Phil Rickman - The Cold Calling

‘All very surprised to find they had a few ounces around the house, in their cars, wherever. No surprise to Parker, though. No surprise to Riggs.’

‘If you had any proof, Mr Maiden, we wouldn’t be discussing it.’

‘And not a protest from any of them. Especially not after what happened to Dean.’

‘Now look. Don’t think I never considered it. Don’t think the issue was never raised with Tony.’

‘And Tony said?’

‘Tony said it was bollocks.’

‘Maybe Tony doesn’t know. Wouldn’t be the first time somebody on remand got an assisted passage. Screws don’t earn a fortune.’

‘You’re suggesting Riggs had him waxed?’

‘I’m suggesting nothing, Vic.’

‘All right, I don’t like Riggs. Too clever. Cut above. Important friends. One day he’ll dump Tony in the shit, walk away clean as a whistle like one of them bent Tory MPs. Yeah, like I said, I thought about it, but in the end I’m not buying.’

‘So you wouldn’t consider giving evidence.’

‘Oh, Mr Maiden, ever the humorist.’ Clutton walked up a couple of steps to the back door. ‘Right then. Good job you’re ground floor. Mortice, I take it.’

‘Three lever.’

‘Not very clever, area like this.’

‘I never cared enough.’

‘What they say about you. Wild card. Loose cannon. Not one of the lads. No-one likes a copper who’s not one of the lads. ‘Specially if he’s good at his job. Very dicey combination, that. Beats me what she sees in you.’

‘You’re fond of her, aren’t you?’

‘Like an uncle. Smart kid. University, the whole bit. Understands about her dad, what he does, don’t try to change him. But clean. Tony’s seen to it she’s clean.’

‘What a parent.’

‘She fancies you rotten, that’s the problem. In my view, a very serious problem. Comes over dead cool and street-smart, as you know, but the night we run you down, she’s all over the place. Beating her lovely breast, sorter thing. What I’m saying, Mr Maiden, I would hate any harm to come to that girl. I lost my boy. Lost him a couple of years before he did for hisself, that’s by the by. But if anything happens to that girl, you really are a dead man, you get the subtlety of what I’m saying?’

‘Victor,’ Maiden said, ‘all I want out of Emma is somewhere to sleep for one night, no complications. Then I’m gone.’

‘Make sure you are.’ Vic bent over the lock, feeling his way with his gloved hands. ‘Hello. Well, well.’

‘Problem?’

‘Saves us a job. In one respect.’

He stepped back, flicked his torch briefly at the lock and then off again. Long enough for Maiden to see splintered wood.

‘Somebody must’ve read about you being indisposed, sorter thing. I don’t know what society’s coming to.’

‘Hardly worth going in now, then.’

Surprised at himself. There was no feeling of anger or violation. The flat had belonged to someone else. Someone who was dead, so it didn’t matter. Bobby Maiden felt very strange. An image floated into his head of a streetlamp going on and off; he heard the buzzing sound it made.

He shivered.

‘You want to go in, anyway, Mr Maiden?’

He didn’t want to. ‘OK. I’ll grab a few clothes. No burglar would bother with my clothes.’

‘After you, then.’ Vic pushed back the door. Maiden went into his tiny kitchen, where the only lights were the ones you could see through the small, high window. It smelled musty. It smelled of cigarette smoke. Suzanne’s perhaps. Except she couldn’t have had more than one, and that was … how many nights ago? No, somebody had been in here for some time.

He decided he ought to make the effort.

‘I think I’ll put a light on after all, Vic.’

‘Make it quick, then. Shit! ‘

Maiden’s hand hadn’t reached the switch before all the lights came on, the room flooded with glare and movement.

He saw flat eyes in a shaven head. Denims. The guy kicking a table out of his way as he advanced on Maiden. Fat hands around a crowbar. Another one behind him.

‘That him?’

‘Yeah.’

The crowbar went back, knocking cups off the shelf over the drainer.

‘Do it.’

Maiden raised an arm, but not fast enough and the crowbar smashed into the side of his head and he fell, seeing the bar going back for another one, before a steel toecap took away his sight.

Norah picked up, sounding relieved. Said it was real thoughtful of Grayle to call and she would be only too happy to prise Lyndon out the tub before he cut his wrists.

Huh?

‘No, hey, listen, I’ll call back …’ Grayle yelled.

Knowing that if she put down the phone she’d do no such thing, that once the effect of the final half-bottle of California Flat had worn off she’d change her mind about this. But Norah had already gone and Grayle waited, biting her lip.

She found her voice also was shaking, when Lyndon McAffrey arrived on the line, sounding just as dry as usual, and she just said it, the words spurting out.

‘Lyndon, I’m going crazy. I have to quit.’

‘Uh huh.’

‘You’re surprised, right?’

Lyndon said, ‘Uh huh.’

‘See, I’m nearly thirty years old …’

‘Mm-mmm.’

‘And all I do is write about other people’s searches for answers to what it’s all about.’

‘I think that’s called journalism, Grayle.’

‘And I’ve been doing this going on four years now, the New Age column, and at first I felt it was, you know, really important, like in a kind of evangelical way. Making people aware of … of more . I have like tens of thousands of readers, and most of them write to me, and I used to reply to all of them, but now when the guy comes in hauling this huge sack, I’m like, Take it away, take it away . The whole thing is way out of control. I’m just not … not big enough. All these poor, perplexed people who obviously think I’m this major guru-person when really my life’s more screwed up than theirs, in most cases, and I’m just serving up spiritual junk food.’

‘This is your sister brought all this on, right?’

‘Well, I just wonder whether this whole thing’s like conveying a message to me, that I need to get away. Find … I don’t know … spiritual first base. That what I need to discover is not so much Ersula as me. Find out if there’s really anything underneath the shlocky facade, and … and if you say … if you say uh huh one more fucking time …’

Silence.

‘But you can, you know, say something .’

‘You know,’ Lyndon said, ‘I thought at first you were going to say it was because of me. That you couldn’t face life on the paper without someone to share nauseous doughnuts with.’ He chuckled mirthlessly. ‘Ah, how we overestimate our own status.’

‘Lyndon, what are we talking about here?’

‘I’m forced to conclude no-one on the Courier saw fit to inform you that our masters have formally requested my retirement.’

‘Whhaaat?’

The god-collar fell to the carpet.

‘Shouldn’t have been a surprise. I’m fifty-six years old. Couple days ago I was telling myself, Hell, Lyndon, you’re only fifty-six. I guess I was looking at it from the wrong end. Young guys been walking over me for years like there’s a white line down my back.’

‘Goddamn cult of youth. Oh, this makes me so mad, Lyndon. I’m so sorry .’

Lyndon found another arid chuckle. ‘The editor is thirty-eight. He thinks he’s already kind of old for the job. What he told me today, he said, Lyndon, I give myself five more years at the sharp end. So you see, Grayle, I am a fortunate man indeed to have survived so long.’