Peter Robinson - Bad Boy

Winsome studied the other sketch. This man was slighter, thinner, more ferret-like in his features, perhaps more intelligent, too, in a feral sort of way, with fine, unruly hair-ginger, Rose told her-a very pale complexion and cold eyes.

“He was the scariest,” Rose said, as if reading her thoughts. “Watkins. I mean, the other one looks big and mean, and he wasn’t very nice, but this one”-she tapped the sketch-“I’m glad he was out of the room most of the time. He gave me the creeps. He didn’t say much, but he’s the one I was really afraid of. And the other one told me he really likes hurting people.”

“Did they hurt you? Threaten you?”

“The big one, Sandalwood, shoved me down in the chair once and gave me a slap across the face. That hurt.”

“We wouldn’t do that, Rose. Not real police. I know people say things about us sometimes, and it’s easy to be cynical, but really…” She thought of her famous “dropkick” and went on. “I mean, if we’re dealing with hard cases who want to hurt us, maybe we’d get a bit physical, but not in a situation like this. Not with someone like you.”

“I told you I didn’t think they were real policemen. But there wasn’t much I could do, though, was there? I felt threatened by them. It was much safer just to go along with them and do what they said. I thought they were going to beat me up or kill me. Or…”

“What?”

“Well, he leered at me once, the big one, and I was scared he might be going to rape me or something.”

“Did he try anything like that?”

“No. He just laughed at me when he saw what I was thinking, like, and said not to worry about that, tempting as it was. I felt dirty.” She hugged herself. “Totally powerless. They could have done anything.”

Winsome noticed that her glass was almost empty. “Another?” she offered.

“I shouldn’t, but yes, please. Talking about it brings the feelings all back. Can I have a Bacardi Breezer this time?”

“Sure.” Winsome brought her the drink and a Diet Coke for herself. “What did they want to know?” she asked, sitting down again. “Did they ask about the gun Erin had?”

“No. They never mentioned it.”

“Did you know anything about it?”

“Not until I saw it on the news.”

“Did they ever mention someone called Marlon Kincaid?”

“No.”

“Did Erin or Francesca ever mention him?”

“No.”

“You’re certain?”

“Marlon Kincaid? It’s a funny name. I’d remember.”

“What other sort of questions did they ask you?”

“One of them had a good look round the place. Watkins. Upstairs and everything. The other one asked me the questions. He wanted to know if I knew where Jaff had gone-that’s Erin’s boyfriend. I told him I didn’t. Then he wanted to know about Francesca. He said someone had seen Jaff and her leaving the flat by the wharf together. I said I didn’t know where they were, which is true.”

“How did they know about Francesca, that she was with Jaff?”

“They didn’t. They were only guessing from what they’d heard at the flats. But they knew there were three of us living in the house, and they must have worked it out. They wanted to know who she was.”

“So you told them?”

“What else could I do?” Rose pleaded. “You weren’t there. You don’t know what it was like!”

A couple of the regulars were giving them curious looks. “Okay,” said Winsome. “Stay calm. It’s all right. I’m not blaming you.”

Rose sipped her drink. “I’m sorry.”

“Was the gun Jaff’s?”

“I don’t know. How would I know? I never even knew it existed. Erin certainly never mentioned anything like that.”

“What do you think?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised. I never did trust him. Too flash for my liking.”

“Why would Erin take it, do you think?”

“I don’t know. To make him mad, maybe? She was pissed off at him. Something was going on between the three of them-Erin, Jaff and Francesca. I don’t know what it was, they didn’t tell me anything, but something wasn’t quite right.”

Winsome made a note, then asked, “What did they do next?”

“I can’t remember. Nothing. They wanted to know where Francesca was, where Jaff was, but I kept telling them I didn’t know. I was so scared they were going to hurt me anyway, but they just left.”

“You’re one lucky young woman,” said Winsome. “They must have believed that you didn’t know anything else and thought there was no percentage in harming you. They also weren’t worried about you being able to identify them. They were pros, by the sound of it.”

“Pros?”

“Yes. Professionals. Amateurs often hurt people. They’re careless, impulsive. Professionals are more careful. They know that can only bring trouble and attention, and that’s not what they want.”

“Yes, but professionals in what?”

Winsome paused. “That I don’t know,” she said. “But I’m going to have a very good crack at finding out. Now tell me more about this Jaff.”

“MY GOD! What have you done?” Tracy could only stand there staring down at Annie’s body lying across the broken table among the smashed glass and pottery. Annie’s face was ashen, covered in a sheen of sweat. There wasn’t much blood, just little smears around the two small holes in her yellow top. But that didn’t mean much. There would be internal bleeding. “You’ve killed her.”

“What choice did I have?” Jaff said from the doorway, the gun still in his hand. “She wasn’t going to just go away, you know. She knew.”

“But…” Tracy continued to stare down at Annie’s immobile form. For a moment she thought she could see her chest heave and make a gurgling sound with the effort of trying to breathe, but it could have been an illusion. “We have to call an ambulance.”

“Like hell we do. Besides, it’s too late. What we’ve got to do is get out of here fast.”

Jaff grabbed Tracy firmly by her upper arm and dragged her out of the conservatory into the kitchen. He tossed his gun back into the hold-all and hefted the bag onto his shoulder, while still holding her with his free hand. Tracy squirmed and tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but she couldn’t. He was wiry but strong. Her arm was starting to go numb. Finally he put the hold-all down and gave her a sharp, stinging slap across the face. “Stop it,” he said. “Pull yourself together. We’re leaving. Now.” Tracy grabbed her shoulder bag from the bench before he pushed her through the door into the living room. She stumbled and banged the side of her thigh against the sofa. It felt as if someone had kneed her hard right on the muscle. Jaff pushed her again and she tripped into the front door face first. Blood trickled from her nose. She thought it might be broken. He grabbed her jacket and thrust it toward her. “You might need this. The nights are getting cold.”

Tracy felt dazed as she stumbled outside. She wiped the back of her hand across her face. “Jaff, please let me call an ambulance. Nobody could have heard those shots. If she’s not dead already, she’ll die for sure if we just leave her here.”

“That’s her lookout.” Jaff fumbled for his car keys, letting go of Tracy for a moment. She walked around to the passenger side. Perhaps if she took off into the woods, made a dash for it? But no. He would give chase and find her, then he would kill her. Besides, if she did that, she would never even get a chance to try to save Annie, if that was even possible.

There was one thing she could do with her moment of freedom, while Jaff was at the driver’s side opening the door, and she was at the passenger side. She took out her mobile, keeping it low, hidden by the car and her body, and pressed 999. There was no way she could do it without Jaff hearing, so she had to be really quick. There was an ambulance station in Helmthorpe, she knew, so it shouldn’t take them too long. When she heard the answering voice, she put the phone to her mouth and said, “Ambulance. Newhope Cottage, Beckside Lane, Gratly. Come quickly. Please. Someone’s been shot-”