Kevin Brooks - Dance of Ghosts

‘How many?’

Delaney looks up at me. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘How many stab wounds?’

He looks down again. ‘Seventeen … all of them inflicted with the same weapon — a long, broad-bladed knife.’

‘Have you found it yet?’

‘Fingertip searches are still being — ’

‘Have you found it yet?’

He looks at me. ‘No.’

‘Did he rape her before stabbing her?’

‘We believe the wounds were inflicted during the rape.’

‘And then he strangled her?’

‘Yes.’

‘John?’

I rubbed my eyes and turned to Bishop. ‘Sorry, what did you say?’

‘Business or pleasure?’

‘What?’

He sighed. ‘London Road … last night. Were you down there for business or pleasure?’

‘Just asking a few questions,’ I said.

‘About Anna Gerrish?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you get any answers?’

‘Not really.’

‘What does that mean — not really ? Either you got some answers or you didn’t.’

I couldn’t be bothered to say anything, so I just shrugged.

Bishop didn’t like that. ‘Do you remember me telling you to keep me informed about what you’re doing?’ he said, a snide edge to his voice.

‘Yeah, I remember.’

‘Well, which part of that don’t you understand? It’s not that fucking difficult — ’

‘I’ve been locked in a cell all night. How was I supposed to — ?’

‘That was after you talked to them,’ he spat. ‘I want to know what you’re doing before you fucking do it, not afterwards.’

‘I didn’t know I was going to talk to them,’ I protested. ‘I just happened to be down here last night …’ As I said it, I realised that we were on London Road now. ‘I mean, I didn’t come down here on purpose. I was just — ’

‘Passing through?’ Bishop sneered.

I watched him as he slowed the car and pulled up at the side of the road, and I wondered what he’d say if I asked him why he hadn’t been down here talking to the girls about Anna. What are you trying to hide, Mick? I imagined myself saying. What do you know about Anna? What do you know that you don’t want anyone else to know? What the fuck are you doing?

‘All right, listen,’ he said sternly to me. ‘From now on, you don’t do any thing without telling me first, OK? I want to know who you’re talking to, why you’re talking to them, and what they tell you. Do you hear what I’m saying?’

I shook my head. ‘You don’t have the right — ’

‘Listen, cunt ,’ he hissed, leaning towards me and staring into my eyes. ‘This is about me and you, that’s all. Understand? Just me and you. And what you’ve got to understand is that I can do whatever the fuck I want.’ He raised his hand and pointed his finger at me. ‘And you ,’ he said, jabbing the rigid finger into my chest. ‘You can’t do fuck all about it.’ He smiled coldly at me. ‘You think last night was bad? Well, if you ever fuck me about again, I’ll make sure you spend the rest of your fucking life locked up in a cell with the nastiest bunch of cunts you can imagine. They’ll rip open your face and piss in the hole. They’ll fuck you senseless, one after the other. And then they’ll do it again, and again, and again. And in the end you’ll be begging someone to cut your fucking throat.’ He smiled again. ‘Do you get the picture?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I get the picture.’

‘Good.’ He patted me on the shoulder. ‘Now get the fuck out of my car.’

The girl who let me into Cal’s house this time was tall and willowy, with waist-length red hair and eyes like a Roswell alien. She was wearing black lipstick and a long black cardigan, and as she led me down to Cal’s basement flat, she didn’t say a single word. Didn’t even smile. She just waited for Cal to open the door, looked briefly at him, then floated off back up the stairs.

‘Is she from the circus too?’ I asked Cal as he showed me inside.

‘No, she’s from Birmingham.’

He was barefoot, dressed only in a T-shirt and boxer shorts, and I guessed he’d only just got out of bed.

‘Do you want me to come back later?’ I asked him.

‘What for?’ he said, lighting a cigarette.

I heard the cistern flushing then, and as I looked over towards the bathroom I saw the diminutive figure of Barbarella Barboni, the sacked acrobat, coming out. She was naked, but it didn’t seem to bother her.

‘Hey,’ she said, raising a hand and smiling at me. She looked at Cal. ‘Is there any coffee?’

Cal nodded. ‘This is John, my uncle … you met him before, remember?’

She smiled at me again. ‘Yeah.’

‘Listen, Barb, we’ve got some stuff to do …’

‘No problem,’ she said breezily. ‘Just let me get dressed and I’ll leave you to it.’

Cal watched her as she went into his bedroom, then he turned to me. ‘You want some coffee?’

‘Please.’

He peered at me for a moment. ‘You look like shit, John.’

‘Thanks.’

‘You want something to eat?’

I don’t really like eating. To me, it’s nothing more than a refuelling process, something you have to do to stay alive. And I particularly don’t like eating when it has any kind of social connection. So my natural response when I’m asked if I want anything to eat is to say no. And I almost said no to Cal. But the mention of food made me realise that I hadn’t eaten anything for a long time, and that I was, in fact, desperately hungry.

So I said, ‘Yeah, something to eat would be good, thanks.’

‘What do you want?’

‘Got any eggs?’

‘What kind of eggs?’

‘Chicken?’

He smiled. ‘How about eggs Benedict? I make a very mean eggs Benedict.’

I didn’t even know what eggs Benedict was. And twenty minutes later, after Barbarella had left us alone, and I’d shared a big plateful of food with Cal, I still didn’t know what it was. But it did the job. It filled a hole. And, with the help of three cups of coffee, it gave my energy levels a much-needed boost.

But it still wasn’t enough.

‘Listen, Cal,’ I said. ‘I really need your help with something — ’

‘You’ve got it.’

‘No, just listen to me, OK? I’ll explain everything in a minute, and I’ll tell you what I want you to do, but first of all … well, the thing is, I’m totally fucked at the moment. I’ve been working this case non-stop, and I haven’t slept for God knows how long, and I’ve got a feeling that today’s going to be another long slog.’ I looked at him. ‘So, I was wondering … you know … well, I was just wondering if you’ve got anything that’ll keep me going for a while.’

‘Well, yeah …’ Cal said hesitantly. ‘But I thought … I mean, I thought you’d given up all that?’

‘I just need something for today, that’s all.’

‘Well, OK … if you’re sure …’

I didn’t say anything, I just looked at him.

He gazed back at me for a while — and I could see the concern in his eyes — but then he just nodded his head, got up, and went into his bedroom. When he came back out, fully dressed now, he was carrying a brown plastic prescription bottle.

‘They’re black bombers,’ he said, passing me the bottle. ‘You don’t often come across them these days, but there’s this Portuguese guy I know … anyway, they’re slow-release amphetamines. You only need to take one at a time.’

I looked at the bottle. It contained about half a dozen plain black capsules.