Flesh And Blood (14 page)

‘I’ve got to go.’

‘Here.’ She pushed a twenty-pound note and a packet of Silk Cut into his hand. Hugged him and awkwardly he hugged her back. There were two cheese-and-pickle sandwiches and a Mars Bar tucked down inside his bag. He had already taken the sharpest of the small knives from the kitchen drawer; that bastard Cleave had got the better of him in the hostel and he wasn’t about to let it happen again.

‘Go on then,’ Irene said. ‘You better go.’

And closed the door so that she would not have to see him walk away.

‘Mum!’ Tara shouted from the other room. ‘Mum, I want a drink.’

‘Coming.’

♦

When Neville arrived home from work the two eldest were upstairs playing Eminem on their tinny stereo and shouting along; Alice was sitting with Tara on her lap watching TV; Brian was out back, kicking a ball up against the wall. Irene sat on the settee, a can of Strongbow in her hand, cigarette in her mouth, tears streaming down her face.

‘Fuck this for a game of soldiers!’ Neville shouted. And without bothering to close the front door behind him, he set off down the pub.

♦

Pam’s early-morning walk on the tops seemed to belong not just to another day, but another time altogether, almost another country. Her frustrating visit to Shane Donald’s sister aside, most of her hours had been spent chasing down clients who had missed their appointments or trying not to lose her cool with those who had managed to arrive. Plus, the ACO had taken her to task for what he obviously considered shoddy paperwork and then, as she was leaving his office, dropped another hint about her furthering her career with an MBA. In the midst of all that there had been a phone call from Gribbens at the hostel: some kind of intimidation seemed to have been behind Donald’s abrupt departure, but so far he’d failed to uncover precisely what kind and who was responsible.

At five minutes past seven, she finally switched off her computer, dropped a couple of files down alongside the Nick Hornby in her bag for late-night reading, switched off the lights and headed for the door.

The ACO, she was glad to see, was still at his desk, while everyone else had jumped ship. Her car sat at the far side of the almost deserted car park, close against the wall.

Inside, she turned the key in the ignition and automatically switched on the radio, punching through the stations and finding nothing to claim her attention before returning the car to silence. Her shoulders were stiff and tight and there was an ache low in the small of her back. What she needed was a swim followed by a sauna, maybe a good massage, some tender loving care. What she did was flick open the glove compartment and reach for her cigarettes. The radio again and this time she chanced on something part-soul, part-jazz, a woman’s voice, a saxophone. Inhaling deeply, she leaned further back in her seat and closed her eyes.

‘Don’t move,’ Shane Donald said, a whisper inside her head.

For a moment, she thought it was fantasy, a dream.

Then the tip of the knife pressed sharp against the nape of her neck.

Elder had arranged to meet Katherine in the city centre after she’d finished her training and at quarter past the hour he was still there, pacing up and down between the stone lions at one end of the square. All around him, girls in skimpy dresses, abbreviated skirts and halter tops, chattered, giggled and smoked, before heading off to one of the nearby pubs with their mates. Some stood on their own – young men and women both – pretending not to check their watches, feigning nonchalance until the person they were waiting for walked into view.

Twenty past.

Twenty-five.

He had made a quick call to Maureen earlier and caught her just as she was coming off shift: no news of Shane Donald so far. But then, as she said, early days. They made a tentative arrangement to meet for a drink the following evening, when he got back from his meeting with Paul Latham, the drama teacher at Susan Blacklock’s old school. Maureen brisk but not unfriendly, businesslike on the phone.

His mind moved from Maureen to Maddy Birch, with whom he’d worked – what? – fourteen or fifteen years before. A good officer in her way, Maddy, if lacking Maureen’s single-minded drive. A good copper and a woman, he had picked her to work with him interviewing Donald for that very reason, because she gave off a certain warmth, a softness even, a suggestion that she cared. Whereas with Maureen most of the time gender was forgotten, not an issue unless she chose it to be.

To his right a girl with dark, curly hair and high heels, a woman really, threw her arms around the neck of a grinning man and kissed him on the mouth.

He wondered where Maddy Birch was now, a DI somewhere most probably in one of those small towns in or around the Wolds, Market Rasen or Louth. Or maybe she’d chucked it in, got married, two kids on a nice estate outside of Lincoln, ferrying them back and forth from school to Guides or whatever in a four-by-four. One night, late, the pair of them more than a little drunk after someone’s leaving do, they had stumbled into a doorway and he had found his hand against her breast. When they separated, moments later, breathless, he had seen, illuminated in the shop light from across the street, the amusement bright in the green of her eyes.

‘Dad! Dad!’ It was Katherine, sports bag on her shoulder, hurrying towards him past the fountains. ‘Dad, sorry I’m late.’

♦

When they headed up into King Street from the square, Katherine had assumed her father to be aiming for Pizza Express, but instead Elder led her across the street to Loch Fyne Oysters, something of a treat.

‘What’s this in honour of?’ Katherine asked.

‘Nothing special,’ Elder said. ‘Why?’

‘It’s just…’ She gestured vaguely with her hands.

‘What?’

‘Nothing, Dad. Nothing, okay?’

They were seated across from one another in a high-backed booth, the restaurant already three-quarters full. The waitress brought them their menus, ran through the day’s specials, and left them to decide.

‘Anyway,’ Elder said, ‘I bet you’ve been here with your mother scores of times.’

‘She and Martyn prefer Sonny’s.’

‘I see.’

Elder asked for a beer and Katherine, after a surreptitious glance at her father, a glass of house white. Each studied the menu with care.

‘All right,’ Katherine said, leaning forward suddenly. ‘I’ll tell you. Bringing me somewhere like this, a bit special, it’s as if… It makes me think you’re going to, I don’t know, make some great announcement or something.’

‘About what?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Well, such as?’

‘You’re leaving the country, maybe. Emigrating. New Zealand. Canada. Or you’ve met someone. You’re getting married again.’

‘I’d have to get divorced first.’

‘Don’t joke.’

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know it bothered you.’

‘What?’

‘Me being with someone else.’

‘Are you?’

‘No.’

‘Well then.’

‘In fact, I seem to remember you saying it was a good idea.’

‘That was different.’

‘How so?’

‘That was going to bed with someone, that’s all. I thought it would do you good.’

Despite himself, Elder was smiling. ‘Thanks very much.’

‘I didn’t mean anything really serious. You know, living together. Moving in.’

‘And if I were, whatever you’d call it, part of a couple, something permanent, would that really matter?’

‘To me, you mean?’

‘Yes.’

‘Of course.’

‘But why?’

‘Because it would change things.’

Elder reached for her hand. ‘Things have changed, sweetheart. They changed three years ago.’

‘I know.’

Katherine had crab and then roast cod; Elder a small bowl of mussels followed by halibut steak.

‘Well,’ Katherine said, raising her glass. ‘I’ve got something to celebrate even if you haven’t.’

‘Tell me.’

‘The inter-counties. I’ve been selected.’

‘Excellent.’

‘Just don’t say I told you so.’

‘I told you so.’

Katherine poked out her tongue and for a second she was transformed, in Elder’s eyes, back to barely twelve, long-legged, hair twisted in a single plait, school uniform askew.

After coffee, they stepped out on to the street and almost collided with a couple laughing, walking arm in arm.

‘Sorry,’ Elder said automatically and as the man raised a hand to signify okay he caught sight of Katherine, stopped and grinned.

‘Hi, Kate.’

‘Hi.’

He was in his twenties, Elder guessed, leather jacket and jeans, the girl with him a little younger, spiked hair above a dark green bandana, cream silky trousers, spangly top. The man’s grin broadened as he looked from Katherine to Elder by her side.

‘Oh, this is my Dad. Dad, this is Alan. He teaches at our school.’

‘Good to meet you, Mr Elder.’

Elder nodded.

‘Well, got to be going. Have a good evening.’

They stood a while and watched them cross the street.

‘Does he teach you?’ Elder asked.

‘No.’ Katherine shook her head. ‘Modern languages, French and Spanish. Mostly lower down the school.’

‘Nice-looking girl he was with,’ Elder said.

‘Yes,’ Katherine said. ‘She’s in the upper sixth.’

Pam didn’t know how long she had been in that position, leaning back against the headrest on the driver’s side, the point of Donald’s knife not quite steady against her skin. Time enough for her breathing to have steadied, the tune on the radio to have changed to something more languorous and inappropriate. All of the time willing herself not to look too obviously towards the probation offices where a single light still burned. Diagonally across the car park the ACO’s Volvo waited. If he were to call it a day and come out now, he would surely see her there, her silhouette behind the wheel, walk over to ask if she were all right.

But nothing happened. No one came or went.

‘Shane,’ she said quietly, keeping her voice as even as she could. ‘Please, put the knife away.’

As he leaned forward, Donald’s breath was warm on the side of her neck, her ear. ‘Not on your life.’

‘But there’s no need.’

‘I don’t trust you.’

‘But you’re here.’

‘Irene said you’d help.’

‘I can. So I can. But not like this.’

She started to turn and with a small jump of Donald’s hand, the knife point punctured her skin.

‘I told you.’

‘I know, I know.’

She could smell him in the small space of the car, his sweat, his fear meshing with her own.

‘Shane, look, there’s nothing I can do. To harm you. Why don’t you just put away the knife and we can talk. Talk sensibly. We could go back inside, my office…’

‘No!’.

‘All right, all right, we’ll talk here. Only you have to put away the knife.’

‘How do I know I can trust you?’

‘Because you can.’

‘You’re lying.’

‘No, Shane, I’m not.’

‘First chance you get you’ll turn me in.’

‘That’s not true.’

The music on the car radio was replaced by the station signal and then a man’s voice, smug and earnest, selling life insurance.

‘Shane,’ Pam said, ‘I’m going to move.’

‘No.’

‘I have to. My back, it’s really hurting me. I just want to sit up, that’s all. There.’

She could see his face in the mirror now, off-white, anxious, a film of sweat above his eyebrows, along the bridge of his nose.

‘Shane,’ she said, addressing the reflection. ‘Your sister said I could help you and she was right. But you do have to put down the knife first. All right?’

‘Street Life’ started up through the small door speakers, perky and bright.

‘Shane?’

She held her breath as the pressure of the blade lessened and then disappeared.

‘Okay, I’m going to turn round now.’

‘No!’

‘Well, let me turn this off at least. Then we can hear ourselves properly.’

Mid-syllable, the singer’s voice disappeared. There was silence in the car, the outside sounds of passing traffic distant and remote.

‘So go on then,’ Shane said. ‘Tell me. If you’re gonna help, tell me what you can do.’

Lies collided inside Pam’s head as she hesitated, unsure what to say. His situation was difficult and getting more so by the moment. This ludicrous business with the knife. What was he thinking? And even if she were to keep silent about that, even then, the consequences of what he had done were severe.

‘Look,’ she began, ‘there’s one thing you have to understand. After what you did, leaving the hostel, breaking curfew, your licence will have been revoked. There’s nothing anyone can do about that.’

‘You mean I have to go back inside.’

‘Yes.’

The side of his fist slammed against the car window. ‘Then what’s the fucking point!’

‘The point is I can help you sort it out, what happened, what it will mean. Try and find a reason for what you did. Help you explain.’

Donald said nothing, shifted a little in his seat.

‘When you left the hostel,’ Pam said, ‘was that because someone had threatened you in some way? Because if it was, if you thought you were really in danger, well, that would be a reason, wouldn’t it?’

‘And make it okay?’

‘Not exactly. But I’m sure it’s something the Parole Board would take into consideration.’

‘You’d tell them.’

‘Yes, I suppose I could try and…’

‘You’d tell them. Speak up for me. Explain.’

Pam drew breath. ‘I’d make a report…’

‘I don’t want a fuckin’ report!’ The knife was back, close to her face.

‘All right, all right. I can speak to them directly, I’m sure I can. But, Shane, listen, this is important. You have to put the knife down now. For good. Give it to me. And then you have to go – I’ll come with you if you want – you have to go to the nearest police station and turn yourself in.’