The Rule

by David Jackson

  ‘Big fan of it, apparently.’

  Scott was glad to get off the topic of Joseph Cobb. ‘Massive. He carries a briefcase everywhere, acting like he’s Adam-9. It’s his birthday next week. He doesn’t know it, but we’ve got him a proper Adam-9 briefcase, buttons on it and everything, plus an ID wallet and a rubber mask. The mask is a bit freaky, but in the show Adam wears masks that make him look like other people. We never actually see what the real Adam-9 looks like.’

  Hannah smiled. ‘I know. I’ve seen it umpteen times myself.’

  ‘You have?’

  ‘Yeah. Courtesy of my daughter. It was . . . it’s one of her favourite programmes.’

  Scott noticed the sudden change of tense, but didn’t query it.

  Come on, Marcel. Get us out of this. I’ve run out of things to say.

  He was saved by the bell. Gemma answered it, admitting a younger copper who looked like he’d just run upstairs. Scott stood aside as Hannah relayed the barest of information to her junior.

  ‘Next stop the hospital,’ Marcel said as he escorted her to the door.

  ‘I don’t need the hospital,’ Hannah answered. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘You blacked out. That’s a mandatory hospital trip. Look at you. You can hardly walk.’

  ‘Stop going on at me like we’re a married couple, Marcel.’ She turned to Scott and Gemma. ‘No offence intended. By the way . . .’ She dug a card out from her jacket pocket and proffered it to Scott. ‘If you think of anything, or hear something from your neighbours you think we should know, give me a call.’

  ‘We will.’

  He watched them leave, still bickering as their voices faded down the corridor. Then he closed the front door and pressed his forehead against it.

  ‘Oh my God!’ Gemma said behind him. ‘They know!’

  ‘They don’t know,’ Scott muttered.

  ‘They do. They’re on to us. What are we going to do?’

  Scott whirled on her. ‘They’re not on to us. They don’t suspect anything.’

  ‘Then why did they come here? You said you’d dealt with it. You told me we were safe.’

  ‘We are safe.’ He went up to her, lowering his voice to stop this developing into a slanging match that would frighten Daniel. ‘You heard what they said. They know Cobb has been murdered, but that’s all they know. They’re not even sure whether he was killed in this building. They came here first because Cobb visited someone here, and that detective only ended up in our flat because she was attacked. None of that has anything to do with us.’

  ‘But how do they know he was murdered? It’s only Monday, Scott. How did they get to us so quickly?’

  ‘I . . . I don’t know. They must have found the body.’ He avoided saying ‘body parts’.

  ‘How?’

  ‘I don’t know, all right? I didn’t think they would, but they must have.’

  ‘Then it’s only a matter of time, isn’t it? They’ll do tests. Forensics. They’ll trace it back to us, Scott.’

  He took hold of her upper arms. ‘They won’t. There’s nothing to trace. And even if there was, we’re not on their system. They’ve asked their questions and moved on. We’ll never see them again.’

  ‘But what if they do come back? What’s our story going to be?’

  ‘We don’t need a story. We have no motive. We have no past connection with Cobb. There’s no reason to suspect us. If they ever come back – which they won’t – then we just act dumb. We tell them we know nothing. Okay?’

  He could see the fury in her eyes, her utter disappointment after having trusted him to brush this mess out of their lives.

  She tore her gaze away and nodded towards the hallway.

  ‘And what about Daniel? What if they ask him what he knows?’

  21

  Ben’s mouth dropped open. ‘What the . . .?’

  Hannah shrugged. ‘You should see the one on the back of my head. Puts that one to shame.’

  ‘What the hell happened?’

  She brushed past him as she entered the hallway. ‘I need a drink. Only I can’t have one because I’m pumped full of painkillers.’

  ‘You’re avoiding my question.’

  She kept going. Into the living room, where she kicked off her shoes and sat down on the sofa. Ben followed her.

  ‘I was attacked,’ she said.

  ‘How’s the other guy? In a hospital bed, I hope.’

  The comment surprised her. ‘I think you need to tear up your pacifist credentials. I didn’t see the other guy. Bastard whacked me with a stick from behind and then ran away.’

  ‘Where did this happen?’

  ‘Ground floor of a block of flats. We’d just split up to do a door-to-door.’

  ‘And nobody saw anything?’

  ‘One guy came to my rescue. By that time, I was already out of it.’

  ‘What do you mean, out of it?’

  She hesitated. ‘I mean I’d lost consciousness.’

  ‘You’d lost—Jesus, Hannah. You need to see a doctor.’

  ‘I’ve seen a doctor. Marcel Lang insisted on it. I’ve just come back from A&E.’

  ‘You’ve just—Oh my God. Why am I only just hearing about this?’

  ‘Because I knew exactly how you’d react, and it’s what you’re doing now, fussing over me like a grandmother.’

  ‘I’m your husband. I’m allowed to fuss. What did they say?’

  ‘That I’ll live to fight another day. That I’ve still got a brain. Technical stuff like that.’

  Ben leaned in and began ferreting around in her hair until she slapped him away.

  He said, ‘Good job you’ve got such a thick head. Why the hell were you searching buildings anyway?’

  ‘In case you’d forgotten, I’m a detective. I investigate things and look for clues.’

  ‘You’re also an inspector and the lead on the case. You should be sitting in an office where it’s nice and safe, and sending your minions out to do the dirty work.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I don’t trust my minions.’

  ‘You don’t trust your own officers?’

  ‘Okay, that’s not entirely true. I do trust them. But I need to make sure this one is done right. There’s a lot riding on this case.’

  ‘Your control freakery isn’t worth getting killed for.’

  ‘I won’t get killed. The attack had nothing to do with the investigation. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.’

  Ben frowned. ‘Any ideas who did it?’

  ‘Not sure. We had a slight run-in with some lads who hang around the building. Could have been one of them, but I’ve got no proof.’

  ‘Well, I hope you’ve got police swarming all over that place. You need to get the bastard who did this to you.’

  ‘It’s fine.’

  ‘It’s not fine at all. Assaulting a police officer is not something to be dismissed so lightly, especially when the officer concerned is my wife. I’d go looking for him myself if I wasn’t so opposed to confrontation and violence and getting my arse kicked.’

  ‘I don’t want to make a big thing of it.’

  ‘Why not? That bump on your head is a big thing. Massive, in fact.’

  ‘Stop making me out to be the Elephant Man. The reason I don’t want to make a fuss is because I want to spare my Good Samaritan.’

  Ben gave her a knowing look. ‘Oh yeah? Tall and dark, is he?’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘Bravery and strength of a dozen men?’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  ‘Younger than me?’

  ‘Early twenties.’

  ‘I hate him already. What’s the deal with this white knight? Think carefully before you answer.’

  ‘For one thing, he didn’t really see anything. For another, he’s got learning difficulties.’

  Ben blinked. ‘Oh.’

  ‘Yeah. He took me up to his flat and looked after me until his parents got home. Heart of gold, but not so talented in the intellect department
. I really don’t want to bother him any further with this. It wouldn’t be fair.’

  ‘I don’t think it’s fair that your attacker gets away with it either, but if that’s the way you want to play it . . .’

  ‘It is.’

  It occurred to her to tell Ben about the reason why she hadn’t heard her assailant sneaking up on her. About seeing Tilly again, so close and so . . . so alive. But then she remembered how he’d reacted last time.

  ‘Have you eaten?’

  ‘I had a bag of crisps from the hospital vending machine.’

  ‘And that’s it? Christ, are you determined to end up on a slab? Right, give me ten minutes.’

  She thanked him as he dashed off to the kitchen. Sometimes she wondered if he minded doing all the cooking and housework, although he never complained about it.

  She picked up the remote control from the coffee table and switched on the television. She flicked through the channels, but could find nothing of interest.

  Ben brought in a cup of tea. ‘Drink that while you’re waiting. Leftover curry and rice okay?’

  ‘Wonderful.’

  When he disappeared again, she sipped her tea, but was unable to relax. She put down her cup and stood up.

  ‘Just going to get changed,’ she called, then went upstairs.

  She stood in front of her bedroom door, but didn’t open it.

  She moved along the landing. Opened the next door instead. The door to Tilly’s room.

  When she entered and put the light on, it was as if all the sights and smells rushed into her, overwhelming her senses. A shudder passed through her body, and she had to bring her hand to her mouth to stifle a cry. For some reason, the effect on her seemed more potent now than it had ever been.

  They had left the room undisturbed since Tilly’s death. The bed was made, the cuddly toys lined up on it, awaiting her return. Her hairbrush was on the dressing table, still clinging desperately to her strands. A colouring book was on the windowsill, a green crayon resting on the section she needed to fill in next.

  The room was ready for her to come back, and would remain so until Hannah and Ben told it to abandon its vigil.

  Hannah went to the large wicker hamper by the window and opened it. She reached in and pulled out an Adam-9 action figure. Beneath that was a stack of Adam-9 comics they had brought back from a trip to Japan. The text was in Japanese, but it hadn’t mattered to Tilly, because these stories weren’t available in western countries.

  She thought back to her vision of Tilly in the lift, then meeting Daniel, and it seemed to her almost as if the latter was simply a continuation of the former: that her little girl had merely changed her outward appearance. Inside that large hulking frame of a man was an eight-year-old. Still simple and pure and kind.

  It was probably a ridiculous notion.

  But she clutched it to her aching heart nonetheless.

  22

  When Ronan Cobb turned up at his mother’s house on Tuesday afternoon, it was with a sense of satisfaction. By now, word had got around that Joey slept with the fishes, or at least with the rotting bones of fishes and other garbage, and that put people in Joey’s line of work on edge. It suggested that reprisals might be coming, that they might be next in the firing line. Experience told them that it was wise to clam up.

  But what had begun as a tedious chore for Ronan had been turned by the death of his brother into a calling, and so he’d put the work in. He’d posed a lot of questions, called in a slew of favours, issued a number of threats. And now Ronan, ace private detective that he was (even though this was more an instance of sheer luck rather than investigative prowess), felt he was finally on to something. His mother would be proud.

  Myra Cobb looked at him like he was a piece of shit.

  ‘Where the hell have you been?’ she demanded.

  No ‘Hello, how are you?’ No ‘Would you like a cup of tea or coffee?’ No hug or kiss.

  Not that he wanted to go anywhere near his mother at the moment. She looked worse than ever. Drunker, and dirtier. Her hair was lank and shiny with grease, the ends coated in chunks of what looked like vomit. She was still wearing the black armband; it had slipped down to her forearm and was stained with glistening wet trails. Ronan guessed she had been wiping her nose on it.

  ‘Where do you think?’ he answered. ‘Been trying to find out what happened to Joey, haven’t I?’

  She appeared suddenly and melodramatically mournful. ‘Joey. My beautiful son. They murdered him.’

  Ronan wondered if she would put on such an act if he told her he was about to drop dead of terminal cancer or something. He suspected she would order him to pull himself together and get on with the bloody search. Funny how you can have identical twins and still prefer one over the other.

  ‘I’m getting there now, Mam. I’ve been asking around, and—’

  ‘Useless twat. The rate you’re going, the police will have them first, and then what will we do, eh? How will we get even if they’re locked up in a cell? Useless bloody imbecile.’

  Ronan took a tight grip on the seat of his chair, forcing himself to stay put. He so wanted to walk out and never come back again. His mother seemed to be forgetting that he was also related to Joey, that he might want to get his hands on the murderer every bit as much as she did.

  ‘Anyway, as I was saying, I’ve been asking around. Ended up talking to Biggo.’

  ‘Who the fuck’s Biggo?’

  ‘James O’Rourke. He got the name at school because the teacher kept spelling his name with a lower-case o, and one day he lost it and shouted out, “It’s big O, you plank! Big O!” Funny, really, because he’s actually pretty small.’

  Myra stared at him and downed a swig of her gin. ‘Fascinating. What’s your point?’

  Ronan took a deep breath. ‘The point is that Biggo told me he often hangs out with his mates at a block of flats called Erskine Court.’

  ‘Doing what?’

  ‘Nothing much. Just chilling out. But that’s not what—’

  ‘Waste of space, all of them. Youth of today. Should be shot, the whole lot of ’em.’

  ‘Yes, Mam. So what Biggo tells me is that he was there yesterday, and the cops turned up. And not just any cops, but that detective who came to see us. He described her down to a tee. She was asking about Joey, about whether Biggo and his mates had seen him there over the weekend.’

  Myra finally showed some interest. ‘Joey was there? Why?’

  ‘That’s what I wanted to know. Turns out Barrington Daley lives in that building.’

  ‘Barrington Daley? That piece of shit? He’d sell his own grandmother if he thought she was worth anything.’

  ‘My thoughts exactly. I wouldn’t put it past him to be involved in Joey’s death.’

  Myra mulled it over, and then something ugly crept into her expression. ‘Wait a minute. Why has it taken you this long to get to Barrington? He’d have been top of my list.’

  ‘It didn’t. I phoned him yesterday. He denied all knowledge. Said he hadn’t seen Joey for ages.’

  ‘You think he was lying?’

  ‘Either that or it’s one big fucking coincidence that the police are swarming all over his arse.’

  ‘Don’t fucking swear in this house, Ronan. I brought you up better than that.’ She glared at him suspiciously. ‘When did you hear all this from your friend Biggo?’

  ‘This morning.’

  ‘This morning! Then what the hell are you doing here? Why aren’t you at Barrington’s place, putting thumbscrews on him?’

  ‘I just told you, Mam. The police are there. They’ve been knocking on every door since last night.’

  ‘Since last night? Well, they’ve got to be done by now. Get your lazy arse over there and talk to that motherf—that scumbag. I want to know why the police suddenly find him so interesting. And before you go . . .’

  She put down her glass. Pushed her chair back. Ronan raised his eyebrows as he watched his mother actually get up
from her seat and turn towards the sideboard behind her. It was the most active he’d seen her in ages. As she bent to open one of the doors, Ronan noticed a dark patch on her grey trousers. She’d pissed herself at some point and failed to notice.

  She came back to the table with a shortbread tin. Slid it across to Ronan.

  Ronan was moved by the simple gesture. ‘Thanks, Mam. Could we have some tea with them? I’m gasping here.’

  ‘Open it, you prick,’ she said.

  He reached across and lifted the lid. Inside, something was wrapped in an oily rag. He unfolded it.

  It was a semi-automatic handgun. A Colt .45. Huge and heavy and lethal.

  ‘Mam. What’s this?’

  ‘What’s it look like? Take it. You’ll need it with a snake like Barrington.’

  ‘Mam, I can’t wander into a building full of coppers with a cannon like this on me. That’s just asking to be locked up.’

  Myra leaned forward. ‘Did you hear what they said about Joey? He was murdered and then chopped into tiny little pieces. Whoever did that to him were psychopaths. They won’t hesitate to do the same to you. Take the gun, Ronan. You’ll be glad you did.’

  With reluctance, he picked up the Colt, hefted its weight in his hand.

  ‘It’s fully loaded,’ Myra said, ‘so be careful with it.’

  Ronan stared at the weapon. He wasn’t going to ask how his mother had acquired such a thing, but he was willing to bet it wasn’t the shopping channel.

  23

  Despite his mother’s edict to get his lazy arse straight over to Erskine Court, Ronan gave it another couple of hours for the area to be clear of cops before he ventured through its doors. The lobby was empty when he arrived, and he went straight to the lift. His adrenaline was running high. No telling what Barrington Daley might do when he saw who was at his door. Ronan didn’t have much of a plan. What if Barrington confessed to killing Joey? What then? Waste him? Cripple him? What was the appropriate penalty?

  He came out of the lift, stood in front of 801 for a moment. He checked the .45 pushed into the back of his waistband, then rapped on the door. When it opened a crack, he shouted ‘Boo!’ and Barrington screamed.