by Mark Tilbury
Liam kept moaning about the pain in his shoulders, the numbness in his hands and arms. Then, I had one of my better ideas. I crawled between his legs and hoisted him into the air on my shoulders. Bolts of pain shot through my body, but just being able to help him in some small way was worth every minute.
After a short while, he asked me where I’d put the notebook.
‘Behind the boiler. There’s a metal flap. A vent or something. I’ve hidden it behind there.’
‘You sure no one will find it?’
I wasn’t. ‘Yeah.’
‘How will you get it back out? This place is always locked up.’
‘Maybe I can ask Hodges to get it for me, when he comes down to check the boiler.’
‘Do you reckon he would do that?’
‘I don’t see why not. Hodges is all right.’
Liam was quiet for a moment as if weighing up the pros and cons of asking favours from a member of staff. ‘Yeah. Do that, Mikey. It’s a good idea.’
I felt a slight flush of pride. At least I could do something right.
‘I wonder if any of those stories about the war are true?’
I tried to shrug, and then realised I had about eight stones of dead weight on my shoulders. My neck made a nasty crunching sound. ‘I don’t believe all that stuff about storming German positions on his own.’
‘Not with his limp.’
I laughed. ‘Maybe that’s how he got it.’
‘He told me he was born with one leg longer than the other one.’
We fell silent for a while. I didn’t know how long I could hold him up. My head was banging like a drum, and either Liam was putting on weight, or I was getting weaker.
When Liam spoke again, he took me by surprise. ‘Do you believe in ghosts, Mikey?’
I made the mistake of trying to shrug again. ‘I haven’t really thought about it.’
He surprised me again. ‘I do.’
‘Really?’
‘I don’t see why not. We’ve all got spirits, haven’t we? That’s what makes us all different.’
‘True.’
‘Do you ever think about dying?’
Every day since coming to Woodside. ‘Sometimes.’
‘I wonder if there’s really such a place as heaven. Or hell? If you believe in one, you’ve got to believe in the other.’
‘Carver and Kraft are going to hell.’
‘Too fucking right. And that vicar. And Reader and Malloy. The fucking lot of them.’
‘I hope they all get burned alive.’
Liam was quiet for a moment, and then said, ‘They can’t be burned alive, if they’re already dead.’
I laughed.
‘I wonder what happens to people who kill themselves? I mean, it ain’t right killing yourself, is it, Mikey?’
‘It depends.’
‘On what?’
‘If you’ve got a good reason.’
‘Maybe. If you’re in loads of pain. Or dying anyway. But, not just because your wife has left you. That ain’t no excuse, is it?’
I didn’t want to disrespect his dad. ‘It’s hard to say. I’ve never been an adult.’
‘Your mum had a lot more shit to deal with than my old man did.’
‘Some people are just stronger than others.’
‘I fucking hate him for killing himself. I wouldn’t be in this mess if it wasn’t for him. If he hadn’t been such a—’
‘Try not to think about it. It’s done, Liam.’
He didn’t seem to hear me. ‘I used to think he was really tough when I was a kid. He used to walk about with his top off in the summer. Tanned, big muscles, hairy as a gorilla. Pick me up and put me on his shoulders, walk me to school. I used to feel ten feet tall. Nothing could ever hurt me. Not when I was with him.’
‘He sounds like he was a better dad than mine.’
‘I used to think he was made of stone. But, he wasn’t, was he? He was as soft as a cowpat when it came down to it. Couldn’t even be bothered to stick around to watch me grow up.’
My knees were buckling under his weight. I would need to put him down soon. Perhaps I could hold him for half an hour, rest for a while, and then, pick him up again. ‘I’m sure he loved you.’
Liam snorted. ‘Fat lot of good that is.’ And then, after a few seconds, ‘I wish he was here now, Mikey. Here to smash Carver’s head against a wall.’
I managed another five minutes before giving in to the pain and putting him down. I straightened up, feeling guilty as he sucked in air through clenched teeth. Pain scrawled its signature across his forehead, giving him the appearance of an old man.
‘I’ll pick you up again in a bit. I just need to rest my shoulders a minute.’
‘It’s… all… right…’
I crouched down, relieving the pressure on my knees. The boiler hissed in the corner of the room as if trying to imitate Liam. The dirty concrete floor looked so inviting to my battered body. Just to lay down and go to sleep forever.
‘Mikey?’
‘Yeah?’
‘You gotta promise me you’ll make it out of here.’
‘We’ll—’
He shook his head so violently I thought he was having a seizure. ‘No. Forget about me. They’re going to kill me. I’m done. Finished. But, you’ll be all right if you do what they say.’
‘I don’t want to—’
‘Just fucking listen, Mikey. I haven’t got the strength to keep shutting you up.’
So, I listened.
‘One day, you’ll get out of here. You won’t be a kid forever. First chance you get, go. Don’t let them get under your skin. Don’t let them turn you into a robot who’s got no feelings left. You understand what I’m saying?’
So tired now. ‘Yeah.’
‘There’s four ways you can end up, Mikey: dead, destroyed, a turncoat like McCree, or stronger. Someone who’s determined to make the bastards pay for what they’ve done. Do you get me?’
I couldn’t see how Kraft and his sort would ever pay. They had all the power. But, I didn’t want to disagree with Liam. ‘I get it.’
‘Promise me you’ll make them pay.’
‘I promise.’
‘Find someone who will listen. Someone who isn’t fucking evil like them. And you tell them what happened here, Mikey. How they raped and murdered kids. How they tortured us, and put us through hell, because we didn’t have no one else to look out for us. You promise?’
I promised.
He spat on the floor. ‘Blood brothers, right?’
I spat on the floor, too. ‘Blood brothers.’ I had an overwhelming urge to reach out and touch Liam’s face, brush his hair back, and push his glasses back up his nose. But, my hands were cuffed.
‘Don’t let them get away with it. Go to the fucking newspapers if you have to. Someone will believe you.’
To be honest, I didn’t think I would make it out of Woodside alive, either. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘What for?’
‘Letting Carver into the cellar.’
‘Don’t be stupid. It was either open the door, or get burned alive. At least this way, one of us lives to fight another day.’
‘Why do you keep saying “one of us”? You might—’
‘We both know I’m dead meat, Mikey.’
I didn’t answer.
‘You’ve got to do it.’
‘I’ll try. I promise.’
‘Good. Because, otherwise, all this ain’t worth a toss. They win. They get away with it. And it just goes on and on.’
My head was in danger of exploding. ‘What a fucking mess.’
‘Do it for everyone who’s suffered in this shithole. Do it for me.’
I nodded.
‘And don’t you ever forget, I’ll be up there watching you. Every fucking day.’
I wanted to tell him how much I would miss him. How much I loved him, but the words were bogged down in a massive lump in my throat. Instead, I crouched down between his legs, h
oisted him back onto my shoulders, and relieved the pressure on his body as best I could for a while.
Chapter Thirty-Three
They came during the night. I had no way of knowing what the time was, but there was no activity above us. No stomping on floors. No shouts. No screams. Just an eerie silence, broken only by Liam’s breathing and the hiss-clunk of the boiler.
Kraft and Malloy were both wearing white wigs and black gowns. They looked ridiculous. McCree and Carver struggled down the steps with a desk. After positioning it along one wall, they both walked back up the steps, and returned a few minutes later with two chairs. Kraft sat behind the desk with Malloy seated to his right. Carver and McCree remained standing.
Kraft produced a small, wooden mallet and banged on the desk. ‘Court is now in session.’
Carver ordered me to stand before the judge. ‘And stand up straight, you spineless runt.’
I tried my best. My legs were shaking so badly my knees knocked together.
Kraft studied me for a few moments. When he spoke, his voice was calm and clear. ‘State your name for the court.’
‘Michael Tate.’
He turned to Carver. ‘What is the charge?’
‘Theft, criminal damage, going AWOL, arson, and resisting arrest, your honour.’
‘And the other prisoner?’
Carver referred to his notebook. ‘Truman is charged with theft, criminal damage, unauthorised absence, wilful neglect, assault, arson, carrying a weapon with intent to endanger life, resisting arrest, abusing a man of the cloth, blasphemy, and dereliction of duty.’
Kraft nodded, as each of the trumped-up charges was read out. He shouted across the room to Liam. ‘Do you understand the charges, Mr. Truman?’
Liam hung from the railing, like an animal in a butcher’s shop window. ‘Fuck you.’
Kraft shook his head. ‘I see the prisoner has lost none of his appetite for insolence. Have you anything to say in your defence, Mr. Truman?’
Liam didn’t answer. He made a hacking noise in the back of his throat and spat on the floor.
Kraft turned to Malloy. ‘Can defence offer any mitigation for the prisoner?’
Malloy shook his head. ‘Unfortunately not, your honour. Truman has always been an awkward character. He has consistently shown a flagrant disregard for authority. On reflection, he might have benefited from a stricter approach regarding discipline, but, as I’m sure you’re aware, your honour, hindsight is a wonderful thing.’
‘Indeed. But, it is not the duty of this court to rake over the ashes of a prisoner’s past. What’s done is done. I understand the prisoner’s father committed suicide?’
Malloy preened himself like a strutting peacock. ‘That is the case, your honour.’
Kraft looked at Liam. ‘The apple never falls far from the tree, does it, young man?’
Liam held his head as high as he could and looked Kraft in the eye. ‘No. And sometimes people end up swinging from that same tree.’
Kraft banged his mallet down hard enough to split the wood. ‘I see that tongue of yours makes a very effective noose. I would like to remind you that you’re in a court of law. Everything you say can and will be used as evidence against you.’
Liam turned away, his face crushed by pain.
Kraft addressed Carver again. ‘You say the prisoner resisted arrest?’
‘Yes, your honour. We pleaded with both defendants to see sense, but Truman seemed to take some sort of perverse pleasure in taunting us. He said he’d poured petrol down the cellar steps, and he would set fire to it if anyone came through the door. We didn’t have a key, your honour. The best we could do was try to appeal to their better nature.’
Kraft adjusted his wig and dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief. ‘It might be fair to surmise characters such as these don’t possess a better nature.’
‘I fear you’re right, your honour,’ Carver said. ‘That has already been made apparent by the prisoners’ behaviour in the church.’
‘As I can unfortunately bear witness to. His language was both foul and abhorrent.’ He turned to me. ‘Why did you go to the church, Tate?’
To rob the place. ‘I don’t know.’
‘If I might offer a suggestion, your honour,’ Carver intervened. ‘They went there to steal.’
‘Steal what, Mr. Carver?’
‘Perhaps the gold candlesticks?’
Kraft wrote something down on a jotter. ‘Is that true, Tate?’
‘No.’
Kraft turned to Carver. ‘I’d be interested to know why they went to the church, Detective Inspector. The vicar is a personal friend of mine. I’m sure he would appreciate an answer. It might be prudent to see if you can elicit one from Truman.’
‘Certainly, your honour.’ He walked over to Liam and stood a few feet in front of him. ‘You heard the judge. He wants to know the real reason why you went to the church.’
Liam tried to straighten his head and look Carver in the eye. His breath rattled in the back of his throat. His glasses were perched precariously on the end of his nose. ‘We… went… there… to… pray…’
‘Pray for what, boy?’ Kraft said. ‘Salvation?’
‘To… pray… you… lot… die… a… slow… and… painful… death…’
Kraft banged the desk with the mallet. ‘Silence in court. Detective Inspector Carver? You may elicit an answer by whatever means you see fit.’
Carver drew back his arm and punched Liam in the stomach. The force knocked Liam back. His arms were almost wrenched from their sockets. He was left panting and gasping for breath.
Carver paced up and down in front of him. ‘Why did you go to the church, Truman?’
Liam stared at the floor.
‘Did you go there to steal?’
Nothing. Just an awful rattling sound as he struggled for breath. Carver drew back his arm to hit him again.
‘We went there to steal the collection plate,’ I shouted.
Carver paused, arm suspended in mid-air. He leered at me, a glazed look in his pale-blue eyes. ‘What did you say?’
I repeated it.
He turned back to Liam. ‘Is this true?’
Liam twisted his head to one side and ignored him.
‘Well, well,’ Kraft said. ‘Your depravity knows no bounds.’
‘I can offer no defence,’ Malloy said. ‘The boy is beyond redemption.’
Carver grabbed hold of Liam’s chin and tipped his head back. ‘You despicable piece of shit.’
Liam tried to move his head. Carver headbutted him. I watched in horror as Liam’s nose exploded in a spurt of thick, red blood. His glasses fell to the floor. One of the lenses shattered and fell out of the frame. He gurgled and spat blood.
‘Mr. Carver?’ Kraft said. ‘Would you like to take a moment?’
Carver rubbed his forehead. ‘I’m fine, your honour.’
‘You may continue.’
‘Thank you, your honour.’ He studied Liam for a moment, and then said, ‘Do you think it’s a good idea to steal from the church?’
Liam squinted at Carver. I knew he couldn’t see a thing without his glasses. I wished with all my heart I could stop the bastard assaulting him. The only thing I could think of doing was telling Carver it was all my idea. So I did.
Kraft looked at me as if I’d just spat in his face. ‘What did you just say, boy?’
‘It was all my idea. I talked Liam into it.’
Carver put his hand on the desk. ‘The boy’s a habitual liar. I would pay scant attention to what comes out of his mouth.’
Kraft nodded. ‘Quite. I’d advise you to keep quiet, Tate. Is that clear?’
‘But, it’s true.’
I didn’t see Malloy come up behind me. ‘Shut up, Tate. No one’s interested in your lies. One more word out of you, and I’ll have you chained to the railing like Truman. Do I make myself plain?’ I didn’t get a chance to answer. I felt a blow to the back of my head, and then the world turned black.
When I came to, Carver was addressing Kraft. ‘Truman obviously has no remorse, your honour. It’s clear to me he has psychopathic tendencies.’
Kraft rested his hands on the desk. ‘It’s clear to this court the boy has no moral compass. A tainted upbringing. Parents who completely abdicated their duties. But, that does not excuse his behaviour. The list of charges against him reads like something out of a gangster novel. We can safely assume the prisoner displays a lack of empathy; that was clearly illustrated by his behaviour at the school and at the church. Theft can never be condoned. He has been given ample opportunity to mend his ways. We’ve bent over backwards to try to rehabilitate him.’
Malloy coughed. ‘Indeed we have. Many times. A thankless and fruitless task.’
Kraft thanked him. ‘McCree?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Have you anything to add?’
McCree stepped forward and brushed a thick strand of hair out of his eyes. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Then speak now, lad.’
‘I caught him in the junior block one night, sir.’
‘What was he doing?’
‘He was in bed with one of the young kids.’
‘That’s a fucking lie,’ I shouted, unable to listen to any more of this crap. ‘He wouldn’t do something like that.’
Kraft whacked the desk with his mallet. ‘Silence in court, or I’ll have you removed into the care of Mr. Reader. And I, for one, know he won’t appreciate having to nursemaid you, Tate. Not at this time of night. Do you understand?’
‘But, Liam wouldn’t—’
‘One more word, and you’ll wish your mother had cut your tongue out at birth.’ He turned back to McCree. ‘Please carry on.’
McCree shuffled awkwardly. ‘I had to remove him, sir. He got all nasty. Accusing me of all sorts of stuff.’
‘Like what?’
‘Interfering. Spoiling his fun. That sort of thing.’
‘Thank you, McCree.’
McCree stepped back a couple of paces and bowed his head.
Kraft put down his mallet, formed a steeple with his fingers, and looked at Liam. ‘Words rarely fail me, Truman, but your actions sicken me to the core. I have taken all the evidence into consideration, and I’m afraid you leave me with no alternative but to pass a sentence of death upon you. May God have mercy on your soul.’
