Midnight's Door

by Robert F Barker

  She gave me an exasperated look. 'Go on, tell me he didn't tell you I was coming.'

  My brain raced. 'He did say something. I thought he was confused.'

  'And my voice message? The one I left yesterday?' I must have given her a blank look because all she said was, 'Fuck, Danny. How you ever manage to run a business is beyond me.' She turned to the youth behind her. 'Grant, this is my dozy brother, Danny. Danny this is Grant.' I ignored the hand he offered to say, 'What are you doing here? Why have you come now?'

  'To help you out with Dad, what do you think? Like we discussed on the phone, it's about time we got him into a home, and there's no time like the present. I take it you're not too busy to give some of your time to thinking about your ailing father's welfare?'

  How I managed to not reach out with both hands, grab her round the throat and throttle the life out of her right there on my door step, is something I've never worked out.

  CHAPTER 30

  To me, Warrington Police Station is a scary place. An ancient, red-brick Victorian-Gothic pile, it has the air of some old museum, a bit like a smaller version of the Natural History Museum in London which I visited once with Caroline. On the fringe of the town centre and less than a stone's throw from Midnight's, its tiled corridors are wide and echoing, with concrete pillars spaced, almost randomly it seems, here and there. The rooms are either huge with high ceilings, or small, cramped and strangely shaped. You can't help wondering if whoever designed it got the measurements wrong and kept finding odd spaces that needed to be put to some good use, so they put a door on and called it an office.

  I've experienced its charms first-hand several times. Once as a kid when old Sergeant McIntyre pulled some of us in for robbing stationery from WH Smiths. While waiting for our mums and dads to arrive, he showed us the inside of a cell. We were terrified. If you've ever seen any of those 'Saw' films from a few years back, then you've got some idea. Years later I would spend three days in one on remand, after the Kevin Campbell incident. To say that experience left a lasting impression would be an under-statement. I still don't know whether my resolve to never again lose it the way I did with Kevin, (and so much for that!), was more due to my stay in the cells, or the realisation I'd nearly killed somebody. I was glad when I heard the cells were no longer to be used as such. A few years back they built a state-of-the-art, out-of-town, 'Custody Centre.' Human Rights probably had something to do with it. The last few years I've been to the nick a couple of times, but for legit reasons. One was a community meeting the police called to talk about the problems of town-centre violence. Another was a training session for Door Supervisors run by the Town Centre Inspector. Jamie Carver himself had an input.

  Now, as I waited in the draughty public foyer waiting for whoever the elderly volunteer receptionist had rung to come and get me, I shivered at the memory of my extended stay. The walls, bare brick topped with old black and white marble tile, were every bit as cold and stark as I remembered. A huge, blue-felt notice board was covered in colourful posters proclaiming the local police's commitment to providing the Community with, 'Excellent Customer Service' - whatever happened to simply locking up thieves and villains? - and notices about a forthcoming series of Community Meetings to be held in libraries, schools and, in one case, a scout hut. The board was fixed to the wall behind the row of blue, steel-mesh chairs. As I sat there I wondered how many 'business' callers ever bothered to read it. All the time I was conscious that somewhere within the station's bowels, Vicki was telling her story. I wished to God I knew what it was.

  Eventually the door that led into the station opened. Jess poked her head round. 'Come through,' she said. She looked shattered. By now it was getting on for four in the afternoon and she'd have been on for fourteen hours with only a couple of hours sleep the night before.

  'How's it going?' I said, as I joined her in the corridor.

  'Okay,' she said, though I thought the look she gave me was a little strange.

  She didn't say anything as I followed her down the main corridor, through a narrow, twisting passage then up some stairs. I had the vague notion we were heading towards the CID Offices where I'd once met with Carver.

  As much to break the silence, I said, 'How is she?'

  She said, 'As you'd expect, I guess,' which told me nothing.

  At the top of the stairs we passed a big office full of bustle with detectives talking into telephones and shouting across to one another. I caught a glimpse of computers, piles of papers and white boards. I've only ever seen a Murder Control Room on the TV but I guessed that was what it was. A bit further on, Jess showed me into a room that was empty apart from a square table and four chairs set against the back wall under the window.

  'We'll be right with you,' she said.

  I took a chair, and waited. The window looked out across a couple of low grey-slate roofs beyond which was the police station yard. I could see the tops of several cars and vans which, from here, looked like they were parked all higgledy-piggledy. As I stared out, I remember thinking that something felt wrong - apart from Vicki's abduction by Vincent and the fact that people were being murdered. Jess had seemed unusually restrained, like she didn't want to say too much.

  Eventually she returned along with Jamie Carver and another man I'd never seen before. As they sat down, Carver introduced him as, 'DCI Welbeck,' but didn't say anything about why he was there, which made me uneasy. DCI meant he was equal with Carver.

  Before he began, Carver looked up at me, paused and took a breath. Something was definitely going on.

  'Vicki is just finishing giving us her statement,' he said. 'She won't be long.' I nodded. As I waited for him to continue I could feel Welbeck’s stare. He had pushed his chair back, signalling he was to play no part in the discussion but was simply an observer. That I had no idea what he was observing, or why, made me uneasy.

  'While we're waiting, there're a few questions we'd like to ask, if that's okay?'

  'Shoot,' I said, trying to seem relaxed about it.

  'When did you last see Vicki's husband, Vincent?'

  'I saw him on Saturday night, on the club car park with Vicki. They were having an argument.' Smart-arse-like, I thought that as a statement, it was true.

  'Did you get involved?'

  'Only to ask if everything was alright.'

  'This argument, did it get physical?'

  'Not while I was there.'

  'Did you and he have 'words'?'

  'If you mean did we have a go at each other, then the answer's 'No'.'

  'Where did you go after you left the club this morning?'

  'Home.'

  'Anywhere else?'

  'No.' You can only go one place at once.

  A glance passed between him and Jess. I had the feeling they were skirting the issue. I wondered again what Welbeck’s role in it all was.

  'You and Vicki.'

  'What about us?'

  'Are you an item?'

  'Define 'Item'.'

  Carver gave me a narrow look. I read it as, Don't piss me about.

  'Are the two of you you in a relationship?'

  'Not really.'

  'What does that mean?'

  'She stayed at mine on Saturday night because she was worried about what Vincent might do. Then again Sunday night after Agnes's murder.'

  'You like her, don't you?'

  'She's a lovely girl.'

  'And you've known her a long time.'

  'I've known lots of women a long time, so what?'

  'You feel protective towards her.'

  'I guess so.'

  'And you wouldn't like to see her get hurt, would you?'

  'Of course not.'

  'How far would you go to protect her?'

  'How do you mean?'

  'If you thought someone was hurting her. What would you do?'

  'Whatever I needed to do to stop it. Wouldn't anyone?'

  'Would you beat someone up?'

  'Only as far as necessary.'
>
  'Reasonable force, you mean.'

  I nodded at the prompt. His input to the Door Supervisor course had been around how the law allows the use of Reasonable Force to defend yourself, or someone else. What constitutes 'reasonable' had led to a lot of debate. Carver continued.

  'You know Vincent is in hospital?'

  'So you said when you rang.'

  'Do you know how he got there?'

  'I presume in an ambulance?'

  The narrow look again. Jess decided she needed to look at the floor. Welbeck’s head was tilted back, taking it all in. Carver nodded at the table in front of me.

  'Your knuckles are skinned. How did that happen?'

  I flexed my hands out, showing the grazes. 'I was helping a mate with some building work. We were heaving bricks around.'

  Carver folded his arms, gave me a long look. 'Building work.' I nodded. 'You run a security business. Why would you be doing building work?'

  'His labourer rang in sick. He needed help to finish a job.'

  'So he asked you?'

  'We're good mates. I've done it before.'

  'Building work,' he repeated, like it was the lowest form of work going.

  'I help lots of mates with lots of things.'

  'Who's the builder?'

  'Harry Shankley.'

  'And he'll confirm this I suppose?'

  'Of course.'

  He nodded.

  I decided to push. 'What's all this about?' Why all the questions? I thought I was here to pick Vicki up?'

  Another long look. From Jess as well. 'Vincent's quite badly injured.'

  'And?'

  'Vicki's telling us she was responsible.'

  I pushed my bottom lip out. 'And you don't believe her?'

  'He's twice her size.'

  'So you think someone else was involved?'

  'It's... a possibility.'

  'Someone like, me?'

  'We're not accusing anyone. We're keeping an open mind.'

  Yeah, right. 'What does Vincent say?'

  'Right now he's not saying anything.'

  'Because he can't, or won't?'

  'Probably both.'

  I nodded, waiting.

  Carver leaned on the desk, clasped his hands in front. 'Is there anything you're not telling us, Danny?'

  'About what?'

  'About anything that happened this morning. After you left the club. Before I rang you.'

  'I went to bed. I slept.'

  His head lowered into a glower. I had the feeling that but for Welbeck, the conversation would be very different. He changed the subject.

  'I'm hearing there's trouble brewing at Midnight’s.'

  'What sort of trouble?'

  'Around the door. And with this Russian, Yashin.'

  'There's always some sort of trouble around clubs, you know that.'

  'What do you know about Yashin?'

  'Only what I hear.'

  'What have you heard?'

  'He's into different things.'

  'Like?'

  I gave a shrug. 'Girls. Drugs. The usual stuff his sort are into.'

  'By girls, you mean sex trafficking?'

  'Possibly.'

  'I assume Frank Johnson is aware of all this?'

  'You'd have to ask him.'

  'Is Yashin after someone else taking over the door?'

  'I think so.'

  'Will he succeed?'

  'Not if I have anything to do with it.'

  'But will you, have anything to do with it, I mean?'

  'Again, you'll have to ask Frank that.'

  He gave a long sigh, leaned back and pinned me with a look. 'I've got a lot on my plate right now, Danny. With these murders and everything.'

  'I can imagine.'

  'What I don't need, is trouble in the town. Of any kind.'

  'I'm not intending to start any.'

  'No, you never do.'

  'What do you mean by that?'

  He pulled a face. 'You know what I mean.' Then he added. 'That said, I'd be interested to know about any developments involving Yashin.'

  'You would?'

  'He's bad news, Danny. We don't need the likes of him around, and nor do you. Morris was bad enough, but Yashin is ten times worse.'

  He was talking about Jackie Morris. A gangster-type from Manchester a few years back, he was now doing a long stretch in Strangeways for dealing and attempted murder. He and his bunch had been at the heart of the last war over the town's clubs' doors. Towards the end it had all got nasty. A local doorman got stabbed and died. A Manchester lad called Vernon Springfield copped for it. He never said a word throughout his arrest and trial, but everyone knew he was one of Morris's team. It was in the aftermath of it all that I picked up the Midnight’s’ contract.

  I said, 'What rates are you paying snouts these days?'

  He looked at me sideways. 'Don't be a smart-arse. Just keep me informed, right?' He didn't wait for an answer but stood up. Welbeck lingered in his seat, giving me one last look before following. 'I'll see if Vicki's ready,' Carver said.

  He and Welbeck left leaving me alone with Jess. I turned to her. 'What was all that about?'

  She gave me an admonishing look. 'Don't play us for idiots, Danny.'

  'I wouldn't dream of it.'

  'You're a nice guy. I like you. You seem reasonably straight, and you've been helpful over these murders. But if you stray too far from the path, we'll deal with you the same as anyone else.'

  I gave a her a square look. 'Fair enough.'

  The door opened and Carver showed Vicki in. As well as looking like she had been in a car crash, I could see she was out on her feet.

  'Can we leave her with you?' Carver said.

  I checked with Vicki, just in case she had any objections. She didn't. I nodded, 'Yes.'

  'I'll show you out,' Jess said.

  Vicki sat quietly in the passenger seat with her head down as we pulled away from the police station. I waited until we were well away before I said, 'How are you feeling? Those bruises are coming out. Do you need anything?'

  She shook her head. 'They got the police surgeon to look me over. He's given me some pain killers.' She lapsed into silence again.

  I debated whether to ask, but knew I had to. 'What.. did you tell them.'

  Her answer was a long sigh. I waited. Eventually she said, 'Don't worry. I didn't point the finger at you.'

  'I wouldn't have minded if you had. And I wouldn't have blamed you either.'

  She shook her head again. From behind the curtain of hair, I heard her sniff back tears.

  'Hey,' I said, trying to sound reassuring. 'It'll be alright. Vincent will be okay. We'll be okay.'

  She gave a half-hearted, snorty laugh and shook her head again.

  'What?' I said.

  'I'm not bothered about Vincent. I'm not bothered about us. I'm not bothered about anything any more.'

  I felt her words like a kick in the gut. 'Don't say that. You're tired. You've been through a bad experience, that's all.'

  She turned to face me in her seat. 'You think so?' Suddenly she seemed fully awake. 'You think all I need is a good night's sleep, a couple of day's quiet then everything will be okay again? I'll come back to your place after work. We'll shag. You'll do us a nice breakfast. Is that what you're expecting?'

  I was stunned by the way she said it, the venom in her voice. Thirty six hours ago she'd sent me a thank you text. With a kiss even. I couldn't understand how it had all turned so quickly. 'I'm not expecting anything. I just want to know you're okay.'

  'Well I am. Don't worry. I've had enough of men looking after me. I'll take care of myself in future.'

  I nearly said, Like you did last night? but managed not to.

  'What I meant was, I just want you to know that I'm here if you need me.'

  'I'll bear that in mind... for when I need someone putting in hospital.'

  It was the most painful cut. I think she must have realised as she suddenly said, 'Stop the ca
r.' We were passing a block of shops. I pulled over. 'I need some things. You can let me out here.'

  'That's okay. I'll wait.'

  'No. I can walk from here.'

  'We're still a mile from your flat.'

  'The walk'll do me good. It'll clear my head.'

  'You're not fit. Let me drive you home. I don't mind.'

  She turned to face me again. 'Danny, just leave me here. I don't want you to drive me home.'

  I opened my mouth to argue, but could see I'd be wasting my time. I bit my lip. She got out. She was about to shut the door when she stopped, turned back to me.

  'Thank you for coming looking for me.' Then she slammed the door and started walking towards the shops.

  I read it as she was closing her account.

  CHAPTER 31

  On my way home, I called in at the office. Julia was still there but Mike had already left to go somewhere, I could guess where. Julia had heard about Vicki going missing but when she asked me about it I just said, 'She turned up back at home. She was with her husband.' Julia must have read my tone because she left it there.

  I mooched around for half an hour, shifting paper from one tray to another. But it was no good. As I rose and threw everything back into the tray on which Julia had typed a neat label saying, 'Pending,' I called to her, 'Don't hang around, Jules. I'll be at home.'

  'Are you okay?' She said it like she'd been storing the question up.

  'Fine.' I said.

  I headed home.

  When I got there, Laura was on her laptop. As I passed behind her to hang my jacket up I cast a glance at the screen. It showed a page from a website. I recognised the name of a nursing home in Stockton Heath. It was the same one our Aunty Betty went to. Young Grant was busy in the kitchen. Smells of a rich pasta sauce wafted.

  'He cooks?' I said, out of his hearing.

  'Someone has to.'

  My sister's never been big on domesticity. Ever since she first had a place of her own, she's had a cleaner.

  'Did you ring Dad?' I said.

  She nodded. 'I told him we'd come and see him tomorrow morning.'

  I pulled a face. 'I'm not sure... There's some stuff I'm involved in right now that-'

  'Don't tell me you're too busy, Danny. These may be our father's last few years. The least you can do is give up some time to ensuring he enjoys them.'