Cath Staincliffe - Looking for Trouble

I reached Albert Square at one-thirty precisely. The Town Hall is a great building; lovely creamy stone, carvings, clock tower. Inside, it’s all Victorian gothic, pillars and inner courtyards, marble floors. Any possible beauty is overridden by heaps of heraldic mural and fresco work and truckloads of gloomy portraits of local aldermen.

I asked the porter, in his ornate wooden den, the way to Social Services. With one eye on his crossword, he directed me to the fifth floor in the Town Hall Extension. I crossed the small side street and found my way in and to a lift. No marble pillars and brooding oils here.

I knocked on a couple of office doors as though I’d every right to and was soon told which belonged to Sharrocks. I knocked and went in. He was there, behind an imposing hardwood desk. There was a painting of a sailing ship on one wall and a display cabinet full of model ships on another.

He half rose from his chair. ‘Can I help you?’ I saw the hint of curiosity as he saw my bruised face, but he rapidly hid it.

He was larger than I’d remembered, broad-shouldered, a thick neck. His hair was thick, the colour of mustard, leonine around the craggy face. His chin was comic-book square, with a dimple just like Kirk Douglas. And his voice was familiar.

‘I’m looking for a friend of mine.’ I paused deliberately, uncertain about revealing too much.

‘Yes, well, I think you’ve come to the wrong place.’ A slight lisp, Mancunian accent. ‘As you can see, there’s no-one here but me.’

I couldn’t place it, but I’d heard that voice recently; not over the last few days, more like weeks. Think.

‘I’ll try next door,’ I bluffed. ‘I know she said Social Services.’

‘Ask at reception,’ he smiled. ‘They’ll be able to help.’

I forced a smile in return. ‘Thanks.’ My mind stumbled on towards placing the voice. It hadn’t been in person. A phone call. That faint sibilance, the light timbre. I opened the door and closed it again behind me.

Barry Smith. Barry Smith, that was it. He’d rung to arrange an appointment. He never showed up. I’d sat waiting in my office. Waiting. And there was something else…

I made my way back out onto the cobbled square. That day, when he’d rung, it was the day before I’d found JB’s body, it was the day that Leanne had seen Smiley rushing away. The day of his death. And I’d been safely out of the picture. Twiddling my thumbs and waiting for a bogus client. Barry Smith aka Bruce Sharrocks,

Oh, shit. I broke into a run. My ribs hurt. I was forced to walk quickly instead. I stood at the bus-stop, feeling like a target. When I got off the bus near home, I felt a sweep of relief that no-one else had followed me. I paused at the front door, looked up and down the street. No parked cars with men reading tabloids in them, no funny characters leaning on lamp-posts.

And no-one home. There was a note from Nana Tello saying she’d gone home, that Nina had rung and that Ray would be getting the kids. My armpits stank. I stood under the shower until the smell, and some of my paranoia, had washed away.

When I heard the doorbell go, it came flooding back. I put the chain on and called through the glass panels. ‘Who is it?’

‘Pete. Is Clive in?’

‘No.’ I left the chain on and opened the door, stuck my face through the crack ‘Was it you that rang before?’

He nodded.

‘I’m sorry, I did pass on your message.’

He gave a big sigh. Tossed his long hair back away from his face. ‘Do you know when he’ll be back?’

‘No. He’s hoping to be moving out. He might not be here much longer. I’ll tell him you came.’

I tore a piece out of Maddie’s scrapbook and printed the message in huge letters: PETE CAME ROUND – HE WANTS HIS MONEY. I pinned it to Clive’s door. I didn’t think Pete could hold out much hope, but at least I’d done my duty.

Nina was in when I tried her.

‘Garbage report,’ she said. ‘Hang on, I wrote it all out.’

‘Was it disgusting? Where did you do it?’

‘In the garage.’ She stretched the word out with her American drawl. ‘With a scarf tied round my face, rubber gloves and a can of air freshener.’

‘And?’

‘Disappointing.’

‘Oh no.’ My heart sank. I’d really hoped this inventive line of enquiry would give me the proof I wanted.

‘Nothing in the way of letters to Martin,’ she said. ‘Forms, nothing like that. Just garbage really. Except the condoms.’

‘What?’

‘Well, it takes two to practise safe sex. And there were a dozen in the bags. Someone’s having fun.’

‘You counted them.’ I blanched at the thought.

‘I take my work seriously.’

It didn’t prove anything really. Just that someone in that house had used condoms in the previous week.

‘What else?’

‘Vegetable matter, chop bones, chicken joints, take-away cartons, eight wine bottles, two whisky, beer cans, lots. I didn’t count those.’

‘Not one for re-cycling, our Fraser.’

‘Dead flowers, film cartons…’

‘Video?’

‘No, those little yellow ones for photographs. And one of them’s a chocolate junkie. Lots of Mars Bar wrappers, those bite-size ones.’

‘That could be Martin. Teenagers are often heavy sweet eaters, aren’t they?’

Nina went on with the list. Like she said, it was rubbish. The bottles and the condoms made sense when I thought back to the night I’d seen all the cars outside Mackinlay’s. Party time. Eddie there, showing his movies, or maybe even making one. Speculation. It could just as easily suggest Fraser had a drink problem and a lively libido. Monday night could have been a business meeting.

‘That it?’

‘You want more?’

I laughed. ‘What did you do with it all?’

‘I bagged it up and took it to the tip, along with the clothes I’d been wearing.’

I thanked her.

‘Yeah. I kinda wish I could’ve found something important,’ she said.

She had. But neither of us knew that then.

The kids were asleep. Ray was in the cellar. It was twilight when the doorbell rang. It never occurred to me to put the chain on that time.

It was Leanne. As soon as I glimpsed her – egg-coloured hair, black T-shirt, sullen face, I pushed the door. She was quick. Stuck her foot in the way before I could close it. ‘Open the friggin’ door,’ she complained.

‘Get lost, Leanne. You’re not coming in.’

‘Open the door. You’ve got it all wrong, yer daft cow. You’re hurting my foot.’

I relented, sighed and stepped back. She came in huffing her shoulders. Started to roll her eyes to heaven. Then she got a proper look at me.

‘Fuckin’ hell.’ Note of respect in her voice. I blushed.

‘Anything broken?’

‘Ribs.’ What did she care? ‘How did you know where I lived?’

She pulled her mouth to the side. ‘Was on your library ticket.’ Ah, yes. My purse.

‘What do you want? What do you mean, I’ve got it all wrong?’

‘Can we sit down or summat? I hate standing up.’

I led her through to the kitchen and we sat at the table.

‘I didn’t tell him, right,’ she began, ‘about you coming round.’

‘Oh, yeah.’

‘I didn’t.’

‘How do I know you’re telling the truth?’

‘You don’t.’

There was a pause.

‘If you didn’t tell him, then how come I get a phone call that same afternoon, why did I get beaten up?’

She shrugged. ‘How do you know it was Smiley?’

I sighed. ‘I don’t Leanne, it’s an educated guess.’

‘Maybe he had someone following you.’

I’d thought of that. He certainly had by the time I was visiting Diane. But before then? I shivered. Maybe Leanne was telling the truth. It was hard to judge. What the hell, I was in no mood to apologise. I pushed back my chair.