Phil Rickman - The Cold Calling

‘The little turd,’ Maiden said.

‘So this Gilbert knows you’ve been asking questions about Tony. But it was the Messenger that did it.’

‘The local rag?’

‘You had a brief thing going, word has it — Percy’s word, anyway — with a certain Siobhan Gallagher, journalist with the Messenger .’

‘Oh no,’ Maiden said weakly.

‘Whose boss — Roger Gibbs, Gibson …?’

‘Gibbs.’

‘… was informed by Laurie Argyle, the estate agent, who’s a member of his lodge, something like that, that this Gallagher’s been making inquiries about the unnamed names behind the Feeny Park development.’

Maiden moaned.

‘Not getting anywhere, because the Riggs connection’s buried much deeper. But it caused some anxiety. Not very bright, Bobby, if you don’t mind me saying so, letting your pillow talk stray into areas this dangerous. Mr Gibbs gave Ms Gallagher a very serious talking to and she buggered off back to Belfast anyway. But this is when — I understand — your Mr Riggs suggested it might be better all round, knowing you as he did, if Pa were to have you popped before you did any damage.’

‘You understand? ‘

‘This isn’t something I would normally ever learn about in a million years, because, as far as the little girl is concerned, her daddy is a bona fide businessman , a straight-down-the-line plain dealer . But I was up for the weekend and he was drinking like the proverbial. Worried? I’ve never seen him so worried. It’s not his thing, really it isn’t. The reason he moved up here in the first place was he was winding down. “It’s nothing but drugs,” he kept saying. “Drugs are taking over. It’s all hard kids now. I’m too old.”’

‘Somebody send for a violinist,’ Maiden said.

She scowled, sat up in the slide. ‘I’ll deny all this, of course.’

‘Of course.’

‘I said, Have you never tried … you know? “Nah,” he says, “the geezer don’t do the circuit. Stays at home on his days off, apparently, painting pictures, you believe that?” Well, I thought you sounded interesting. I said, I want to meet him. Then I get all this “you’re staying out of it, princess, and that’s final” stuff. But I could always get round him.’

‘You surprise me.’

‘Honest to God, Bobby …’ Emma Curtis stood up. ‘I know when I’ve blown it. I was ready to go crawling back shamefaced that night. Then you just walked into us. Like you couldn’t give a toss. What the fuck came over you?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘I made Vic stop. I sent him to phone for an ambulance. I ran back. I thought you were dead. I didn’t know what to do. Vic came back. He’d parked down near the main road. When we heard the ambulance, he dragged me away. I’m sorry. I couldn’t be more sorry.’

He saw tears in her eyes. He believed her. She went to sit on a swing, kicked at the ground to get it moving.

‘What happens now, then, guv? They call you guv up here? I’m only au fait with the London vernacular, as you know.’ She found a shallow smile. ‘Life gets complicated, don’t it?’

‘Ain’t got nothing on death.’

‘Really?’

‘Never mind.’

The other side of the playground, Vic Clutton coughed impatiently, stamping on his cigarette end, sparks flying up.

‘He your regular chauffeur?’

‘Pa thinks I need a good, strong minder.’

‘You don’t live with Tony, then?’

‘I’m in one of his single-person’s apartments for the moment. In the, er, Feeny Park development. It’s quite nice, actually. For Elham.’

‘Has it got a bed?’

She stopped swinging. Her eyes widened, but not very much.

‘Bobby, pardon me for saying this, and I don’t wish to sound unflattered or anything, but quite frankly, at this moment, you don’t look like you could screw the cap off a bottle of Ribena.’

‘I meant a spare bed, actually. I’ve got a problem. Just for tonight?’

She bit down on a smile.

Vic Clutton drove them back towards the town centre. It was dark. Maiden hadn’t thought about death for nearly ten minutes. It was a start.

‘Your poor eye.’ She stroked his hair back, put her fingers on his forehead. ‘State of the health service. A few years ago, they wouldn’t have discharged you like this.’

‘Where’s Mr Curtis?’ He leaned his head back on the parcel shelf, closed his eyes under her hand.

‘Everybody’s allowed one mistake.’

‘Only one?’

‘Mr Curtis was a commodities broker.’

‘And you got tired of being a commodity.’

‘He liked to handle a variety of commodities.’

‘What a loser,’ Maiden said.

‘Thank you.’

They turned into Old Church Street and then left into Telford Avenue.

‘Here?’ Vic Clutton said. It was Suz-Emma’s idea that Vic should assist Maiden to gain access to his flat to pack some clothes, spare chequebook, whatever.

‘Fine.’ Maiden didn’t want to move. Possibly ever.

‘Let’s not hang about.’ Vic slid the Sierra into the kerb. ‘Em, you keep a serious eye open. Any problems, honk twice, all right? Little short ones, bip, bip. Not just a police car, any car.’

‘Especially any car,’ Maiden said. ‘Especially if it’s a biggish Rover.’

‘Whatever he says,’ Vic said. ‘Shake yourself, Mr Maiden, let’s get this sorted.’

From the glove compartment, Vic took gloves. Soft leather motoring gloves which he put on. Plus a small tool kit in a canvas pouch. Plus a little torch.

‘When we get in we don’t put lights on, all right, Mr Maiden? And don’t take too much out. One suitcase. Otherwise it looks like a bleeding robbery.’

Maiden got out, noticed Emma doing a little smirk. ‘Nothing criminal, Bobby. It’s just like hiring a locksmith.’

Maiden still felt about five feet from his brain.

‘Bump on the head’s a funny thing,’ Vic said conversationally, not whispering, as they let themselves into the yard behind the flat. ‘You read about people, their whole personality changes, sorter thing. Previous to this, I’ve never seen it at first hand.’

‘You don’t know what I was like before.’

‘I know you were a copper. This ain’t the way a copper does it, he loses his keys.’

‘Wasn’t my idea.’

‘No. Full of ideas, little Em. Well.’ Vic lowered his voice. ‘Seems like you’re in trouble, Mr Maiden. Somebody wants your balls on a saucer. Where you gonna go? I mean after tomorrow.’

‘Somewhere at least fifty miles away. Maybe more.’

Vic shut the yard gate behind them, screwed the latch back. It was very dark in the yard. There was one light above them on the third and top floor. Curtains drawn. Vic stood with his back to the gate.

‘Look, Mr Maiden. Something I want to get out the way, sorter thing.’ Lowering his voice considerably. ‘The boy. It was me planted the stuff on the boy.’

‘Dean?’

‘He was dealing, he was using … He wouldn’t listen. I put the stuff in his motorbike. Smack. A lot. Enough to get him off the streets. I give him to Beattie. For Riggs. Only regret it wasn’t soon enough. As it turned out.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Maiden said. ‘How it turned out …’

‘Yeah, well, remand centres are bad places. They can get you that way. If you’re already jittery. I just didn’t see no alternative at the time. Could’ve worked for Tony, he didn’t wanna know. Wouldn’t listen to me. Big man, you know?’

‘As I recall,’ Maiden said, ‘three other mavericks got lifted not long after Dean. Cowan … Sharpe … Tommy Singh?’

Vic looked momentarily uncomfortable.