Barry Maitland: Silvermeadow

‘What? You think I screwed her?’ North gave a short laugh. ‘I was looking for a wire. She’s clean. She doesn’t even have a gun.’

Jackson looked over at the contents of her pockets spread out on the bed at North’s feet, then in puzzlement at Kathy. ‘No radio? No phone? What do they teach you kids these days?’

Kathy felt a wave of panic and despair rise inside her as she finally understood. She saw that he was holding in his hand the note with Brock’s phone number that she had given Sharon, and wondered desperately if she had made the call.

She took a deep breath, trying to make her voice sound strong, in control. ‘We’ve got an operation going, Harry, searching for hidden rooms. It’s only a matter of time before the others move down here. I left my phone upstairs. I should have checked in ten minutes ago.’

He studied her thoughtfully, then shook his head. ‘That wasn’t what you told Sharon, Kathy. And it doesn’t make any sense to me. An operation? With this old geezer? And not even a can of capsicum spray on you?’

He turned back to North. ‘You been checking the radio traffic?’

‘Earlier, yeah. Nothing special.’ He reached down from the bed and switched on the radio on the floor nearby.

After a moment the unmistakable sound of a police radio exchange came through: ‘Oscar Lima, receiving seven one five,’ and the reply, ‘Seven one five, go ahead.’ The voices were flat and untroubled. ‘All quiet on Nelson Road, Oscar Lima…’

Harry Jackson turned back to Kathy. ‘Sounds more like you had one of your little brainstorms, Kathy. What, decide to crack the case single-handed, did you? Christ…’ He shook his head sadly. ‘Haven’t you got anything better to do on Christmas Eve?’

‘She’s one of Brock’s,’ North said.

‘I know.’

‘So she’s not good to have around.’ He said this pointedly.

Kathy looked up at Jackson’s face, trying to read his reaction. He met her eye briefly, then turned away.

‘Let’s think about it.’

‘What’s to think about?’ North said. ‘Don’t worry, Harry. I’ll do it. My pleasure.’

‘We don’t know for sure what’s going on out there.’

Jackson went over to North and began speaking to him urgently in a low voice that Kathy couldn’t hear. She watched their expressions as the discussion went backwards and forwards. At the end of it, when Jackson got up from the bed and walked away, head lowered, hands in pockets, she couldn’t tell for sure which way it had gone, but it didn’t look encouraging.

‘I’m hungry,’ North said, casually picking up a magazine. ‘Get us something, will you, Harry? Nothing spicy; my gut’s playing up, stuck down here in this hole. Something with chips-fish or burger or something. And a decent bottle of plonk. It is Christmas Eve, after all.’

‘Sure,’ Jackson muttered. He turned to the door without looking in Kathy’s direction.

‘Don’t I get a last meal?’ she said.

North smiled, but said nothing.

Harry looked back reluctantly over his shoulder. ‘What do you want?’

‘I want you to get help for Orr,’ Kathy said. ‘Please, Harry. You can’t just let him die. Take him out of here and leave him somewhere and call an ambulance. If he survives he won’t be able to talk for days. Come on, Harry. It’s no risk to you.’

He smiled uncomfortably at her. ‘Nice try, Kathy.’ The tone of his voice chilled her. It was sympathetic, regretful, as if he didn’t expect to be talking to her again.

North said, ‘There’s some car keys in her bag, Harry. Maybe you’d better get rid of it.’

Jackson came back over to the bed and picked up her keys. ‘Yeah, I’ll bring it down beside mine, then I’ll close the service road for the night. Where is it?’ he asked her. ‘I know what you drive.’

‘Go fuck yourself, Harry,’ she said.

‘Suit yourself.’ He turned and made for the door.

As his footsteps faded away, North got to his feet and stretched, and for the second time Kathy braced herself, feeling sick in the pit of her stomach.

‘So, Kathy, is it?’ he said. ‘Your name?’ He began to stroll towards her, a little smile playing on his lips.

‘Yes, that’s right. A bit like Mandy.’

‘Eh?’ He stopped dead. ‘What did you say?’

‘I said my name is a bit like Mandy-two syllables, five letters-’

‘What do you know about Mandy?’

‘Which Mandy are we talking about? Mandy Rice-Davies? Or Mandy Bryant of twenty-three Tulip Court?’

‘Don’t get fucking smart with me, bitch. How do you know about Mandy?’

‘And Sophie. Well, how would we know? I mean, who do we know that knows about Mandy and Sophie? Now Sophie is two syllables and six letters. Like Connie. That’s a coincidence too, isn’t it?’

He was standing right over her now, glaring down, and Kathy smiled sweetly back up at him, feeling like a swimmer floundering through crocodile-infested waters. She watched him raise his hand and bring it down across her face once, twice. He seemed to like to work in twos, she thought: two bullets, two blows. One just wasn’t enough for Upper North. She heard his voice talking angrily, to her presumably, but she couldn’t make it out, what with the roaring in her ears and the shock of the pain where his rings had split her mouth.

He squatted down beside her and gripped her by the hair and spoke distinctly into her ear. ‘Tell me, you fucking bitch, or I’ll cut your fucking tits off. Who’s Connie?’

So he didn’t know about Connie. She wondered where the knife was. She hadn’t noticed one so far.

‘She’s Harry’s girlfriend, of course,’ she mumbled through lips that seemed to be inflating as she spoke. ‘Who also happens to be DS Lowry’s wife.’

‘And she told you about Sophie and Mandy?’ he hissed.

‘That’s what DS Lowry said.’

He pushed her head away so hard that she sprawled sideways onto the floor, arms trapped painfully behind her. From this position she watched his trainers stride away, then begin pacing backwards and forwards across the room. As they passed Orr, the prostrate figure groaned feebly and tried to raise a hand. North stopped, launched two vicious kicks at the old man, then continued on his way.

It seemed a very long time before they heard Harry Jackson’s footsteps again. Long enough for North to calm down and sit on the bed, and long enough too for Kathy’s hope that Sharon had phoned Brock to fade. At one point Kathy heard a faint rumble and creaking coming through the plywood ceiling of the room, and imagined Mount Mauna Loa erupting overhead for the benefit of the final shoppers, though the construction was sufficiently solid that they would never have heard any cry from her.

When Jackson came in, North waited while he put his burden of carrier bags down on the table, then got easily to his feet, walked over to Jackson and threw him against the wall. Jackson was a big man, six foot two and a couple of stones heavier than North, but he lacked the other’s violent energy, and was caught completely by surprise.

‘Wha-?’ he gasped, as North rammed a forearm across his throat and began haranguing him in a hoarse undertone. Kathy picked up the odd word, mainly obscenities and names: Connie, Sophie, Lowry…

Finally the angry monologue became a conversation, Jackson struggling to get the words out. She couldn’t hear exactly what was said, but the gradual shift of North’s tone, from fury to doubt to acceptance, was clear enough. She closed her eyes and waited for the retribution.

Footsteps-the click of Jackson’s boots coming towards her. She opened her eyes as he bent down and took hold of her by the arms and hauled her into a sitting position, then up onto her feet. He reached down and pulled up her jeans, yanked up the zip and stood in front of her with arms braced against the wall on each side of her head.