In the Dark (35 page)

‘I'll be better in a couple of weeks. As soon as I've got rid of
this
.'

The man smiled. ‘That's good. Only, you know, we were wondering how you were doing.'

‘I'm fine. Thank you.'

‘The funeral's the day after tomorrow, isn't it?'

‘Sorry?' She noticed that he was carrying a small recorder. ‘Who's “we”?'

‘Just the local.' He stuck out a hand, which Helen ignored.

‘And locals sell to nationals. I know how that stuff works.'

‘It's obviously a big story for us. A
local
tragedy.'

Helen turned back to the door and fumbled to get her key in the right position. She heard the reporter step closer.

‘It would be good to let people know how you were really feeling,' he said. ‘What you've been going through. What you think it might be like having the baby after—'

She turned round quickly and saw another man getting out of a car parked where the taxi had been. She saw him adjust a camera and raise it up. Watched the flash start to fire.

‘Come on, Helen, just a few words . . .'

She pushed past him and moved as fast as she could towards the photographer. ‘Get back in that car,' she said. ‘Do it
now
.'

The reporter was behind her, still asking questions, but she kept on walking; enjoying the look on the photographer's face as he finally stopped taking pictures and stepped quickly back.

‘Sod off before I take that camera and stick it up your arse.'

 
There was no DJ playing at the Dirty South that night. A sign that had been taped to the door read:
Tonight's performance has been postponed as a mark of respect to the families of Michael Williamson, James Dosunmo, Errol Anderson and André Betts
.

Mikey, SnapZ, Wave and Sugar Boy.

Somebody had scribbled ‘live 4 ever' just above the words promising that those tickets already purchased would be valid for the rearranged date.

The bar was a little quieter than usual too, for a Saturday. There was no music over the speakers and the sound on the big-screen TV had been turned down. The bar staff were being kept busy enough, though, and there were plenty of coins lined up around the edges of the pool table.

Theo stood at the bar waiting for his Southern Comfort and Coke. Looking around, he could see most of the crew gathered near the arch through to the back room, several of them already playing pool and the others huddled in small groups. There was no sign of Easy.

When he'd got his drink, Theo wandered across and spoke to a few of the boys. Most seemed pleased to see him and talked easily enough about this and that, though several of the younger ones were edgy, their eyes everywhere but on him as they spoke. Though he'd been prepared for it, nobody asked him about what he'd found over at the stash house.

He was relieved that Easy had not spread the word around.

If it had been common knowledge on the estate, it would only be a matter of time before someone would want to go through it all with him in an interview room, and Theo didn't fancy that. The police were stretched now, for sure, but he knew they hadn't stopped looking for whoever was in that car the night the copper died. Even if someone else had already beaten them to the punch.

But the police were not Theo's biggest worry any more. He was pretty sure now that the trigger-men were not carrying warrant cards.

He watched as Easy finally walked in and the atmosphere at the back of the room changed. Easy was smiling, moving casually around the bar, like he was passing out good news. Theo saw him approach each small group and talk for a minute or two before moving on to the next. There was plenty of fist-kissing going on and nodding dogs.

When a thickset white bloke tried to push past without asking, Easy stared him out and stood his ground. The man said something Theo couldn't make out and walked the long way round. Easy turned back to the crew like nothing had happened, giving Theo a nod too, through a gap in the crowd, just to let him know that he'd clocked him.

Theo moved across and tried to talk to Gospel, who was playing pool with one of the Asian boys. He told her she should try to leave as many balls as possible over pockets, and asked if she'd seen anything of Ollie. She looked past him and shrugged; said it wasn't her job to keep track of everybody. When she finally returned his look, Theo pointed to the blue-green bruising beneath both eyes and the cut across the bridge of her nose.

‘Who d'you fall out with?' he asked.

‘Someone who didn't mind his business,' she said.

From then on, she pretended to be concentrating on the game, and when the boy she was playing missed, she hurried around to the other side of the table to take her shot. She fluked one and the boy told her she was a jammy bitch.

Theo walked across to a table near the big screen and waited for Easy. He glanced over and saw him talking to As If, who had been standing on his own, looking lost. Easy's mouth was doing most of the work. After a few minutes Theo saw their knuckles touch and guessed that the two of them had sorted things out in a very different way to the one Easy had been threatening.

Theo turned away and caught Gospel staring. Her eyes dropped quickly down to the table when she saw him looking.

‘Still seeming tensed up, Star Boy . . .'

Theo raised his head as Easy kicked back the chair opposite. He had a Hypnotic in each hand.

‘Got a twenty's worth of skunk in my pocket as well,' Easy said. ‘Sort us both out for the night, no danger.'

Theo took his drink and sipped it . . . watched Gospel leave the pool table and disappear into the toilets.

Easy caught him looking and grinned. ‘Javine would rip your head off, man.'

‘Yeah, well, Ollie's out the frame now, isn't he?' Theo looked for some reaction, but saw none. ‘Got everything organised, then?' he asked.

Easy shook his head, like he didn't follow.

Theo raised his glass and gestured towards the cluster of crew members against the back wall. ‘Things moving on, yeah? Sweet and simple.'

‘More or less.'

It was obvious to Theo that Easy had spent the last couple of days talking to the people in the higher triangles, the ones deciding who went where and who did what. Who plugged the gaps. He'd always been a good talker, better than Wave even, and he looked comfortable enough stepping up into a dead man's shoes.

‘You're saying I'm not upset about Wave and Sugar Boy, right? Any of them? Trying to make out like I'm not bleeding.'

‘I never said that, man.' Theo knew that Easy had not liked Wave a whole lot, but that he'd felt it good and deep for SnapZ and Mikey, had showed it as much as anyone else. He'd seen him looking like he'd had the breath kicked out of him, saying nothing and close to tears in this very room, the night after they'd found Mikey. ‘Just that you've shrugged it off so fast, yeah? Like all you're thinking about is the next thing.'

Easy leaned forward. ‘Listen, T. You think if David Beckham was hit by a bus, the chairman and fucking shareholders or whatever would cancel the next Man United game?'

‘He doesn't play for them any more.'

‘I don't care. It's just an example, man.'

‘Nobody got hit by a bus.'

‘I said it's a fucking
example
. Christ . . .'

‘There weren't any
accidents
,' Theo said. ‘None of it is random, you see what I'm saying?'

‘Right. We were all sitting in that car, I get it. The night you got moved up, which happened because I stuck my neck out for you, yeah, which you forgot pretty quick, seems to me.'

‘You
know
, but it's like it means nothing.'

‘So what are
you
going to do, T? If you're next on the list? You got a nice sharp scheme?'

‘No . . .'

Easy raised his hands like that was that. Point proved. He leaned back on the chair, turned his head to tell a girl walking past how nicely she was moving. When the chair dropped forward again there was something else in his eyes.

‘Thing of it is, anyone comes looking for me, whatever fucking car I was in, they better be up to the task.' He dabbed at his pocket with one finger. ‘I've got plenty for them to think about, you get me?'

‘Wave probably thought the same thing,' Theo said.

Easy seemed to get bored pretty fast after that and got up without a word to talk to a couple of the younger lads. Theo stayed where he was, thinking that it was a long time since they'd talked about nothing; since they'd just pissed around and enjoyed themselves. He remembered how much Easy had made him laugh, hitting golf balls at that old man, stuff like that.

Suddenly Easy was at the table again, telling him to get up, that they were leaving. Theo did as he was told without thinking, at least not about anything other than the skunk Easy had on him, and followed him across the bar and out onto the street.

He saw Easy produce the knife when they got outside. Saw the people smoking at the wooden tables on the pavement scatter, then realised that they were ten yards behind the big white bloke who had fronted Easy out earlier on.

‘Fuck you doing, man? This is mental . . .'

Easy started moving faster, only a few feet behind the man now. Theo stopped, shouted, telling Easy that he was an idiot, and watched as the big man looked round and saw what was coming before cutting hard right into the alleyway that snaked around to the back doors of the bar. Easy screamed something and sprinted after him, waving the blade around at the same time that Theo turned and bolted. As he put his head down and ran, tearing off in the opposite direction until he was streets away.

THIRTY-ONE

When she'd called him to pass on the details of the funeral, Helen had arranged to meet up with Gary Kelly. He couldn't make up his mind which piece to read at the service and she'd promised to help him decide. He'd kindly offered to come and pick her up. ‘I know what it's like,' he said. ‘My wife couldn't squeeze into our Astra at four months.'

They had a cup of tea at the flat and then drove down to a café behind Brixton tube station. It looked like an original fifties place, but neither had any idea how authentic any of it was. They both went for mugs of tea and fry-ups.

‘Do you need a lift tomorrow?' Kelly asked. ‘I wasn't sure where the cars would be leaving from.'

‘It's fine,' Helen said. ‘I'm staying at my dad's tonight and we'll drive up together in the morning.'

‘Well, anything I can do, you know you've only to ask.'

‘You're doing plenty.'

‘This is really hard,' Kelly said. He spread out pieces of paper in front of him on the table and pointed at one. ‘You know how much Paul loved his music, right?' He read out a poem that someone called Charlie Daniels had written when his friend Ronnie Van Zandt had died. ‘He was the lead singer of Lynyrd Skynyrd,' Kelly explained. ‘Died in a plane crash, so . . . both terrible accidents, you know? I thought it might be appropriate.'

Helen thought it wasn't bad, told Kelly it was nice, but that she wasn't sure Paul could ever be described as a ‘proud bird'.

Kelly nodded and pushed it to one side. He showed her something he'd found on the Internet, a poem by Charlotte Brontë that Helen thought was thankfully unsentimental, and a simple Gaelic blessing, which he told her had been read at his father's funeral. ‘That one's got a music angle as well,' he said. ‘John Lydon used it in a song, so . . .'

‘Oh, OK.'

‘So, which do you think?'

Helen hadn't really been concentrating as she should have been. She hadn't checked about confidentiality with Jeff Moody, but now that the operation had come to an end with Paul's death, she assumed there wouldn't be any problem. It wasn't as though she were planning to put an announcement in the
Police Review
. She was trying hard to keep the smile off her face but clearly not succeeding.

‘What?'

‘That stuff you told me about Paul keeping things to himself, remember? Not being sure what he was up to or whatever?' She told Kelly about the visit from Moody, about the operation Paul had needed to keep so secret. Describing it out loud for the first time, she could hear the enthusiasm in her own voice; the pride in what Paul had been doing. It was something she had grown almost unfamiliar with.

The Irishman looked shell-shocked. ‘Cagey bastard,' he said, finally. A grin spread slowly across his face, too. ‘There I was thinking he was knocking off some WPC.'

‘Trust me, I'd've known about
that
.'

‘Yeah, Sue's the same,' Kelly said. ‘I've only got to think about it.'

Helen nodded.

‘So . . . how long?'

‘A year and a bit. Moody said it had been going very well. He was obviously good at being sneaky.'

‘Certainly had me fooled.' Kelly shook his head, dabbing at what was left on his plate with a fried slice. ‘Christ, it makes sense now. No wonder we didn't see much of him in the office. CID must have seemed seriously bloody humdrum. Dangerous game as well, I should imagine. Some of these bastards can be well nasty if you get too close.'

Helen wiped grease from her fingers. ‘Yeah, well, he never took the easy option. Wouldn't have ended up with me if he had.'

‘He did well on that score,' Kelly said. ‘Don't you worry.'

They swapped stories for a few minutes, and Helen told him how hard it had been finding the time to make all the arrangements. Kelly went quiet after a while, pushing aside his plate and staring down at the printed eulogies.