Ricky stood there. No idea what to do. I was still shaking with fury. ‘Sit down,’ I said sharply.
‘But Debbie said—’
‘Sit down and shut up. You can tell it to the police.’
I knelt beside the man called Chris McPherson. His face was awash with blood, it bubbled from his nose. His eyes were shut, swollen – one of his eyelids was split. He held his hands clasped together against his mouth. He was still trembling and crying softly. I spoke to him quietly, trying to reassure him. ‘It’s over now. It’s all right. The ambulance is coming. You’re going to hospital. You’re going to be all right.’ I put my hand lightly on his shoulder and repeated the words over and over, blanking out everything else. Blanking out the awful thought that I was culpable. If I hadn’t told Debbie where Crowther lived, this wouldn’t have happened, would it? Not now, not tonight, not like this.
‘They’re on the way,’ said Jules, ‘what happened then?’
I was silent.
Within seconds I heard the sound of the siren followed by the pulse of blue light. I moved aside to let the ambulance men past.
They checked Chris, exchanged some words with each other and one of them went back out to the ambulance.
‘What happened here then?’ asked the other.
A beat or two. No one spoke then I said, ‘He was attacked.’ I nodded towards Ricky. ‘Beaten up. We called the police as well.’ I looked at Chris McPherson. ‘Will he be all right?’
‘I think so. He’s got cracked ribs, a broken nose, and his eye’s a mess. They’ll need to look at that. They’ll keep him in, check for concussion, internal damage. He’s still conscious, that’s a good sign. You a relative?’
‘No.’
He looked at Jules; she shook her head. He didn’t bother asking Ricky. His mate returned with a stretcher. They lifted Chris onto it and covered him with a cellular blanket. ‘Going on his own then?’
‘Nah, I’ll go with him,’ said Jules. ‘Can’t leave him by himself. There might be people he wants to tell. Poor sod. I’ll get me bag. And you,’ she paused on her way out, looked at Ricky, ‘yer sad bastard, I hope they send you down for a good stretch.’
The police arrived and talked with one of the ambulance men in the hallway. They came into the room.
‘Bit of a mess,’ commented one of them, referring to Chris.
‘Come on, son,’ said his mate in a thick scouse accent. ‘You come along with us now.’
Ricky still looked dazed. ‘But Debbie said he lived here.’ As if it would all have been hunky dory if only he’d battered the right guy. ‘I thought—’
‘No, you didn’t,’ I said. ‘You didn’t think at all. You just…’ I couldn’t continue.
They’d all gone. I sat on the bottom stair, my arms wrapped tight around my knees. Trying to warm up inside where my guts were iced with rage and fatigue and fear. The front door was still open and I could hear the noises of the city; a plane climbing steeply, the squeal of a bus braking, the sibilance of cars on wet tarmac. I could see the drizzle floating down beneath the street-lamp.
Where was Gary Crowther tonight? Round at Debbie’s again, keeping vigil, watching, waiting? Thrilled by his obsession. Mentally composing more fevered letters of spite and sexual hatred to write on his return? Or off on some mundane business, working shifts, visiting family, catching a late-night movie?
I sat and let my mind meander. Recalled the sound of crying, my own voice screaming at Ricky: ‘It’s the wrong man!’ Joey D, dead now, Joey with his shades and his knife. Joey watching, yelling: ‘Ahktar! Ahktar! He needs an ambulance.’ Siddiq’s sidekick shrieking; ‘You done wrong, man.’ The wrong man…wrong man. Zeb and Ahktar, side by side, by the dance floor, matching jackets. Not wrong man…the wrong man. And then I knew.
So tired. I ought to leave the house in Ayres Road but the effort of getting up seemed beyond me. In a minute, I promised myself. In a minute.
It took five. Before I left I dialled Ray. Told him I wouldn’t be long.
I put my face up to the sky, charcoal-grey now, and let the mist fall on my skin. My throat was raw from roaring at Ricky. I moved to the car but he caught me by the arm.
I turned, sudden anger flaring again. I was ready to shake him off. Tell him about the injunction, tell him about Chris McPherson. No longer frightened of the sad man in the old suit and his cruel infatuation.
I turned and Rashid Siddiq said, ‘We’ll take my car. There’s somebody wants to see you.’
Chapter Twenty-Eight
He kept my arm bent up behind my back to steer me towards a dark car, a Volvo, parked nearby. Of course, they wouldn’t just have the white van, they could use that to spook me but they had plenty of cars to choose from. It hadn’t even occurred to me; I’d only been looking for the transit. Stupid.
I debated whether to try getting out of his grip. The knowledge that he was in charge of security for Jay, that he had been used to send a little warning when required made me hesitate. I didn’t think my limited self-defence moves would be adequate to escape.
When we reached the car he clasped both my wrists together behind me in one of his huge hands and frisked me with the other. He removed my mobile phone, purse and personal alarm and pocketed them.
‘Hey,’ I started to protest.
Swiftly he grabbed my hair and slammed my face against the car. The wave of pain made me retch.
‘Shit.’ He moved back a little, freaked at the prospect of vomit on his shoes. My nose began to bleed; I couldn’t wipe it. He held onto my wrists and tied them together with what felt like nylon rope.
‘Quiet,’ he admonished in a whisper. ‘In the car.’
He opened the back door and steered me in. He sat beside me. Zeb Khan was at the wheel.
Neither man spoke. We drove north skirting Hulme where the infamous crescents had been demolished ready for rebuilding. Thirty years earlier the slum terraces had gone to make way for the shiny new walkways in the sky. Broken concrete, broken dreams. Cracked by poverty.
Siddiq used his own phone to make a call. ‘We’re on our way.’ Short and sweet.
We followed the diversions through town. Lights were rigged up to enable the crews to continue to clear the debris from the bomb and prepare for demolition. The Marks & Spencer building would go; there were rumours about the Corn Exchange and the Royal Assurance building. Surveyors were still assessing the structural safety of the Arndale Centre.
Blood dripped onto my coat. It pooled above my lip and I licked some of it away I did not allow myself to wonder where they were taking me or what they would do. I knew it would unmake me and I needed all my wit and wariness, every ounce of sense and intuition. Whenever my mind veered towards the questions, I blocked it.
On Cheetham Hill Road, Zeb took the car round the back of the J.K. Imports building opposite the petrol station, where I’d once trailed Siddiq. It felt like months ago.
We went into a compound fenced round with chain link. There were two Portakabins along one edge, illuminated by harsh security lights.
Siddiq escorted me from the car. Gripping the top of my arm, he pulled me towards one of the Portakabins. Zeb passed us, mounted the two wooden steps and knocked on the door.
‘Come in.’
We crowded into the room. The man behind the desk rose. ‘Miss Kilkenny, Jay Khan. Your nose is bleeding.’
‘Yes.’ I was surprised my voice still worked, ‘comes of having it slammed against a car.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Jay said. He spoke to Siddiq in what I guessed was Punjabi, then English. ‘Rashid, please, untie the lady.’ He turned back to me. ‘I’m afraid Rashid overreacts. There is no need for this, surely?’
My hands free, I rubbed my wrists where the cord had left deep grooves and then foraged in my pocket for a hanky. There was one in my jeans, back pocket. I pulled it out. Peter Pan, one of Maddie’s. No, oh no. I felt a swoon of dizziness. Caught myself.
‘I didn’t bring you here to hurt you,’
he said. His Mancunian accent was tinged with southern vowels as though he’d been spending time in London and acquiring new habits.
‘No?’ I wiped my nose, it throbbed horribly. ‘Why, then? Why did you bring me here?’
Zeb and Rashid had moved back and were leaning against the wall beside the door. Jay gestured at the table opposite his desk. It bore an architect’s model of a building.
‘Do you like it?’ he asked. ‘Expansion. We’re opening our new warehouse next year. Ski-wear, après-ski, surf and dive. Business is good.’
‘Which business is that then?’ I said it before I realised how dangerous it could be. ‘Looks good!’ I tried to cover my tracks.
He paused a moment, just to let me know. ‘We’ll keep on with the fashion side, the street wear, but this’ll open up a whole new market. And we can use both sides to get the ideas going. Kids in the club coming up with wacky new outfits, incorporate it into the leisure wear, turn it round and sell it back to them – aprèsski for the club.’
But I wasn’t interested in his little lecture on his empire.
‘Why am I here?’
He got himself a cigarette from his desk, lit it and inhaled. He blew smoke rings. Very accomplished. My nose hurt; it felt as though it had doubled in size. I’d been hit in the nose before and it hadn’t been broken. Would I end up like an ex-boxer this time? You silly sod, I thought, that’s the least of your worries. But I didn’t let the others come crowding in.
‘These rumours you’ve heard…that’s all they are – malicious gossip. I thought we should get that straight. Now, Rashid here, he thinks there’s only one way to get a result, but I don’t. You’re an intelligent lady…’
Woman, actually.
‘…no reason why we can’t come to an understanding.’
‘I don’t follow,’ I said.
‘Joey D is dead.’ I wondered how he had heard so quickly. ‘It was only a matter of time. He sold you some Mickey Mouse version of what went on the night my cousin was killed. You should forget it.’
Or else? ‘I have a client–’ I began.
‘Who’s clutching at straws. He’ll get his trial, but I’d be seriously unhappy if the garbage that junkie dreamt up is smeared around. Shit sticks,’ he said sharply, ‘and that’s all it is – a crock of shit.’
No one said anything for a minute then he smiled. ‘Besides, it puts Rashid here in a bad light. Most unfair. With Joey gone it’s just hearsay. There’d be compensation of course. I don’t expect something for nothing.’
‘You’ll pay me to keep quiet?’ I kept my voice neutral. They didn’t know I’d given the tape to Pitt or that I’d reported Siddiq to the police. What choice did I have? If I refused his offer he’d hand me over to Siddiq. ‘How much?’
A knowing smile. ‘Enough to make it worth your while. A bonus. Treat yourself to a holiday – take the kids. A couple of grand should cover it.’ I felt like knocking him over.
‘When would I get the money?’ Trying to play it plausibly, cautious but greedy. I wanted them to let me walk out of there.
‘There shouldn’t be any problem. Early next week, say?’
I nodded.
‘You see?’ he turned to Siddiq. ‘Negotiation.’ He spread his hands wide to demonstrate. ‘Sorted.’
‘How do you know she won’t take the money and then grass you up anyway?’
‘Aw, no,’ Jay laughed. ‘That would be stupid, very stupid – suicidal, in fact.’ His eyes were bright with the threat. ‘That’s clear, isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. Rashid will take you to your car now. I’ll give you a bell. Take care.’
Rashid no longer manhandled me though I sensed his mistrust. I felt my head pulse with pressure at the temples. The knot in my stomach felt as though it was made of hot rock, burning holes in the soft tissue.
‘I don’t like this,’ Siddiq said to Zeb.
Zeb climbed into the driver’s seat. ‘What about Sonia, the video tape from the club?’
Trust them to remember that – my spur-of-the-moment threat.
‘Destroyed,’ I said, ‘they tape over them after a fortnight’ The bluff worked.
‘You told anyone about this notion that Sonia wasn’t there?’
I thought my way around it. ‘It would help,’ I said diplomatically, ‘if you could find someone else who remembers seeing her, like you did. It might come up.’ I talked as though there would be a trial, that Luke would stand accused. Whatever Jay had promised, I needed to convince the two men who had me captive that the deal was sound.
The silence on our return journey was interrupted by the bleeping of my mobile phone. Ray calling to check why I wasn’t back. The phone was still in Siddiq’s pocket. He fished it out and handed it to me, indicating I should answer it. I did.
Dermott Pitt’s voice ricocheted round the car. ‘Sorry to ring so late again but you did ask to be informed as soon as we’d made any progress. Thought I’d give you a try, see if you were still switched on. CPS have been back to me.’
My neck prickled and I moved to cut the connection. Siddiq clocked what was going down immediately. He gripped my wrist and took the phone from me.
‘We gave them the tape and the Deason boy’s evidence put the fox among the chickens all right,’ Pitt’s voice went on suavely, ‘should be no problem with the bail application and they’ve as good as said they’ll refer the whole thing back to the police. So your Mr Siddiq should be off the streets pretty sharpish. Good news. Thought you’d like to know. I hope to—’
Siddiq cut him off and slammed the phone against the headrest in front of him. ‘Shit.’
‘Fuckin’ ‘ell,’ swore Zeb. ‘I knew she–’
‘Park-up, off the road,’ barked Siddiq.
‘Where?’
‘Anywhere,’ he shouted, ‘somewhere quiet.’
My mind went wild with confusion, I fought to concentrate, to make a plan but I couldn’t settle my panic. And I knew that now they would never let me go
Chapter Twenty-Nine
‘Showcase,’ said Zeb. He swung into Hyde Road, drove fast past the bus depot, used-car showrooms and derelict buildings. The multi-screen cinema had a large car park. It would be deserted, this time of night.
‘She taped him,’ said Zeb, ‘she taped Joey D. The law have got it now. Shit, man. This is doing my head in.’ He swerved into the car park which was large, black and floodlit. The rain had stopped but everything was glistening in its wake. There were cars near to the building, presumably for late screenings, but the far end was empty.
Zeb parked as far from the buildings as possible, at the very perimeter. We could not easily be seen from the busier end of the car park. There was just one car nearby. I assumed it was a breakdown or stolen. Or a courting couple? Hope leapt for a moment until I looked and saw no sign of people, no steamy windows.
Zeb turned round to face us. ‘She pretends to do a deal and she’s already stitched us up. Bitch.’
‘Get out of the car,’ Siddiq spat the words at me and got out.
‘What you going to do?’ asked Zeb, following him. ‘Rashid, what you gonna do?’
‘Get out of the car!’ Siddiq screamed at me. I climbed out trying to plot an escape route, uncertain where to run. Siddiq gripped my arm again. It hurt badly. ‘No one does this to me,’ he hissed, ‘you’re going to have an accident. Fatal.’
Zeb began to speak rapidly. ‘Hang on. Think it through, man. You can’t…they’ll know it’s you. They’re looking for you, soon will be, and they know she dropped us in it. They’ll do you for her as well. We’ve got to think it through. We need to be clever, this time.’
‘I’m the one goes down, not you, not your fucking brother. We should have just left it, left Ahktar. If we’d just left it…’
‘Don’t blame me, man. It wasn’t my idea to do the whole witness stuff. Don’t lay that on me, that was Jay.’
‘He blew it. Worried about the Force rooting round, worried i
t’ll get too close, for comfort. Wanting it sorted. And this tart pulls it out the bag like a fucking magician.’
‘Killing her won’t help, will it, eh?’ I couldn’t believe Zeb was pleading for my life. ‘It’ll make it worse.’
‘I’m not doing it. You are.’
‘No way. You’re mad, guy.’
‘You run her over.’
‘Shit!’ He shook his head, backing away, ‘They’ll trace the car, anyway.’
‘Torch it, report it missing. Joyriders.’ Siddiq took the keys from Zeb and dragged me round to the boot. ‘They knocked her down, reversed over her. Freaked out and torched the car.’ He opened the boot, got out the spare petrol can.
‘And how did she get here? Her car’s in friggin’ Old Trafford. Use your brain. This is mental. I’m not doing it, I don’t want any part of it. You’ve lost the fucking plot, man.’
‘You are part of it, you wanker. You’re pushing so much up your nose your brain’s melting. If it wasn’t for you, none of this would have happened. None of it!’ he bawled. His grip on my arm was so hard my fingers were going numb.
‘I know that. You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t think about that? It was my cousin,’ Zeb was losing his temper, too, waving his arms as he ranted. ‘But you should have known. Hell, Rashid, you work with me and don’t give me that crap about the jacket. You need your bloody eyes examining. You cocked it up, Rashid – not me, not Jay, not Mohammed – you! Jay should have dumped you then; I should have dumped you. I couldn’t believe it, you killed my cousin and then you tell me it should have been me! Like it’s my fault! Bloody ‘ell, man.’
He shook his head, still incredulous at it after all this time. ‘You’re telling me my darling brother’s ordered my doing over, ‘cos I’ve overstretched the bank, and you’re telling me you’ve killed my cousin by mistake and you’re asking, begging me for help. Threatening to grass us up if I say anything. I still can’t believe I did it, but I helped you out, Rashid. Don’t you forget that, man. I got Luke.’
‘Oh, yeah? You didn’t give a fuck for your cousin; you don’t have no honour, Rangzeb, none. All you care about is snorting it up your nose and saving your arse.’
Dead Wrong Page 19
