Sirens

by Joseph Knox

  ‘Might have something there, Aids.’ He scrutinized me. ‘I’ll go five.’

  ‘Is that what all this has been about?’

  ‘All what?’

  ‘The black and white paint at Carver’s house, for a start.’

  Sheldon frowned, laughed. ‘Paint’s nothin’ to do with me, mate. Nice to know Zain’s got some new enemies, though. An’ imitation’s the highest form of flattery.’

  I tried to recover. ‘And why would I be your message boy?’

  The barman interrupted us, spoke to White. ‘You said I could tell Carver—’

  ‘That was before we ran into Aid, though. Now I’m improvising.’ The barman looked at him, breathing heavily. His plan to explain himself was already in tatters.

  White went on: ‘Y’interrupted me before, Aid. When I was talking about Joanna sod’s-law. You said I wasn’t here to talk about the past. You were wrong.’ His hand went to Catherine’s breast, gripping it through her top. She closed her eyes. ‘Cath’s gonna wait here with me while you explain it to Carver. Aren’t you, Cath?’

  She didn’t say anything.

  He pressed his thumb and forefinger through her top, squeezing her nipple. ‘Aren’t you, Cath?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, opening her eyes.

  I tried to remember everything. The sparkling drops of moisture on the table, the alcohol in the air, the half-heard conversations. The look on Catherine’s face. She was staring off at the wall again now, but her eyes were filling. I wanted her to look at me, to trust me again, but I knew that she couldn’t.

  ‘Yer phone,’ said Sheldon.

  I found it in my pocket and handed it to him. He nodded at the barman, who clumsily felt me for another. I saw a red circle of blood on my shirt where the knife had pierced my skin. Satisfied, he nodded back. Sheldon handed me a cheap burner.

  ‘Can only call one number: mine. Carver just needs to say one of two words: yes or no.’ He took a drink and smacked his lips. ‘And if he’s got a problem with it. If he doesn’t agree to five per cent. If I don’t hear from him by ten o’clock. Cath goes missing.’ Small beads of sweat were sprouting about his face. ‘Y’interrupted me again, Aids. Never think you’ve got nothing to lose, mate. It’ll be like she never fucking lived.’

  Catherine still wouldn’t look at me and ten seconds later I was pushing through the crowd towards the exit. My mind was completely calm. Completely clear. Completely focused on Sheldon White and the barman. Just give me the chance, I thought. Give me the chance and I’ll fucking kill them both.

  6

  Outside the hotbox of Rubik’s I felt a blast of cold air. There were people on the street going in every direction, wearing winter coats, walking towards families, homes, beds. Two men followed me out of the club and I began walking away. I took out the phone that Sheldon had given me, dialled 999 and asked for the police.

  ‘There’s a girl being held against her will on the ground floor of Rubik’s nightclub, off the Locks. Brunette, early twenties. In the company of two, possibly more, IC1 males. One is a Sheldon White, approximately fifty years old, form for ABH and drug offences. One is Glen Smithson, thirties, form for date rape and drug offences. Armed and dangerous. Armed and dangerous.’ When I was sure I’d woken the dispatcher up I ended the call.

  I went back into the city, trying to dial Parrs, but the phone couldn’t connect.

  The taxis passing me were all carrying fares, going in the wrong direction. I waved at them anyway. Carver’s house was an hour out of town on foot. Fifteen minutes by car. I looked at Sheldon’s phone.

  The fucker hadn’t set the clock.

  Two girls went by and I called after them for the time. They stared at me like I was drunk.

  ‘Running late,’ I said, breathless.

  Neither of them wore watches and one reached warily into her purse for her phone. I took a step back so she wouldn’t think I was trying to steal it.

  ‘Quarter to,’ she said.

  ‘Ten?’ She nodded.

  I was already walking backwards, away from them.

  I heard the Christmas market congestion of St Anne’s Square before I saw it. Vibrant lights and festive decorations hung above hundreds of bespoke wooden stalls, makeshift bars and shops. The air was thick with the mingled smells of beer, mulled wine, hot dogs.

  There was music. People everywhere I looked. Families with tired, food-stunned kids, workers from the surrounding offices, flirting teens on first dates. I forced myself through the wholesome push and pull of a few thousand people, all going in different directions.

  Sheldon was staging a hostile takeover. The barman hadn’t been wrong to join up the events of the last few weeks.

  Isabelle’s death.

  Sycamore Way.

  Carver held responsible.

  ‘They all separate things or one fucking big one?’

  It was hard to imagine the events as anything other than the build-up to this moment. There was more to the city, more to the Franchise, than Rubik’s. But it was the flagship. And wired or not, the barman had handed the Burnsiders the keys. Offering Carver 5 per cent was the real bitter pill. To him it would sound exactly as it was intended.

  Like an insult.

  All I could do was tell him the truth, or something close to it. Manipulate him with a mention of his precious bloody Joanna. Play on the same anger I’d seen at the Burnside, the same anger that made him almost kill a man for mentioning one of his girls. I couldn’t let Catherine get hurt.

  Before I got to the taxi rank, I saw a cab coming my way, For Hire sign lit. I ran into the road, through screaming traffic, and waved it down. The driver stopped and I gave him Zain Carver’s address.

  ‘Fifty quid if we’re there in ten minutes.’

  7

  ‘Lucky you could get a car tonight, mate.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Massive fire, up Yarville Street. Something like twenty cabs up in smoke.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘Last hour.’ Yarville Street was the headquarters for the Franchise’s taxi firm. Another move from Sheldon White. I hoped that Carver hadn’t heard about it yet.

  ‘Listen, mate, can I borrow your phone? Tenner up front for one short call.’ He eyed me in the rear-view mirror. ‘It’s an emergency,’ I said, holding up the cash. He nodded and we made the exchange. I called Superintendent Parrs.

  It went straight to voicemail.

  ‘I’m blown,’ I said. ‘There’s a girl in danger. Cath. Ground floor of Rubik’s with Sheldon White against her will.’ I couldn’t think of anything else to say. ‘Help her.’ I hung up and handed the phone back to the driver. He avoided eye contact and sped up, keen to get rid of me.

  We pulled up about a hundred feet from Fairview. I looked at the clock on the dashboard: 21.56. I pushed all the notes from my wallet through the Perspex hatch and got out, running up the street towards the house. I went up the garden path and collided with the front door.

  When no one came I kicked it. Kept kicking it, knocking, shouting, leaning on the bell, until the hallway light came on.

  I stepped back, making sure Sarah Jane could see me through the peephole. When the door opened I went forward but was pushed back, hard, by Grip. Sarah Jane was standing behind him, arms wrapped round herself. Her bright red hair made her look pale. Sick and thin.

  ‘I need to see Zain, now.’

  Grip filled the doorway. ‘The fuck’s goin’ on?’

  ‘Siders have got Catherine.’ He took a step back, glanced over his shoulder at Sarah. ‘Zain talks to them by ten or she goes missing.’ I had the burner in my hand. ‘There’s one number on here. He just needs to call it and say yes.’

  ‘Yes to what?’ said Grip.

  ‘They know he can’t move anything at the moment. They want to sell in Rubik’s until the shit blows over.’

  ‘They’ve just torched his cars, he won’t do it.’

  ‘Aidan—’ said Sarah Jane.

  ‘He
can say yes now and go back on it later.’

  Grip stepped forward. ‘He won’t do it.’

  ‘Aidan,’ said Sarah Jane, stepping between us. ‘He’s not here.’

  For a second the only sound was my breath.

  ‘What time is it?’ I said.

  Sarah Jane looked at her watch.

  ‘Two minutes past …’

  ‘Where is she?’ said Grip. But I had already turned and started walking away from the house. The phone was slippery in my hand. All I could think about was Catherine, not looking at me. Not trusting me at the end. I unlocked the keypad and opened the contacts.

  One entry.

  BOSS.

  I walked further from the house light, further down the path, feeling invisible. I hovered over the call button.

  Everything stopped.

  I listened to the wind hissing through the trees for a second, and pressed call. It rang for a long time. More than a minute. Then Click.

  ‘Yer late,’ said Sheldon.

  ‘I got here on time. Carver’s out.’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘I can get to him in the hour—’ The line went dead.

  I looked down at the phone and saw that my hands were shaking. I could feel my lungs burning in my chest. I was suddenly sitting on the garden path, staring out at the trees. I thought I could see and hear people in them, wrapped around the branches, watching me.

  8

  I called back, but the phone just rang out. When I dialled again, it went straight to voicemail. I listened to the message, the automated female voice, and waited for the beep. I didn’t know what I’d say until I said it:

  ‘He’ll agree to one per cent, call me back.’

  I hung up and sat there staring at the phone. I could feel the seconds, disappearing for good. I tried not to think about how time was passing for Catherine.

  I didn’t want to go back to Rubik’s in case Sheldon called, in case I needed to find Carver, but I was getting up when I heard the door slam behind me. Without that soft glow emanating from the house, the path was thrown into darkness. I turned and made out two shapes, Sarah Jane and Grip, coming towards me.

  ‘What did you tell them?’ said Sarah Jane.

  ‘I said Zain wasn’t here. They hung up.’

  ‘Call them back.’

  ‘Straight to voicemail. Where is he?’

  ‘Out.’ She hesitated. ‘Where’s Cath?’

  ‘Rubik’s, but I doubt they’ll be there now.’

  ‘Let’s see.’ She took her phone from her jacket pocket and called Catherine. We all waited. ‘Ringing,’ she said. I stepped closer and heard the tone cut off abruptly as someone sent the phone to voicemail.

  ‘Rubik’s,’ said Grip, walking past me, down the path.

  ‘I’m coming with you.’

  ‘Nah, pal. You can find his fucking lordship and explain this shit. What were you doing with her anyway?’

  ‘Talking.’

  ‘All you’re fucking good for.’

  ‘Who had her?’ said Sarah Jane.

  ‘Sheldon White. He said I should mention Joanna Greenlaw’s name.’ No one spoke for a second. I couldn’t see either of them clearly, but I thought they exchanged a look. ‘Who did you see outside my flat, Grip?’

  He didn’t say anything but I could hear him breathing.

  ‘What’s he talking about?’ said Sarah Jane.

  ‘Someone trashed my flat. Night of Sycamore Way. He saw who did it.’

  ‘I told you. Filth did your flat.’

  ‘Who was the man with the knife?’ He didn’t say anything. ‘I think it was Glen, or Neil, or whatever name your ex-bar manager goes under. He was with Sheldon tonight. He’s been with him for a while. If we’d known earlier, we could have prevented this.’

  Grip was still just a shape, but when he sighed I saw his shoulders slump. ‘Find Zain,’ he said, and disappeared down the path. I looked back at Sarah Jane, the outline of her. I couldn’t make out her features in the dark but I could see her red hair in the moonlight. I had the phone in my hand and when it went off we both started. The lit screen said:

  BOSS CALLING.

  I answered and held the phone in the space between us. Sarah Jane moved closer.

  ‘One per cent,’ said Sheldon, laughing.

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Got till ten thirty.’

  ‘Let me talk to her.’

  The line went dead again.

  I looked at Sarah Jane. ‘What time is it?’

  She lit up the screen on her phone.

  ‘Ten past.’ She took my arm. ‘Come on, I think I know where he’ll be.’

  9

  We got to the bottom of the path, into the mild relief of street lights. I saw her properly for the first time that night. She wore a fox fur over black jeans. It was the wrong side of November and I wondered if she’d taken my arm because she was cold. After a few feet I noticed she was actually limping. It had only been days since her taxi had been held up. I thought some of her confidence had gone with it. We went as fast as we could, heads down against the cold.

  ‘I’m starting to wonder if we can ever have a crisis without you?’ she said.

  ‘Sounds like you had one on Friday night and I was nowhere near it.’ She didn’t say anything for a minute, but sped up a little, tried to cover her limp. We reached the bottom of the road and turned into a complex of ugly newer builds. I thought I knew where we were going. When we passed men on the street I saw their eyes darting to Sarah Jane. She didn’t notice or she didn’t care.

  ‘The cab was an accident.’

  ‘Like fuck it was. What’s all this about?’

  She didn’t say anything.

  ‘You and Zain were arguing on my second night at Fairview. Was it about this? Had it already started then?’

  ‘We weren’t arguing.’

  ‘You hit him. I didn’t think you were the type.’

  She pulled her arm free. ‘Don’t tell me what fucking type I am.’

  ‘Level-headed. What’s changed? Why are you walking with a limp?’

  She stopped, looked at me. ‘We were talking about you, actually. That first night.’

  ‘Flattered.’

  ‘You shouldn’t be.’

  ‘There was already a bad atmosphere at the house even then.’

  She started walking again. ‘I don’t know anything about it.’

  ‘After that someone spiked the brick,’ I said to her back. ‘A house full of kids died. Isabelle died. Any ideas?’

  ‘We’re here,’ she said.

  November was everywhere and it had wrapped the ugly grey building in fog. Like something half-remembered. The pockmarked, pebble-dashed walls looked acne-scarred, and industrial halogen lights burned out from behind anonymous windows. The converted office block where Isabelle Rossiter had died.

  10

  Sarah Jane led the way. Through the vacant lobby and up the stairs. She was three feet ahead of me, red hair trailing behind. Walking there in her wake, I could smell her perfume. It made me feel nostalgic for something. The way a familiar scent can stop you dead on the street, take you back through things you thought you’d forgotten. I couldn’t place the memory, though.

  Even then, walking with her, towards something, she gave the impression that she was completely separate from me. Like we’d never met before. She wasn’t dismissive and she wasn’t arrogant. There was just something that set her apart. I got the feeling that I’d never known her, I never would.

  I didn’t know what Carver would be doing here. I wondered if he’d bottomed out. Taken a room somewhere in the building to get away from it all. As we went further up, past the first and second floors, I knew that we were going to Isabelle’s old flat.

  Sarah Jane turned on to the landing. The further we went, the worse I felt. There was a broken police ribbon on the floor.

  Do Not Cross.

  Sarah Jane knocked and turned around. I was standing too close. She was backed up agai
nst the door, looking up at me. She put her hand very lightly on my chest. I stepped back and she took a key from her pocket. When she opened the door, I was half-expecting to see Isabelle still lying there.

  Instead, warm air drifted out into the hallway, a sharp smell of sweat cutting through it. The room was dark, lit only by a lamp on the desk. Isabelle’s studied anonymity had been replaced by chaos. I could see national newspapers, a couple of local rags, too. All turned to pages on Isabelle Rossiter, David Rossiter, Zain Carver and Sycamore Way. In pride of place, in the centre of the floor, was the appeal for information about Joanna Greenlaw. Some pages had been circled, underlined.

  Zain Carver, the criminal mastermind, was asleep in a swivel chair at the desk. His arms were wrapped around his body, and his legs were drawn up close. He looked like a vampire who’d gone a day without blood. I wanted to shake him awake.

  Sarah Jane turned to me. ‘Wait here.’

  ‘We don’t have time for—’

  ‘We’re fine,’ she said, stepping inside and closing the door. I couldn’t stand still. It felt like my bones were itching under my skin. I heard murmurs, back and forth, between them, punctuated by Sarah Jane’s raised voice.

  A minute passed.

  I glanced at the phone.

  Nothing.

  I looked down the hall at the other doors on the floor. Thought about the lives ticking away behind them. Another minute. Another.

  I was ready to go in there and start shouting when Sarah Jane opened the door again. She closed it softly behind her and spoke quietly.

  ‘He’s troubleshooting everything we’ve got left.’ Her voice was shaking. ‘I think he’s trying to kill himself …’ She looked away, opened the door and led me inside. Carver was awake and stared across the room, right through me.

  He didn’t get up.

  ‘Phone,’ he slurred. I handed it to him, felt how clammy his hand was. It was strange, seeing him that way. I actually felt disappointed. He brooded over the phone for a second then accessed the address book using his index finger. He blinked when the phone was immediately answered. I heard a voice from the other end. Carver sat there listening.