Cath Staincliffe - Looking for Trouble

‘Very touching,’ muttered Miller. ‘Smiley, what the fuck are you playing at?’

As he yelled, Max pulled my head close. ‘Get down,’ he whispered. I began to slide down to Martin’s level. A flash of anger stopped me, half-way down. He was about to pull some stupid macho stunt that’d get us all shot. Before I could straighten up and caution him, I saw Max’s leg flick out. His foot, his trainer, kicked hard at Miller’s hand. I heard a snapping sound. Miller gasped and the gun flew up. Max kicked again, at his balls now. Miller groaned and began to double up. Max’s hand flew out and slashed at his windpipe, the other hand at his shoulder. The force sent him keeling over backwards. When he hit the ground, I heard the air woof out of his body. Max rubbed at his hand.

‘Judo?’ I asked. Oh, you wonderful boy.

‘Aikido,’ he grinned. ‘Where’d the gun go?’

I shrugged. ‘It’s so dark. Is he dead?’

‘Bloody hell, I hope not. He should be out for a couple of hours, though.’

I shuddered. A gunshot rapped out somewhere behind us, making me start. Leanne or Smiley? We waited in silence. There was the sound of footsteps running, shoes not trainers. My heart was thumping in my ears, muffling other noises.

Smiley appeared, gun in hand. ‘She’s taken off, scared…’ He stopped short when he saw Miller, approached slowly, swinging round and back like a paratrooper in a film.

He knelt down and put a hand to Miller’s neck.

‘He’s dying,’ I bluffed. ‘You can’t save him now. Max’s a karate expert; he’s ruptured his kidneys and damaged most of the internal organs. He’s bleeding to death from the inside.’

He shook Miller. ‘You’re lying,’ he screeched.

‘Without Miller, there’s no way you can make it work. Who’s going to falsify the confession, put the gun in the right place, arrest Martin?’

I was irritating him. ‘Shut it.’ He shoved the gun down in the direction of Martin. ‘This’ll have his prints on. I can make him O.D. here. It doesn’t matter, they can figure it out.’

‘They’ll know it stinks,’ I said.

‘It doesn’t fucking matter,’ he shouted in desperation, the gun waving in his hand. He fought for calm and levelled the gun at me. I wouldn’t beg. I’d pleaded before, with the man who held a kitchen knife to my throat. I’d begged and he’d stuck the knife in anyway.

I licked my lips. The buzzing in my ears grew louder. I wouldn’t be able to go swimming with Maddie.

There was a click, then a crack, and Smiley jerked to the side. He staggered back a couple of steps, then stood teetering on his feet. I smelt cordite again. He levelled the gun and squeezed the trigger gently.

I was slammed back against the stone. The shot rang out. My arm sang with pain. The ground drifted.

Smiley dropped to his knees. The gun slipped from his fingers. I couldn’t see where he’d been hit. Leanne came running.

‘He thought I’d gone,’ she said. ‘Now I’ve got him.’ She knelt in front of him and placed the muzzle up against his forehead.

‘Leanne, no,’ I croaked.

‘You killed Derek,’ she said, matter-of-fact. The gun clicked. There was a dreamy look in Smiley’s eyes.

‘He couldn’t swim,’ he said. ‘We had to keep Sharrocks out of it.’

She nodded. ‘He supplied the kids. Did you ever go to the parties, Smiley? We used to have them at Hanley Court or we’d go off in the minibus. Special games we had to play.’ Her voice was so low I could only just hear her. ‘Secret games. Always lots of visitors. We got sweets. Mars Bars. He always brought Mars Bars.’

Someone likes chocolate – that was what Nina had said – lots of Mars Bar wrappers in the rubbish.

‘Leanne.’ I leant forward.

The explosion made me recoil.

‘Oh, Jesus Christ.’ Max ran over.

She was still kneeling beside Smiley. Blood was spurting, a pulsing fountain where his head had been. I could see his brains, smell the hot iron scent.

Max moved to pull Leanne aside.

‘Fuck off.’ She flung his hand away. Stumbled to her feet and began to run. There were dark patches on her hair and her jacket.

‘Leanne!’ I struggled to get some volume. ‘We’ll tell them what happened. Wait, it’ll be alright.’ She disappeared from view.

I could feel shock, its open arms ready to claim me. But I needed to get safe first.

‘Martin.’ I edged over to him and ruffled his hair. ‘Martin, we have to go. Smiley won’t bother us now. Miller – Mr Johnson’s – passed out.’ Martin looked up, eyes groggy.

‘I’ll bring him,’ said Max. ‘Can you walk?’

‘Yes.’

My feet were a long way from my head, If I watched them, it was easier to make them move where I wanted them to. I could hear Max beside me, panting, as he carried Martin. The drizzle had stopped. My face was wet. I wasn’t crying, was I? There was something important I had to tell Max. My mind slid around the edges of it.

There was the Mini. But the gate was shut.

‘Oh, no.’ Max had forgotten too.

My right palm was wet. I turned it over, made out black, trickling along the creases.

‘You go,’ I said, ‘ring an ambulance, take the car.’

‘I haven’t taken my test, yet.’

We both laughed. A moment of delirium.

‘My keys are in this pocket, can you get them?’ I was too weak to wrestle in my jeans pocket. Max sat Martin up against the gate, then retrieved the keys.

I remembered what was important. ‘Max, ring Harry. Don’t talk to anyone else. Tell Harry I’m hurt, tell him we need Y Department. The police are mixed up in it. Don’t talk to anyone till Harry’s here.’

‘What’s his number?’

I reeled it off. Gingerly, I lowered myself down next to Martin. The gate shook as Max clambered over and leapt down the other side. I heard him drive away.

It was quiet, not much traffic now. The numbness had spread up from my arm and shoulder. I couldn’t feel the right side of my face. I heard a siren sing-song in the distance and, a little later, the chocker-chocker of the police helicopter, down to the south towards the city, where the sky was bleeding mandarin. Should be up here mate, I thought. It’s all happening here.

The siren sound got stuck in my ears, whining on and on. I was thirsty. I could taste metal, smell blood. Martin stirred. I reached out for his hand. It was small, smooth, the nails ragged. It felt nice – this hand in mine. I wanted to cry. I felt warm piss leak through my pants.

‘Martin,’ I whispered, ‘are you there?’ He was quiet.

I heard a dog bark once, a long way off. I thought of Digger. Then there was nothing.

They called it a graze. Christ, I hate that euphemism. They said the same thing when I had Maddie. If you weren’t actually torn limb from limb, it was just a graze. Unmitigated bloody agony, more like.

But even grazes heal with time.

Justice sure isn’t swift. It’s March now. The grape hyacinths are out, eight months have passed, winter’s come and gone and the trial still hasn’t started.

The police spent days interviewing us: Max, Martin and myself. Going over and over our story. They didn’t like what they were hearing. Harry got us a good solicitor. She was there all the time. Calm and clear. Making sure it was all above-board.

Bruce Sharrocks and DI Miller were remanded on bail. Eddie Kenton got sent down. They seized some of his video collection. He was shipping it as far as the Philippines, using Mackinlay’s business network. Mackinlay made himself scarce. Left the country. Probably chartered his own bloody plane. Some place where there’s no extradition treaty.

It made front page in the Evening News for a night: Charity Boss faces Murder Rap – Child Sex Ring Exposed. There was never a peep about Miller’s involvement. Funny, that.