The Drowners (8 page)

There was a feeling of relief in the group as the rest relaxed, knowing they would be heading back to the Station to finish their shifts in relative comfort. The sergeant nodded. ‘Right, I’ll go and tell the others and let the lucky four know they’re staying here.’

Dave watched his colleagues shuffle off towards the van, then stepped back into the minimal shelter offered by the entrance to the tent. As the vans loaded up and drove off down the track, the darkness and stillness returned, the only sound the steady falling of the rain and random flapping of the canvas covering the grim scene at his back. PC Brown walked round the tent carefully adjusting the ropes until it was secured to his satisfaction. A few dozen yards away his fellow policemen shuffled and muttered in the cold and wet, stamping their feet and shifting their weight in an effort to keep warm. ‘Everyone all right out there?’ he called.

‘’Tis okay for you. You’m in the tent,’ retorted one.

‘I’m not – I’m outside like the rest of you,’ he called back.

‘Reckon we could take turns out of the rain though,’ suggested another.

Dave sighed. ‘We can’t go inside,’ he answered. ‘It’s a crime scene and we can’t go trampling all over it. Sorry guys, but I’m not standing inside either.’

There was a deep, sullen silence and he thought he heard one of them muttering ‘… college boy’. Then all was still apart from the rain that just kept falling.

‘What the bloody hell were you thinking!’ roared Tom, smashing his fist on the table. At the opposite end sat Max, hunched forwards wearing his usual scowl.

‘What? You think ’tis only you can decide what we do then? Was not planned anyway so you’ve no call to be getting worried about your authority or nothing. Was just luck really – too good a chance to miss.’

He leaned back in his chair, arms folded and stared at Tom defiantly. Around the table the rest of the group shuffled their feet, several of them looking down at the floor.

Walter glanced from one to another and cleared his throat. ‘Maybe we need to see how we can turn this to our
advantage
,’ he ventured.

Tom rounded on him furiously. ‘Our advantage? This stupid little punk decides to implicate himself in some suspicious death out on the Levels, out on
our
patch and you think we is going to find some benefit do you?’

Max flushed at Tom’s unflattering description and rose to his feet slowly, fists clenched as he leaned over the table.

‘You mind your mouth,’ he growled. ‘Times has changed and you gotta change too or you’ll find we is all moved on and left you behind.’

He made to move round the table towards Tom and it was Geoff Bund who reached out to stop him.

‘Now then, Max,’ he said pleasantly, ‘let’s have none of that. We got a good set-up here, everyone with their place and all making one right strong operation. Seems to me we should be looking to the next few weeks, trying out stuff and making the most of these dark nights.’

Max and Tom glared at one another for a few seconds and then, like a pair of wary cats, backed away and sat down.

‘Is coming up to Christmas,’ Geoff continued, ignoring the tension in the room. ‘Lots of demand this time of year. People wanting a bottle or two, maybe some nice cigars, perfume for the wife – and all them parties. Reckon there’s a decent opening in livening up them parties, don’t you think? I know a few likely lads would fancy a bit of stuff for over the festive season – know what I mean?’

There was a nodding of heads around the table. ‘Mind you,’ said Walter, ‘I’m not so sure about this new stuff. I’ll maybe stick to booze ‘n’ baccy. ’Tis what I know and I’m thinking there’s not so much demand down my way for branching out.’

Max snorted in disgust. ‘You got that big university slap in the middle of your patch,’ he said. ‘Nothing they students like more than a bit of whiz of an evening. I seen ’um, dancing all night, up my way. And I got news of something even better. Look here.’

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, clear plastic bag. Inside was what appeared to be a sheet of paper crudely printed and divided up with dotted lines into squares a bit bigger than a postage stamp. The men leaned over and peered at this strange offering, exchanging puzzled glances as they passed it from one to another. Finally, Tom picked up the bag, flipped it over a couple of times and flicked it back up the table.

‘So?’ he said, unimpressed.

Max leaned over and retrieved the package. ‘This,’ he said, waving it in front of him, ‘this is worth over fifty quid.’

There was stunned silence before Tom gave a harsh laugh.

‘You’m dreaming boy. Fifty quid for a tatty bit of paper like that? What’s it supposed to be anyway – is all smudged.’

Max grinned, a feral grin that showed his broken front tooth. ‘Called “key wings”, they is. There’s twenty-five of ’um on this little bit of blotting paper and kids’ll pay two, three quid for each.’

Jimmy Earl reached out and took the bag, turning it over and twisting it round as he peered at the contents.

‘I see them now,’ he said finally. ‘Look, they’s keys with feathery bits behind. Key wings, like you say. Still, how come they’s worth so much?’

Max grabbed for the bag and laid it on the table in front of him. ‘They’s printed up with the name first,’ he said. ‘Then you puts a drop of LSD on each one. Kids buy a tab, eat it and – there you go, instant high. Key wings is the best ’cos is powerful, almost neat. Not like some as gets cut with all sorts of stuff. This’s got a good kick to it but don’t poison them nor nothing.’

‘’Cept what it does to they heads,’ said Walter. ‘I don’t hold with this, you know. Bit of weed, that’s one thing, but this,’ he flapped his hand at the offending bag, ‘can be evil. Makes them think they can fly and all sorts of rubbish. I don’t know as how we should be handling this.’

He folded his arms and looked round the table, trying to establish how much support he had. Tom looked worried, frowning at the bag and its dangerous contents. Mark had moved his chair a way out from the table, distancing himself from Max. Well, that was to be expected really – the older men looking at it one way and the young lads seeing only profit and not broken lives. In Walter’s eyes there was a world of difference between sneaking a bit of tax from the Revenue and selling a life-time of misery and addiction. To his surprise,
young Jimmy Earl didn’t seem too eager either. He poked a finger at the bag and slid it away across the table.

‘Don’t know about this,’ he said. ‘Seems you can just drop this in your pocket, carry it in a car, even on a bus. Where’s my lads come in, then?’

‘I was thinking we had this as an extra, like,’ said Max, eager to reassure him. ‘Course, most of what we is handlin’ is more
traditional
. This is just a bit of a bonus on top.’

Jimmy grunted, unconvinced but willing to be persuaded.

‘I’ll need to ask my lads,’ he said. ‘See how many is willing to carry them things. Is a bit of a step up, a couple of cases of booze or a few fags to stuff like this. Penalties is much steeper so is much more of a risk. They’ll need to agree before we touch it, right?’

Max scowled and pushed the bag back into his pocket.

‘Just tell ’em how much more they is going to get without having to lift no heavy boxes and slog around all them back doors at pubs,’ he said. ‘Just one drop often, that’s all. Rest of the distribution gets done down the line and they’s no way of linking us to it once is out in the hands of the sellers. No marks, no identification, nothin’. You tell ’em, is the easiest money they is ever going to make.’ He pushed his chair back and stood. ‘We done here then?’

The rest of the group looked at Tom, who nodded and waved him out. There was a collective sigh of relief when Max and his dubious merchandise left the room and for the first time they became aware of how the others felt about the way things were going. As Geoff and Mark turned towards him, mouths open to speak, he held up a warning hand.

‘We need him,’ he said flatly. ‘He’s young, he’s ambitious and he’s got his eyes on the Levels. Bristol’s a big patch and it makes him mighty powerful, specially for a lad that new to the business. Better he’s in with us here than outside and plannin’ his moves.’

Mark gave a sigh and rested his elbows on the table, reaching for another bottle of beer. ‘I know, you is right but
I don’t like it. Don’t like the cargo, don’t like his ways – hell, don’t like him.’

The men around the table nodded and muttered their agreement as the meeting began to break up.

‘You was very quiet,’ said Jimmy, looking at Geoff.

The man in charge of the ports shrugged. ‘Don’t really affect us,’ he said. ‘Don’t come in from abroad, most of it. Folks cook it up all over – hell, in pots and stuff in kitchens. No need to risk bringing it in from overseas, so my lads don’t need to be touching it. Reckon you could get out of it too if you wanted. Don’t need no lorry, like you said.’

Jimmy frowned and glanced towards the door as if
expecting
a furious Max to burst back in and confront them all.

‘Maybe,’ he said, ‘but is likely to be the most profitable part of the operation. Reckon my lads want a piece of that.’

Tom leaned across the table abruptly, interrupting them with a sharp gesture. ‘No opt-outs,’ he said fiercely. ‘Don’t want to give him the idea he can manage without us. Next thing we know there’ll be more like him swarming over the Levels and there’ll be open war out there. This is
our
patch and
we
say what travels and who carries it. Understand?’

The two young men flinched before his anger. It was easy to underestimate old Tom, to write him off as a throw-back, but as they looked at his hard, bold stare they remembered all the whispered rumours about the King of the Levels and his powerful contacts. Like two insolent boys they nodded and were rewarded by Tom’s slow, warm smile.

‘Good lads,’ he said, grasping each by the shoulder before turning away.

Jimmy and Geoff exchanged looks. They knew who they’d rather back if it came to a showdown with Max and it wasn’t the boy from Bristol.

It was a rather shaky Alex who arrived at work the week before Christmas. Bored out of her head with the inactivity and desperate to secure her new post, she had put on a brave
show for the doctor and persuaded him to sign her off as fit. Her first Monday back and she was already regretting her actions. The welcome from downstairs was warm and sincere, and even Alison seemed pleased to see her. Lauren clambered on to her stepped stool, leaned over the front desk and gave her a hug before leaning back, staring at her hard for a moment and saying, ‘You sure about this? You is looking a bit pale still.’

Alex forced a smile and laughed rather shakily. ‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘Just the effect of being indoors for so long.’

Pauline looked round the door and said, ‘Sorry to break up this reunion but Garry wants a word as soon as you get in.’

Alex sighed and picked up her briefcase. ‘Back in the jug again,’ she called over her shoulder as she set off upstairs.

Garry was standing at his window staring down into the yard when she pushed open the door to his office. For a moment, Alex had to screw up her eyes against the light as he turned and, still silhouetted against the morning sunlight, gestured her towards a chair by his desk. She blinked a couple of times and her eyes adjusted once more to the dimmer light in the room.

‘Is anything wrong?’ Garry asked, watching her keenly.

Alex shook her head and forced a little laugh. ‘No, no, nothing at all. I’m out of practice, getting up in the mornings,’ she said, trying to keep her tone casual.

Garry frowned as he sat down behind his desk, never taking his eyes off her face. ‘As long as you are fully recovered?’ he said, making the statement into a question before continuing. ‘We need someone to take control of the day centre as a matter of urgency and that person needs to be completely capable of fulfilling the role to the highest standards. It is a crucial part of our provision and we cannot afford any more delays.’

She’d been back less than an hour and already Alex was getting a headache. She wondered if he expected her to apologize for her illness – ‘I’m so sorry I got meningitis at such an inconvenient time Garry. I’ll try to be more careful in
future.’ Instead, she managed a sickly grin and reached into her case, pulling out the final doctor’s note.

‘I’m all signed off as fit to return,’ she said, proffering the evidence.

Garry glanced at it with distaste and waved it away. ‘Good,’ he said, insincerely. ‘Give it to Pauline to go in your file.’

She replaced the certificate wondering if he thought he might still catch something from it.

‘Now, we have a growing list of clients assigned to the day centre – the magistrates have finally caught on to the fact it exists and is a sensible and viable alternative to a custodial sentence.’

Garry was in full flow now, rehashing the speech he gave to the Probation Committee and groups of interested lay people. She sat up, tried to look impressed and hoped someone would give her something useful to work with some time soon – like a budget or some helpers or even a list of these clients who were now, technically, her responsibility.

‘There is, of course, still some discussion on the pattern of primary responsibility,’ Garry continued. ‘Whilst ideally the officer in charge of the day centre will hold the probation orders for all clients this may not prove possible in all cases. It has been decided, therefore, that these will remain with their original officers for the interim and part of your role will be liasing with them on appropriate activities.’

That meant he had decided she wasn’t up to managing all the clients yet, Alex thought, and this dog’s breakfast of a system was in place so something could be salvaged if she messed it all up. Great, that was just great. Welcome back Alex.

‘Well, we are glad to have you back, of course,’ Garry said. There was a pause before Alex realized she was supposed to get up, make some meaningless reply and leave.

‘Ah, I’m glad to be back,’ she managed, struggling out of the chair as she juggled with her briefcase and coat. Garry watched her struggle for a moment and nodded as she
disentangled
herself and headed for the door.

Outside she stopped for a moment and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as she sought to regain her composure. On the stairs down to her office she spied Alison heading towards her, arms full of files.

‘Glad I caught you in time,’ said her assistant. ‘Come on, I’ll show you where you are now.’

Alex glanced down the corridor towards her comfortable, familiar room and realized she was no longer based in the main building. With mixed feelings she followed Alison down to the main reception area, left through the day centre doors and past the recreational area to the back of the building.
‘Here you are,’ said Alison, pushing a door open and stepping back to let Alex enter.

Someone had tried to make the place presentable and as she looked around the room she saw her possessions placed on the desk, her plants perched precariously on the narrow windowsill. It was dim in the small amount of light that trickled through the thick meshed glass window, oozing past the security bars before seeming to collapse, defeated, in a yellow swathe across the desk. Alison reached around the door and flicked a switch, illuminating the scene with harsh neon. Alex blinked in the bright light and felt tears form in her eyes. She scrubbed at them angrily, muttering, ‘Sorry – I’m still a bit photophobic. Takes me a while to adjust to the light.’