Sirens

by Joseph Knox

  ‘How did I look at you?’

  She wiped her nose. ‘Like I was something good.’

  ‘I need the name of Zain’s friend on the force …’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Man or woman?’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s one of the only things he’s precious about.’

  ‘You said I was the first thing you argued about. What was the second?’

  ‘Isabelle.’

  ‘You wanted her out?’

  ‘I forced her out. She was staying in the house at first. I made Zain move her to that other place.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I was scared she’d let slip. About her dad and me.’

  ‘Does Zain own the flat she went to?’

  She nodded. ‘It’s not true, is it? David and Isabelle?’

  I thought for a second. ‘When I got close to Isabelle, she saw through me pretty quickly. She asked if I was working for him, started having a panic attack.’

  ‘But what does that mean?’

  ‘She said he was obsessed with her. He interviewed her boyfriends, got them drunk and found out things about her sex life. He played the tapes to her sometimes.’ As I spoke, she started to breathe deeply. ‘I need to ask you a few more questions.’

  She nodded.

  ‘Your sex life with David Rossiter. Was there anything unusual about it?’ Even in the dark I could feel her eyes on me. ‘I need to know.’ I could hear her concentrating on her breathing. A minute or so went by as she steadied herself to talk.

  ‘Role play,’ she said.

  ‘Age stuff?’

  She nodded. ‘Uniforms. Voices. I didn’t know …’

  ‘There’s a room in the suite. Done up like a young girl’s.’

  ‘We usually went there. He likes me to call him Daddy.’ She turned away. ‘Did he kill Isabelle?’

  ‘Did you tell him I’d taken her home that night?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Then he knew where she was and in what state. I saw him the next day and he confronted me about the pictures. He was afraid we were getting close.’

  ‘So why wouldn’t he kill you? I mean—’

  ‘I’m only one of a dozen people she could have told. Anyway, he’s had me sidelined from the investigation. Had his man remind me of the pictures.’ Sarah Jane was completely slumped against the passenger-side door now. ‘There’s one other thing. When I found Isabelle, there was a message written on her bathroom mirror. No one can ever know.’ I was hoping she might recognize the phrase, but she just said:

  ‘OK …’

  ‘After my last conversation with the police, with my boss, I got home to find my flat wrecked. Everything had been broken or cut. Someone had written the same thing on my mirror and then smashed it.’

  ‘Right …’

  ‘And when I was in Rossiter’s suite, when I searched the room where you two slept together, I found this.’ I reached into my pocket and handed her the note. She looked down at it for a second then found her phone in her pocket. She lit up the screen and held it like a torch over the paper.

  No one can ever know.

  ‘Do you recognize the handwriting?’

  She put her phone away and shook her head.

  ‘Do you know Rossiter’s handwriting?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Do you have any of it anywhere? A letter? A signature?’

  ‘He was careful.’

  ‘How do you usually arrange things?’

  ‘I’ve got a phone specifically for him. He has one specifically for me. Texts. No calls.’

  ‘When was the last time you spoke?’

  ‘The night before Isabelle died. You …’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘You smelt of drink. She’d passed out. I was worried about her.’

  ‘Do you have it with you?’ She fumbled in her pocket, held the phone out like she was glad to be rid of it. ‘Hold on to it for a minute,’ I said. ‘I need you to do something for me.’ I believed Sarah Jane but I needed to be sure. After I dictated the message and she sent it, we drove back to Fairview in silence.

  11

  Need to see you urgently. Sx.

  12

  Things felt different between Sarah Jane and me. In some way we were strangers again. Sarah Jane fidgeted compulsively for the entire journey. Picked, plucked and scratched at her body, like she was slowly disassembling herself.

  It was late when we got back to Fairview and I gave her the choice. Face the police or leave, I didn’t care which. She decided to leave. I told her she could stay the night, pack her things the next morning. I locked us inside, asked her to hand over her phones and unplugged the landline.

  ‘Just for the night,’ I said. She shrugged and went to bed. I brushed my teeth, thinking of Isabelle blacked out on the bathroom floor. When I spat out the toothpaste there was blood in it.

  I woke up in the night to a creak on the hardwood floor. All I could see was her silhouette against the dim glow from outside. When she took a step forward, I saw that she was holding a bed sheet around her body with one hand and something sharp, metallic in the other. She took another step and a thin strip of light crossed her face. She stood there for a minute, not knowing if I was awake or asleep, and I watched the conflict in her eyes. Finally, she turned and crept quietly out of the room.

  We were both up early the next morning and Sarah Jane packed a bag. Rossiter had replied in the night, in the same clipped style of message we’d sent to him.

  Grafton St. 11.

  When I asked Sarah Jane about it, she said he was referring to a multistorey car park in town. When they wanted to take a drive, go further afield, they’d meet there, away from prying eyes. She glanced at the message and shrugged. ‘No kiss.’

  I took her case outside and down the path. She was standing there, wrapped in her fur, as close to vulnerable as it was possible for her to look. A light wind had caught her hair, sending red strands in a hundred different directions at once, and I watched her for a moment before she turned and saw me. She nodded at Grip’s car. Neither of us had referred to his body still being in the boot.

  ‘What’ll happen to him?’

  ‘Once you’re away I’ll report it. He’ll get buried.’

  ‘He’d want to be cremated,’ she said. Then quietly: ‘He didn’t like his body.’ She walked towards the car and put a gloved hand on the boot. ‘And what about those fucking animals? The Burnsiders? Sheldon White?’

  ‘Try not to think about it.’

  ‘I hate …’ Her voice broke. ‘I hate thinking I won’t see him again.’ She looked back at the house. ‘I won’t see any of them again, will I? It’s like you’re killing me as well.’ I didn’t move and she gave me a sad smile. ‘I know it’s not like that really.’ I nodded. We loaded up and drove into the city.

  13

  We got to the car park a little after ten, drove inside and up to the third floor. Sarah Jane told me this was their place. It was less than half-full and I reversed into a space with a clear view of the entrance ramp. She smoothed down her fur and spoke quietly.

  ‘What will I say to him?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter, I just want to see it with my own eyes. Tell him you’re upset about Isabelle. You wanted to see him.’

  ‘I am upset about Isabelle,’ she said. ‘What if he wants to go somewhere?’

  ‘Say no.’

  ‘I’m quite scared.’

  ‘If he touches you, I’ll kill him.’

  She looked at me, surprised.

  It was before half past when I saw a familiar black BMW coming up the entrance ramp. The headlights were on full beam and strafed the walls before the car turned right, towards the opposite side of the floor. We both sat low in our seats and Sarah Jane breathed a little faster.

  My phone started to vibrate.

  An incoming call from an unknown number. I cancelled it and spoke to Sarah Jane:

  ‘Stand out in the middle of th
e floor where he can see you. Don’t go over to him. He’ll come to you.’ She gave a small nod and got out of the car.

  She walked towards the centre of the floor and pretended to look around for Rossiter. She wore her fur, a knee-length skirt and heeled black boots. I couldn’t see the car but saw him flash up his lights. She squinted, raised a gloved hand to her eyes and turned her head in that direction. It was the kind of vacant expression that men can’t help but fill with meaning.

  I heard a car door slam. I saw her take a cool step backwards as someone walked towards her. A man in a long, dark coat. There was a grey suit beneath it.

  Sarah Jane frowned, really confused now, and listened to him talk. He handed her a plain gift bag and walked back to his car. I saw the lights flash again as he turned the ignition. Sarah Jane stepped out of the way, unconsciously looking in my direction as the BMW drove by her. It went past me towards the exit ramp and down, out of the third floor. There had only been one person in the car.

  Detective Kernick.

  I opened the door and walked towards Sarah Jane.

  ‘What did he say?’

  She seemed stunned. ‘David sends his apologies. Says it’s over.’

  I looked at the bag. ‘May I?’

  She handed it over. There were crisp wads of cash inside. I moved them around, searching for a letter, for something to compare with the note I’d found in Rossiter’s penthouse. There was nothing. I looked up and saw Sarah Jane watching me rifle through the cash. I handed back the bag.

  ‘Let me give you a ride to the station.’

  14

  We were sitting in traffic, waiting to make a turn into the Northern Quarter. She’d been quiet on the drive, idly fingering through the bag on her lap.

  ‘You look like you’ve got something to say.’

  ‘When Zain gets out, will you tell him? About David and me?’

  ‘It’s the only way I can be sure you won’t come back.’

  ‘Oh.’ She nodded. She turned to stare out of her window, and I wondered which one of them she’d be missing. ‘Would it be so awful if I came back?’ She looked at me. ‘If I never left, even?’

  ‘Think about Isabelle. Catherine, Grip, even Zain. Something’s going on, and if you stay … yes, it might be awful.’ She turned, stared out her window again.

  ‘What about you?’ she said, quietly.

  A bored little boy sitting in the back of a car in front held his fingers up as a gun. I put my hands up but he shot me dead.

  I parked round the corner from Piccadilly station, somewhere I was sure there were no cameras. I couldn’t drive Grip’s car any more, but I didn’t want either of us to be seen leaving it. The police had the details and they’d find it soon enough.

  Piccadilly has fourteen platforms, perfect for picking a random destination and disappearing without a trace. Inside, Sarah Jane spent some time scanning the departures board. My phone had started vibrating in my pocket again, but when I looked at the screen it was an unknown number. I ignored it. After a few minutes, Sarah Jane nodded, more to herself than to me, and started walking. I followed her to platform five and set her case down. She held on to the bag that Kernick had given her.

  ‘So this is it,’ she said, looking at the station over my shoulder.

  ‘What will you do?’

  ‘Who knows?’ She paused. There were tears in her eyes. ‘I am so sorry, you know.’

  I nodded. ‘Me too.’ There were a lot of people coming and going, and we walked towards the train. She got on and I put her case in beside her. A man on the platform signalled that they were ready to go. I think we both felt something at that point.

  ‘If you didn’t tell Zain about David and me, I could stay, or I could come back …’

  ‘In a couple of weeks there’ll be nothing left to come back to.’

  ‘How do you mean?’ The doors started beeping and I stepped backwards, allowing them to close. The train didn’t depart immediately and as I walked away I got the feeling that Sarah Jane was watching me go. When I turned, hoping to see her in the window, she wasn’t there.

  It was before twelve when I left. I bought a strong coffee, crossed the bridge outside and walked through a gleaming complex of hotels out on to Auburn Street. I passed the Gardens and skirted China Town.

  The overcast, static sky buzzed on overhead.

  It was the first day of December and I had just put my last friend, such as she was, on a train out of town. I felt my phone vibrate again. This time it was a message but still from a number I didn’t recognize.

  He’s here! Mel.

  I had to think for a few seconds before I remembered that Mel was the Australian barmaid from Rubik’s. I crossed the road through lunchtime traffic and ran towards the Locks.

  15

  Rubik’s was quiet but there were a dozen people standing around the main bar. I pushed through them, looking for Mel. There was no one serving.

  ‘Where’s the barmaid?’

  ‘Been gone a while,’ said a man holding an empty pint glass. I took out my phone and called the number I’d received the text from. I heard it ringing behind the bar and walked around to find it.

  ‘Mine’s a shandy, mate.’

  ‘Get lost,’ I said. ‘Police, I mean it.’

  The men exchanged looks and dispersed. Mel’s phone was lit up on the floor and I stopped the call. There was a door at the side of the bar leading into the back. It didn’t move when I tried it.

  I knocked.

  ‘Mel, are you in there? It’s Aidan.’ There was some movement.

  ‘Is anyone with you?’

  ‘I’m alone.’ I heard the lock turn and stepped back from the door. She opened it part way and stared out over my shoulder. ‘There’s no one here, it’s OK.’

  ‘He had a knife …’

  ‘I think you’re on a break. Come on,’ I said, leading her out from behind the bar. We went to my usual seat. It had a good view of the room and a good view of the street outside. Over a drink she told me that Neil, Glen, the ex-barman, had come in on crutches around an hour before. He looked and smelled awful, and she thought he must be sleeping rough. That made sense. He had a broken leg and was hiding from the Burnsiders as well as the Franchise now.

  ‘You did the right thing, calling me.’

  She shrank a little. ‘He told me to do it.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The police have been here looking for you as well.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Did you beat up one of our regulars?’

  I didn’t say anything.

  ‘They say you got fired. You stole drugs from evidence—’

  ‘When were they looking for me?’

  ‘Twice. They came for a statement after the assault, and then earlier today.’

  ‘About the assault?’

  ‘They said it was in connection with a murder.’ Her voice trembled. I turned to the window. Wondered if they could have found Grip’s car already.

  ‘What did you tell them?’

  ‘That I hadn’t seen you. Is it true?’

  ‘What? No. Thank you.’

  ‘You’ve always been nice to me but I won’t lie again.’

  I looked around the room. ‘It’s OK. I’ll talk to them, I’m close to getting things straight. Why did Neil tell you to call me?’

  ‘Wanted me to give you this.’ She pulled a dirty folded envelope from her pocket and pushed it across the table.

  ‘Did he say anything else?’

  ‘Just walked behind the bar like he owned the place. Opened the till and emptied it into a bag. I tried to stop him and he pushed me down. There’s a floor safe behind every bar so I locked myself in with it. He kicked a bit and someone asked what was going on. Then it went quiet.’ She took a shaky mouthful of her drink and nodded at the envelope. ‘What is it?’

  It had been folded down the middle, looked grimy and smelled of sweat. I guessed it had been in his pocket for a few days. There was nothing written
on the front of the envelope and it had never been sealed. I opened it and pulled out a familiar newspaper clipping.

  It was the appeal for information about the disappearance of Joanna Greenlaw. Someone had laboriously blacked out the words in the article with a marker pen, like redacted information on an old MoD file. With a blue biro they had circled her picture. The biro lines had been scrawled so many times around her that they left shining blue grooves in the paper. I turned it over, searching for something else, a message, but there was nothing. I wondered what it meant. Why the barman would have it. Why he’d give it to me of all people.

  ‘What is it?’ said Mel.

  I turned to the window. ‘You said you were getting a new job?’

  ‘Start at Fifth Avenue on Friday.’

  I looked around the room. ‘Good. You shouldn’t come back here.’

  I re-examined the clipping, trying to work out what it was telling me. I recognized Joanna’s picture. The vacant expression that seemed somehow familiar.

  When I looked up again the barmaid was gone.

  Had Joanna run away so she wouldn’t have to testify against Carver and White? Or was she closer than that? The circling of the picture implied whatever I was supposed to see was in there, but there was no shadow cast over her. No reflection of a killer in her eyes.

  Just a girl in a room in a photograph.

  I glanced round the room. Over my shoulder. I looked at the text. Some letters had survived the black marker pen. The remaining ones spelled:

  T A K E A B A T H

  I glanced round the room again. Over my shoulder. Out the window. I saw Laskey and Riggs getting out of their car. I crumpled the clipping into my pocket and went down a flight of stairs, banged open a fire exit and left.

  16

  It was around twilight when I pulled on to Thursfield Street. My headlights caught the metallic boards that covered the windows of the houses. Reflected back at me. I cut them and sat in the dark for a second, letting my eyes adjust. Even on a row of run-down, abandoned derelicts, the Greenlaw house felt significant.