Crack Down (26 page)

“We'll go to the ice-cream place, then,” he said grudgingly to me. Wayne shrugged off the woman's arm and pushed past her into the hall, where he stood expectantly by the door. Daniel followed him, and, after a quick glance at me for permission, so did Davy.

“I'll have them back in an hour,” I promised.

“Don't worry about it,” she said. “Quite honestly, love, the more worn out they are tonight the better.”

 

For the first twenty minutes, I said nothing about Cherie or the shooting. We pumped money into the Wurlitzer, we argued the relative merits of everything on the menu. Then I sat back and
watched while the boys wolfed huge ice-cream sundaes, gradually returning to something approaching normal behavior, even if it was tinged with a kind of hysteria. I even joined in some of their fun, dredging my memory for old and sick jokes. When I reached the point where the only one I could remember was the one about the Rottweiler and the social worker, I reckoned it was time to change tack.

“Davy got a lot of new transfers yesterday, didn't you?” I said brightly.

“Where did you go?” Daniel asked.

“VIRUS,” said Davy and proceeded to enthuse about the virtual reality center.

“Maybe we could all go together the next time Davy's up,” I suggested. “Show them your tattoos, Davy.”

He took off his New York blouson to reveal tattoos that spread up from his wrists and finally disappeared into the sleeves of his T-shirt. Wayne and Daniel studied the intergalactic warriors and dinosaurs, desperately trying not to look impressed.

“Huh,” Wayne finally said. “I've had ones just as good as that.”

“Where from?” Davy challenged.

“From Woody on the estate. You know, him that gave you a load last week.”

There is a god. “I don't think I know Woody,” I said. “Where does he live?”

“Up the top. Near the Apollo. Where the chip van parks,” Daniel said positively.

“Wasn't your mum going to go and see him last night?” I asked, feeling like I was walking on eggshells. It was the first time Cherie had been mentioned, and I didn't know how they would react.

Wayne stared into his sundae dish, scraping his spoon round the sides. But Daniel didn't seem bothered. “Nah,” he said scornfully. “It wasn't Woody she went to see. She'd already seen Woody and gave him a right gobful about giving things to us. And Woody said he was just doing what he was told to do, and she said he was a waste of space and who told him, and he said, the guy in the house on the corner. And that's where she went.”

“What guy is that, do you know?”

Daniel shook his head. “Don't know his name. We don't go there.”

“What house is it?”

“You know I said where Woody lives? Well, if you was standing at the chip van and you looked across the street that way,” he said, gesturing with his right arm, “it's the house on the corner. That's where my mum went last night,” he added.

I was impressed. “Were you with your mum when she saw Woody?” I asked. Daniel's information seemed almost too good to be true.

“ 'Course we weren't,” Wayne said contemptuously. “She didn't even know we were out. We followed her. We always follow her. She says we're the men of the house and she needs us to take care of her, so we follow her, but she don't know. We watch and listen so we'll know if anyone did bad things to her and we could get them back later. She never saw us,” he added proudly.

“I wish I was that good at following people,” I said. “It would come in really handy in my job. You'll have to give me lessons one of these days. Where did you learn your tricks? From the TV?”

Wayne shook his head, swinging it elaborately from side to side. “Our dad showed us. He trained us to be silent and deadly, just like the Paras.”

I felt a chill in my heart. According to Cherie, Crazy Eddy hadn't been near the kids in years. “When was this?” I asked casually.

“For ages. He just turns up at the common where we go with our bikes and takes us up Levenshulme and trains us. But he made us promise we wouldn't tell anybody because he didn't want Mum to know. But now Mum's not here, it doesn't matter about telling, does it?” Wayne's face crumpled and he rubbed his eyes savagely with his fists.

“No, it doesn't matter. Your dad must be really proud of you. When did you see him last?”

“We saw him yesterday,” Daniel said. “But he's been around for ages. He came back at Easter.”

I knew that if I betrayed my surprise I wouldn't get another word out of Daniel or Wayne. Somehow, I had to keep superficially calm at the news that Crazy Eddy was back in town. I breathed softly and thought about something restful; a room freshly painted barley white, actually. “I thought your dad worked away,” I said.

Daniel stuck his chest out like a sergeant major. “He does. He's a warrior, my dad. He teaches whole armies how to fight like him. But when they've learned how to do it, he comes home and sees us.”

“Does he come home often?” I asked.

“Once or twice a year,” Wayne muttered. “The first time was just after I was five. We were playing in the playground at school at break time and this soldier came up to us, and he crouched down beside us and said, ‘You know who I am, don't you?' And we did, because Mum had his picture on her dressing table.” At the mention of the photograph, something clicked inside my head. Wayne looked up and met my eyes. “Do you think we can go and live with him now? Be soldiers with him?”

“You'll have to ask your foster mother about that,” I said, distracted by the piece of the jigsaw that had just fallen into place. “Where does your dad stay when he's here?” I tried to sound casual.

“In the Moss. With a man that used to be one of his squaddies,” Daniel said. “He's never taken us there. He's too busy training us.”

“Of course he is. It's a tough job, being a good soldier.” Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Davy getting restive. I pretended to be stern. “And you soldiers are letting the side down now.” All three looked puzzled. “Do you know what's wrong with this
picture?” I asked, gesturing at the table. They all held their breath and shook their heads. “Empty plates!” I mock-roared. “Time for seconds! Who wants more?”

I didn't have to ask twice. After the waiter had brought the second round of ice creams, I said, “So what training were you doing with your dad yesterday?”

“Tracking and observation,” Daniel reported. “We met Dad round the common, and then we went and hid across the main road, on the waste ground. We had binoculars, and we watched the outside of the flats and we waited for Mum to come out, then we trailed her and spied on her talking to Woody. Dad said she should keep her nose out of other people's business when we told him she was on about the transfers.”

“Did he know about the transfers, then?” I asked through a mouthful of chocolate hazelnut. I'd succumbed the second time around.

“ 'Course he does,” Wayne said, scornful again. “He told us to get the transfers off Woody and get the other kids to use them. He said they'd all want them and that way they'd do what we told them to. But we don't use the ones we take off Woody. Dad said that would be a sign of weakness, so we don't.”

Eddy wasn't wrong about the transfers being a sign of weakness. I couldn't help wondering just how much he knew about what was going on in the house on the corner. It was time I paid it a visit. But first, I had to keep my side of the bargain I'd made with myself. I'd had my needs met; now, Daniel and Wayne were entitled to the same thing. I dug my hand in my pocket and dumped a handful of change on the table. “Who wants to play?” I demanded, gesturing with one thumb towards the array of video-game machines at the far end of the ice-cream parlor.

I kept half an eye on them as I struggled with the significance of what Wayne had told me without realizing. Now I knew why the big bouncer at the Lousy Hand seemed so familiar. It wasn't because he was a regular in the Mexican restaurant downstairs from the office.

I'd once seen that photograph that Cherie kept in her bedroom. She'd shown me it when she'd asked me to hunt her husband
down. He'd been in uniform, the maroon beret of the Paras cocked jauntily on his head. He'd been nearly ten years younger too. But that scar clinched it. The man who was fingering cars for Terry Fitz was none other than Crazy Eddy Roberts. At the very least, it was a strange coincidence.

It takes more than bereavement to divert small boys from arcade games. By the time they'd fought in the streets, driven several grand prix, played a round or two of golf and done enough terminating to get us jobs with Rentokil, the effects of the afternoon's trauma had receded noticeably. When we all piled back into my car, the haunted look had left their eyes. I didn't doubt that it was only a temporary respite, but even that was enough to ease my guilt at having taken advantage.

I dropped them off, promising that we'd keep in touch, then I drove Davy back to Alexis's. Of course, he was fired with curiosity as to why they'd moved back to their house and why he was staying with them there instead of with me in Coverley Close. Luckily, he was tired enough to be fobbed off with the excuse that Alexis and Chris needed to be at home now they were back at work because all their clothes and stuff were there. Alexis greeted him like a long-lost friend and hustled him off to the spare room, where she'd moved the video and the portable TV from their bedroom. I made the coffee while she made sure he was sufficiently engrossed in
The Karate Kid
for the dozenth time.

“You all right, girl?” Alexis asked when she returned. “You look about as lively as a slug in a salt cellar.”

“Gee thanks. Remind me to call you next time my selfconfidence creeps above the parapet. I'm just tired, that's all. I've not had a decent night's kip since last Wednesday.”

“Why don't you crash out here now? You can have the sofa bed in the study.”

“Thanks, but no thanks. I've got to go and sit outside a house in the dark.”

“Hey, the sofa bed's not that bad,” Alexis protested, joking. “I've slept there myself.”

“Sorry to hear that, Alexis,” I said, pretending deep concern. “I hadn't realized your relationship was in such a bad way.”

“Hey, carry on getting it that wrong and you could get a job on the
Chronicle
's diary column.”

“Tut-tut,” I scolded. “And you the one that's always telling me how unfairly you journos are maligned for your inaccuracies. Anyway, enough of this gay repartee. I've got work to do, and you've got a child to mind. I'll call you later.” I headed for the door. “And Alexis? I know you probably think I'm over-reacting, but don't open the door to anyone unless you know them.” I was through the door before she could argue.

I got in the car, revved up noisily, and drove round the corner. I gave it a couple of minutes, then turned back on to Alexis's street, stopping as soon as I had a clear view of the path leading to the house. I picked up my mobile and dialled a familiar number. It rang out, then I heard, “Hello?”

“Dennis? It's Kate. Are you busy tonight?”

“I don't have to be,” he said, his voice too crackly for me to hear whether he sounded pissed off or not.

“I need a major favor.”

“No problem. Whereabout?”

I gave him brief directions and settled back to wait. OK, so I was being paranoid. But like they say, that doesn't mean they're not out to get you. There was no way I was leaving this street until I was sure that Davy, not to mention Alexis and Chris, had someone to watch over them. And there was no minder I'd trust more than Dennis. He had an added advantage. Years of earning his living as a burglar had developed in him an astonishing ability to stay awake and alert long after the rest of us are crashed out snoring with our heads on the steering wheel. If he was sitting outside the house in his car, I'd feel a lot less worried about the possibility of Jammy James wanting to use me or Davy as a lever against Richard. Not that I believed for one minute that the demolition of my front door was a message from James. I just thought it was better to be safe than sorry. Or something.

While I was waiting, I wondered how Richard was coping. I felt bad about missing the evening's visit, but I figured he could live without seeing me for a day. Whereas, if I didn't do all I could to finger the people who were responsible for the holes in my door,
he might have to get used to the idea of not seeing me again. Ever. It wasn't a comforting thought.

 

The house on the corner of Oliver Tambo Close wasn't the ideal place for a stake-out. The chip van's presence meant a constant flow of people up and down the street, as well as the gang of local yobs who hung round the van every evening just for the hell of it. Add to that the general miasma of poverty and seediness up this end of the estate, and I knew without pausing to think that the Peugeot would stick out like a sore thumb as soon as that evening's rock audience from the Apollo had gone home. I swung round by the office lock-up and helped myself to the Little Rascal van we've adapted for surveillance work.

I stopped behind the chip van, bought fish, chips and cholesterol and ostentatiously drove the Little Rascal back round the corner on to the street running at right angles to Oliver Tambo Close. From the tinted rear windows of the van, I had a perfect view of the house, front door and all. I pulled down one of the padded jump seats and opened my fragrant parcel. I felt like I'd done nothing but eat all day, yet as soon as I smelled the fish and chips, I was ravenous. I sometimes think we're imprinted with that particular aroma while we're still in the womb.