Phil Rickman - The Cold Calling

This office was over Parker’s town-centre nightspot, the Biarritz. Who the hell had clubs called the Biarritz and the St Moritz any more?

Only fading guys like this, in towns like Elham.

It had gone quiet. Tony Parker gazed past her, out of the window at the beauteous Elham skyline, the old parish church, the new tech-college building. He looked like he was already forgetting she was here.

Of course, Riggs would know, by now, that she’d come. Whatever she said here would get back to him, every word of it, and quickly.

‘I also know Bobby Maiden,’ Andy said.

‘Really.’

‘When he had his accident, I was with the team that brought him round.’

Parker looked at her. ‘You’ll pardon me if I don’t recommend you for a medal.’

‘What I wanted to say was, he’s no the kind of guy would do this … thing.’

‘That’s it? You come here to say that?’

No, what she came to say was, If anything should happen to Bobby Maiden there’s me here, this big-mouthed Glaswegian harpy, who knows who it’s down to . And, by coming here, parking out front, also indirectly conveying this information to Mr Riggs.

‘You come here,’ Parker said, ‘to try and tell me that piece of fucking shit did not kill my daughter. Get out. Get the fuck out of my office, Sister Anderson.’

Andy didn’t move. ‘You’re makin’ a mistake, Tony.’ Could feel her accent thickening like phlegm in her throat. Somebody came on aggressive, it usually happened.

Tony Parker didn’t speak. Clearly couldn’t believe she hadn’t gone.

‘Your friend Mr Riggs was round just now. Figured I might know where Bobby was hidin’ out.’

‘And you didn’t, I expect.’

‘No. I didn’t.’

‘You’re a stupid cow. How many times the police name the man they’re after? Not often, Sister, and if they fink it’s a copper they’ll sit on it till they can’t sit on it no more. Martin Riggs, however, he’s too straight for that.’

‘Jesus God.’

‘He knows one of his men’s guilty, he won’t cover it up. A good man, I’m telling you. Martin Riggs says the little shit did it, you can count on it. As indeed I am . ‘

‘Do me a favour, Tony, don’t patronize me. Riggs is as bent as bloody Quasimodo’s spine. He’s tryin’ tae stitch Bobby up. I know that, and if you don’t know it, you’re more fuckin’ decrepit than you look.’

Parker’s eye twitched again, which made him angry; he controlled it.

‘You know Jim Bateman, Sister?’

‘Of Bateman and Partners? Aye.’

‘You may be hearing from him.’

‘You mean …’ Andy almost laughed. ‘… you mean you didnae stay with your London lawyers? What a bloody loser you are, Tony. It’s all Jimmy Bateman can do tae conveyance a hoose. Present him wi’ a slander case tae prosecute, the guy’d go off sick for three months. Listen, I couldnae care less what you and Riggs are intae, I just don’t want anybody doin’ anything hasty in relation tae my friend Bobby Maiden, you got me?’

She watched Parker tighten. ‘Like who, Sister?’

A phone rang. Parker picked up the one next to it. ‘Yeah. Take her back. Say I’ll call her. Who? All right. Yeah.’ Hung up. Lifted his sick eyes to Andy. ‘Who might act hastily, Mrs Anderson?’

‘A few people might. Given the circumstances.’

Truth was, he didn’t look capable of haste. He looked like a man on whom age had crept up like a mugger. Turned round and thump . Never saw it till it happened. Wakes up with no hair and thick glasses and he has to cut down on his drinking and his late nights, and London doesn’t seem so homely, and Elham is a tacky wee retirement haven, in the care of kindly Superintendent Riggs. Sad, eh?

Parker said. ‘You’re from Glasgow, ain’tcher?’

‘Aye, but I was educated at Roedean, as you can tell.’

‘You people.’ Parker shook his head. ‘You’re all barbarians up there. Act hastily … Jesus wept.’ A digital timer on his desk bleeped twice and Parker took a gold-plated pillbox from his top pocket. ‘Save us all from television.’ He put a small white pill on his tongue and swallowed it.

‘You should take water with that,’ Andy said.

Parker looked politely contemptuous.

‘You need to look after yourself, Mr Parker.’

‘Why?’ He put away the pillbox. He didn’t look at all well. ‘That girl was the only kid I had. I was gonna sell this lot, set her up nice. Whatever she wanted.’

‘I think she wanted you to slow down.’

‘Talked about me, did she?’

‘A wee bit.’

He stared at her. He’d probably aged a couple of years since she came in.

Andy stood up, moved round the desk. Parker watched her without much curiosity. She went behind him, placed both her hands on his forehead.

‘What’s this, Sister?’

‘Reiki. Japanese therapy thing.’ His skin felt like crepe paper.

‘Never heard of it.’

‘Cost me damn near two grand for the courses.’

Parker grunted. Talking his language.

‘Shut up. Close your eyes.’

She’d given him nearly ten minutes’ Reiki when the phone rang. ‘Unplug the fucker,’ Parker said.

Andy’s hands moved down his face. She didn’t think about High Knoll.

After a while, Tony Parker fell asleep. When he awoke, there were tears drying in the hollows of his cheeks. He was maybe too relaxed to notice.

After a minute or two, he said, ‘You want a job, Sister? Eight-fifty a week and a lump sum when I’m brown bread?’

He didn’t seem to know he was crying. It could be powerful, the Reiki, if the patient was willing to disconnect.

‘I’m no looking for a job,’ Andy said. ‘But you can do me one favour. Just tell me if you did anything hasty this morning.’

Following Magda Ring towards the mellow farmhouse home of the University of the Earth, Maiden felt a spasm in his chest.

A brief tightening sensation was all it was, and the other bloke would have ignored it. But the other bloke was only aware of surface things. And the other bloke died.

Magda almost fell at the door, shoving in a long key. As though she was desperate to put that fat slab of oak between her and the smell of corrupting flesh tainting the grounds of Cefn-y-bedd. He could understand that. But he also understood that the tightening of the chest was a response to a deep-down feeling that this house enclosed something darker and worse. And personal. As if he’d followed a preordained trail and the trail ended not at the grave in the concrete, but here, in this quiet old house.

He followed her into a big, square hall with a wide wooden staircase, several doors leading off, a deep window halfway up the stairs.

And, on the only blank wall, almost exclusively lit by this window, a picture. A picture which sent a weight slamming into his chest, like a wrecking ball fracturing some old factory wall.

Turner. He was transfixed. J. M. W . bloody Turner .

His heart seemed to crunch.

Adrian had steak, done rare. Grayle, compromising with a ploughman’s lunch with cheese, was surprised.

‘See, most of the New Age people I know are vegetarians.’

Adrian groaned. ‘Oh … really, Grayle! An interest in earth-consciousness doesn’t necessarily make one New Age . Those people are doing our subject so … much … damage . As the cave-paintings so amply demonstrate, Neolithic people were hardly veggies. They hunted . They hunted to live and they lived to hunt!’

Lecturing again. The didactic side of him taking over, changing him from schoolboy to schoolteacher. It was beginning to irritate her. Grayle shook her hair out of her eyes. And also …