched onto me. I was flattered. Like I said before; unconditional affection was a bit of a novelty. And he was quite sweet back then...’ She stops momentarily as we reach a simple log bench at the top of the hill. We sit down and look back at the view across the park.

  ‘I started looking forward to the meetings,’ she continues. ‘I suspect the people around me could see it was having a positive effect, so they encouraged me to think about spending some time with the family. I got on really well with Gillian. She was a lovely mum before things went sour with Terry.’

  ‘Terry is Simon’s dad, right?’

  ‘Yeah, Detective Chief Inspector Terence Pinner to you,’ she says and I cringe at the thought of his spit on my face. ‘Back then even he seemed like a nice guy. Although I got the impression he would have preferred another boy; one who was a bit more outgoing and adventurous. But he probably noticed that Simon’s confidence grew when he was around me so Terry made all the right noises and welcomed me into the family.’

  ‘Sounds like it was just a formality in the end.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ she says. ‘Terry generally gets what he wants. I stayed there for a weekend, which went really well, and before I knew it I’d moved in w
ith them permanently.’

  I know nothing about it but I assume when kids get adopted there’s a legal process that results in them taking on the adoptive family surname. It seems insensitive to ask about hers; I figure one day she’ll tell me. There’s a lot about her I still want to know.

  ‘So you became the big sister?’ I say.

  ‘Yeah, it really was like that at first. I suppose he did look up to me. That made me feel wanted; he was someone I could protect.’

  ‘So where did it all start going awry?’

  ‘He grew up!’ she says, shaking her head. ‘It’s ironic. I suppose I helped to give him the confidence to become the son Terry always wanted him to be. As he went through his teens his father started to mould him in his image. I feel a bit responsible for that.’

  ‘No. You just helped him reach his potential. You couldn’t have known he would turn out bad’ I say, putting my arm around her waist. ‘From where I’m sitting, he seems to have helped you move in the opposite direction.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she says before looking away embarrassed. ‘That’s probably why I still bother having anything to do with him.’

  ‘That and the fact you have to live under the same roof.’

  ‘I don’t have to stay there,’ she says. ‘If I wanted out badly enough, I’d only have to ask his dad.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Sure. Terry just wants me to be happy,’ she says with a wry smile.

  ‘So you keep saying. You must have some hold over him. Don’t tell me he turned into a monster and now you’re old enough to ruin him.’

  ‘That’s one way to describe it,’ she says. She must see the look on my face because she quickly adds: ‘No, not like that. He’s never laid a finger on me.’

  ‘I’m relieved to hear it,’ I say, rubbing my neck where I can still feel his grip on my throat.

  ‘You know, I actually think he’s afraid of me,’ she says.

  ‘We are still talking about the big bloke who pushed into my house yesterday and threatened me with physical violence, yeah?’