John Harvey - A Darker Shade of Blue

‘She’s a tart, sir. A whore.’

If, on his way to the door, Resnick heard her, he gave no sign.

It was a two-up, two-down off the Hucknall Road, opening into the living room directly off the street: one of those old staples of inner-city living that are gradually being bulldozed from sight, some would say good riddance, to be replaced by mazes of neat little semis with miniature gardens and brightly painted doors.

Eileen answered the bell in jeans and a baggy sweatshirt, hair tied back, no trace of make-up on her face.

‘Lost?’ she asked caustically.

‘I hope not.’

She stood back and motioned him inside. The room was neat and comfortably furnished, a framed photograph of herself and Terry on the tiled mantelpiece, some sunny day in both their pasts. Set into the old fireplace, a gas fire was going full blast; the television playing soundlessly, racing from somewhere, Newmarket or Uttoxeter, hard going under leaden skies.

‘Nice,’ Resnick said, looking round.

‘But not what you’d’ve expected.’

‘How d’you mean?’

‘Terry, leaving me half of everything. You’d have reckoned something posh, Burton Joyce at least.’

‘Maybe.’

‘Yes, well, half of everything proved to be half of nothing much. Terry, bless him, all over. And by the time that family of his had come scrounging round, to say nothing of all his mates, Frankie Farmer and the rest, oh, Terry owed me this, Terry promised me that, I was lucky to get away with what I did.’

‘You could always have said no, turned them down.’

‘You think so?’ Eileen reached for her cigarettes, bent low and lit one from the fire. ‘Farmer and his like, no’s not a word they like to hear.’

‘They threatened you?’

Tilting back her head, she released a slow spiral of smoke towards the ceiling. ‘They didn’t have to.’

Nodding, Resnick began to unbutton his overcoat.

‘You’re stopping then?’ Almost despite herself, a smile along the curve of her mouth.

‘Long enough for a coffee, maybe.’

‘It’s instant.’

‘Tea then.’ Resnick grinned. ‘If that’s all right.’

With a short sigh, Eileen held out her hand. ‘Here. Give me your coat.’

She brought it through from the kitchen on a tray, the tea in mugs, sugar in a blue-and-white Tate amp; Lyle bag, three digestive biscuits, one of them chocolate-faced.

‘You did want milk?’

‘Milk’s fine.’

Eileen sat opposite him in the second of matching chairs, stirred two sugars into her tea, leaned back and lit another cigarette.

‘The last thousand I had left-’ she began.

‘You don’t have to tell me,’ Resnick said.

‘What was I doing, out on the Forest, your question.’

‘You still don’t have-’

‘Maybe I do.’

Resnick sat back and listened.

‘The last thousand from what Terry left me — after I’d bought this place, I mean — this pal of mine — least, I’d reckoned her for a pal — she persuaded me to come in with her on this sauna she was opening, Mapperley Top. Money was for the deposit, first three months’ rent, tarting the place up — you know, a lick of paint and a few posters — buying towels and the like.’ She rested her cigarette on the edge of the tray and swallowed a mouthful of tea. ‘Vice Squad raided us five times in the first fortnight. Whether it was one of the girls refusing a freebie or something more — backhanders, you know the kind of thing — I never knew. Either way, a month after we opened we were closed and I was left sorting out the bills.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘So you keep saying.’

‘Maybe it’s true.’

‘And maybe it’s you.’

‘How d’you mean?’

She gave a little snort of derision. ‘It’s what you do. Your way of getting what you want. Kind word here, little smile there. All so bloody understanding. It’s all bollocks, Charlie. You told me to call you that, remember? When you were buttering me up before, trying to use me to get Terry locked away.’

Resnick held his tea in both hands, fingers laced around the mug, saying nothing.

‘Well, I didn’t. Wouldn’t. Never would. But Terry didn’t know that, did he? Saw you and me together and thought the worst. If you’d been screwing me, it wouldn’t’ve been so bad, he could have coped with that, I reckon, come to terms. But no, he thought I was grassing him up. And that was what he couldn’t live with. The thought that I was betraying him. So he topped himself.’

Both of them knew it hadn’t been that simple.

Tears had appeared at the corners of Eileen’s eyes and with the back of her hand she brushed them away. I reckon there was a lot of unsolved business written off that day, eh, Charlie? Anything that Terry might’ve had his hand in and a lot more besides. A lot of your blokes lining up to pat your back and buy you a drink and help you spit on Terry’s grave.’

Resnick waited until the worst of the anger had faded from her eyes. ‘I deserve that. Some of it.’

‘Yes, you bastard, you do.’

‘And I am-’

‘Don’t.’ She stretched a hand towards his face, fingers spread. ‘Just don’t bother with sorry. Just tell me what you’re doing here, sitting there in my front room, taking all that shit from me.’

Resnick set his mug down on the tray. ‘The girl,’ he said, ‘the one whose body you found. I think there’s something about her you’re still keeping back.’

‘Christ!’ Up on her feet, she paced the room. ‘I should’ve left her, shouldn’t I? Poor stupid cow. Minded my own bloody business.’

Resnick followed her with his eyes. ‘Stupid, Eileen. What way was she stupid?’

‘She was a kid, a girl, I doubt she was old enough to have left school.’

‘You did know her then?’

‘No.’

‘A kid, you said…’

‘I saw her lyin’ there, didn’t I.’

‘And that was all?’

Eileen stood at the window, her breath warming circles on the glass. A heavy bass echoed faintly through the side wall, the same rhythm over and again. Traffic stuttered in and out of the city along the Hucknall Road.

‘I saw her a few nights back,’ Eileen said. ‘Corner of Addison Street. Skirt up to her arse and four-inch heels. She must’ve been freezing.’ Her back was still to Resnick, her voice clear in the small room. ‘This van had been up and down, two, maybe three times. Blue van, small. Post office van, that sort of size. Just the one bloke inside. He’d given me the once-over, going past real slow, the girl too. Finally he stops alongside her and leans out. I thought she was going to get in, but she didn’t. To and fro about it for ages they was before he drives off and she goes back to her stand. Fifteen, twenty minutes later he’s back, straight to her this time, no messing, and this time get in is what she does.’

Eileen turned to face him, hands behind her pressed against the wall.

‘A few nights back,’ Resnick said. ‘Is that three or four?’

‘Three.’

‘Monday, then?’

‘I suppose.’

‘The driver, you knew him?’

‘No.’ The hesitation was slight, slight enough that Resnick, going over the conversation later, couldn’t be certain it was his imagination.

‘You’re sure?’

‘Course.’

‘And the van?’

She shook her head.

‘The driver, though. You’d recognise him again?’

‘I don’t know. I might.’

Resnick set the mug down on the tray, tea barely touched. ‘Thanks, Eileen. Thanks for your time.’

She waited until he was at the door. ‘When the van came back the second time, I can’t be sure, but I think there were two of them, two blokes, the second one leaning forward from the back. Like I say, I can’t be sure.’