Simon Kernick - The Crime Trade

‘Mark’s a biblical name. Mark was, as I’m sure you know, one of Jesus’s apostles.’

‘My real name’s Ken,’ said Stegs, who always liked to lie when he’d had a few.

‘Ah, Ken,’ mused the vicar wisely. ‘It’s a name I always associate with hard work.’

‘My dad was a dustman.’

‘Tell me about Paul,’ said the vicar breezily, changing the subject. ‘I knew him from the congregation at the church, and from my work in the parish, but it would be nice to hear something from one of his colleagues.’

Stegs was beginning to go off the vicar. That idiot grin just didn’t want to leave his face, like it was squatting there waiting for the bailiffs, defying court order after court order. Perhaps he was retarded.

Stegs saw that Gill had brought herself back under control now, and she and Mother were also waiting for him to say something. He wished he hadn’t had that speed. It was making sitting still next to impossible. ‘He was a lovely guy,’ he blurted out. ‘Absolutely lovely. Hard-working, hard-playing, hard-everything. . a real team player. Great to be around, and very conscientious. Always on the look-out for his mates. A real copper’s copper. I loved that bloke, I really did.’ He shook his head to signify his sense of loss but did it a little bit too vigorously and saw a bead of sweat fly off onto the carpet.

They all stared at it for a moment, then at him, no-one saying anything, and he thought that, no, this was worse than any undercover op. Even Rentners. His left leg was going up and down like the clappers.

‘Are you all right, Mark?’ asked Gill.

He nodded, just as vigorously. ‘I’m fine, honestly. Just a bit shocked, that’s all. The whole thing’s taken it out of me. Do you mind if I go to the toilet?’

‘Of course not. You remember where it is, don’t you?’

He stood up. ‘Yeah, I do. Straight down the hall, through the kitchen, and right to the end.’

He exited quickly, wiping his brow as soon as he was out of the lounge door. He walked down the hall, through the kitchen and into the room where they kept the washing machine and the tumble-drier. This part of the house was the extension, tacked on a couple of years back. A door opposite him led to the toilet. There was also a door to his right, and this was the one that Stegs opened before stepping into Vokes’s study. It was small, but still getting on for twice the size of Stegs’s, and was a lot more orderly. Photos adorned the walls: of family, of Vokes in uniform, on graduation day, all that sort of stuff. At the end of the room facing the window were his desk and PC.

Stegs walked over to the desk, had a quick check through the neat stack of papers in his former colleague’s in-tray, then opened the top drawer as quietly as he could. There was a transparent box containing floppy disks in there, plus a dog-eared Len Deighton novel ( SS-GB , one of Stegs’s childhood favourites) and a black address book. He pocketed the address book straight away, then went to open the box of disks, but it was locked. The lock didn’t look too strong so he took it out and tried to force it open, but it wouldn’t go. He scanned about inside the drawer for a key but there wasn’t one in there. He tried again, pulling harder this time, amazed that a piece of plastic could be so stubborn.

Just then, he heard footsteps coming through the kitchen. His teeth clenched reflexively and he chucked the box back in the drawer, shutting it at the same time.

‘What are you doing, Mark?’

It was Gill’s voice. He turned round from his position staring out of the window into the Vokerman back garden and organic vegetable patch, and gave her a whimsical smile. ‘I was just thinking about Paul. I miss him, Gill. Already. I wish I could have done something, anything. .’ He picked up a photo of Vokes in a ridiculous Hawaiian shirt from the desk and stared at it for a moment, shaking his head as slowly as he could, but with close to a gram of uncut amphetamines soaring through his bloodstream it was never going to be slowly enough.

His words and actions seemed to have the desired effect, however, and the beginnings of a smile appeared on Gill’s face. ‘It’s going to be hard for all of us,’ she said. ‘Paul was a good Christian husband and father.’

‘He was,’ said Stegs, putting the photo back down and walking slowly towards the door. He suddenly had an urge to take a leak for real. ‘It all just seems so. . so permanent.’ She gave his arm a supportive squeeze and he shot her a grim smile. ‘And do you know what? I’ve been thinking about him so much, I haven’t even been to the toilet yet.’

‘Would you like a cup of tea, Mark?’

‘No, thanks,’ he sighed. He couldn’t think of anything worse than another twenty minutes in that lounge. ‘I’d better be going.’ He started to move past her but, like the worst kind of doorman, she blocked his way.

She smiled her grim, worthy smile that Stegs presumed was meant to make him feel part of the flock but came out more like the expression a movie killer pulls just before he knifes his victim. ‘You’ve come a long way to see me,’ she said. ‘Stay for a quick cup. It’ll do you good to talk about things.’

There was something in her voice that said she really didn’t want him to argue, and would take it badly if he did. He knew then that she could smell the drink, and he wondered whether they were going to make an attempt to convert him. For the life of him he couldn’t work out what Vokes had ever seen in her. She was only a small woman, but there was no doubt she had the ability to frighten even the most hardy of men.

‘OK, I’ll stop for a quick cup, but it really will have to be quick. I’ve got a number of important things I have to do this afternoon. I only came to pay my respects.’

‘That’s very kind of you. We all appreciate it. Paul always found you a very capable colleague.’

Damned with faint praise, thought Stegs. Briefly, she looked past him towards the desk and he wondered whether she had any suspicions about what he’d been doing. She then looked back at him, gave him that smile again, and turned away. ‘He was a good man,’ she said, going back into the kitchen, and then repeated it. ‘A very good man.’ He decided she hadn’t.

After he’d finished in the toilet, he went back into the lounge where he was handed a cup of watery tea and then spent a very long fifteen minutes talking about and listening to all the good things Paul Vokerman had done in his life, and how much he was going to be missed. The problem with tragedies is that all the conversations relating to them go round in circles, so not a lot was actually said, but it was said in a different way many, many times. Stegs lost count of the number of occasions he heard the phrases ‘good man’, ‘committed Christian’, ‘sense of justice’ and ‘sadly missed’, but one thing was for sure, it would be a long time before he wanted to hear any of them again. Vokes had definitely been a good bloke, no question, but Stegs didn’t want to share his views on him with a bunch of people like this, so it was with a sense of real satisfaction that he finished his tea and got up to leave, with goodbyes all round.

The vicar stood up, shook hands firmly, and told him that if he ever needed to talk to anyone to please feel free to give him a call or drop him an email. ‘My name’s Brian and I’m always available.’ He handed Stegs a card. It seemed even the servants of the Lord had gone twenty-first century.

Stegs thanked him and told Mother that it was nice to meet her. She nodded severely and said that the Lord always welcomed sinners back into the flock. It wasn’t quite the same as a goodbye but, under the circumstances, it would do. She added that she hoped she might see him again. Not if I catch sight of you first, he thought.