by P. R. Black
‘How do I know if it’s actually the police? Remember what Susie McCracken said.’
‘Say you’re not sure of their credentials. And don’t let them in. Talk to them outside, at the gate.’
‘You’re joking, aren’t you?’
‘Absolutely not. They’ve no right to come into a house without a warrant – their status is the same as anyone off the street, until then.’
‘I don’t believe this! Why are you making me do this?’
‘Because you’re a better liar than me,’ he replied, simply. ‘If they ask you about two guys appearing at the house, break-ins in the area, anything like that – you’ve seen and heard nothing.’
‘What if they ask to come inside?’
‘Say the place is an absolute bomb site, that we’re still decorating and you’d rather they didn’t.’
‘I can’t say that!’ Vonny shrieked. ‘They’ll pick up on it right away! If I stand there and tell a pack of lies, they’ll know!’
‘Don’t piss about,’ Seth hissed. ‘The longer you leave them hanging, the more suspicious they might get. Say you’ll meet them at the gate in two minutes. Hey – it could be absolutely nothing.’
‘I doubt it somehow,’ she snapped. Then she composed herself, pressed the button and said: ‘Sorry about that – I’m up to my eyes trying to get things finished in here. I’ll come down in a minute.’
‘Don’t trouble yourself,’ came the reply. ‘We can come up to the house, if you’ll buzz open the gate.’
‘I’ll come down to see you in a minute,’ Vonny said, and broke the connection. She slapped her forehead, repeatedly. Seth put his arms around her.
‘Deep breaths,’ he said. ‘This could be nothing. A missing cat. A paperboy fiddling his change.’
‘It isn’t though. This is it. This is the end.’
‘Say nothing. Plead complete and utter ignorance. I’ll head out the back way before you go.’
Vonny composed herself before heading down the path towards the gate at the bottom of the drive. She could still smell smoke in the air as she opened the door, and cursed this. The winter sunshine was low but bright; otherwise it was a chilly day, and the bite in the breeze gave Vonny something to focus on as she approached the two men by the gate. The PC in uniform was comically tall, with a glum expression on very young features that might have been better fitted to a comedy sketch. The man in plainclothes was wiry, with a long, pointy face and a curiously benevolent cast to his eyes. He had grey hair with a few dark strands remaining, perhaps having gone that way prematurely. He was maybe forty, surely not much more than that.
‘Ms Kouassi?’
‘Hiya. Vonny will do,’ she said, zipping her fleece top up to her neck.
‘As I said on the intercom, I’m DI Leonard. Mind if we come in?’
‘Can I see some identification, please?’
‘Sure.’ Leonard held out his warrant card; PC Whelan did the same. It didn’t look too much different to DI Bell’s from a few days before. After he replaced the card inside his pocket, the detective rubbed his hands. ‘Jeez, it’s windy enough to blow my wig off out here. Didn’t expect it to be so blowy. There’s a wind chill factor, for sure.’
‘It is breezy. How can I help you?’
‘Thing is, I’ll level with you – PC Whelan here’s earning his trade, and he was supposed to sort us both out with some tea before we met up. Only gone and forgotten, hasn’t he? Couldn’t trouble you with a cuppa tea, could I?’
‘Do policemen usually make house calls so they can get a cup of tea?’ Vonny asked. She tried to sound ironic, but inside her every alarm bell was clanging. The tone, the bright delivery, and above all the coercion to let them in… This was serious, and they knew something.
‘Well. We wanted to talk to you about fake policemen. Specifically this one.’ Leonard held his phone at the ready. On it was a picture of the man who’d come during the week to speak to Vonny – the one she’d invited in, before the break-in. The one Susie McCracken was sure had been a fraud. A younger picture, his longish blond hair a little brighter, still ludicrously styled.
He was the one who had surely been casing the house.
Vonny made a quick decision: the simplest, easiest solution. ‘He was over the other day. One of your colleagues, I think?’
‘I’m afraid he isn’t one of our colleagues,’ Leonard said.
‘Really? Who was he?’
‘We’d rather speak about this indoors, if you wouldn’t mind.’
‘I do mind, if a bogus policeman came to my door. I mind very much.’
‘Shame.’ Leonard squinted into the sky. ‘I hear snow’s on the way later. Just in time for Christmas.’
‘That man gave me the creeps,’ she said. ‘So I’m very nervous about inviting people in.’
Leonard and Whelan shared a look. ‘Did he take any liberties with you, Ms Kouassi?’ the elder man asked, gently.
‘I wouldn’t say liberties, exactly. Just a manner. If you don’t mind, we can talk out here.’
‘Understandable,’ Leonard said. ‘We just wondered what he’d said when he came over to you.’
Vonny paused. ‘He was warning us about people who’d been in the area, looking to break in. He was warning us about making sure our security was up to scratch.’
‘And is it?’
‘Still a work in progress. Secure enough.’
‘Looks like a Tanner system you have,’ Leonard mused, nodding towards a security camera at the top of the fence. ‘Do you have any footage recorded of when this man came to the door, or inside the house?’
‘The system isn’t online yet. We’re having it done in the next few days. The guy freaked us out, a bit. You’re saying… he’s not in the police? Meaning he’s a fraudster?’
‘That’s right. Anyway… you invited him in, is that right?’
‘Yes. He came in for a cup of tea, in fact.’ Vonny held Leonard’s gaze. At no point was he challenging or forceful. The PC hadn’t said a word, but it was the silence of gormlessness, she felt, not inscrutability; there was nothing intimidating about it. In contrast, Leonard had a face you wanted to trust; and that, in a policeman, was unnerving.
‘Look, Ms Kouassi, I totally understand why you’d be wary about people coming into the house. I’ll give you a card – we’ll talk on the phone, if you prefer.’
‘That would be good. The house… We’re trying to get it all finished before Christmas. We’ve got a lot on.’
‘I totally understand. We’ll talk later, yeah?’
‘Sure.’ She took the card he proffered through the gates. This one at least looked the part, with the force livery prominent and a landline number attached. ‘I’ll give you a call this afternoon. I should have half an hour to spare after three.’
‘No problem. Just so I can be clear – was your husband around, when this man came to visit?’
‘He wasn’t in.’
‘Is he in now?’
‘He’s out doing some clearance work in the woods. He might not even have his phone on him – he forgot it the other day.’
‘Ah, that’s no problem. We’ll catch up eventually. You get yourself inside, Ms Kouassi – you’ll end up with pneumonia out here! Take it easy, talk to you later.’
35
Seth walked away from the house, and away from the scene of the fire. He’d done his best to clean it up, and the site was dampened down, now. He’d kept the blaze going all day. He had to do it – and not just for the obvious reason of there being two bodies to obliterate. He had to maintain a presence, to keep nosy parkers or genuine wanderers away. He especially couldn’t chance that fucking kid coming back, looking for Hedwig the barn owl or whatever. He especially couldn’t have anyone going for a ramble and suddenly coming across something incriminating.
Like everything else in the previous twenty-four hours, utility had taken over. He’d heard people being criticised for compartmentalising things before – being able to switch of
f, to get on with a job. An ex-girlfriend had once made this observation about him when he was working on the album that had made his name, a Mercury-Prize-nominated early grime album that had sold well and given him a career, if not quite enough money to put him in the superstar class. He had applied the same focus and drive to obliterate two human beings, utterly. He thought about what had happened to the bodies under that intense heat. Whether the pops and hisses had been their body fat; whether the grotesque masks had fused with their skin, along with the clothes; at what point the consistency of the bones had charred and changed, before he smashed what was left to fragments, as a mountain might become a sand dune.
There had been little left of them. He had scattered the fragments with the same grim disdain as he would have had for changing a grate, or – now the thought properly nauseated him – dealing with the remnants on a barbecue.
He knew things would get bad later; had the awareness to know he was not a tough guy, like some of the people he’d grown up with – meaning he was not a psychopath. He was a big man, and had lifted his hands once or twice. Maybe a few times. Just enough to provide a little bit of a reputation; just enough, added to his huge frame and height, to make people wary of him. In truth the idea of violence disgusted him. But he had that temper, that quickness, when things got rough. There had been an expectation of him, in certain situations. A reputation that went before him. And then Vonny had arrived; someone he’d spoken to at a launch party for the jazz album he’d produced. He’d felt like a wallflower at that event, utterly out of place – and then he’d got talking to the front cover designer. Vonny was a friend of a friend of a friend, who’d felt the same.
She’d been ethereally beautiful, so much so that she intimidated people more than he did. But he’d felt no discomfort in talking to her, at that uncomfortable event, the pools of conversation he couldn’t enter, the topic that felt closed off. Talking to her had been easy. He’d felt no sense of grift or opportunism in asking for her number, and she’d been happy to meet him for a drink somewhere quieter. They were both driven in their own fields – one pathway didn’t cross the other. Their professional lives ran parallel, while their personal lives intertwined. And he’d had no sense of being part of a soap opera with Vonny, none of the conflicts that had doomed earlier relationships. That was the thing about Vonny; she was the first woman not to make any sort of demands on him. He could trust her implicitly. She didn’t want to provoke competition, as one or two women he’d known in the past had. He had seen a future with her. He’d even seen – and he’d only mentioned this to his mother, once – the woman who might have his children.
And now, this. How they’d come out of this anyone’s guess. Seth had had work to do, and it had helped him focus. Now he had to sort out another part of the problem. And he had to do it fast.
No need for a burner phone just yet. All he was doing was calling Simon, one of the sound engineers. A guy he’d worked with, a guy he knew well, and more importantly, a guy who knew People.
‘You’re late, Seth,’ Simon said. He sounded as if he was eating something.
‘I’ve been busy. So talk to me.’
‘You bringing it down?’
‘What? All of it?’
‘Maybe just a little taste, so we can see what we’re getting.’
‘I’d rather not. I’d rather find somewhere off-piste, if you know what I mean.’
‘I’ll see if I can arrange that.’
‘You get any more numbers to me?’
‘The numbers are the easy bit, big guy. The hard bit might be staying alive.’
Seth stared around at the trees. He could see a silvery ribbon of running water through the gaps; he wasn’t far from the lake. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘I mean, this stuff you’ve got is legendary. You know about King Arthur, right? It’s legendary like that. People don’t believe it’s real, but it is. There’s a big score that went missing a while ago… Vanished off the face of the earth. Some people reckon it ended up being dumped at sea. Some people think it’s still there on the bottom. Treasure of the Sierra Madre.’
‘The Grail. Yeah, I heard about that.’
‘It was thought to have been blagged, then it mysteriously disappeared. Lots of people think they own it. Lots of people very agitated, my friend.’
‘Best you just find the one buyer and stick to it then, eh?’
‘All in hand, Seth. Don’t you worry. Just don’t be telling anyone else about it.’
Seth ground his teeth. ‘Agreed. Don’t you be letting slip where it is, will you? Not sure I want too much trouble at my door.’
‘Try to relax, Seth. We’ll arrange somewhere to take a little taste. Find out if it’s legit. Once they do, we’ll get everything sorted for you.’
Seth hung up, and paced around the trees, glad of the cover. He wanted to shout, now. He clenched his fists. Then he turned abruptly, up the path towards the western side of the estate. There was a five-bar gate at the end, that let out onto a crossroads through the Fultons’ fields, on the north side of the road. He reached it, tugging hard at the rusted latch and kicking away brittle nettles and other detritus that had curled around the gate. He might walk to the pub, and cool off a little. Let Vonny cool off, as well.
He had no sooner let the gate clang shut, and turned to head towards the tractor-wheel-rutted track to the main road, when a man appeared in front of him.
‘The fuck?’ Seth said, staggering back against the gate.
‘Easy, my friend,’ came the other’s voice – a high, cockney accent, different to Seth’s. ‘Christ almighty, son, you look like you’re about to pop an aneurysm. Take it easy, there.’
‘Who the fuck are you?’ Seth placed a hand in his jacket, and the other’s eyes widened, more in mirth than alarm.
‘I hope you’re not packing anything in there I won’t bust you for,’ he said, chuckling. ‘I’m DI Leonard. Was talking to your missus about ten minutes ago, back at the house. She sent me packing. So I just thought I’d take a look around. Hope you don’t mind.’ He held up his warrant card. Seth squinted at it, warily.
‘This is private land,’ Seth said. ‘So yes, I do mind people wandering around.’
‘In fact, there’s public paths around the back, and even one or two really old ones up the middle of the estate that you can only find on old maps. Including the one that runs parallel to your wall, here.’ The policeman grinned as he replaced his warrant card. ‘I know. I checked.’
‘What do you want?’
‘Just wanted to pass on a few security tips. Seems there’s been a bad lot around. Pretending to be policemen and whatnot. Coming around and asking silly questions. Probably using the community-spirited chat to take a look at security systems and figure out ways around them. Some clever bastards, out there. It’s easier than you’d realise. Conning people, I mean. All it takes is flashing a bit of a card and having more front than Southend.’
‘Hope that doesn’t include you,’ Seth said.
‘Ah, the warrant card’s real enough. I will give you some security chat, though. You’ve got a few exits round here that could do with tightening up. That gate you’ve just come out of, for example.’
‘Well, we’re in the process of fixing the place up. It’s been a big job. We’ve got some landscaping to do out here.’
Leonard nodded. He smiled a lot; it was difficult to see his small eyes, when he did so, and even harder to read them. ‘Big job, no doubt about that. You built a few bits ’n’ pieces already?’
‘Just the house, really.’
‘How about that shed?’
‘What shed?’
‘The shed. You know. You’ve got a shed near the house, haven’t you?’
‘Yeah, I’m refitting that.’
‘I don’t follow. I mean your new shed. Built it from scratch, didn’t you? Are we talking about the same shed?’
Seth blinked. ‘Yeah. Just up at the house. It still needs flooring a
nd decorating inside.’
‘That’s weird – I could have sworn I saw a few pictures of the inside of your special shed. In the local paper. DJ equipment and that kind of stuff. Decks, is that what you call it? Yeah, it looked fully floored and kitted out.’
‘Nah, it’s not finished, pal. Believe it.’
The policeman pulled at his bottom lip. ‘Unless you meant another shed?’
‘Nah, there’s only one shed on this property. The other one – the one that was still standing? Previous owners? That’s rubble now. I got the builders to pull it down.’
‘Strange one, that shed. And the Datsun, too. Hidden under some bushes, wasn’t it? Tied up under tarps? Clever bugger, Dan Grainger. Wonder why he went to the trouble to hide an old banger?’
‘You tell me. I sold it, incidentally.’
‘Yeah, I know. Seems like it was packed with drugs.’
‘Drugs?’ Seth sounded appropriately incredulous; he let a good tot of his natural shocked reaction escape. ‘I had a look through that car. No drugs there, pal. I can tell you that.’
‘Oh no, no drugs in the car. Only we tracked it down and checked it out, and at some point, it had drugs in it, all right. A lot of drugs.’
‘All I found was a bit of mould,’ Seth said.
‘Who knows what happened?’ the policeman said. ‘Maybe some squirrels ate it?’
‘Lucky squirrels,’ Seth said, chuckling.
‘Hey, maybe one squirrel said to the other – let’s go nuts!’
‘Yeah. I bet they were all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.’
The policeman howled with laughter, warming to his theme. ‘They were out of their tree!’
Seth laughed. It was more a release of tension than genuine mirth. It felt treacherous, coming out of his mouth. He felt more like himself, and he shouldn’t. Guard up, old son. Tuck your chin in. ‘Well, I’ll keep an eye out for any stoned squirrels. I’ll see if any of them get the munchies.’
‘You do that, fella. I’ve left my card with your other half. But I’ll leave you one, too. Keep it on you. If you do hear anything, let me know right away. And do get your camera system set up, won’t you? Big properties like yours, out in the sticks… Sorry, that’s patronising. Somewhere rural, I should say… That can be a target, sometimes. If you’ve got any quad bikes, anything like that, keep ’em under lock and key. And of course, if you find anything that looks like drugs…’
