Scar Tissue (12 page)

‘How long have you been in the police?’ I asked.

Thrown, he asked, ‘Why? Well, I must have joined soon after you started your second lot of rehab.’

‘So you don’t remember how hard up you always were when you were a social worker? Well, Taz, dreadfully paid though social workers are, they get lots more than the minimum wage; they get contracts involving sick pay and paid holidays. I’m on what the government in its infinite wisdom says is enough to live on. I’ve got a bit stashed away in case I get sick, because I couldn’t even afford a prescription on my average week’s take-home pay, let alone a couple of days in bed with flu. But I live so close to the wire I simply can’t afford posh clothes.’

‘Charity shops?’

I looked at him steadily, then reached to finger his shirt. ‘How many people wore that before you did?’

He wrinkled a fastidious nose.

‘Quite,’ I said. ‘So I’ll put in these jeans and this top for this evening, shall I?’

It was such a wonderful day it was impossible to stay in sociologist mode. If only Taz had driven a soft-top – it would have been grand to drive through the sun-blessed lanes, the wind blowing through what was actually not very nice hair
now. Perhaps it was something to do with the way I lay: how else could I explain the patch at the back which seemed permanently tangled and matted? It needed a good dose of the serum I used to use. Well, it would have to manage with some of Jan’s olive oil and a polythene bag to cover it for half an hour before I shampooed it.

‘Have you decided whether to stay or throw in the towel?’ How’s that for association of ideas?

‘I’ll stay for today. If you think there’s a chance of getting in the house. We’d need proper evidence before I could get a search warrant, you see.’

‘That’s why Paula and I took photos. Yes, inside and out. And why Paula picked up a fragment of blue rope and slipped it into a poly bag for safe-keeping.’

‘She did what?’

‘I told you. I took some photos from the outside, and when she let me into the place we took more of the room where I’d seen the corpse. And she spotted some fibres of the rope the stiff had been strangled with on the floor and kept them. Just in case.’

‘So why the hell haven’t you told the police before now?’

‘Because when I tried I got Marsh accusing me of wasting police time. Hell, Taz, don’t you ever listen? I don’t suppose you were listening when I told you I’d got photos of the immigrants –’

‘Yes, I was. You gave me the film for processing. It’s at the lab even now, I hope.’

‘You hope!’

‘My friend was taking it to Maidstone – that’s where Kent’s police HQ is, remember – this morning.’

‘I hope he or she remembers,’ I grumbled, unashamedly fishing for info. Of course I was nosy. Your ex-nearly lover’s sitting beside you – you’re entitled to know what he’s up to and with whom. Well, to wonder, if not to know.

‘I’m sure they will.’

Oh, ho. A no fishing sign. And his jaw was clamped in the way that made him think he looked like that dishy man who plays Hornblower on the TV. His nostrils were even giving a little flair.

‘There’s a garage over there,’ I said. ‘Bread and milk and sandwiches and stuff.’

As I walked to the shop, he rolled down his window. ‘Get some butter, will you? Proper stuff, not marge. And a paper. The
Observer
.’

I walked back, and leant towards him. ‘Haven’t you taken anything in? I can just about afford essentials, but nothing more.’

‘But a paper is an essential.’

‘I’ve just crippled myself financially to change my
appearance
because one of your lot dubbed me in with some very nasty people. If you’d had to do that you’d have been able to claim on expenses, wouldn’t you? You can probably claim your living expenses down here, if the case comes to anything. So why don’t you pick up the tab – then you can get anything you damned well want.’ I was supposed to be able to do anger without any other emotion, wasn’t I? How come I had to turn away before he could see the tears welling up round my damned lenses?

I told myself it was the cleaning solution: I must have used too little. Or too much.

Paula popped our supplies into the big cool-box that also housed extra water and squash on days like this, raising an eyebrow at the obviously cool relations between me and Taz. She also gave us a post-it to stick on the Escort’s dash to remind us to collect them. ‘It’s going to be a real scorcher,’ she said, rather unnecessarily. ‘So I want us to work as far as possible in the shade. I’m afraid the dogs are back in their outhouse, which means we’re going to have to go behind Trev – that’s the Transit – here.’ That was Paula for you – self-possessed and forthright. Until she had to say, ‘So make sure you let us know if you’re going to – er –’ She blushed. ‘And we’ll warn you, too.’

‘Not very hygienic,’ he said, nose a-wrinkle.

‘Well. With a bit of luck we’ll all sweat so much our bladders won’t get very full.’ Now she sounded like matron in one of those old hospital comedy films.

‘More to the point,’ I said, ‘does this mean van der Poele’s out of the way?’

‘Not yet. He said he’d be going out but didn’t give a time. I’m feeding and watering the dogs. And yes, they are doped. So if you really need the loo –’

‘Paula, stop wittering about our bodily functions!’ I interrupted her. ‘Sorry.’ She was the boss, after all. ‘The important thing is that we shall be able to check out the house. Uninterrupted.’

‘Until he unexpectedly returns.’ Paula’s smile was ironic, though at whose expense I wasn’t sure.

Just in case it was mine, I gave a cheerful grin. ‘But we
shall have the excuse of needing to open and close windows. And you have the key.’

‘After Friday night,’ she said seriously, ‘I want you to have paint all over you and a brush in your hand before you venture in there. And that applies to you, too, Taz. If he finds out you’re not who you’re supposed to be, what does that make me? And the rest of us?’

‘Just taken in by a smooth-talking con,’ he said, switching on a charming smile, as if putting himself down, just a little.

‘I don’t do taken in,’ she snapped. ‘And I don’t think van der Poele does credulity, either. He knows Caffy was on to something. A copper turns up –’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t have to tell him I was a cop.’

Paula raised a warning hand. In the distance a dog yowled. ‘It’s hard to work out just how much tranquilliser to give them,’ she said, calm again. Apparently. ‘And it’d be a brave man who could keep his trap shut with them tearing off his balls. No, Taz, you do it my way or not at all. Do I make myself clear?’

He drew himself up to his full six foot, pushing out his chest as if on parade. ‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘And stop taking the micky. While you’re here, you’re polite to the boss. Otherwise,’ she added, spoiling the effect, ‘I shan’t show you those photos we took.’ She turned back to dig in the Transit’s glove box. I noticed she produced just half the set; did that mean she only half-trusted Taz?

Despite taking plenty of drinks breaks, it was a hot and sticky crew that gathered for lunch. Taz was last down, and made straight for the far side of the van.

‘I bet van der Poele only wanted us to work this weekend because he’d heard the weather forecast,’ Meg sighed, slumping into a deck-chair and undoing more top buttons than strictly necessary. ‘It must be well into the thirties.’

‘No one would be mean enough to do anything like that,’ Helen protested. ‘By the way, has he gone yet?’

‘He has and he would,’ Paula declared. ‘Which is why I’ve changed my mind and you three are going to take the sides of the house overlooking the road and paint with one eye open for van der Poele and I am going to show Taz round.’ She stared at me as if daring me to contradict her. I hadn’t even thought of such a thing. First, the person showing anyone the ropes would naturally be the boss. Second, I’d no particular desire to be with Taz. Third, if I was nippy on my feet at the end of the break I’d be able to get to the only part of the house still in full shade that had a view of the road.

Meanwhile Taz returned, via his car. ‘Listening to
The World this Weekend
! What sort of outfit are you?’ he demanded, no doubt taking in the fact that there were only four chairs, all occupied. He flipped over to me one of the three packs of sandwiches from the petrol station shop, and reclined at our feet with his two. He’d stripped off to reveal an already tanned six-pack and set of pecs to die for. Reclining showed everything off far better than sitting would have done.

‘I don’t know why you’re laughing,’ Meg rebuked him quietly. ‘It helps my kids with their homework.’

Helen said, ‘And I thought I might start college in the autumn. Get qualifications like the others.’

‘You don’t need a knowledge of current affairs to learn how to slap on emulsion,’ he chortled.

‘There’s no reason why women shouldn’t know what’s going on in the world, for all we don’t have any fancy degrees, is there?’ Meg demanded. ‘And I think you’ll find NVQs involve a bit more than slapping on emulsion.’ Quite a mouthful from someone he must have realised fancied the socks off him.

He dropped his eyes. So he should.

Thinking of my spot out of the sun, I hauled myself to my feet. It wasn’t emulsion I was about to slap on, but gloss paint where the frame met the window. You need to get an eighth of an inch, no more, on the glass. That requires a bit of skill and a very steady hand. If I heard any more of his lip I might not be able to manage the steady hand part, I was getting so angry. How had I ever been in love with this patronising young man? Or was I just angry because he was taking more notice of the others than of me?

Come on, Caffy – whoops! Come on, Lucy. Paint that window-frame. I looked at my hand. Some folk used masking tape to get a straight line. I’d prided myself on never needing to. Today, just in case, I sneaked a roll from the back of the van.

It was I who, an hour or so later, spotted van der Poele’s car and knocked the window hard. I wasn’t surprised to see Taz and Paula emerging on to the scaffolding above me, though it wasn’t the wisest move. They were a bit obvious, and van der Poele knew we’d done that particular section. Paula was soon beside me, however, using the ladder as easily as if it were an escalator in a shopping mall. To my dour
amusement, Taz was clearly uneasy, making sure he steadied himself before moving a foot or releasing a hand. There was a lot of ladder to go before he reached solid ground, though. Ground as solid as his feet. Feet of clay, eh? I had a nasty suspicion I was falling briskly out of love with our Taz. I didn’t need so much as an inch of the masking tape.

Because the heat was still intense at five, Paula told us we could knock off if we wanted.

‘What about you?’ I asked. ‘And what about your contract?’

‘You’ve done more than I expected already. Taz isn’t bad at rubbing down. But someone’ll have to repaint his
window-frame
tomorrow.’ She paused, presumably for him to hang his head and apologise, eventually resuming, ‘I’m going to stick it out a bit longer, but you could run the others back, Lucy, and then bring Trev – the van – back here for me.

‘It’d make more sense if Taz did that,’ I objected. ‘I could carry on painting.’

‘True. Will you start it for him?’

Taz bustled forward, holding out his hand for the keys. So his deafness had been temporary and selective. ‘I can do that – no problem.’

Winking at me with the eye Taz couldn’t see, Paula handed them over.

‘So long as he doesn’t flatten the battery,’ I cautioned, hearing the starter motor whine and cough over and over again.

‘I don’t think he’s that stupid. There you are. He’s given up. Go and show him, girl!’

A triumphant moment later, and Paula and I were on our
own. We worked on open windows, so we couldn’t say much. At last, both finished, we were putting away our brushes and making sure the lids were firmly on the paint tins when she said, ‘When Taz comes back, don’t forget that butter and milk.’ In exactly the same tone, she continued, ‘I had an idea you were sweet on him.’

‘You had the right idea,’ I admitted. ‘Once. I think absence must have made a fond heart wander, though. In his case, at least.’

‘His? What about yours? I mean, he’s very good-looking and he’s looked after his body very well. Very well indeed.’

‘I don’t know what I ever saw in him,’ I said honestly.

For all that, we were to spend the evening together, weren’t we? And in any case, he had to drive me back, which he did in silence. The only time he uttered was when I let us into the caravan again and I handed him one of my towels.

‘You can’t manage a decent dress but you buy expensive things like this!’

‘Try drying yourself on a posh frock.’

‘I don’t remember your having a chip on your shoulder like this.’

I curled up inside. Was that what it was? A spot of inverted snobbery? Resenting other people’s good fortune and sneering at them for better clothes and cars? Jesus. Not a good thing. There was only one thing worse in my social book than inverted snobbery and that was snobbery itself, people with money or birth judging people like me who had neither. Funny, I’d never suspected Taz of snobbery before. Surely he didn’t think that being a cokehead in designer jeans
was better than being a decorator in jeans from the market. But the funny thing was, I really did resent his having money and being mean with it, and might be playing up my uncouth side a little more than usual. If I was, I certainly never felt tempted to do it to the Daweses, apart from that awful Little Nell moment, which made my toes curl just to think about it even now. They could have bought and sold Taz and not bothered with the small change, but I didn’t covet their money. Heavens, they were so generous with it I had to stop them overspending on me.

Maybe I ought to have quipped with black humour that my old ones had come to a sticky end and turned the conversation that way. As it was, I said quietly, ‘I wrapped my last towels round Arthur, remember, the postie who died. I had to buy replacements. If that comes across as an inferiority complex, so be it. The shower’s there, remember. And make sure you shut the door properly.’

By the time I emerged, he’d ponced himself up in
neatly-cut
cotton trousers that flattered an already tight bum and an open-necked shirt. No jeans and T-shirt for him, then. To be honest, even without him pointing it out, I felt very dowdy beside him. Dowdy and a mess. My hair was drier and more brittle than ever. I grabbed a handful. When this was all over, I’d go to a barber – cheaper than any salon I knew, except Stell’s! – and have a short back and sides.

Meanwhile, there was a short drive west to our
rendezvous
. I suppose I’d hoped for one of those converted country houses that this part of the world is rich in – pun intended. What I got was a rather anonymous modern place, one that wouldn’t have been out of place in the centre of
Brum, for instance. The Mondiale Hotel and Golf Club. Hmm.

Coughing awkwardly, Taz led me into the foyer and introduced me to our host. In tones more suited to a church, he said, ‘This is Assistant Chief Constable Moffatt, in charge of Crime for the Kent County Constabulary.’

One of those things that could have been better expressed, I thought, refusing to giggle, even though I recalled a car park slot at a nick in Birmingham announcing it belonged to the ‘Crime Manager’. The police weren’t at their best when it came to titles, were they? At least, I hoped they weren’t.

Moffatt at least didn’t seem to think there was any ambiguity. He bent over my hand (I noticed too late some paint under my cuticles) like an elderly courtier. ‘Miss Tyler.’

‘Ms Taylor. Lucy Taylor. I’d rather everyone used my new name until I get used to it,’ I said. ‘Like my new appearance.’

He gave another half-bow. I had a nasty idea that he was the type to judge by appearances. Immaculate himself in a middle-aged version of Taz’s outfit, he might have shaken my hand with something like old-fashioned courtesy, but he swiftly ushered us to the far corner of the hotel bar where my appearance wouldn’t be so obvious. No, I was being paranoid. He wanted no one to overhear us. That was the reason. The main reason, anyway.

He leant towards me, his grey eyes cold under salt and pepper eyebrows. ‘You realise, Ms Ty – Ms Taylor – what a serious allegation you’ve made against one of our officers?’

‘Dead serious, isn’t it?’ I agreed pertly. ‘Almost as dead as Arthur.’

Taz would have preferred a little serious humility. Well, he
was mixing with a very senior officer, and was presumably pretty well the lowest of the low himself. Not that he’d want anyone to think that. He’d insisted to me that he was on an accelerated promotion scheme. ‘I’m sure Ms Taylor realises that a man’s career is at stake here.’

The trouble was, the more serious he wanted me to be, the more mouthy I wanted to be. ‘What’s a career compared with a life?’ I asked.

To my surprise, the older bloke had to look down to hide a smile. Doing so revealed his growing bald spot, almost round like those tonsure things monks used to have. It was freckled with age spots.

‘By the way,’ I pursued, ‘have the robot and his hungry little human friends, Troilus and Cressida, drawn any
conclusions
about that package they took away?’

He smiled, but with the air of someone fending off a tricky question – which was what I realised too late was what he was doing. ‘The main conclusion,’ he said, ‘is that you are a brave young woman.’

Any compliments I’d had in the past tended to be about my anatomy. A couple of college tutors had said nice things about what lurked between my ears, but no one, fellow addicts in rehab. apart, had ever used the word brave. Not knowing how to respond, I just asked, the words coming out in a husky whisper, ‘It was a bomb, then?’

‘It was a bomb all right. More stable than the one that killed your poor postman. But just as powerful.’ He smiled again. Another digression coming, no doubt. ‘I hear you’ve been brave and resourceful throughout.’

For the first time Taz smiled at me with the sort of
warmth I’d been hoping for. But not a single frisson did it give me. I’d still have liked a frisson. It would have told me my years on the game hadn’t destroyed normal sexual desire.