BURN, BABY, BURN

by Jake Barton

  "What do you want from me?" Her voice was harsher than she’d intended and Dexter glanced quickly across, obviously becoming aware of his indelicate remark for the first time. Donna smiled reassuringly back at him. He nodded gravely and continued to give orders. Pupil-teacher mode felt safe and familiar. Less chance of causing offence.

  "Anything that looks odd or unusual, anyone who comes to the house – make a note of it. If you see Marcus, or anyone who looks as if they could be him, ring me straight away. Don’t get involved." He looked at her sternly. "I mean it, Donna. I know you reckon you’re a hard case in the gym, but this is different. Report in, nothing more." Donna frowned, but said nothing. When Dexter was in this mood, it was best to sit it out.

  "Remember what you’ve been taught," Dexter continued. "Keep moving, and don’t stay in one place too long. Neighbourhood Watch area. See the stickers in the windows? That means there’ll be a load of nosy bastards about. That’s the mother’s car, the Vauxhall Astra next door along. Don’t suppose it’s moved. She doesn’t go out much, from what I’ve gathered so far. I came past at midnight and balanced a pebble on the front offside tyre. I’ll check if it’s still there on my way out. If I come back it will be because the pebble’s gone meaning the car’s been moved."

  "Is she supposed to live alone?"

  "Yeah. One problem is she’s on benefit and they’re investigating her at the moment. A mate of mine at the Social reckons they’ve had three or four anonymous calls in the last month claiming she’s got a bloke living there. They’ve not turned up with anything, but they’ve asked around a bit and interviewed her about it which is bound to have made her more wary."

  "What’s the score with the anonymous calls?"

  Dexter shrugged. "Most likely because of who she is. Or rather, who her son is. People round here have long memories. The Greens used to live up on Caldy Hill, did you know?" Donna sat back, genuinely startled, shaking her head. "That’s right, real top-drawer types at one time. Had one of the big old houses that were knocked down a few years ago and made into flats. Retirement Homes for the Gentry, that sort of thing. The widow Green sold out to a developer, moved to where she lives now, and Marcus lived there with her up to the time he was sent down."

  "Bit of a come-down," Donna said, nodding at the shabby houses split up into flats that mingled with the better ones on either side of the road.

  Dexter nodded. "Compared to where I was brought up, this is bloody luxury," he said. Oh shit, here we go.

  "Scotland Road was no picnic, I can tell you. We had an outside tap down the back yard and…"

  "How long will I be stuck here?"

  Dexter stopped and raised a placatory hand. "I know, I know, I’m getting off the subject. Sorry. I’ll get Andy over to join you as soon as I can get hold of him. Better that way, more realistic – a couple in a parked car."

  Donna nodded, pleased that Andy would be coming to join her. Dexter chuckled to himself. "Andy was bloody hopeless at surveillance when he started," he said. "Expecting to follow people in that bloody Saab."

  Donna looked blank.

  "Headlights," Dexter said. "With Swedish motors, they stay on all the bloody time, day and night. Talk about conspicuous."

  Donna smiled, storing the information away to bait Andy with later.

  "You’ll be on your own for a while, so stay alert. I’ve only brought you here to see the house. If he comes it won’t be by the front door. Park at the end of the road where you can see the back entrance. Don’t take your eyes off that gate. Blink once and there’ll be someone there. You won’t know where they came from. Not for sure. If you need a pee, have it inside the car. Do you need anything?"

  Donna quickly shook her head, not wishing to pursue the subject. Dexter checked that her mobile ‘phone was fully charged, and gave her a Lion Bar as a parting gift before returning to his car. Donna watched his brake lights flash briefly as he slowed alongside the Vauxhall Astra, then drove on. Obviously the pebble was still in position and the car had not been moved. Donna started the engine and drove slowly down to the end of the road until she could just see the corner of the back gate, unwrapped the Lion Bar and settled down for a long wait. Something was bothering her, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

  *****

  The ground floor doors and windows were solid, but the building next door was a different matter. Marcus eased open a window and closed it carefully behind him.

  On the first floor, a narrow ledge extended right across the rear of both properties. He walked carefully along the ledge, heedless of the drop below, and, balancing precariously on the narrow strip of stone, worked on the lock of a metal fire escape door.

  The lock gave and he slipped inside.

  His research led him to expect a formidable level of defences, but with the ground floor being virtually impregnable; it had not been considered necessary to extend the same level of security to the upper storeys. By the faint glow from a shielded pencil torch he found his way to the main office and began searching.

  When he found the file he was seeking, he punched the air in an uncharacteristic expression of triumph. Five minutes later, he had relocked the door and was inching his way along the ledge once more.

  *****

  Faint mist softened the stark outline of the distant tower blocks. Donna could just about discern the famous Liverpool waterfront – the Liver Birds poised like alert sentries on their white stone perch, the swish apartments and designer outlets of the Albert Dock complex standing out brightly, reeking of new money even at this distance.

  A sea view, even if it were only the River Mersey, would always sell property. Water doesn’t have to be Mediterranean blue for prospective buyers to roll up and throw their bulging wallets in the direction of local estate agents. Warehouse conversions with river frontage were not confined to Liverpool – London Docklands, Bristol, Cardiff, even Salford bloody Quays for fuck’s sake, they were all at it. Every yuppie in town wanted a penthouse flat in the Albert dock, mingling with footballers and interior designers. Donna wouldn’t want to live there, but each to their own and anything was better than the dereliction that preceded the new developments.

  Donna loved this view. Winter and summer, it had the power to interrupt her present train of thought, regardless of its presumed importance. Not a bad idea in the circumstances. Last night had been a complete waste of time. She’d sat in the car on her own for over three hours until Andy came to keep her company. She’d called it a night at half five, leaving Andy to keep watch. He said he could manage another hour so Donna left him to it.

  Her head buzzed and she didn’t feel like going home just yet – too much on her mind. Mainly concerning Gary. She’d talked things over with Andy while they were on observation, but hadn’t come to any firm conclusions. She’d been making all the running so far and that was what was concerning her. Could it develop into something more serious, or was all this soul-searching a waste of time? Was he just thinking one night stand? And, more to the point, what did she want? Did she really want to get involved with a man who brought all that history with him? The loss of a child, particularly in tragic circumstances, must be a terrible shock to the system. Complete recovery was just not possible. She’d heard of amputees who continued to feel pain in a missing limb. It may be irrational, but at this level of hurt, reason no longer applied. The deepest wounds took the longest to heal – the one’s buried deep beneath the surface. Donna vowed to clear her head of such melancholy reminiscences. The memory of her father’s death had dominated her thoughts for long enough and she had no wish to add Gary’s experiences to her own. It was time to move on.

  Dawn had broken without her noticing. Donna looked at the clock on the dashboard and realised with surprise she’d been there over an hour. She turned the car round and headed home. The road passed desolate blocks of disused and abandoned sheds mixed with a few starter units for desperate souls trying to make something out of their redundancy money.

 
Demolition firms were earning a small fortune, ripping anything saleable from the shells of abandoned buildings. A single wall remained standing amidst a riotous heap of rubble, one side still papered, a floral pattern on the ground floor, pink and white candy-stripe in the bedroom, A smoke-blackened chimney stack seemingly all that kept the mass of bricks from crashing down to join their fellows. The wall stood out starkly, the solitary vertical feature in an otherwise flat and desolate landscape, like a defiantly raised finger signalling fuck you to the world.

  Donna drove on and reached what passed for civilisation, although local residents may not have agreed with the description. At some time in the future, this area would be a haven for the upwardly mobile, but it was difficult to imagine it now. The one thing it had going for it was that view of the Liverpool waterfront, and that would be its salvation. Eventually.

  Thin watery sunlight barely illuminated the dull greys and browns of the narrow streets, a pale early morning sun winking fitfully as Donna drove. It glinted on the dirty windows of a charity shop raising money for some hospice she’d never heard of. Perhaps it was a scam. For all Donna knew they all were, these charity shops that seemed the only boom industry in the High Street.

  I’m getting as cynical as Dexter, she mused. Must be the company I keep these days.

  *****

  Donna crept down the hall, unwilling to wake the household, but she needn’t have bothered.

  Peg was in the kitchen, wearing a long shapeless dressing gown and an anxious expression. Neither suited her very well. Donna walked over and hugged her, feeling the bones of her shoulder blades sticking through the robe. Peg smiled bravely, the extent of her concern and relief at Donna’s safe arrival clearly evident.

  Behind her, Gary sat hunched over his porridge, tendrils of steam escaping from the bowl.

  "Good morning, you dirty stop-out."

  Donna grinned, pleased to see him and instantly moved any previous reservations to the back burner. She had to spend a few minutes telling them what happened on the stakeout – more accurately, what hadn’t happened – before she could escape to the cool of her bedroom, undress and throw herself on the bed. She was asleep within moments.

  When she awoke, it was to the firm but gentle pressure of Peg’s bony hand on her shoulder. "Your boss has been on the ‘phone," Peg said, pulling a sheet over Donna’s nakedness. "I don’t know why you don’t sleep inside a bed like anyone else. Lying there starch naked."

  Starch naked?

  "Anyone could come in."

  "Who?" Donna asked, pulling herself together.

  "Anyone," Peg grumbled, a little vaguely. "It’s gone eleven anyway, time you were up. Sleeping in the day, it’s not natural." Donna groaned and prepared to rise. Once Peg had decided she’d had enough sleep, Donna knew better than to argue.

  "What did Dexter want?"

  "Eh?"

  "On the ‘phone."

  "Oh. Not him, the other one. I told him straight. I said look here, Mister Raper, that girl’s been hard at it all night, I can’t just go and get her out of bed on your say-so."

  Mister Raper! Donna thought, savouring Roper’s amended form of address.

  "Thanks Peg, I’ll ring him back."

  Five minutes later she was propped up against the bread bin with a cup of steaming coffee in her hand. Roper was his usual snotty self. Dexter had obviously not told him of last night’s stakeout, so Donna didn’t enlighten him. Peg had just said she’d been hard at it all night. Let him draw his own conclusions. The fact that he never mentioned it showed he’d probably drawn them all right.

  "I know it’s Sunday, Miss O’Prey, but this firm does not operate normal office hours as I’m sure you are aware. In any event, circumstances have changed, there have been certain developments regarding the case."

  As he was speaking, she could picture his fingers fluttering to and fro, as if crossing off items on an imaginary list or fingering the notes of a child's recorder. Donna sighed. Getting sense out of Roper was like drawing teeth. He didn’t trust ‘phones, so only gave out important information face to face.

  Who did he imagine was listening? The CIA? Badger watch? Who knows?

  Donna told him she’d meet him at the office in half an hour and went off to the bathroom. On her return, Peg was waiting with a plate of bacon, eggs, tomatoes, black pudding and mushrooms. Plus toast and two thick slices of fried bread. Donna groaned. She was hungry, but a piece of toast and a bowl of corn flakes were the limit of her expectations. When she tried to tell Peg this, the look on Peg’s face forced her to sit down and pick up the knife and fork without former ado. She’d learnt long since that eating the meals provided was the only way to co-exist with Peg.

  Gary clattered up the stairs with two carrier bags, smirking as he proceeded to stack the ‘fridge with milk, yoghurt, cheese and beer. Her treasured stash of a solitary bottle of Grolsch which she’d so bitterly resented him sharing with Andy had been replaced by a fresh pack of six.

  "Poor Gary has to watch his weight," Peg said. "Fried food only on special occasions and lots of fruit and vegetables. I just bet he wishes he could eat what you’ve got there. Real nourishment that is." Donna looked up from the brimming plate in time to catch his broad wink.

  You bastard, why didn’t I think of that twelve months ago?

  Donna parked her car at the office and waddled to the front door, smiling sweetly at the camera as it tracked her leisurely progress. After eating her immense breakfast, she felt ready to burst and had given up any attempt to put on her favourite jeans. The cotton trousers she wore had the benefit of an elasticised waistband.

  Completing the outfit was a tee shirt that an air-steward mate had brought back from Poland or somewhere else in Eastern Europe, featuring an enormous red tongue and some words in Russian that she’d had translated as expressing a fondness for oral sex. Fortunately there weren't a lot of Russians round here.

  Once buzzed in Donna grunted a greeting to Martha who just sniffed in reply. She thought Martha might have given the sniff a day off with it being Sunday, but no such luck. Martha looked at Donna’s tee shirt and sniffed again. Wonder if she understands Russian?

  Donna went into her office, putting off the meeting with Roper for a few more minutes, and sifted through the post. One thing about Martha, she was bloody efficient. Everything had been sorted and linked with the appropriate files.

  The phone rang.

  "Miss O’Prey, would you come down for a moment?"

  Donna had never been able to understand why Roper always asked her to come down to his office since all the offices were on the same floor. She’d mentioned it to Andy once, who’d told her she was just being picky because it was Roper. Anyone else and she’d not have thought twice about it. He was probably right.

  She wandered along, or down, the corridor and saw Roper’s open door. Donna walked in and sat down without waiting to be asked. She was in a rebellious mood. Not enough sleep and working on a Sunday perhaps?

  Roper stood in front of the window, looking out at the distant hills. Donna noticed her shoelace flapping and crossed an ankle over her knee to fasten it properly. The trusty Reeboks were showing their age, but nobody could ever accuse her of failing to show loyalty to old friends. Roper turned round as she was struggling to unravel the knotted lace. Donna gave up the attempt in disgust and slipped off her shoe to work on the knot at eye level. Holding the shoe in one hand she was acutely conscious of Roper’s eyes watching her.

  She’d read an article recently about shoes, along the lines of what to emphasise if you wanted to be noticed. Shoes were apparently the best place to start when dressing for success. Roper always wore black lace-up shoes polished as if for a passing-out parade. Looking at her battered trainers, Donna was taken with their shabbiness. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d cleaned them. Perhaps that proved, in reverse, the point the article was trying to make. Easing the shoe back onto her foot, Donna finally turned her attention to Roper. He was sc
anning through some papers on his otherwise immaculate desk. He had a ballpoint pen in his left hand and repeatedly clicked it as he read. It was annoying and probably fell just short of reasonable grounds for justifiable murder. All the same, Donna was glad when he stopped.

  Leaning forward, suede elbow patches adding a further polish to the shellac finish on his desk, Roper steepled his fingers. The light from an arty Swedish desk-lamp glinting on his bald spot, he looked like a praying mantis that’d seen better days.

  "Sorry to call you out on a Sunday," Roper said, somehow managing to remove any expression of regret from his words. Donna nodded, but said nothing. He looked at her intently, his expression grave. Donna flushed, seeing the direction of his gaze. She’d never thought of him as a lecher before. Then she remembered the tee shirt and relaxed as the lurid design was clearly the object of his attention. Not anything underneath the cloth.

  "I’m somewhat concerned about your continuing involvement in this kidnapping case," he said. "Especially now the civilian police are involved. Quite frankly, I would much rather have handed over all our involvement, but the client wished otherwise, and we must always respect the wishes of our client. While aware of the fine efforts you have made to date on the case, nevertheless, I do not feel you are sufficiently experienced to cope with a case of this magnitude."

  Donna was too angry to speak, feeling her neck redden as she looked at him. What a pompous patronising bastard.

  "I’m not prepared to accept that, Mister Roper," Donna said when she felt able to reply, her voice surprisingly strong and purposeful. She was nervous – palms damp, her heart thumping in her chest like a kettledrum. She wiped her hands against the sides of her trousers, the stiff seams rasping against her palms. Roper slapped his hand on the desk with a sound like a starting pistol going off. Donna jumped and Martha’s head appeared briefly in the doorway. Donna saw her make a swift appraisal of the situation, the faintest glimmer of a smile twitched at the corner of her mouth, before she withdrew.