Owning Jacob - SA (11 page)

'I'm more worried about what I'm going to do now than what I should have done.'

'I can cal him, if you like. Tel him we represent you. That might make him think twice before he does anything else.'

'Are you sure you want to get your firm involved?' Colin didn't say anything, but Ben could see he wasn't.

'I don't have any choice, do I?' he went on. 'I've got to assume it's al going to come out.'

"You don't know for sure there's anything to come out.'

'Oh, come oft" it.' Colin looked at Jacob playing on the back seat He gave a sigh. 'Okay, then. The next thing to do is to get some advice. I can ask around, see if anyone knows a good family law solicitor.

The number of divorces our clients go through I shouldn't think that'l be a problem.' He gave Ben a sheepish glance. 'I'l make sure it's someone reliable this time.' The streetlights had come on, although it wasn't dark. Ben looked at the weak yel ow glows. "You don't think I should go straight to the police?'

'Christ, no. If you do they'l be al over you. You could wind up being held on a kidnapping or aiding-and-abetting charge and Jacob in care before you know what's happening.

You need legal representation before anything else.' He paused. 'The question of custody's going to be tricky enough as it is.' Ben was aware that Colin was watching him, trying to gauge his reaction. In the rear-view mirror he could see Jacob's face, unconcerned. He felt an urge to hug him.

'What I can't stop thinking about,' he said, in a voice that wasn't quite steady, 'is how the other poor bastard must feel. You know who I mean. It's been over six years. We're sitting here, calmly discussing what we should do, and he's sitting somewhere not knowing if his son's alive or dead. I keep thinking about what he must have gone through, and what happened to his wife, and … fuck, I don't know.' He broke off and turned to stare out of the side window.

Colin was quiet for a while, giving him a chance to recover.

"You've got to think about yourself, Ben/ he said gently.

'And Jacob. I'm sorry for this guy too, but it doesn't alter the fact that you're in a vulnerable situation. If this does al come out you're going to have to prove you knew nothing about it until now. You're going to have to decide fairly soon what you're going to do, and to do that you need expert legal advice.'

'I know.' Ben cleared his throat and nodded. 'I know, you're right, and I wil , but …' He realised he'd already come to a decision. 'I'd like to see him first.'

'Oh, now look, Ben-!'

'I don't mean I want to meet him. I just want to see where he lives, what he looks kite. Try and get some idea of what sort of a man he is. I can't decide anything until I know that.' He expected an argument, but Colin was silent. 'When?' he asked.

'I don't know.' He hadn't thought that far. 'Tomorrow morning, perhaps.' Colin passed a hand over his face and shook his head. But whatever objections he had he kept to himself. Til come with you,' he said.

It took almost as long to get out of London as it did to get to the town itself. There was another Tube strike, and the roads were clotted with slow-moving snakes of traffic. The air was unbreathable. It was a dose, muggy morning but they kept the window up, preferring the heat to the atmosphere of exhaust fumes.

They had taken Ben's Golf. Colin had objected to travel ing in what he cal ed 'a biscuit tin', but couldn't deny that his black BMW would look conspicuous in a scrapyard. Ben guessed it was the thought of what might happen to it there that final y convinced him.

Once on the Mi Ben made good time to the turn-off.

The main suburban sprawl was quickly left behind, but the countryside was stil marred with blotches of industry, man-made cankers of brick and metal amongst the green.

Some of the fields they passed stil had yel ow snatches of rape clinging to them, and then suddenly there was a brown patch of houses and they were in Tunford.

It was a new town, or at least had been in the 1950s. The brave new face of postwar housing development now looked ramshackle and depressed. They went along the high street, a short stretch of squat, dun-coloured shops, until they left the town again on the other side. Ben turned the car round in 1 a lay-by littered with plastic bottles and tin cans and headed back for the town centre.

What's the address?' Colin opened the folder the detective had given Ben.

Torty-one Primrose Lane.' The shops came into view again. Prefabricated semidetached houses ran off to either side. 'Do you think there'l stil be primroses there?' Ben asked, trying to conceal his nervousness.

'If there are they'l be under the tarmac Shal we try the next turning?' Since they didn't know where Primrose Lane was, one street was as good as another. They had no map of the town, and didn't want to draw attention to themselves by asking for directions. Not that there were many people about to ask. Neither of them spoke as they drove through the empty streets at random. On one they passed a mongrel dog shitting on the pavement.

'Welcome to Tunford,' Colin said.

Primrose Lane was at the edge of the town, running paral el with the fields beyond. They drove down it slowly, counting house numbers. Colin pointed. 'There.' The house was set behind a four-foot-high wire mesh and concrete post fence. The neighbouring properties were run down, with shaggy lawns and unkempt flower-beds, and the garden in front of 41 was heaped with rusting piles of metal. Car wings, doors and bumpers, engine parts and motors were stacked haphazardly, grown through with uncut grass and weeds.

'Obviously a man who takes his work home with him.' Ben didn't respond to the joke. He drove past slowly, taking in the peeling paint on the doors and window frames.

A woman appeared in an upstairs window. He had a glimpse of yel ow hair and plucked eyebrows, and then the house was behind them.

Colin craned his head to see. 'Was that the wife?'

'I suppose so.' They were quiet as they went back to the main street. 'It might not be as bad as it looks,' Colin said, after a while.

'Just because they won't get in House and Home doesn't mean they might not be nice people.'

'No.'

"You can never tel from appearances.'

'Just leave it, Colin, wil you?' He headed out the way they had original y gone, before they had turned back According to the detective's report the scrap metal yard where Kale worked was on die outskirts of die next town along, about three miles away. For a while they were back in open countryside, but die taint of civilisation was in die litter-strewn hedgerows. They passed an untidy farm, dien a garage. The scrapyard was die next building after that.

Ben pul ed into die edge of the road before he reached it.

The yard was surrounded by a high brick wal , topped widi barbed wire and shards of broken glass. Mounds of decaying cars were visible above it, stacked one on top of another. A battered sign saying 'Robertshaw's Reclamation Yard' arched across die top of the entrance. Below it, the spiked double gate was open.

Colin stirred. "You sure you want to do this?' Not real y. Ben didn't answer. He could see some sort ofΠheavy vehicle moving about inside the yard. A crane. WhatΠis it we're supposed to be looking for?'

'Spares for an MG. But I'l ask about diat. You just keep your eyes open.' I Quil ey's report had given a basic description, but odier than that Ben didn't know what the man looked like.

The car spares story had been Colin's idea, a pretext for wandering around the yard until they identified him.

'Shal we go in, then?' Colin said.

Ben started die car and drove through the gates. Once

through them the yard opened up, bigger than it appeared from outside. The long drive ran between stacks of wrecked cars. It led to a two-storey brick building with a steeply pitched corrugated roof. In front of this was a clearing where two obviously stil -roadworthy cars were parked. Ben pul ed in behind them. They got out.

There was an earthy smel of rust and oil. From somewhere behind the building a dog barked twice, then abruptly stopped.

There was the sound of heavy machinery, but they couldn't see where it was coming from. No one came to meet them. A dirty window on the ground floor looked into an office.

'Let's try in there.' The door was down a short passageway. At the far end was a flight of concrete steps that presumably ran up to the next floor. A tinny radio played inside the office.

Colin knocked and pushed the door open when there was no answer.

The room was empty. A tatty Formica desk was covered with stained mugs and folders. The radio served as a paperweight on a pile of grubby papers. Nude calendars were tacked on the wal s. Big-breasted girls leaned across gleaming cars and straddled shining motorbikes, offering various body parts to the camera.

'Anybody here?' Colin shouted.

They heard someone coming down the steps. Ben tensed, but the man who appeared in the doorway was too old to be Kale. He was in his fifties, heavy with muscle and fat. Strands of greasy hair poked out from under a trilby, a darker grey than the silvery stubble on his chin. He wiped his hands on an oily rag as he came into the office.

'Mornin', gents. What can I do for you?'

He had a wheezy, phlegm-fil ed voice. Ben looked quickly at Colin, al thought of their story vanished. But Colin was unperturbed.

'We're looking for spares for a 1985 MG.' Ben saw the dealer take in the lightweight wool en suit and silk tie and wished that Colin hadn't come dressed for work.

But he had to be back for a meeting at twelve. The man rubbed his chin. 'MG?' He sounded doubtful. "What parts are you after?'

'Depends what you've got. I'm renovating one virtual y from the bottom up, so I need just about everything. Provided it's in reasonable condition.'

'Don't think we've got anything from an MG,' the man muttered, partly to himself. His fingers rasped on his stubble again.

I'Can we have a browse around anyway?' The man wasn't listening. He cast another glance at Colin's suit. 'I might be able to sort you out with something,' he said, obviously loath to let such a wealthy customer go empty-handed. 'Come with me.'

'It's okay, real y-' Colin began, but the man was already on his way out.

There was nothing to do but fol ow him. He led them around the back of the building. The machine noises grew louder. A smal crane on caterpil ar tracks was behind the office. A man was in the cab, working control levers to manipulate the flat magnet that swung from hawsers and chains from the jib, suspending a burnt-out Ford by the roof. He wore a rimless leather skul cap and also looked too old to be Kale, Ben saw after an anxious second. The scrap dealer shouted up to him.

"You seen Johnny?' The man in the cab cupped an ear, and the dealer repeated the question more loudly. The crane driver nodded towards the far end of the yard. 'He's with somebody by the crusher.' The dealer set off again. 'I'l ask one of my blokes,' he said as they trailed after him. 'He knows what we've got inside and out. If we've anything, he'l be able to put his hands on it.' Ben glanced worriedly at Colin, who shrugged helplessly.

Neither of them had missed the significance of who "Johnny'

might be. Seeing Kale from a distance was one thing, but Ben was feeling less and less prepared to meet him face to face.

The scrap dealer took them past a towering stack of flattened cars, compressed to no more than thin stripes of colour, layers of red and blue, yel ow and white. The angular bulk of a crushing machine was tucked behind them.

'Johnny!' the dealer bel owed. 'Got a customer!' There was a movement from the end of the machine.

A man appeared, and Ben found himself looking at Jacob's father. There was no doubt who he was. John Kale had written his features on his son's face almost verbatim, discernible even under the blurring of childhood. There was the same colouring, the same cheekbones and straight nose, firm chin and mouth.

He had Jacob's deep-set eyes, and as they settled on Ben the sense of recognition was so great that for an irrational second he felt sure it must be two-way. Then Kale looked away again, uninterested.

The dealer motioned with his thumb towards Colin. Telia here looking for MG parts, John. We got anything?'

'No.' There was no doubt or hesitation.

The older man scratched at the open neck of his soiled shirt. "You sure? I thought there might be something-'

'That was a Midget. It went.' The voice was medium pitched and inflectionless. Kale no longer so much as glanced towards either Ben or Colin. For al the attention he paid them they might not have been there. He wasn't particularly tal , two or three inches shorter than Ben's six foot, but there was a sense of restrained physicality about him. The muscles in his bare arms were clearly defined, and he looked compact and fit in the oil-stained T-shirt and jeans.

The dealer's regret was palpable, but he didn't question the information. 'Sorry, gents. If Johnny says we don't, then we don't. Wish I could help you.' Ben couldn't stop staring at Kale, who was standing motionless by his boss. He must have felt the scrutiny

because his eyes suddenly flicked to Ben with a gaze as direct and unblinking as an animal's. Christ, he even stares at you like Jacob.

Ben made himself look away as Colin gave a convincing shrug of resignation. 'That's okay. Thanks anyway.' They turned to go. Ben was desperate to get out of the scrapyard now, to give himself time to think. He wondered if Colin would mind him smoking a joint in the car. Then another voice spoke from behind them.

Wel , fancy seeing you here, Mr Murray.' He looked around, and felt himself deaden into shock as Quil ey emerged from behind the heavy crushing machine.

The detective's smile was more mocking than ever. 'Talk of the devil. We were just discussing you, weren't we, Mr Kale? Oh, sorry, you haven't been introduced, have you?' he said in response to Kale's puzzled frown. 'Mr Kale, this is Ben Murray. He's the photographer I was just tel ing you about.

The one who might have got your son.' Oh, Jesus. Oh fuck, no.