The Mercy Seat (18 page)

‘Well,’ said Donovan, ‘that was a long time in coming.’

‘Everyone always thought we were shagging back in the old days. Said we were too close to be just friends.’ Maria smiled. ‘We’ll have to tell them they were right.’

Donovan smiled. ‘We flirted like mad, didn’t we?’

‘I remember it as being the only way we ever communicated.’

It had been their way of bonding. Great things had been expected of them at the
Herald.
They had become friends at the outset. And remained friends until Donovan had cut himself off.

Maria held him harder. ‘Did you ever want to sleep with me?’

‘Yeah. But I wasn’t about to do it. Because I thought that if we did sleep together we would never be friends again.’

‘I know. Fancied you something rotten. But it wouldn’t have been right. For one thing, you were so happy with Annie.’

Donovan didn’t reply. Maria felt his body stiffen beneath her hand.

‘Sorry,’ she said.

‘It’s all right.’

They lay in silence for a while.

‘Do you ever see her?’ asked Maria eventually.

Donovan looked around before answering, checking for ghosts. He could see none. Hiding, he thought. Hiding in the shadows.

‘No,’ he said. ‘Not for ages.’

‘Maybe you should.’ Maria spoke quietly.

Donovan sighed. ‘It would be difficult. I remember after … after it happened … I couldn’t … She used to try and get me to open up. Talk. Pull me towards her, trying … I … sometimes I would find myself staring at her. And find her looking at me in return. It was like we wanted to come together, but something always … stopped us. Came between us. And in the end I had to … get away. For both of us.’

Maria was staring straight ahead, knowing what it was costing him to speak, not looking at him in case it broke the spell. ‘What about Abigail?’

‘Nearly a teenager now.’ He sighed. ‘She hates me.’

‘I doubt that.’

‘Oh she does. Thinks I care more for him than for her. Because …’ He shook his head. ‘But I couldn’t give it up, that hope … I couldn’t make her understand. She said it was like there were still four of us in that house. And one was a ghost, haunting us. So I had to go. Exorcism.’

He sighed.

‘Two years. You can fall a long way in two years.’

Silence again.

‘We’re a right pair, aren’t we?’ said Maria.

Donovan smiled, held her tighter. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘We’re a right pair.’

They made love again. Lay still, content. Waiting for morning.

‘They never …’ Maria began, enfolded in Donovan’s arms, ‘they never found him, then? Any trace?’

‘None.’ Donovan’s eyes were on the ceiling.

‘Oh that must be …’ Maria couldn’t finish.

‘When I was a kid,’ said Donovan, ‘I used to read comics. Loved comics, superhero ones, had a huge collection. Well, there was one series I used to really love. The Doom Patrol, they were called. They were these misfits, outsiders. The lead guy was Robotman.’

He felt a shaking against his chest.

‘Don’t laugh. Robotman. He used to be human but now he was a robot with a human brain and human emotions. Superstrong and superhard on the outside, superemotional on the inside.’

Maria stopped laughing, said nothing. Listened.

‘Well, of course, they had these enemies whom they fought. And one of them, I forget his name, had all the superpowers you couldn’t think of. So as soon as you thought of one it disappeared, stopped being real. That’s how you defeated him.’

Donovan kept staring at the ceiling. Movies unspooling, running, movies only he could see.

‘And that’s how I think about David,’ he said, voice beginning to tremble. ‘Tried to imagine everything that … that could have happened to him. The darkest, most … most evil … depraved thing I could imagine.’

He stopped talking, swallowing hard, taking hard, steady breaths. Waited until he was calm again before speaking.

‘Everything,’ he said. ‘Because if I could think of something, it stopped … stopped being real. And if, if it stopped being real … that meant it couldn’t … it hadn’t … it could only …’

Maria held him in her arms.

Morning still felt a long way off.

Later they talked again until sleep took them. Talked carefully; avoided making promises that would fade with the dawn. But hoping to carry something more than memories with them into the day.

Sunday morning came.

For Donovan, no Annie, no Abigail, no David in the room now. Only himself and Maria.

The ghosts resting.

They spent the day together. In bed for most of it. Relaxed.

Taking time to touch and explore each other, kiss and lick, caress and impress. Show each other what they enjoyed, find out what the other liked done.

Rediscovering who they had been. Finding out who they were now. Near to happy. Donovan not daring to acknowledge the word hope, knowing it was too closely allied to the word despair. But feeling it inside him anyway.

Then the call from Jamal. Ready to deal. Monday. Grey’s Monument.

‘Oi!’

The boy turned, saw him. Came towards him.

‘What you smilin’ for, man?’ Jamal asked, getting level.

‘Just pleased to see you, Jamal.’

Jamal shook his head, laughed. ‘You’re weird, man. Come out with some weird shit.’

Donovan nodded, dropped the smile. Business. ‘So,’ he said, ‘We ready to deal?’

Jamal’s smile flicked off, his eyes became haunted. He shrugged: a monosyllabic response.

‘OK.’ Donovan remembered the strategy he and Maria had agreed in handling Jamal. Befriend him. Court him. Win his trust. Listen to him. No matter what he had done, what he was involved with, he was just a boy.

‘Listen,’ said Donovan, his voice calm, reasonable. ‘We can’t talk here.’ He looked around. ‘Why don’t we go to lunch? I’ll buy.’

Jamal nodded. ‘McDonald’s?’

Donovan smiled. ‘There’s more to life than McDonald’s, Jamal. And I don’t mean KFC either. Come on.’

Pani’s was a small, relaxed Italian restaurant down High Bridge, a narrow, cobbled backstreet between the Georgian splendour of Grey Street and the mostly boarded-up Pilgrim Street. With blond-wood floors, faux Umbrian décor and model-grade waiting staff, it hardly ever seemed to be empty.

The lunchtime rush was just beginning. They found a table, studied the menu.

‘What is this shit? Don’t they do proper food? Burgers an’ fries?’

Donovan agreed to order for both of them. He asked the black-clad waitress for two Italian sausage sandwiches in ciabatta, a coke, a cappuccino and extra chips for Jamal. She repeated the order back in Italian-accented Geordie then sashayed away, treating the diners to a view of her languidly swinging, perfectly rounded backside.

Donovan studied Jamal. The boy was looking around, taking in his unfamiliar surroundings, trying to front up the situation even though behind the mask he was scared. Donovan wondered about the boy’s life, what had led him to the place he was at now. What kind of future he would have.

‘You’re doin’ that look again, man.’

Donovan, startled, looked up. ‘What?’

Jamal smiled, shook his head. ‘Well fucked up …’

The waitress arrived with the drinks. Jamal tried hard to pretend he wasn’t looking down her blouse.

‘Fit bird,’ he said as she moved off.

Donovan smiled. ‘No chance.’

‘Why not? I’m a player.’

‘You’re a teenager.’

Jamal’s face reddened. ‘Yeah? Well, at least I’m not some old Grizzly Adams-lookin’ dude.’

‘Just drink your drink, sonny.’

Jamal put his head down to his drink, tried to hide his smile. Time to move on, thought Donovan reluctantly.

‘Right,’ Donovan said. ‘We’d better talk business.’

‘Yeah,’ said Jamal. He looked up, reluctantly, from his drink. Like a death-row inmate who had momentarily forgotten their fate.

‘Here’s the proposal,’ said Donovan, leaning forward and steepling his fingers. ‘It seems to me that there are two things happening here. There’s what you know. And what’s on the disc.’

Jamal listened. Donovan continued, his voice calm, reasonable.

‘I’ve spoken to Maria—’

‘The lady from the newspaper.’

‘Right. And she says that if you can tell us everything, let us tape you, everything you know, and it all checks out, then we’ll pay you.’

‘How much?’

‘A grand.’

‘A grand? You were gonna pay me five.’

‘For the disc. Which you don’t have. This is just for the sweet sound of your own voice.’

Jamal shook his head, laughed. ‘A grand? Shit, man, I want more for what I’ve got in my head. It’s worth bare cash. A grand? I can make that in a week. No, a day.’

‘Then don’t let me stop you.’

Jamal looked puzzled. ‘What?’

‘There’s the door. Off you go. Go and make more than that in a week. If that’s what you really want.’

Jamal looked at the door, trying to hide the hurt expression on his face. Donovan felt sorry for the kid, wished he could have thought of another way to play this.

‘What about the disc?’ asked Jamal.

‘That’s a separate issue. D’you know what’s on it?’

Jamal nodded, fronting again. ‘Yeah. Pretty much.’

‘Then we may not need it. If this turns out to be a murder and the police get involved, you’ll have to tell me where the disc is. You might have to get involved with them, tell them what you tell us, though.’

‘But I still get the money to keep, yeah?’

‘Assuming you agree to the deal.’

‘And I just have to talk?’

Donovan nodded.

Jamal stuck out his hand to shake. ‘Safe, Joe.’

Donovan shook. The food arrived. Jamal ate his with relish.

‘Better than McDonald’s?’

‘Yeah,’ said Jamal, cramming more chips into his mouth. ‘Wicked.’

Jamal kept eating. Donovan kept watching.

‘So where you from?’ asked Donovan.

Jamal looked up, instantly suspicious. ‘What you wanna know for?’

Donovan shrugged. ‘No reason. Just interested.’

‘Streatham.’

Donovan nodded. ‘I know it.’

Jamal’s head was down, looking at his plate. ‘Then foster homes. Children’s homes. Not for long, though.’

‘Why not?’

‘Kept runnin’ away. Tryin’ to go see my mum.’

‘And what happened?’

Jamal’s eyes became veiled. He looked down, became interested in his sandwich, tearing strips of bread from it. ‘Got problems, man.’ He pointed to his head. ‘Couldn’t cope. Sent me back.’ His eyes found something in the shredded bread that Donovan couldn’t see. ‘Ran away for good in the end.’

Donovan nodded.

They finished their meal in silence.

‘So what happens next?’ asked Jamal.

‘I need to know who’s got the disc. That way—’

Jamal’s face had turned ashen. ‘Naw, naw, man, low it, low it. Can’t do that.’

‘Why not?’

‘If I didn’t make a deal,’ said Jamal, his voice small, unsteady, ‘then I would be in trouble.’

‘But you have made a deal. You’ve just left him out of it.’

Jamal shook his head. ‘You don’t get it …’ Jamal couldn’t keep the pain from his voice, his face.

Donovan looked at Jamal. ‘What d’you mean? Hurt you?’

Jamal lowered his eyes, didn’t answer.

Donovan’s sympathetic, angry heart went out to the lost boy. In that moment he came to a decision he hadn’t been consciously aware he was thinking about.

‘Listen, Jamal. I’ll get you put up at the hotel, the paper to pay for it. Yeah?’

Jamal looked at him, hope rising in his features.

‘And when this is all over, I’ll get you help with finding somewhere to live permanently. Help get you sorted out.’

Suspicion crept back into Jamal’s eyes. ‘Why?’

Donovan shrugged. ‘You prefer things the way they are?’

‘People don’t do something for nothing.’

Donovan shook his head. There, then gone. ‘Some people do.’

‘But I don’t have to see Father Jack again. Right?’

‘Is that his name? Father Jack?’

Jamal was looking around, quickly. Donovan thought he was about to bolt.

Donovan felt anger rising within him. ‘Why are you so scared of him?’

‘You don’t know him. He’ll hurt me, man, hurt me good …’

‘He’s not going to hurt you anymore, Jamal.’ Donovan’s anger became a galvanizing, charging thing. ‘Or anyone else. I’ll see to that. Just show me where he is and I’ll take it from there.’

Jamal shook his head.

‘We’ll get a cab. You don’t have to come in.’

‘What you gonna do?’

‘Well, I should just find out where he lives. Leave it at that. Turn the information over. But I’m not going to. He’s a bully. He might get away with hurting children. Let’s see what happens when he picks on someone his own size.’

Jamal looked Donovan up and down. ‘That would be difficult,’ he said.

Donovan threw some notes down on the table, stood up. ‘Come on. Let’s go.’

They left the restaurant. The waitress click-clacked over, picked up the money. Smiled.

If only everyone left tips of nearly fifteen pounds, she thought.

She walked back up the aisle of the restaurant, an extra bounce in her buttocks.

Hammer pulled up outside the girl’s flat. Usual space. Usual time. He knew her name but preferred to think of her as the girl. His target. Objectified her more.

He settled down to wait, holdall on the back seat, Slipknot on the CD player. Easy listening. He hated stakeouts, hated waiting.

Almost immediately there was a tap on the window. Hammer jumped. He hadn’t been expecting it. He looked: Keenyside.

Keenyside opened the door, sat in the passenger seat. About to speak, he stopped, wrinkled his nose.

‘What’s that smell?’

Hammer ignored him. Keenyside, realizing he wasn’t about to receive an answer, remembered why he was there.

‘So what you got for me? And it better be good, because I’m very disappointed.’

Hammer’s eyes became hot coals. He stared ahead, his face frozen. Body so taut he was almost vibrating. He gripped hard on the wheel, felt it begin to buckle under his grip.

‘Disappointed.’ His voice was barely above a whisper. ‘In what?’

‘Gary Myers. The body’s been found.’