by Ali Harper
‘No need to worry about us,’ Jo said, as I thought back to the hooded figure who’d chased me and Brownie through the Dark Arches. The hairs on the back of my neck pricked up as fear trickled through me. ‘We can take care of ourselves.’
‘What happened to your offices?’
‘Kids.’
‘Bollocks.’ He ran his fingers through his hair, as I tried to place his accent. It wasn’t Leeds, or Lancashire. Somewhere more to the south, Nottingham maybe.
‘This is LS6,’ Jo said. ‘Well known for being the most burgled area in the country. Police don’t seem to want to do anything.’
‘I’m trying to help.’
‘Thought you wanted us to help you,’ Jo fired back.
‘You’re in way over your heads. I need to know what Megan told you.’
‘We don’t know anyone called Megan,’ Jo said.
‘Martha. Tell me what Martha told you.’
‘No chance.’ Jo folded her arms across her chest, and I knew that posture well enough to know he wasn’t going to get anything further from her.
I tried to take a more conciliatory tone. I knew we didn’t want to get on the wrong side of the police, or we’d be fending off speeding tickets for the rest of our lives. ‘Why don’t you go first?’ I said. ‘Tell us what you know about her.’
He took a mouthful of his pint, wiped his lips on the back of his sleeve. He glanced from me to Jo and back again. He had grey-green eyes, piercing. We held each other’s gaze a moment longer than necessary, and I knew what he was going to say before he said it.
He opened his mouth, paused and then said: ‘She was one of ours.’
Brownie’s words had been haunting me most of the day. It was the quality of her disguise as Mrs Wilkins that I hadn’t been able to square. She’d managed to make herself look ten years older. The blonde hair must have been a wig, but it was totally convincing. It had to be professional.
Jo wasn’t as easily convinced. ‘A copper?’ she said, in a too-loud voice. Col gestured at her to keep her voice down. ‘No way.’
Jo stared at me like why aren’t you surprised and I found myself shrugging.
‘Undercover,’ said Col.
‘You were working together?’ I asked.
‘She was trying to infiltrate a known drug-dealing gang.’
‘If they were known, why would they need infiltrating?’ asked Jo.
‘Difference between knowing and proving.’
‘She was an undercover copper?’ said Jo. She sat back in her seat. ‘Well, fuck me.’
‘Who killed her?’ I asked.
‘When I find that out …’ He let the rest of his sentence trail off.
‘How?’ asked Jo. ‘How did they kill her?’
‘I had her back,’ said Col, if that was his name. I suspected not. He looked so unlike a copper I suspected he didn’t know his own name by then. His voice wavered, became husky. He took another mouthful of his pint, and I caught a glimpse of what a dangerous life he led. ‘She had mine.’
‘That’s tough,’ I said. I knew what that felt like: when you’re supposed to be watching out for someone, and something terrible happens. Something you should have seen coming, but you didn’t. I sat still, forcing myself not to reach across the table for Jo’s lager, the voice in my head telling me the feeling would pass, to ride it out, let it through. The pain spread from my heart to my lungs, pushing through my body like ice.
‘I wasn’t watching close enough.’
I wasn’t either.
He stared over my shoulder, over to the door to the pub. He stared so hard I turned around in my seat to see what was happening. I saw one of my old lecturers huddling by the back door, smoking a fag with a bunch of what looked like students. We caught each other’s eyes, and he smiled at me. I hadn’t seen him since I’d left my course. I took it as a sign and emptied my mind of the past. The things I cannot change.
Col focused his gaze on me. ‘I didn’t expect this,’ he said.
‘How come you’re both undercover?’ Jo asked.
‘I can’t say. I shouldn’t be here.’
‘So Martha’s real name is Megan?’ I asked. ‘And she was investigating a drugs ring?’ There was something about the whole conversation that made my skin itch. ‘What kind of drugs?’
‘The worst kind.’
‘Heroin?’ said Jo.
‘That too, but that’s not what they’re worried about. The latest thing is Flakka. It’s—’
‘I know,’ said Jo, holding her hands up. ‘Alpha-Pyrrolidinopentiophenone.’
‘What?’ I frowned at Jo.
‘Alpha-PVP for short. An upper, produces feelings of euphoria. Excessive use can lead to paranoia, hallucinations and even flesh eating. Hence, it’s nickname, the zombie drug.’
‘You know a lot about it,’ Col observed.
‘I know a lot about the Conservative Party,’ said Jo. ‘Doesn’t mean I ever voted Tory.’
‘There was a raid in Leeds a few weeks ago. Flakka was seized. Now everyone’s terrified the same epidemic as the States is going to happen here. That’s why the guys at the top decided we needed to go in.’
‘Go on.’
‘Megan had started to make contacts.’
‘Meaning?’
‘She was establishing herself. That’s all I know. But,’ he paused, and I knew he was wondering how much to tell us. ‘But, the last time I spoke to her, I thought she was holding something back.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Listen, it’s bloody hard, undercover work.’ He glanced around. ‘We all know it’s not a case of good guys, bad guys. There’s all kinds of shades in-between.’
‘I’m guessing that’s not the official line,’ said Jo.
‘She told me she was coming to see you two. She said you were local, well connected round here.’
I felt an inappropriate flush of pride. I know Jo felt the same because she grinned at me.
Col didn’t notice. ‘I was meant to keep an eye on her,’ he said. ‘I screwed up.’
‘Not your fault,’ I said. ‘You didn’t know what she was getting into.’
‘I owe her,’ he said. He spoke directly to me, and I recognized the look in his eyes. It’s the same one I see whenever I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror. ‘I owe her the truth – to find out who did what they did to her.’
This made things tricky. Because I know what that kind of responsibility feels like – to make a mistake that you’ll spend the rest of your life trying to correct, at the same time as knowing that nothing you do will ever make it right.
‘You want us to help you find her killer?’ I asked. My stomach flipped at the thought.
‘We’ll find her killer, don’t worry about that. There’s a top team on this, the best. They won’t stop until that bastard is caught.’ His knuckles tightened.
‘Oh.’ I admit, I was disappointed. Working with the police to track down a murderer, less than three months after we’d opened for business, would have been quite something. Not that I wanted to work with the police. Jo narrowed her eyes at me. I ignored her. ‘So what do you want?’ I asked Col.
‘I want you to make sure there’s nothing that’s going to come up in this investigation that would show Megan in a bad light.’
I glanced across to Jo. She gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head. ‘We don’t have to tell you anything,’ she said.
‘Not true. If I think you’re perverting the course of justice I can get a warrant, seize your files.’
‘You’ll have a job. Our files were trashed.’
I frowned at Jo. We didn’t want to make enemies of the police, and I couldn’t see how giving him the basics would hurt. ‘We’re a missing persons’ bureau,’ I said.
‘Who’s missing?’ Col asked.
Jo sat back in her seat and folded her arms across her chest.
‘An ex-student called Jack Wilkins,’ I said.
Col nodded with recognition. �
��Heard the name. One of the blokes from the squat in Woodhouse? Why would Megan pay private investigators to find a junkie?’
‘You see. This is why people don’t like helping the police,’ said Jo. ‘Junkies are people too. Just like policemen. They have families, people who love them.’
‘We’re on the same side,’ said Col.
I could feel Jo glaring at me as I tried to think of the best way to answer Col’s question. ‘Perhaps she thought he’d taken some money with him.’
‘What money?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘How much we talking?’
I glanced at Jo. If looks could kill, I don’t think I’d have got the next sentence out. ‘Don’t know. But let’s say a significant amount.’
‘I’ll get another round in,’ said Jo. ‘Same again?’ Col nodded, and Jo headed for the bar.
Once she’d gone he lowered his voice and said: ‘I can’t work with you if you’re committing any kind of crime.’
I smarted at that. ‘We’re totally legitimate. Members of the Professional Institute of Private Investigators.’ I felt in both my back pockets and tugged out a business card.
He read the front of it as he sank the remainder of his pint. ‘Which one are you?’
‘Lee.’
‘Lee. Nice. So, Lee, who does the cash belong to?’
‘I honestly don’t know.’
‘Listen,’ said Col. He moved his empty pint glass to one side. ‘I’m going to ask you straight out. Have you found out anything in the course of your enquiries that might suggest Megan crossed the line?’
In my mind, I ran through the list of what I knew about Megan. Had she crossed the line? Besides having a sexual relationship with a suspect, blackmail, breaking and entering, possession of hash, smoking heroin and impersonating someone’s mother? I tried to think of anything I knew about her that didn’t involve her in illegal activity. I tried to find the right words. ‘She always struck me as someone who was trying their best.’
‘That’s not what I asked.’ He leaned back in his seat, ran his arms along the edge of the bench seating. His jeans were faded, bleached to the palest blue, and they fitted like they’d been made for him. ‘How long have you been in the business?’
Jo came back from the bar with three pints in her hand. She put one in front of Col and put the other two on the table as she sat back down. I sensed things might be about to get colourful.
‘Long enough,’ she said.
‘You don’t seem to have found out a right lot.’
‘We’re not the ones begging for information,’ said Jo. She swigged from the first pint.
Col gave up talking to Jo. He faced me. ‘Did you find Jack?’
‘No.’
Col sighed, and I could tell he was having trouble remaining patient. ‘OK. Say for example, Megan had had a relationship with someone she shouldn’t.’ He stared at us both, and I knew he was looking for the slightest hint of recognition. I worked hard to maintain a completely neutral expression. ‘She’d get into a whole heap of trouble—’
‘Can’t get into any more trouble than she already did,’ Jo pointed out.
He didn’t take his eyes from my face, and I wondered how much he already knew.
‘She’s got a kid, did you know?’
I flinched, swallowed down hard. ‘No.’
He leaned closer to me. ‘I want her remembered for who she was. She believed in what she did.’
‘How old’s the kid?’ I asked, not wanting to hear the answer.
Luckily for me, Jo stepped in. ‘How far are you willing to go to protect her reputation?’
‘My hands are tied. There’s going to be a full-scale investigation.’
‘And you’re worried about what they’re going to find,’ said Jo, like she was stating a fact.
He nodded.
I raised my eyebrows at Jo. She calls it my “owl eyes” look. She frowned at me. We remained like that for a few moments, unblinking. ‘We need to discuss this,’ said Jo, standing up. ‘Excuse us a moment.’
I followed her inside the pub and straight to the women’s toilets. No one else was in there, so I let myself into the nearest cubicle and went for a wee. ‘What do you think?’ I asked through the cubicle walls.
‘He’s a fucking copper, that’s what I think.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Can’t be trusted.’
‘What, none of them?’
‘School prefects on speed.’
‘Might be useful having a policeman for a client. We’d get access to their information.’
‘I’m not working for the police. It’s a corrupt, institutionally racist organization. Might as well work for Britain First. We didn’t set up No Stone Unturned so we could get in bed with those bastards. We’re supposed to be redressing the balance.’
I flushed the toilet and came out, trying to find the best words for what I wanted to say. ‘You don’t think you’re letting …’ I coughed, tried to clear the frog in my throat that was making my voice sound strained, ‘… past experiences cloud your judgement a little bit here?’
Jo’s blue eyes went dark. She folded her arms across her chest. ‘Don’t you fucking dare,’ she said.
‘OK, OK.’ I held up my hands in a gesture of complete surrender. ‘But he’s a client. We don’t have a case without him.’
I withered under her stare. I crossed over to the sinks, flicked my hands under the cold tap and wiped them dry on my trouser legs. ‘I don’t think we can say no,’ I said. ‘Not without looking like we’re dodgy.’
I turned round and realized Jo had gone.
I took a deep breath and made my way back to the table outside. Jo was already sitting down. The first pint glass was empty. She didn’t look at me as I took my seat with them.
‘What if we find out Megan had crossed the line?’ Jo asked.
‘I’ll do what I can to keep it from coming out. Bearing in mind I’ve a duty to uphold the law,’ said Col. ‘And you can’t tell anyone but me. Whatever you find out.’
‘We charge,’ said Jo.
He nodded. ‘I can live with that.’
‘Cash up front,’ said Jo.
He took an envelope out of his jacket pocket. ‘Consider that a deposit. You find out who killed Megan, I’ll treble it.’
‘What about her kid?’ I picked at the beer mat on the table.
‘That’s my next job,’ said Col. ‘To go and see him, tell him he isn’t ever going to see his mother again.’
My stomach churned on his behalf. I watched Jo make a start on the second pint of lager. I could almost taste it.
‘Where is he?’ I asked. I thought back to Martha’s flat. There had been no sign of anyone in her life. No photos, nothing.
‘Lives with his dad.’
‘Right,’ I said.
There was a pause as we digested this. No matter how far feminism has come, it’s almost impossible not to judge a woman who doesn’t have custody of her own child.
Col seemed to sense this. ‘Losing her kid was what drove Megan to turn her life around. That’s why she joined up. She cleaned up her act, got the force to accept her, despite her past.’
‘What past?’
‘Nothing major. But when her and the kid’s dad split up, he dragged her name through the mud. Accused her of taking drugs, shoplifting, that kind of thing. Nothing he could prove, but mud sticks. They took a risk on her, and I don’t want anyone saying the risk backfired. She is … was, a great copper. Doesn’t deserve to be remembered any other way.’
We left the Royal Park not long afterwards. ‘Where’s your car?’ I asked as we crossed the road.
‘Don’t have one. Anything you come up with, anything you remember, no matter how insignificant it might seem, call me, OK?’ He gave me his number scribbled on a piece of paper. Col put a hand on my arm, just for a second, and I felt the warmth of his fingers, even through my jacket. He gave me the briefest of smiles, and I was struck by
the crow’s feet around his eyes. He looked completely different when he smiled. Lighter. As he headed off in the direction of the city, I stood next to Jo, watching him go until he was a dot in the distance.
‘Sorry,’ said Jo.
I braced myself for the punch line. Or the punch. ‘Sorry?’
‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘Having a copper for a client is good for the business. We can use him.’
‘Really?’
‘Really.’ She set off up the hill to our office. ‘And,’ she said, looking back at me over her shoulder. ‘Two clients in two days. Not bad. Business is looking up.’
‘Let’s hope we can keep this one alive,’ I muttered as I tagged along behind her.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Despite the fact I’d spent four or five hours asleep on Aunt Edie’s sofa, I fell into bed on Sunday evening and don’t remember a thing until the sun was in my eyes on Monday morning. I woke not knowing where I was, or what day it was, or who I was. I love those moments – can probably count them on the fingers of one hand – when it feels like the entire contents of your brain have been erased by sleep. I want to die like that. Empty.
It didn’t last. A few seconds later, it all came tumbling back. Martha’s blank-eyed stare, the smell of Brownie’s vomit, the fact we were no closer to knowing where Jack was. I lay in bed and tried to concentrate on the positives. Bernie and Duck were hopefully in police custody, the heroin was off the streets. We’d got Brownie to the nearest thing to a detox clinic I could think of. We had a new client, a new income stream.
But my thoughts all ran back to Martha. Now Megan, I reminded myself. A woman with more names than a member of the royal family. An undercover policewoman, a mother, Col’s friend. I knew nothing about her and yet still felt like I owed her, despite her lies. We now had two missing people: Jack, and the person who killed Megan. I was going to find both of them, no matter what it took. I sat up in bed, rolled a fag and thought about whether our new client changed the nature of our investigation. Col wanted to know what Megan was up to. Megan had wanted us to find Jack. The more I thought about it, the clearer it was. I owed it to Megan, and to Brownie, to find Jack, find out what happened to him. It was like unknotting a tangled ball of string – each tangled thread led me to the same conclusion. And in order to find out what had happened to Jack, I needed to find out what had happened to his mother. Those two strings were knotted together.
