The Know (43 page)

Baxter looked at the young man beside him. He was tall, painfully thin, and talked through his nose. Baxter couldn’t help thinking, And this is the cream of the crop? God help the Met if so.

‘Shut up, Ritter. Let her get a cuppa before we bound in and start questioning her.’

‘The psychological advantage, eh, sir? Invade her home territory?’

Baxter closed his eyes in distress.

‘No, Ritter, I mean she looks like she needs a cup of tea. If, and I do mean
if
, she has been to Sheffield she’s probably parched by now. We have no actual proof she’s been anywhere, let alone up North, and in this country you are still innocent until proven guilty. Now, is that simple enough for you to take on board?’

Ritter nodded.

‘OK, sir.’

He was not sure about this bad-tempered belligerent man beside him. Sometimes it seemed like he was on the wrong side of the law himself.

Baxter took out a mobile and tried Paulie’s number again.

Nothing.

He lit a cigarette and smoked it slowly.

He was timing the making of that tea; he could do with a cup himself.

 
Joanie and Jeanette were inside the flat. It was spotless, much cleaner than when Joanie had left it.

‘Thanks, Jeanette love. It’s lovely to come home to all this.’

Her gesture encompassed the whole place which had been scrubbed until it shone. There was the smell of a chicken cooking, and the washing machine was spinning. The cosy scene seemed wholly at odds with her usually troublesome daughter, and Joanie was touched to realise how hard Jeanette had worked to do just the right thing to reassure her mother. Joanie’s home being clean was important to her because she was judged on that by her peers, but also because in the chaos that was her life the only thing she had ever been able to control was her environment.

As she glanced now at the daughter who had done this for her she felt a great weight lift from her shoulders. She still had two children, she still had a family of sorts, and looking at Jeanette she realised she loved this difficult child with a vengeance.

‘I’m so sorry, Mum.’

Joanie held her close, enjoying the feeling. It had been so long since Jeanette had given her a hug because she really wanted to and not because Joanie needed one.

‘Where did you go, Mum? I was worried about you.’

There was concern in the girl’s voice.

‘I went away for the night, had a bit of business. I would have told you but let’s face it, Jeanette, you’re never here, are you?’

There was no reprimand in her tone but it lingered in her words and Jeanette wanted to cry. She didn’t, and neither did she start an argument.

‘I’ll make us a cuppa.’

As she busied herself there was a knock on the door. Jeanette answered it with a cheerful expression on her face. When she saw Baxter she tried to shut the door in his face. Something in his stance told her that he brought bad news.

‘Go away, Mr Baxter.’

He pushed the door open and said loudly, ‘I can come back with the whole force if you like, but I am coming in at some point. Get the kettle on, Joanie, will you, girl?’

He walked through to the kitchen.

‘Something smells good.’

He was smiling sadly at Joanie.

‘I have a know-nothing geek outside in the car so let’s make this snappy. You were in Sheffield this morning, Joanie, and you need a good alibi. Which is why I am here.’

‘Is this some kind of joke, Mr Baxter?’

He stared pointedly at her bag and outdoor clothes.

‘Do me one favour, Joanie. Don’t take me for a cunt, eh?’

She couldn’t help smiling.

‘As if I would do that, Mr Baxter.’

‘I’m trying to help you here, you should understand that. Now make the tea and I’ll tell you what we know and what you have to do.’

She made the tea slowly, her mind racing the whole time.

‘My Chief Constable likes you, Joanie. It seems you have a mutual friend.’

She placed a mug of tea before him. Looking at Jeanette, she said quietly, ‘Leave us alone, babe.’

For once her daughter did as she was asked without an argument.

Joanie sat opposite Baxter and said, ‘Spit it out then.’

‘It was you who attacked Tommy Thompson yesterday. ’

He held up his hand to silence her protests.

‘Will you let me talk for once! Fucking hell, Joanie, you’re worse than my old woman and she takes some beating. She could interrupt Joan Rivers without breaking a sweat, her.’

He sipped at the scalding tea and then said, ‘We all know it was you, but the nurse couldn’t ID you properly. Little Tommy fingered you but he’s retracted that thanks to a mate of mine on the force up there with a gambling problem, an ex-wife and a pregnant girlfriend. But I digress. You have been alibied by Fat Monika and a few of your cronies at the parlour who have all made statements saying you were with them last night and this morning.’

Joanie was listening to all this in amazement.

‘You gave that poor nurse a good smack, Joanie, she has a black eye! Now then, I’m going to give you copies of your mates’ statements so you can get your story straight, OK? Like I say, you’re under the protection of my Chief and that means you walk away this time. But Joanie, listen to me, next time Paulie Martin
won’t
be able to help you and neither will I. So bear that in mind for the future and get someone else to do your dirty work for you, OK?’

She nodded.

‘Oh, Mr Baxter, I can’t thank you enough.’

He smiled sadly.

‘Just do me a favour. Keep your boat out of the frame for a while, that will be thanks enough.’

She picked up her cigarettes and he could see her hands shaking.

‘Here, let me do that for you.’

He lit the cigarette and placed it in her hand. Then he lit one for himself.

‘Was Monika OK about it all? We ain’t exactly bosom buddies these days.’

‘Monika would swear she saw Christ Himself shop-lifting for a few quid, and they all got a good few quid though in fairness they were willing enough to do right by you, Joanie. Just keep your head down and your arse up for a while, though; we can’t keep protecting you.’

‘Any news on Tommy’s father?’

‘We thought we’d found him yesterday - a body turned up in Epping Forest. It wasn’t him, more’s the pity. He’ll turn up eventually, though. Scum always rises to the surface.’

Baxter yawned.

‘You gave me a fright, Joanie. I’d hate to have to arrest you for what was in effect a public service.’

She smiled.

‘If it’s any consolation, I’m glad in one way that I didn’t finish him. Why bring meself down to his level? But when I think of my Kira . . .’

Baxter sighed heavily.

‘Listen to me, Joanie, we don’t actually know for sure that anything like that happened to her.’

She shook her head and said sadly, ‘Yes, we do, Mr Baxter. And you know that as well as I do.’

Chapter Twenty-Two

Jesmond was smoking a joint. He had taken his time building it, and Jon Jon had kept his impatience strictly in check. He could wait. He wanted the truth, and now he was going to get it.

It was crazy to think that he was only here because he’d wanted sex with a brass and she had unloaded herself on him about Jesmond.

Unbelievable even.

But he also knew that unbelievable was the norm for people like them. Their whole lifestyle went against the grain of the average Joe on the street. And he could understand now how those people felt. He only wished he was one of them. If he had learned anything from Kira’s disappearance it was that the norm was not as boring as he had once thought. In fact, now it seemed almost desirable.

His whole life was not what he had wanted it to be, what he had expected it to be, especially as he now knew that most people had no truck with his kind of life. They wouldn’t want any of it, they had too much sense.

He had thought he was clever once, going against the norm, yet all he had done was trap himself in an existence that was hard, precarious, outside the accepted morality. What was clever about that?

Maybe he was growing up at last, who knew? But looking at the two men before him, he realised he didn’t want to spend the rest of his days alongside heavy-duty criminals like them.

But Jon Jon was only eighteen, he still had plenty of time. At school he had been told he was naturally bright, academic even. Could be anything he wanted to be. All this from people who had never had to live under his cloud, never had to eat lunch while being taunted by older boys because their mother was on the game. It was what made him into a fighter; he had learned to protect himself, and at the same time he was protecting his mother.

He had loved her then, and he still loved her now. Whatever she was, she was worth a hundred of anyone else he had ever known. She was decent in the only way that mattered. She was honest, loyal and true, and he had to believe in her because at the end of the day she was all he had ever had. Whatever she had done, she had done for the right reasons.

He repeated it to himself like a mantra.

He was clenching his fists again, natural animosity fighting his self-imposed cool, and he forced himself to calm down.

The truth would out, he had to believe that.

At the end of the day this could all be worth shit, mere supposition. But whatever happened he would have broken a nonce so it was worth it.

It was a little bit of payback.

But today Jon Jon was seeing his life, and the business he worked in, with stunning clarity for the first time ever. In a way his mother had not had any choice. Going on the game was all she could do, all she was geared up for. It had become her life too early for her to change. But he had
chosen
this life for himself, knowing the downside because he had had to live with it all his born days.

It was how he had been described, all his life, by everyone he knew. He could still hear them: ‘You know Jon Jon Brewer? His mum’s on the bash/on the game/a sort.’ He had got used to it, but still it rankled, hurt him. It had led him into all this and now he wanted out, but first he wanted to see Jesmond crawl.

He was just glad Bernard had stayed around because Jesmond was far more scared of him than he was of Jon Jon.

Anyone in their right mind would be scared of Bernard, the collector who had burned a house down for a poxy seventy-five quid debt. It wasn’t the money, he had said at the time, it was the principle. The debtor had fucked him off, and no one fucked off Bernard Lee. He almost roasted a whole family alive. They had only been saved by an expensive smoke alarm and the fact that the debtor’s wife suffered from insomnia. That was probably due to their money problems. Debt had a habit of chasing sleep away. Your wife could leave you, your parents die, but it was debt that had the edge when it came to keeping you up at night. Debt was a great leveller because it never went away. It was there, taunting you, twenty-four seven.

But Bernard didn’t care about that. He got his money and that was all that bothered him. If he would do that for seventy-five quid, what would he be capable of doing to a nonce?

Jon Jon guessed the same thoughts were going through Jesmond’s head and that was why he was playing for time.

‘Come on, we ain’t got all fucking day.’

Bernard’s voice was tight with annoyance. Jesmond tried to blank him. He needed to think and inwardly he was panicking now. As he licked the Rizla Bernard’s fist landed a hefty blow on his right ear.

‘Are you fucking winding me up or what? I’ve been served in a Harvester quicker than this! Now you were asked a question and you had better fucking start answering it.’

Bernard was sweating, his anger rising to dangerous levels. The thought that he might actually be linked to a beast was too much for him to bear.

Bernard Lee, the collector who was a by-word for cool, controlled retribution, was suddenly impatient for answers.

Jesmond was stunned, not just by the blow but by fear. If this ever got out, he was finished. And that was if he could finesse his way out of trouble with Bernard. Money could go a long way there but first he had to swallow his knob, as the saying went, and open his trap. It was the only way out now.

He was sweating, and to make matters worse he could smell himself. Never before had he felt this kind of fear.

‘It started a few years ago . . .’

He took a deep toke on the joint for comfort.

The smoke hit Jon Jon and he wanted to smile. That big powerhouse Jesmond smoked scuff? Somehow this fact took the edge off what was happening. A woman’s puff. A bland puff. It was a throwback from the seventies and Amsterdam. It wasn’t even a nice bit of Lebanese or Acapulco Gold. Somehow this knowledge made him feel better.

‘What started a few years ago?’

Bernard’s voice was lower than Jesmond’s and Jon Jon brought his chair nearer to take it all in. He knew he was better off letting Bernard do the talking.