Bad Boy (14 page)

“It wasn’t a dropkick. And it was only the third floor.”

Annie took a sip of beer. Winsome had got quite a bit of press out of that escapade, which was probably the main reason why the locals knew who she was, and gawped at her. “There’s actually been quite a lot going on,” Annie said.

“Only I haven’t been in the loop. Doug and I have been investigating that hit-and-run on the Lyndgarth Road.”

“And?”

“Case closed. Witness got a partial number plate and it was easy sailing from there. Course, it didn’t help that our two victims weren’t talking.”

“Oh? Why not?”

“Up to no good. Off their faces on drugs, weren’t they?” Winsome said with a smile.

“Well, it’s time to get you in the loop now. How’s Harry, I mean Doug, coming on?”

“All right,” said Winsome. “Yeah, he’s all right. Maybe he lacks the killer instinct and that extra edge you need if you want to be a good detective.” She shrugged and grinned. “In some ways he’s like a little brother. I try to keep him out of trouble.”

“I never took you for the maternal type, Winsome. Anyway, you can’t play nursemaid forever.”

“I know. I know. He’s a good detail man, though, memory like a steel trap. And let’s face it, how often does the job get physical around here?”

“We can’t all be fearless warriors, I suppose,” said Annie.

“It’s my heritage. My ancestors were fearless warriors. It’s in my genes. I’m thinking of investing in a spear.”

Annie laughed. “You’re scary enough without.” She drank some more beer. “Besides, I’d love to see Madame Gervaise’s face if you did walk in carrying a spear.”

“It would certainly give her something to think about.”

A pale skinny young girl who looked as if she ought to be in school came with their food: burger and chips for Winsome and cheese and tomato sandwich for Annie.

“So what should I know?” Winsome asked after the first bite. “It’s hard to know where to begin,” Annie said.

“What does the boss think?”

“Madame Gervaise? She’s being cagey. Wants to see which way the wind’s blowing. I can’t say I blame her with Matthew Hopkins running around like a man on a divine mission.”

“Matthew who?”

“Hopkins. The witch-hunter general. Chambers. It’s a pet name.”

“I wouldn’t have him as a pet. Or even name one after him.”

“Anyway,” Annie went on, “Chambers may very well be the least of our problems. Things are complicated, and it’s going to be difficult to keep everything in its proper compartment. First off, and high priority as far as I’m concerned, is that we found a gun on our patch, as you probably know already. Rather, the parents found it and shopped their daughter.”

“I do know about that. Wouldn’t you?”

“If I had a kid and I found a gun in her room?”

“Yes.”

“Probably,” said Annie. “I don’t know. Somehow it goes against the grain. Tough one, though.”

“Not for me,” said Winsome. “I’d do it in a shot. No pun intended.”

“Your dad’s a cop, mine’s an artist.”

“What difference does that make?”

“I don’t know,” said Annie.

“But we’re both cops.”

“I just meant that I might try and deal with the situation on my own. You know, talk to her, try to understand. The way things are between mother and daughter now, any chance of anyone understanding anything has gone right out the window.”

“Sometimes it’s not the most important thing.”

“What is, then?”

“That no one gets shot.”

Annie gave a little shudder. “Fair enough. Maybe I’m overplaying the liberal mum. Maybe I’d just shop the little bastard and have done with it. That’s probably why I’m lucky I don’t have any children.”

“Yeah, I could just see you turning in your own kid. Softie.”

“Anyway,” Annie went on. “The house is still in lockdown and
we’re waiting on ballistics. Should know more by this afternoon. The girl’s on bail—bed-and-breakfast arrest—and the mother’s stopping with a friend. And you know what happened to Patrick Doyle.”

“Yeah,” said Winsome. “It’s terrible.”

“Plus I had a visit last night from one of the AFOs involved. Wanted to know if I was on their side.”

“Are you?”

“I’d like to say I was on the side of truth and justice, but somehow with Chambers around, words like that turn to ashes in my mouth.”

“But you’re not going to lie for anyone, are you? You don’t even know them.”

Annie put her hand on Winsome’s forearm. “No, Winsome, I’m not going to lie for anybody. Christ knows, I wasn’t in the house, I don’t know much to start with, but when Chambers gets around to me, I’ll answer all his questions honestly to the best of my ability, and if I don’t know the answers, I’ll say so.”

“Can’t say fairer than that.”

“Who said fair had anything to do with it?”

“Cynic.”

“Yes, well…Don’t forget, I worked with Chambers once.”

Winsome gobbled up her burger and started picking at her chips. “Where do I start?” she asked, glancing up at Annie from her plate.

“You know DCI Banks’s daughter?”

“Tracy? Is that her name?”

“That’s right. Though she seems to have taken to calling herself Francesca these days.”

“That’s nothing. Kids often go through periods of dissatisfaction with the names their parents gave them,” said Winsome. “I know I did. I called myself Joan for years in school.”

“Tracy’s twenty-four. She’s not a kid.” Annie shot Winsome a glance. “You did, though? Really? Joan?”

“Yeah. I wanted an ordinary name. I hated Winsome. Didn’t you ever change your name?”

“No. Somehow or other, I’ve always been just Annie. So you know Tracy, then?”

“I’ve spoken with her at the station once or twice. Nice girl, or so she seemed. I can’t say I
know
her. Is there a problem?”

“Maybe. Not only has she changed her name,” Annie said, “but she’s changed her appearance, too.”

“So? People do. Look at you. You got your hair cut and highlighted. You used to dress like a hippie and—”

“All right. I get your point.” Annie touched her head self-consciously. “True enough. I’m not trying to make anything out of it in itself. You’re right. Sometimes people just like a change. It’s just that she also seems to have disappeared.”

“Seems to have?”

“Yes, well, this is where we enter the realm of total conjecture, or fantasy, as Madame Gervaise would say. Which is why I’m talking to you here and not to her at the station.”

“Because I’m more gullible?”

“No. Because I can’t think of anyone more level-headed. Hear me out, Winsome. You can tell me if you think I’m talking rubbish.” Annie pushed her empty plate away and drank some more beer. Her glass was close to empty, and she fancied another. Given what chaos the afternoon might bring, though, she decided to abstain and ordered a coffee and some sticky toffee pudding and custard instead. “Juliet Doyle, the mother of the girl who had the gun in her room, told me that her daughter Erin shares a house in Headingley with two other girls,” she began. “Rose Preston and Tracy Banks. The Leeds police searched the place on the afternoon of Erin’s arrest. Rose was present. Apparently, when Tracy got home from work that evening and Rose told her what happened, she went ballistic. She seemed most concerned about some bloke called Jaff, Erin’s boyfriend. Erin’s not talking, so we can’t get anything about him from her. Tracy took off almost immediately Rose gave her the news, and she hasn’t been seen or heard from since.”

“How do you know all this?”

“I paid a visit to the house yesterday evening and talked to Rose. I also called at this Jaff’s flat—nice place, down by the canal—but it was all locked up and there was nobody home. One of the neighbors told me the police had already been around asking questions. He seemed in a bit of a huff, kept his door on the chain, said he didn’t have to answer any more questions. He was right. There wasn’t a lot I could do, so I went home.”

“Some people are like that,” said Winsome.

“I rang DI Ken Blackstone in Leeds this morning, and guess what? He checked and told me they hadn’t sent anybody to Granary Wharf yesterday.”

Winsome frowned. “So what do you think’s going on?”

“I don’t know. This is where it becomes pure conjecture on my part. Rose got the impression that there was something between Jaff and Tracy, or so she told me. Tracy certainly seemed unduly concerned about this Jaff, at any rate. Whether she knew about the gun or not, I have no idea. I know this is all mere speculation, but given that both Tracy and Jaff seem to have disappeared from view, it’s my bet that they’ve gone off somewhere together, probably headed south. If the gun does belong to Jaff, then he’s obviously scared that Erin’s going to tell on him, or that the police are going to track him down through it, so it’s easy to see why he might want to make himself scarce.”

“So he’s on the run. Makes sense. You really think he’s used this gun?”

“Not recently, according to the preliminary ballistics report. The point right now is that he was probably the one who owned it, whatever the reason.”

“And Tracy’s part in all of this?”

Annie ate some more pudding, then washed it down with coffee. “Don’t know,” she said. “Either she is involved, and she’s gone with him, or she’s not involved but she’s gone with him.”

“Or she’s gone somewhere else. On her own.”

“Maybe,” said Annie. “But unlikely, don’t you think? The timing is just too coincidental.”

“Circumstantial is what it all is,” said Winsome. “But you’ve got a point. The thing is, I can’t believe Tracy’s mixed up in anything bad. Not the DCI’s daughter.”

“I agree she always seemed like a decent kid, but people change, Winsome, fall in with the wrong company, develop a chip on their shoulder, start to resent their lives or the way they perceive they’re being treated. Rebellion. It comes in many shapes and sizes, and not only when you’re a teenager. Twenty-four isn’t all that old. If she really fancies this Jaff bloke…Christ…”

“What?”

“Nothing. Just remembering my own bad boy phase.”

“Bad boy?”

“Yes. Don’t you know what bad boys are, Winsome?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever really had much experience of them.”

“A bad boy is unreliable, and sometimes he doesn’t show up at all, or if he does, he’s late and moody; he acts mean to you, and he leaves early. He always seems to have another iron in the fire, somewhere else to be. But always while you’re waiting for him you can’t really concentrate on anything else, and you have at least one eye on the door in case he’s the next one to walk in the room, even though you think he might be seeing someone else, and when you’re with him your heart starts to beat a little faster and your breath catches in your chest. You might be angry, but it won’t last, and you’re happy for a while when he gives all his attention to you, and then it starts all over again.”

“Sounds awful,” said Winsome.

“But it’s exquisite agony,” Annie said. “Sometimes he doesn’t turn up for days on end, and your heart aches for him. He goes to bed with your best friend, and still you forgive him, still you want him.”

“You
had a bad-boy phase?”

“Of course. Paul Burroughs. But I was only sixteen. I got over it early.” Annie didn’t want to talk about the later bad boy who turned out to be a psychopath. She certainly didn’t have a great track record when it came to choosing the men in her life. Winsome knew about the psycho anyway, and would be far too diplomatic to say anything. It was much easier to talk about Paul Burroughs.

“Was he unfaithful?”

“Of course he was. Bad boys are always unfaithful. That’s the first rule.”

“What else did he do that was so bad?”

Annie smiled fondly as she remembered. “Paul? Oh, nothing serious, really, not at first. Just minor stuff, fun stuff, run-of-the-mill. But he was a daredevil. He couldn’t care less.”

“Like what?”

“Well, one night, after midnight, for example, we broke into the local marina and borrowed a speedboat.” Annie couldn’t help but
laugh at Winsome’s expression of horror. “If the harbor police hadn’t caught us, we’d have ended up in France, or more likely we’d have crashed on the rocks or something and drowned. He knew how to get it started—he could start anything with a motor—but he hadn’t a clue how to handle the wheel.”

“What did the police do?”

“Obviously not very much, or I wouldn’t be here with you today.” Annie shrugged. “A slap on the wrist, that was all, really. Or it would have been except…”

“What?”

“Well, Paul had a lot of problems with his family. His dad had gone off with another woman, and his mother was a bit of a zombie. She drank a lot and took tons of Valium. He was so mixed up and angry, you just wanted to hold him and make it all go away.”

“Did you?”

“No. Me? I’m not the type. Besides, you can’t cuddle bad boys. The problem was that he picked a fight with the biggest harbor cop when we got back on land, and he ended up in a cell for the night. That was only the beginning. After that, I didn’t see him anymore, but I heard later that he had a lot of problems with the law—stealing cars, joyriding, then muggings, assault, burglaries, stuff like that.”

“And now?”

“No idea. Prison, perhaps.”

“So he was a bad boy in the making?”

“Yeah. But bad boys aren’t always criminals. It’s more a state of mind. It never happened to you?”

“Sugar, the bad boys where I grew up were
really
baaad. Not just some sissy skinny-ass white boy stealing a motorboat. They carried machetes and AK47s.”

Annie laughed. “Anyway, who knows? Maybe it all goes along with this change in Tracy’s appearance, the piercings, the name. Like I said, rebellion can happen anytime, take many forms. All I know is that I’d like to find her and get things sorted, and I’d like to do it before she’s got the combined police forces of the whole bloody country on her trail. Either she’s thumbing her nose at us all, or she’s scared, but she maybe needs help, whether she knows it yet or not.”

“And Alan?”

Annie shook her head. “He won’t be back until next Monday, though I’ve got his mobile number for emergencies only. I
could
call him, wherever he is, as long it’s not some remote far-flung desert outpost. And that reminds me. I should drop by his cottage after work today. It’s been a while. Those poor plants of his will be fair gagging for a drink of water by now.”