The Dead Tracks (42 page)

    He
looked at me from the floor; a look that said he couldn't tell us, and that I
was the only one who could intervene. Then he turned back to Healy, blood
filling the gaps between his teeth, and looked him in the eyes.

    Silence.

    'I
think we need to clean out your ears,' Healy said. Across from us, a set of
metal stairs wound up to a viewing platform, where a desk and chair sat looking
down across the warehouse. Healy's eyes locked on the chair, and then on a roll
of duct tape on a box near to us.

    He
reached down, pulled Drayton up and dragged him across the warehouse, scooping
up the duct tape on the way. When they got to the stairs leading to the
platform, Healy shoved him up them. Drayton looked back at me, the same message
in his face:
Stop this.

    'Healy—'

    He
flashed a look at me. 'If you don't like it, go and sit in the car.'

    When
they got to the top, they marched across the platform and Healy pushed Drayton
into the chair. I followed.

    'You
wanna play games?' Healy said, unravelling the tape.

    He
used one of his hands to secure Drayton's wrist to the arm of the chair and
started circling with the duct tape. Once that was done, he did the same to the
other wrist. Then both legs. Drayton looked at me, then back to Healy, who was
taking a handkerchief from his jacket and screwing it into a ball. He shoved it
into Drayton's mouth, ripped off another strip of duct tape and secured the gag
in place.

    'You
don't have kids,' Healy said, leaning in to Drayton, nose to nose. 'I mean,
look at you: you're just a kid yourself. You've got no idea what you feel for
something you created. The bond you have. What lengths you'll be prepared to go
to, to protect them. What you'll do to avenge them.' He straightened, rolling
his shirt sleeves up even further. 'But you're about to find out.'

    He
shifted forward quickly, arcing a fist up into Drayton's stomach. Drayton
doubled over, the wind bursting out of him, arms locking into place on the
chair.

    This
was starting to get out of control. I stepped forward. 'Drayton — stop screwing
around. Just tell us who gave you the map and all this ends.'

    He
was leaning over, saliva and blood leaking from his lips.

    
'Drayton'
I said again.

    Nothing.

    Healy
smiled at Drayton. 'You're a fucking idiot, you know that?'

    Not
even movement now. Just silence and blood and saliva and the sounds of shallow
breathing.

    Healy
turned around and started going through one of the drawers of the desk. In the
third one down, he found something. A letter opener. Long and thin. Double
edged. He removed it and then lifted Drayton up by his hair so they were facing
one another.

    'You remember
what I told you?' Healy asked him.

    Drayton
said nothing.

    'That
you'll wake up with your balls in your mouth?'

    A
flash of fear in Drayton's face now. Air jetted out of his nostrils. He tried
to shift in the chair, looking between the letter opener and Healy.

    'Well,
now you get to find out I wasn't joking.'

    'Healy,'
I said, but he ignored me, reaching to the belt on Drayton's trousers and
loosening it. '
Healy.'

    This
time he stopped, studying me. 'You think he's going to tell us anything if we
ask him nicely? Does it
look
like that to you?'

    'He's
a fucking kid.'

    'So
what?'

    'So,
take a look at yourself.'

    He
paused, glanced down at the sweat coming through his shirt, and Drayton's blood
dotted across the cotton. Then he studied me, his face blank. For a second, it
felt like the fuse had gone out. Then he turned back to Drayton. 'I don't care
if he's a kid,' he said quietly, and I realized the only way this was going to
end was if I stopped it.

    Drayton
squirmed in his seat as Healy started fiddling with the belt again. Fear
clouded his eyes. His breath came in short bursts through his nose. After a few
seconds, Healy had undone the trousers and pulled them along Drayton's thighs,
and the kid had started screaming. One long, terrible noise that was worse through
the gag, like an animal in distress. Healy glanced at me, tugged at Drayton's
boxer shorts and reached under his shirt, grabbing the penis. Drayton screamed
even longer and harder this time, eyes like saucers: wide and terrified, and
glistening with tears. When he saw he'd got the reaction he wanted, Healy let
go, ripped the gag away and leaned in again.

    'Talk,'
he said.

    'Okay,
okay,' Drayton said, short of breath. 'Okay.'

    '
Talk,
'
Healy repeated.

    'A
man,' Drayton said, looking between us.

    'What
man?'

    'He
didn't tell me his name.'

    'So
what did he tell you?'

    Drayton
glanced to his left, a minor movement. Healy didn't seem to notice. He was
boiling over. Fuelled by adrenalin. But I spotted it the first time, and then
again a couple of seconds later: a swivel of the eyes, over his shoulder to the
warehouse below.

    'What
did he tell you?'

    'He
just told me to keep the map safe, not to show anybody, never try to replicate
it, photocopy it or write it down. Basically, just keep it under lock and key.'

    'Why?'

    Drayton
hesitated.
'Why?'

    'He's…'

    Drayton's
eyes drifted again. A split-second movement.

    'He's
what?' Healy said.

    'He's
a regular customer.'

    'A regular
whose name you don't know?' Healy snorted. He leaned in, placing a hand on
either arm of the chair. 'You got two seconds, or I really
will
cut your
balls off.'

    Drayton
sniffed. Moved his head from side to side gently, like he was trying to decide
the best course of action. Then, quietly, he said, 'I don't know his name.'

    Healy
shook his head again. 'Wrong answer.'

    Wait
a second,' Drayton said. Wait a sec—'

    Grabbing
the handkerchief off the floor, Healy shoved it back into Drayton's mouth and
secured it in place again with the duct tape. Drayton started shouting through
the gag. I stepped towards Healy, crossing the line into his personal space. He
looked at me and then rocked back. 'You gonna try and stop me?'

    I
looked past him, out through the rear doors of the warehouse. It was hammering
down outside, rain lashing in across the yard. The wind had picked up too,
whipping in over the fences and lifting the plastic sheeting away from the
boxes.

    'Stay
here,' I said. 'And don't do anything'

    'Where
are you going?'

    'Just
stay here.'

    I
headed down the stairs and outside, pulling the hood up on my jacket. The boxes
I'd already moved were stained darker with rain. I took out my pocket knife and
stabbed the blade down through the top of the nearest box, edging it around in
an L-shape and peeling it away. Inside were woks, each separated by a layer of
foam. I pushed the box aside and went for the next one. Porcelain dishes. The
next one along: frying pans. I stepped back and looked further into the pile,
under the plastic sheeting. A wind carved in from behind me and lifted the
tarpaulin away. Right in the middle, surrounded on all sides, was a tall, thin
box, with a small black symbol in the corner.

    Shoving
boxes aside, I moved further into the centre of the pile, trying to create a
space where I could drag the box back out with me. When I got to it, I tried to
move it.

    It
was heavy. At least forty or fifty pounds. I dug the knife blade into each side
and cut out a couple of finger holes, then tightened my grip again and pulled
the box out. As it moved, even as the rain pelted down and the wind howled, I
could hear something moving around inside. Liquid sloshing.

    Back
inside the warehouse, Healy looked down, a frown on his face. I could see
Drayton trying to turn.

    'What's
that?'

    I
pulled the box to the bottom of the steps, so they could both see. Then I set
it straight. Drayton stared at it, something in him receding, as if a great
secret had just been blown away in the wind. There had only been a small
movement in his eyes before. But it was enough for me to realize he was hiding
something. Eyes weren't just the doorway to the soul. They were the ultimate
polygraph test.

    'What's
that?' Healy said again.

    I
jabbed my knife down through the top of the box and cut out a hole. 'Formalin,'
I said, prodding a finger against the symbol on the outside. This is the number
eighty in Cyrillic. '
Just like the pi symbol.
I'd seen it before on the
cardboard boxes in the background of the photo I'd found in the doll. The
photograph that had been used to help frame me. 'There are about eighty
canisters of the stuff in here. And I'm willing to bet that Whoever drew that
map for Drayton was hoping to take delivery of them.'

    Drayton
made no noise.

    I
made my way back up the steps.

    'So,'
I said, and picked up the map off the desk. Where's this?'

    He
looked at me and I could see he was just as involved in all this as his father;
as good a liar as his father too. The problem was, he wasn't as organized and
he wasn't as good at covering his tracks. He'd got sloppy, keeping the goods
he'd imported on his premises rather than shipping them off to another storage
unit. He'd thought hiding them among the imported kitchenware would be enough.
And maybe it would have been if I'd never spoken to Spike and found out what
the symbol in the photograph meant.

    Healy
reached over and tore off the gag.

    'He said
he had information on the business,' Drayton said. 'He said he would send
evidence of deliveries, of goods we'd imported, to the police. He said he would
finish us.'

    'Who
was he?'

    'I
don't
know'
Drayton replied, his voice tearful. 'I can't run this
business like my dad. I can't do it. I
hate
it. But I promised him I
could meet his expectations. I promised him I would look after the family I
promised him I would never let him down. But I can't even do that one thing for
him.'

    I
pointed at the map. 'Where's this?'

    'Walthamstow.
Pine Terrace. Number 29.'

    'You
were supposed to drop the formalin off there?'

    Drayton
nodded. 'When?'

    'Tomorrow.'

    'What
were your instructions?'

    Drayton
glanced down. 'Leave the box on the front steps of the house.'

    'That's
it?'

    'That's
it,' he said. 'The same instructions every time. I've been importing things for
him for months now. When he comes here, he tells me the same thing. Memorize the
road name. Don't write it down. Don't photocopy it. Keep the map secure. Tell
anyone anything and he buries the business.'

    'Is
he home when you drop off the package?'

    Drayton
shook his head. 'The house is vacant. They had a fire there. Half of it's
boarded up, but you can see in through one of the broken windows. The living
room has been burned to shit. No carpet. No furniture. The back garden's like a
jungle, and out front it's just a dumping ground. Cans and wrappers and dog
shit all over the place.'

    'You
ever stick around after the drop-off?'

    'No.
He tells us to deliver the package and leave immediately.'

    I
reached into the inside pocket of my jacket and took out a picture I'd torn
from one of the youth club personnel files. I held it up for him.

    'Is
this the man who comes to see you?'