The Bones of the Dead, page 17
part #3 of DCI Will Blake Series
“That’s the power of curses. If you know you’ve been cursed, then you’re looking out for it, aren’t you? Anything that goes wrong will be the fault of the curse, won’t it?”
“You think I’m imagining all this?”
“No. It’s just that all this bad stuff would’ve come along whether you’d been cursed or not. A bit like when they give chalk tablets to people who think they’re poorly and they get better.”
“Like that guy in Better Call Saul who thought electricity was making him ill?” Kath said.
“Well now, you’ve lost me a little, I’ll admit, but yeah, that sort of thing. If you’re thinking electricity is doing you in, then maybe it will.”
“So, if I just think it’s not real, the curse can’t harm me,” Kath said, wearily. “That’s harder than it sounds.”
“You have to do something about it,” the old man said. “Settle your thoughts by doing something. A gesture. An act of some kind.”
“Right,” Kath said. “Thanks. I feel better already. I know just what to do.” She straightened up and turned to go back into the hospital.
“Just one thing,” the old man called after her. “And it’s a bit of a delicate matter but I feel I need to say something.”
“Go on.”
“It’s your skirt,” the old man said. “It’s tucked into your knickers.”
Chapter 33
The Aldi in Birkenhead was missing its captain and the stand-in, a Mrs Capstick, wasn’t happy with Chinn and Kinnear taking another member of the crew off deck. She looked harassed enough before they had a word with her, as she marched up and down the aisles, hissing orders at shelf-stackers and nudging staff when they coagulated into huddles to share gossip about what had happened to Nathan Roscoe, their boss.
“Gary is one of our hardest workers,” Mrs Capstick said, pushing her hair behind her ear. She was a big woman and her matching skirt and jacket wasn’t the most comfortable attire for charging around the shop and mucking in where necessary. “Do you have to talk to him now?”
“I’m afraid time is pressing, Mrs Capstick,” Vikki said. “Can we use your office?”
Mrs Capstick pursed her lips so hard that it smudged her lipstick. “Very well but please be quick.”
Gary was about as pleased to see them as Mrs Capstick had been as they ushered him into the cluttered office at the back of the shop. “What do you want now?”
“Just tell us where Trevor Long is, please, Gary.”
Stott looked confused. “What do you mean? I thought you said he’d been murdered.”
“We’ve very good reason to believe that Trevor Long is alive and kicking. So that means he’s been wasting police time and so have you. On top of that, it looks like he may be involved in a serious assault on Nathan Roscoe…”
“Bastard!” Stott snapped, jumping up.
“Gary,” Vikki said. “Please sit down. I don’t know what you’re upset about, but I think it’s about time you started telling the truth.”
Gary slumped back into his seat. “That’s the point, isn’t it? I have been telling the truth. And I’m the one sitting here being grilled by the police while Trevor’s sitting somewhere laughing at me.”
“Come on Gary, tell us everything,” Kinnear said. “What’s been going on?”
“He set me up. He knew I’d be worried. Bastard!”
“What do you mean?”
Gary seemed to shrink and deflate. “He talked about it, but I never thought he’d actually try and do it.”
“Please Gary,” Vikki said. “Help us out here. We’re struggling to keep up.”
“Trevor borrowed a load of money off Emilio Ogden, didn’t he? And he was struggling to pay it back. Ogden was leaning on him a bit but then this Thor character turns up and ties Trevor to a garage door in broad daylight. Starts throwing axes at him. They all missed, like, but Thor said next time they wouldn’t. Can you believe it?”
Kinnear nodded. “Sadly, I can, Gary. Keep going.”
“Well Trevor was really scared but something changed in him that day. He became obsessed with Thor and said he had a plan to ‘bring him down.’”
“And what was that plan?” Kinnear said.
“He never told me all the details. I didn’t think he’d actually do it, though. We posted a couple of videos suggesting that they were up to no good. I know he’d annoyed them by infiltrating one of their parties, but Thor chucked him out.”
“So you’re telling me that Trevor Long faked his death so that Thor Magnussen would get the blame and then what?”
Gary shrugged. “Then Trevor wouldn’t have to pay his debt back, I suppose. Bastard. He didn’t even tell me what he was going to do. I thought we were mates.”
“But what was he going to do after that? I mean, suppose his plan worked and we believed that Thor Magnussen was somehow involved in his death. What then? He couldn’t show his face round here. He’d be in even more trouble with Thor and still owe him the money.”
Gary looked crestfallen as he realised the flaw in the whole scheme. “He must have been planning to start a new life somewhere. He was going to leave me owing all the rent on the flat, too. I’d have to move out. Go back to my mum’s. Bastard! Selfish, thoughtless bastard!”
“What about this girlfriend, Gary? Zoe Plumb? What was she like?”
“She was a right cow,” Gary muttered. “Treated him like shit. Always bossing him around and telling him what to do. Then she tried to break me and Trevor up…”
Kinnear gave Gary a quizzical look. “Tried to break you up? How do you mean?”
“You know, suggesting they went out on the nights me and Trevor did stuff. Like the investigating and recording videos. It was her that encouraged him to do the stupid medium act.”
“Sounds like standard girlfriend/boyfriend stuff to me, Gary,” Vikki said. “You’d be playing gooseberry. Third wheel. Often the best friend feels excluded.”
“Nah. She was cruel. She’d put conditions on Trevor seeing her. Like he couldn’t see her on a Thursday if he’d posted a video the night before. Or if he was going to go out investigating with me the next night. She made stuff up on the spot. It used to drive him up the wall. Best thing that happened was when she dumped him.”
“So, what about Nathan Roscoe? How d’you think he ended up unconscious over at Trevor’s caravan?”
Gary looked shocked. “Really? I mean, I’d heard something but I didn’t realise that…”
“What had you heard, Gary?” Vikki said.
“Just gossip. You’d have to ask Alyssa if it’s true…”
*****
When he was at primary school, Alex Manikas had encountered a bully. He was a tall lad with gappy teeth, a big, square head and freckles. He would stare across the class at Alex pointing at him and shaking his fist. At playtime, Alex would hide in the girls’ toilets and even skip lunch to avoid this boy. In the end Alex’s father had noticed how unhappy he was and forced the truth out of the boy.
“You have to make a choice, Alex,” his father had said. “Are you going to let this boy dictate your life or are you going to take control?”
“I don’t know papa,” Alex had said, looking up at his father’s dark, stern face.
“If you don’t know your own mind, then someone else will make it up for you. I can complain to the school and they will do what they can, but sooner or later you’re going to have to stand up to this boy yourself.”
The next day, Alex had stood in the middle of the playground, in plain sight and the bully came. There wasn’t any great confrontation or reckoning. The boy hit Alex in the back and Alex punched him hard in the nose. He remembered the look of astonishment on the boy’s face; he hadn’t expected resistance and didn’t like it. Alex also remembered the blood. The boy’s nose had exploded in a fountain of red. At first, Alex thought he’d killed the boy. They both got hauled into the headteacher’s office and sent home. But that was the end of it.
Now lying at the bottom of the pit, Alex longed to see his father; to hear his voice and feel his arms around him. Most of all, he longed for some words of advice. He didn’t have them, so he decided to use the advice he just recalled. Rising to his feet, he looked up at the top of the pit. He wasn’t going to just sit here. Just because Ogden had done a runner, didn’t mean he was defeated. He was going to try and get out before, when Ogden landed on him, so he could get out now.
It was just as he placed his hands on the wall of the pit that a rope ladder snaked down beside him. Alex looked up to see three heads peering down at him. He climbed up, squinting and slowly letting his eyes become accustomed to the light.
Thor stood, grinning and twitching, stoned and excited. His mates flanked him in their beards and leathers. Bjorn scowled at Alex. The smell of body odour and booze was overpowering, even though Alex had spent the best part of a night and a day underground. In the middle of this unsavoury crowd stood a man dressed in what could only be described as golf club casuals; a pink polo shirt, brown leather belt holding up tan chinos and a pair of brown loafers. His long, white hair was slicked back and held back by a pair of expensive sunglasses. He had a disappointed look on his tanned face and his square jaw was set. Despite long hours of sensory deprivation, Alex was sharp enough to realise that this was Harry Thorpe, Magnussen’s father. And he wasn’t happy.
“Are you fuckin’ mental, Fabian?” He said to his son.
Thor scowled at the use of his old name. “He was poking his nose in where it didn’t belong. I thought I’d teach him a lesson, Dad.”
Harry Thorpe winced and turned on his son. “You don’t teach coppers a lesson, you dozy prick,” he said. “You nod, smile and lie to them. Then you go on your sweet way. This is a fuckin’ mess.”
“What shall we do, boss?” Bjorn said, to Harry, not to Thor.
Harry held up a hand. “Before we do anything, can we get this man some clothes. I can’t conduct any kind of business when a fella’s John Thomas is swinging free.”
Bjorn disappeared for a second and returned with a bundle of crumpled, muddy clothes. Alex snatched them off him and started pulling his trousers on.
“What’s your name, son?” he said to Alex.
“Detective Constable Alex Manikas, Merseyside Police, Mr Thorpe. And I’m not happy,” Alex said, dragging his fleece on over his head.
Harry Thorpe nodded. “You a good copper, Alex?”
Manikas frowned. He’d never been asked such a blunt question and it seemed even stranger under the circumstances. “Yes. I guess I am.”
“Conscientious?”
“Yeah.”
“You honest?”
“I try to be.”
“So, what if I said there was an envelope stuffed full of fifties in the glove compartment of my car? And what if I said that envelope could be considered a down-payment of compensation for your inconvenience? Do you think you might take it?”
Alex hesitated. He didn’t want to take the bribe, but it struck him that Thorpe was offering him a way out. Alex wondered what the alternative was. “Well, I don’t know. Your son hasn’t exactly been friendly. And bribing an officer is a serious crime…”
“I know what a serious crime is, son, believe me. You know, there was a time when you knew where you stood with coppers. They had a going rate and it was all cushy. It’s not like that these days. You can’t rely on the police anymore.”
Alex scowled at Thorpe. “Look. If you just let me go then I won’t say a word. This whole episode doesn’t show me in a good light either, I’m not about to go blabbing to my mates back at the station am I? How about we call it quits.”
Harry Thorpe tutted. “Really?” he said. “Call it quits?”
Alex nodded.
Harry Thorpe looked at Thor. “Like I said son, you smile, nod and lie. If that doesn’t work, you use your money. If that doesn’t work, you bury them.” Turning suddenly, Thorpe jabbed Alex in the chest. Alex stumbled backwards and fell back into the pit. For a second, he was weightless and then the hard earth stole his breath. He lay gasping staring up at the sky above.
Thorpe’s voice drifted down, faint and distant. “Find that other reject and bring him back here. As soon as it’s dark, get a bulldozer over here and fill that hole in. And don’t ever let me down like that again.”
Manikas blinked up at the clouds. Time was running out.
Chapter 34
Darkness had fallen hours ago, but Will Blake needed it to be late if his plan was to work. Even now, standing at Ian Youde’s front door, he wondered just what the hell he was doing. He should be trying to get in touch with Laura, showing his support for her. But if there was even a slight possibility that Serafina was trapped in that shed, he couldn’t ignore it. Leaving Gwen back at her house, Blake had gone home to collect what he needed and formulate some kind of plan. He rapped on the door and waited.
It took Youde a while to come to the door and Blake was about to knock again but the door swung open and Youde stood there, his piggy eyes glittering with anger. “Do you know what time it is? I was about to turn in. What do you think you’re playing at?”
“Sorry Mr Youde but I think I saw someone trying to break into your shed as I was passing,” Blake said. “I think I scared them off, but do you mind if I check?”
Youde was silent for a moment. “Come on, let’s have a look.” He pulled a baseball bat that had been leaning against the side of the door.
“I don’t think there’ll be any need for that,” Blake said.
“My property,” Youde said. “I’ve a right to protect it.”
Blake shook his head but, as he was certain they wouldn’t encounter anyone, let Youde lead him to the shed. He pulled a torch from his pocket and shone it into the window. Spades and garden forks hung in size order along the wall. Row upon row of wooden drawers held twine, plant labels or seeds. Another small box held screws in individual boxes. Nothing was out of place. Plant pots stood in regimented rows and in one corner was a pile of magazines, a radio and a chair. Blake felt a stab of guilt. Mr Youde wasn’t any kind of catnapper. He was just an old man who liked to keep his garden neat. “Looks undisturbed,” Blake said. “I’ll notify HQ and alert uniform that there’s be a sighting. Do you want to check the lock?”
Youde rattled the lock. “It’s fine,” he said, looking up at Blake. “You want a cup of tea? Or a beer?”
“Yeah,” Blake said, taken by surprise. “A beer would be great. Thanks.”
He followed the old man through the garden, cursing himself. He’d been too easily convinced that Youde had something to do with the cats’ disappearance. Laura and Gwen had both expressed a dislike for him and he’d let that colour his judgement. Maybe he was only doing this as some kind of weird displacement activity instead of actually going to talk to Laura about the whole Kyle Quinlan business.
Youde led Blake into the house and Blake blinked in amazement. It was a large house like all the others in Rock Park, with tall ceilings and big rooms. It smelt of carbolic and a mechanical, oily undertone. The walls were painted white but almost every inch was covered with a picture of an aircraft or a tank from the Second World War. Blake followed Youde through the hall and into a large kitchen with a scrubbed pine table in the centre. Even here, the shelves were laden with vintage mess kits, tin mugs and water bottles. Everything was clean. Blake wondered how much time Youde spent dusting.
“I’m a collector,” Youde said. “World War Two memorabilia. I’ve got all sorts. Uniforms, gas masks, the lot.” He opened a fridge that looked as though it had just been transported from the fifties and pulled out two bottles of brown ale. He popped the lids and handed one to Blake. Brown ale, it seemed was all that was on offer. Fortunately, Blake wasn’t fussy.
“No firearms, I trust,” Blake said, raising an eyebrow.
“Nah,” Youde said. He grinned at Blake. “So, you satisfied I haven’t got your cat stuffed in a bag in the shed, then?”
Blake felt himself blushing. “Sorry?” He said.
“All that nonsense about a burglar and calling HQ. Do you think I was born yesterday?”
“I assure you, Mr Youde, I did see someone prowling about the garden and I will notify our patrol cars and ask them to drive by here over the next few nights.”
Youde sniffed. “Ah well, won’t do any harm to have a few coppers rolling around here, will it. It’ll make a change. So you and that Gwen, what’s the deal?”
Again Blake felt himself reddening. “Deal? There’s no ‘deal.’ Her cat’s gone missing and so has mine.”
“It’s funny that, isn’t it? You looking for a cat with your name.”
“I don’t follow…”
“William Blake. The poet. He was always writing about cats, wasn’t he? Tyger, tyger burning bright…”
Blake tried not to show his disappointment. Ever since he could remember, people had recited that fragment of poetry to him. He couldn’t help himself. “Ah, right, yes. Carry on.”
Youde looked a little flustered. “Erm, in the forests of the night? What… hand or… eye…” He ground to a halt. “Don’t know any more.”
“You did better than most people who bring it up,” Blake said, raising his bottle in salute.
“Cats, Mr Blake,” Youde said, “they come and go. I’ll say it again, you wanna watch her. She’s batty. Her garden is full of poison. I’m not fooled by all those hippy wind chimes she puts up. I’ve lived here for forty years. I remember her moving in. Ooh the comings and goings, you wouldn’t believe it. All kinds of ne’er do wells hanging around there and not just druggy types. Really scary folks. I was frightened, sometimes and it takes a lot to scare me.”
“Well,” Blake said, finishing off the drink. “Thanks for the beer. I’d better get off.”
“Any time, Mr Blake,” Youde said. “Any time. You watch her.”
*****
It had taken Alex Manikas some time to get over the shock of being pushed back into the hole. He genuinely thought he’d been on his way off the field and heading back home. Maybe he should have taken the money. He could have used it as evidence against Thorpe. But then there was all the other details surrounding the bribery; Manikas being present at a party where drugs were openly being taken, Blake warning Manikas not to go. Manikas could see that he looked guilty of being stupid at the very least. If he had taken the cash, then Harry Thorpe could have said it was a gift, that Manikas was invited to the party and came along as a friend of Thor Magnussen. Worse, Thorpe could claim it had been stolen. There’d be enough doubt to make Manikas look shady and unreliable.
