Midnight's Door

by Robert F Barker

  He gave me a warning look. 'That's part of what we need to talk about. You need to calm down and let us deal with this.'

  'I am calm.'

  'Sure you are.'

  I turned to Jess. 'Do I look like I'm about to run off and do something stupid?'

  'You look like you always do.'

  I wasn't sure how to take that so I let it ride. 'Right, but two things before we start.'

  'What?'

  I told them about my concerns about Vicki. Carver understood at once and told Jess to arrange for a team to go to her flat and stay there until further notice. As Jess made the calls he turned back to me. 'What's the second thing?'

  'I need some coffee and you'll have to pay for it because I've no money. Then one of you can run me home.'

  As I led them off in the direction of the cafeteria, I saw their reflections in the glass lining the corridor and saw them exchange looks and shake their heads.

  Fuck them, I thought.

  CHAPTER 52

  As always when I ring him at odd hours, Eric answered with, 'What's up?' I knew Margarita starts her cleaning job at six so wasn't surprised he sounded wide awake and alert.

  'I need you to meet me at our offices, now.'

  'At five-fucking-thirty in the fucking morning? You're having a fucking laugh.'

  'They petrol-bombed my house.'

  'WHAT?'

  'Dad was there.'

  'FUCK. Is he okay?'

  I gave him the story, the short version.

  'I'll be there in twenty minutes.'

  The first thing I did when I arrived at the office was put the kettle on. Then I switched on the computers, and waited for Eric. I knew exactly what he would say when he walked in and he didn't disappoint.

  'If you'd been fucking listening when I showed you how all this works, you wouldn't need me.'

  As I spooned sugar into his coffee I said, 'But then I wouldn't have the pleasure of your company. Besides, all you do after you've dropped Margarita off is study the racing pages so I'm saving you money.'

  'Fuck off.'

  I gave him his coffee and as he booted up the system on the main office computer and logged in to whatever he needed to log into, I filled him in on the night's events. His responses didn't go much beyond, 'Fucking hell,' and, 'Jesus Christ.' After a few minutes playing with the mouse he said, 'Okay, we're in. What time was it, roughly?'

  'Around two, I think.'

  'Let's try from one-thirty. Front, rear or both?'

  'Front. It looked like a straight approach. Hit and run.’

  I checked the screen and saw that he'd split it in two, a video player showing a dark grainy image in each. After bringing up and clicking on several menus, the images lightened and became sharper, almost like daylight. One of the videos showed the view from the camera fitted to the side wall of my house. It covered most of the driveway, front path, garden and that part of the close outside my front door. The other was the view from the camera fitted to the gable end of the house two doors round from mine and which faces straight down the close. I made a mental note to pass another bottle of Jura in to Arthur. He's never asked for ground rent or anything, but I liked to keep him sweet. That said, the system benefits him and the close as a whole, as well as myself.

  It was Eric who'd convinced me, a couple of years before, that it was probably a good idea to invest in some sort of CCTV monitoring. It wasn't long after the last, 'Door Wars' when feelings were still running high and threats had been thrown around like confetti. Eric pointed out that apart from my protection, as the boss of a security company it made sense that I should be seen to be using the technology that is available these days. We arranged it through a company we knew, Samson, that specialises in remote CCTV surveillance. From their site in Kirkby, just outside Liverpool, they monitor something like two-hundred-and-fifty sites around the country, industrial, commercial and residential. Most of it is automatic and the camera operators only have to respond when an alarm or sensor activates. I sat through the very professional presentation their representative gave at our office but when he started talking about, 'terrabytes of stored data', and 'remote servers', he lost me. The only things I needed to know were the costs - it was surprisingly cheap - and the installation timescale - 'Tomorrow, if you’re ready.' And while I was seen as the highest risk, Mike decided that we could afford to have it put in at his and Eric's houses as well. In the end we opted for a passive system, one that simply records, but keeps the stored data for three months. What I was clear about was, if the time ever came when I needed to access the recordings, I would need Eric.

  To begin with, the only activity on the screens were a couple of cats and a fox scavenging for open bins. The video time-stamp read 01:56 when that all changed. The camera mounted on Arthur's gable-end picked it up first. A four-by-four, driving slowly, passed across the end of the close. Seconds later it reversed in, at speed, stopping when it was still a few houses down from mine. The front passenger door opened and a dark figure, clearly a man, got out. He was holding something in his right hand. He jogged down towards my house, coming in to view now on the other camera as well. Stopping a few yards from the front window, he brought his hands together in front. There was a spark, a cigarette lighter I assumed, then the object in his hand flared alight, like a roman candle. Taking his arm back, he launched the bottle at the front of the house. The camera on Arthur's house showed it go straight through the front window, followed immediately by the explosion of flame as it did what petrol bombs are supposed to do. I imagined Dad, in the room right at that moment, and a chill ran through me, making me shiver.

  'Bugger me,' Eric said.

  'Bastard,' I said, though it was more of a growl. As we'd watched I'd been aware of the burning rage that had been growing inside me from the moment the four-by-four appeared, and I was glad I'd anticipated it. Even so, I had to make a conscious effort not to flip-out. Pains in the palms of my hands and wrists reminded me to unclench my fists.

  Almost before the bottle hit, the figure was racing back to the waiting four-by-four which was already moving as he scrambled into the passenger seat. The door closed, the car turned left out of the close and disappeared. By now, flames were leaping out of my front room.

  'Stop it there,' I said. I didn't need to see any more and wasn't interested in seeing me carry Dad out, or reliving the minutes leading up to the paramedics arriving.. They were memories that could stay where they were for now. But at that moment, I was conscious of a feeling of disappointment. Even with Eric's adjustments to the settings, the pictures on both screens had been too indistinct to pick up detail. It hadn't given me what I'd hoped for. I said so.

  Eric was nodding and clicking his mouse even before I finished. He half turned in his chair and jerked a thumb at a shelf containing several ring-binders. 'Pass me the one marked, 'Samson.' I did so and he started flicking through it.

  'What are you looking for?' I said.

  'I'm looking to see if all that System Enhancement Software we didn't tell Mike he was paying for when we had it installed is as good as your mate in Samson said it is.'

  I nodded as a vague memory surfaced. It was of Eric, looking pleased with himself as he explained to me one night how he'd got Samson to bury the costs of something he seemed to think was important within the overall system installation costs. And that if Mike ever asked, I was to say I'd done it so Mike wouldn't sack him. After a minute flicking back and forth through the manual, Eric found what he was looking for then spent another couple of minutes refreshing himself on the technicalities. Then he put the binder aside and started bringing up menus again and clicking. And clicking. All I could do was watch. Used to being in charge of things and telling others what to do, I felt about as useful as a chocolate fireguard.

  Eventually I said, 'Is there anything I can be doing?'

  'Yeah. Make us another coffee.'

  As I reached across for his now empty mug I said, 'A please would be nice.'

 
Ignoring it he added, 'And when Ladbrokes opens across the road, go over and put fifty quid on Sandy's Double in the two-fifty at Wetherby. On the nose.'

  CHAPTER 53

  The next few days passed in a blur. There were meetings, and more meetings. With Winston. With his brothers. With my team. With Carver and his NCA mate, Will. The last was a strange one. They wanted to know everything, but made clear right at the start there were some things they didn't want to hear me say, which quite honestly I thought was a bit ridiculous but went along with because that was the game we were playing.

  I saw a fair bit of Vicki, but only because I was sleeping in her second bedroom - a weird reversal of where we'd been the week before. It was only ever going to be a temporary arrangement, while I waited to hear back from the insurance before sending Harry Shankley in to get on with the repairs. Any other time I'd probably have thought that me sharing a flat with Vicki would be like all my Christmases coming at once. But the attack on my house affected her - and me - far more than I expected.

  She was jumpy from the moment I landed at her flat after getting away from Carver and Jess at the hospital. Earlier, the arrival of the police team, who only knew they were to protect her but little else, had sent her into a panic and it was only when they reassured her that no one had died, she started to calm down. Even so, when I walked into her lounge I was shocked by what I saw. She was nervous to the point of shaking and was wearing a haunted expression that made me ache inside. When she came over and threw herself on me - I judged it as a need to feel safe, rather than a show of affection - I was surprised to find she smelled of cigarettes. Looking down at the coffee table I saw an ashtray containing several stubs, next to it a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. I'd never seen Vicki smoke, ever.

  She stayed that way through most of the week. I was out quite a bit but when I was there, I lost count of the number of times she went to the window to check what was happening outside. We spent a fair bit of time cuddled up next to each other on the couch, though it wasn't as nice as it sounds. The last thing on her mind was reawakening the sort of feelings we'd explored, occasionally, the previous week. I did wonder if she might feel safer if I went and stayed somewhere else, but when I mentioned it, she wouldn't hear of it. 'You're going nowhere. Besides, you can put some shelves up while you're here,' which I did.

  The one good thing was that once she'd had a couple of glasses of wine, I was able to talk to her about the part I needed her to play on the Friday without her freaking out. That first night, when I came in from the hospital, her first instinct was to never go near Midnight's again.

  'I've had it with that place,' she’d said. 'I'd have to be fucking mad to go back there. They're all fucking crazy.' Her cussing came as another surprise. I put it down to stress. But once I'd had the chance to talk to her, to lay it all out, describe how, if it all worked, it would remove the very dangers she was worrying about, she began to come round. After I explained that it was important she was seen to be acting normally, she finally agreed to go into work on the Tuesday evening - though she was adamant she wouldn't be doing any dancing. I didn't argue, though I knew I might have to later. If she didn't dance on Thursday and Friday someone might start wondering what had spooked her. But right then her involvement in trying to help the police draw out the Club Killer had fallen way down my list of priorities. It was a mistake I'll always regret.

  Then of course, there was Dad. He got through the Tuesday and into the Wednesday alright, but he still wasn't good and they kept him on the respirator. Laura came up as we'd arranged anyway - on her own this time - and managed to bunk up with an old, now-married, school friend. It meant we could split the visiting, though she took on most of it, which I was grateful for. That week I wouldn't have heard a word said against my sister, even if she did still seem to have difficulty recognising that others as well as herself, were being inconvenienced. Once she confirmed that her brainless brother had actually managed to remember to keep up the insurance on the house, and that I had a place to stay, - 'Is she attractive?... Knew it.' - she promptly forgot that your house burning down is a pretty shitty thing to have to go through. The fact it could have seen me off as well, seemed to fly by her completely.

  There were other things I could have given my time to that week, if I'd chosen to do so. Ricky Mason for one. My partner Mike, the business, and what we were going to do about it, for others. But I made the decision to leave all of that until after Friday. My hope was that things might be clearer then. Besides, thinking about it only got me upset, and there's only so much upset I can stand at once. Worrying about Vicki, and Dad and Friday was enough for now. One interesting thing. After speaking to Mike on the telephone, when he was relieved to hear I was okay, I hardly heard from him that week. As far as the office was concerned, he kept an even lower profile than usual, which wound Julie up no-end. 'I know you've got a lot on your plate right now, Danny, with your house and your Dad and everything. But someone still needs to sign letters and cheques and get back to people when they leave messages. Can't you have a word with him?' I said I would, but ended up sending messages and emails - 'RING JULIE' - when I couldn't get a response on his phone.

  And during those rare times when I wasn't seeing to all this, there was one matter I kept having to deal with and which made sure my mind was always fully occupied. Controlling the urges that made me want to go out and kill some bastard.

  CHAPTER 54

  Friday

  The Man Who Likes To Watch can barely contain his excitement. After the disappointments of earlier in the week, when it looked like events over which he had no control were conspiring to rob him of the opportunity he had engineered so cleverly, he is back on track.

  Tonight, assuming all goes well, he will go to bed looking forward to the promise of something wholly new the next day. A change in the routine which, the more he thinks about it, the more he wonders if he ought to include it in his repertoire again sometime. The trouble with sticking to one particular system, he now thinks, is the danger it may become predictable. That the police may find a way of working out when or where he may strike next - though he can't see how. After all, even he finds it difficult to predict these things.

  Take Vicki Lamont for instance. Ordinarily, he would never have considered another so soon after the last. But the way things have happened, the opportunity that has been presented to him, out of the blue so to speak, is simply too good to pass up. It amazes him how, in the space of two short weeks, she has gone from not even being on his radar, to perhaps becoming the pinnacle of his achievements to date. They have all been attractive of course, that goes without saying. And talented - though some more than others. But if he is honest, none of them measure up to her. What he saw last night - Tuesday's rest must have done her good - was way better than anything he has seen so far. A reminder of how special she is. How special she WILL be, when the time comes. Which is not far away now.

  Leaning back on his bed, he puts on the earphones that are never far away, presses the 'play' button and lets the music that is now so familiar he knows every beat, take him to that place where he takes pleasure in reliving what has gone before, whilst also imagining what is yet to come.

  CHAPTER 55

  By eleven o'clock that Friday evening, I'd realised my mistake. When we first piled into Harry Shankley's van, I'd noticed it didn't seem as roomy as I remembered. But, 'Hey,' I thought. ‘It's only a couple of hours. What's the problem?’ Three hours later I knew what the problem was. Rather, problems.

  For a start, eight bodies - mostly hefty - packed into a van with no windows and only two small grilles to let in air, generates a hell of a lot of heat. Also, it was a builder's van, which meant no seats. With only a mattress and several cushions to spread out on, it meant that by ten o'clock we were all suffering from various forms of cramp, back-ache and associated discomforts. Even Jamie Carver, with all his experience of sitting in the backs of vans on police operations, and who at the start had made light
of the crowded conditions, was looking decidedly pissed off. I won't even mention the smells, though I suspected it would be a long time before Eve would forgive Chris and Winston - or me for that matter - though I could claim, with honesty, that my only crime was the planning. What grown guys do in small places when they're keyed-up is beyond my control.

  Discomforts apart, Eric and I were doing our best to follow the reports being fed to Carver and Will from their sources inside the club. As far as I'd picked up, all of Will's team - around twelve I believed - were now inside, having turned up as regular punters and paid their admissions. The pair designated to keep eyeball on Winston's brothers when they arrived were in place and ready. The others were spread around the club in twos and threes, waiting for the, 'Go' word.

  But by now everyone was getting impatient, even Gol.

  'Any sign of Yashin yet?' he said, trying for the umpteenth time to find a position that offered his squat bulk some degree of comfort, a mission which was doomed to failure, I thought.

  Carver shook his head, but stayed focused on listening to his earpiece. 'We're assuming it'll be his usual time.' He turned to me. 'What? Midnight-ish?'

  'Give or take quarter of an hour,' I said. In the run up, I'd told The Brothers to make sure they didn't try to push Yashin into breaking his routine. For him, as with everyone, it was important that the night seemed no different from any other Friday. We didn't want to scare anyone off.

  'Any more from Vicki?' Eve said.

  I checked my phone. There'd been no new messages since the last telling me that everything seemed as normal, apart from Frank spending a lot of time holed up in his office with Charnley, which was understandable. It was still only Charnley's third night in charge of the door. There was a lot to take in. It had taken me a couple of weeks, at least.