Riot Act

Nineteen

We didn’t speak again until we’d travelled through Morecambe and were heading further out towards Heysham. Sean had three locations to try, and we drew a total blank on the first two.

“If this one is a wash-out, we’re back to square one,” Sean said as we pulled up outside the last address. He peered out through the windscreen at the grim-looking three-storey flat complex in front of us. “Ah well, let’s get this over with. I have a feeling if we’re up there for too long the wheels will have gone by the time we get back.”

We left the Cherokee parked on the broken-up tarmac, and headed across the rubbish-strewn grass to the outside staircase at one end of the block. We took the stairs to the top floor in silence, stepping over the soggy detritus scattered over each exposed half-landing on the way up.

The flat we were after was in the centre of the row. Sean knocked on the shabby front door while I tried not to listen to the full-scale screaming match going on in the next flat along.

Eventually the door was opened by a girl not yet completely out of her teens, with a baby balanced on her right hip. She had a lank blonde ponytail, and the remains of a hare lip. At the sight of Sean her eyes widened and her mouth formed into a soundless oh.

She tried to slam the door shut on us, but Sean had his shoulder against it before she had half a chance. The flimsy hardboard rebounded off him and he kept right on coming, as unstoppable as a truck, and about as compassionate. The girl retreated backwards down the tiny hallway, clutching at the child.

I stepped across the threshold after them, closing the door firmly behind me.

“You can’t come barging in here like this, Sean,” the girl protested, her voice high with panic.

“Give it up, Leanne,” Sean said now. His voice was tired rather than angry, which somehow made it all the more threatening. “You know why we’re here. Where is she?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Leanne snapped. The baby took its cue from her. It’s little face crumpled around the dummy in its mouth, then it turned a healthy shade of puce, and started screeching.

Leanne jiggled the child by way of comfort. It didn’t seem to help much. She lowered her voice, but it lost none of its venom. “Get out before I call the cops.”

Sean laughed, and it wasn’t a happy sound. “Go ahead,” he invited. He stepped to the phone on the hall table, lifted the receiver and held it out to her. “Your phone was cut off six months ago. You could always try a letter.”

“It’s OK, Leanne, you may as well let him in,” said a dull voice from the sitting room doorway. “Once he sets his mind to something there’s not much can stop my brother.”

Sean turned to face her. “Hello Ursula,” he said quietly.

Leanne tried to smother the baby’s cries against the stained shoulder of her T-shirt, then whisked the infant off into the kitchen. The thin plywood door she slammed behind her did little to muffle its wailing.

“You’d better come through,” Ursula said. “Don’t take it out on Leanne, she’s only trying to help.”

Sean’s sister led us into the cramped living room and sank down into the single armchair by the gas fire. He sat on one end of the sofa nearest to her, and was so close their knees almost touched. I stayed on my feet, trying not to look like I was hovering.

Roger didn’t look like either of them, but Ursula was almost as tall as Sean, with thick dark hair cut short and feathered in to her pale face. The facial structure was the same, high wide cheekbones and a good jawline. Arresting, rather than conventionally pretty.

“Mum’s worried about you,” Sean said gently. “You should get in touch with her, at least. Let her know you’re all right.”

“But I’m not, am I?” Ursula said. She sat up, and for the first time I could see the curve of her belly beneath the baggy jumper she wore. Four, possibly five months gone, if I was any judge.

She looked her brother in the eye and demanded bitterly, “What do you want me to say to her, Sean? ‘Hi, Mum, I’m pregnant to an eighteen-year-old Paki, but don’t worry, there’s not going to be any mixed marriage, because he’s just been shot dead.’ How do I tell her that?”

It was a fine defiant speech, only let down by the way her chin trembled at the end of it.

“She already knows,” Sean said, keeping his tone quiet and measured. “And what she doesn’t know, she’s guessed. Anything you tell her now isn’t going to be as bad as her sitting at home worrying about where you are, and what’s happening to you. Mum doesn’t give a stuff who the father is, not really. You should know that.”

He reached for her hands, took them in both of his, smoothing his thumbs over her bones. “This is her first grandchild, for God’s sake. It could well be the only one she ever gets. Don’t take that away from her.”

Ursula sat motionless for a moment, then jerked her hands out of his grasp, but only to wipe them quickly across her rapidly filling eyes. Sean waited half a beat, then folded her into his arms and held her there, listening to the sobbing.

Our eyes met over the top of his sister’s head. It was strange to watch him offering such tender comfort with his body, while his face was so utterly cold.

I continued to stand and say nothing. There was nothing I could say.

It was a little while before Ursula moved again. She sat up, dug down a sleeve for a handkerchief, blew her nose and got herself together. She threw Sean a shaky smile. Not much of one, but better than nothing.

“So, do I tell Mum you’ll come home and let her fuss over you?” he asked.

“I can’t,” she said, anxious again. “I-I don’t think it’s safe for me to be where anyone can find me at the moment.”

To his credit, Sean didn’t point out that we’d traced her here without vast effort. Instead he said, “Why? Why isn’t it safe at home?”

She shrugged. “Nas was – he was scared. Last week, he told me to get out and find somewhere safe to stay for a while. Told me not to go home until he said it was OK. He didn’t say what was wrong, and now he’s dead.” She looked up at him with overflowing eyes. “And I’m too scared to go back.”

Sean stood up. “I’ve got friends down south,” he said. “We’ll get you right out of here until this is all sorted out. Go pack your stuff.”

She sniffed again, nodded. “OK,” she said, sounding subdued, but eager, all at the same time. She made it as far as the doorway before Sean called her back.

“Just one thing,” he said. He always did know when to apply pressure. He’d been so good at that in the army. “Where was Nas getting his money from?”

Ursula’s expression flashed over from gratitude to mistrust. “I don’t know,” she said carefully.

“Don’t lie to me,” Sean said, his voice even. “Was he back up to his old tricks again?”

“No!” she denied instantly, but couldn’t meet his gaze. “He knew if he got caught again he’d get put away for it, not just juvenile detention centres, the real deal this time, so he kept out of the action. He, well, he was doing a bit of scouting, that’s all. Passing on names, you know?”

“Who to?”

“I don’t know,” she repeated, and this time it had the ring of truth about it. “He didn’t say, and I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to know.” She paused, memories hitting her like a bad dream. “He just wanted the best for the baby,” she said. “He was so pleased about it,” and her face started to dissolve again. She stumbled out of the room and across the hall, wrenching the door shut behind her as she went through it.

We started after her, but Leanne appeared out of the kitchen at that point. She was minus the baby, which was manacled into a high chair behind her, and trying to chip its way to freedom with a plastic spoon. Leanne stood with her hands on her hips, as though daring Sean to follow his sister into her bedroom.

He eyed the closed door for a moment, then turned that intense gaze onto Leanne instead. “Has Roger been here, too?” he demanded.

Leanne tried to stand her ground, but quailed rapidly. “Yes, but we haven’t seen him since—” she glanced at the door and lowered her voice. “Since the night Nas was killed. Roger came to tell her he was dead.”

“When?”

She thought for a moment. “Late, close to midnight, I think. I’d been having trouble with the little one. She’s teething. I was still up with her.” She glanced back at the child, who was now attempting to redecorate the kitchen in something pale green and pureed out of the dish in front of her, and letting out shrieks of delight.

“Roger was in a right state,” Leanne went on. “Covered in dirt, and crying like a little kid. Kept saying he was sorry over and over. Crazy with it, you know? Scary really. I’ve got some leftover diazepam in the cabinet. I tried to give him some to take the edge off it, but he just chucked it back at me and took off.”

“Did you go after him?” Sean asked, tense.

“What, at that time of night, round here?” Leanne’s voice was scornful. “No I did not! Besides, by that time I’d got enough on my hands coping with Ursula. She was frantic.”

The bedroom door opened then, and Ursula came out again, carrying a small canvas bag. We waited while she hugged Leanne, and promised to be in touch, then she allowed Sean to shepherd her out of the front door and along the open walkway to the stairs.

We were down to the second floor before we heard the motorbike arriving. I registered the sound of a big four-stroke out of habit and, glancing over the slatted balcony rail on my way past, I saw the black and yellow Honda CBR 600 come wheeling off the street into the parking area below us.

By the next half-landing, the rider had the side stand down, and the engine cut. The bike was too big for him, and although he was wearing a nice Shoei helmet, he had on just a denim jacket, and no gloves. I often wonder what makes these lads go out and buy machines that will do one-fifty plus, without bothering to get the proper gear to go with it.

As we turned onto the final half-landing, Sean suddenly stopped dead. I pulled up short and followed his gaze. The CBR rider had removed his helmet, and was walking across the grass towards the stairwell, with his face clearly visible.

This time, Sean didn’t make the mistake of yelling his brother’s name. He didn’t bother with the rest of the stairs, either. He just put both hands on the railing, and vaulted straight over it, coat flying. Ursula let out a strangled cry as he dropped out of sight.

Roger had frozen at her cry. It was only when Sean started heading for him at speed that he sprang into action.

He panicked completely then. He threw the helmet he was carrying at Sean, who swiped it to one side without breaking stride, as though it had no substance. The expensive lid smacked onto the rough ground of the parking area, bounced a couple of times, and finally rolled into the gutter, the gelcoat cracked and useless.

Roger managed to get to the Honda first, but fumbled getting the key into the ignition. I almost thought Sean had him, when the boy managed to get his thumb on the starter and the motor fired up. He snatched the Honda off its stand and kicked it clumsily into gear with the throttle already halfway open.

The effect was electric. The rear wheel ripped free of the road surface, spinning wildly, and churning up clouds of grey smoke as the transmission tried its best to bring the bike’s substantial horsepower into play.

Sean leapt clear as the rear end started to crab towards him. Finally, it dug in and bit, launching the Honda forwards with a lethal shimmy. Roger must have gone fifty yards in the blink of an eye, before he backed off the throttle enough to stay upright.

It was only a momentary ebb, then he was viciously back on the power. He laid down a haze of rubber right to the end of the street.

I headed straight for the Cherokee, practically towing Ursula along behind me. By the time I got her there Sean already had the doors unlocked and was in the driver’s seat. I bundled her into the back with a short instruction for her to buckle up, and jumped for the front seat just as Sean twisted the key and slammed the gear lever into reverse.

He set off out of the small car park and into the road with a squeal of protest from the tyres, and another from his sister.

“Sean,” I said, loud over the howl of the engine. “He’s on a CBR, with a head start. We don’t stand a hope in hell of catching him in this.”

“I know.” Sean’s face was grim as he accelerated down the narrow street, swerving the Jeep into a gap between the parked cars to miss an oncoming delivery van by a less than I’d like to think about. “But I’ve got to try.”

In fact, his pursuit lasted longer than I would have expected. Roger made a frenetic series of turns through the back streets. He was riding increasingly wildly, showing an obvious lack of skill and familiarity with the sheer bulk of the Honda.

The boy tried to go far too fast into one junction, locked the rear wheel at the last moment, and couldn’t make the turn in. He over-shot, cannoning off a parked car on the far side of the road.

Ursula let out a short scream, and I held my breath, waiting for the crash. He wasn’t even wearing a helmet now, so it was probably going to be messy, and it was definitely going to hurt, but the accident never happened. Just when I thought he’d lost it altogether, Roger somehow managed to cling on to control.

How in the name of hell, I wondered as Sean sent the Grand Cherokee thundering after his brother, did a fourteen-year old get his hands on a sub-superbike?

The answer didn’t so much form inside my head, as it just arrived, fully grown, as though it had always been there. I twisted in my seat to face Ursula.

“Is that Nasir’s bike he’s on?” I demanded.

She looked at me as though I’d gone out of my mind.

“What are you talking about?” she said, distracted, trying to see over her brother’s shoulder. “Nas doesn’t have a motorbike.”

I turned back, catching Sean’s eye as I did so. “Remember the reg number,” he said, “I’ll get Madeleine to check it.”

But we both knew instinctively whose name would be spat out as the registered keeper when Madeleine finessed the DVLA computer.

I realised briefly that Nasir’s age should have meant that the CBR’s power output had been restricted down to 33bhp for him to legally ride it. It soon became pretty obvious that it wasn’t.

Now, Roger kept on riding as though his life depended on it. At first, I thought he was just fleeing in a blind panic, but it soon became apparent there was method to his seemingly chaotic flips and turns.

“He’s heading for the escape road,” Sean said tightly as he drifted the four-by-four through another corner. “We won’t catch him if he makes it that far.”

The escape road out of Heysham wasn’t dual carriageway, but it was so wide that it might as well have been. Roger would be able to give the CBR its head and that would be it.

“What are you suggesting?” I demanded sharply, “that you run him off the road before he gets there?”

Sean’s hands clenched on the wheel, and he said nothing, but I didn’t like the sound of his thoughts.

In the end, we didn’t get the chance for drastic action. Sean hit congestion on the approach to a roundabout, and Roger nipped away from us up the inside of an artic, coming within a hair’s breadth of putting himself under the rear wheels of the trailer in the process.

Then he was away, throwing the power on in great handfuls, rocketing straight down the white line. As soon as we were clear of the roundabout Sean swung out to overtake the truck, but the driver had clearly decided we were lunatics. He did his best to make his rig even wider and longer. It seemed to take a painfully extended few seconds before Sean managed to carve past him. We could still just about see the Honda up ahead.

Sean planted the accelerator, and the jeep squatted down and ran under us. It had pace that amazed me for such a big, unwieldy vehicle, but with the best will in the world it wasn’t built for sheer speed.

Besides, the escape road was raised above the marshy farm land around it, dreadfully exposed to the wind as I well knew from the bike. As we hit a hundred miles an hour a savage gust whipped under the body, almost seeming to lift the Grand Cherokee right off the surface of the road.

We strayed over the white line as Sean fought with the steering. The inoffensive Peugeot coming the other way locked all its wheels up as the driver desperately attempted to avoid a head-on.

Blenched white, Sean managed to rescue that one, and still he kept his foot hard in.

Finally, it was Ursula, bracing herself into a corner of the back seat, whose nerve broke. “Stop, Sean, please! You’re going to kill us all,” she cried. “Why are you chasing him like this? What’s he running from?”

It was a good question. After only a moment’s hesitation, with a muttered curse, Sean lifted off the throttle. We coasted down to a more legal speed while we watched the Honda’s rear numberplate grow ever smaller in the distance.

He didn’t answer Ursula’s question, but he caught my eye again, and the bleakness was back in his features. I knew then that he’d reached the same terrible conclusion as I had, back there listening to Leanne recounting her story in that dingy hallway.

I couldn’t get around the fact there was no way Roger should have known that Nasir had been killed at midnight on the night the two of them had attacked me at the gym. According to the official line, Nas’s body wasn’t discovered until the following morning.

Which begged the question, how did Roger know his friend was dead? And for what, exactly, was he so sorry?

***

Sean dropped me off at my flat on St George’s Quay, helped a subdued Ursula into the front passenger seat, and left with a tight-lipped smile. I retrieved the Suzuki and headed back to Pauline’s, feeling guilty at having abandoned her so completely on her first day home.

I should have known it wasn’t over yet. When I turned in to the end of Kirby Street the first thing I saw was the dark blue Vauxhall police car sitting right outside Pauline’s house.

It was an unmarked, but it had that official look to it, nevertheless, and the usual giveaway of no dealer stickers in the rear window. There was a single occupant, sitting in the driver’s seat. I saw him duck his head when he heard the Suzuki’s distinctive two-stroke exhaust note, checking me out in the door mirror. I glanced in as I wheeled past, but didn’t recognise the face, and wasn’t inclined to wait for an introduction.

Someone else must have recognised the vehicle for what it was, too. There was an ugly dent in the Vauxhall’s front wing, extending halfway across the bonnet, and the windscreen was cracked. The damage had to be very recent, if the complete lack of rust on the exposed metal was anything to go by. I wondered if they’d collected it on the way in.

I rolled straight down the side of the house to the back without stopping, putting the bike away in the shed and then letting myself in through the kitchen door. I paused, and heard voices from the living room. Pauline’s, and a man’s deeper, slightly clipped tones. With a sinking heart, I pushed open the door.

“Ah, Charlie, there you are, dear,” Pauline said. “We were just waiting for you to get back. Look who’s come to see you.”

MacMillan was sitting on Pauline’s sofa, drinking tea with the lady of the house, and looking very much at home. She’d even brought out one of her best ornamental teapots in honour of the occasion.

Friday, some guard dog, was lying at the policeman’s feet with his head across one polished shoe. I took a certain amount of dark satisfaction to note that at least he’d slobbered over it.

“Hello Superintendent,” I said, instantly cautious, dumping my helmet and gloves on the back of a chair. “What can I do for you?”

MacMillan took one look at me and sighed. He put his cup and saucer down carefully on the side table next to him and sat forwards.

The movement jerked Friday out of sleep. The dog clambered to his feet, ambling off into the kitchen.

Pauline’s bright eyes flicked backwards and forwards between the two of us like we were playing a tactical game of tennis.

After a moment or two she stood up. “I think I’ll just freshen up this pot,” she said. “If you’ll excuse me?”

When she’d followed Friday into the kitchen, and pulled the door to – but not all the way shut, I noticed – behind her, I raised my eyebrow in MacMillan’s direction.

“Well?” I stuffed my hands into the pockets of my jeans. “What do you want?”

The Superintendent shot a cuff, straightened up one of his cufflinks. He regarded me carefully for a moment, and then he dropped it on me.

“I want you to tell me all about Sean Meyer,” he said.

I felt the involuntary stiffening of my spine, like it had just been scaled by a fast-moving frost. “Well, what you’re going to get,” I said, managing to keep my voice level, “is me telling you to go to hell.”

He raised an eyebrow at that. “I wasn’t referring to your past – association with him,” he said, choosing his words with care. “I’m talking about now. The last few weeks.”

I knew I should relax, come off the defensive, but I couldn’t help it. I just glared at him.

After a few moments the Superintendent sighed. “Look, Charlie, I’m not your enemy,” he said, spreading his hands. “When are you going to start trusting me?”

Probably never. I didn’t speak the words out loud, but judging by his face I might as well have done. “Why are you suddenly so interested in Sean?”

“Because the boy we arrested for his part in the assault on one of your neighbours was Meyer’s younger brother, Roger, as I’m sure you’re aware,” he pointed out mildly. “Because it would appear that Nasir Gadatra was a known associate of Roger, and was possibly the one who was leading him into trouble. And because Nasir is now dead.”

“And you think Sean killed him?” I asked. It wasn’t such a leap in the dark, I suppose. I’d jumped to much the same conclusion myself. Still, I had to try my best. “That’s a bit of a long shot, isn’t it? Metaphorically speaking, of course.”

“Not really. There are certain people in the local community who are prepared to talk to us,” he said coyly, “and the information we’ve received strongly suggests Meyer’s involvement in the killing.”

I digested that one in silence. It would seem that whoever had put Jav up to dishing the dirt to me about Sean now had a more ambitious agenda. I wondered briefly if Langford really could be behind it all. If only Madeleine hadn’t put it to Jav like that. If only we could be sure . . .

I glanced up at the Superintendent, swallowed, and said, “Sean can’t have been involved, because the night Nasir was shot, he was with me.”

I saw the look on his face and added quickly, “I was at the gym working late and he called in to see me there, that’s all, but we had a break-in and I had to call the boss out. And before you ask, no we didn’t ring the police – it was just kids breaking windows – but Attila did call a glazier, so they should have some record, if you want to check.”

MacMillan sighed again, and took his time considering before he spoke. “Are you quite sure you want to give the man an alibi, Charlie?” he said gently at last, and there was almost a hint of sadness in his tone. “I’ve seen your army record, and the trial transcripts, as a matter of fact. I would have thought if anyone wanted to see Meyer taken down it would be you.”

How the hell did he know that? I tried not to flinch, riding out what must have been a best guess. Oh he was clever, all right, dropping in supposition and presenting it as fact. “Life is never simple,” I said.

His face shuttered down, as though he’d given me my chance, and I’d blown it. He stood up, just as Pauline made a timely reappearance with her refilled teapot. He said his polite goodbyes, then moved to the front door. I followed him into the hallway, partly just to make sure he went.

MacMillan got as far as turning the handle, then paused on the doorstep. “Once we’ve got hold of Meyer you will, of course, be required to come in and make a sworn statement to confirm the story you’ve just told me,” he said. I thought I caught the barest hint of a smile, but it could have been a trick of the light. “I’ll give you until then to change your mind, at least.”

I watched his back as he walked down the short driveway and climbed into the passenger seat of the Vauxhall, but he didn’t look back.

Pauline was still in the living room when I got back there.

“Can I use your phone?” I asked quickly. Now she was home I felt out of order just helping myself.

She waved me towards the receiver and I snatched it up, dialling Madeleine’s mobile number. When she answered I jumped straight in without wasting time on niceties.

“Madeleine! Where are you? Is Sean back yet?”

“No,” she said, “he’s just brought Ursula home and now he’s gone out again. Do you want to know what I found out from O’Bryan about Nasir and—?”

“Later,” I interrupted. “Can you get hold of Sean?”

“What? Oh – erm, yes,” she said, somewhat blankly. “Charlie, what’s happened?”

“I’ve just had the police round. They’re looking for Sean. They’ve had a tip-off and they think he did it. Tell him to ditch the Cherokee and stay out of sight.”

“I’ll tell him, but you know Sean,” she said, and her voice was rueful.

“Tell him anyway,” I said, and put the phone down.

I turned to find Pauline still standing with the teapot poised. She put it down and fixed me with a determined eye.

“I won’t ask if you’re all right, because I can see you’re not. Sit down, dear, and have a cup of tea,” she said, feinting right before catching me with a killer left. “Then you can tell me all about it.”