Cold Sacrifice

by Leigh Russell

  ‘I nearly did, but I thought, five hundred quid is five hundred quid, and I’d been off work last week. Five hundred quid for nothing, that’s what I thought.’

  ‘Five hundred quid’s nothing for what he asked you to do.’

  ‘No, but I didn’t know that then. I thought he’d just been playing around. What I need to think about is, should I go to the police or not?’

  ‘The police?’ Candy sounded shocked.

  ‘Should I tell them what I know? What would you do if you were me?’

  Candy leaned forward and spoke in a low voice, as though she was afraid someone might be listening.

  ‘Go and see him, tell him you need five thousand – no, say ten thousand, because there are two of us in this now. But he doesn’t need to know that. Don’t tell him you blabbed. He has to trust you or you might be next.’

  ‘Next?’

  ‘He did his wife in, didn’t he?’

  The two girls stared at one another and Della’s eyes widened in horror.

  ‘Look,’ Candy said at last. ‘There’s nothing to get upset about. This is fantastic.’

  Della stopped snivelling and looked up as Candy went on.

  ‘What I mean is, five hundred isn’t much, but there could be a lot more where that came from.’ She grinned. ‘Shit, he pulled a fast one, but it wasn’t your fault. You weren’t to know. But now we do know, we’ll fleece the bastard for all he’s got. He’ll give us thousands. Because if he doesn’t, he’ll be banged up!’

  Della began to cry again. Between sobs, she revealed that she had already spoken to the police. A detective had been to see her at the club and questioned her about Henry.

  ‘But that’s not all. I’ve got to go to the police station and give a statement. I was supposed to go yesterday. Only now I don’t know what I should tell them.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I said what I’d been told to say, that I was with him on Friday evening. I never should have agreed to do it. I knew there was something not right about him. Now I’ve gone and lied to the police.’

  ‘So what? He doesn’t know that, does he? And in any case, it makes no difference if he finds out or not. You’ve given him his alibi now, and if he wants to keep things the way they are, he’ll have to pay up.’

  ‘Oh my God, what am I going to do?’ Della wailed, breaking down in tears again.

  ‘Don’t worry, babes. I’m with you now. I’ll come with you when you go and see him. That way you’ll be safe. Now, go and get my half of the five hundred. Share and share alike now we’re in this together.’

  25

  ONCE THE THRILL OF owning such a wicked knife wore off, Ben realised he had a problem. His mother was always poking around in his room, sniffing for fags and rifling through his drawers for any spare cash. To be fair, he had done the same to her before she shacked up with Eddy. Once he had taken a bottle of gin from her room, pretending to know nothing about it when she went berserk. The poor cow was off her trolley about almost everything, but she knew he’d stolen her booze. All the same, she hadn’t been able to do anything about it other than slap him around a bit. It hadn’t even hurt. But with Eddy on the scene, he no longer dared risk fingering his mother’s things. If she discovered the knife in his room she’d accuse him of having nicked it, which was a lie. He had found it, which wasn’t the same thing at all. Eddy would give him a serious beating, after taking the knife for himself. Apart from the fact that he was a thieving selfish git, anyone in his right mind would be glad of a knife like that.

  He had been puzzling over where to hide it for nearly a week. So far he had kept it out of sight, inside the trousers of his one pair of pyjamas which he never wore. His mother had given them to him last Christmas and they had been too small for him even then. He had chucked them in the wardrobe and forgotten about them. No one else knew they were there at the bottom of a pile of underwear and T-shirts. Crouched on the floor of his bedroom, alert for any sound of footsteps coming up the stairs, he stroked the flat of the blade gently. He took care not to touch the sharp edge which had already cut his thumb once. The blade sliced through his flesh like a razor. It was awesome. He might never get hold of such a knife again. The fact that he had no idea where it had come from made him shiver with excitement. It could have belonged to a serial killer who used it to carve up bodies, or it might have fallen out of an assassin’s pack as he was returning from a mission. Whatever else happened, Ben had to hang on to it. Eddy must never take it from him.

  Another problem with Eddy getting his hands on the knife was that it would leave Ben more vulnerable than ever at school. Until now he had managed to muddle along OK, keeping his head down. He was too small to look threatening, but not weak or weedy enough to be a magnet for the bullies. Most of the time, they ignored him. What money he had, they nicked. It never amounted to much. They had taken his phone, his second-hand iPod, and the crappy headphones he had lifted off some little kid. But by and large the bullies left him alone, only chasing him in the street when they chanced to bump into him. If they caught him they would expend more energy jeering at him than hitting him, just to humiliate him. He lay awake at night plotting horrible vengeance against every member of their gang, but he had never been seriously afraid of them. Until now.

  Other pupils had begun talking. It had kicked off quietly. He became aware that pupils he barely knew were throwing him curious glances. He wasn’t used to attracting attention like that. It made him nervous. Then members of the gang started coming up to him in the corridor, blocking his way, threatening him.

  ‘Think you’re hard, do you? You ain’t so hard.’

  ‘You better watch your back, faggot.’

  ‘Someone gonna shank you, when you ain’t expectin’ it.’

  He had only shown his knife to a couple of boys in his own year, and already his new bravado had backfired. Tougher boys thought he was issuing a challenge, and they were out to get him. He wondered what they would do to him.

  ‘You remember Mouldy?’ one of his friends said, breathless with excitement. ‘Mouldy who went missing from school last term? Chas done that. And he said he’s gonna do for you too.’

  It confirmed what Ben had already worked out: he had to hang on to his knife at all costs. Without it, he was as good as dead. The teachers said Mouldy had moved away, but the rumours told Ben all he needed to know. Teachers didn’t know shit. He would have to be armed at all times. He never knew when his enemies might strike. If he wasn’t ready to defend himself he would disappear, like Mouldy.

  He wasn’t confident about leaving the knife at home. At the same time, it was too risky to stash it at school. The lockers were like a black hole. It was one thing leaving books there, but anything worth having vanished: phones, cash, iPods, food and weapons. It was no coincidence that since he had shown his knife to a couple of mates the padlock on his locker had been busted, and his books had been scattered on the floor. Whoever had been going through his belongings wasn’t looking for school books. At lunch time he slipped into the DT block and went into the textiles room. A teacher was in there. Young and blonde, she looked up with an irritated frown. Her head shook slightly from side to side as though she was nervous.

  ‘What is it now?’ she asked as though he was constantly pestering her, although he had never spoken to her before.

  ‘Nothing, Miss. Only I was wondering if boys are allowed to do textiles in year ten.’

  He sidled across the room, his eyes fixed on the teacher, and knocked into a bench. A load of sewing gear fell on the floor.

  ‘Sorry, Miss.’

  Kneeling down he grabbed a handful of cotton reels and some packets of needles and stuffed them in his pocket. Preoccupied with promoting her subject, the teacher didn’t notice what he was doing. Armed with his booty he stood up, ignoring the remaining reels of cotton still rolling across the floor trailing delicate threads. The teacher went on lecturing him about textiles as an option, and how there was no reason why boys sho
uldn’t take the subject, it wasn’t only for girls.

  ‘Thanks, Miss. Gotta go.’

  ‘Come and see me again,’ she called out after him. ‘Remember, boys are welcome to do textiles.’

  26

  DELLA REACHED DOWN TO feel around under her mattress but the envelope wasn’t there. Panicking, she leaped out of bed and knelt down so she could push her arm further under the mattress until her groping fingers found the money. Clutching the envelope she climbed back into bed and counted the notes. A knock on her door made her start.

  ‘Are you coming?’

  Della swore. It was nearly time to go to work.

  ‘Hang on,’ she yelled back. ‘I’m just getting dressed.’

  She jumped out of bed and took another forty quid out of the envelope before shoving it back under her mattress, as far as she could reach. Then she hurried to get ready. While she was doing her face, Candy tapped at her door again.

  ‘Are you coming?’

  ‘Just give me a minute.’

  From the living room she could hear a buzz of voices. The boy would be asleep by the time they got home. If he had been Della’s son, she would have worried about leaving him in the flat by himself, but Candy insisted he was fine. When they got back she would be annoyed if she found him fast asleep on the sofa with the television blaring, but Della understood that the voices made him feel less lonely.

  ‘Turn that off soon and get to sleep,’ Candy called out as they left.

  It was already dark outside. The cold was biting. They hurried along the main road and turned up a narrow side street that led behind the amusement arcades to the club. Della pulled up her collar. Her thin coat was shower proof but not very warm. There was no one else on the pavement, so they were able to talk. Glancing around, Della nudged Candy’s arm.

  ‘You won’t tell anyone, will you?’

  ‘What?’

  Candy was facing away from her flatmate. Now she paused in her stride and turned to look at Della. Candy’s thick mascara was already a little smudged from the cold air making her eyes water.

  ‘You know, what I was telling you, about that man.’ Della looked around nervously. ‘The man on the telly. You mustn’t breathe a word to anyone.’

  ‘What about the other girls? Aren’t you going to tell them?’

  ‘No. No one must know about it, not until he’s been arrested. As far as he’s concerned, I don’t know who he is. If he finds out I know what he’s done, he might think I’ll go to the police and tell them the whole truth. So you mustn’t say anything. Promise me.’

  Candy’s grin died away at the urgency in Della’s voice.

  ‘All right, all right. Don’t get in a state about it. I can’t see why you’re getting so worked up. He must realise you won’t go to the police, not when you can make so much money out of it.’ She grinned. ‘No one would be that stupid. And we’d be mad to tell anyone about it. It’s our secret. That money’s ours. It’s no one else’s business.’

  Della nodded uncertainly. She couldn’t get her head around the fact that she was covering for a man who had killed his wife. It was all right for Candy. She wasn’t involved like Della was. And then there was the detective waiting for her to go to the police station and give a statement. If they ever found out she was lying she would probably be banged up for withholding information, perverting the course of justice, or whatever they called it. But if she went to the police, and Henry found out, it would be curtains for her. Either way she was fucked. As if that wasn’t enough, when she arrived at the club she was told the manager wanted to see her.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He didn’t say.’

  The room was warm. Stinking of sweat and perfume like the rest of the place, it was furnished with a small pine desk and a set of black leather chairs. The manager sat on a black leather swivel chair which he rotated slightly from side to side as he spoke. The movement made Della feel sick as she stared at his pale bloated face. Above his dark suit and black shirt, his head seemed to hover in the air. The fat bastard made it quite clear he didn’t give a toss about how Della was feeling, or that her life might be in danger. All he cared about was his own skin, which meant keeping the club out of trouble. His bald head gleamed under the central light bulb, and beads of sweat glowed on his upper lip as he spoke.

  ‘What’s this I hear about you getting in hot water?’ he demanded.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Della mumbled. ‘Someone’s been spreading lies about me. It’s all bollocks.’

  ‘So why was a police officer here on Tuesday night, asking for you?’

  ‘I said, it’s nothing. It’s a mistake. He thought I was someone else.’

  ‘Don’t try to pull the wool over my eyes, you cocksucker. You think I was born yesterday? What’s going on?’

  ‘It was a mistake. He was asking me about some bloke I never met. It’s nothing to do with me. I told you, I never even met the guy he was looking for.’

  She scowled at him across the desk.

  ‘Don’t you fucking talk to any pig again as long as you’re working here,’ he said.

  ‘I never asked to talk to him. You sent me to see him.’

  Watching him fidget uncomfortably in his chair, she realised she had answered him back with a confidence she had never previously felt. For the first time, the reality of her situation struck her. Before long she would be telling Jimmy to stick his stingy wages up his fat arse.

  ‘Don’t bloody argue with me. Look,’ he leaned forward on his elbows, his voice softer. ‘I can’t have any of my girls consorting with villains. It gives the place a bad name.’

  Della gave a snort of genuine amusement.

  ‘That’s a joke. Like I said, it was a mistake. It was nothing to do with me. I don’t even know the bloke they were looking for.’

  ‘You are not to tell the police anything, you are not to even talk to them while you’re here.’

  ‘I never told them nothing. It was a mistake,’ she insisted.

  Jimmy rose clumsily to his feet.

  ‘If you want to hang onto your job, you’d better start behaving yourself,’ he warned her.

  ‘You don’t have to worry about me,’ she assured him. ‘I’m just fine and dandy.’

  He scowled before dismissing her with a wave of his podgy hand.

  27

  IAN WAS GROWING IMPATIENT. Twenty-four hours had passed since the television appeal, and so far it hadn’t come up with anything more than a few crank calls. To add to his frustration, three days had passed since he had questioned Della at the club but she still hadn’t shown up at the police station in Margate to give her statement. He couldn’t help feeling he should have put more pressure on her to give a formal statement when he had the chance. He was sure she had been lying. If Henry was innocent he would hardly have taken so much trouble to provide himself with an alibi. Yet he wasn’t convinced Henry was guilty. Something didn’t add up.

  ‘Perhaps he was scared,’ Polly suggested when Ian asked her what she thought.

  ‘Scared? How do you mean?’

  ‘He must realise he’s likely to be a suspect, seeing as he was married to the victim. So he’s scared. He hasn’t got an alibi. Maybe he thought he ought to sort one out, pay his way out of trouble.’

  ‘He could certainly afford to pay for it now,’ Ian agreed. ‘But a false alibi doesn’t necessarily mean he’s guilty.’

  ‘It doesn’t exactly suggest he’s innocent.’

  ‘No, but like you said, he’s probably feeling worried, whether he’s guilty or not.’

  It was dark by the time Ian set off for Margate. He felt edgy. Polly had offered to accompany him, but the visit was more likely to be productive if he went alone. He had spoken to Della before, and it would be better to treat this as a routine follow-up visit. He played it through in his mind as he was speeding along the Thanet Way. Obviously Della wouldn’t be pleased at his returning to the club to talk to her again. He might even have difficulty getting
to see her. Staff at the club would recognise him, and certainly wouldn’t welcome him back there. He was prepared to throw his weight around to gain access to her, and ready for her to be hostile towards him, and defensive about not having given her statement yet. It was likely to be a difficult visit.

  The bulky doorman stepped forward and crossed his arms, peering at Ian from beneath Neanderthal brows.

  ‘What’s your game then?’

  Ian brushed him aside. ‘If you want to know about police procedure, you need to change your job. Now are you going to step aside, or would you rather be arrested for obstruction?’

  ‘All right, guv, keep your hair on.’

  Once again a hideously strong perfume hit him as soon as he stepped through the door. A different woman was on duty this time. Not recognising him, she opened a curtain and ushered him into the bar where a single pole dancer was gyrating on a podium. It was early but the auditorium was already quite packed. Ian had first been there on a Tuesday evening when a few men had given the place a sleazy atmosphere. On Friday the place had a different ambience, bustling and cheerful. People had gone there after work for a night out. At one table a stag party was making a racket, laughing and cheering on a lap dancer.

  Ian followed the woman back out into the poorly lit foyer and explained the reason for his visit.

  ‘Who did you say you wanted to see?’

  Ian repeated his request. She denied knowing anyone called Della. When Ian pressed her, she told him to wait while she fetched the manager. Ian waited. He was prepared to be patient. Through the curtain he heard chattering voices, braying laughter and the bass thumping of music. He wondered what Bev would say if she could see him standing in the grubby hall of a sordid strip club while she was sitting at home, also waiting.