Peter Robinson - Bad Boy

“Yes. Yes. Please. Go on. Ask me anything. Hurry.” Victor glanced at the sand. It was moving far faster than the laws of physics allowed, he was certain, rushing through at an alarming rate.

“Calm down, Victor. There’s no hurry. Plenty of time.”

“Please. Ask me what you want to know. Start now.”

“Need to know.”

“All right. Need.” Victor wanted to yell, “Just bloody get on with it!” as he eyed first the cascading sand, then the shiny curved retractor that Ciaran was polishing. He felt his bowels loosening. He said nothing.

“We’ll start with questions we think we know the answers to already. That way we’ll know if you’re lying. A kind of litmus test. You’re a friend of Jaff McCready’s, yes or no?”

“Yes.”

“Right. Good start. Did he come to see you recently?”

“The other day. Yes. Monday, I think.”

“Well done. What did he want?”

“To swap cars for a few days.”

“Did you swap?”

“Yes. He’s a mate. He was in a jam. You help out a mate in a jam, don’t you?”

“Highly commendable. Tell me the make, color and number of your car.”

Victor told him. “What else?”

“I don’t understand.”

“What else did he want?”

“Nothing.”

“Tut-tut, Victor.” The bald man tapped the hourglass. It seemed to make the sand move even faster. “Time’s running out.”

“All right, all right! He wanted a shooter.”

“And you just happened to have one lying around?”

“I have a source. I help people out sometimes. Jaff knew that.”

“So you gave him a gun?”

“Sold him one. A Baikal. With a silencer.”

“I’m not interested in the make. You’re wasting time. Is that all?”

“Yes, I swear.”

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know. He just drove off. I didn’t even see which way he went.”

“Where was he going?”

“I told you. I don’t-”

“Victor, you don’t have long left. Better stick to the truth.”

“I…he…he said he had a girl waiting outside in his car.”

“Tracy Banks?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t see her, and he didn’t mention her name. I thought his girlfriend was called Erin, but you never know with Jaff.”

“Quite the ladies’ man, eh?”

“Yes.”

“Where were they going?”

“All he said was that they were going to chill out at her dad’s place in the country for a couple of days while he got things organized, then he was heading down to London.”

“Where in London?”

“I don’t know. Honest, I don’t. He didn’t say.”

“Victor…”

“Why would I lie?”

“I don’t know. Your time’s running out. I certainly wouldn’t lie in your position. But you are lying, aren’t you?”

Victor licked his lips. “Look, he’s got a mate in Highgate. Bloke called Justin. I’ve only met him once. He’s involved in people-smuggling and all kinds of nasty shit. It’s not my scene at all. I don’t know his last name. Jaff said Justin would help him out if it came to it. Fake passport and all that. That’s all I know. Honest.”

“Highgate’s a big place.”

“I’m sorry. That’s all I know.”

“Maybe Ciaran will be able to get a bit more out of you?”

Victor struggled at his bonds, but it did no good. “I don’t know any more.”

The bald man watched the sand contemplatively for a few moments, then he said, “What do you think, Ciaran?”

Ciaran stared at Victor for what seemed like an age. The sand flowed through the tiny hole. It was almost all gone now. Victor’s mouth was so dry that it hurt his throat when he tried to swallow. He felt that if this went on much longer he was going to start crying and begging for mercy.

“Nah,” said Ciaran, and rolled up his instruments. “Not worth it. He doesn’t know any more.” Victor’s mouth dropped.

The bald man picked up the hourglass and put it back in his grip. “Close call, Victor,” he said, going over and ruffling Victor’s hair. “Very close call. We’ll let you get back to your shitty music again. But remember-we know where you live. I suppose I don’t need to tell you what’ll happen if there’s any comeback on us for this, do I?”

Victor shook his head.

“Good lad.” The bald man slapped Victor’s cheek playfully, but still hard enough to hurt, two or three times, then said, “Ciaran.”

They turned off the light and walked toward the door.

“Aren’t you going to cut me free?” Victor asked in a small voice.

The bald man paused in the doorway. “I don’t think that would be a good idea,” he said. “Ciaran’s hand might slip with the blade. Like another layer of skin, that duct tape. I tell you what, though.” He took the tape out of the grip and walked over, cutting off a short strip with a pocket knife. “This’ll help save you from yourself. Don’t worry. Someone will turn up eventually. They always do.”

“But how will I explain-”

The man slapped the tape over Victor’s mouth before he could finish the sentence. “Use your imagination, Victor. Use your imagination.” Then they left, pausing only to turn on the CD player on their way out.

HOSPITALS ALWAYS depressed Banks, and sitting in the coffee shop watching the people taking a short break from dealing with sick children, relatives dying of cancer or lying there senile in geriatric wards didn’t help at all. The couple at the next table were talking about the side effects of prostate surgery. Banks tried to shut it out and concentrate on what Winsome was telling him. At least the coffee was good, and he got a chocolate rush from the KitKat. It was well after lunch-time, but he wasn’t really hungry. Sleep seemed a long way off, too, after seeing Annie lying there like that and hearing what Winsome and Mr. Sandhar had told him. A nurse had told them that Annie’s father, Ray, was on his way up from St. Ives by train.

“So, as far as I can gather from what you’ve told me,” Banks summarized, “Annie was shot when she went to my cottage to water the plants. Didn’t it also cross her mind that Tracy might be there with her boyfriend?”

“Probably not. I’m sure she didn’t really think that would be the case, or she would have brought in backup.”

“Not if she thought she was protecting me or Tracy,” said Banks gloomily. “Not if she didn’t want anyone else to know, thought she could nip any problems in the bud. Go on.”

“He’s not really Tracy’s boyfriend. He was Erin Doyle’s.”

“But Erin’s been arrested for possession of a handgun?”

“Yes. She’s out on police bail.”

“This boyfriend…?”

“Jaff. His name’s Jaffar McCready, but everyone calls him Jaff.”

“He’s most likely the one who shot Annie?”

“So we think.”

“And Tracy made the 999 call?”

“Yes,” said Winsome. “It was a female voice, and it was her mobile number. I’ve also heard the recording at the dispatch center. It sounds like Tracy, as well as I can remember. She sounds scared.”

“As well she might,” said Banks.

“We found her mobile phone at the scene, close to where we think their car was parked. It had been smashed to pieces. The SIM card was still in intact, and it showed the phone hadn’t been used since Monday.”

“Isn’t that when this whole business started?”

“It’s when Juliet Doyle turned up at the station to report finding a firearm in her daughter’s bedroom, yes. According to Annie, she asked for you.”

“Me?”

“Yes. I should think she hoped you would deal with it without making too much of a fuss, that things would go better for Erin.”

“I see,” said Banks. “But I wasn’t there, and things went haywire. Erin got arrested and Tracy went to tell the boyfriend.”