Hidden Kiss (Love Is The Law 2) (16 page)

"I don't really know, Emily. Riggers and I were out the
back, talking. He's a prick, he really is, but I kind of see where he's coming
from with some things. I mean, I can't doubt his intentions."

"He's a racist fuck," she hissed.

"I know. I know that. Anyway I was all ready to punch
his face in but we talked and I just thought, maybe there's another way here.
Another way to deal with things. And then he decided, while you and I were both
at his place, that he'd go and meet Elaine and walk her home. So he went off down
the back alley and I stayed, in the back garden."

"What were you doing?"

"Nothing. Thinking, looking at the stars, wondering
about things. Things I've got wrong and things I want to put right. I dunno. I
heard a noise but didn't think anything of it. I just thought someone had
broken a bottle in the street at the front."

"That was the front room window being put
through."

"Yup, so it seems. When I heard another crash, I
decided to go and have a look, so I went around the house to see if there was a
fight going on. I went down the side and out to the front, looked up and down
the street. Nothing. God, if I hadn't wasted time…"

"You didn't!"

"I did, because then I turned around and saw the whole
fucking house blazing. I couldn't get in the front door so I legged it back
around, but the fire had gone right through the lower half, and I couldn't get
in to get through to the stairs. All the cheapo shitty stuff in the living room
- the sofa and the chair - were just an inferno."

"Oh god."

"Yeah. So, well, I went up onto the flat roof of the
kitchen and found you all."

Just like that,
Emily thought.
A brave act, a huge
decision, just a few words of explanation. Matter of fact.

"Thank you, again. Who the hell did it? Could Riggers
have done it?"

"Why would he? He's in bits, Emily. When Elaine and him
came down the road, saw all the ambulances and the fire engine and the police,
they cried. God, they both cried, they wailed, there was no way he did it. No one's
an actor like that. And I don't think he had time to meet Elaine where he did,
anyway."

"Then who?"

"I don't know. I haven't spoken to Riggers about it
yet. I think it's a bit raw, a bit soon. I'm sure he's got enemies from the
past and enemies from in prison. Though this isn't the style of a gangland guy.
Targeting the family? That's a low move. It's not done. Kids involved? Even
criminals have some standards."

"Not when they're off their tits on drugs."

"Perhaps. Thing is, why have they taken so long to
strike? It doesn't feel like a historic grudge." Turner sighed and
stilled, freezing into position as a nurse wafted past. Emily held her breath
but the woman was intent on some far destination and didn't even look to the
sides as she passed by.

"I don't really see it as being from the past,"
Turner continued once the ward was peaceful again. "Maybe it was mistaken
identity - the wrong house, the wrong target. Maybe it was a stupid dare or gang
initiation. I dunno. I wonder if Riggers has upset anyone recently?"

"He'd have to have properly upset someone for them to
do what they did," Emily remarked, a small suspicion forming in her mind.

"Add in drugs, as you say… people do incredible things
when they're out of their minds."

"They do."

"I should go," Turner said. "They're going to
find me and throw me out at any minute. Look. Um. Give me a ring when you're
home, yeah?"

"Wait." Emily put out a hand, reaching towards
him, not touching. "I think… I might know who it was."

Turner sank back on the chair again and moved even closer to
her. She could smell him, his reassuring spice and soap smell. "Who, and
how?"

"I think I mentioned Joel once to you. Back
before…"

"Before I went to prison?" Turner shook his head.
"I don't recall."

"The homeless boy who I wrote about, that got me my big
break. The boy I just used for a story, the one I thought was now dead."

"Ah, yes, vaguely. It bugged you. I remember you felt
like you'd somehow let him down."

The confusing welter of feelings surged up and Emily had to
lick her dry lips. "That's an understatement. It was like I'd let myself
down, too, as I realised all my dreams of what journalism was, were false. It
was just about money and sensationalism and I knew I could never be any
different. But anyway. So, he's not dead."

"Well, that's good."

"I suppose. He turned up at the charity. He volunteers,
and he's got some casual work with them, and he's got a flat and everything."

"Fantastic! But I don't understand what you're getting
at."

"Joel was there when I was on the soup kitchen. He
resents me. He's got a lot of anger, generally, and I don't blame him for that.
His innocence has been lost, too. And while we were there… Riggers came
along."

"Okay. I kinda picked up the fact he'd seen you there."

Emily could tell that Turner was still confused.
"Riggers started going on about the homeless, how helping them was a waste
of time, they should just sort themselves out. They argued. I tried to stop
it."

"Was that really enough to make you think this lad,
Joel, would come and set fire to his house, though?"

"I didn't think so. I didn't think any more about it.
But Joel started harassing me at work, too. He was convinced I was lying about
Riggers. He has these ideas in his head and he's so… well, he's different.
Alone, upset, angry, obsessed."

"Dangerous."

She shook her head, but whispered, "Yes, perhaps."

"You didn't tell me any of this before. Oh god,
Emily."

"I didn't lie…"

"You haven't been honest." He huffed out a low,
dry laugh. "What a fucking stereotype of a journo, hey?"

His words bit her, as she knew they were intended to. She
didn't argue back. "Yes."

Footsteps approached again, another nurse or night porter
making the rounds. A few beds away, someone groaned. A phone rang, distantly.
"I really should go," he said again, and rose to his feet. He hovered
there, as if he were thinking of something to say or to do. "Okay. Joel.
Thank you for telling me. What's his surname?"

"Don't do anything stupid!"

"What's his name?"

She knew she had no choice. "Becker. Joel Becker."

"Thank you. Sleep well. Phone me."

She waited, tense, waiting and wanting and dreading his
parting movements - would he kiss her? Or walk away without a backward glance?

He did neither. He paused one more moment, then crept to the
curtain and peeked out. She watched him as his head darted left and right, and
once the coast was clear he turned back and raised one hand in farewell, before
slipping away into the hushed-noise-night.

* * * *

Turner did not sleep well. His throat was raw and his
muscles ached. At the time of the fire, his body had responded with the
adrenaline of need and panic, but now he was paying the price. He woke early
and lay for a long time in bed, listening to the sound of another working day
as it unfurled outside his window.

He tried to keep his thoughts away from Emily. Her lack of
trust in him was like a knife to his heart. He knew he cared too much. If he
didn't bother, he wouldn't be hurting like this. Her honesty was too late, far
too late for him.

Each time he was apart from her, he thought they could maybe
make it work. Then he'd see her again, and he'd learn something new, and it
would begin again. When he'd asked her over to Riggers' house, he could have
been swayed into starting the relationship again, but still there had been
things unsaid between them.

That's what he had been pondering, out in the back garden,
once Riggers had left. He'd gazed up at the Milky Way and thought about a
future with her - a future where he was always second-guessing, always pushed
to the edges.

No.

Then, the fire, and all he could do was plunge into the
flames - for Kyle, for Liam, for Emily.

Seeing her in the hospital had awoken his feelings again.
And then she'd laid more revelations on him, and he had been reminded, once
more, that there was so much she had never shared with him.

Damn! He was trying to not think about her!

He rolled out of bed and worked through the rituals of a
morning like an automaton, concentrating on the everyday issues of food and
cleanliness.

He needed to talk to Riggers, and find out how the twins
were doing. But first of all, once he was fed and dressed, he wanted to see his
mum.

* * * *

Pearl was still in her dressing gown, sitting on the sofa in
the living room, a gathering of friends and well-wishers and busybodies all
around her, clutching mismatched mugs of tea and wearing concerned expressions.
The faces were familiar to Turner and he nodded in a general greeting to the
whole room. There was no point asking for privacy here, so he said straight
out, "How are they all doing? The twins? And Elaine?"

All eyes swivelled to Pearl, the matriarch of the moment. She
inflated in pride. "They came home about an hour ago and went upstairs for
a bath. They're shattered. I think Elaine was going to put them to bed here for
a bit."

"Aye, aye, they'll not have slept well in the
hospital," intoned a neighbour.

"Right. And the house?" Turner asked.

"Andy is there at the moment. I don't know what state
it's in."

Various people began to pronounce with confidence about the
weeks and months it would take to bring the fire-damaged house back to a
habitable state. No-one had any direct experience themselves, of course, but
they all seemed to know someone who knew someone who had. Turner smiled wryly
and took his leave of them.

He wanted to speak to Riggers.

He walked briskly through the bright morning. It was
starting to look more like spring and he decided to take it as a good omen. He
rounded the corner and slowed his pace, scanning the pavement and the general
area as if he expected to see clues to the arsonist's identity.

He knew it was ridiculous but he allowed himself to indulge
in the fantasy anyway, lingering and taking his time as he approached the
house.

There was a police van parked outside, but the only figure
he could see was Riggers, who was standing by the neighbour's wheelie bins and
staring up at the house.

Turner joined him and for a moment, they stood side by side,
inspecting the damage. There were large pieces of plywood standing against the
wall, ready to be lifted over the broken windows. Black smears outlined the
frames, and the garden was soggy with the aftermath of the fire hoses and
endless tramping feet.

"Shit," Turner said at last. He loathed Riggers,
even now, but he found he couldn't wish this situation on him, or anyone.
"I assume you're not allowed in at the moment?"

"No." Riggers spoke dully, with a weariness that
tugged Turner's sympathy. "They're still investigating. I don't have a
right lot of faith in them."

Turner took a deep breath, and straightened his shoulders.
"Have you upset anyone recently?"

"No."

"Sure?"

"Yeah." Riggers snorted a humourless laugh.
"I don't get it. I've turned my life around. Like you. Fuck knows, you
reckon me and you are so different, but whatever. We've both changed. And now
look at that. They tell me it'll be weeks before we're allowed back in."

Basic human decency propelled Turner to say, "If
there's anything I can do… just say, just ask. I mean that. Not just for Kyle
and Liam and Elaine, but for you."

There was a silence as Riggers digested the offer.
"Thanks," he said at last. "Appreciate that. We're gonna be
bedding down at your mum's for a while, but thanks. It's all the stuff we've
lost that pisses me off, you know. We didn't have much but it was all legit.
I'd actually worked for it, not stolen it."

"Insured?"

"Fuck off."

Turner took that as a no. He didn't know many people who
bothered with insurance; he himself had got some quotes that made him think
he'd be better off just paying into a savings account than paying out for
insurance. So he didn't berate or judge Riggers. Instead, he finally tackled
the topic he had come out here to talk about.

"I saw Emily last night."

"Up the hospital? She all right?" He sounded
genuinely concerned.

"Yeah. She's probably out today. She told me that you
have upset someone lately."

"Her?"

"No. A homeless man, well an ex-homeless man, name of
Joel Becker."

Turner waited, looking up at the house but sliding his gaze
sideways, trying to study Riggers from his peripheral vision. Riggers shook his
head. "Nah. I had a debate with him, yeah. That was all."

"Debate?"

"Yeah. I spoke my mind, which is my right in a free
country, and he took offence to it, but we didn't even come to blows."

Turner smiled inwardly. In Riggers' world, if blood wasn't
shed or bones broken, it wasn't a real argument. "I didn't think it was
likely to be him, either, when she told me."

They stood in silence for a little while longer, both deep
in thought.

"Becker, you say?" Riggers asked, shifting from
one foot to another. "Okay then. I suppose it's worth paying him a visit.
Bugger all I can do standing out here."

"I don't know where he lives."

"We know his name, his area, his history and where he
works. And I have seen him so I'll recognise him again. Let's pay this little
shit a call."

Riggers turned but Turner put out a hand. "No, hang on.
After all, how would he know where
you
lived? We can't go around to his
place."

"What? I ain't gonna threaten him or anything. Just ask
some questions. May as well rule him out of enquiries, right?"