The Silent Pool (18 page)

‘I'm amazed you weren't arrested,’ said Pete when Erasmus had finished. ‘The Bovind Foundation has got this town sewn up tighter than my Great Aunt Mabel's pleasure purse. But tell me, you don't think he would have set the kid on fire, do you?’

Erasmus shook his head. ‘I don't know. Maybe, and you know what if he had I think he would have got away with it. You should have seen how deferential the cops were to him.’

‘And who can blame them? The only flourishing industries in this city are drugs and religion. I feel a quote coming on.’

‘Marx, “the opium of the people”. Very sixth form,’ said Erasmus. He shifted in his chair. ‘Did you hear about the lawyer, the one who took a dive from twenty-three floors up?’

‘Yeah, Ford, nasty piece of work, he refused to pay me once for some work I carried out for him. I had to persuade him of the error of his ways. He came around,’ said Pete. ‘A mate of mine, ex-CID, drinks in the Vernon. He told me that the police are working on the theory that it may be connected to organised crime. Seems Mr Ford had quite a few gangster clients,’ continued Pete.

‘Listen, I think there may be a connection between Stephen Francis’ disappearance and Ford's death.’

Pete leaned back in his chair. ‘Go on, I'm interested. I do like a good conspiracy theory.’

Erasmus had made a copy of the photograph. He took it out of his jacket pocket and placed it on the table. ‘Back in the nineties Stephen Francis and Malcolm Ford both belonged to Father Michael's crypto-fascist do-gooders, “Faith in the Community”.’

Pete said nothing.

‘Stephen Francis goes missing a few weeks after Father Michael pays off his gambling debts, and then a week later Malcolm Ford takes a high dive from the top of Beetham tower, killer unknown.’

‘I see the connection between Stephen and Malcolm,’ said Pete. ‘I don't see the connection between Stephen's disappearance and Malcolm's death?’

Erasmus leaned back in his chair. ‘No, neither do I, but it's a rather large coincidence, isn't it? But there is something else too.’

Erasmus told Pete about Rachel's conversation with Stephen.

Pete sipped his wine and then poured Erasmus a glass from the half empty bottle.

‘It's a legend, this wine. It's a Nobile from a smallholding that sits below the south face of Montepulicano. I did a job once for a guy who is related to the owner of the vineyard. I recommended it to Keith and he got a box. Taste it, it won't last long.’

Erasmus took a sip. It was heaven. He knew next to nothing about wine, but even he knew this was good.

‘If you close your eyes, Erasmus, you could be on a terrace in Tuscany, the last of the afternoon's sun licking your face and a beautiful woman by your side.’

Despite himself Erasmus wanted to close his eyes. He conjured up an image of a poppy filled hayfield – golden and red – and a girl in white dress running through it. With a start, he realised he had placed Jenna in the middle of his fantasy.

‘You see, Erasmus. You can make yourself believe anything without trying very hard at all. Journalists tend to want to believe stories are bigger than they are. They are picturing their bylines before the story is even written.’

‘But it is a coincidence.’

‘Yes, but you don't think that our new saviour has anything to do with Stephen's disappearance, do you? Every other week his press guys deal with some alleged scandal or conspiracy. If he had a problem his lawyers would have been all over it.’

‘I don't know but I want you to find out who the boys are in this photograph. Can you do that?’

Pete studied the photograph.

‘Find out the name of a bunch of kids? I am in the middle of a contract supplying a local security firm with non-lethal projectiles and it's a hard sell, those guys don't like the prefix. It will cost you, this one. Let's say a hundred quid per hour. What do you say?’

‘It's a deal,’ said Erasmus.

Pete laughed uproariously. ‘You want a top up?’ This was Pete's way of sealing a deal.

‘I would love to stay and drink some more wine but I have to run. I promised to take to Abby to choir practice after school.’

Pete raised his glass. ‘Choir practice and not drinking, the modern British Army should be ashamed! I'll call you once I have the names.’

Erasmus said goodbye and made his way outside. At this time of the afternoon Lark Lane was relatively quiet, the students were either at lectures or in bed, and the last of the late lunch traffic had subsided. Erasmus had parked a couple of hundred yards away from the Grapes on the leafy road that ran around the circumference of Sefton Park. He walked along Lark Lane and then through the Victorian gates into the park.

Before the lane opened out into the wider boulevard that ran around the park it fell into shadow. Oaks and a few surviving beeches stood either side of the narrowing lane and blocked the weak winter sunlight. On Erasmus’ left there was a set of crumbling steps leading off to the raised garden of one of the Park mansions, decaying and magnificent.

In the shadow of the recessed steps Erasmus caught a glimpse of something moving. Too late, Erasmus realised that there was someone standing in the shadow. The baseball bat came down fast and Erasmus threw up his left arm to block it. The force of the blow caused him to stagger back, the pain from his arm was intense but he hadn't heard bone shatter. The man with the bat stepped out of the shadow, a black balaclava covered his face. He swung the bat in the direction of Erasmus’ head. Erasmus rocked back on his heels, the bat arcing through the space where his head had been.

Erasmus noticed that his assailant was shaking as he brought the bat back up ready to swing again. Erasmus realised with grim satisfaction that he wasn't dealing with a professional otherwise he'd be unconscious at the very least right now.

Erasmus had been carrying his car keys and he now gripped them allowing three keys to protrude from between his fingers, giving a cutting edge to his fist. He saw a movement out of the corner of his eye: there was somebody else behind him. He had no time to think about that though as his assailant lunged at him again with the bat. This time Erasmus didn't jump backwards but ran towards the man on the inside of the bat's arc. Erasmus saw the man's eyes widen and then he punched him in the jaw as hard as he could. He felt the keys sink into the man's flesh and the man screamed and dropped the bat before staggering backwards holding onto his face.

Erasmus followed up with a kick to the man's body that knocked him to the floor. The Army had taught Erasmus well and he was in no mood to let his attacker regain the initiative so he kicked him hard again with all his strength.

The man had gone limp. Erasmus pulled off the man's balaclava. It was Mohammed, Purple Ahmed's henchman.

‘Police! Stop right now!’ a voice from behind him ordered.

Erasmus turned around and came face to face with Officer Cooper.

‘I've been attacked, you must have seen the whole thing?’ said Erasmus.

‘Looks like you're the one doing the attacking to me, Mr Jones, and it's not the first time, is it?’

Behind him Erasmus heard Mohammed get to his feet. He turned round and saw him start to run away. He turned left into Linnet Lane rather than run through the park as Erasmus would have expected.

‘Are you just going to let him get away?’ said Erasmus.

‘Absolutely not.’

He inclined his head to his shoulder-mounted mic.

‘This is Officer Cooper. Craig, are you there? I got a suspect/victim running into Sefton Park, he's been pretty badly beaten. Another suspect is in custody. Turn around, Mr Jones.’

‘He hasn't run into the park. You saw the whole thing, didn't you?’ said Erasmus.

‘Resisting arrest, eh. Shame,’ said Officer Cooper as he pulled out his night stick.

‘I'm going to have to use some of that reasonable force,’ he said.

Erasmus balled his fists ready to attack.

‘Officer, can I assist in anyway?’

An old woman emerged from between two cars. She was pushing a tartan-covered trolley with a home-made banjo strapped to it.

Cooper looked at her. ‘No, thank you, madam. There's nothing to see her. If you just be on your way I'll be fine.’

‘OK, Officer. You chaps do a fine job of protecting us from scum.’ She looked at Erasmus as she said this and then spat on his shoes before smiling sweetly at Cooper. She gingerly made her way past them and disappeared from sight around the corner.

‘That's the second assault on me you've witnessed, Cooper. I'm beginning to think you're a jinx.’

Cooper stepped around Erasmus and then swung his baton hard into the back of Erasmus’ legs. Erasmus fell to his knees. Another blow landed on his back knocking the wind from him and sending him sprawling face down on the pavement.

Cooper was breathing hard. He picked up Erasmus’ head by its hair and brought his face close to Erasmus’. Spittle flew from his mouth as he spoke. ‘It's people like you that have ruined this country but we going to get it back, you'll see.’

Erasmus whispered quietly. ‘What was that?’

Cooper moved closer to hear. ‘What?’

As soon as he was in range, Erasmus swung his head back and then launched it forward smack into Cooper's nose. Erasmus heard bone break and Cooper staggered back onto the pavement, sitting down and holding his bloody nose.

‘You fugger, you've broken my nose. I am going to kill you.’

Cooper reached for his TASER.

Suddenly, they were illuminated by the blue and red flashing lights of a patrol car pulling alongside.

The driver's window was down. The policeman looked at Cooper. ‘Need any help?’ he said.

Erasmus put forward his wrists and held them together.

‘Just going quietly, Officer,’ said Erasmus with a smile.

‘Fugg,’ said Cooper.

Cooper grimaced and placed a pair of plastic cuffs on Erasmus. As they bundled him into the back of the patrol car Erasmus asked the other policeman if he had any luck catching his assailant.

‘No, I drove into the park but saw nothing.’

‘Surprising, huh,’ said Erasmus.

‘You shut your face hole,’ said Cooper.

Erasmus thought it probably good advice. He stayed silent throughout the journey until they reached Admiral Street Police Station and he was passed over to the duty sergeant. He asked for, and was granted, his phone call. He called Dan.

Dan had been in the Mosquito Lounge chatting to a ‘couple of lovelies’ and was therefore not happy to be disturbed. In his cell Erasmus could hear the sound of Dan's fury as he hit Admiral Street Police Station like a tornado, bellowing about police abuse, wrongful arrest, lack of any contrary evidence to rebut his client's story, who was, he let it be known, an upstanding member of the legal profession and friends with some of the northern circuit's most senior judges. Erasmus wasn't surprised when the duty sergeant unlocked his cell and there was Dan grinning like a drunken Cheshire Cat.

Outside the station Dan lit a cigarette and then offered the pack to Erasmus.

Erasmus declined.

Dan had, despite his intake, parked his BMW on yellow lines outside the police station.

Erasmus shook his head.

‘What? Like they would breathalyse me now. Breach of my human rights probably.’

‘I owe you one.’

‘You do but you know I quite enjoyed that. For a moment I actually felt like a lawyer. So, what happened in the park and why do you keep on pissing off that policeman?’

Erasmus caught a whiff of Dan's breath: whisky and stale cigarettes.

‘I was jumped and Cooper was there the whole time. I saw somebody behind me before I got whacked, I think it was Cooper. He was part of it.’

Dan sucked on his Benson & Hedges filter tip. ‘And why would he do that, Erasmus? Just because you gave him some backchat in front of some teenagers?’

‘He's a Third Waver, Dan. I think he was told to do it. I think they meant to kill or injure me and make it look like a street mugging.’

Dan pulled a face. ‘They?’

‘Father Michael, the Third Wavers.’

‘You've got to be kidding, right? You are saying that one of the most respected religious figures in the city has ordered a hit on you? And why does he want you killed? Why would he want to do that? Because you punched one of his cronies? Fuck, I thought I was losing the plot but you are seriously off the wall. Are you sure you don't have a piece of shrapnel lodged up there from the war?’ Dan tapped on Erasmus’ head.

Erasmus didn't think, he reacted. He pulled Dan's hand down and around almost to breaking point. Dan screamed and just as quickly Erasmus let go

‘Fuck, you psycho, Erasmus! What are you doing? You fucking idiot, you seriously need to see a doctor. Fucking conspiracy theories! You need to lighten up, man. Are you mentally ill?’

Erasmus stood with his hand by his side, head bowed. He felt nothing but shame. He had attacked one of his few friends, the only lawyer at the firm who had stood by him and the man who had bailed him out when he needed someone.

‘I'm sorry, Dan, it was just a reaction, my training maybe, I don't know, I'm so sorry.’

Dan clicked opened the door to his BMW. ‘You can fucking well walk home and, Erasmus, drop this shit now. Do yourself a favour, call her, tell you can't act for her any more. I'm sorry I got you into this but it ends now!’

Erasmus said nothing.

Dan's BMW roared away towards the city.

Erasmus made his way along the dock road towards his apartment block. It was cold now and the wind on the front had a metallic biting edge that made his eyes water. Maybe Dan was right, maybe he was losing it. Maybe the time had come to see a professional about the dreams he had. Was it possible that they had begun to leak into his reality? Was he just looking for more religious fundamentalists killing and plotting?

The lift to his apartment block was out of order so Erasmus wearily climbed the stairs to his floor. He fumbled for his key and opened his apartment door.

As soon as he stepped inside Erasmus knew something was very wrong.

CHAPTER 22

It took a second for Erasmus to work out what was wrong: it was the absence of a low level electrical hum that formed part of the normal sound of his apartment.