Double Cross (25 page)

I'd only been home for ten minutes when my phone, or
rather McAuley's phone, rang.

'Hello, Mr McAuley,' I said the moment I accepted the
call.

'Hello, Tobey.' McAuley's oily voice sent a chill tapdancing
across my skin. 'You've been working at TFTM
for long enough now. What've you got for me?'

Nothing.

Except . . .

'I've found out something interesting, sir,' I began.

'Oh yes?'

I took a deep breath. 'There's a crooked cop working at
Meadowview police station, high up by all accounts,
who's on the Dowd's payroll.'

'Who?' McAuley said eagerly.

'I haven't found that out yet,' I admitted.

'Why not?'

'My source didn't know the name of the bent copper.
Reb— I mean, er . . . regarding the bent cop, my source
didn't have any other information.'

'I need a name, Tobey, and sooner rather than later, or
your information is worse than useless,' McAuley snapped.

'Yes, sir. I'll see what I can do.'

'I want a name, Tobey,' he reiterated.

'Yes, sir.'

McAuley hung up. Damn it. Talk about providing the
guy with steel-capped boots so he could give me a good
kicking. What had I been thinking? Plus I'd almost given
Rebecca away by saying her name. How stupid was that?
McAuley wouldn't leave me alone now until I told him
the name of the crooked cop who worked for the Dowds.
I needed to find out who it was. And fast.

But how?

Another Tuesday evening rolled around all too soon
again. Tuesday evenings were beginning to feel just like
Monday mornings used to. But at least my weekend
had been OK. Dinner with Rebecca on Sunday and
the cinema yesterday – some chick-flick she chose. The
poster called it a 'romantic thriller', but it was thrillerlite
as far as I was concerned. After the cinema we had
a bite to eat and walked for a while, talking about
anything and everything before Rebecca finally drove me
home. The fifteen minutes we were parked outside my
house were spent synchronizing lips rather than chatting.
It was OK, I guess. Nothing like kissing Callie . . .
but OK.

Until I got out of the car and saw Sephy watching me.
We regarded each other silently. With a scornful toss of
her head, she turned away first, dumping the bulging black
bin liner in her hand into the wheelie bin for collection
the following morning. She walked back into her house
without saying a word to me. I stood on the pavement
long after she'd gone indoors. I could see myself exactly as
she saw me. It wasn't a pleasant picture.

So here I was back at TFTM, my mind full of questions
and doubts and worries – and very few answers. I put on
my multi-striped, multi-coloured waistcoat, trying not to
take too many lingering looks at the thing before it
brought on a migraine. Every time I saw my waistcoat I
had to remind myself about all the money I was making. I
was just fastening up my matching bow tie when Michelle
came marching into the men's changing rooms. Luckily it
was the beginning of the shift rather than the end, so most
of us were dressed or heading that way. Michelle,
however, had eyes for no one but me.

'Tobey, Gideon Dowd wants to see you in his office,'
she told me.

'Now or after my shift?'

'Now.'

This was either about Rebecca or McAuley's letter to
Vanessa Dowd. I knew which one I'd rather it was.

'Where's Gideon's office then?' I asked.

'That's Mr Dowd to you. Go upstairs to the Club. The
office door is next to the upstairs kitchenette.'

I headed up to the Club via the back stairs and made my
way to Gideon's office door. At the top of the stairs, I came
to an abrupt halt. Someone was coming out of Gideon's
office, someone I recognized. I only caught sight of his face
for a second before he turned his back to me and strode
towards the customer exit. He hadn't seen me – too busy
scrutinizing the piece of paper in his hand. But it was him,
I was sure of it. Frowning, I decided to keep what I'd seen
to myself. At least until I could use it for my own purposes.

Now that I was back in the Club, I took another look
around. The silk awnings had been removed, revealing the
smooth white ceiling that hadn't been apparent before. All
the statues in the alcoves had been replaced with huge
potted plants. I shook my head. They shouldn't have
bothered with the statues for Rebecca's party: she
would've much preferred the plants. I guess the statues
photographed better for all the glossy magazines. The
Club was still relatively empty apart from a couple of guys
taking an inventory behind the bar. I knocked twice on
Dowd's door and waited to be invited in.

'Come!' came the gruff voice.

Entering the room, I closed the door quietly behind
me. The smell of cigarettes and coffee instantly pummelled
my nose. Godsake! Didn't the man believe in cracking a
window to let in some fresh air? I turned round, taking in
the tiny room at a glance. There were no windows. That
explained a lot. How could Gideon stand to work in an
office with no windows? The man himself was poring
over some papers on his desk. He leaned back in his chair
the moment he heard me move further into the room.
Now I was close to him, I saw he had short black hair,
carefully shaped around his face and ears like it had been
measured using a ruler before being precision cut. His face
and jaw were square, his lips thin like he was too mean to
show any more than he had to. This was the closest I'd
been to him. Too many other people had been in the way
at Rebecca's party.

I stood. He stared. He stared. I stood.

'Have a seat, Tobey,' said Gideon, his eyes narrowing.

I sat.

'I'll get right to it,' he began.

No chance of a cup of coffee then?

'This thing between you and my sister has to stop.'

Or a chocolate biscuit or two? No? Oh well!

'Rebecca and I are just friends,' I began.

'I'm not interested in your view of your relationship,'
Gideon interrupted. 'Rebecca is getting too attached to
you and I won't have it.'

I sat back in my chair. 'Don't you think Rebecca is old
enough to make her own decisions?' I asked.

'Of course not. Rebecca is totally naïve. She thinks
everyone is who or what they say they are.'

Now just what did he mean by that?

'With me, what you see is what you get,' I replied.

'Tobey, this isn't a debate. You're to leave my sister
alone. Quite frankly, she can do a lot better.'

'We're just having the odd meal together or trip to the
cinema,' I tried. 'We're not doing any harm.'

'I don't want to hear it. I'm telling you to stay away
from my sister.'

'And what does Rebecca say about all this?' I said.

Gideon looked me up and down, like he was seeing me
for the very first time. 'Tobey, you don't want me as your
enemy. You really don't. If you don't back off, you're out.
And I can make it impossible for you to get any kind of
job, anywhere – and that's just for starters.'

'I know that, Mr Dowd.'

'So what's it to be?'

I shrugged. 'No contest.'

Gideon smiled for the first time since I'd entered the
room. 'I knew you'd make the right decision. You may go
back to work now.'

Gideon bent his head, returning to his papers. I stood
up and started to unbutton my waistcoat. It was only as I
was pulling it off that Gideon noticed I was still in his
office.

'What d'you think you're doing?' He frowned at me.

Saying goodbye to my university fund.

'You told me to choose between my job and Rebecca,'
I said, laying my waistcoat on Gideon's desk. I took off my
bow tie and placed it on top of the waistcoat. 'So I've
chosen.'

Gideon's eyes narrowed. 'Tobey, you've just made the
biggest mistake of your life,' he said softly.

No chance of a job reference then?

I left the room.

Hi, Callie,

How're you feeling today? You look much better, babe,
like you're only sleeping. A sleeping beauty. Godsake! I'm
getting frickin' mushy. But at least most of the tubes going
into your mouth and into your veins have now gone.
That's a good sign – right? So you must be getting better.
You're just not . . . waking up. Not yet. But you will. You
have to.

I miss you so much, Callie. So much. I wish you were
awake so I could tell you everything that's happened since
you were . . . you were brought into hospital. I need to
talk to you. You're the only one who'd understand what
I've been going through, what I'm trying to do. Trouble
is, I'm not sure who I am any more. I need you to remind
me.

Now when I look in the mirror, a stranger stares back
at me. I only feel like I'm me, the real me, when I'm in
this room with you. I can't help wondering what you
would say or do if you knew what I was up to. Would you
try to stop me? Or would you urge me on? Six months
ago, I would've said I knew the answer. Now I'm not so
sure.

Your hand is warm in mine. We kind of fit together,
don't we, Callie? Like a two-piece jigsaw puzzle.

Oh my God! You squeezed my hand. I felt it. You definitely
squeezed my hand. Open your eyes, babe. Please,
just open your eyes and look at me.

Please.

OK then. Small steps. Maybe you're not ready to open
your eyes yet, but you definitely squeezed my hand.

Small steps.

Promise me something, Callie. Promise me that when
you do open your eyes, you'll recognize me. I couldn't
bear it if you of all people didn't recognize me.

The body of Ross Resnick, the manager of the
well-known restaurant – Thanks For The
Memories – was found in woodland this
morning by two campers. Although Ross
Resnick had been missing for over a month,
initial forensic examinations revealed that he
had only been dead for three or four days. The
cause of death has not yet been established.
Ross Resnick's wife, Louise, recently . . .

I switched off my phone. I didn't want to read any more
news. I stared out of the bus window, watching the rest of
the world pass by without a care in the world – at least that's
how it felt. I was on my way home and I couldn't wait to
get there. I just wanted to crawl into bed and hide away.

I no longer had a job at TFTM, but it didn't matter
because the object of that exercise was to make contact
with Owen Dowd. Working there and earning some extra
money had just been a bonus. Meeting Rebecca had been
a windfall. An innocuous date or two had turned into my
sure-fire way of getting information about her family. I'd
made a couple of deliveries for McAuley, but nothing I
couldn't walk away from. At least that's what I'd told
myself.

But now McAuley wanted more from me. He wanted
to know the identity of the copper owned by the Dowds.
I'd dangled that carrot in front of him because it was all I
had. But all I'd gained was McAuley snapping at my heels
for more. And I didn't have any more, nor the first clue
how to rectify that.

And Ross Resnick was dead.

I didn't even know the man and yet somehow his death
weighed heavily on me. Was he the one making all that
noise in the upstairs room when Dan and I had visited
McAuley's house? I'd suspected then, as I suspected now,
that it had been him. And if Ross had been the one
upstairs, he was probably bound and gagged and worse.

What else had they done to him before he died?

It didn't bear thinking about, but I couldn't get the
question out of my head. I told myself all this was just
guesswork on my part. I told myself a lot of things. But
inside I
knew
Louise Resnick's husband had been alive
and in the upstairs room when I heard the scraping noise.
Could I have prevented his death if I'd just phoned the
police? Ross was no saint – he worked for the Dowds and
they were just as bad as McAuley. But did anyone deserve
to die the way he had – in pain and alone? Before Callie
got shot, I'd've said an emphatic no.

Not any more.

And that scared me.

Once I got home, I headed straight for my room. I
stripped off and crawled into bed, knowing that I'd have
trouble sleeping. And I was right. Sleep and I remained
strangers. I lay awake for the best part of the night, trying
to see beyond my desire for retribution. Maybe Gideon
was right about my making a mistake . . . And what about
Rebecca? She was OK, much nicer than I expected her to
be. What right did I have to drag her into the middle of
all this? Especially as Callie was getting stronger every day.
She'd squeezed my hand earlier, I was sure of it. If only I
could clear my head of the image of Callie looking down
at me, blood spilling out over her chest, then maybe I
could let all this go. Maybe.

I had to find a way to walk away. I wanted to be around
when Callie woke up. She needed me, almost as much as
I needed her. I groaned inwardly as I thought of the day's
events. Ross Resnick had lost his life. I'd lost my job. My
problems were trivial by comparison. I'd quit my job at
TFTM . . . Even now, part of me couldn't believe what
I'd done. When I walked out of Gideon Dowd's office,
I'd practically broken my arm trying to pat myself on the
back. But now reality had set in. I mean, dramatic gestures
were all very well, but what if Rebecca bowed to her
brother's demands and decided not to see me again? Why
did that thought bother me so much? It wasn't as if I was
attracted to her or anything, but I liked her friendship. Or
was it something more basic than that? Did I really like her
friendship, or was it just useful? And if the answer was the
latter, what did that make me? A man on a mission? Or a
user like everyone else?

Rebecca always picked me up after work to drive me
home so she had to be aware that I'd lost my job, but she
hadn't tried to phone me. Maybe that was the end of that,
but I didn't want to think so. She liked me, really liked
me. That was flattering in itself. And I liked her company.
So I'd give her a day and if I didn't hear anything, then I'd
phone her for a chat. Perhaps I'd invite her out to dinner
or maybe a film. No big deal.

And if she said no?

I'd dance across that bridge if and when I got to it.

I finally fell asleep, my head full of Rebecca, my heart
full of Callie Rose.

I awoke the next morning far earlier than usual, and I
still had no answers.

Let it go,Tobey.

Walk away from the Dowds and McAuley and that
world – before it was too late. I headed straight for the
shower to try and make sure I got my share of the hot
water, but I needn't have bothered. Mum's bedroom door
was open so she'd already left for the day. And there was
no music or TV blasting so Jessica must've gone to college.
Sweet! I had the house to myself, just the way I liked it.

I got myself a fresh towel from the airing cupboard and
headed towards the bathroom. I glanced down at my
pyjama bottoms doubtfully. Should I put them in the
laundry basket or did they have another few days of wear
left in them? I decided to keep wearing them. These ones
were just moulding nicely to my body shape. I opened the
bathroom door. Jessica was sitting on the floor, her back
against the bath tub.

'Godsake, Jess. Suppose I'd walked in here naked? I
thought you'd . . . gone . . .'

On the lowered toilet lid sat Mum's best teapot, plus a
cook's blowtorch from one of the kitchen cupboards. A
faint coil of smoke, like a dying mist, emerged from the
teapot spout.

What the hell . . . ?

'Jessica . . . ?' My whisper of disbelief somehow got
through to her. Her eyelids fluttered open and she looked
at me, her pupils the size of pinpricks, her gaze unfocused.

Jessica opened her mouth to say something, but the
words got lost somewhere in her head. She blinked twice
like her eyelids weighed as much as her entire body, then
she closed her eyes. She slumped over and would have hit
the floor if I hadn't been there to catch her. Propping her
up with one hand, I took the lid off the teapot with the
other. A dark-brown stain coated the bottom of the pot.
An unfamiliar smell wafted up to greet me. Vinegar . . . I
looked at the cook's blowtorch and the teapot and my
sister, and only then did I realize what I was seeing. And
even then I still couldn't believe it.

What had she taken? From the look of it, Jess was
smoking junk. But she couldn't, she wouldn't be that
stupid. I looked round the base of the toilet then checked
the bin. A crumpled piece of paper, like a waxed sweet
wrapper, lay on top of all the other rubbish. She hadn't
even tried to hide it. I picked up the wrapper and gingerly
raised it to my nose. There was no smell to it. I guessed
you had to burn the stuff to get the vinegary smell. I'm
sure we were told at school that heroin gave off a sweet
smell. Maybe it depended on the type. The inside of the
wrapper was sticky, gummy beneath my tentative finger.
What had Jessica mixed this stuff with? Crumpling up the
wrapper, I dropped it back in the bin, vigorously wiping
my fingers on the legs of my pyjamas.

Jessica was using. How long had she been doing this?
And how had both Mum and I missed it? Should I phone
for an ambulance? Was this a normal state for a drug-taker
or had she overdosed? I tried to think back to the drugs
education lessons we'd had when I was thirteen. Wasn't it
harder to overdose by inhaling junk rather than injecting?
Harder, yes, but by no means impossible. I hadn't paid
much attention to the lessons at the time. I was sure I'd
never be stupid enough to chase the dragon or inject or
snort or any of that other stuff, so why bother listening?
Now I wished I'd listened to each and every word the
teacher had said. Was Jessica going to be OK? I had no
way of knowing. The teapot sat there, mocking me. Me
and my deliveries.

'Jess, open your eyes. Come on, Jess. Just open your
eyes,' I begged.

I shook her and gently patted her face. Her eyelids fluttered
open, a spark of recognition in her eyes. Without
warning, she launched herself at the toilet bowl. The torch
clattered to the floor and I only just caught the teapot as
the toilet seat was pushed up out of the way before Jessica
puked her guts out. Squatting down, stroking Jessica's
back, I pulled her hair back off her face. She closed her
eyes and slumped back against me. She was out of it again.

My sister was still breathing and her pulse seemed
steady, but that was it. That did it. Time to phone for an
ambulance. I couldn't take the chance of Jessica having a
bad reaction to the stuff she'd inhaled – or vomiting again
whilst she was unconscious. My thoughts must've
communicated themselves to my sister, 'cause she opened
her eyes. Coffee. Should I make some coffee? No, that
was for hangovers. Godsake! Exactly what use would
coffee be to my sister now? I wasn't thinking straight.

'Jess, listen. When did you use this stuff ? Five minutes
ago? An hour ago? When?'

I might as well be talking Martian for all the good it did
me. It couldn't've been that long ago, not if the smoke
was still coming out of the spout when I entered the
room. I checked Jessica's arms. No needle marks. At least
she wasn't shooting up. Yet.

Mum. Should I phone Mum? That's right, Tobey – this
is all Mum needs to brighten her day. I wouldn't phone
her unless it was absolutely necessary. But suppose Jess
collapsed whilst I was dithering about desperately trying to
make up my mind what I should do? Godsake, what did I
know about drugs and all that stuff?

Don't shoot me, I'm only the delivery boy.

Just let my sister shoot up instead.

It was useless to say sorry and even more useless to think
it, no matter how heartfelt. I looked at my sister and it was
like every blood cell had turned into tiny shards of razorsharp
glass which were now dragging their way through
my veins. Useless or not, I had to say it.

'Jess, I'm sorry.'

I checked her pulse and breathing again. Slow but
steady.

'Jess, open your eyes,' I ordered when she tried to
slump again. 'Jess, look at me.'

Godsake. How much of the stuff did she inhale?

I thought of all those half days in and full days off
Jessica was always claiming to have. Is this what she'd
been doing with all that time at home? Did she still have
her job? Or did she just spend her days inhaling
Meadowview Oblivion – or MO, as it was known around
here? Two friends I'd known since primary school were
addicted to MO, but I never for one second thought my
sister had joined them. I still couldn't quite understand
how I hadn't noticed what was going on. But then, what
did I expect? I'd been so wrapped up in other things, I
wouldn't've noticed if she'd sprouted another head in the
last few weeks. Guiltily, I remembered that I hadn't even
bothered to wish her luck in her exam – even though I'd
known how important it was to her that she passed.

What should I do?

If I phoned for an ambulance, Mum would find out.
But maybe that's what my sister needed – for Mum to find
out and help her. My head was spinning. What to do for
the best? Jess's eyes were open, she was looking at me.

'Jess, I'm going to phone Mum.'

Jess slowly shook her head. 'No,' she whispered.
'Please.'

'Jess, she needs to know.'

'No. Promise.'

I started to shake my head.

'Promise,' Jessica urged.

'OK,' I replied reluctantly.

'Promise.'

'I . . . I promise.'

'Y-you should . . . sh-should be asleep.' Jess's eyelids
kept fluttering shut.

And I would've been if I'd still been working at TFTM.
Getting home late from that job meant that I slept until
past noon each day. Was that what Jessica had been relying
on? She wasn't to know that I'd lost my job. Early to bed
meant early to rise. Too early as far as my sister was
concerned. I sat on the floor with her, cradling her in my
arms as I waited for her to come out of it. There was
nothing else I could do.

Deliveries.