The Sinner

by Martyn Waites

  Beardy was making his way round Tom’s back, attempting to come at him in the clumsiest pincer movement he’d ever witnessed. They were slow-moving but he didn’t believe they would be slow-witted. Or that wasn’t a chance he was going to take. He feinted to his right, made it look like he was going to run, put the two of them on the front foot, ready to go after him, then quickly darted to his left and the pile of stacked chairs. Before they could react, he had a chair in his hand. He brandished it at them like a lion tamer.

  The two of them turned, smiled at him. ‘That the best you can do?’ said Mohawk.

  ‘Come here and find out.’

  They both moved slowly towards him. One of them had to break, he thought, make a sudden movement, attempt to get him. He just had to work out which one.

  It was Beardy. He lunged at Tom, trying to get his knife arm around the metal legs of the chair. Tom brought the chair leg down onto his arm. Then again. It had virtually no effect.

  Changing tactic he lunged with the chair, aiming it at Beardy’s face. That produced a better result. The leg struck him just above the right eye. He recoiled. Tom struck again. This time he hit him right in the eye. Pushed as hard as he could. Beardy, hands to his face, screamed in pain and retreated.

  Tom didn’t have time to relish this triumph. Mohawk was now behind him, a shiv in his hand too. He felt rather than heard its swish, tried to dodge out of the way. The blade, small but vicious, connected with his forearm. He gasped in pain, looked at it. Blood sprayed out of his arm as it scythed away from the blade. He let go of the chair. It dropped to the floor.

  Tom tried to ignore the pain, knew there were more important things to do. He could hurt later.

  Looking around, he checked his options, quickly assessed the situation, looked for something that might give him an advantage. He jumped on the chair underneath the noose, grabbed for the rope and swung his body towards Mohawk. Both feet connected and the man went over. The shiv fell away. Tom jumped down, picked it up.

  And felt a sudden pain across his right shoulder blade. Beardy, half-blinded, had got himself upright and swung at Tom with his shiv again. He felt the blood instantaneously soak through his sweatshirt. Tom dropped the shiv and turned, ready, trying to ignore the extra pain.

  No time to think, he went in on Beardy’s blind side, punching him on the side of the head. The man, already in pain, brought his hand up to defend himself. Tom kept punching, as fast and as hard as he could.

  Behind him, Mohawk was getting up. Thinking fast, deciding Beardy wasn’t the immediate threat, he bent down, grabbed the shiv and turned to Mohawk who threw a fist that was more hopeful than accurate. Tom managed to grab his meaty, muscled arm with one hand and, holding the shiv in the other, twist it down and round. The man pushed against him and Tom stumbled, losing his footing. He let the arm go. Mohawk swung again.

  Tom managed to get most of his body out of the way but his right shoulder took a hit. Right where the shiv had already caught him. Mohawk was so big, his blow so powerful, that Tom felt like his arm had gone dead. Beardy, battered but still going, came up behind him, thrusting his knife. Tom just managed to twist out of the way, going to ground, feeling something in his knee pop as he did so.

  He spun away out of the grasp of them both, looked round frantically for a way of escape. Couldn’t see one. He turned back to them. Looked at the shiv in his hand.

  ‘You want this? Come and fucking get it . . .’

  Ready to take the fight to them and be finished, he stepped into the path of the half-blinded Beardy, swung the shiv at him. Backwards and forwards, as deadly and as quick an arc as he could manage, darting and dancing on his feet as much as his damaged knee would allow, becoming a hard target to hit. Beardy put his arm out and the shiv connected. He instinctively pulled his arm back as the blood started to spurt. Tom pressed forwards, swung again. Connected again. Same arm. Beardy grabbed his bleeding arm with his good one. Tom went for a third cut. The blood was now geysering.

  He turned to see where Mohawk had got to. The attacker was wary now, standing back from him. Wondering why Tom hadn’t followed the script. He came for him.

  Tom scanned the room. In the far corner was a wooden handled mop standing upright in a bucket. He ducked away from the advancing Mohawk, made a grab for the mop.

  Thinking he could leave Beardy for a few seconds, Tom turned to Mohawk who had stopped his movement and was regarding him uncertainly. Dropping the shiv, he swung the mop, hard as he could, feet braced as well as he could manage. The wood connected with Mohawk’s head. He actually screamed ‘ow’, which Tom might have found amusing under other circumstances.

  He swung again, but Beardy managed to grab the shaft of the broom. He followed through with his grip, pushing it towards Tom, forcing him back. He put both hands on the handle, ran Tom back to the wall, pinned him up against it. Wood against Tom’s throat, pushing.

  Tom knew he would choke if he didn’t do something so, knowing one eye was already damaged, pushed his thumbs as hard as he could into both of Beardy’s eyes. The man tried to pull his head back and away from Tom, which eased his grip, making Tom in turn press all the harder. And harder still. Beardy cried out in pain. Tom kept pushing, managed to get his thumb right in the corner of his left eye. He could feel the back of the eyeball, see it beginning to pop out of the socket.

  Beardy screamed and pulled away, letting go of the mop, trying to claw Tom’s hand away from his eye. Tom relaxed his grip, took hold of the handle and pushed Beardy back. He stumbled, ended up on the floor. Tom, not waiting to think, just acting on instinct, swung the wood until it connected with his head. Then again. And again. Until he was sure Beardy wasn’t going to get up for a while.

  He turned, quickly, looked to see where Mohawk was. He had found the shiv Tom had dropped and stood up, nursing his injured head while holding the shiv out towards Tom without much conviction.

  Adrenaline was killing the pain. Tom stood his ground, held the mop handle like a weapon, snarled. ‘What you waiting for? Eh? Come on, then, let’s be having you . . .’

  Mohawk just stared. Glanced at the doorway, down to his fallen comrade who was now bleeding profusely from his arm, the side of his head and ear, cradling what was left of his eyes, then back at Tom. He looked at the knife in his hand. It suddenly seemed very small.

  ‘Come on you fucker, what you waiting for?’ Tom’s voice rising in pitch, in ferocity.

  The other man held up his hands. ‘Hey, mate, just a job. No hard feelings.’

  He turned and made for the door, dropping the knife as he went.

  Tom made to follow him. Before his attacker reached the door it was unlocked from the outside. A crew of officers in riot gear stormed in and stopped, staring at him.

  Tom, blood-soaked, anger in his eyes, ready to take on the world just stared back, then yelled, ‘Who’s next then? Who’s fucking next?’

  And they were on him.

  39

  ‘Here we are again. We’re going to have to stop meeting like this.’ Anju smiled as she spoke, hands round her coffee for warmth.

  Lila looked confused, distraught, even. ‘Why?’

  Anju frowned, looked closely at her. ‘You being serious?’

  ‘Erm . . .’

  Her hands uncurled from the cup, wrapped themselves round Lila’s. ‘It was a joke. Didn’t you get that?’

  Lila gave a smile. It took a second or two. ‘Sorry. Sometimes I . . . don’t react to things the way everyone else does. It’s . . . I missed a bit. When I was younger.’

  Anju’s smile widened, her grip on Lila’s hands tightened. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll help you get all caught up.’

  Lila couldn’t help but smile in return.

  Anju took her mind off things.

  But there were things she wanted to talk to her about.

  They were in Grounded, a coffee shop in Truro’s artisan quarter. It was an off-campus place where they had taken to meeting. Lila found t
he coffee good, if a little pricey for a student, but Anju didn’t seem to notice. Coming from money will do that, Lila thought, but not in a cruel way. Anju couldn’t change her background any more than Lila could. But only one of them wanted to.

  They sat on the seats they always did. In front of the counter, smelling the fresh ground coffee and pastries, leaning forwards together, arms on the stripped reclaimed wood tabletop. The wooden stools were circular, their round, padded seats with holes in the centre, in brown and white. Like sitting on a doughnut, Lila had said the first time they went there. I think that’s the idea, Anju had replied. Subliminal advertising.

  ‘We had a visitor,’ Lila said after taking another mouthful of latte.

  ‘Is Tom home?’ Anju had taken to calling him Tom too. Not Mr Killgannon or your friend, nothing like that. She just accepted Lila’s home arrangement.

  ‘No, not Tom. Still haven’t heard from him. But someone turned up saying he’s a friend of Tom’s.’

  ‘So he’s got news from him?’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘What then?’

  Lila sighed. Told her all about Quint.

  *

  ‘This is Quint,’ Lila had said to Pearl as the man followed her to the kitchen.

  Pearl looked up, startled. Didn’t know what to say.

  ‘He says he’s a friend of Tom’s,’ Lila said before anyone else could speak.

  ‘I am a friend of Tom’s.’ Quint grinned. Cheerful, disarming. He stuck out a finger, pointed in a theatrical manner. ‘You must be . . . Pearl. Am I right?’ Still smiling. ‘I’m right, aren’t I?’

  Pearl returned the smile. It was infectious. ‘Yes, I’m Pearl. Hi.’ She walked to him, shook hands over the kitchen table. ‘I was just making tea. Want one?’

  ‘Yeah, that would be great, thanks. Cold out there.’ He began unzipping his leather jacket.

  ‘Sit down. Please.’ Pearl’s sense of hospitality kicked in.

  He did so, hung his jacket on the back of the wooden chair.

  ‘So what are you doing here, Quint?’ asked Lila, staying standing.

  ‘Well, Tom’s on his . . . mission, shall we call it. And before he went, he asked me to just keep an eye on you both.’

  Lila said nothing. Waited for him to continue.

  ‘I was trying to keep a low profile but after you saw me the other day, well . . .’ He put his hands on the air, shrugged. ‘Thought I may as well come and say hello. So here I am.’ Another disarming smile, accompanied by a little wave this time. ‘Hello.’

  Pearl, once again, returned it. Lila didn’t.

  ‘I went to see Tom a few days ago,’ said Lila, face not giving anything away.

  ‘Yeah?’ said Quint. ‘He mention me?’

  ‘He did, actually, yeah. I told him we didn’t need anyone to look after us.’

  Quint shrugged. ‘Well, you never know.’

  ‘So why would we need someone looking out for us?’

  Quint’s smile faltered. Lila stared at him, watching him all the time. The smile broke, his features regrouped, ready to take another approach. ‘Nothing in particular, I don’t think. But he and I go way back. We served together. We always had each other’s backs. When he was recalled for active service, so to speak, he phoned me and like I said, here I am. I was camping first but it got a bit cold for that.’ Another smile. ‘Can’t do it like I used to. So I booked into a B&B nearby. I was on the way there when you saw me the other day.’

  Lila nodded, said nothing.

  Pearl placed a teapot on the table, three mugs, milk from the fridge and a sugar bowl with a spoon in it.

  ‘Help yourself,’ she said. ‘Although I’d give it a few minutes to brew.’

  Quint thanked her. Lila sat down.

  ‘So you were in the army, that right?’ asked Pearl.

  Quint shook his head. ‘Commandos with Tom. Or, you know. What he used to call himself. I’ve got to get used to calling him that now. Suits him, I think. He looks like a Tom.’

  ‘We’ve never known him as anything else,’ said Pearl, lifting the pot and pouring. ‘Sugar?’

  ‘No thanks,’ said Quint, then hit them with another dazzling smile.

  Don’t say it, thought Lila. Please don’t say it.

  ‘Sweet enough, that’s me.’

  Pearl laughed.

  Prick, thought Lila.

  With their mugs of tea in front of them, the conversation seemed to have wound down a little.

  ‘So why are you here now? Tonight?’

  Quint turned to Lila. ‘Well, like I said. You saw me, and black people in this part of the world, we tend to stick out, right? So I thought it best to introduce myself.’

  ‘So why does Tom think we need protecting? You still haven’t answered me,’ said Lila.

  Pearl gave her a warning glance, don’t be unfriendly. Lila pretended she hadn’t seen it.

  ‘Didn’t he tell you why?’

  ‘No. Could you tell us?’

  Lila could remember exactly what Tom had said to her. She just wanted to hear Quint say the same thing.

  Quint took in a breath, let it go. ‘Well, as you know, Tom . . .’ He placed emphasis on the name, like he was saying it in italics. ‘. . . made a lot of enemies. In his previous life. Led him to being here. So he just wanted to know that, if anyone tried to get to him while he was . . . away, then I’d be here to help you two. That’s all.’ Another shrug, palms open. ‘Nothing sinister. Just that.’

  ‘But we don’t need protecting,’ said Lila.

  Pearl looked at her, startled.

  ‘Well we don’t,’ she continued. ‘No one knows Tom’s here, no one knows we’re here.’ She pushed her thumb at Quint. ‘Except him.’

  ‘Lila, that’s . . .’ Pearl began but stopped herself.

  ‘No,’ cut in Quint, ‘it’s fine. It’s bad enough that Tom’s away doing what he’s doing, that’s stressful enough without some stranger popping up.’

  Lila said nothing. It was Tom she was angry at. She knew that. Or the police officers who had talked him into doing this. Not Quint. And she felt bad about taking it out on him. But not bad enough to apologise.

  ‘Yeah,’ she said. That would be as much of an apology as she was going to give.

  ‘So what are your plans, then?’ asked Pearl. ‘Now that you’ve said hello.’

  ‘Don’t know that there’s much I can do. I’ll give you my number and if there’s anything you don’t like the look of, or anyone, give me a call. I’ll come round. Sort it. And I’ll keep popping in.’ He looked at Lila. ‘If that’s OK with you?’

  Lila shrugged. She couldn’t find a way back down from her earlier hostility.

  Quint smiled. ‘Good.’ He drained his mug, stood up. ‘Well, I’ll be off. Oh, one more thing. D’you mind if I just do a quick check of the house? See that no one can get in. That kind of thing.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Pearl. ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  He left the room. Lila and Pearl looked at each other.

  ‘He seems nice,’ said Pearl. ‘You didn’t have to be off with him.’

  ‘Couldn’t help it. Everything that’s happened since I came here . . . you can’t blame me for being wary.’

  ‘No, but . . . he’s a friend of Tom’s. And Tom mentioned him. So he must be OK.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  They heard him moving about upstairs. It made Lila feel uneasy. She stood up.

  ‘Just going to the loo.’

  ‘Lila . . .’

  ‘Sorry. All that tea.’

  And before Pearl could say anything else, she was out the door and up the stairs. As quietly as she could go.

  At the landing she didn’t head in the direction of the toilet. She walked slowly down the hallway towards the room she had heard Quint in. Light was spilling from beyond the frame of the door. She peeped through. Spied. Quint had moved the bed and was kneeling in front of the fireplace, lookin
g up the chimney, his arm in as far as it would go.

  Lila didn’t stop to think. She entered the room.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  Quint was startled. Pulled his arm down from the chimney. His eyes wide, then he composed his features. But just before he did, Lila was sure she saw something else flit across there. Something unpleasant. He stood up, dusted down his arm.

  ‘I was . . . these old houses. Some of the chimneys are wide enough to get a body up. Or down. Just making sure no one could get down there. Wouldn’t want that, would we?’

  ‘And can they?’

  He smiled again. An everything was fine kind of smile. ‘Nah. You’re all right.’ He looked round the room once more. Eyes lingering on the chimneybreast for longer than they should. ‘Well, I’d better be off.’

  Lila stood aside to let him out. Kept her eyes on him until he left the house.

  Later, she would identify what had passed across Quint’s eyes before his smile returned. Anger.

  *

  ‘And then he left?’ asked Anju.

  ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘Haven’t seen him since.’

  ‘Wow.’ She frowned. ‘What was he looking for up the chimney?’

  ‘I don’t know. I had a look up there after he’d gone . . .’ She shrugged. ‘Nothing there.’

  Anju thought for a moment. ‘Weird.’

  ‘Something just felt off about him. Maybe . . . oh, I don’t know.’

  ‘What?’

  Lila paused. ‘I think we should find out about this guy Quint. How would we go about that?’

  Anju smiled. ‘Are we girl detectives now? Wow.’

  Lila didn’t know what to say.

  40

  Night again, and the walls of Blackmoor prison seemed to absorb darkness, store it up, let it seep out through the crevices in the brick, the gaps in the metal, expel itself from the locks and under doors. The only thing keeping it at bay was the overhead strip lighting. Harsh, burning and unforgiving, those fluorescent tubes lit corridors and wings, spurs and classrooms, workshops and walkways, like artificial suns whose illumination couldn’t be escaped. But there were always ways. And means. The brightest lights cast the darkest shadows. And if there was one thing inmates knew how to do, it was move in the shadows.