Mo Hayder - Hanging Hill

There was the sound of someone falling out of bed overhead. Zoë found a seat and sat with her back to the wall, in the corner, where there was a precious pocket of warmth. No wonder it was cold – the windows were open. Original thirties leaded panes, propped open on metal latches. When they were kids, at Christmas Sally would paint each pane of glass in their bedroom windows. Every one a different colour. Silver, green, red.

‘’S bloody freezing in here.’ Jake came in, swaddled in a duvet, his teeth chattering. He scowled at Zoë, but he wasn’t awake enough for a fight. He seemed more worried about the heating. ‘What’ve you got against a bit of warmth?’ he yelled at Angel. ‘You fucking freak of nature.’

‘Listen her,’ Angel said sarcastically. ‘She Wicked White Witch on the sleigh. Ice Queen.’

‘Shut up,’ Jake said. ‘Shut up.’

‘Ooh – crooooooel . Yours is a problem in the blood.’ He pronounced it blod . ‘Not enough to go round your whole body. Problem starts in the little fingers and we all know where it ends.’

‘Shut up .’

Angel made a small disgusted click in the back of his throat, put his chin up and flicked back a hand, as if it was no surprise to him, none at all, that a person as ignorant and crude as Jake would have brought the police to his house – as if that was to be expected of people like him. He turned on a heel, his nose in the air, and disappeared upstairs, slamming the door.

‘Ignore him.’ Jake closed the window bad-temperedly and put his hand on the radiator to check it for warmth. He found none. He bent and turned the valve on full. ‘Tried to teach him some manners, didn’t I? But with his lot, what do you expect?’

Zoë examined the mug she’d been given. It had pictures of Billie Holiday hand-painted in pinks and greens. ‘How did you keep this secret from us all these years?’ She nodded to the door through which Angel had huffed off. ‘Jake the Peg and his boyfriend. I admit it wasn’t what I’d expected. And even more spectacular, in the revelations stakes, Jake the Peg the porn star ? You slipped that one by us, no pun intended. But you’re a celebrity! I’ve been watching some of your appearances recently. At the office. They all have. Funny, thinking about it now, but you always seemed so much smaller in the flesh.’

Jake looked steadily at her. He sat down. ‘I know why you’re here.’

‘Do you? Go on, then. Tell me.’

‘Jake does barely legals, innit? Because there was them school-girls in it? But see that vid with the yellow spine over there? On the shelf? Get it out. Go on. It’s a vid of each of them girls, with their passports held up to the camera. Proof they was all eighteen.’

‘Barely legals? Funny – that’s not why I’m here.’

Jake frowned. ‘I’m telling you – I do my homework, man, learn the law. This is proper business now and I’m clean. Easy.’

‘I’m sure you are, Jake, I’m sure you are. I’ve always had absolute faith in you. But that’s not why I’m here. I want to talk to you about Lorne Wood.’

He sucked his teeth, rolled his eyes. ‘Yeah. You asked me about her already. What do you want to know now?’

‘I want you to revisit your memory. Have a double-check in the grey matter. Sometimes things slip our minds.’

‘We talked about this.’

‘Yes, but I asked you whether you saw her outside the school. What I didn’t ask you was whether she ever turned up on one of your sets.’

‘Her?’ Jake gave a short sarcastic laugh. ‘No fucking way. Too classy.’

‘You sure? You sure David Goldrab never introduced you two?’

Jake’s face changed. It went flat. ‘Goldrab? What’s he got to do with anything?’

‘You do know him? Don’t you?’

‘See, you ask that question like I’m some kind of eejit, man. Like I’m some eight-year-old. But I ain’t. Because what I worked out is I don’t got to answer that. And I don’t got to because you already know the answer. Or else you wouldn’t’ve asked it.’

‘I’m impressed. Is there no end to your talents?’

‘And whatever he’s said about me, whatever he’s told you, it’s because he hates me.’

‘He hasn’t said anything about you.’

‘It should be him you’re nosing around, not me. He’s a homophobe. You can get him for discrimination and that.’

‘You obviously didn’t hear me. I said, he hasn’t said anything about you. Because, at the moment, he’s not saying very much at all.’

Jake creased his forehead. He pulled the duvet tightly around him. His feet poking out of the bottom were bottle-tanned, the nails neatly cut and shining subtly with clear varnish. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘It means that the last trace we have of him is Thursday, the twelfth of May. His mother spoke to him in the morning, didn’t hear from him again. Nobody has.’

That stopped Jake in his tracks. ‘Right,’ he said slowly. ‘Right.’

‘When was the last time you saw him?’

‘Thursday, the twelfth of May. Four days ago. I’ve tried to wipe it from my mind. He stopped giving me my proper respect, know what I mean?’

‘That’ll be the day he went missing.’ She sipped her tea. ‘Did you have an amicable meeting that day?’

‘No. But you know that because you got it all on camera – on his spy cameras. Like when he assaulted me? Saw that, did you?’

‘We did. Care to tell me what the disagreement was about?’

‘About him being fucked up. Bein’ a homophobe. Can’t stand the sight of me since he heard about-’ He jerked his head to the ceiling to indicate Angel.

‘And he tried to shoot you because of it?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Did you come back later that day? Or had your meeting come to a – how can we put it? – a natural conclusion at that point?’

Jake rolled his eyes again. ‘You having a joke? No – I never went back. Never will.’

‘I don’t know about this, Jake. Something’s not right. You were the last person to see this guy alive.’

‘Yes, except there are whole streetfuls of people who’d like to see that dick go missing. Why are you chewing me out about it?’

‘Streetfuls of people want him to go missing?’ Zoë scooped out her iPhone. ‘That sounds interesting. I’m sure you won’t take offence if I record this.’

‘I would.’

She lowered the phone. ‘That’s fair, Jake, not to want to have your voice on record. But let me put it on my notepad. You have my guarantee it won’t have your voice on it.’

He raised his nose disdainfully. He unfurled a hand in her direction, held it open. She looked at it for a moment. Then she clicked the phone into Notes and passed it to him. He gave the phone a brief derisory scan, as if it was a bit of roadkill she’d brought in for him to inspect, then thrust it back at her. She took it and began tapping in words as he spoke.

‘He’s got enemies.’ He gave the phone a suspicious look, but began to reel off names anyway, counting them on his fingers. ‘There’s this girl from Essex called Candi. I’m telling you, she would shoot him. In the street, tomorrow, if she saw him.’

‘A girl? A woman? Making a grown man disappear? I don’t know – we don’t usually put women in the frame for something like this.’

‘Candi? I mean, fuck, man, she’d eat your eyes out, that one. She’s got a habit and she lives with some guy called Fraser, I don’t know where exactly – somewhere over that side of the world. Then there’s this ex-SAS guy. Built like that.’ He held out his arms to indicate the man’s height and size. ‘Always used to hang around the shoots – he’s got an itch about David, know what I mean? Spanner, they called him. Don’t know why. Think his real name was Anthony or something. But… nah – he’d never have the balls for it. But there’s another one. One I really think is whacked enough to do it.’