Eoin Miller 02 - Old Gold (16 page)

“Which are?”

“He’s either dead or he’s propped up in a pub somewhere. And neither one of those is good. That’s why Paul Lucas is covering for Chris.”

“What’s Lucas got to do with any of this?”

“He’s Chris’s sponsor.”

Boom.

Of course Chris was an alcoholic. That had been obvious from the start. I just hadn’t seen it until today.

And now I knew why Lucas was covering it up. Not just to protect Chris—that was a best-case scenario for his motives. No, he was protecting himself. Addiction was part of modern life. Even on the force, there had been programs in place to offer help to employees who came forward. I bet every HR department in the country would go to lengths to claim there was no stigma involved. But the media deals in witch hunts and moral panics, not reason and modernity. If a senior and respected tutor at the city’s only university was shown to be sponsoring students into AA, his career wouldn’t survive the explosion.

I thanked Mark, paid for the drinks, and left him to his sobriety.

My next impulse, naturally, was to head to the pub.

I didn’t want a drink. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t. But I wanted to sit in the pub, on my usual stool, and stop thinking for a while.

One of the windows at Posada was covered with a large piece of cardboard, the glass smashed to a jagged edge. Brown parcel tape held the cardboard in place. There’d been a break-in and the pub was full of outraged drunks no longer feeling that their bar was their castle.

“Anything taken?” I asked the landlord.

“Just two bottles of leap frog. The till was empty.”

I ordered a Coke and sat staring into it.

Chris was an alcoholic. I needed to attend a meeting. He might be there. Or someone there might know where he was. I pushed off the stool and headed back out.

As I stood outside the pub trying to decide which direction to turn, a car pulled up by the curb beside me. Then there was a strong grip on my arm, and I found myself being
pushed down into the car by Bull. He slid in beside me without a word, and we pulled back out into traffic. I wasn’t in the mood to talk. I just sat in a sulk, staring out the window.

We crossed the ring road and headed past the football ground into Whitmore Reans. It was an area with an identity crisis. Long tagged as one of the problem spots of the city, it had seen a lot of cash pumped in over the past twenty years. Some of the problems moved away to other areas. Others just took firmer hold.

After a couple of minutes, we pulled onto the car park of a new sports hall. It was the size of a school gym, and from inside came the sounds of a football match: Shouting. Swearing. Squeaking trainers.

Bull got out of the car and pulled me after him. He led me through a small reception area and into the hall. The game was in full flow, teenagers running back and forth, sweating and sliding. A coach was running around with them, shouting out encouragement and refereeing.

At the top of a small flight of stairs was the spectators’ area, plastic chairs lined up for an imaginary crowd and a solitary vending machine in the corner. Veronica Gaines was waiting there, wrapped up in a dark coat. I rubbed my arm when Bull released his grip. There was going to be a bruise to match my growing collection.

“You couldn’t just ask politely? You had to try and make me cry?”

The brute almost smiled.

“All part of his dry wit,” Veronica said.

“You like that line,” I said.

She looked me up and down. I probably looked tired and beat up.

“How far have you gotten on our little project?”

“I’m close,” I said. “I just need to know the right questions to ask to the right people.”

“That doesn’t sound any closer than the last time we spoke.”

“You’d be surprised. I know I usually am.”

“Well, I’m glad you haven’t wasted too much time on it.”

“No, I’m serious. I’m almost there.”

“I’m serious too. I want you to stop.”

I was lost for words. I wasn’t very proud of it. I stood there for a moment, rubbing my arm and probably looking puzzled.

“You want me to stop?”

“Yes. I want you to leave the whole thing alone.”

“What’s changed since last time?”

She smiled. She tilted her head to one side and watched the game for a moment. It was almost as though she’d been told not to look me in the eye when lying to me.

“Things have changed. That’s all.”

“But you’ve paid me.”

“Keep it. Think of it as a retainer.”

“A retainer for what?”

“Look at them, running around. Working harder than at any job they’ve tried to hold down.”

“What is this place?”

“One of my projects. Well, my father’s really, but I’ve taken to it myself.”

“You built this place?”

“Built it, opened it, paid for the coach. Those kids haven’t had to pay a penny. They just have to keep turning up.”

“And what, you get them hooked young?”

She shot me a hard glance. “We have rules here. Any of them found high, even once, they’re out. No drugs in here.”

“How noble,” I said.

How confusing, I thought.

“Recognize any of them?”

I took a look, focusing on the faces, the body language, the way they spoke.

“The one in goal? I think I arrested his big brother a few years back.”

“You did. Auto theft and possession. He’s still inside.”

“And the kid on the ball now, with the lousy left foot? I caught him stealing from the Mann brothers last year, gave him a cuff and sent him running.”

“So you didn’t tell the brothers?”

“God no, they’d break his legs.”

She smiled to herself and nodded. Then she turned and shared the smile with me.

“I was right about you. This is what you should be doing. You like giving kids a second chance, not locking them up. Come and work here instead. We could do with another coach.”

“And what, be part of your noble second chance program? Social work funded by drugs?”

“Do you see the government down here? The council? All they do is sell off the land to housing companies and car showrooms. Good teams like the Wolves and Albion have sent scouts, though, and Villa too. Wolves players even volunteer, come and give talks. These kids can get noticed in here. But take a look at them, what don’t you see?”

I looked again. There were white kids and black kids, working up a sweat and sharing jokes.

“No Asians.”

She nodded. “But you walk outside, onto the estates, and they’re all over. It’s like Little India out there. So what’s going on?”

“Actually most of them are from—”

She killed my sentence with a look, so I changed tack. “Well, it’s not as though there’re many Asian footballers to inspire them over here.”

“Come on. You know we could get them in here. If the Mann brothers weren’t trying to sew things up so tight, we could get Asians in here just like any others. You could do that. You could break the cliques.”

Right. So that’s what it was. Turf warfare through charity work.

“You just want into that market. You just want me to bring more business into your hands.”

“I’m sorry you think so badly of me. Trust me, Eoin, if I wanted you to bring us more Asian business, I would ask you. I’m just trying to give you a job that fits. One that uses you better than the police ever did, better than the brothers do. Away from the drugs and gangs. Working with people. Think it over. And one more thing? I’m serious about the case. Drop it. Stay away from the Polish guy, and stay away from the Mann wankers.”

I was getting warned away a lot. Laura wanted me to stay away from the Mann brothers. Gaines wanted me to stay away from the Mann brothers and the Polish guy.

Only days ago, Veronica had been throwing me money to look into it for her. She had found something in the meantime that she wanted me away from. I filed that away to use later. Right now I was thinking of my conversation with Coley, of a subject that Gaines would know about.

“Listen, if I was looking to find someone around here who would bribe politicians, who would I look for?”

She smiled. “Me.”

“Do you know Michael Perry?”

“I hear his son is missing.”

“How do you know that?”

“It’s my job to know.” She smiled at me and blew a kiss before walking away down the steps. I made to follow, but Bull raised his hand. I flinched.

“I guess I’m not invited,” I said.

Bull nodded and followed Gaines.

The autumn day, full of half-gray dusky light, had died.

The muted sun was setting as I walked back to the house, where I’d left the car that morning. The funeral felt like a long time ago, but I wanted to change my clothes and see if I could stomach staying in the house again.

I put my keys in the door but hesitated and looked up at the house. I couldn’t keep avoiding it. I opened the front door and let it swing in away from me. The smell of fresh paint and disinfectant greeted me, and I remembered that Bobby had been working on the place. I began walking from room to room, switching on the lights. The walls gleamed with fresh pastel-colored paint. The hardwood floors shone. There was a brand new fitted kitchen, and the fridge had been restocked.

Upstairs, the bathroom was fixed and polished, and my bedroom had a fresh set of paint and furniture. This had cost far more than I’d given Bobby, and I guessed it was another favor from the Mann brothers. The new bed was huge and looked like the most comfortable thing I’d ever seen.

The doorbell sounded, and it was a new sound.

I had to laugh. Bobby had even replaced my doorbell.

I don’t know who I expected as I opened the door, but it wasn’t Laura.

She stood there, still in her suit, looking tired. There was drink on her breath, and for the first time I noticed a little bit of age around her eyes. My heart did something it hadn’t done for a few years, and I stepped aside for her to enter.

She didn’t step in, though. She leaned against the doorframe and smiled at me.

“You looked good today,” she said.

I didn’t answer.

I could have told her how good she’d looked. I could have told her how I thought she looked a little better right now with a few cracks of humanity showing through.

She reached up to touch my face, tracing the edges of the bruise I’d picked up from visiting Ash Coley. “What happened to you?”

She’d broken the silence. I could have counted that as a victory for me, but I didn’t feel like keeping score. I didn’t feel like playing any games at all.

“What happened to us?” she said.

“I wish I knew,” I said. “Want a coffee?”

I stepped farther away from the door, and she followed me in. I made us both coffee and started frying some bacon. She took off her jacket and leaned against the kitchen counter, watching me.

“Place looks good.”

“Yeah. I got a friend to fix it up for me. It was looking a little rough.”

“Like the two of us.”

“No.” I held her gaze for a minute and finally said it. “You look pretty good if you ask me.”

She smiled and lowered her head, hiding a blush. Something passed between us that neither of us missed, and I wasn’t sure I could cope with where it was heading. I turned away and busied myself with the food, making her a sandwich and turning back to hand it to her.

Our hands touched as I gave her the plate, and I felt it again. There wasn’t much time to change direction before we did something stupid.

“Why are you here?”

She put down the plate and looked at me hard for a minute or two. The tiredness was written large across her eyes, but there was loneliness as well. I recognized it from looking in the mirror every morning.

I stepped in and kissed her gently, tasting vodka on her tongue. She stepped into it and kissed harder. The first few years of our relationship came back in one second, everything up until it started to go wrong, and it all felt right again.

She ran her hand through my hair, and I ran mine across her back, and we got lost for a few moments. She pulled out of the embrace, staying close enough for our noses to touch, and we shared deep, heavy breaths for a moment.

“Sorry,” I said.

“Me too.”

She searched my eyes, and I realized she was looking for some glimmer of hope. I was probably looking for the same.

“I think I’d like to see you later. Maybe eat a proper meal.” She pushed the untouched sandwich away with her spare hand. “You know, relax.”

I nodded. “Go home and get changed. Think about it. If you still want me to come round, call me in a couple of hours.”

She ran her hand across my bruise again and left. I leaned against the counter and put my head in my hands. What the hell were we doing? My gut tightened into a knot and stayed that way.

Long after the sound of the front door closing had bounced around the hallway, I realized I’d heard another sound. The sound of mail falling on the floor again.

I walked into the hallway and froze.

Again there was the usual collection of junk. But nestled in the pile was another brown envelope. This time the question “Where is it?” was written across the front in block capitals. Inside was a photograph of Mary’s body. It looked to be in a worse state than when I’d seen it last, lying on my bed. Now her skin was almost translucent white, and her eyes were filmy. She was lying in the boot of a car. Something metallic in the corner of the photo caught my eye. It was the golf club I keep for emergencies. Then I almost threw up because I knew straightaway that it was my car.