Kevin Brooks - Dance of Ghosts

I nodded.

Leon tapped the keyboard and the video started up. Bishop was standing in front of the man in the chair, and as the video began, I saw him leaning down and yelling violently in the man’s face. There was no sound, so the yelling was silent, but there was no mistaking the fury in his voice. The man in the chair was screwing his eyes shut and stretching his head back in a vain attempt to get away from Bishop, but Bishop just kept on screaming at him. And then, suddenly, he stopped. And with no hesitation at all, he drew back his arm and punched the man viciously in the face. The blow was so hard that the man — still tied to the chair — tumbled sideways to the floor. The two other men immediately picked him up again, and while they were doing that, I saw Bishop lighting a cigarette. He took a few hard puffs on it, said something to the man, now upright in his chair again, and as the man began shaking his head in wild-eyed fear, Bishop calmly stepped forward and speared the burning cigarette into his right eye.

‘Jesus Christ,’ I whispered as Leon stopped the video.

‘And that was only the beginning of it,’ he said, pressing more keys.

‘He’s a fucking madman.’

‘No,’ Leon said. ‘That’s the thing, I don’t think he is … I think he just does whatever he has to do to get what he wants … whatever that may be. But I don’t think he enjoys it. He just does it.’

‘Do you think he’s capable of killing someone?’

‘Everyone’s capable of killing someone,’ Leon said, and for a fleeting moment I thought I saw a knowing look in his eye. ‘But if you’re asking me whether Bishop could have killed Anna Gerrish …?’ He paused for a few seconds, thinking about it. ‘Well, yes … I’m sure that he could. If he had what he thought was a good enough reason to kill her, he’d do it just like that.’ Leon snapped his fingers. ‘But I can’t see him killing just for the thrill of it … and even if he did, he would have made absolutely sure that no one found out.’ Leon turned his attention back to the laptop screen for a moment, fiddled with the touchpad, then looked up at me. ‘The men who beat you up outside The Wyvern … you said you didn’t get a look at them?’

I shook my head. ‘It all happened too quickly.’

‘But you mentioned that the man who hit you first had rings on his fingers.’

‘Yeah …’ I said, my mind suddenly flashing back to that night — leaving The Wyvern, walking down Miller’s Row in the cold night air, the distant doomp-doomp, doomp-doomp from the nightclubs, the drunkenness whirling in my head … and then a voice calling out to me from the shadows of an alley, Got a light, mate? , and almost immediately the heavily-ringed fist hammering into the side of my head …

‘Yeah,’ I told Leon. ‘He had rings on his fingers. One of them had a skull on it.’

Leon angled the laptop towards me. ‘Is that him?’

The figure on the screen was a close-up still from the video. It was the man with the baseball bat, and Leon had frozen the picture just as he was raising the bat, so not only could I see the man’s hard-bitten face, but also his hands. The picture was blurred and grainy, and it was hard to make out any details … but when I leaned in closer to the screen and squinted at the big silver ring on the man’s right index finger, I knew that I was looking at a skull.

‘His face doesn’t mean anything to me,’ I told Leon. ‘But I’m pretty sure that’s him. Who is he?’

‘His name’s Les Gillard, he’s been working for Bishop for years.’ Leon nodded at the screen. ‘When that happened he was just a PC, only been on the job a few years.’

‘And now?’

‘It’s hard to tell. He moved up through the ranks pretty quickly, and for the last ten years or so he’s been making a name for himself in various Special Ops forces — SO12, SO13, 15 … you know, the kind of units who like to keep themselves to themselves. But whatever Gillard is now, I know that Bishop’s still got some kind of hold on him.’ Leon closed the laptop and looked at me. ‘That’s how it works with Bishop. He gets something on you, something he can use against you … and once he’s got it, you’re his for life, whether you like it or not. You’d be amazed at how many people he’s got in his pocket — police officers, criminals, politicians, businessmen … he’s a very powerful, and very dangerous, man.’

I nodded. ‘So do you think it’s possible …’ I paused as Leon suddenly closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and groaned. ‘What’s the matter?’ I said, quickly getting to my feet as he doubled over, holding his abdomen. ‘Leon? Leon !’ As I moved round the desk towards him, he painfully straightened up and opened his eyes.

‘It’s all right,’ he said, breathing hard. ‘Honestly, I’m all right …’

‘You don’t look all right — ’

‘It was just …’ He looked at me. ‘Please, John … sit down. It’s OK, really. It happens sometimes, that’s all …’ As he reached for the brandy glass and took a drink, I moved back round the desk. He looked up at me again. ‘Will you please sit down, John?’

I sat.

‘Thank you,’ he said.

‘Maybe I’d better go,’ I suggested.

‘In a minute … there’s a few more things I want to go over with you first.’

‘I can come back — ’

‘This name you got from the registration of the Nissan … Kemper, was it?’

‘Charles Raymond Kemper.’

‘Have you got any further with that?’

I shook my head. ‘I’m seeing Cal again tomorrow, but so far he hasn’t come up with anything.’

‘OK … and you haven’t found anything at all that links Bishop with the Nissan or Anna Gerrish?’

‘No.’

He looked at me, his mind seeming to wander for a moment. Then his eyes regained their focus and he said, ‘Do you need any help with the drink-driving charge?’

I smiled. ‘My solicitor got it thrown out last week. Procedural errors.’

‘Good.’

‘You’re tired, Leon,’ I said, getting to my feet again. ‘You need to rest.’

He nodded. ‘I know, I know … but before you go, John …’

‘What?’

‘Leave Bishop to me for now, OK? I’ve still got a lot of close contacts in the job. I’ll make some enquiries, see what I can find out, and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible. But in the meantime … well, just don’t go fucking around with him, that’s all.’

‘OK.’

He smiled at me, a sad and weary smile that seemed to take an awful lot out of him. ‘And listen,’ he muttered. ‘Listen …’

His eyes were closing even as he spoke to me.

I turned quietly and started to leave. But just as I got to the door, I heard him speak to me again.

‘You see this picture, John?’ he said.

I turned round and saw him looking up at a framed photograph on the wall. It was a picture of Leon and my father, taken shortly before Dad died. They were together at a barbecue somewhere — red-faced in the sun, drinks in their hands, both of them smiling broadly at the camera.

‘If ever you have any questions, John,’ Leon said, ‘and I’m not here to answer them … just remember that picture.’

I looked at him. ‘What do you mean?’

He smiled again. ‘You’re a detective … you’ll work it out when the time comes.’

I shook my head. ‘I don’t understand — ’

‘You know, John,’ he said vaguely. ‘There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you for a long time … something I’ve been thinking about …’

‘Leon,’ I said. ‘I really think you should get some rest now — ’

‘You see, what I can’t understand, what I’ve never been able to figure out …’ He looked at me, his entire body quite still. ‘When your father killed himself in his room … why did he lock the door?’