Dead Pretty (6 page)

Another race was taking place and punters offered encouragement to their nags. It was the nearest most of them got to energy. Smoke gathered in grey clouds shot with fresher blue near the open windows, to be forced back into the room by the outside breeze, forced back into the coughing lungs of the drinkers. Kelly's world was Loserville, but Kelly was by no means the most hopeless inmate. Mark scanned the ravaged faces and lost eyes of the late afternoon drinkers and knew this world of lager breath and piss-stained trousers was just a taxi ride away from some of the richest places in the world. Mark sighed and rubbed at his eyes. He wanted more sleep.

‘Mr Richards? I said you haven't …'

‘Yes, I heard you, Kelly. No, nothing like that. Just working a lot lately.'

‘All the bloody country is working too hard, if you ask me. And getting nowhere. Know what some kid said to me the other day. Life is shit and then you die. Makes you think, eh?'

Mark knew that anyone in the pub could be watching him, working for a few quid in the way Kelly did for him. Well, they could watch him get drunk, with a derelict. Kelly hadn't stopped talking and Mark re-focused on what he was saying.

‘Aye, she's a lovely girl, all right, that Lena. A real stunner. All the boys in here say that, when they see her passing. Nothing out of order, mind, outta respect for you, like, Mr Richards.'

Out of fear, more like, Mark thought.

‘She don't look nothing like that Tony though,' Kelly continued. ‘He looks more like a wop to me.'

‘You've got a good memory, Kelly. You only saw him that once, that time I brought him here.'

‘Nah, I seen him the other day. He was outside your flat. Didn't see me, like. You musta missed him. Come to see his sister, did he?'

Mark dug his hand into Kelly's arm, making his drink spill on both of them.

‘The other day?'

‘Ow, don' do that, Mr Richards. Yeah, that day you wanted that car. In the morning. It was early for me.'

‘Where was he? Exactly?'

‘By them railings near your flat. Just waiting like. Someone picked him up in a motor, nice one too, one of them Lexus things. You're hurting my arm, Mr Richards.'

It was taking more than a few seconds to sink in. Was Tony the voice? Lena's own brother? It could have been him, the accent was similar. No, this was crazy. Mark knew he was shaking his head, denying it to himself. Kelly had gone very quiet, not daring to pull away from his grip.

‘Mr Richards, my arm.'

Mark loosened his grip.

‘You're absolutely sure about this? You saw Tony the morning I asked you to get me that car?'

‘Yeah. I was going to go up to him, say hullo, like, but he wouldn't have remembered me, would he? Anyway, he looked like a man with a lot on his mind. He looked like you do now, Mr Richards.'

Mark tried to think. He had to fight against lager and whisky to focus on what Kelly was saying. Drunk or half sober, Kelly was usually reliable for this type of information, especially when he didn't know the significance of it. But Lena's own brother? He thought back to the other night in Coventry, his instinct that the man wasn't surprised to see him, that somehow he'd been expecting him.

‘Why the fuck didn't you tell me this earlier,' Mark said, ‘when you got the car?'

‘I only just thought of it. What's the big deal anyway? Didn't your missus tell you her brother was down? You
have
been having a row, haven't you?'

‘I've got to go,' Mark said.

He pushed Kelly away, spilling some more drink. Faces turned to look at him, and any one of them could be his enemy. Mark pushed a ten at Kelly.

‘You stay here and have a few more. And keep that bloody mobile on.'

‘Sure, Mr Richards, you take it easy.'

Most of the light had faded into summer dusk by the time Mark got back to the flat. The mothers and children in the park had been replaced by older teenagers, kids from the local estate. Some of them passed him, one flicking a small ball of spit from his mouth with his tongue. It went close to Mark, but without any real chance of it hitting him. He'd grown up with kids who played this game, he'd played it himself. It was perfect to wind up adults. Charged with Kelly's news Mark had to fight hard to not react, to get hold of the kid and crush his face, and maybe his friends too. He walked towards the group, and they stopped giggling. The spitter tried to remain defiant and hip but wanted to run, Mark knew the signs.
I know what you're thinking, pal, you're thinking, fuck it, I've picked on the wrong dude, but you can't let your mates see it
. Mark breathed hard, controlled his fists, and walked away, the banter starting up again as the group rolled towards the park, hesitantly at first, then getting louder, more confident. The spitter shouted
wanker
as Mark entered the flat. He hated turning the key in the lock, and, whatever happened in the next few days, he would not be staying here again.

He packed a holdall with enough stuff to last him a week or so, took his money and his passport and the Paris photograph of Lena and himself, and the only one he had of Shane. As an afterthought he packed the Dutch doll. He wanted to have something of Lena's with him, something innocent. A year ago he'd handed in a handgun in a police amnesty. Now he wished he hadn't. It came his way in his first year as an investigator, and he'd never had any call for it, but there was always an idea in the back of his head that it might be useful one day, if his life blew apart again. It had. He had no idea what he might be dealing with in the next few days but he knew it would be hard, bloody, and probably final. Mark would have to manage the way he always had, on his guile, and instinct to survive.

The plan was simple. One dimensional. Find Tony and take it from there. He knew it wouldn't be so easy this time. The thought that he'd had the guy in his hands rankled. If only Kelly had mentioned it before. Mark tried to stop his thoughts racing. It still didn't mean that Tony was involved. Maybe Tony had left Lena before she was killed, maybe he'd knocked in vain on the flat's door, with Lena already dead inside. No, Tony was part of it all right. Every part of him told him it was so, the fifteen years he'd spent amongst lowlife told him it was so. That spitting kid was right, wanker, stupid fucking wanker. Mark stood in the doorway to the flat swearing at himself for at least a minute. He'd have to do better, much better. As he walked out into the night he drilled this into his mind.

Chapter Five

Mark watched Kelly approach his bed-sit. He was coming back from the pub, staggering in a diagonal line, trailing chips behind him, like someone seeding the earth. He dropped more than he ate. The Donegal man was surprised to see him.

‘Christ, Mr Richards,' you waiting for me? I've seen more of you in the last few days than the last bloody year. What
is
up with you? You can tell old Kelly.'

A glare from Mark was enough to kill the question.

‘Let me in,' Mark said.

Mark steadied Kelly as he struggled up the stairs. He made a few attempts to stab his key at the lock before Mark took it from him and opened the door himself.

‘Thanks,' Kelly muttered, ‘I often get the shakes this time of night.'

‘You often get a shitload of beer. Is there any of that money left?'

‘A bit. My lifestyle is very cheap, Mr Richards.'

Kelly was puzzled, but also pleased by Mark's presence. He fussed around the room, looking for clean glasses and fresh drink. He found the drink, but clean glasses were a step too far.

‘I don't want a drink,' Mark said.

‘Oh, right. Uh …?'

‘I want to stay here tonight. I'll be gone early.'

Kelly giggled, spitting out the last of the chips.

‘Kicked you out, 'as she? Things must be bad if you want to stay here. Why don't you go to a hotel up town, man like you.'

‘This will do. Don't mind, do you?'

‘No, course not. I only got the one bed though.'

‘I'll be all right in the chair here.'

‘OK, cheers, Mr Richards. Uh, do you want me to make you a coffee or anything?'

Mark glanced around the bed-sit. If it was a café it would be closed down on the spot. It summed up Kelly. Dirty, unable to cope. Life is shit and then …

‘No thanks.'

‘I'll get my head down, then.'

Kelly didn't bother to take off anything but his overcoat and shoes, to Mark's relief, but he realised it acted as a barrier against the worst of his smells. Kelly was asleep in a minute. In two, the man soon began a fractured snoring, as his body fought against another night's abuse. Mark noticed the rattle in his chest, like a dried pea stuck there. Kelly had spent many nights outside in his time, and his chest knew it. This guy thinks I'm his friend now, Mark realised, that I've turned to him in a time of need. A few days ago the idea would have been laughable, the few times Lena had seen Kelly she'd likened him to a reptile. Yet tonight Mark could relate to him, his early life had been peopled with Kellys. Unsavoury, unsanitary, crazy people, challenged in a multiple of ways, but each having a kind of life to live, away from the mainstream. People like him.

Mark got up and moved his chair nearer the window, the sound made Kelly turn over in his sleep and mutter something incoherent. It was late now and nothing much moved in the street, other than a few drunken stragglers shouting their way home. Mark was too wound up to sleep, so he tried to think. He'd been trying to think since he'd found Lena but his mind was still fazed. Ideas did not seem able to penetrate what seethed there. Too much anger and shock had to settle down. Maybe it never would.

The weather was changing. It was warm but a light drizzle had got up. Mark watched it drift noiselessly against the window and slowly dribble down it. He wished he could open Kelly's ruined sash, to smell the mustiness of long dry stone being rained on. He'd always loved that smell, there was something calm and permanent about it. A car drove slowly down the street, the first in a while. Someone didn't want to go home, or maybe it was some sad git looking for a woman. It was looking for something, but it wasn't a woman. The car cruised slowly past each shop, he could see the driver craning his head to check the numbers. It stopped outside Kelly's, then pulled over to the other side of the road a bit further down. It was a Lexus. All gold.

Kelly had thin and ancient net curtains, which were useless for any concealment so Mark got up and stood by the wall, opening a crack in the curtains. There was someone in the back of the car, someone who lit up a cigarette. He saw the flare of a lighter, then the speck of red glow. It was only for a few seconds but Mark's eyes were 20 20 and it was long enough for him to recognise Tony.

They must be looking for him. Unless they wanted Kelly for information. Tony got out of the car. Like Kelly he wore a coat more suitable for the winter, and he pulled its collar up against the rain. The driver got out with him. A large man, Mark's height but thirty pounds heavier. He knew they were coming up. Action was being delivered into his hands, very quickly. At least one thing had been sorted. Tony was as guilty as hell.

It was better to let Kelly sleep. He'd only panic and get in the way. Mark let himself out of the flat quietly, taking the sawn-down baseball bat Kelly kept by the door. It had always amused Mark, to think of his puny nark trying to wield it, but it was a solid weight in
his
hands, and quite comforting. He ran his hands over the splintered wood, feeling each imperfection.

Mark had to gamble that they would come in the back way, that's what he would do. He went down to the first floor and buried himself into the recess by the back door. The landing light wasn't working, which was good. The big guy came in first, Tony behind him. Mark had learnt many years ago that it was better not to wait in situations like these. He charged Tony with his shoulder, sending him sprawling, and hit the other man as hard as he could. He doubted if he'd have the time for another blow, but there was no need for another. He heard something crack, it might have been the bat, it might have been the man's head. The man groaned once and fell down quite calmly, sixteen plus stones sinking to the ground. Tony was struggling on the floor, calling out for his mate and trying to get something out of the overcoat. Mark knew what it was and why he was wearing the coat. He kicked Tony in the side of the head, and pushed a foot down hard on his hand. Tony squealed and relaxed his grip on the gun. Mark took it from him and slapped him a few times to keep him safe.

‘Hello, Tony,' Mark whispered, ‘looking for me?'

Mark looked at the gun. A Smith and Wesson 38, squat and snub-nosed. He searched the big man, who was spark out, but he wasn't carrying, probably thought he didn't have to. Mark appreciated this. Only wankers, wimps and juveniles used guns these days, professionals had long since sought other ways. He'd probably fractured the man's skull. Maybe he wouldn't make it, but Mark was not concerned. There was no time to be. He found the car keys in a pocket, took them from him and hauled Tony to his feet.

‘Come on, we're going for a ride.'

‘Mark, for fucksake, are you crazy? What have you done to Angelo?'

Mark put the gun to the side of Tony's head. The man wanted to shrink away from it, but didn't dare move.

‘Keep your mouth shut, Tony, if that's really your name, and you'll live a little longer.'

Mark thought of taking Tony up to Kelly's but it was better to keep the Irishman out of it. If the police found the big man, Kelly really would know nothing. He'd snored all the way through this.

He'd take Tony back to the flat. It was fitting, though a few hours ago he thought he'd done with it for good. Mark pushed Tony out into the street, the Smith and Wesson heavy in his pocket. They got to the car. There was no one else around and Mark doubted if there'd be anyone else watching him. Too bad if there were. He pushed Tony into the car.

‘You drive.'

‘Look, Mark …'

Mark slapped him to the side of the head again. Tony whimpered, a desperate kind of sound.

‘I told you to keep your mouth shut. Drive, nothing else.'

‘But where we going?'

‘The flat. Lena's flat. Your sister's flat.'

Tony was about to say something else but stopped himself, and did what he was told. They were there in minutes.

‘Park farther down,' Mark said.

Tony still had the hair gel on. It glistened in the streetlight, his eyes glistened too, with fear. Mark gave him the key to the flat.

‘Walk in front of me and open the door. If you decide to get brave I'll kill you.'

This was like a film unfolding. Nothing was real. Nothing had been real for three days. Mark was acting on pure instinct, not knowing where this was going, not knowing why it had happened, but realising that now he had a chance to find out. He pushed Tony into the main room.

‘Sit down there,' Mark said, pointing to the sofa. Tony was sweating, worse than in Coventry. Beads of sweat pimpled his forehead, which he dabbed at with a pudgy hand. His eyes flicked around the room, and towards the door.

‘The big guy, what's his name, Angelo? He isn't coming, Tony. No one is coming for you, it's just you and me.'

‘Look Mark, I dunno what you're thinking, just give me a chance to explain, man.'

‘Where's Lena?'

Mark watched his eyes and recognised the guilt they registered before Tony could get into a role.

‘Lena? I haven't seen her for ages. All we were doing was …'

Tony stopped when Mark produced the gun.

‘Smith and Wesson. Pretty old. Not a stable piece, I'd say.'

Mark leant towards Tony and pressed the gun against his forehead.

‘Mark, for fucksake.'

Mark curled his finger around the trigger and smelt Tony's alarm.

‘This is going to be a long, long night,' Mark said. ‘I want you to start at the beginning, I want it all, Tony.'

Tony was desperately thinking for ways out. Sweat pimples were turning into acne.

‘I don't hear anything,' Mark said.

He brought the gun down hard on Tony's knee. As the man reared up he hit him to the side of the head, the same side he'd kicked.

‘We don't want to be doing this,' Mark said, ‘this thing could go off at any time.'

Tony howled, and as he slumped down Mark moved behind the sofa. It would be better if the man didn't see him, didn't know what was coming.

‘Come on, Tony, stop whining. That's just a slap. If you're afraid of someone else there's no need to be. You'll be dead anyway. You'll never get out of this flat, like Lena, so you only have to be afraid of me and the pain I can cause. Think of the now, us here, this is your only chance to keep breathing. Your only one. Tell me everything and I might let you take it. I'll know if you're bullshitting. I always know.'

A thin line of blood escaped from Tony's gel. The man was unaware of it as it merged into his false tan.

‘You smoke, don't you,' Mark said, ‘have one before you start, it'll help you think.'

Mark tried to modulate his voice. If he could keep it together he'd try to play good cop, bad cop. If he could.

Tony took a pack of cigarettes from a pocket and lit one up. Mark took the rest from him. For the first time since his hillside childhood he took another from the pack, and lit one for himself. Tony breathed heavily, trying to grab a moment's relief from this ordeal. Mark sucked on his smoke and felt his eyes water.

‘Why do you ask about Lena?' Tony said. ‘What's going on?'

Mark pushed his cigarette hard against Tony's neck. The man squealed and tried to get away, only to receive another blow from the gun. The line of blood was joined by another, red tram-lines down his cheek.

‘Wrong start, Tony. Look, neither of us has the time for this. Especially you. You better move things along or I'm going to put a round in the back of your head and go looking for your friends.'

Tony started to cry. Mark was expecting it. There was nothing else for him to try.

‘I can't, man, they'll kill me. You don't know what you're dealing with.'

‘No, but you know what you're dealing with here, right now.'

Mark put his mouth close to Tony's ear. He dropped his voice to a whisper and held the cigarette an inch from Tony's eyes, while touching the other side of his head with the gun.

‘Your own sister, Tony. What did you think I'd do? Walk away from it? Forget what happened? And why was she cut up like that, what could she have possibly done to deserve that? It was you, wasn't it, on the phone to me when I found her?'

‘I had to phone, to get you out of the flat. They made me. They didn't expect you to come back then. You'd never have found her.'

Even at this stage, Mark wanted there to be another explanation. For Tony not to be involved, for people not to be as evil as this. Mark dropped his voice even lower.

‘Now we are coming to it. I think you'd better tell me about
they.'

He hit Tony on the other knee. He felt the need. Again the man tried to spring up, but Mark pushed the gun into his throat and Tony sank back down. There didn't seem to be any hope left in his eyes now. This was good.

‘You're involved with people who've killed your sister. What does this make you, Tony?'

‘She's not my fucking sister, man. She's no one's sister.'

There was a silence for a while. Tony dropped his cigarette on the sofa, and it started to make a brown hole. Let it burn, Mark thought, let the whole place burn.

‘Tell me, Tony.'

Tony started to rock slightly, holding his knees with his hands. Fear was fighting fear. Mark hadn't expected him to hold out so long, but understood it. Whoever killed Lena that way could not be sane. Tony was muttering
fuck it
repeatedly to himself, like a desperate mantra, trying to lock out Mark and take himself into ostrich mode. Mark brought him back by picking up the cigarette and pressing it against the side of his neck again. The squeal turned into a scream.

‘Lena was a courier,' Tony shouted, ‘a mule, she'd worked for us for a couple of years.'

‘Carrying what?'

The
fuck it
s started up again.

‘Carrying what? Come on, Tony, we're almost there.'