Road Closed (22 page)

‘Let’s not make this any more difficult than it has to be,’ he said, pushing past her into the hall. Brenda backed away from him, still holding on to the edge of the door. The skin on the back of her hand was chapped, her nails bitten to the quick.

‘Is Raymond Barker here?’ Geraldine asked. Before the frightened woman could reply, Callum Martin appeared at the far end of the hall. Brenda ducked her head and darted up the stairs without looking round.

‘She’s got nothing to say to you,’ Martin told them as the sound of her footsteps faded. ‘You’ve got no business coming round here bothering her. Now you’ve gone and upset her. So why don’t you just –’

‘We’re here to see Mr Barker,’ Peterson interrupted him. ‘We don’t want to talk to Brenda. Or you. For the moment.’

‘What do you want with him?’

‘That’s not really your business, is it?’

The two men glared at one another. Martin’s unshaven chin jutted forward. He clenched his fists. For a second he looked as though he was going to hit the sergeant. Instead
he turned and led the way along the narrow hallway into the front room where Barker sat hunched in an armchair. One leg was in plaster. His eyes were bandaged.

Martin spun round to face the sergeant, blocking the doorway. ‘You can see for yourself he’s in no state to talk to anyone.’

Peterson met Martin’s gaze. ‘We won’t keep you, Mr Martin. We’re here to speak to Mr Barker. Alone.’

‘I can’t go anywhere. Can’t walk. Can’t see.’

‘You heard what he said.’ Martin made no move to leave.

‘I heard what he said, and you heard what I said,’ Peterson replied evenly. He stepped to one side and held the door open for Martin who left the room, swearing loudly.

Barker groaned when Geraldine began to speak. Note book in hand, Peterson closed the door and stood with his back against it as Geraldine questioned Barker.

‘Don’t know,’ was his dogged reply to every question. Geraldine strode across the room and turned the television off. ‘Let’s start again, Mr Barker,’ she said quietly.

‘Jumped me from behind.’ His voice was slurred. ‘Didn’t know what hit me. Never had a chance. Put the telly back on. I’m in agony here. I need another pain killer. Get Cal. He knows where they are.’

‘You weren’t robbed during the course of the attack, Mr Barker.’

‘Yeah. That’s something at least.’ The injured man tried to nod and groaned again.

‘Let’s go through your movements yesterday evening. You went to the pub.’

‘I need a pain killer.’

‘Last night, Mr Barker,’ Geraldine persisted. ‘We know you went to the pub.’

‘Me and Cal. We went down there together.’

‘What time was that?’

‘After tea.’

‘Which was what time?’

‘Dunno.’

‘So you and Callum Martin went for a drink,’ Geraldine paused, waiting for a response. Barker sat silent. ‘And then he left the pub before you did.’

‘He left when he was ready.’

‘But you stayed on by yourself.’

‘I hadn’t finished my drink.’

‘What did you argue about?’ Geraldine asked suddenly.

‘We never argued.’ Barker growled.

‘We have a witness who says you did.’

‘What witness?’ Geraldine didn’t answer. ‘Maybe a few words, that’s all.’ Barker was struggling to keep his temper. Or perhaps he was afraid. His voice quivered. ‘Nothing out of the ordinary.’

‘Were you and Mr Martin in the habit of quarrelling then?’

Barker began to shake his head and flinched. ‘I’m telling you, we never quarrelled. We were – We’re mates.’

‘We have a witness who says you and Martin had an argument just before Martin left.’

‘We never quarrelled.’ Peterson held up his hand. Geraldine paused. With a swift movement, the sergeant flung the door open. The dimly lit hallway was empty.

‘Thought I heard something,’ he said as he closed the door. Geraldine resumed. ‘Now why don’t you tell us what happened last night on your way home from the pub.’

‘Some bastard jumped on me. Took me by surprise.’

‘Was it Callum Martin?’

‘No. It wasn’t him.’

‘It was Martin, wasn’t it? What did you argue about, at the pub? About your share of the proceeds from stolen goods, was it? Or did you have a row about Brenda?’ Barker’s hands twitched but he didn’t say anything. ‘Or perhaps you’ve been
ripping him off. So you had a row and he decided to teach you a lesson.’

‘No. It wasn’t like that. It wasn’t Cal. I know it wasn’t him.’

‘If you didn’t see your attacker, you couldn’t know that, could you?’

‘I know it wasn’t him,’ he insisted. ‘I know it wasn’t Cal because it was a woman. I was beaten up by a woman. Are you happy now?’

39

Victims

Cal paced up and down the bedroom, rubbing his hand over his stubbly cheeks while downstairs the police questioned Ray. It seemed to be taking forever.

‘Why the fuck is it taking so long?’ Cal frowned down at Brenda who lay fidgeting on the bed. He resumed his pacing. ‘Why are they taking so long?’ He spun round. ‘And what’re you so jittery for?’ Her hands fluttered restlessly at her sides, her legs refused to stay still. ‘What are you jumpy about? Don’t I look after you?’

Brenda stared up at him, trembling more violently. ‘I know you look after me, Cal,’ she wheedled. ‘It’s good gear.’

‘Only the best for my girl.’

Brenda nodded with sudden energy. ‘That’s what I said, Cal.’

‘What’s wrong then? You’ve been like a cat on heat for days.’

‘Nothing.’ She shrugged one shoulder, unable to meet his eye.

‘Well stop your bloody twitching,’ he snapped suddenly. Brenda rolled to one side. Not fast enough. He didn’t hit hard – he only used force when he was angry. He looked at her lying on the bed, and clenched his fists again.

‘You go around provoking people, you’re going to end up with a fist in your face, stands to reason. Put a smile on your face, you miserable bitch.’

‘I’m not miserable. Not miserable with you, Cal.’ She pulled herself into a sitting position and smiled at him.

‘Should think not, stupid cow. What have you got to be miserable about?’

‘I’m not miserable, Cal. I’m scared.’

‘You scared of me?’ He started forward.

‘No! Not scared of you,’ she stuttered rapidly. ‘You look after me, Cal.’ She hovered on her knees on the bed, uncertain whether to scramble out of his way.

‘What then?’ he asked.

‘Was it you?’

‘What are you on about?’

‘Was it you did that to Ray? Someone did.’ She looked slyly at him. ‘I don’t mind if it was you, Cal. He deserves it. We don’t need him here. If he gets hurt badly enough, maybe he’ll go away and it’ll be just you and me again. I’d like that Cal, wouldn’t you?’

Scowling, Cal seized her by the arm and flung her back on the bed. She hit her head on the wall. For a second she was dazed. A sharp ache began pounding inside her skull.

‘You’re not still on about Ray, you stupid cow?’ He leaned over her, red-faced.

‘You and me, Cal,’ she repeated, over and over. Cal smacked her once, hard.

Brenda bit her lip. ‘I’m not scared of you,’ she whined. ‘You take care of me. I’m not scared of you. It’s them.’

Cal sat down on the bed. Brenda sat up and shuffled back until she was propped up against her pillow, ready to slip off the bed and out of reach of his fists. ‘What’s on your mind, Bren? You got nothing to be scared of. What’s bothering you?’ He turned and studied her face closely, her swollen brow, the bruise emerging under her pale skin. ‘Don’t I take care of you?’

Brenda nodded, staring at him. ‘You take care of me.’

They heard a distant hum of voices. Cal leaped to his feet and ran lightly downstairs. Brenda waited. A few moments later he reappeared and began pacing the narrow room. Brenda sat on the bed, watching him. At last they heard footsteps. The front door closed. Cal looked out of the window. He turned
and gave Brenda one last shove on the shoulder before he stormed out of the room. Brenda lay completely still. All she wanted was to hide away in darkness, under the bed covers.

Ray was snoring. Lazy sod.

‘Oy,’ Cal called to him. Ray groaned.

‘What did they want?’

‘Dunno.’

‘What did they ask you?’

‘Dunno. I wasn’t listening.’

Cal leaned forward, put one hand on Ray’s injured leg and squeezed. ‘What did you tell them, retard?’

‘Nothing. I didn’t say anything.’

Cal grunted. ‘I’m going for a drink.’

‘Where’s Brenda?’ Ray asked.

‘Upstairs.’

‘Do us a favour, take her with you. She’s getting on my nerves. The doctor said I need to rest after what I’ve been through but how can I rest with her mumbling and crying all the time?’ Cal leaned over Ray and began rummaging through his pockets. ‘Here, what are you doing?’

Cal pulled out a worn leather wallet with a flourish. ‘Your round.’

‘You put that back.’

Cal laughed. ‘I’ll have one for you,’ he grinned.

Ray swore. Cal shrugged indifferently. He stuffed Ray’s cash into his own pocket and dropped the empty wallet on the floor. ‘See you later.’

Brenda heard the front door slam. She buried her bruised cheek in the duvet and began to cry. Her biggest fear was that Cal would go away and never return. She stuffed the corner of the duvet between her teeth. It tasted salty. She spat it out and pressed her lips together trying to think, but she couldn’t stop crying.

It was cold outside. Cal strode swiftly along the street to the pub on the corner. It was usually quiet on a Monday evening. The bar was almost empty. The only other customer was the old git who was always in there, hunched over a pint. Occasionally Ray took pity on the old bloke and bought him a half. Cal wasn’t a soft touch.

The old man touched his cap as Cal strode in. ‘Evening, gov.’ Cal walked straight past him to the bar without acknowledging the greeting.

The landlord didn’t lift his eyes from his paper. ‘Cold out there,’ he said without looking up. ‘What’ll you have?’

‘Pint.’ Cal paid for his drink out of Ray’s money, and sat down. He swore softly when the old man shuffled over to his table a few moments later.

‘Much obliged, gov,’ the old man said. His old eyes were rheumy with age, his skin drooped repulsively under his chin. Cal turned away. The old man stood his ground. ‘Stand us a pint, gov,’ he begged. He leaned forward supporting himself on the edge of the table. ‘I’m skint, see.’

‘Jesus,’ Cal fumed. ‘It makes me sick to look at you.’

Catching sight of Cal’s face, the old man scuttled back to his corner.

Bert hadn’t been exaggerating when he said he was broke. It wasn’t even nine o’clock but he knew he couldn’t coax another drink from the landlord. He certainly wasn’t going to get anything out of Ray’s mate. Bert had come across his type before. Nasty little sod made Bert feel uneasy. He decided not to hang around.

It was cold outside. Bert walked as quickly as he could. He didn’t have far to go. Without his glasses the air around the street lamps looked misty. A car drove past. As the whine of its engine faded, he heard footsteps. Bert hobbled faster.

A hand gripped him by the shoulder. Breath tickled his ear. ‘Keep walking.’

‘What do you want?’

‘We’re going for a walk. Just the two of us.’

With a thrill of fear, Bert recognised the voice. ‘What do you want with me?’ he quavered. No answer. ‘That’s my house.’ Holding Bert firmly by the arm, Cal shoved him forward, propelling him in the direction of the canal. ‘Where are you taking me?’ Bert swivelled his head round. Under the street lamp he could see Cal grinning.

‘A little bird told me you’ve got a big mouth, old son.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘You’ve been opening your gobshite mouth to the filth.’

‘Not me. I never.’ They had reached the narrow strip of woods that sloped down to the canal. ‘My shoes are getting wet,’ Bert grumbled. Cal laughed. His grip on Bert’s arm tightened as they reached the canal path.

‘See this?’ Cal held up a carrier bag. ‘Guess what’s inside.’

‘Don’t tell me, we’re going on a picnic.’

Cal laughed again. ‘Bricks.’

‘Bricks?’

‘What I can’t decide is, shall I swing it at your head before I tie it round your neck, or are you going to go quietly?’

Bert ducked his head. Adrenaline jolted through his aching limbs. He squirmed out of Cal’s grasp. Panting with fear, he grabbed at the woody stem of a bush and scrambled back up the incline. He didn’t get far. Hands grasped him by the ankles so he couldn’t kick out. As he slid backwards, Bert scrabbled in his pocket. He only had a few seconds. ‘You won’t get away with this,’ he mumbled furiously as his stiff fingers closed on his glasses case.

Bert crashed onto the path where he lay at Cal’s feet, groaning.

‘No point yelling,’ Cal pointed out cheerfully. ‘No one’s going to hear you.’ With a last desperate effort, Bert clambered
to his feet. With a sob, he launched himself at his adversary. Cal yelled. Beads of blood oozed down his left cheek from four deep scratches. ‘You could’ve had my eye out, you bastard!’ Cal yelled as he swung the weighted bag. Smiled at the crunch of bone. It only took a few seconds for him to tie the bag around the groaning man’s neck.

A splash. The scummy surface of the canal rippled gently. Callum glanced up and down the deserted path before he loped away, smiling.

40

Curry House

‘But could a woman have done that, do you think?’ Peterson asked as they drove into the centre of town. Geraldine shrugged. ‘Ray Barker’s a strong guy,’ he went on. ‘Is it likely a woman could’ve overpowered him?’

‘If it wasn’t a woman, Barker’s lying.’

‘Or mistaken. Although he did seem genuinely embarrassed.’ Peterson laughed. ‘You’d think a guy like Ray Barker would want to be sure before admitting he was beaten up by a woman.’

‘Unless he deliberately wanted to lead us off on the wrong tack.’

‘You think he’s protecting someone?’

‘By someone you mean Callum Martin,’ Geraldine said irritably. They were going round in circles. ‘But Martin’s got an alibi.’