To Fight For (25 page)

I got carefully out of the bed and started to dress.

‘Are you going?'

I turned, saw Tina resting on one elbow, her hair falling in front of her face, hiding it in a curtain of silver strands.

‘Yeah.'

‘Why?'

‘I have to.'

She nodded.

‘It's suicide,' she said.

‘Maybe.'

‘But it's something you've got to do, right? It's in you, part of your nature?'

There was a mocking edge to her voice.

‘Yeah.'

‘Don't you care, Joe?'

Don't you care, Joe? That was what she said. Don't you care, Joe? That was what I said to myself as I buttoned my shirt.

‘No,' I told her. ‘I don't care.'

I was damning myself. I knew that. And, no, I didn't care.

Tina was right. It was in me, part of my nature. Fuck, it
was
my nature. Browne knew that.

Suicide, Tina had said about Brenda's need to fight it to the end. Yeah, that was it. Suicide. A death wish.

Once you understand, it doesn't matter.

Fuck it.

Anyway, I realized there was one person who could help me get to Glazer. One person, who could and would help me. Just one, and it was Eddie, of all people, who'd told me.

I called Ben Green.

‘I told you I was out, Joe.'

‘I know. Dunham's got Glazer. I'm going to fuck Dunham up and I want your help.'

He swore, called me every name under the sun. Then he hung up.

He came back to me ten minutes later.

‘She's in their London house,' he said. ‘With their daughter. But not Dunham. He's somewhere else. Dunno where. Nobody does. And I don't know why his missus ain't with him, or out in the country where she could be safer. And the kid too.'

I knew why. After what had happened with Paget, I wondered if she'd ever set foot in Dunham's country pad again. I couldn't ever imagine her going in that room again. It must've taken days to clean it of the blood and gore. And she'd hate Dunham for what he'd done.

‘Only,' Green said, ‘she's not alone. She's got a handful of bodyguards. So you're not going to get close to her. Unless you phone her up.'

I had thought that Dunham would have someone with her, but not a whole bunch. That was going to make things difficult.

Still, as Green had said, I could always try phoning.

He'd given me the number for the London house and I dialled it. It rang, and I tried to figure out what to say to her. Then a man's voice answered and I hung up and cursed myself for a fucking idiot. What if I'd said something? What if my voice had been recognized?

I was going to have to do it the slow way.

I was in the doorway of a small cafe, opposite the school, but on the same side as the car, about twenty yards behind it.

It was a small place, one of those village tea shop type things, with lace tablecloths and china teapots that they brought to you on a tray. We were still in London, but the people here didn't want to be a part of the city. They wanted to think they were in a small market town in the country.

It was open for breakfast trade, and I'd gone in early and bought some grub and a cup of tea. I'd had a paper with me and I'd pretended to read it. After a while they got the idea I was just a bloke starting his day. I'd gone out front, telling the waitress I was going for a smoke. There was a small courtyard out back, she'd told me. I said I was waiting for someone and wanted to make sure they didn't miss me.

So, I stood there and waited and smoked a few tabs from the pack I'd bought earlier. Then the car came by, on my side of the road, and slowed and stopped out of my sight, a dozen yards or so away from me.

I heard the car doors open, and slam shut. Then they walked past me, Dunham's wife and daughter. I pushed myself back in the doorway. They crossed at a zebra crossing, and walked past the iron railings separating the playground from the street.

Dunham's wife kissed her daughter on the cheek, said something to her and swept some of the girl's golden hair aside. The girl wandered off, her satchel slung over her shoulder and her eyes glued to the phone in her hand, reading some text or playing a game or whatever it was kids did these days. Dunham's wife watched her daughter all the way to the school building and then, after the girl had gone in, she watched some more. Then she watched the closed door, as if thinking that her daughter might come back any second. And then she turned and walked away, head down, hands in the pockets of her long camel-hair coat.

There were a few other women there, dropping their kids off. But Dunham's wife didn't stop to chat with any of them, didn't say hello, didn't even nod or make eye contact.

Beneath her coat, she wore a white blouse and blue jeans. She wore no make-up and her hair looked like it had been thrown back quickly and tied, strands of it floating around her head. She looked haggard, like she'd just got out of bed, and yet still she was beautiful, beyond normal women.

I felt further from her, further from all people, than I'd ever felt. Next to her, I was a vile thing, huge and clumsy and ugly as death.

I checked to see if she had a bodyguard somewhere. Then, when I was sure she was by herself, I watched her walk, just for the hell of it.

She dawdled, turning now and then to look back at the school, as if she thought that her daughter might've come out again to see her. I thought she didn't want to go back to wherever she'd come from. Then she turned away and crossed back over the road.

When she got closer to me, I could see that her skin was pale, even though her cheeks glowed in the cold air. Sunlight had broken through the clouds and gave her a silver halo. There was something in her eyes, too, as if she was thinking of things far away, or long gone.

She reminded me of Brenda. There was that same calmness, as if the world wasn't really there at all, or, maybe it was more like the world was real, but she was a ghost floating through it.

Whatever it was, it was something that I used to see in Brenda. There were those moments when she'd seem to drift off somewhere, when her eyes would glaze over and she'd forget about me, about everything around her. I think I knew, in those moments, that she expected to die. Tina was right about her. Suicide was bang on. Sadness clung to Brenda like a shroud.

And the only thing, really, that stopped me hating myself more than I did was that, sometimes, when she'd been with me, she'd forget herself and be happy.

That sadness was in Dunham's wife and Brenda. It was in Tina too. I suppose it was to do with the men in their lives. Paget, Marriot, Dunham – even Eddie, even, maybe, me. The women had children, or wanted children, and the men took them away, hurt them, used them.

I wasn't like that, at least. Maybe I wasn't so ugly after all.

When she was a few feet from me, I stepped forward enough so that she'd see the movement, but not enough so that the driver could see me.

‘Hey,' I said.

She stopped and, for a moment, she froze and stared at me.

‘Look in the window,' I said. ‘Turn away from the car.'

She didn't move and I thought I'd blown it. I heard a car door open and a man's voice.

‘Mrs D?' the bloke called out.

She flinched.

‘I need your help,' I said.

She looked at me blankly, and I braced myself, sure now that I was going to have to tackle the driver, and lose my one good chance. But then she blinked, and turned away from me, towards the voice that had called.

‘It's okay, Tom,' she said, smiling. ‘Just a minute.'

She turned to look in the cafe window. I waited until I heard the car door close. I said, ‘There's a garden out back. Go tell your driver you're going to get a coffee.'

She didn't move, or even look my way, but I could see in her eyes that she understood, and that she would do it. I hadn't been sure she would. After all, she was running a risk. I had to hope I'd been right about her.

After a while, she walked on, out of my sight. I heard her say something. I braced myself, hand on my gun, just in case she'd grassed me up. But nothing happened.

She brushed past me and into the cafe. I followed and we went through and out the back door.

She glanced round at the walled courtyard. She shivered, held her arms around her. It was drizzling and fine drops of rain clung to her hair.

‘I had to tell them I was using the bathroom,' she said. ‘Otherwise they'd have come in to wait with me.'

‘They?'

‘In the car. Two of them.'

I'd missed the second bloke. That was sloppy.

‘But they'll come looking for me soon,' she was saying. ‘One of them is young and a bit stupid. The other's not stupid, though.'

‘You remember me,' I said.

‘Is that some kind of joke?' she said. ‘I'll never forget you.'

‘You know who I am?'

‘You're my husband's enemy.'

‘You know he wants to kill me?'

‘Of course. That's how Victor treats enemies.'

She put the tip of her ring finger to the corner of her eye, and seemed to wipe something away. There was nothing there to wipe away, as far as I could see.

‘They're not supposed to let me out of their sight. You've done well to see me alone. You've outwitted Victor. He doesn't like being made a fool of. If he ever finds out, he'll be angry.'

‘He wants me dead, how much angrier can he get?'

Her eyes sparked for a moment, and I saw fear and fury.

‘I meant he'd be angry with me. Do you understand what that means? What do you think he'll do to me if he finds out?'

She held her arms tighter about her body, but I didn't think it was the coldness that made her do that.

‘I don't know what I'm doing here,' she said, looking back towards the door from the cafe. ‘I can't help you. No one can.'

She started to walk away. I grabbed her. She stopped, looked at my hand on her arm.

‘What are you gonna do?' she said. ‘Kill me?'

I took my hand away. Then I took a step back. She could've left if she'd wanted. But she didn't move. She felt inside her coat pocket and took out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. The cigarette trembled as she put it to her lips. I took the lighter from her and fired the smoke.

‘Why did you come to me? What makes you think I'd help you?' she said, letting smoke fall from her mouth.

‘The same reason you tried to stop your husband from having me killed.'

‘How did you know about that?'

‘Eddie gave me a choice.'

‘I asked Eddie to stop Victor,' she said. ‘Or to help you. Did he?'

‘He tried, but not too hard.'

She nodded. I wasn't telling her anything she didn't already know.

‘Why did you do that?' I said.

‘You saved my daughter. My husband brought that man – Paget – to our house. He knew what he was, what he did.'

‘Eddie knew too.'

‘Eddie. Yes. Eddie knew.'

She said it softly. That spoke volumes. She expected her husband to be ruthless, but Eddie … that hurt, that was betrayal.

‘You said you needed my help. How?'

‘I need to find a man called Michael Glazer. He's a copper.'

‘I've never heard of him.'

‘Your husband has. He's got him somewhere.'

A car horn blared twice.

‘Oh Christ,' she said. ‘They'll come soon. I have to go.'

She dropped the cigarette, stamped it out.

‘I have to go,' she said again.

‘Glazer's in danger. He's got something your husband wants, and your husband will get it from him. Now, you know something important. You could go to the police with what I've told you, but that would end in a bloodbath at worst, imprisonment for your husband and Eddie at best. I'd go in quietly, get Glazer out.'

‘Why would I help you? Aren't you just the same as the rest of them? As Victor and Eddie? Why would you risk your neck for this man Glazer?'

‘I knew a woman once. Paget killed her.'

It wasn't an answer, and I thought she was probably too smart to fall for my spiel. What choice did I have? If I'd told her I wanted to kill Glazer, she'd have run a mile.

She looked at me, into me.

‘Yes,' she said. ‘I remember what you said to him, to Paget. She was someone you loved?'

‘Yes,' I said. ‘She was.'

She nodded.

‘Paget … he mocked you for loving her.'

I don't know why that mattered to her, but it seemed to.

Then we heard a creak and we both looked at the back door. The handle turned and I threw myself back against the wall of the cafe, to the side of the door. I pulled my gun and held it at head height.

The door opened and I heard a man's voice.

‘What are you doing, Mrs Dunham?'

The doorway was recessed and the door opened inwards. Flat against the wall, I couldn't see the man. Dunham's wife stood directly before the doorway, her face white, her eyes fixed. If the bloke moved forward a step, he'd see me.

‘I, uh …' the woman said.

Then another voice; this one younger.

‘She's not in the bog,' the voice said. ‘Oh, Mrs D. You said you were gonna use the bathroom.'

‘I just wanted some fresh air. And a moment to myself,' she said, her voice tight.

‘We're supposed to be with you all the time, Mrs Dunham,' the older voice said.

‘I know, Matt. I'm sorry. But this is just a walled garden out here. And I'm by myself, so it's okay. You go back to the car, I won't be long.'

The men didn't move, didn't say anything. I wondered about that and my hand tightened on the grip of my Makarov.

‘Oh for God's sake,' she said. ‘I just wanted a moment by myself. I'm surrounded by you lot day and night. The only person I can talk to is my daughter, and she'd rather be at school with her friends. Just go back to the bloody car. I won't be long then you can lock me in and throw away the key.'