Kevin Brooks - Dance of Ghosts

‘How long have you been up for?’ I asked him as he passed me a mug of coffee.

‘I don’t know,’ he shrugged. ‘Day or two … I’m working on something …’

‘What sort of something?’

He jerked his head, indicating a worktop across the room. It was strewn with all kinds of technical stuff: several laptops in various stages of disassembly, mobile phones, wires, cables, routers, tools … bits of equipment that I couldn’t even put a name to. I looked back at Cal, waiting for him to tell me what it was he was working on, but he’d already turned away from me and was walking back across the room towards his cramped little kitchen area. I’d always wondered why the kitchen area was so poky when the rest of his flat was comparatively huge. It had originally been two basement flats, but Cal had converted it into one large living area, with a small bedroom and bathroom at the far end. It was a low-ceilinged room, painted white all over, and most of it was taken up with the tools of Cal’s trade: computers, monitors, printers, scanners, work desks, phones, cameras, TVs, recording equipment. There was a small recreation area in one corner, with a black leather settee and a huge widescreen TV, but in all the time that Cal had lived here, I’d never seen him use it.

‘So these guys who beat you up,’ he said, taking a can of Red Bull from the fridge. ‘Are they connected with something you’re working on?’

‘Well, that’s the thing — ’

‘You didn’t see their faces?’

‘I didn’t see anything. I’m not even certain that there were two of them.’

He popped the Red Bull and drank it down in one go. ‘They didn’t rob you?’

‘No.’

‘Made any enemies recently?’

I thought about Fitch, the straggly-haired dealer from The Wyvern, but Genna had said that he was all mouth, and I got the feeling that she was probably right. And then there was Preston Elliot … but somehow I couldn’t see him going to all the trouble of following me around and lying in wait for me in an alley. It just wasn’t his style.

‘There was a car — ’ I started to say.

‘Have you got a cigarette?’ he interrupted.

I took out my packet. ‘Listen, Cal,’ I said, passing him a cigarette and lighting one for myself. ‘When I went to The Wyvern last night — ’

‘You know the landlord there’s a meth addict, don’t you?’

‘Really?’

‘Apparently they cook it up in the kitchen — ’

‘Cal,’ I said firmly.

He grinned at me. ‘What?’

‘Will you just shut up and fucking listen to me for a minute?’

He didn’t stop grinning. ‘Yeah, no trouble … go ahead, I’m all ears.’

‘Right,’ I sighed.

‘All ears and no mouth.’

I glared at him.

He made a zipping motion over his mouth.

I waited a moment, staring into his endearingly lunatic eyes, and then I spoke slowly and calmly. ‘Last night … before I was attacked … I think someone was following me in a silver-grey Renault.’

Cal said nothing, just raised his eyebrows.

‘I thought I’d lost them,’ I went on. ‘But just before the first guy hit me, I saw the Renault parked down the street. Now, that doesn’t necessarily mean that I was beaten up by whoever was following me in the Renault, but I’d say it’s a pretty good bet. Wouldn’t you?’

Cal just looked at me, his mouth clamped shut.

‘You can talk now,’ I sighed.

He smiled. ‘Did you get the number?’

‘Yep.’

‘Shit. Why didn’t you just say so in the first place?’

‘I would have if you hadn’t kept — ’

‘Interrupting you?’

I looked at him. ‘Have you got a pen?’

‘Just give me the number,’ he said, grabbing the nearest laptop.

I gave it to him, and watched as his fingers skipped across the keyboard, his eyes fixed manically on the screen.

‘How long is this going to take?’ I asked, glancing at my watch.

‘That’s odd,’ he said, frowning at the screen. ‘Are you sure you gave me the right number?’

‘Yeah.’

He nodded. ‘You couldn’t have misread it, or maybe just remembered it wrong?’

‘I don’t think so. Why, what’s the matter?’

He tapped a few more keys, then shook his head. ‘It’s a blocked number. The database won’t give me any details.’

‘What does that mean?’

He carried on staring at the screen for a few moments, then he took a thoughtful drag on his cigarette. ‘It means,’ he said, blowing out smoke, ‘well … it could mean that you’re in a lot of trouble.’

‘Why?’

He looked at me. ‘A blocked registration number usually means the vehicle’s registered with the military, the police, or secret services.’

‘Secret services?’

‘Yeah, you know, MI6, MI5, GCHQ …’ He smiled at me. ‘You haven’t been fucking around with spooks, have you?’

I shook my head. ‘Not as far as I know.’

‘If it’s a police vehicle,’ Cal went on, turning back to the screen, ‘I can probably work out a way to access the details. But if it’s military or intelligence … well, that’s a bit more tricky. More risky too.’ He looked back at me, and I could tell that he was intrigued now, desperate to know more about the case. But despite his tendency to jabber away all the time, especially when he was speeding, Cal would never just come out and ask me what I was working on. He’d always wait for me to tell him. And if — for whatever reason — I didn’t want to discuss the case with him, he’d simply accept my decision without question.

‘Do you remember that local girl who went missing about a month ago?’ I said to him.

He thought about it for a moment, then nodded. ‘Yeah … Anne Mellish or something? She was a model — ’

‘Anna Gerrish.’

‘That’s it.’

‘And she wasn’t a model. She was just …’ I paused for a moment, annoyed with myself for thinking of Anna as just anything — just a barmaid, just a junky, just a part-time whore. She was just a person. ‘Well, anyway,’ I went on. ‘Anna’s mother has hired me to look into her disappearance. That’s what I was doing at The Wyvern last night. Anna was a barmaid there.’

Cal nodded. ‘And what about the Renault and the guys who beat you up? What’s their connection?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘What’s the situation with the police? Are they still looking for her … have they got any leads or anything?’

‘I’ll find out in an hour or so,’ I said, glancing at my watch. ‘I’ve got a meeting at 11.30 with the DCI in charge of the case.’ I looked at Cal. ‘Do you know Mick Bishop?’

He scowled. ‘Yeah … I know him. He’s a cunt.’

‘Yeah.’

Cal frowned. ‘Didn’t he have something to do with the charges against your dad?’

I nodded. ‘You could say that.’

Cal looked at me, waiting for me to go on. When I didn’t, he took the hint and changed the subject. ‘Well, anyway, I’ll see what more I can do with the registration number if you want … it might take a while, though.’

‘Yeah, thanks, Cal.’

‘And if there’s anything else I can do …’

I shook my head. ‘Not just yet … I want to try and find out if there’s anything more to all this first.’

‘Yeah, OK,’ Cal said, unable to keep the disappointment from his voice.

‘But I’ll let you know as soon as I need you,’ I told him. ‘All right?’

The smile he gave me then wasn’t the grin of a street-wise hustler, it was the smile of the child he used to be. The smile of Stacy’s little nephew.

‘You know I really like working with you, Nunc,’ he said almost shyly.

‘Don’t call me Nunc,’ I said, smiling at him.