by Menon, David
*
‘One thing puzzles me about you, Lady Eleanor,’ said Marius Van Urk as he began his second interview with her Ladyship in the cavernous drawing room of Gatley Hall.
‘Then I suppose you could say you were very lucky,’ said Eleanor, chuckling at her own humour. ‘Many have been puzzled about me over the years and for all sorts of reasons. I’ll be interested to hear yours.’
‘Well without being too delicate about it, your Ladyship, what’s going to happen to all of this when you’re no longer here? Surely you don’t want it all to pass to the Treasury?’
Eleanor smirked at her questioner. ‘That’s for me to know about, Mr. Van Urk.’
‘So are you saying there is someone to hand your title onto?’
‘Please don’t try and read between my lines, Mr. Van Urk…’
‘…but surely I don’t need to, Lady Eleanor? You just said that there was someone you could hand it all onto?’
‘I said no such thing, Mr. Van Urk,’ said Eleanor, firmly. ‘I merely implied that there may be more to my story than you’ll be able to print.’
‘So you’re teasing me again?’
‘I love doing it.’
‘That’s clear from our previous conversation.’
‘It’s such good sport.’
‘So why aren’t you giving me the whole story?’
‘What do you mean, Mr. Van Urk?’
‘That throughout our two conversations I’ve been left with the strong feeling that there’s something else on the table that I can’t see,’ said Marius.
‘You’re a journalist, Mr. Van Urk,’ said Eleanor. ‘Your nose is trained in such a way that you sniff around.’
‘I’d have put it a little more delicately than that, Lady Eleanor.’
‘I’m sure but I have nothing to prove and I’m in my own house,’ said Eleanor. ‘So on both counts I can speak freely.’
‘I wish you would, Lady Eleanor.’
‘You wish I would what, Mr. Van Urk?’
‘I wish you would speak freely, Lady Eleanor,’ said Marius. ‘Instead of exercising such control over what you say.’
‘You will have to deal with your frustrations in your own way, Mr. Van Urk,’ said Eleanor. ‘I cannot help you any further with that I’m afraid.’
Marius sat back and pondered. His article on Lady Eleanor was more or less complete as far as what he could get out of her. But he knew there was more to be had from this old bitch from the discreet conversations he’d held with some of her staff. Her head of household, Colin Bradley, had been particularly candid about the comings and goings with her Ladyship. He was seriously buried in personal debt so when Marius came along with his journalist’s cheque book, Colin had virtually bitten his hand off.
‘Tell me about Glenn Barber, Lady Eleanor?’
Marius watched the colour drain from her Ladyship’s face that was well in need of being ironed.
‘I don’t know anyone of that name, Mr. Van Urk,’ said Eleanor who was furious. Who the hell had been talking? She wanted to know and when she found out they’d be very sorry.
‘Yes you do,’ said Marius. ‘He comes to see you here at the Hall at least once a month and I’m wondering what a woman of your standing would have in common with one of Manchester’s most successful and most feared loan sharks?’
‘Get out of my house!’ said Eleanor who was so full of rage she didn’t know what to do. Somebody in her household must’ve talked and when she found out who it was she’d cut their bloody tongue out herself.
‘Well would it be impertinent to ask you again what’s going to happen to all of this when you’re gone?’
‘Get out, Mr. Van Urk,’ Eleanor repeated, ‘get out or I’ll have my security people throw you out!’
‘Very well,’ said Marius, collecting his things together. ‘It’s your funeral. The ones who come after me won’t be as friendly, especially after what I plan to write up on the website. The vultures really will be after you then.’
*
Paul couldn’t understand why Jake kept calling him on his mobile but hung up before Paul had the chance to speak. It had happened seven times just in the last hour. Paul had tried to ring him back but it kept going straight to voicemail. He didn’t know what was going on. He just hoped Jake was okay.
He left work and on the way home he listened on his car radio to the PM show on Radio Four talking about the issues of the day. It was part of his Radio Four routine. The ‘Today’ show on the way to work and PM on the way home.
By the time he got home the show was featuring a piece about people who kept free range chickens battling against the supermarkets for, allegedly, not stocking enough of them. Now, Paul had a problem with all this. Many of the families he dealt with could make a cheaper, battery reared chicken stretch to three meals and couldn’t care less whether or not the chicken had been able to run around a farm yard and quite frankly, nor could he. It seemed to him that only those in a position of economic choice made a fuss about the source of their food. Those who didn’t have an economic choice just bought whatever they could within their budget to feed their kids. That’s why he’d refused several invitations to join the Labour party. He’d been to a couple of meetings where he’d met too many middle class socialists, who he found were too pre-occupied with stuff that showed how they had completely lost touch with those who were too poor to worry about climate change or whether or not something was organically produced.
When he got home he went into the kitchen and got a packet of chicken kievs out of the freezer. He had some rocket leaves and avocado with which he’d make a salad. He didn’t care about the source of the chicken. He switched the oven to 200 degrees and waited for it to heat up whilst he poured himself a glass of wine. Then his mobile went again.
‘…Paul? It’s me. Get out of there, just fucking get out of there…!’
The line went dead and Paul stood there staring at the phone. What the fuck did all that mean? Get out of there? It was Jake but what the fuck was he on about?
He looked down at the chicken kievs and decided to put them both in the oven. He didn’t have much time to worry about Jake’s very garbled message when the back door burst open and tape was stuck across his mouth. A bag was placed over his head. His hands were cuffed behind his back and he was dragged out into the alleyway at the back and thrown into the back of a van. He was told to lie still if he knew what was good for him. But it was Jake’s voice. What the fuck was going on?
His feet were tied together but there was no other violence shown other than his body being thrown across the floor of the van as it sped towards wherever it was going. He was terrified and utterly bewildered that Jake could be involved in doing this to him. He could feel his heart beating in his chest and his body begin to sweat.
When they got to wherever it was, he was pulled out of the back of the van and dragged along what felt like a concrete floor. After a few seconds they came to a stop and someone began kicking him. They kicked him in his back, in his kidneys, in his stomach, underneath his chin, finishing up in his groin. The pain lashed through him like fire through a house and he thought he was going to pass out. That’s when somebody pushed their hand under the bag over his head and ripped the tape from his mouth.
‘If you think I’m going to let you interfere in my business then you’ll end up dead my friend!’
‘Who are you?’
That brought him another sharp kick in his lower back. He felt his back arch like it had never done before and he was able to cry out with agony for the first time since the attack had started. His mouth was dry. He was overwhelmed with pain and fear.
‘I loan money to people who can’t get it anywhere else,’ said Barber. ‘I provide a public service and I don’t tolerate competition. You’ve been offering them the idea of some crap called a credit union, well let me tell you, Foster, keep your nose out of my affairs and keep your mouth shut. Otherwise, I won’t be so gentle next time.’
Barber replaced the gag over Paul’s mouth and then nodded at Jake for him to pick up where Barber had left off before. Barber turned to light a cigarette and waited to hear the action commence but there was only silence. He turned back and saw that Jake was just standing there staring down at their victim.
‘What’s the matter with you?’ Barber demanded. ‘Get on with it!’
Jake looked at him but said nothing.
‘I said get on with it! Jake? I’m telling you!’
Paul had never known terror like it. Lying there helpless at the mercy of his attackers was bad enough but to hear Jake’s name being mentioned made him feel like all the blood in his body had turned to ice. But now it was all starting to make the most deadly but perfect sense. That’s why Jake had been making all those calls to him. He was trying to warn him. Telling him to get out of there was his way of saying that they were on their way and he didn’t want to find Paul when he got there. This was the bloody security job he’d been so cagey about. He was minder for a fucking low life loan shark. Paul had never been more scared in his life and all he could think about was his poor old Dad. If Paul died here tonight then how would his Dad cope with that?
‘Jake, I told you to get on with it! Now do as I say!’
Jake still made no motion towards Paul’s twisted body.
‘Alright, I’ll fucking do it myself,’ said Barber who braced himself to start kicking the shit out of Paul but he was stopped when Jake pushed him back.
‘What the fuck has got into you?’
‘You!’ said Jake who could see that Barber didn’t know what to make of his behaviour. ‘Scum like you have got into me and twisted their way into my soul. I gave everything for Queen and country, and it nearly cost me my fucking life, twice. But what happens? I come back here and have to work for scum like you.’
‘Nobody else would give you a job after you’d stolen those weapons, Jake,’ said Barber. ‘You should be grateful to me.’
Jake laughed. ‘Grateful? Grateful that I now get to go around terrorising fat, stupid women who’ve never known any better? Grateful that I should be here now beating up one of the most decent human beings I’ve ever known?’
‘What? You know this guy?’
‘Yes, I know this guy,’ said Jake, ‘and that’s why I’m going to do this’
Barber coiled back at the gun Jake had pulled on him.
‘Now take it easy, Jake,’ said Barber. ‘I’ve got no quarrel with you. You know that. You lads shouldn’t have been out there.’
‘And what did you do about it? Yeah, you might’ve got annoyed at some news item on the TV but that’s as far as it went.’
‘Jake, I don’t take it all for myself. You know I’ve got a boss who creams it all off. She never gets her privileged hands dirty but she’s got as much dirt on them as I’ve got on mine.’
‘Is this how you plead for your life, Barber?’
‘Look, Jake, I don’t know what it is you want from me.’
‘Don’t you? Well let me put you out of your little misery.’
Jake shot Barber at point blank range, ripping his head apart with half a dozen bullets. Each shot made Paul wince. He tried to speak but he couldn’t get the words out through the gag. He wanted to beg Jake to stop.
After the final shot was fired an unbearable silence fell onto the scene. Then Paul started struggling against his restraints and made as much noise through the gag as he could. He was appealing to Jake to free him but he didn’t hear any movement from Jake at all.
Paul then heard Jake running off, his footsteps fading the further he got and all Paul could do then was cry.
TWELVE
When the hood was taken off his head, the sun had come up, Paul had to squint his eyes several times to focus.
‘Have you been there all night?’ asked the security guard after he’d taken the gag off Paul’s mouth.
‘Yeah,’ said Paul, weakly. His body felt like it was never going to feel normal again. The cuffs on his hands and feet had been cutting into his skin for the many hours of the long night. The pain was shooting through his body like the blows were being struck over and over again. ‘What time is it now?’
‘Just coming up to seven,’ said the guard, ‘lucky I found you.’
‘How did you?’
‘I look after the car dealership across the way there,’ he said. ‘I looked across and saw you.’
‘Where am I for God’s sake?’
‘At a disused factory just off Bury New Road,’ said the guard. ‘Jesus, from the look of you someone gave you a good going over.’
‘You’re not kidding,’ said Paul. He could taste dry blood on his lips and smell it all over his body. But it was the memory of who’d been there that was causing him the greatest pain. He felt himself breaking up again inside but managed to keep it under control. He didn’t want to start crying in front of the security guard and he remembered the dead body that was rotting only a few metres away. ‘Can you do anything about these cuffs? Christ, they really hurt.’
‘Well I’ve no key but I have got something that will break them open,’ said the guard. ‘I’ll go back and get it. Look, I don’t know what it is you’ve got yourself into, mate, but I had to call the police. They’re on their way along with an ambulance.’
Paul looked across to Glenn Barber’s body. It looked like the picture on the front cover of a horror film DVD. Paul swallowed hard. This just couldn’t have happened.
‘It’s okay,’ said Paul, ‘they’ll want to speak to me but I had nothing to do with him over there.’
‘Do you know who did?’
Paul just looked at him, unable to work out what to say.
‘It’s okay, mate,’ said the guard, ‘I understand. You probably don’t want to say. I’ll go and fetch those cutters. The police and the ambulance shouldn’t be long.’
The security guard was true to his word and came back minutes later with a giant pair of cutters that released Paul from the cuffs. Before he paid any attention to the broken skin around his wrists and ankles he took his mobile out of his pocket and checked for calls. If there’d been any he would’ve heard them but he wanted to make sure. There were no missed calls which meant that he hadn’t missed anything to do with his father, thank God.
But where the hell was Jake?
The police followed Paul to the hospital and once the medical staff had cleaned him up, the uniformed officers took a basic statement from him and passed it on to Joe Alexander and Steve Osborne when they turned up soon after to question him more thoroughly.
‘How are you feeling, Mr. Foster?’ asked Joe.
‘Like I’ve been hit by the Piccadilly to Euston train at full speed,’ said Paul as he struggled to pull himself up in the bed. He had a broken rib but the rest was down to some painful cuts and bruising; the damage usually associated with being kicked about and beaten up.
‘You’re okay, sir,’ said Joe, holding up a consoling hand. ‘We won’t keep you long. If you’re more comfortable lying down that’s fine.’
If Steve didn’t know better he’d say that Joe would be better off training as a priest and giving up life as a police officer. But he’d worked with Joe long enough to realise that although their styles clashed he didn’t doubt Joe’s ability as a police officer.
‘Thanks,’ said Paul. He gave up the fight to sit himself up straight. That could wait until the painkillers they’d given him had really kicked in. He flinched as his injuries reminded him why he was there.
‘Looks like you had a lucky escape, sir,’ said Steve.
‘I think I did,’ said Paul. ‘It only hurts when I laugh as they say.’
‘So why don’t you tell us what happened?’ asked Steve.
Paul took them through all the events that made last night the longest of his entire life and how it had all scared him half to death. But he left one important detail out. He said he didn’t know who’d shot Glenn Barber. All he’d heard was a voice.
; ‘And you didn’t recognise the voice?’ asked Joe.
‘No, detective,’ said Paul. He’d never taken to lying. He was the sort who wore his heart on his sleeve and he found it difficult to hide his feelings. It had got him into no end of trouble in the past. But he couldn’t drop Jake in it. He didn’t know where the hell Jake was and it worried him senseless but he just couldn’t drop him in it. He’d been over and over it again and again in his mind. And he just couldn’t, even though he couldn’t get his head around what Jake had done. ‘I’m afraid I didn’t.’
‘Are you sure about that, sir?’ asked Steve.
‘Yes, detective,’ said Paul, ‘I’m sure.’
‘Why did Glenn Barber have any argument with you, Mr. Foster?’ asked Joe.
‘You know he was a loan shark, detective?’
‘Of course,’ said Joe, ‘were you a customer of his?’
Paul was horrified at the thought. ‘No,’ he said emphatically, ‘I was not. I’ve been trying to organise a credit union for the residents on the Tatton estate and naturally, Glenn Barber didn’t like it because it would’ve taken some of his trade away.’
‘I see,’ said Steve, ‘so trying to help people led to you lying here.’
‘I wouldn’t make such a direct connection, detective,’ said Paul.
‘Well what kind of connection would you make? I mean, it seems fairly direct to me. You tried to muscle in on his trade and you paid for it by ending up here.’
