Riot Act

Fourteen

I don’t remember getting back to Pauline’s. My legs were on autopilot. It wasn’t until I caught the faintest rustle in the hedge by the front door that I clicked out of it and lurched round, fast.

“Come out of there,” I snapped, “or I’ll drag you out.”

After a few moments the foliage parted to reveal a tearful Aqueel in the hollowed-out section at the bottom that seemed to be one of his favourite hiding places. He faced me with his bottom lip out defiantly, even if it wobbled.

My shoulders slumped. So that was what I was down to – frightening little kids and letting the real bullies get away.

“I’m sorry, Aqueel,” I said wearily. “I didn’t know it was you, and you made me jump.”

Aqueel raised a tremulous smile that didn’t even have enough wattage to light up the rest of his face. His eyes looked bruised, sunken into dark-smudged sockets and red-rimmed from weeping. He must have been crying non-stop ever since MacMillan’s fateful visit. Was it only this morning? It seemed like weeks ago.

“Hello, Charlie,” he greeted me, his voice lifeless and wooden as a bit-part actor in a daytime soap. “And how are you today?”

“I’m fine, Aqueel,” I said carefully. “What about you?”

“Oh, I’m very well, thank you,” he returned formally. He must have seen the sympathy in my face, maybe even pity, because he climbed jerkily to his feet. “Please excuse me, but I must go and look after my mother, and my sister.”

With that he turned, stiff-backed, and stumbled back towards the front door, suddenly the man of the house at eight years old and doing his best to take it on the chin. My heart went out to him.

Inside Pauline’s, Friday registered his usual delight at my reappearance. Eventually I bribed him into calm good behaviour with half a dry biscuit. His lanky tail wagged so frenetically at the prospect of even such a motley present that it made the whole of his hard-packed body wriggle.

God, isn’t life simple when you’re a dog? Cats and street thugs, bad. Trees and biscuits, good. And you know just who your friends are. Sometimes I envied him.

***

I was halfway through making a snack for lunch when the phone rang. I picked it up warily, in case it was Sean, even though I wasn’t sure if he had Pauline’s number.

“Hello, Charlotte,” said my mother’s voice, characterised by its usual brittle brightness.

“Oh, hi,” I said, relief injecting more warmth into my voice than she was used to.

“Erm, well,” she said, sounding pleased. “Erm, yes, I was just getting back to you about your young burglar, darling,” she went on. “I’ve been talking to some of my colleagues about it.”

“Oh yes,” I said, with a pang of guilt. “Actually, I think things have moved on a bit since we last spoke.”

“In what way?” she said, still pleasant, just curious.

“Well, it turns out that Roger is Sean Meyer’s younger brother,” I explained. “You remember Sean, I assume?”

The silence went on for so long I thought the line had gone dead.

“Mother? Are you still there?”

“Yes, yes I’m still here,” she said faintly. There was a pause, then she went on more strongly, in a rush, “Oh Charlotte, you’re not thinking of getting involved with him again are you?” Her tone was starting to rise. “You can’t, darling. You mustn’t!”

She didn’t quite say, “I forbid it!”, but it was there, all the same.

“I have no intention of getting involved with Sean again,” I said, surprised by her vehemence. “I’ve hardly spoken to him, and when I have, it’s been about his brother.” Well, that was mostly the truth, at any rate.

“He’s dangerous,” my mother burst out. “Look what he did to you last time!”

“That was hardly down to Sean,” I said, shocked to find myself defending him. “He wasn’t even there when it happened. They posted him.”

And kept posting him, Madeleine had said. It suddenly dawned on me that maybe Sean hadn’t abandoned me after all. Perhaps he hadn’t refused to come back and speak up for me at the court martial. Perhaps he hadn’t even known that I was on trial . . .

I was so busy getting my head round the idea that I hardly noticed my mother making hasty excuses to get off the line. After she’d gone, I spent a little while staring rather stupidly at the telephone, and wondering how on earth I was going to find out the truth about the role Sean had really played in my getting chucked out of the army.

***

Later that evening, by way of contrast, I rode the Suzuki north from Lancaster and out past Caton village to Jacob and Clare’s for supper as I’d promised. Not that it took much arm-twisting. Jacob is a superb cook and it seemed to have been a long time since I’d enjoyed a relaxed evening with my friends.

Once we’d finished eating we moved through from the farmhouse-style kitchen to their comfortable living room with its blazing log fire. It was then that I gently reminded Clare about her inquiries into Mr Ali and Langford.

She sighed, but more because she’d just curled up on the sofa with their terrier, Beezer on her lap than anything else. She turfed the dog onto the floor and obligingly went to retrieve what she’d managed to dig out.

Mr Ali, it transpired, wasn’t just a property developer and builder, he was also one of the biggest private landlords in the area. And the majority of the rental housing he owned was slap bang in the middle of Lavender Gardens, with some of it even spreading across into Copthorne.

“I’d like to bet that the residents there don’t know who owns the roof over their heads,” I said.

“Mm, but it’s unlikely they’ll ever find out,” Clare agreed. “He looks after them all through a separate letting agency, and that in turn is owned by another subsidiary company. It’s quite a paper trail. It would be quite difficult to find anything out if you were just a tenant.”

“It might explain the connection between Ali and this vigilante bloke you were talking about, though,” Jacob said as he came limping in with a tray of cups and a full pot of coffee.

“What, you mean he’s got a vested interest in wanting to clean up the estate?”

“It makes sense, I suppose,” I said, shaking the pieces together in my head to see if they fitted any better now.

Jacob nodded as he pressed the plunger in the lid of the cafetiére down slowly.

“It does,” Clare put in, “until you look at the guy he’s chosen to do his dirty work for him. Harvey Langford isn’t anybody’s idea of an altruist.”

“Harvey?” I asked with a chuckle. If I’d had to guess, we would have been there for some time.

Clare nodded seriously. “He’s got form as long as your arm, mainly for putting the boot in. He’s particularly noted for racially-motivated stuff.” She leafed through various clippings. “Going back a few years he used to belong to a local neo-nazi organisation, until they apparently beat up a young Asian lad, and then set him on fire.” She grimaced her distaste. “Then the police clamped down on them pretty hard and the thing broke up. According to my crime desk pal, they arrested a few people, including Langford, but nobody was talking, and they couldn’t prove it.”

“Well, that explains the secrecy I suppose,” Jacob said. “If I was Ali, and Langford was the only bloke I could find to do the job for me, I wouldn’t want to shout about our association, either.”

“You could be right,” I said. I picked up one or two of the pages Clare had laid out on the low table in front of the sofa. “I don’t suppose there’s anything in there about him being involved with firearms, is there?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Clare said. She sat back and eyed me warily as she sipped her coffee. “Why, Charlie, what aren’t you telling us about all this?”

I sighed, and told them all about Roger and Nasir’s gun-toting visit to the gym, and then MacMillan’s arrival with the news of Nasir’s murder. Well, nearly all. Somehow I didn’t feel ready to talk to anyone about Sean, so I left him out of the tale.

They listened in silence, then Clare said determinedly, “I’ll find out what I can on Monday. I’ll come round and let you know after work, shall I?”

I thought of the restless atmosphere on the estate and shook my head. “No,” I said quickly. “I’ll give you a call. Things are very uneasy on Lavender Gardens at the moment, especially if you’re not a resident. I think it would be best if you stayed well out of the way.”

Clare nodded and bent to clear away the papers. Over her head, Jacob had sent me a brief, grateful glance. I smiled back, trying to reassure him that whatever other demands I might place on our friendship, putting Clare anywhere near any possible risk was not going to be one of them.

***

Sunday morning, seeing as I wasn’t in at the gym, I made a desultory stab at the housework, throwing Friday out into the back garden while I ran the vacuum over his discarded fur. He was losing it at such a rate I was amazed the dog wasn’t completely bald.

The noise of the hoover meant I almost missed the phone ringing. I made a grab for it at the last minute, out of breath. “Yes? Hello?”

I almost expected it to be Clare, even though reason told me she probably wouldn’t be able to get back to me until she was back in at work the following day.

“Charlie?” I recognised the voice immediately, but even so, he added, “It’s Sean.”

My first reaction was to drop the phone back on its cradle like it had suddenly gone live. I shook myself, tried to relax.

“Hello, Sean.” I tried for a light tone, but couldn’t bring it off. “What do you want?”

I heard a sigh at the other end of the line.

“I’m sorry I missed you when you came round yesterday,” he said, voice careful. “I was getting a new front screen put in the jeep.”

I remembered the way the glass had crazed in response to Nasir’s wild shot. “That’s OK,” I said, “I had an interesting chat with Madeleine.”

“Yeah, she said.” Another pause. “Look, we need to meet,” he hurried on. “Roger’s vanished, and I want to get to the bottom of what the hell the other night was all about. Can I come round and see you?”

“I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

He let his breath out quickly and I could hear the frustration in his voice. “Come on, Charlie. So we’ve got history together. Bad history. Well, I’m sorry about that, but nothing I can say right now is going to make it all un-happen. Deal with it and let’s move on.”

I waited half a beat to check he’d finished. “That wasn’t what I meant,” I said mildly. “Garton-Jones and his mob are back on the estate. They seemed particularly anxious to get their hands on you last time. I don’t think absence will have made their hearts grow any fonder, do you?”

“Oh. No, you’re right,” he said in a wry tone. “To be honest, I want to stay put in case Roger shows up, and I don’t want to cause trouble for you, either. Can you get over here again?”

I thought of Jav and his gang. “It’s starting to get a bit dicey going anywhere on foot,” I said. Copthorne, though, was no better. “And I’m a bit reluctant to bring the bike.”

“You’ll be fine.” Sean gave a short, mirthless laugh. “It seems my reputation with the local bad lads somewhat exceeds me.” His voice was full of self-derision. “Nobody will dare lay a finger on you if you’re coming here.”

“OK,” I said slowly, temporarily unable to think of another excuse. “Oh—” I opened my mouth to ask him about Nasir, then shut it again.

“What?”

“Nothing,” I said shortly. “I’ll see you as soon as I can,” and I put the phone down before he had chance to insist on an answer.

If Sean didn’t know about Nasir’s murder, his reaction would be telling. And if he was the one responsible, it might be even more so. Either way, when I told him the news, I wanted to be in a position where I could see his face.

***

The Suzuki was barely warm by the time I pulled up behind the dark blue Grand Cherokee outside Mrs Meyer’s house.

Despite Sean’s reassuring words, I was still aware of being watched on my way into the estate. Eyes followed me all the way up the path, and as I knocked on the door.

This time, it was answered quickly. Sean was dressed in jeans and a jumper, both black. Still, it made a change from either camouflage or khaki from head to toe.

He looked uncharacteristically uneasy as he stood back and waved me into the hall. It seemed much smaller than it had done the last time I was there.

“Go through,” he instructed, and I walked into the cramped living room ahead of him. Madeleine was sitting on the arm of one of the big squashy chairs, and she gave me a tentative smile of greeting. Mrs Meyer was bending down with a teapot to pour a cup for someone sitting on the sofa. It wasn’t until she straightened up and moved aside that I saw who it was.

The sight of Eric O’Bryan gave me a jolt I hadn’t been expecting, but I wasn’t the only one who was surprised.

His hands gave an abrupt nervous twitch. The cup of tea chattered on its saucer, slopping half the contents over the rim. Most of it landed on his shoes, but the rest hit the carpet. He began stuttering apologies immediately, and Madeleine jumped up to fetch a cloth.

“Oh, don’t worry yourself,” Mrs Meyer said placidly. “There’s been far worse than a drop of tea spilt on that carpet, I can tell you. I may not care for the pattern overmuch, but it does hide the stains, you have to give it that.” She brightened as she turned to bustle out and caught sight of me. “Oh, hello again, dear. Would you like a nice cup of tea?”

I smiled and said yes please. Sean flashed me a momentary glance from under his eyebrows that could almost have been a warning.

I returned the gaze flatly. Gone were the days when he could pull rank on me. It didn’t work that way any more. If I thought the Community Juvenile Officer could give me answers, I wasn’t going to hold my tongue.

“Charlie,” O’Bryan said shakily when he’d recovered something of his composure. “You’re the last person I was expecting to meet here.”

I gave him a tight little smile. “Yeah, you too. And on a Sunday.”

“Ah well, needs must,” O’Bryan said now. He sat perched on the edge of the sofa, knees primly together. His eyes flicked apprehensively over the group of us. “You didn’t mention before that you knew Roger’s family,” he went on. There was a hint of reproach in his quiet voice, as though I’d played a cruel joke on him.

“I didn’t realise that I did,” I said. “Sean and I used to know each other. I’d never met his family.” I tried hard just to make it a flat statement, but I must have added something.

O’Bryan glanced at me, trying to read the undercurrents. “Oh, I see,” he said, when clearly he did not. “Well, I assume at least this means you’re not still going to oppose Roger’s caution, then?”

Sean reacted to that one, rounding on me, glowering. “You were going to?”

“Of course.” I stood my ground. “Roger did his best to help kill an old man, who happens to be one of my neighbours. What did you expect me to do?”

O’Bryan cleared his throat. “Well, ah, if you’ve changed your mind that’s good news, anyway,” he said cautiously, interrupting our mutual glowering match.

Sweat had broken out on his forehead. I could see a bead of it making an unsteady bobsleigh run down his temple. I realised that his discomfort came not from a dislike of such emotionally charged scenes, but from fear. He was afraid of Sean.

I suppose I couldn’t really blame him for that.

“So then, Mr O’Bryan, if he’s going to get another caution, that’s the end of the matter, isn’t it?” Mrs Meyer’s voice was puzzled, but hopeful.

The man shook his head. “Unfortunately, as I was saying before Charlie arrived, Roger should have checked in with the police this morning, and he didn’t, which is going to get him into very hot water unless I can straighten things out pretty quickly. I really need to get my hands on him.”

“You’re not the only one,” I muttered.

Sean shot me a dark look, which I ignored.

“Why wouldn’t he have checked in?” It was Madeleine who spoke. Partly, I reckoned, to stop open hostilities breaking out, and partly because she was fishing. I saw the quick glance she exchanged with Sean, and realised that she knew all about the shooting at the gym on Friday night. I had to admire her tactics, if nothing else.

“He’s probably scared stiff, and in hiding, don’t you think, Mr O’Bryan?” I put in.

O’Bryan looked nervous at being put on the spot again. “Erm, why’s that? Hiding from what?”

“Hiding from whatever, or whoever, shot his friend, Nasir Gadatra dead.” I watched Sean’s face while I dropped that particular little bombshell. Not that it did me a lot of good. His expression hardened into a mask. If I’d been expecting a leap of guilt, I was sadly disappointed.

The news was met in a silence that stretched like bubble gum.

“Look,” O’Bryan said quickly after a few moments, “all this doesn’t change the fact that we need to find the boy. If anything, it just makes it more important that we do. I want to keep him out of prison as much as you do, but it’s imperative that we find him. You must tell him that by absconding like this he’s just making things ten times worse for himself.”

He got to his feet and Mrs Meyer, sensing the interview was over, thanked him gravely for coming to see them.

He gave her a weak smile as he shook her hand. “That’s my job.” He pushed his glasses up onto his forehead while he pinched the tension out of his nose like I’d seen him do the first time I’d met him.

We all moved outside onto the pavement to see him off, standing in a semicircle facing him. O’Bryan unlocked the door of a pale green Cavalier which was parked behind the Grand Cherokee. I hadn’t noticed it when I tucked the Suzuki between the two.

“No MG today?” I asked him.

He smiled, almost relaxing. “No, it turned out it was just the cable that had gone on this, so I didn’t need a complete new clutch. The MG’s more fun though.”

Suddenly, his face stiffened as though his heart had just given out. His eyes focused over my shoulder, beyond where Madeleine, Sean, and I were standing. His mouth dropped open in shock.

We all turned on a reflex. All saw roughly at the same time the figure who’d just stepped round the back of the Cherokee and come to a sudden halt at the sight in front of him.

“Roger!” Sean yelled. “What the hell d’you think you’re doing?”

Roger took one look at the assembled group of us. Recognition flashed across his face, and I saw a naked fear there. Then he turned tail and ran.

“Roger,” O’Bryan shouted. “Give it up, boy. You can’t hide forever!” There was genuine anguish in his tone.

Sean was already sprinting across the road after his brother, a head-down flat run. Roger panicked as he heard the steps behind him. He broke stride to stoop and grab a half-brick from the far gutter, slinging it at the figure chasing him. It was debatable if he even realised who it was.

Sean dodged out of the missile’s way. Any of the rest of us would have been flattened.

“Don’t just stand there,” he shouted back over his shoulder. “Get after him.”

His words galvanised the rest of us into action. O’Bryan jumped into his car, fired it up and wheelspun away towards the end of the road, trying to head Roger off. Instead, the boy darted into one of the narrow ginnels that characterised both the estates. Sean went after him.

Madeleine and I broke into a run at about the same time, heading in a different direction to O’Bryan, so we’d got the exits covered whichever way Roger swerved.

“Why the hell’s he running?” Madeleine gasped as we sprinted along the cracked pavement.

I didn’t reply, saving my breath, but I remembered Roger’s desperation that Nasir should shoot me. His outraged anguish when the other boy had failed to do so. His sudden flight now raised more questions than it answered.

Were we chasing someone who might be a frightened witness.

Or a brutal murderer?