The Business Of Dying

9

After picking up the suitcase at King's Cross, I took it home, counted the contents (it was all there), and stuffed a jiffy bag with Danny's cut. I sealed the bag and placed the rest of the money, bar a couple of hundred spending, in a safe in my bedroom. It wouldn't stay there for long. I have a personal deposit box at a hotel in Bayswater where I stash my ill-gotten gains. One day I'm going to have a hefty lump sum. It doesn't pay interest, but it keeps growing.

I've known Danny for about eight years now. He was the brother of a girl I used to go out with. Her name was Jean Ashcroft and she was the only non-Force girl I've ever had a relationship with since joining up. We were together about a year, and for a while it looked like it was going to get serious. We'd even started looking at places to rent together, which is the closest I've ever been to any sort of real commitment, and I think it's probably fair to say that I loved her, as much as I've loved anybody in the sexual sense. But then Danny fouled things up. Not intentionally, mind, but a foul-up all the same. You see, in those days he was a bit of a rascal. Although he was intelligent and came from a respectable family, he didn't have a job, nor did he want one. He preferred dope dealing. It was easier, and it was more profitable. Somehow he managed to keep his illicit activities hidden from the rest of his family, including his sister, and so it turned out to be a terrible shock for them when one of his pathetically small-time deals went pear-shaped, and he ended up on the wrong end of a savage beating.

It was a typical piece of middle-class naivety, really. He was holding half a pound of speed he was meant to be selling to a contact of his, but the contact, deciding it was easier to steal the goods rather than buy them, set him up. On his way over to the contact's flat, three of the guy's mates ambushed him in the stairwell. However, since Danny hadn't yet paid for the stuff, he was loath to give it up. A very one-sided battle ensued and Danny ended up with a fractured jaw, smashed cheekbone, severe concussion, and God knows how many busted ribs. And he still lost the speed, which, by all accounts, had to be prised from between his broken fingers.

He was in hospital three weeks altogether, which, when you consider it was on the NHS, gives you some idea of the extent of his injuries. It really threw the cat among the pigeons as well. His dad seemed to think that, because it had happened on our patch, I should have known something about his activities and put a stop to them, or at least told him about them. So he turned against me. Danny's mum followed suit, being one of those people who are incapable of their own opinion. The thing was, I could have lived with that, no problem. I'd never liked either of them much anyway. The problem was Danny. Once he got out of hospital he wanted revenge on the man who'd set him up. He was also worried because the guy he'd bought the stuff from now wanted paying as well. In fact, he wanted a lot of favours and the only person he knew who was in a position to grant him any was me. I'd always got on well with Danny, even though he'd never been able to hide his dope-dealing activities from me, and I genuinely liked him.

So when he came to me begging for help, I said I'd do what I could. The guy who'd sold him the speed was a pretty low-level player, so a quick threat of prosecution and the possibility of worse got him out of the picture. It was the revenge thing that represented a problem. Danny wanted me to help him take the guy out, though help wasn't exactly the operative word since it looked like I would be the one doing most of the work. Danny was only five feet six and of proportionate build, so he wasn't what you'd call a useful ally. He wanted to ambush the guy in the same way he'd been ambushed, and return the kicking, but I talked him out of that one. I don't even know why I agreed to get involved at all. I could have just told him to cut his losses and be thankful that he no longer owed the other guy money, but I didn't. Maybe it was a pride thing. Maybe I wanted him to look up to me, I don't know.

Anyway, I devised a compromise. A couple of months earlier I'd uncovered about fifty ecstasy pills in an unrelated search of a suspect's premises. Because we already had the suspect bang to rights on about a dozen other charges, I'd put the pills in my pocket, thinking they might come in useful at a later date, not so much as a commodity – even in those days there was a lot of controversy over the effects of E, and I didn't want anyone dropping dead of anything I sold them – but of course they had another use, and that was helping put away criminals who were proving particularly hard to pin down for their crimes. I'd never planted anything on anyone before, but I'd heard about enough cases to know that it usually worked. If it was carried out properly.

Which was the difficult part. The guy, whose name was Darren Frennick, didn't tend to leave his flat very much, apart from to do the odd deal, and we needed uninterrupted access. We thought about it for weeks, racking our brains for a way to get in there, before we came up with a simple yet foolproof solution. Frennick was an ugly bastard but, like all young men, he had a healthy sex drive. I knew a girl at the time who was a professional escort and who could be trusted with difficult jobs. So what we did was this. Having paid her a substantial amount, funded by Danny, and given her the tablets, we sent her round to the flat. She knocked on the door, and when Frennick answered she told him she was his escort for the evening. He started to claim ignorance, but she was a good-looking girl and he didn't want to look a gifthorse in the mouth, so he invited her in and kicked out the couple of mates he'd had round there at the time.

As we'd guessed, he didn't want to escort her anywhere, preferring instead to get straight down to business. But within seconds of his amorous advances she was claiming she wasn't that sort of girl and an escort meant just that. He asked her what the hell she was on about and continued with his pawing, which was when she showed him some of her kung fu moves. One series of ferocious blows and kicks later and he was out cold on the floor. Quick as a flash, she used a pair of tweezers to remove the packet of pills from her handbag. She brushed them briefly against his fingers, then threw them under his bed. He was coming round by that time so she ran out of there, shouting and screaming, and immediately phoned the police on her mobile phone, saying that this man had tried to give her some pills and rape her. She gave the address and his first name, and the cops, knowing who he was, were round there like a shot. By which time, of course, she'd made herself scarce.

Five minutes later she called the police again, saying that she was sorry, she didn't want to get involved in pressing charges against the guy, but she had seen him put the pills back under his bed. Despatch passed this information on to the officers on the scene, who'd entered the flat through the open door. A dazed and bloodied Darren Frennick was arrested and remanded in custody. He ended up serving nine months for supplying Class A drugs, which Danny didn't feel was revenge enough, but which I assured him was the best he was going to get.

And that should have been that. Except that it wasn't. I don't think Jean ever found out the full story, but somehow she got wind of the fact that I'd used an escort girl to set Frennick up, and worked out that this was a side of me she'd never seen before and one that she didn't particularly like. Things became strained after that, Jean repeatedly asking me if I'd ever slept with prostitutes, and not believing me every time I said no. First, the living-together lark went on hold; then a couple of months later, the relationship followed suit.

By rights, I should never have forgiven Danny for fucking up what will in all probability turn out to be my one chance of getting hitched, but he was so grateful for what I'd done, and felt so guilty for the problems he'd caused, that I found it difficult to hold it against him. Jean and I never really saw each other again after that. She met this chartered surveyor from up north and moved to Leeds with him, but Danny and I continued to keep in touch. Occasionally we did business together. One time I sold him a couple of kilos of dope I'd liberated from its wrongful owner. He tried to move it on but ended up selling it to undercover Drugs Squad officers and getting nicked instead. They leaned on him hard, trying to get him to name his source, but his experience with Darren Frennick had hardened him. He feared prison – who doesn't? – but he kept quiet, even though they told him that co-operation would surely mean a lighter sentence. He ended up doing eighteen months.

Danny was not the luckiest man in the world; nor was he, in criminal terms, one of the best at his profession, but I trusted him absolutely, and there are very few people I can say that about. That's why I took him with me when I went off to kill three men. Because I knew he'd keep his mouth shut.

He rented a basement flat up in Highgate, not too far from the cemetery, and it was twenty to six when I finally rang his doorbell. He opened the door slowly, keeping the chain on the latch, and poked his head round. His face was pale and there were bags under his eyes. He looked like a man with a lot on his mind.

'You're late, Dennis.'

'It's the pressures of police work. It makes punctuality close to impossible. Blame the government. They're the ones letting all the criminals out.'

He released the chain and let me in. I followed him into the kitchen, noticing that his feet were bare and his shirt was hanging out the back of his trousers. A very slovenly state. It looked like he hadn't set foot outside the flat all day.

'D'you want a cup of tea, or something?' he asked, putting the kettle on.

'Yeah, thanks, a tea'd be nice.' I put the bag containing his share on one of the worktops and leaned back against the cooker. 'I've got your money here.'

He nodded, getting a couple of cups down from one of the shelves. 'Cheers.'

'Do you mind if I smoke?'

'You don't usually ask.'

'Well, I can see you're in a sensitive mood, so I thought I'd be polite.'

He turned to me, his face registering a vague disgust. 'This whole thing doesn't faze you at all, does it?'

I lit the cigarette. 'Of course it does. But it's been done now. We'll know to be more careful next time, but regrets don't change a thing.'

'It's not about regrets. This was a huge fuck-up, Dennis, and the cops aren't going to let go of it. Not until they've caught someone. And that means us.'

I took a drag on the cigarette, feeling tired of all the verbal sparring in my life. I'd once had the chance to become an apprentice plumber, which would have paid a lot more money for a lot less hassle. At this moment, I wished I'd gone that route.

'Danny, there's one thing about policework you ought to know. It's all about trails. If you leave a trail when you commit your crime, which most people do, then the police will follow it until they find you.'

'Don't patronize me, Dennis. I don't fucking need it.'

'But if you don't leave a trail then there's nothing to follow. The police just run into a brick wall.'

He sighed, then turned to pour the teas. I watched him as he beat the teabags with his spoon. He was agitated, badly so; I felt I might have overestimated his nerve. I took another long, thoughtful drag on the cigarette. Most cigarettes I smoke I don't enjoy. I think that's the case with the majority of smokers. You put one in your mouth because you know that if you don't, you'll only be thinking about smoking and wondering when you're going to have your next one until you do. But this cigarette was different. It tasted really good.

'You know, looking at you with that makes me wish I'd started smoking.'

'Do you want one?'

'You'd give me one as well, wouldn't you? Christ, Dennis, the things you get me involved in. And you a fucking copper…'

He passed me my cup of tea. It didn't taste very nice. Underbrewed and too much milk.

'I'm sorry about the job, Danny, I really am. I didn't know it was going to turn out to be customs men. If I had, I'd never have touched the thing with a bargepole.'

'So what were you told? Originally.'

'I was told it was three drug dealers. According to my contact, they were trying to muscle in on some friends of his.'

'And who was your contact?'

Danny had never met Raymond nor, as far as I knew, had he ever heard of him. I liked to keep Raymond Keen, and my association with him, as quiet as possible. For obvious reasons. 'You don't want to know,' I told him. 'Seriously. There's no point.'

He thought about that for a couple of seconds, then let it go. 'So how did you know they were going to be there? At the Traveller's Rest?'

'Those blokes? Apparently my contact had set it up so that they were going there for a clear-the-air meeting with his associates. All I had to do was pick them off when they arrived.'

He shook his head and sighed. 'You know, I've been thinking about this shit all day. Ever since it happened. And if they were customs… Think about it. If they were customs, then how the fuck did your associate know they were going to be there?'

'He says they were corrupt. It was a blackmail job, that's all I know. They were crooked; they were obviously involved in something they shouldn't have been.'

'So, if that's the case, how do we know the police can't find a trail?'

'They can't find a trail through us.'

'But what if they can find a trail that leads to your contact? If those blokes were corrupt, then the cops are going to find out, aren't they? And if they were involved with the man who hired you in some way, then they'll be able to follow the trail back to him.'

'They won't. Everything was very carefully planned.'

'But that's not the worst of it,' he continued, ignoring my comment.

I looked at him. 'Really?'

'What if they weren't corrupt, Dennis?'

I was beginning to get tired of this. 'Look, Danny. My contact's a middle-aged businessman who's made a fair bit of money over the years. What I'm trying to tell you is that he's an intelligent man. He's not going to do anything that's going to get him in a load of shit.' I finished the cigarette and tea at the same time and threw the one in the other.

Danny sighed. 'So what I've been thinking all day is this: maybe there's more to this whole thing than meets the eye. This thing could be a lot bigger than we think. If those customs officers weren't corrupt then they were involved in something so sensitive that they had to die for it.' He emphasized the last words like a paperback detective making a speech to his assembled suspects. 'And if that's the case, then not only is your contact heavily involved, he's also got some fucking good contacts of his own to set this sort of thing up.'

'Well, if that's the case, then you shouldn't be worried. Because there's not much chance of us getting caught, is there?'

'Maybe not, but, well… you've got to think…'

'What? What have you got to think?'

He sighed again, choosing his words carefully. It took a long time to get what he wanted to say out. 'That what's the point in keeping us alive? We're loose ends, Dennis. Loose ends involved in something very, very major. And now we've done what we were meant to do, then, you know…' He let the sentence trail off into the distance.

'Jesus, Danny, you've got to get yourself into some gainful employment. You've been watching far too much TV. This isn't a fucking mafia film. If we keep our mouths shut and go about our daily business as if nothing's happened, then we'll be all right. I told you that on the night. Nothing that's happened since changes anything.'

'I hope you're right,' he said, but he didn't sound convinced.

I felt paternal towards him then. 'I am. Don't worry.' I stepped forward and patted him on the shoulder, not in a patronizing way, more of a man-to-man way. 'Just try not to think about it, and remember, in a few days' time it'll all have blown over.'

'Yeah, I know, I know. It's difficult, though. Sitting here all day.'

'Do you want to come to a pub quiz?'

'Eh?'

'A pub quiz. There's one I go to on Tuesday nights when I've got the time. It's teams of four. There's a couple of blokes I normally play with, but we're often short of a fourth.'

Danny looked at me aghast, his usually thin blue eyes bugging out like they were on mini springs. 'Are you serious? Fuck me, Dennis, I don't know how you can live with yourself.'

'What? Going to pub quizzes?'

'You know what I mean.'

'Like I said, we've just got to carry on as normal. And what's more normal than a pub quiz?'

'And to think my sister was going to marry you.'

'Lucky you came along and fucked it all up really, wasn't it?'

He shot me a guilty look then, which I knew he would. It was cruel really, making him pay again for something that happened all that time ago.

I grinned at him to show I was only joking, and clapped him on the shoulder again. Still very much man-to-man. 'Come on, it'll be a laugh. Shit, it's got to be better than sitting here biting your nails and gawking at the TV, waiting for your mugshot to appear.'

'I can't go back inside again, Dennis. Not after last time.'

'You won't have to,' I told him. 'I promise.' We looked at each other for a long moment. 'So, are you coming then?'

'Where is it?'

'Pub called the Chinaman. Just off City Road.'

Danny thought about it for a moment. It looked as though he was trying to work out whether he could afford to do something so frivolous when, by rights, he ought to be putting all his concentration into shitting himself. In the end it seemed he could afford to let his concentration slip for a few hours.

'Fuck it. Why not?' He picked up the jiffy bag. 'At least I won't be short of cash for a drink.'