His uncle’s eyes darkened with rage, his enormous chest puffing out. “Don’t pretend you don’t know.”
“But I don’t.”
“Stop it,” he roared.
Mikey clammed up and drew his knees even tighter against his chest, fantasising about vanishing into thin air. He was used to feeling invisible in this house, his mum and brother rarely bothered with him unless it was to shout at him or hit him. They’d both stopped doing the latter when he’d taken up boxing and proved he was good at it. No one outside the house knew how they treated him, the constant insults, the abuse. His confidence, never that abundant to begin with, was through the floor. He had no dad to take his side, he’d run off when Mikey was three.
“The police are coming to talk to you and search this house,” said Frank grimly.
“Me, why?”
“Stop arsing about. It isn’t going to work. We both know what you’ve done. Denial is useless. Now I never thought I’d say this, especially to my own blood, but I’m not going to stop justice being done here. You’re a menace boy and it’s best for my nearest and dearest if you’re put where you can’t hurt anyone else.”
Mikey stared at him in puzzlement, watching as his uncle walked to the window and stared out of it grimly, his huge body blocking out all the light. His expression worried Mikey and instinctively he knew it would be very bad for him to utter another word. His Uncle Frank could be kind, generous and warm when he was in the right mood, which often lured people into thinking he was something he wasn’t. But Mikey had seen the other side to his personality, which was dark and scary. Even his own sons weren’t immune to his wrath so if he was willing to give them a clump he wouldn’t think twice about him. Only Martina Maguire, Frank’s wife and Mikey’s aunt, could get away with anything when it came to Frank. He worshipped the ground she walked on. Martina was the only one in the family who had shown Mikey any real kindness. When she came to visit she always asked after him, took an interest in him. Not that he ever had much to say.
They remained in silence for a while, Frank maintaining his vigil by the window while Mikey stayed firmly put on the floor, afraid and confused, struggling with the feeling that his already shitty life was about to get much worse.
“They’re here,” Frank eventually said, his tone flat and lifeless.
Mikey jumped when he heard a car door slam outside. He felt sick as he listened to the footsteps walking up the garden path, followed by a loud hammering on the door.
“I hate police,” sighed Frank. “But right now they’re the lesser of two evils.”
Mikey knew he meant he was the other evil but he still couldn’t figure out why. He’d got into a fight with John Farr down the road a few days ago. He’d hit him pretty hard too. Mikey’s one escape was boxing and he trained regularly at the local gym. He was getting good at it, so good in fact that he predicted John Farr would never bother him again, but he didn’t think it was anything to do with that. No, it had to be about his mother and brother and the others being carted away in the ambulances.
Frank exited the room to answer the door. Mikey strained to listen to the exchange of voices below, hoping to learn something, but they were too muffled.
“Mikey, get down here. Now,” Frank bellowed up the stairs.
It was tempting to jump out of the window but as Uncle Frank’s word was law he dragged himself up off the floor, pausing at the door to take one last look at his room. It was a complete dump but it was still his sanctuary, the place where he was happiest, where he could just be himself without fear or scorn and it pained him to leave it behind. Somehow he knew he’d never see it again. His lower lip wobbled and tears filled his eyes.
“Mikey,” roared his uncle.
Determinedly Mikey wiped his eyes and hurried downstairs. He would not cry again.
Three uniformed coppers and a man in a cheap rumpled suit pushed past him on their way up.
“Where are they going?” he asked his uncle in his timid, dull monotone.
Frank ignored the question. “Get in the kitchen,” he ordered, practically shoving Mikey through the door.
A fat man with a large moustache sat at the kitchen table. The coldness in his eyes when he regarded Mikey shot shivers down his spine and he froze.
“Who are you?” Mikey said quietly.
“Detective Inspector Werner,” replied the fat man.
Mikey marvelled how someone so obese could be a police officer and surmised Werner spent a lot of his time behind a desk. If he tried chasing anyone he’d keel over.
His uncle’s hand slapped down on his left shoulder and steered him into a chair. Werner’s huge, bloated face stared into his, peering into his eyes as though he was searching for something there. Mikey was desperate to ask what was going on, but he was far too frightened of both men. Even though they were on opposite sides of the law Mikey got the feeling Werner could be just as dangerous as Frank. So instead of talking Mikey sat on his hands, skinny limbs shaking inside his baggy jumper and jeans, hand-me-downs from Jake, faded and torn.
“Aren’t you going to ask what’s going on Mikey?” began Werner.
Not knowing what to say for the best Mikey just shrugged. Even the suspicious look that passed between Werner and his uncle wasn’t enough to make him open his mouth, fear keeping it shut. When he talked things had a tendency to get worse, it always did with his mum and brother. Silence had become his friend. Now that survival instinct was so strong he found it difficult talking to anyone, especially strangers. When forced to make conversation his heart would race, his hands would shake and his mind would go completely blank, unable to think of a single solitary word to say, which had led to many people surmising he was stupid.
“I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know that your mum and brother are going to be okay,” said Werner a little sarcastically. “So’s their friend, Pamela Dolan. But Gavin Whittaker, your own brother’s best friend, isn’t so good. Turns out he’s got a heart condition that the arsenic is playing merry hell with.”
Mikey’s head snapped up. Arsenic?
“Didn’t think anyone would find out, did you?” said Werner.
Mikey was even more confused. Was he talking about Gavin’s heart condition? What was that to do with him?
“Arsenic is traceable,” said Werner. “You slipped up Mikey.”
Alarm bells started ringing in Mikey’s head. Why was the fat bloke using his name in the same sentence as arsenic?
“Abdominal pain, diarrhoea, jaundice, garlic smell on the breath, skin rashes,” he went on, moustache quivering as he spoke. “Classic symptoms of arsenic poisoning. It was the last two that really put the hospital staff onto the cause of their illness, which is lucky for Gavin Whittaker otherwise he’d be dead now.”
Mikey could only stare at him with his mouth hanging open.
“He’s still not regained consciousness,” said Werner. “If he doesn’t you’re looking at a murder charge.”
Mikey’s jaw flapped open. “Murder?”
“Well, what have you got to say for yourself?” demanded Frank.
As usual Mikey could find no words, he’d been completely floored and wanted to cry. Did they actually think he was responsible?
“You could have killed them,” yelled Frank, bringing a meaty fist down hard on the tabletop. Mikey jumped out of his skin but Werner didn’t bat an eyelid. Mikey surmised the policeman must be in his uncle’s pocket, Uncle Frank would have made sure there was a copper in charge he could control. Despite what everyone thought, Mikey wasn’t stupid. He listened in, he studied people. Sometimes they noticed this close scrutiny, which was why he creeped a lot of people out.
“I didn’t kill anybody,” said Mikey quietly, staring at his hands, unable to bear the wrath emanating from his uncle.
“No you didn’t and that’s only thanks to the hospital,” snarled Frank. “If you’d had your way all four of them would be in the mortuary by now, your own brother and mother.”
Unable to keep his anger in any longer Frank shot out of his seat with the speed of a man half his size, snatched up the toaster sitting on the unit, ripping the plug out of the socket, and hurled it across the room. It hit the wall with a loud clang then dropped to the floor, scattering stale breadcrumbs everywhere. Mikey considered himself lucky he’d not thrown him.
“What the fuck are you staring at?” Frank demanded of the man in the cheap suit hovering in the doorway.
He looked to Werner. “Sir, a word please.”
The huge man hauled his bulk out of the chair and Mikey wondered how its spindly legs had supported such weight.
As Werner left the room Frank sank down into the chair beside Mikey, small dark eyes riveted on his face. He was puce and panting with rage and Mikey prayed Werner hurried up. Frank looked like he could kill him.
“Just admit it Mikey. It’ll be better for everyone if you do,” he said in a quieter voice. “You’ve put the family through enough.”
Mikey decided it was time to defend himself. This was going too far. “I haven’t done anything Uncle Frank, I swear. I don’t understand what’s happening but I promise it’s nothing to do with me.”
Mikey forced himself to meet his uncle’s eyes and was relieved when something in them softened. Frank Maguire’s reputation was fearsome. He’d tortured and murdered people with his own hands and could be absolutely ruthless, but in his own way he was good. He had a softer side that meant he would protect his family, no matter how repellent they might be to him. Mikey prayed that particular trait would save him now.
Frank nodded and Mikey sensed the ferocious tide of animosity towards him ebb slightly, allowing him to breathe again. Perhaps Frank was starting to believe him?
They sat in silence until Werner returned five minutes later clutching a pile of books. The smirk on his lips and the way two of the uniformed officers guarded both exits out of the room made Mikey want to throw up.
He dumped the books on the table before him with a loud clatter. “My officers found these in your room Mikey.” He picked up the first book and thrust it under his nose. “A History of Poisons.”
Mikey was appalled. “It’s not mine.”
Werner continued, unfazed. “A Study of Poisons, From Hemlock to Botox, and last but not least, A Study of Arsenic.”
“They’re not mine, I haven’t done anything,” Mikey cried, not caring about his words upsetting anyone anymore. He had to defend himself otherwise he was going to get sent down.
“Then the smoking gun, so to speak,” said Werner, producing a tiny half-empty vial containing a dark grey liquid. “We’ll need to carry out tests but my guess is it’s arsenic.”
“You little bastard,” yelled Frank. When Mikey saw the frenzy in his uncle’s eyes he leapt out of his seat to get away from him.
The police officers, thinking he was trying to make a run for it, all rushed him at once. Terrified and trapped Mikey followed his instinct and lashed out, his right hook knocking one of the uniforms out cold.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” wailed Mikey as Werner wrestled his arms behind his back and pushed him face down on the kitchen table.
“Of course you meant it you poisoning little prick,” said Werner, slapping on the cuffs.
“I didn’t mean that, I meant hitting the policeman, but I didn’t do that either, I didn’t poison anyone.”
“Oy, Werner,” said Frank, talking over Mikey’s protestations of innocence. “We both know what he is but he’s still my nephew and you will address him with more respect.”
Werner just gave Frank a curt nod before hauling his prisoner outside.
Mikey wished Uncle Frank would go away. If he had to endure his furious contempt any longer he’d go mad. He’d sat with him in the back of the police car all the way to the station, stood by his side while he was processed and now he was sitting beside him in the interview room, waiting for Werner. He anticipated it wouldn’t take long. Frank Maguire wasn’t the type of man you kept waiting.
It was a relief when Werner finally ambled into the room, the chair groaning alarmingly as he sank into it.
“So Mikey, you ready to begin?” he said in a much gentler tone.
Mikey nodded, sitting on his hands to stop them shaking.
“Would you like a drink or something to eat?”
Mikey shook his head. His stomach was churning violently. If he swallowed anything he’d vomit it all back up again. He knew Werner wasn’t being nice, he was just trying to lull him into a false sense of security before starting on the real questions.
Werner leaned back in his seat, clasping his hands behind his head, pushing out his enormous belly, making him look pregnant.
“So Mikey, how’s your relationship with your mother and brother?” opened Werner.
Mikey just shrugged. That wasn’t something he wanted to discuss.
“Would you say it was good? Are you close?”
“Answer him,” snapped Frank when Mikey remained silent.
Once again what had been drummed into him since he was a child kicked in, compelling him to speak. “Not really.”
“Why not?” said Werner, fighting to keep the sympathetic look on his ugly mug.
“Jake’s the favourite. They’ve no time for me,” muttered Mikey.
“That’s a fucking lie,” said Frank. He looked to Werner. “Shaz has gone out of her way to get him help but all those stupid doctors refused to give it. They all said there was nothing wrong with him. Well this proves they know nothing.”
Werner gave Frank a look that implored him not to interrupt. Frank shrugged apologetically and went quiet.
“Does it upset you that your older brother’s the favourite Mikey?” said Werner gently.
“Shouldn’t I have a lawyer here?” replied Mikey.
“Just answer the question,” said Frank, suddenly sounding weary. Mikey surmised sustaining such powerful rage must be exhausting.
“No, it doesn’t,” said Mikey.
They all knew he was lying.
“You’ve got into a lot of fights with the other kids,” said Werner, changing tack. “Do you get bullied a lot?”
Mikey nodded.
“That can’t be nice. Does it make you angry?”
Before he could stop himself, Mikey had nodded again.
“Do you want revenge on a world that ignores you and bullies you?”
“No,” he frowned.
“We’ve spoken to family and friends who all said it’s your job to serve any guests with drinks when they come to visit your house. Did you serve Gavin and Pamela when they came to visit?”
Mikey clamped his mouth shut so he wouldn’t reply. It was true, he had served them cokes but if he admitted it then it would convince them even more that he was guilty.
“Did you Mikey?” pressed Werner, eyes narrowed like a hawk swooping on its prey.
Mikey cast his eyes to the floor and shook his head.
“Could you say your answer out loud please?”
Mikey didn’t see the point, the interview was being videoed, but he decided it would be best to do as he asked. “No, I didn’t serve them any drinks.”
“I’m presented with a problem now Mikey because your mother, brother and Pamela Dolan all say you did. Gavin Whittaker can’t tell us anything yet, he’s too sick. If we check the glasses for prints will we find yours all over them?”
“Probably. I live in that house, I’ve touched those glasses loads of times,” he said, thinking himself clever for coming up with that retort.
Werner’s eyes gleamed with triumph. “Your mum said she washed up those glasses just before Gavin and Pamela arrived. Water washes away fingerprints you know so, if they had just been washed and you didn’t touch them then your prints won’t be on them, will they?”
Mikey swallowed hard. His lie had only made things worse because he had handled those glasses, even though he hadn’t put anything in them except fizzy pop. He started to rock in his seat, face pa
le, shaking his head back and forth.
“Where did you get the arsenic from Mikey? It’s quite hard to get hold of these days,” said Werner, the gentle act falling away. He leaned forward to snarl in his face, “who supplied you?”
“Mikey, stop that,” said Frank when his rocking became more violent.
For once Mikey ignored his uncle because he couldn’t hear him. All he could comprehend was his life falling away from him. He’d been well and truly stitched up.
“Who gave you the arsenic Mikey?” pressed Werner. “Right now you’re looking at attempted murder. If you start talking we might be able to reduce the charge to GBH. Where did you get the arsenic from?”
Mikey released a low moan, his distressed rocking so furious he almost tipped the chair over. He couldn’t handle this.
“Mikey, take it easy for Christ’s sake,” said Frank, angry and embarrassed. He attempted to restrain him in his seat but Mikey continued his incessant rocking.
“Interview suspended,” said Werner.
“What are you doing?” scowled Frank, releasing Mikey, realising his efforts were futile.
“We can’t continue when he’s in this state. I want a psychiatric assessment before proceeding.”
“This needs sorting now,” protested Frank.
“And it will be. This gives us the perfect way out.”
Mikey could hear them talking but he couldn’t process what their words meant for his future. He could also picture Jake, his own brother, coming out of his bedroom one morning four days ago. Mikey had demanded to know what he was doing but he’d just sneered at him and gone downstairs. Mikey had taken a look around his room, immediately suspicious, but had seen nothing out of place. But then again his bedroom was such a mess it was difficult to tell. His own brother, his big brother who was supposed to protect him, had set him up to take the fall for his own crimes. But if his theory was correct, why had Jake been poisoned too?
“How’s Jake?” he cried as he was led to a cell. “I bet he’s feeling better already.”
“Fucking lucky for you he is,” said Frank, following behind as two large PC’s dragged Mikey down to the cells. They were taking no chances after he’d knocked out one of their colleagues.
Dividing Line Origins (Short story anthology - Dividing Line Series) Page 4
