BURN, BABY, BURN

by Jake Barton

  Half an hour later, sunlight bathed the distant Welsh hills, but the wind was insistent, probing the gaps between her clothing, seeking out bare flesh. The chill biting into the long muscles of her back, Donna thrust her hands deep into the pockets of her trusty duffel coat and ran to her car. Who’d be a fashion victim in weather like this?

  As she pulled into the drive, Donna noted with some trepidation that Dexter’s car was already parked in front of the garage, blocking the entrance. She had to park at the far edge of the gravel and walk under the trees to reach the door. The light drizzle earlier had awakened green shoots and refreshed blooms on the brink of closing down for the coming winter. Damp earth and musty vegetation, sodden leaves underfoot turning into rich aromatic mulch, season of mists and mellow fruitfulness already, she mused, avoiding a soggy puddle with some difficulty. A raindrop fell from the overhanging foliage, dropping with unerring accuracy into the tiny gap between her collar and neck. She reached behind, slapping the space between her shoulder blades at the touch of the icy invader. Roll on spring, she thought, well aware that winter had not yet made its unwelcome appearance.

  The front door stood partly open and she went inside, soggy Reeboks squeaking slightly on the Italian tiled hall. Dexter had rung first thing to say he needed her at the Meols Drive house no later than eight. It was now twenty-past and Donna was late. Again! Perhaps Roper wouldn’t be there.

  Of course, the first person she saw on entering the front room was Roper. "I had hoped your recent tardiness was an isolated instance," he said in his most pompous voice. "Now you’ve deigned to honour us with your presence, perhaps you’d be good enough to offer a few words of support to our client." Donna glanced past him and saw the tear-streaked face of Paula Dobson. She looked awful. Her eyes were red-rimmed, as if she had been swimming in heavily chlorinated water, and the deep shadows underneath stood out against the startling pallor of her skin. She stretched her slender arms above her head, and smiled bravely.

  "I keep forgetting I’ve got company." Her voice rasped, like a sanding block dragging across timber. Donna smiled back and moved to sit next to her. A couple of stray hairs escaped the precision of Paula’s hairstyle, brushing softly against her cheek. She batted them away with the backs of her fingers.

  Dexter came over, his face troubled. "No contact yet," he said, waving a hand towards Roper who was on full alert, head bowed over a tape recorder, a gigantic pair of headphones perched on his bullet head. He patted Paula’s hand as gently as he would a valuable piece of porcelain. "We’ve been here most of the night. Take over for a while, would you, Donna? I’ll shoot back to the office and check the post and then get my head down for an hour or two. Did you get your new lodger settled in?"

  Donna felt her neck redden and nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Dexter grinned amiably, not really paying attention, and wandered back towards Roper.

  Paula crossed her long legs. "I understand you’ve taken in a stray," she said. Donna nodded, unsure where this was leading.

  "Lovely man. Gary, I mean," Paula continued. "He was a real tower of strength at one time, devoted to his kids, although he and Helen, that’s my sister, had the odd problem, like most people. I shouldn’t say this I suppose, but I imagine she wasn’t the easiest person to live with. Things were never the same for Gary after the night of the fire. I’d hoped he might have found somebody else after all this time, but…"

  Donna nodded again, not really wanting this particular subject to continue but felt it important that Paula talk. "He was very hard on Helen. Blamed her, you know? Not just because the boy who did it had been in her class, but also because she’d brought the kids back from their Gran’s house that evening. They were supposed to be staying the night, but were both running a bit of a temperature, so she brought them back home. A neighbour saw that boy, Marcus Green, hiding in the bushes, just watching he was and the children screaming all that time. Horrible. The Police rang me with the news and it was the worst night of my life. I had to ring Gary and tell him. I’ve never heard a man cry like that. It was just awful."

  "Where was Gary then?"

  "Working away. In Edinburgh if I remember correctly. He kept on saying, if only he’d been there, he could have saved them. I think Gary thought Helen should have done more to save the children, unfair as that sounds, but you know what it’s like when people suffer a loss like that. They say things they shouldn’t."

  "It must have been a terrible experience for all of you."

  "Yes," she said sadly. "It was. It got to such a state that my husband had what he called a quiet word with Gary about him coming round so often. Told him all that emotional grief was upsetting Celine. Gary took it the wrong way and stopped coming round. We’ve not seen or heard from him in years."

  A telephone rang in the hall. Paula ignored it, not seeming at all concerned. The reason was provided when the ringing stopped a few seconds later and they heard the plummy tones of Mister Dobson in the hall. A few moments later he came to the door, indicating to Dexter that the call was for him. He didn’t look at his wife and she ignored him completely. To Donna, this appeared to be a marriage with long-established problems, following a familiar script where neither party required the services of a prompter. Dexter went out, closing the door behind him. Donna could no longer hear his voice, but when he reappeared his face was grave.

  "Donna," he said. "A moment please."

  Donna followed him to the hall. Dobson was climbing the stairs. He half turned and smiled at her. He looked awful – great bags under his eyes and a greyish tinge to his skin. Dexter waited until he’d moved out of sight before speaking. Donna looked around the hall. A cherry wood side table was worth more than all her furniture put together. The Davenport behind it was probably even more valuable. The pictures she imagined were worth a bomb, but despite taking Art at A Level, she would be the first to admit she wasn’t up to speed on prices. She knew what she liked and that was about it, but one thing she was certain about – most of this was top quality gear. No less than five Tiffany lamps. She’d had a good look at one and saw it was the real thing, not one of those artful Christopher Wray reproductions. She tried to estimate the value of the fixtures and fittings in just this one room, but gave up the task. Too many noughts.

  "Good job we moved Gary Rudd out to your place," Dexter said grimly. "That was Andy on the ‘phone. Rudd’s place is burning like buggery. Andy’s there now. Fire Brigade reckon there’s no chance of saving it. You’d best get back to your place and see he’s all right." He stopped, looking at Donna carefully. "I don’t want to worry you, but if it’s deliberate, and we both know it is, then it was intended for Rudd. Keep him out of sight, away from his house. Safer that way. If it was intended to harm him, best not to involve him at the scene."

  Donna felt numb. She’d wanted an important case to work on, but this sort of thing was getting out of her league.

  "I’m supposed to interview that Jimmy, Alex Melia’s mate at half eleven."

  "So go and see him then. I don’t suppose it’ll get you anywhere, but if you’ve arranged it, might as well follow it through."

  *****

  Celine wept quietly as Marcus tied her to an iron radiator. He’d removed her clothes on entering the empty flat. All the flats on this landing were boarded up, but this one at least showed signs of recent occupation. Empty milk cartons littered the floor and a filthy mattress suggested that the flat had once been in regular use as a shooting gallery for heroin addicts. The squalid surroundings dragged her spirits to a new low.

  Dressed in the tracksuit and a cheap pair of sandals, she’d sat quietly in the front of the dinghy while he’d rowed across the lake to the deserted shoreline. She saw no other signs of life until they entered a small clearing where a dark coloured car was parked. It was a different car to the one she’d seen him driving previously. A large anonymous saloon, very different from the sleek sports car he’d been driving when he’d stopped to offer her a lift. When was that? She
’d lost all track of time. She recalled with burning shame the alacrity with which she’d accepted his offer. He was handsome, the car was a dream and it was raining. Three reasons that overrode all the warnings her parents had drummed into her over the years.

  At the end of her road, they’d parked up, chatting like old friends for an hour or more and when he’d asked to see her again she’d been ecstatic.

  Their second meeting had, predictably, ended in a hotel bedroom and when he’d suggested going away for a few days she’d not hesitated. With the absolute certainty of parental disapproval should her plans be known, she decided to follow the advice of Marcus and say nothing to her parents. Let it be our secret, he’d said. She’d not even told Lisa. Celine looked at him now, fiddling in his bag, and shivered with revulsion.

  Earlier, he’d tied a piece of cloth tightly across her mouth, pushed her into the car boot and slammed the lid. It was pitch dark apart from pinpricks of light from a few small holes, purposely drilled in the floor. She’d been in the boot for an hour at least, maybe more. She’d felt the rough track change to a smooth road surface, but had no idea of the route they’d travelled. The car had stopped briefly at one stage. Traffic noise and the sound of a car door opening and closing. After a few minutes, the door had opened and closed once more and shortly afterwards the car started off again.

  Arriving at the flats, she’d seen no one. All the blocks seemed derelict, boarded up with plywood sheeting. ‘Gas Off’ was written on the boards covering the windows of the flat they’d entered, a broken padlock hanging uselessly from a length of chain fixed to the door.

  Marcus removed a Polaroid camera from the canvas bag he carried and prised off a section of plywood to admit more light. Reaching into the bag once more he produced a small screw top bottle. He unscrewed the cap and sprinkled the contents over her face and upper body. The metallic taste of the blood made her feel sick and she vomited up bile, retching helplessly. He ignored her, fiddling with the focus of the camera. Celine screamed and he walked forward a couple of paces, slapping her face hard.

  "Nobody will hear you," he said. "Annoy me again and I’ll hurt you." She sobbed, covering her mouth in an attempt at silence. Marcus opened a newspaper and handed it to her. It was the Daily Mail, the thicker Saturday edition.

  Was it Saturday today? She wondered.

  A whole week since she’d met Marcus in Parkgate. He’d asked her to wait by Mostyn House School, at six o’clock and he’d collect her. He’d been bang on time and the memory of the pleasure and anticipation she’d felt when his car drew up made her feel sick.

  "Hold the paper in front of you," Marcus said. "Keep your face clear, that’s it. Hold it like that." He pressed the shutter and took the paper away from her, waiting with controlled patience for the image to appear. He nodded in satisfaction, waving the print in the air to dry it before slipping it into a brown envelope. Removing a towel from his bag, he moistened it with water from a plastic bottle and threw it towards her. "Scrub yourself clean and put the clothes back on," he said. "I’m taking you home."

  *****

  Gary had insisted on going straight round to his house when Donna told him about the fire. What was she supposed to do, tie him up? She’d told him of Dexter’s warnings, but he’d disregarded her completely.

  In the end, Donna took him along in the car. The place was a mess. She’d parked up fifty yards away and the smell of burning was intense. Blackened timbers, water running along the gutters from the hoses still playing ceaselessly on the smoking remains. Donna said nothing as Gary sat in the car next to her. What could she say? His eyes were fierce, staring at the pitiful scene, fire engines parked all down the road and a clutch of sightseers thronging the pavements. Donna couldn’t see Andy, but his car was parked at the far end of the road.

  "Back in a minute," Gary said, reaching for the door catch. Alarmed, Donna reached across and grabbed his arm. "Please don’t," she said. "Dexter’s no fool. If this was meant for you, you shouldn’t be here."

  He nodded, gently removing her fingers from the sleeve of his jacket. "I’ll be careful," he said, getting out of the car and walking briskly down a cobbled alley between the two end houses. Donna sat there like a lemon, unsure of herself for only the twentieth time today. Two minutes later, a motorbike drew alongside, startling her. She was even more shocked when she identified the rider as Gary.

  "In the shed at the back," he said. "Not touched. Nobody saw me so stop worrying." He rode off and Donna followed his upright figure back to her own house.

  When Donna had said she had to follow up a possible lead, Gary had offered to tag along. Insisted more than offered, but she was glad enough of the company, so they went on Gary’s bike. He put the bike on its stand and they entered the graffiti covered doors of the Dee Hotel. Inside was a revelation to anyone who remembered it as the former favourite haunt of the local hard men. The main lounge was all potted palms and pastel coloured soft furnishings.

  Donna looked around and spotted a young man sipping a pint of lager. Tall, gaunt, almost skeletal, in appearance, he fitted the description she’d been given to perfection. Anorexic, a major smack user or a distance runner were the three choices that suggested themselves – the latter, judging by the fluid ease with which he insinuated himself through the crowd at the bar. Donna walked across and confirmed that she was in fact talking to Jimmy. He didn’t offer a surname and she didn’t ask for one. Gary had said he’d keep out of it unless Donna needed him, so she went to the bar and got herself a lager then sat down next to Jimmy. He had red pinch marks either side of his nose where he’d obviously been wearing glasses for a good long spell and he rubbed the marks absently as he sipped at his drink. Donna took a closer look.

  "New lenses?"

  He grimaced. "Yeah. Only my second day. Not used to them yet."

  " Tell me about the last time you saw Alex, Jimmy." Enough small talk.

  He nodded. "Well," he began, eyes closed, a frown line of concentration etched on his forehead. "I was going for my morning run. I didn’t usually go that early, but we’d been out on the piss the night before and I needed to run the ale out of my system." He grimaced. "We’d had a right skin full, me and Alex, he was probably worse than me. He’d come back with me in a taxi as he was too pissed to drive. He sometimes ran with me, but when I looked in on him, he said to go on and call for him on the way back so he could just do the last leg." He looked at Donna again. "Alex used to be keener than me at one time. He certainly had more talent. Cross-country champion at school and everything. We joined the University athletic club together, but the last couple of terms he’s let it slip." His voice was bitter.

  "Why is that do you think?"

  He shrugged. "Bit of this, bit of that. That girl didn’t help, Celine. A right little prick teaser. Used to have him running her all over the fucking place, just in the hope of the occasional shag." Donna said nothing. He obviously knew nothing of Celine’s disappearance; she’d have really panicked if he had. Nobody was supposed to know, so Donna made no comment.

  "I’m not saying anything against her as such, more fool him for getting involved, but sometimes it can’t be helped. I’m not one to talk – got a girlfriend ten years older than me and that’s not really an ideal match. No, it wasn’t just Celine, there were other things that took his mind off the running." He stopped talking, fiddling with his empty glass. Donna didn’t really want to break the flow of his talk by going to the bar, but saw it was inevitable. Gary appeared at her elbow with a pint for Jimmy in one hand and a half for Donna in the other. He walked over to the next table where he’d been patiently waiting and collected his own drink.

  "All right if I join you?" he asked, sitting down without waiting for an answer.

  "A mate," Donna said to Jimmy.

  "Cheers," he replied, raising his glass. "Any mate of Donna’s who buys me drinks is a mate of mine.’ He grinned as he took a long draught.

  "You were saying, about other things that had t
aken the edge of Alex’s interest in running," Donna prompted.

  Jimmy frowned. "Well, Alex has a bit of a rep as a dealer," he said. "Oh, don't get me wrong, nothing major, just looking after a few mates, that sort of thing. Nothing heavy either, just a bit of pot and a few Ecstasy tablets. He’d never touch the hard stuff, I’m sure of that. That’s what went through my mind when I saw the geezer. That Alex had been dealing on someone else’s patch – trod on a few toes, know what I mean?" Donna nodded. "I reckon he’s lying low somewhere until it blows over."

  "Do you have any idea where he’d go?" Jimmy shook his head.

  "You mentioned a geezer? Why don’t you tell me exactly what happened the other morning?"

  He looked at her, his expression calculating. "You said on the ‘phone you’d make it worth my while?" Donna sighed. She’d been given permission by Dexter to spend up to fifty pounds a day on expenses, but drinks and other items would all be included in that. She’d talked over all this background stuff with Gary, but he surprised her when he spoke for the first time. "Ten quid all right?" he said.

  Jimmy nodded, sipping his drink. "Yeah, that’s sound," he said. Donna blinked. She’d been about to offer twenty-five.

  "What time was it?"

  Jimmy thought for a moment. "About half-five," he said. "I’d been along the prom and round the sea wall, that’s about half an hour and the clock was striking five when I went out. I came back through Corrie Gardens and called for Alex. He was waiting outside the house, sitting on the wall. Even under the streetlights I could see how rough he looked. Really hung-over, you know?" Donna nodded.