The Mercy Seat

by Martyn Waites

  ‘Caroline …’ Colin’s voice was like old, untreated leather, cracked and stiff from disuse. ‘Caroline … what … have they hurt you?’

  Caroline shook her head. ‘No …’ She grabbed him again. ‘Oh Dad … I thought you were dead …’

  ‘No, no, I’m still here …’

  She pulled back, studied him again. More closely this time.

  ‘Oh my God … Look at you … What have they done to you?’

  Colin involuntarily cradled his arm. ‘It’s … all right … I’m all right …’

  They hugged again. Tears and sobs broke, subsided.

  She looked at him again. Quizzical now.

  ‘What’s going on? Why are you here?’

  Colin sighed, slid back against the wall.

  ‘Oh Caroline,’ he said, ‘I’ve done a terrible thing …’

  20

  ‘That was brilliant, mate.’

  ‘Yeah, Mikey, best you’ve ever done.’

  ‘Had them right there, mate, right there.’

  Mikey was walking over the High Level Bridge back to Gateshead, his mockney employers alongside him. He smiled, nodded.

  ‘Thanks,’ Mikey said. ‘Felt good.’

  The blackened metal frame of the High Level was all-encompassing, the nuts, bolts, girders and uprights of the Victorian construction keeping the sunshine out. But Mikey didn’t care. He could see a way out, light at the end of the tunnel.

  Because he had an ally.

  Janine had walked in to the Prince of Wales twenty minutes after their encounter in front of the police station. He saw her stand inside the doorway, look around uncertainly. He waved, she acknowledged. Made her way warily towards him.

  He tried to see himself from her point of view: scruffy, unshaven, cheaply dressed. Clinging to the fashions of ten, fifteen years ago. Carrying prison around with him.

  Mikey could well understand her wariness.

  She sat down opposite him, began going through her handbag.

  ‘I didn’t …’ Mikey cleared his throat, tried again. ‘I’ll get you a drink. Didn’t know what you … what you wanted.’

  He made to rise.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said.

  She pulled out her mobile, punched in numbers. Her hands, Mikey noticed, were shaking.

  ‘Hello, Mam,’ she said into the phone. ‘I’m just havin’ a drink wth a friend after work.’ A pause, listening. ‘The Prince of Wales. No, I won’t be long. I’ll call you when I’m leavin’.’

  Mikey drank his pint.

  Janine replaced the phone in her bag, sat back on the chair, looked at him.

  ‘So,’ she said, ‘what were you gonna do to Alan Keenyside?’

  Mikey licked his lips. Despite his pint his mouth felt dry.

  ‘Do his car,’ he said. ‘Hurt him. I dunno.’ He tried to make the next words sound light. Jokey. ‘Kill him, even.’

  ‘That’s what he deserves.’ Janine nodded, her gaze fixed on Mikey’s pint. Intense. Impassive.

  Mikey sighed. Felt unburdening himself was now an imperative. ‘He’s ruinin’ my life. I just wanted to … strike back at him.’

  Janine gave a hollow laugh. ‘You’ll have to try harder than that.’ She dug into her bag again, brought out a packet of Silk Cut and a lighter. Shook a cigarette from the pack, placed it between her lips and tried, hands trembling, to light it.

  ‘Here,’ Mikey said, leaning across the table, ‘let me.’

  He held her lighter. She recoiled from his touch. He pulled away.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said.

  ‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘It’s me. I’m just … Never mind.’

  She had another go. Managed to get it lit. Took a drag, held it, exhaled. ‘And with the smoke went some of her tension. ‘He’s a bastard,’ she said. ‘And you couldn’t hurt him enough. Even if you killed him it wouldn’t be enough.’ She took another drag. ‘So what did he do to you?’

  Mikey thought the best way to prove he meant her no harm was to tell her the truth. Or as much as he could. He didn’t want to tell her about prison. At least not yet. She might run. ‘He made me a drug dealer.’

  Janine just stared at him.

  ‘He said I would be one of his paid informants. I mean, I didn’t even want to do that,’ he said. ‘But he made me. An’ then he made me a dealer.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘He gets his informants to tell him about local dealers. Where they are, when their next shipment is comin’ in, that kind of thing. Then him an’ his squad arrest them. Then skim off them. Take their stuff. Then give the stuff to his paid informants to peddle it.’

  ‘Why d’you do it?’

  Mikey sighed. ‘Because if I didn’t he’d have me in prison.’

  ‘Could he do that?’

  Mikey tried to smile. ‘What d’you think?’

  Another drag. Another release of tension. Janine nodded. ‘Alan Keenyside enjoys ruinin’ people’s lives. Doesn’t even have to make money out of it. He’ll just do it for fun.’

  ‘What about you?’

  She looked at her cigarette, as if weighing up what to tell him. Decision made, she began. ‘Him an’ me started seein’ each other. I knew he was married, but I thought it was only a bit o’ fun.’ She shook her head. ‘By God, I grew up fast.’

  Another drag. Mikey said nothing.

  ‘I was flattered, you know? This big detective askin’ out one of the filin’ clerks. A civilian. An’ he was very persuasive. Chased an’ chased …’ She shook her head, almost smiled. ‘Knew what to say to make you feel special, you know?’

  Although he didn’t, Mikey nodded.

  She sucked the last ember of life out of her cigarette, stubbed the butt out hard in the ashtray. ‘Bastard.’ She sighed. Stared off somewhere Mikey couldn’t see. Then delved back into her bag, produced another Silk Cut, lit up again. Her hand didn’t shake as much this time.

  ‘It was romantic.’ She leaned forward, into her story now. ‘Dinners in flash restaurants. Drinks in posh cocktail bars. An’ dresses to wear in them. Nights out. Weekends away. It was fun, darin’.’

  Another sigh, another drag.

  Mikey was surprised by how much Janine was telling him. She must really need to talk, he thought, really need to get Keenyside out of her system. And who better to confide in than someone who’s not only a stranger but hates the man as much as she does?

  ‘Then things began to change.’ A shadow fell on her features. ‘He started to … make me do things. Force me.’ Her eyes dropped back to the cigarette, became focused on the burning tip. The slightest breeze inflaming it, quickening its deterioration to ash and smoke.

  ‘Physical things,’ she said to the cigarette, ‘sexual things. Unpleasant things.’

  Mikey felt uncomfortable. This was the first time a woman had spoken to him about sex. He felt himself blush.

  She put the cigarette to her lips, drew down hard.

  Burning the tip. Ash and smoke.

  ‘He liked the control,’ she said. ‘He got off on that. Got his kicks.’

  Mikey shook his head. ‘Bastard …’

  ‘I had a friend once,’ Janine said, ‘who lived with a bloke who used to beat her up. I’d say, “How can you live with ’im? Get away.” An’ she would say, “But I love ’im. ’E’ll change.”’ She sighed. ‘I used to think she was soft. But I don’t now. Because I know it can happen to anyone. It happened to me.’

  The shadow across her features darkened. She gave a bitter laugh. ‘Then it got worse. Drugs.’

  She stubbed her cigarette out, thought about it, decided to light another. Hands steadier all the time.

  ‘I’ve done drugs before,’ she said. ‘Y’know, down the Bigg Market or the Quay or out clubbin’. Coke an’ ecstasy. Bit o’ blow. I mean, who hasn’t?’

  Mikey nodded, said nothing.

  ‘Enjoyed them. Nothin’ against them. But Alan wanted me to do heroin. Crack. Well, not want me to do it, make me do it. He forced me. An’ th
en … an’ then …’ She shook her head, averted her eyes. ‘He … did things to me. Made me do things. Horrible things …’

  She shivered, eyes seeing something Mikey couldn’t, didn’t want to see.

  ‘I was a real mess.’ Her voice sounded small, like a child lost in a big world. Mikey sat forward, strained to listen.

  ‘A real mess … An’ I didn’t know what to do. Who to … talk to. Anythin’.’

  She shook her head, lost in her story now.

  ‘I mean, me mam was good. She was great.’

  Mikey nodded.

  ‘She really helped. Gave us the strength I needed to pull away from him.’ She gave a small, sad smile. Then a little laugh. ‘Me dad wanted to do him in. I couldn’t let ’im. Didn’t tell ’im who he was or what he did.’ Her voice darkened. ‘An’ I couldn’t tell either of them what he’d done to me.’

  Mikey noticed that his glass was empty. Decided to forgo a refill until Janine had finished her story.

  ‘But they gave us the strength to get help. Seek treatment. Work was good an’ all. I told them I was really ill. Couldn’t tell them about him, of course. But they let me have sick leave to sort meself out.’ She sighed. ‘An’ it was goin’ well.’ She sat up straight in her seat. ‘Really well. I was back at work, avoidin’ ’im an’ seekin’ a new job as well. I kept me distance, kept meself strong.’

  Another sigh. And the shadow fell again.

  ‘But then he came back. All apologetic, y’know. Sorry about before, one last chance, not like that any more, promise things’ll be different …’ She shook her head.

  ‘But you told him to get lost.’

  She dropped her head. Shook it slowly and sadly. When she spoke, her voice had shrunk again.

  ‘I had … sex with him.’

  Mikey said nothing.

  ‘Not only that,’ she said, eyes still downcast, voice a tremulous, fragile thing, ‘I found out I was pregnant.’

  ‘What?’

  She nodded again. Struggled to control her voice, her body. ‘I told him, confronted him. He just laughed. Told me to go an’ have an abortion.’

  She sighed, looked at her cigarettes, decided against one. Forgot there was one already smouldering in the ashtray.

  ‘If it had just been that, though … it was the abuse as well. It was a mongrel, he said.’ She spat the word out. ‘A mongrel … Have it cut out, thrown away … stamp on it … stamp on it …’

  Her hand went to her face, covered her nose and mouth. She screwed her eyes tight shut, but the long-dammed, long-threatened tears forced their way out.

  Mikey didn’t know what to do, what to say. He wanted to comfort her, hold her, tell her she had a friend, that things would be all right. But he didn’t know how to touch her, find the words that would make her stop crying. So he sat still, waiting for this particular wave of sadness to ride itself out of her.

  Eventually her tears subsided. She dug in to her handbag, brought out a tissue. Dabbed her eyes, her cheeks. Blew her nose. Noticed that her ashtray-berthed cigarette had burned itself out. She lit up another.

  The shakes had returned.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, her voice cracked and scratchy, like an old record.

  ‘Not you that has to apologize,’ said Mikey.

  She nodded, dragged deep.

  ‘So what did you do about …’ Mikey’s voice barely registering, unobtrusive.

  ‘Got rid of it,’ she said. ‘That’s what I was telling tonight. When I saw you. But he didn’t want to know. Had more important things on his mind, he said.’ Another deep drag. ‘But I saw that look in his eyes … that triumph … he couldn’t hide it …’

  She shook her head.

  ‘That’s what turns him on,’ she said. ‘He finds people’s weaknesses an’ exploits them. Like he did with me.’ Her voice took on a harsh, angry edge. ‘He gets off on corruptin’ folks. Twistin’ them all out of shape, emptyin’ them until there’s nothin’ left.’

  ‘He uses your fear against you,’ said Mikey. ‘He knows I don’t want to go back to prison. That’s his threat.’

  Janine looked at him. ‘Back to prison? What d’you mean? What were you in prison for?’

  Mikey stopped dead, mouth open. He didn’t know what to say. Decided on the truth. Because she had been straight with him.

  ‘Murder,’ he said as simply as possible.

  Immediately her expression changed. Her eyes widened with fear. She clutched her handbag as if about to run.

  Her reaction saddened Mikey, even though he had been expecting it. He tried to smile, hoped it looked reassuring.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘It was a long time ago. And these things are never black and white.’

  Janine didn’t look reassured.

  ‘You’re quite safe with me. You really are.’

  She said nothing.

  ‘Look,’ said Mikey, ‘Keenyside’s the dangerous one. Not me.’

  She looked at her watch. ‘I’d better go now.’ She made to stand up.

  ‘Wait.’ Mikey stood also, reached across the table and placed his hand on her arm. She looked at it but made no attempt to remove it.

  ‘Listen,’ he said. ‘Thank you for talking to me. I thought I was the only one he …’ Mikey sighed. ‘Thank you.’

  Her features softened. She smiled.

  ‘At least I know I’m not alone,’ she said and patted his hand.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Mikey.

  ‘I’d better go.’

  Mikey nodded. ‘We’ll get him. Don’t worry.’

  She sketched a smile, left the pub. Mikey made his way to the bar, ordered another pint. Thought about what Janine had told him. Her experiences, horrific though they had been, had helped him. They legitimized the thoughts he had been having about Keenyside. Morally vindicated his dark, vengeful fantasies.

  He took his pint back to the table, sat down. Looked at the dead butts in the ashtray. Thought of Janine.

  Smiled.

  Began to plan.

  The shift finished, Get Carter groupies off home happy.

  Mikey gathered his things together, prepared to leave. The mockneys approached him.

  ‘Hey, great show, Mikey.’

  ‘Yeah, good one, mate. Really real.’

  ‘Felt it, yeah.’

  Mikey smiled. ‘Thanks, lads.’

  He looked at the three of them. He didn’t mind them, really. They weren’t bad lads. Just the way they were. Some people couldn’t do anything about the way they were.

  And some could.

  ‘Comin’ for a beer, Mikey?’

  ‘Yeah, hittin’ the town, meetin’ some mates.’

  ‘What you say, mate? Love to have you along.’

  ‘It’s a kind offer, lads, but no thanks. I’ve got plans.’

  He made his goodbyes, left. The mockneys watched him go.

  ‘Mikey seemed in a well good mood.’

  ‘Yeah, like he’s found, like, I dunno, like a new purpose in life. Or somethin’.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘An’ ’e was good today an’ all. Played a blinder.’

  ‘Knockout. Best ’e’s done. You know what? For the first time I really believed he could murder someone.’

  ‘Yeah …’

  They put that thought behind them, headed off to a bar.

  ‘Idiot. You fucking, fucking idiot.’

  Keenyside was screaming down the phone. Hammer sat on a bench on the Town Moor, listened impassively. His face betrayed no emotion. But his eyes burned like a medieval hell.

  The sound of Keenyside’s heavy breathing subsided in his ear.

  ‘What happened?’ the policeman said eventually.

  Hammer told him again. As simply and monosyllabically as possible. Keenyside listened.

  ‘No one saw anything,’ said Hammer as a way of finishing.

  ‘Really?’ asked Keenyside. ‘Then why are they trying to get an eyewitness to work up an e-fit of you? Why are they looking for Va
uxhall Vectras? Why are they doing all this if no one saw anything?’

  Hammer’s heart came close to skipping a beat. ‘Tell me who this eyewitness is,’ he said. ‘I’ll make sure they can’t—’

  ‘No,’ said Keenyside firmly. ‘Not this time. The best thing you can do is take a few days off. Get some R and R. Make yourself scarce for a while. I’ll cope with things at this end.’

  ‘Whatever. You’re paying me.’

  ‘Yes, I am. And I don’t want any more fuck-ups. We need him to make that call soon. We’ve got to get this over with. I’m being investigated at work, that rent boy’s still missing, apparently Joe Donovan was sharing a bed with that journalist you killed—’

  ‘Donovan? Coincidence.’

  ‘Yes. And I don’t believe in coincidences.’ Keenyside sighed. ‘Leave it to me. I’ll handle things here. I’ll call you when I need you. Let’s hope you haven’t fucked up big time.’

  He cut the connection.

  Hammer replaced the phone in his pocket. He didn’t mind taking a few days off. He could go and have some fun. Then come back, take care of business.

  And Keenyside. He was starting to annoy him.

  Hammer walked to the car, drove away.

  Jamal woke up, stretched.

  He had nodded off. Not surprising, the amount of crack he had smoked.

  He was back in the car again, had gone there straight after running away from Caroline’s flat. He had nowhere else to go. Joe Donovan had been trying to contact him, but it wasn’t safe enough to call him back. He was also scared that the police could be after him for Si’s murder. So the car had presented the best option.

  He felt rough. Knew he must look dreadful. The short, fast high from the rocks long gone, just the long, empty down to replace it. The depression. As if he didn’t have enough. Nearly all the money he had taken from Father Jack was gone. Up in smoke some of it, the rest to a gang of kids who had sold him the rocks, then held him down and gone through his pockets, punching him all the time, calling him Paki. They had taken the money and run. Jamal had been confused more than anything else. Even the car wasn’t safe now.

  He stood up, stretched again.

  Down from more than the rocks.

  He needed money. It would be so easy to call Joe Donovan, let him sort it out, make him keep his promises. But he couldn’t. It was too risky. So instead he would have to go back to work. Earn it.