Cath Staincliffe - Looking for Trouble

‘Martin won’t be expecting us,’ I explained, as I pulled away, ‘just his mate Max. I don’t want to frighten him off. We’ll get Max to do the talking first and explain that he got in touch with me.’ Leanne nodded. ‘The important thing,’ I said, ‘is to get him somewhere safe.’ I hadn’t thought where, yet. I was hoping that the police would come through on that one.

Max was there, helmet under his arm, astride his bike in the forecourt of the petrol station, when we arrived. He still wore thick glasses but his uniform had been replaced by biking leathers and he’d had his hair cropped close since I last saw him.

I hooted the horn and waved him over. Opened the back door and he climbed in.

‘Hiya. What did your folks say about all this?’

‘Nowt,’ he said, ‘they think I’m off to the late show at the Cornerhouse.’

‘This is Leanne, this is Max.’

She threw her head round and tossed off a greeting. Max mumbled something in response.

‘I’ve explained to Leanne that Martin doesn’t know we’re coming. You’re going to have to reassure him.’

‘What’s Leanne doing here?’ he asked.

Good question.

‘Martin stayed same place as me when he came to Manchester. He’ll talk to me,’ she boasted. ‘He doesn’t know her.’ She nodded in my direction.

‘But Max talks first,’ I reminded her, ‘Martin asked for Max.’

We drove over to the park entrance and parked the car. The gates were locked at dusk. Leanne and I climbed up onto Max’s shoulders and over, jumped down the other side. The jolt to my ribs brought tears to my eyes. Max, helped by his height, was able to climb over unaided.

As we walked into the park, the sound of traffic receded. There was no lighting and the cloudy sky obscured any moonlight there might have been. It was still drizzling. We approached the colonnade. Four columns and a tower either end, supporting the crosspiece. By daylight, I remembered sandy stone, carvings near the top. Now it was a vague silhouette, its outline shifting in obscurity.

‘Martin, it’s Max. Are you there? There’s two other people here; Sal Kilkenny, she’s a private detective, she’ll be able to help; and your friend, Leanne. Martin?’

No response. I strained to hear breathing but couldn’t. But I sensed that someone was there besides the three of us.

‘C’mon Martin,’ Leanne shouted. ‘What the fuck’s going on?’ I grabbed her arm to shut her up. There was a rustle to our left and Martin stepped out from behind the bushes. His face was haggard, as though fear had weighed the flesh down. I was struck again by how slight he was. There were marks on his face, dirt or bruises. He was shivering. He wore a thin white T shirt and dark pants.

‘Who’s after yer?’ asked Leanne.

He shuddered.

‘Come out of the rain,’ I said. There was some cover at the base of the towers, old entrance-ways, like large sentry-boxes open on two sides but offering reasonable shelter. I stepped in. Martin and Max huddled against one wall. Leanne stood in the middle of the space, arms in her jacket pockets.

‘Is it Smiley?’ she said.

‘Yeah, and the others.’

I thought of the two who’d caught up with me. ‘Which others?’

He rubbed his face.

‘Were you staying with Fraser?’ I asked.

Martin laughed, a mirthless sound. ‘He locked me up. I had a collar, like a dog. He wouldn’t let me go. He didn’t touch me, you know. He liked the girls. They wanted me for the pictures and the videos. I said I didn’t want to, I promised not to say anything but he said they couldn’t afford to take the risk. He locked me up.’

‘And you ran away. Is that why they’re after you, Martin?’

He swung his head from side to side as though he couldn’t fathom it out.

‘What happened with Derek?’ Leanne spoke softly. What the hell did she mean? I waited.

‘Tell us about Derek,’ Leanne insisted.

‘No,’ he protested, ‘no, no.’ The shaking became more pronounced. He was remembering something he’d rather forget.

‘They think Derek killed Janice Brookes,’ I said, ‘the woman they found on the motorway.’

‘He didn’t, did he?’ said Leanne. ‘It was someone else, wasn’t it? Someone else at that house. Was it Smiley?’

Why the hell hadn’t she told me that Derek knew Martin, knew about the house?

‘I can’t tell you.’ He broke down, making squeaky little noises. ‘They’ll kill me, they’ll kill me.’

‘You’ve got to tell us,’ said Leanne, anger sharpening her tone. ‘Derek was my mate, I want to know. He didn’t do, it did he? Martin?’

‘Oh, fuck.’ A spasm shook his body and he pressed himself back against the stone slab. I followed his eyes. Leanne had a gun. She was pointing it at Martin.

My mouth went dry. ‘Leanne.’

‘Shut up, I’m talking to Martin.’

‘Don’t, don’t,’ Martin whimpered.

‘Tell us.’

‘We had to help. Derek, he was running for Smiley. He was round now and again, errands.’ The phrases came out staccato, little bursts of information punctuated by his shivering. ‘It was in the hall. There was an old curtain. We had to roll it up. The body, this woman’s body. Mr Johnson was there, giving orders.’

‘Who’s he?’ I asked.

‘Smiley’s boss,’ said Martin.

‘Go on.’ Leanne waved the gun. I glanced over to Max. He looked wary, tensed like a frightened animal. I knew the sensation.

‘Derek was freaking out, he didn’t want to do it. Smiley was stringing him out, saying he wouldn’t get his stuff and that. Crack. He gives him a bit to keep him going. We put it in the car. It’s her car. Derek has to drive it. Mr Johnson says it’s fine. Leave her, the body, on the motorway. Bring the car to Smiley. Don’t forget the curtain. Mr Mackinlay asks about the curtain but Smiley says he’ll arrange a little fire. Put it in an empty flat in Hulme. Get it torched.’ He stopped abruptly.

‘So, Derek drove off and you didn’t see him again?’ I said. ‘Leanne, put that bloody thing down, will you?’ She ignored me. ‘Derek didn’t kill her, did he?’

‘No.’ A whisper. ‘Who killed her, Martin?’ I kept my voice gentle. He rocked back and forth. ‘Who killed her?’

‘They’ll do me in,’ he said.

‘No,’ I said. ‘We’re going to make sure you’re alright.’

Max put his hand on Martin’s shoulder.

‘It was one of the parties. They were filming. All the little kids were up in the bedrooms. I was in the lounge with Mr Mackinlay and this visitor. He’s telling me what I’ve got to do – with the little girls, when it’s my turn. I never wanted to do it.’ He looked up at me, grief on his face. ‘I was just working the clubs a bit. Mr Mackinlay, he says it’ll be like that but safer. A nice place. He didn’t say about kids – some of them were that small. One guy, he brought his own kids there…’ Into my mind flashed the picture I’d seen from Nina’s window; the white minibus, the clutch of cars, another party.

‘What happened?’ said Leanne.

‘Everyone was pissed, really pissed. Mr Sharrocks comes down for another bottle and the bell goes. There’s two blokes from London not arrived yet, so he goes to see if it’s them. I couldn’t see anything. There was screaming, a woman. Mackinlay goes out and comes back and says to stay out of the hall. Tells me to wait with the visitor. This bloke, he just goes, he could tell there was something wrong. Mr Mackinlay rings Mr Johnson.’ Martin swallowed and rubbed his eyes. ‘Mr Sharrocks comes in then. He’s all covered with blood. He says, ‘She was hysterical, I can’t bear hysterical women.’ Mr Mackinlay tells him to shut up and Mr Sharrocks says, ‘She was onto us, she’d come for her boy. I did it for all of us.’ He’s going on and on. Mr Mackinlay slaps him and he’s quiet.’ Martin looked up at me. ‘But I know now, I know. They’re never going to let me go. They’ll find me.’