Like False Money Page 8

  Annie felt herself bristle a little. It wasn’t that unlikely. ‘I’m a better PI than I am a carer. I could have told him that from the start if he’d been honest with me.’

  ‘I can vouch for that. You’re a piss-poor housekeeper. You leave the kitchen like a bomb’s hit it. Still I shall laugh like a drain if Vince offers you a job at the end of this. And if he does, you be sure you hold out for a proper basic and good bonuses.’

  For a moment, Annie was lost in a world where Vince Sleeman offered her a proper job. Real work, a living wage.

  ‘I wish I’d taken notes when I’d watched Terry Martin’s film,’ she said. ‘I could do with going back over the early bits now.’

  ‘You can. I made a copy.’

  ‘I didn’t realize,’ Annie said, surprised. ‘I didn’t think you’d got round to it. Should we have told them?’

  ‘They didn’t ask.’ Pat shrugged. ‘Anyway, leave that for tomorrow. Mrs Earle’s the priority right now. Don’t ever leave the car there at nights. We’ve an arrangement with a cab firm. The number’s on the side there. Put it in your phone. Use them if you need to do night work where you can’t take the car. They know the score. They’ll turn out quickly if you need them to, but don’t take advantage of that unless you have to. We pay for the privilege.’

  Annie got up and found the number. While she put it into her phone, Pat outlined the detail of the case. There was little more to add to what Annie already knew.

  ‘The trouble doesn’t kick off till two or three in the morning. That’s the early hours of Wednesday and Saturday. According to her those are the only times. It’s some kids that set up shop on her landing. It’s not a massive operation or anything, but if you’ve seen the state of a place after a couple of hours of people shooting up, you can see why she wants them cleared.’

  ‘And the police won’t do anything even though it’s so regular?’

  ‘Not so much won’t as can’t. There’s pockets like this all over the show. Mind you, these kids are so blasé it’s not real. They’re daft to be so bloody regular you can set a clock by them, but they’re obviously sure enough of prior warning of any raids that they’re not bothered. I reckon it’s just a gang of kids who can get their hands on some gear on a regular basis. They want a bit of extra cash. There’s a reason they do those two nights. And I’d take bets they answer to someone who knows nothing about it. It might be as simple a matter as finding out who their parents are.’

  ‘You make it sound like somewhere out of an old movie. Cut out the dealing or we’ll tell your dad.’ Annie laughed. ‘And chances are they haven’t got dads around anyway.’

  Pat reached for the biscuit packet at her side and pushed two chocolate rounds up to the open end. ‘My parents split up when we were at school. It didn’t turn us into helpless junkies, and I’ll tell you this, I took notice of what my dad said up to the day he died.’

  Which wasn’t so long ago, thought Annie, as Jed Thompson’s death certificate came to her mind. She remembered her own upbringing, her one tangible memory of early childhood, that her father had hired a PI. She felt no regret at the premature loss of her mother; no trauma from her father’s palming her off on to her aunt. It was just the way it was. Either you got on with it, or you made your life a real mess by dwelling on how it might have been.

  ‘I suppose all that early stuff shapes you somehow,’ she said vaguely. ‘But it’s a deprived area, isn’t it, where Mrs Earle lives? Doesn’t that make a difference?’

  ‘It’s not black and white. Nothing ever is when you get down to it. Sure there are pockets where I wouldn’t leave my car overnight. But if you want to find a community where they still let the little kids out to play on the street because they know the neighbours’ll keep an eye out, and where the kids keep out of trouble because they know they’ll be reported back to their dads if they don’t, then you’ll find that on Orchard Park, too. You’ll find a sense of community there that you’ll not find in a lot of well-to-do areas with all their high fences and big gates. Never judge a book by its cover, Annie. You’ve been told that often enough, I’m sure. It’s doubly important in this business where you’ve got people out to show you the face they want you to see.’

  ‘How far did you get with this case before you had your accident?’

  ‘I didn’t get off first base. I was round there checking the lie of the land when it happened.’

  Pat looked relaxed, ready to talk. Annie took a chance. ‘It wasn’t an accident, was it?’

  Pat showed no surprise at the question. ‘I don’t know. I never found out what I tripped on. The timing was pretty handy for them, couldn’t have been better if they’d known just where I’d be.’

  ‘But how would they know?’

  ‘I suppose the Earle woman might have blabbed too loudly. But to know exactly where I intended to wait to try to clock them that first night … well … that’s a good question.’ Pat heaved a sigh as she shifted her weight in the cushions of the settee. ‘Someone from the agency would have known.’

  ‘You’re kidding me! Why would your own colleagues do that?’

  ‘I went and got that job for myself. I wouldn’t let anyone else take it off me.’

  Annie recalled Pat’s words. She’d advertised privately … given Vince a nudge … just a one-off … ‘But, surely your own people wouldn’t have put you in that sort of danger? I’ve seen those stairs. You could have broken your neck.’

  Pat shrugged. ‘Oh, I don’t think they realized what would happen. I think someone called in a favour. This woman’s queering our pitch, can you tip us off when and where, that sort of thing. I’ve told Vince. He plays his cards close, but he doesn’t like what happened. He’ll sort whoever it was did the dirty. But that’s as it may be, let’s just keep this quiet and see how we go.’

  Annie was struck by a sudden sense that Pat pinned more on her than she realized. Pat wanted revenge for what had happened. If Annie turned into a competent operative, maybe she could deliver it.

  ‘Right then, the practicalities,’ Pat said, and outlined the course she wanted Annie to take.

  Annie listened attentively, then went at Pat’s bidding to collect the camera and lenses from the master bedroom. She sat and checked through the equipment, admiring its quality. Just what the financial damage would be if she wrecked this lot she didn’t like to think.

  ‘Get there before anything kicks off,’ Pat cautioned. ‘And don’t go all the way to six in the lift at this time of night or you’ll have to walk right across the sixth floor landing. Use the stairs from five and get yourself to the Earle woman’s door quickly and quietly. You’re safe enough inside the flat, but you can’t see much. Just don’t take any chances. Stay safe, see what you can see. If you go on to the landing to have a look-see later on, make sure you put the sneck on. Those doors swing closed and lock. Get what you can, then we’ll see.’

  ‘How do I get out again?’

  ‘If it kicks off, don’t walk out into the middle of it. If you manage to clock the kids before they set up shop on six, then get yourself out; use the stairs. Otherwise, settle yourself for a night with Mrs E.’

  Annie stood up and stretched. She ought to feel tired, but the buzz of genuine night obs, not just role play, buoyed her up with both anticipation and apprehension.

  Pat nodded towards the folder. ‘If you think you can run with it, see if you can get a signature. Let’s at least commit her to paying before we go any further.’

  A waning moon joined the glow from streetlamps to light the approach to the tower block. Annie climbed out of the taxi and stood in the car-park. She stared hard at and around the entrance as she listened to the vehicle reverse out, leaving her on her own. She started forward. Mrs Earle’s home offered only dubious sanctuary but she should make her way there as quickly as she could.

  The entrance door jarred her arm as she pushed at it. The security system worked after all. She peered inside and saw only the black sheen of an empty sec
urity booth. She clicked the buttons on the intercom and wondered if this would become a repeat of her first visit. Would the moron in the rumpled shirt tell her Mrs Earle had vanished again? Would anyone answer at all?

  When the machine crackled into life, it was Mrs Earle who answered and her voice was friendly. ‘Hi. Wondered when you’d get here. Come on up.’ Again that background roar almost as though Mrs Earle spoke from inside a crowded football stadium.

  Annie took the stairs from the ground floor, wanting more of a feel for the place. Lights blazed on the communal landings, except as she approached the sixth floor where an eerie darkness hung in wait above her. As she climbed the final staircase, she saw that most of the bulbs were gone – smashed or disappeared, she couldn’t say which – and a familiar sound began to swell. The roar of a crowd, incongruous in the darkness, grew louder with every step. The shadows in the darkest corners were too deep for her gaze to penetrate. A creeping sensation up her spine told her she wasn’t alone. She strode the few steps from the staircase to Mrs Earle’s door trying to radiate a confidence she didn’t feel.

  Don’t mess with me. I know you’re there.

  The door swung open and a wall of pounding noise hit Annie in the face. She flinched back from it. Mrs Earle stood there, glass in one hand, cigarette in the other, oblivious to the deafening cacophony and waved her inside. Without warning, the noise subsided and became a single booming voice instead of thousands.

  A TV, a football match. Mrs Earle had been watching football or something similar with the sound at murderous levels, but thank heaven it had just finished. Maybe she’d turn it off, or at least down now Annie had arrived.

  The woman led Annie down a short corridor past an open door. Annie glanced in to see an enormous television screen. As she carried on to a bedroom, the noise from the other room changed to the bouncy commentary of a quiz show.

  The bedroom door muffled the sound and Annie had her first proper look at the woman who thought nothing of arranging a meeting then clearing off. Her age was hard to guess, her skin ravaged and fragile. Brittle, over-bleached hair frizzed around her head in muted shades of orange. If she’d lived a largely quiet and sober life, Annie could have believed her in her sixties. If she’d dedicated her life to alcohol, she might be in her thirties. Mrs Earle yawned extravagantly and slumped down on to an unmade double bed where she half-sat half-lay back into the pillows. The room’s only chair stood beneath a towering mound of clothes. There was nowhere for Annie to sit unless she perched on the edge of the bed so she remained on her feet.

  ‘You can see outside when they arrive,’ Mrs Earle said with a vague sweep of her hand.

  The origins of the woman’s mellow mood were clear in the row of wine bottles on the bedside table. If this were the only safe place from which to mount any sort of surveillance, Annie decided she must sort things out so she didn’t have to rely on this wreck in human guise. Tucked in her inside pocket was the contract. She’d have a signature before she left, and if she could wangle it she’d have a spare key, too.

  Mrs Earle, engrossed in reaching for a bottle to replenish her glass, paid Annie no attention, so Annie moved back to the corridor to glance into the living room. The bulky man of her earlier visit now lounged in the cushions of a large settee with his back to her, the television flashing coloured lights at him from little more than a metre away.

  Annie returned to the bedroom. ‘Tell me what happens at nights?’ she said, as a burst of laughter from the other room drew her glance towards the door.

  ‘He won’t bother us.’ Mrs Earle gave a contemptuous sniff and gestured with her glass, slopping wine on to the rumpled duvet. ‘Shit!’ She tried to focus on the wet patch then giggled. ‘Yeah, trouble at nights. If I knew what happened, I wouldn’t need you here, would I?’

  ‘How many of them? Where do they come from?’

  ‘How would I know? I’m not going out there to count, am I?’ She rolled herself sideways across the bed to grab a bottle by the neck and refill her glass. ‘It’s only one or two on a Tuesday. Friday nights is when they really go to town. It’s disgusting come morning. I want things back the way they were. I’ve a lovely little niece and nephew. I want them to come and stay like they used to. This is a decent area. Decent people. We shouldn’t have to put up with it.’

  Annie kept her mouth shut about what she thought of the area. ‘What does your husband think about it?’

  Mrs Earle laughed and wiped her mouth. ‘Which one? I’ve had three.’

  Annie tipped her head towards the door through which the intrusive booming of the television still came.

  ‘Him? Give over. That layabout’s nothing to do with me. Even I had better taste than that when I wed them. He’s my brother.’

  Mrs Earle sat up suddenly alert. ‘There. Any minute now. Quick or you’ll miss ’em.’ She signalled Annie to go to the window.

  Annie pushed the window open letting in a rush of cool air and sounds of the city at night. Sure enough, a car zigzagged its way down the street far below. She glanced at her watch – 2.30 – and pointed her camera. For a moment she couldn’t work out what on earth the car was doing, then she realized it was a fast, well-practised, slalom to avoid the speed bumps as it careered down the narrow street and swung into the car-park. Tyres squealed as the car spun on the concrete at the base of the tower. She stood on tiptoe to look down. The battered yellow and black saloon put on a show with sudden starts and stops, the high screech of dramatic parabolic skids and a bang that sounded terminal as it left the concrete, bounced down a stretch of grass and out of sight. These guys, whoever they were, didn’t do discreet. So blasé it’s not real, Pat had said. It had been an understatement.

  ‘Joy riding just a sideline,’ she murmured.

  ‘What?’ said Mrs Earle from behind her. ‘Oh, them little bleeders. Oh, sod them. That’s just kids playing about. Isn’t there a van, a white van?’

  As Annie’s gaze searched the area, a small white van came into view. It drove unobtrusively up the road, turned into the car-park and pulled up near the entrance. Either Mrs Earle had superhuman hearing to have detected its approach over the roar of the television and screeching of the joy-riders, or she possessed some sense beyond the norm.

  Annie watched through the camera lens. The angle was difficult but she recorded what she could of two men removing something from the vehicle. The distance and the awkward angle made the forms indistinct and reminiscent of trying to make out the figure of Terry Martin when he came out from behind his camera to wrestle with that door. These two were tall and slim, but beyond that she couldn’t have said if they were black or white, old or young, dark or fair.

  She strained to see more of the detail of the packages, expecting that the shapes would made sense as the objects came into view. They didn’t. Large, well-wrapped, but couldn’t even be termed boxes in the conventional sense. Not as heavy as the size implied or the men would struggle more. She watched the way they moved, the mime show of talk between them. Cigarettes balanced on lips showed in spots that glowed a brighter red as they drew on them while they manhandled the packages. There was something amateurish about the scene. Clearly the two men didn’t want to advertise the delivery, whatever it was, but this was hardly a great way to keep the movement of goods under wraps. Stolen gear to be stashed in one of the flats perhaps? Not drugs, that was certain. Had it been drugs in those quantities they’d be weightier and worth too many millions to risk in this way.

  ‘Do you know where they’re heading?’ she asked, as the two figures approached the building and the steepness of the angle hid them from view.

  ‘Yeah. Here. This landing. Why do you think I called you? I wanted someone a bit more on the ball.’ The tone was tetchy. The woman seesawed on the alcoholic brink of belligerence. Time for Annie to make her move.

  ‘OK.’ She raised a hand without glancing at the bed. ‘I’ll take a look.’

  As she left the room, Annie knew the few pictures she’d ta
ken already could count as having done the job for tonight. Now was the gap into which she should slot her getaway, before the two guys reached floor six. Her few photographs were just enough to allow her to leave, but just enough wasn’t good enough. She had no signed contract, no useful new information.

  She walked through to the tiny hallway, clicked off the light and eased the outer door open a fraction. Darkness pooled; the background glow of light from the lower landings made no dent. The whine of the lift was audible. If she slipped quietly out on to the communal landing she’d get a better view of whoever was on their way up. Mindful of Pat’s words, she felt at the lock on the door and wondered if she could trust Mrs Earle or the scruffy brother not to lock her out, close off her bolthole.

  A rush of anticipation heightened her senses as she grasped the door more firmly and began to ease it further open. A grating sound stopped her as a sudden pinprick of light flared in the gloom across the way. Against the flame of the match, Annie caught a glimpse of the screwed-up face of a young woman who drew in on a cigarette, then flicked her gaze towards the lifts. Human wreckage waiting in the shadows.

  The whine of the lift continued uninterrupted, clearly going on up beyond Mrs Earle’s floor tonight. Annie heard a muttering of curses in the darkness. The woman wasn’t alone. That brief glimpse in the glow of the match had shown her the gaunt features of someone who hadn’t reached twenty and probably never would. She eased the door shut.

  Where had they gone? How long before they arrived on this landing? Realizing her escape route wasn’t yet blocked, Annie darted back inside to the bedroom where Mrs Earle slumped on the pillows, eyes closed.

  ‘OK,’ Annie rapped out making the woman on the bed start up from a doze. ‘I have all I need for now. Do you want this job doing? Do you want them clearing out?’ She packed self-assurance into her voice, her aim to get that signature. How to do the job was a bridge to be crossed later.

  ‘Are you saying you can get rid of them? You’ve seen what they’re up to. They’re peddling shit out there. On my bloody doorstep.’