by Sam Hepburn
The woman turned. She looked nothing like Mum. I felt stupid as well as robbed. I started to run. Suddenly I could see Mum everywhere – crossing the car park, climbing the stairs, heading down the walkway. I lurched into a stairwell doubled over by a blast of taser pain that was filling my head with breathy gasps of Tell Joe and Lizzie and pitching me into nothingness. I don’t long how I leant against the wall breathing fast before the pain got bearable. Hoping no one I knew had seen me acting weird I peered out and looked around for Oz. He was way off, heading towards our old flat. He thought we were going home. I whistled and slapped my leg.
‘Oz, c’mon. Here boy! This way.’
He skidded to a halt, turned on one paw and bounded back, swerving straight past me and making a dash for Bailey’s flat.
Obviously it wasn’t actually Bailey’s flat, he shared it with Jackson. For ages after their mum married her loser boyfriend and went back to Haiti, it was a right tip, but ever since Jackson’s girlfriend Danielle and their kid Rikki had moved in, things had improved.
Music was blasting through the walls. I had to knock hard and shout through the letterbox before Danielle opened up, joggling Rikki on her hip. She ruffled my hair like I was about five, which was rich considering she was only a few years older than me.
I pushed her hand off. ‘Hey, Danielle. Do you know anyone on the estate called Lizzie who might have been a friend of Mum’s?’
She shook her head.
‘Can you ask around for me?’
‘Sure,’ she said and went back to her mates, who were sitting round the kitchen table doing each other’s nails.
Bailey was asleep on the couch in the front room. He was a bit taller and chubbier than me and though Danielle was always trying to smarten him up and get him to wear cooler glasses he preferred scruffy jeans and his old glasses, even though one of the lenses was chipped. Oz jumped on his head. He looked round, gave me this feeble biff on the arm and wheezed out a croaky, ‘Hey.’
‘What’s up with you?’
‘Another stupid infection.’
Bailey reached for his asthma inhaler and I watched him shake it, squirt and suck. He didn’t look good. His skin was ashy and his breathing had this worrying rattle to it that I hadn’t heard in a while. I mean, I was used to him having bad days but now and then they get scary, like the time a couple of years back when he collapsed on the stairs of our block. Thing was, he was home alone and it was Mum who found him and got him to hospital. They said it was touch and go. If she’d turned up ten minutes later … well, who knows?
Jackson never said a word of thanks, didn’t need to because that’s when he started looking out for Mum as well as me, and her life on Farm Street notched up from the total pits to almost OK. No more rubbish dumped outside our flat, respect from the hoodies on the walkway and a fistful of fivers from the kids who chucked a ball through our window. ’Course, Eddy thought he’d lucked out and started throwing his weight around till he discovered that Jackson’s helping hand didn’t actually stretch as far as him.
‘Why’s your phone turned off?’ Bailey said.
‘I gave it away.’
‘Who to?’
‘This old tramp. Lend us yours a sec.’
I rang St Saviour’s and left Bailey’s number on the Prof’s voicemail, telling him it was the best way to reach me for the next couple of days.
Bailey gave me one of his sideways looks. ‘Who’s Professor Lincoln?’
‘Long story. It’s kind of why I’m here.’
‘I’m listening.’ He heaved himself up. ‘’Cos I swear, boredom’s going to kill me way before asthma gets a chance.’
So I told him everything. I even showed him Nan’s scrapbook and told him all about Mum’s meet with Lincoln in the pub. Halfway through he reached for his glasses and laptop and started hitting the keys.
‘What you doing?’
‘Thinking. Go on.’
He went on typing even after I’d finished talking, stopping now and then to ask a question or push his glasses up his nose and squint at the screen. Finally he said, ‘You’re right, you gotta find Yuri.’
It was weird. Hearing someone else say Yuri’s name made him seem realer. ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘And I reckon once he got to London he’d be looking to get help from other Ukrainians who aren’t too friendly with the cops. I was kind of hoping Jackson might have some contacts in that area . . .’
‘Jackson’s got contacts in all areas. But he likes to keep them personal. ‘
‘Is he around?’
‘In his office.’
I headed for the door.
‘I wouldn’t if I were you.’
‘It’s important.’
He looked up. When he saw I was deadly serious he nodded and reached for Nan’s scrapbook.
Jackson’s ‘office’ was a flat on the top of the opposite block that had been gutted by fire. Some older kids took it over till Jackson decided it had the makings of an ideal business premises. He wasn’t a big fan of sunshine or nosy neighbours so the boarded-up windows suited him fine. Mum would have had a fit if she’d known I was even thinking of going in there. I mean, she was really grateful for the way Jackson had helped her out and everything but there were large parts of his life she didn’t want to know about. What went on in that office was one of them.
I crossed the play area and climbed the stairs, slowing down as I turned on to the top floor. I stood in front of the office door feeling like I’d pulled on someone else’s skin and it didn’t fit. Oz looked up at me, expectant.
‘OK,’ I whispered. ‘Here goes.’
I took a breath and rapped on the charred woodwork. I knew one of Jackson’s runners would be checking me out through a spy hole so I stepped back to give them a clear view. After about five minutes I heard a couple of bolts scraping then the door opened about two inches. This tall skinny kid they call Blu-ray was staring through the gap. I’d never liked him much. He was sixteen going on twenty-five with a bar-code eyebrow, heavy gold chains and a swagger like a walk-on in a gangsta movie. He was always sucking up to Jackson, trying to show him how smart he was.
‘Watchoo want?’ he snarled.
‘I gotta see Jackson. It’s important.’
He shut the door in my face. I waited another five minutes then it opened and Blu-ray jerked his head towards the gloomy hallway. I stepped inside and followed him into the back room. The only light piercing the smoke came from a couple of bare bulbs and a few holes in the window panels where the bolts had come loose. Someone had done a bit of cleaning up since the fire, scrubbed the soot off the walls and put in chairs, a table, an old plastic couch and a fridge. Half a dozen blokes I didn’t like the look of, broke off a noisy discussion when I walked in. From the way they were glaring they weren’t overly happy about the interruption.
Jackson rocked back in his chair, gold tooth and diamond earring glinting. You could see he was Bailey’s brother but his face was thinner and harder. He had on a black tracksuit and his hair was braided and tied back.
‘What you want, Joe? I’m busy.’
‘I need to see you. It’s important. And private.’
The glares got harder. Waving down the rumble of mutters, Jackson swung his feet off the table and stood up. ‘This better be good.’
He wasn’t tall or broad but he had this way of making everyone around him seem smaller than they actually were. Me included. He took me through to what was left of the kitchen and leant against the wall, arms folded.
‘So?’
‘You’re the only person I know who can help me.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘You’ve got contacts . . . connections …’ His eyes narrowed. I could feel my face growing hot and my voice going stuttery. ‘With people who . . . know what’s going on.’
‘And?’
‘You’ve got to help me find someone.’
‘He got a name?’
‘Yuri.’
‘Yuri what?’
&
nbsp; ‘I don’t know. But he’s mixed up in some bad stuff and he’s on the run.’
‘Who from?’
‘Someone who wants to kill him.’
His eye bored into mine.
‘Why you want him?’
‘He’s got some information I need.’
‘’Bout what?’
‘’Bout what happened to Mum.’
The look he was giving me made me squirm. ‘Meaning?’
I stared straight back, didn’t even blink. ‘Maybe the crash wasn’t an accident.’
He lifted one eyebrow. ‘Why you think that?’
For the second time that day I blurted it out in one long blabbery stream: Ivo Lincoln visiting Ukraine, coming back and searching for Mum, Yuri being Ukrainian, on the run from people trying to kill him, and coming to London to look for Ivo. When I’d finished Jackson didn’t say a word, just went on looking at me.
‘Don’t you believe me?’ I said.
‘Doesn’t matter what I believe. You don’t want to go messing with no Ukes. They’re trouble. Big trouble.’
‘If the crash wasn’t an accident Yuri’s my only chance of finding out who did it and why. If he’s in London you must know someone who can help me find him.’
‘OK. Supposing you find this Yuri and he says you’re right about the crash. What you gonna do about it?’
‘I just got to know the truth, Jackson. It’s burning me up. I need you to hook me up with someone who’s in with the Ukrainians, someone who can do a bit of asking around without looking suspicious.’
Jackson looked up. Blu-ray was at the door. Who knows how long he’d been there. ‘Erroll Potts wants you to call him. Says it’s urgent.’
Jackson nodded and turned back to me.
Blu-ray went on hovering in the doorway, eager to muscle in. ‘Believe it, Joe. Those Ukes ain’t scared of nothing. Hey, Jackson, you remember that time—’
Jackson gave him a death stare. ‘Shut it, Blu-ray.’
‘But Jack—’
‘I said. Shut it.’
Blu-ray slunk off. Jackson leant his face close to mine.
‘You drop this, Joe. Right now.’
‘I’m doing it for Mum. Don’t you care who killed her?’ I’d blurted it out before his glare could choke off the words.
‘You think she’d want you dead, too?’
‘I have to know who did it.’
‘Listen up, Joe. I look after my own, you know that. But you do anything stupid, I can’t help you. Now I got a meeting going on.’
I fumbled in my jeans for the tie-clip and thrust it into his hand. ‘What about this? Can you sell it for me?’
Jackson held it to the light and I saw his whole face change.
‘Where you get this?’ he said.
‘Yuri gave it me. It’s real, isn’t it?’
‘Looks like it.’ He handed it back. ‘Piece like that going to get the wrong people asking questions.’
‘But I need money.’
He chucked me a couple of tenners. ‘Now get out of here.’
It wasn’t anywhere near enough but it was better than nothing. I put the tie-clip back in my pocket and made for the door. I felt his hand grip my shoulder. He turned me around.
‘Take it from me, Joe. If this Yuri’s running from trouble, he don’t want to be found. Not by you. Not by anyone.’
I dumped a box of KFC on Bailey’s knees and reached for the ketchup.
‘Where’s Danielle?’
‘Round her mum’s.’ He tore off a strip of chicken and folded it into his mouth. ‘How’d it go with Jackson?’
I gave him the bad news.
‘Told you.’
‘One thing’s for sure, his strop with Blu-ray proves he’s had dealings with Ukrainians.’
Bailey flicked me a look and stopped eating.
‘What?’ I said.
‘Nothing.’
‘What d’you know that you’re not telling?’
‘Nothing. I was just thinking about that house, Elysium. Yuri was hiding there. Your nan used to work there. That’s way too weird to be random.’
I was getting angry. ‘Don’t lie. What were you really thinking?’
‘I told you.’
‘Bailey, I’m doing this for Mum. And you owe her!’
I felt bad saying it, but I was desperate.
‘OK. OK.’ He crossed his arms and glared at me. He hated being forced into things but he knew he didn’t have a choice. ‘There is a Ukrainian Jackson did some business with. Viktor something.’
‘All right. Now we’re getting somewhere.’
‘You don’t want to go near him. He came round once, brought a couple of heavies with him and left a load more outside patrolling the walkway. They freaked Danielle out.’
‘Where’s he live?’
‘Acton . . . Shepherd’s Bush, I don’t know, somewhere out west. Jackson made me stay in my room but I heard this Viktor going on about his restaurant serving the best Ukrainian food in London and how Jackson should take Danielle over to try it. But the restaurant’s not how he makes his money. He’s into all sorts.’
‘So I’ll find the restaurant and go see him,’ I said.
‘I don’t think so.’
I picked up his laptop and started tapping. ‘There’s three Ukrainian restaurants in London and only one in West London. It’s called the Besedka.’ I scanned the screen. ‘The owner’s V. Kozek. That him?’
‘Yeah,’ he said gloomily. ‘Viktor Kozek. But honestly, Joe, someone like that, you can’t just—’
‘I’m going, Bailey.’
‘What if Jackson finds out?’
‘I gotta chance it. What else can I do?’ I closed the search and clicked through the pages he’d got up. I’d only been away for an hour and he’d already found loads of stuff about Ivo Lincoln and Norma Craig.
‘What’s this clip?’
‘A report off yesterday’s news about Norma Craig going back to Saxted. Have a look.’
I pressed play and felt a shiver of recognition as old photos of Elysium, Norma and Clairmont flashed on to the screen.
‘Sixties icon Norma Craig has returned to Elysium, the home she abandoned over three decades ago when her husband, Lord Greville Clairmont, was accused of murder. For five years they held court in their luxurious modernist mansion, playing host to a glamorous circle of writers, politicians, musicians, scientists, actors and royalty. However the party came to an abrupt end when Greville Clairmont bludgeoned their housekeeper, Janice Gribben, to death in the darkened hallway mistaking her for his wife.
‘The couple’s gardener told police he saw Clairmont stashing the body into his Mercedes and the car was discovered the next day, abandoned on the cliffs at Dover. However, despite a lengthy search of the coastal waters Janice Gribben’s body was never found. Soon afterwards Norma Craig left Britain for Switzerland where she has led a reclusive existence ever since.
‘And as for Greville Clairmont – on the day of the murder he literally vanished without trace. The man who led the initial murder hunt and followed up every alleged sighting was Inspector Keith Treadwell of Scotland Yard. Now retired, he’s here with me now.’
The shot cut to a washed-out old guy with deep wrinkles all across his forehead as if he frowned a lot.
‘Keith Treadwell, what do you think of the speculation that Norma Craig has returned to Britain because Clairmont is here and wants to make his peace with her before he dies?’
‘I’d say it’s poppycock. I’ve kept in contact with Miss Craig since the murder and if anything, her desire to see Clairmont face justice has grown stronger over the years. If she had any idea where he was she would have informed the police immediately.’
‘So why do you think she’s returned to Saxted after all this time?’
‘I’m afraid I have no idea. It’s just one more mystery to add to the baffling events surrounding this case.’
‘Keith Treadwell, thank you very much.’ The reporter turn
ed to the camera. ‘So the mystery continues and if you want to know more about the murder at Elysium you can find a link to Keith Treadwell’s website on our webpages.’
I gave back the laptop, whistled to Oz and headed for the door.
Bailey looked up. ‘Get yourself a new phone.’
‘Can’t. I’m skint.’
‘You should sell your story – Meals on wheels boy tells all! My secret chats with tragic Norma.’
‘Yeah . . . funny.’
He stopped smiling. ‘I’m not kidding about the phone. You don’t want to go walking into trouble without one.’
‘I’ll have to risk it.’
He groaned, heaved himself up and pointed to the couch. ‘Tip it up.’
I turned the couch up and squatted down, not sure what I was supposed to be looking at till he tugged back the thick black covering and took out the Tesco’s bag stuffed between the springs. I looked inside. There must have been at least ten handsets in there, all with their chargers wrapped round them. In Jackson’s line of work you could see how a stash of emergency phones might come in handy.
‘Pick one. They’re all charged up with money on the SIM.’
Voices sounded on the walkway, followed by the rattle of keys. I stuffed the nearest phone into my backpack and tipped the couch back. Bailey threw himself across the cushions, reached for the remote and turned the TV up loud.
‘Not a word,’ he croaked as footsteps thudded down the hall.
Was he kidding? I was desperate, not suicidal.
CHAPTER 13
I felt bad leaving Bailey on his own but he seemed all right stretched out in his favourite spot by the window, with Treadwell’s website on his screen and his bird’s-eye view of the estate. While he was off school there wouldn’t be much happening on Farm Street that he didn’t know about.
I got the tube to Shepherd’s Bush and walked down Goldhawk Road, keeping a constant watch for anyone following me. Oz was wary too, staying close, keeping his head down and his ears pricked.
The Besedka was a big glass-fronted restaurant with its name picked out in flickery blue lights above the window. The inside was decked out with cheap plastic tables and chairs and faded photo murals of mountains and forests. It was pretty packed and there were four or five harassed waitresses scurrying around balancing trays. Trying to look like I dropped in on Ukrainian gang bosses on a regular basis I pushed through the crowded tables and asked the big guy at the till for Mr Kozek.
