Girl Seven (5 page)

I noticed he was wearing eyeliner.

‘OK, that’s easy. My mother was called Helena and my dad was Sohei.’

It was easy to talk about my parents like this, as if I was reciting their resumés.

He nodded.

‘He worked for a company called Importas. He was man­ager or something, but he kept moving us between London and Tokyo every few years. We lived in Hampstead in London and Toshima-ku in Tokyo, and then when he lost his job we lived in Tooting. Shit-hole.’

‘And Tooting...’

‘That’s where it happened, yeah.’

I paused. For a moment the single high-definition image came back to me. Always my sister. The five-year-old skull cleaved in two. I didn’t remember much of Mum or Dad. If I concentrated really hard I could sometimes see the broken bottle, stained red, that my dad must have raised to try and defend them. The glass was embedded in his hands. I’d seen it as I’d fallen to the floor in shock.

Mark was watching the street performer outside. He didn’t persist in his questioning, so I answered the silence and the vast expanse of blank space on his notepad.

‘I was at this guy’s house, Jensen McNamara. He lived just across the road from us. But I got bored. I went home and bumped into these kids in the stairwell. I can’t remember any of their first names, apart from the oldest one, Nate. They were just kids in the building. Little scabby boys. All Williamses.’

Blades like this...

‘They stopped me and said there had been a fight or some­thing upstairs. The oldest one had seen these guys go up. I don’t think he said how many... Two.
A couple
, he said. With
blades like this
.’

I lifted my hands in the air in front of me, demonstrating.

The bottom of Mark’s glass made a gurgling sound as he sucked the last of his drink up his straw, cutting me off.

I raised my eyebrows.

‘Sorry,’ he said, pushing the glass away. ‘But you didn’t see these guys though? You didn’t see the men the kid saw?’

‘No. If I did...’ I swallowed. ‘If I’d been there they would have killed me too. I know that. But by now it’s been so long they probably don’t care enough to... to want to track me down or anything. Sometimes I think about it, you know, if I’m scaring myself at night. I wake up and I wonder if they’re still out there looking for me, or whether their job was just done and finished then, regardless of whether I was there or not. I just... I don’t get why they wouldn’t come back for me. Why would they let me go just because I was lucky and wasn’t there?’

‘They won’t still be looking,’ Mark stated with some confidence.

I worried he was about to make some sort of inane gesture of comfort or support, like touching my arm or something. But he didn’t. Of course he didn’t. He wasn’t an idiot.

‘How do you know they’re not still looking?’

‘Well, they would have to be pretty shit to have taken nearly three years to track you down.’ He pulled the glass back to him again and frowned down his straw at the remaining bubbles of his drink. ‘If I ever took three fucking years to carry out a hit I’d retire.’

‘And do what? Knit?’

‘I’ve never thought about it. I’m doing what I want to do and... we don’t tend to retire, we tend to die. But I’m all right with that.’ He nodded, and grinned. ‘I’m unsure sometimes, whether I’d avoid retiring just in case my job slipped into a hobby... and then who knows? No more rules then.’

‘Hasn’t it already become a hobby with you doing this for free?’

‘Maybe.’

Silence.

He added, ‘This isn’t a frivolous act, my wanting to work for you. I’m not doing this for fun. It’s just not very often life confronts you with a real mystery, a chance to solve a real mystery.’

I could hear someone playing
Angry Birds
behind us with the volume turned up to an antisocial level. I straightened my skirt, pulled it down a little and tried to ignore the noise.

‘So, you go upstairs...’ He waved a hand at me, drawing a circle on the page with the word ‘Details’ written within it. ‘You don’t have to describe it all to me. Just any extra personal information that forensics might not have picked up on, if it occurs to you. I can find the case file and photos and stuff, no problem.’

All I could hear was the fucking
Angry Birds
.

‘Someone called the police?’

I nodded.

‘And what happened then?’

‘I... What?’

‘What happened then?’

‘Wait.’ I turned, knuckles white around the back of my stool, and snapped, ‘Hey, can you
shut the fuck up
?’

The girl with braided hair stared at me, gormless. People around us fought to restart their conversations before anyone noticed them eavesdropping. The sound of the game ceased and the girl stood up and flounced out.

I am sitting on a mountaintop
, I thought, taking a deep breath.

‘Your father was never...’ Mark seemed pensive for a moment. ‘Apologies if this comes off as an insult, but your father was never involved with Yakuza, was he? He didn’t associate with anyone like that when you lived in Japan?’

I knew he didn’t mean it to be offensive, but the very sug­gestion sent a reactionary shot of anger and defensiveness up my spine. I almost said something scathing about Mark’s tattoos, implying sarcastically that he looked more like Yakuza than my dad ever had. But I stifled the comment.

‘No,’ I said, pursing my lips. ‘He might not have died with all his fingers but he had them all before that.’

‘It’s OK, I didn’t think so, but sometimes you have to ask the obvious questions.’ He shut his notepad. ‘What are you doing now, just working for Noel and Ron?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘What were you doing before?’

I felt embarrassed all of a sudden. ‘Nothing, really. Mum wanted to me to go to uni but Dad was happy for me to stay at home and try to... make it as an artist. So I was just doing that, just painting every day. I was thinking about art school a bit but... it’s all really expensive, higher education, you know.’

It sounded ridiculous, even to me. I couldn’t believe now that I’d ever been stupid enough to think anything would have come of my staying at home painting. But Mark didn’t seem to share my contempt; he at least humoured me by asking another question.

‘And you don’t do that any more?’

‘Well, I’m only good at two things and one of them was art. You’d have to be pretty damn stupid not to head down the other path if one of the only two things you’re good at is art.’

‘What’s the other thing?’

‘Sex.’ I smirked. ‘Sex and art.’

‘Then you’re right. Best to stick to the former in this climate.’

I thought of the Relatives’ Room, the comb-over and small black eyes, the way he kept saying my name...

I’m truly sorry for your loss, Kiyomi.

‘Can you let me know the names of everyone you came across that day? Even if they were kids, it would still help to know. They might have seen something.’

‘Well, there was Jensen McNamara; he lived across from me. I could find his address for you but I’m sure he’s on Face­book. The kids I spoke to were the Williams kids. I can’t remember all their names but they lived a few floors below me, I think. And... there’s something else,’ I said, trusting my hunch. ‘It was kinda what made me call you actually. There was a man who came and talked to me just after... I don’t know who he was. We were alone, which was weird, and he asked me a lot of questions but I lied to all of them. But he knew I was lying.’

‘And he didn’t identify himself as a police officer?’

‘No. I would have asked but I was really out of it. I don’t know, he could have been anybody.’

‘Not if you were alone. A police officer wouldn’t sit alone with a female borderline minor and ask questions. Don’t take this the wrong way but you look about sixteen.’

‘I’m twenty-one. I was eighteen then.’ I began talking fast. ‘It wasn’t just me. I spoke to a... well, he wasn’t a friend, but I spoke to Jensen McNamara yesterday and he said the same man had come to question him too. He described him and said he had a black comb-over. It was the same man.
And
one of the Williams kids, the oldest one, was killed not long after in a drive-by shooting. He might have seen who did it and now all of a sudden he’s dead. Doesn’t that seem like too much of a coincidence?’

Mark scanned the café behind us, but no one appeared to be listening.

I made a mental note to lower my voice, having forgotten we were in a public place.

‘A drive-by could be coincidental,’ he said.

‘Well, you could check, right? They apparently caught the kid who did it and he’s in a young offenders’ place.’

It was starting to become dim and crisp outside. We didn’t have much longer here.

My heart was racing. I tried to slow it down, slow down my breathing.

‘I can check it out,’ Mark said, with a firm nod. ‘You’ve definitely given me, as the professionals say, a “solid line of inquiry”
.
’

The last rays of the sun falling on the red overhangs of the shops outside reminded me of Tokyo.

‘Noel said you’ve never failed at a job. Is that true?’

There was no trace of modesty in his expression. ‘Yes.’

‘Seriously, why are you doing this for free?’

‘Because I don’t do my job for the money. I never have.’ He observed the tattoos on the backs of his hands and his black-painted fingernails. ‘That’s why I’ve never failed.’

To my irritation, the person I always wanted to call first in these situations was Noel. I resented that I felt that kind of attachment to anybody, but through sheer force of persistence he had managed to wind his way into the only parts of my life that demanded one-on-one discussion. He hardly ever talked to me about trivial things; neither of us was good at it.

I called him outside the tube station near his flat, so I could kid myself my intention was still to go home if I wanted.

‘Hey,’ Noel answered, sounding weird.

‘Hey, are you at home?’

‘No, no, I’m... not.’

I doubted that. At this time of evening the only other place he would be was downstairs at the club, and I’d be able to hear the activity around him.

‘You know if it’s not a good time, that’s OK,’ I said.

‘No, it’s not that! It’s...’

There was movement, as if he were changing locations.

Just like that, there was a glimmer of sadness.

‘You’re not at the club, are you?’ I sidestepped away from a wave of commuters.

Silence.

‘It’s OK, I was on my way home and then back to work and... I just wanted to check if I could come by for a chat, that’s all. I spoke to Mark today, just now.’

‘Oh. Cool, cool.’

It was so obvious. It should have occurred to me first; I’d even seen the wedding ring.

‘She’s there, isn’t she?’

‘Yeah. It’s not really a good time.’

‘No, I understand.’

‘I’ll call you back.’

I wasn’t sure whether to hang up, but then he did. I didn’t think he was going to call back.

I stood outside the tube entrance for a while, feeling awk­ward and ridiculed, as if the people passing around me could sense my humiliation.

This had happened once before, and I’d gone three weeks without a callback. But then the wedding ring had come off again and I’d been regaled with another tale of her being unreason­able or hysterical or stubborn or all of the above. The first time I’d believed him, but I was starting to wonder at what point, if all your relationships hesitated and ended the same way, you should start to ask if it was you.

He’d asked me over and over again about my past, about any great loves or failings I might have had, but I never saw why I should tell him about those. I was too young to have had many.

What that person had done and what they were now doing with their lives was none of my business any more.

I couldn’t stop thinking about what Mark had said, even at work. I took five minutes to lean against the bar and chat to Daisy as she steamrollered her way through making the worst Long Island Iced Teas I’d ever seen. But I wasn’t listening to her. I stared out into the club, through everybody, and it took a while for me to realize she was addressing me with a direct question.

‘What?’ I turned, resting back on my elbows.

‘I said sorry if I’m staring at your tits in that outfit!’

I looked down at them and my false eyelashes itched. ‘Oh. Don’t worry, I didn’t notice.’

‘I’m not like
staring
at them, but they’re just...
there
, you know.’ She mimed a pair of tits in mid-air. ‘That bra is fucking insane.’

I sighed and looked around for anyone whose drinks were empty. My gaze alighted on two guys sitting apart from everyone else, not watching the stage much, just talking to each other in what seemed like secretive tones.

Great. I wasn’t in the mood to deal with anyone too fucked-up or energetic.

‘Bitch, are you even listening to me?’

‘Who are they?’ I asked, gesturing at the two men. ‘Haven’t seen them before. You know them?’

‘No. Take them these and find out, I guess.’ She put a couple of beers on a tray and slid it across the bar-top. ‘They look like... Actually, they don’t look like anyone. They don’t even look like accountants.’

I adjusted the stupid bra so the diamanté wasn’t digging into my ribcage so much, picked up the tray and walked over to them with a smile.

‘Can I get you anything?’ I asked, putting on a ludicrous sultry tone.

They both eyed me with the same quiet calculation. White skin and strong cheeks, pretty much identical – so, brothers? – but for the man on the left having thicker hair and a dimpled cheek when he almost smiled. Almost.

‘Alcohol, please,’ said the brother to the left, with an Eastern European accent.

I put down the tray.

He chuckled. ‘Beer is not alcohol, it is lemonade.’

I stopped smiling. It was becoming painful. ‘You want vodka then?’

‘Please. Just vodka.’

The two of them exchanged glances and I turned around to get them their drinks, curling my lip at Daisy.