Warned Off (21 page)

‘You seem to know a lot about his
personal ambitions.’

She leaned forward far enough to sip her
drink then lay back again. ‘Phil had a crush on me.’

‘And?’

‘He agreed to help me after Alan
disappeared.’

‘You mean he agreed to get heroin for
you?’

She nodded.

‘Who paid for it?’

She stared at me looking hurt but
sounding too tired to raise any real anger. ‘What the hell does that mean,
Malloy?’

I shrugged. ‘Heroin costs a lot of money.
I just wondered who paid for it.’

‘I paid. All right?’

‘Okay.’

She settled again, closing her eyes.
‘How did you meet Phil?’ I asked.

‘Howard brought him home for drinks
after Alan disappeared.’

‘Did Alan know Skinner?’

‘They were connected in some way but
Alan didn’t like him.’

‘Phil Greene was connected to Skinner
too, wasn’t he?’

‘I think so.’

‘They came to your house together last
week.’

She didn’t comment. ‘So, we’ve got Alan
and Phil and Skinner and Roscoe and Howard ... all connected in some way, Alan
and Phil more than anyone else because they’re both dead, both murdered, by
your husband.’

I wasn’t sure how she’d react. Deep down
she must have known Stoke was behind Harle’s death and I suspected she knew
he’d engineered Greene’s. I watched her. She didn’t even blink.

‘Charmain, did you hear what I said?’

She nodded.

‘Am I right?’

‘Aren’t you always?’ she murmured and
turned her head away.

‘When did Howard find out about your
heroin habit?’

She stared into the fire. ‘A couple of weeks
ago, when Phil brought the stuff. I had no money. I gave him my watch to pay
for it and to get some more. He said he’d wait for the money but I told him to
take the watch. He shoved it into his pocket. Last week, when he came with
Skinner to see Howard he accidentally pulled the watch out of his pocket. It
fell on the floor, right at Howard’s feet. Howard bought me that watch as a
wedding gift.’

She drank.

‘Phil gave him some stupid story about
finding it outside in the driveway and Howard pretended to believe him. Later,
he punched the truth out of me.’

I looked at her. ‘As much motive as
Howard would have needed to kill him, I’d say. He probably also knew that
Greene had been drinking with me and had talked too much.’

Charmain’s chin dropped onto her chest.
The realisation of the part she’d played in the deaths of Harle and Greene was
beginning to sink in. She looked completely drained but I needed the answer to
one more question.

‘Charmain,’ Her head stayed down. ‘Do
you know what Skinner’s working on at Roscoe’s yard? Is he making heroin or
horse dope or what?’

She shook her head slowly, still not
lifting it. I persevered. ‘He’s using the head lad’s cottage, working on
something secret. It could be the key to all this to Harle’s and Greene’s
deaths ... Charmain ... ?’

She was sobbing again in that same soft
way as when I’d taken the heroin from her. I went across and stood above her,
my hands on her shoulders. ‘Charmain, please tell me what Skinner is doing at
Roscoe’s?’

She leaned forward, throwing her arms
around my waist, still weeping. ‘I don’t know ... I don’t know! Oh, Eddie, what
are we going to do?’ She forced me to take a step back as she stood up and put
her arms around my neck.

I stood holding her for what seemed a
very long time then her tear-stained face came up and her big sad eyes looked
at me. As she arched her neck her pink swollen lips parted showing the tip of
her tongue and she closed her eyes and kissed me, long and wet and warm.

She swept the cushions off the bunks and
arranged them on the floor. Pushing at the shoulder straps of the nightgown she
wriggled out of it and, bending gracefully, slipped her panties off. She knelt,
pulling me down with her and we kissed again as she undressed me. Unresisting,
I let her lead, wanting to believe she was doing it because, deep down, she
loved me, but knowing it was a reaction to what we’d been through
tonight.  A crazily overheated libido was one of the after-effects of
coming safely through danger. Mine was just as hot as hers. 

She was also doing it because she hoped
to gain control, just as she’d tried to do with Stoke and Harle and probably
Greene. She lay flat now and pulled me alongside her. ‘Oh, Eddie, this is what
you wanted, isn’t it?’ This is what you were dying for when you came into my
bedroom ... and  when I was in the car ... This is what you wanted back in
the woods ... isn’t it, Eddie ... isn’t it?’ She was moaning softly.

Maybe it’s what I wanted, I thought, but
it’s not what I’m going to have, Charmain, not when you’ve been with scum like
Stoke and chancers like Harle and idiots like Greene. I don’t play fourth in a
field like that. I’d rather try to remember you the way you were.

Then Jackie’s image came into my mind,
Jackie the traitor, and my vengeful streak showed through. Why shouldn’t I have
sex with Charmain? I could tell Jackie about it and watch her face ... How does
it feel to be betrayed, Jackie?

I watched Charmain, writhing, moaning,
longer and louder, ‘Now, Eddie ... please ... come on! ‘ And I let her go and
slowly and silently got to my feet and stood over her, looking down.

She lay still, staring at me,
quizzically at first then her eyes focused on mine and she saw immediately how
much, at that moment, I despised her and she seemed to crumple as she turned on
her side drawing her knees up, her hands covering her face as the tears came.
‘You bastard,’ she murmured softly through her weeping. ‘You dirty rotten
bastard.’

And I stood there for a minute surprised
at my own feeling of triumph. I knew then I’d paid her back for ignoring me at
school, for not wanting me when we met again, for all she’d ever done to me or
could do to me in the future.

I realised it was illogical and unfair
and childish and I knew I was a bastard. But I felt good.

I
was plagued by nightmares and awoke after little more than an hour’s sleep.
Charmain still slept. The sun was up but the boat was cold. I made a mug of
coffee and took it outside.

On the untrodden grass bordering the
towpath the dew was heavy. Both cars, mine parked half on the road, half on the
towpath by Charmain, were also wet with dew.

I realised how easily the cars would be
spotted if any of Stoke’s cronies were out searching and I decided to take them
into the village. They would only be a taxi-ride away if I needed one.

I went to get my jacket. It would be
best to move the cars now while the village was quiet. Anyway, I had to phone
DS Cranley for an update.

Charmain was sleeping when I left. I
locked the door and took the only key.

It was just after 7 a.m. when I parked
the second car, probably a bit early to catch Cranley, but I spotted a phone
box so it was worth a try. He was at the station.

‘Where are you, Malloy?’ he asked.

‘A little place in the country.’

‘Where?’

‘I can’t tell you just now. I might not
be here after today. I’ll let you know where I am as soon as I’m sure it’s
going to be reasonably permanent.’

‘That’s not good enough. I want a full
statement from you about last night.’

He was being remarkably polite. ‘Fine,
I’ll call in at the station.’

‘When?’

‘As soon as I can.’

‘Malloy!’

‘Sergeant, look, tell me you’ll pick up
a bookmaker called Stoke for questioning and I’ll come to the station right
now.’

‘For questioning on what?’

‘For at least three of the murders that
you and I have been fighting about since we met. Those were his two guys you
picked up last night. They were out to add me to their list.’

‘They’re claiming you abducted them.’

‘Oh, come on, Cranley! Even you can’t
believe that?’

‘I’m not saying I do.’

‘Look, arrest Stoke. I can get people to
testify if they know he’s safely locked up.’

‘Come and see me, Malloy, then we’ll
talk about it.’

 ’I can’t! Not now. I told you
that.’

‘Then it looks like I’m going to have to
let your two friends here go.’

I heard a click. ‘Cranley! Cranley! You
bastard!’

Charmain was up when I got back,
spooning coffee as the kettle whistled. The light covering of make-up didn’t
completely hide the dark rings round her eyes but she looked reasonably bright.
It was hard to tell if she’d had her first fix of the day.

‘Coffee?’ she asked.

‘Please. Black, no sugar.’ I sat on the
bunk.

‘Just as well. There’s no milk.’

She brought it to me then sat on the
bunk opposite and clasped her mug in both hands. ‘Where’ve you been?’

‘I took the cars into the village.’

She looked puzzled.

‘In case Howard’s got a search party
out.’

She sipped. Neither of us spoke for a
minute. She seemed almost friendly and was acting as if last night hadn’t
happened.

‘Do you think Howard will know I’m with you?’
She asked.

‘I hope so.’

‘Why?’ She looked nervous.

‘Because I need him to come looking for
us.’ My stomach heaved as I said it, making me realise how scared I was and how
tense the waiting was going to be.

‘Jesus.’ she said, quietly, and I knew
she was scared too. ‘Then what?’

‘I don’t know. I’m still thinking.’

She sipped her coffee. I blew on mine.
We were silent again for a minute then she spoke, looking over the rim of her
cup at the floor, unblinking. ‘How long will it take him to find us?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘It might be days,’ she said.

‘Maybe.’

‘Or even a week.’

We looked at each other.

‘I don’t think I could stand that,’ she
said. ‘Just sitting here knowing it could be any minute or it could be days and
days.’

I nodded. I didn’t think I could stand
it either.

‘What do you think he’ll do when he gets
here?’

‘Charmain, I don’t know yet. I’m trying
to plan something.’ I felt irritable though she didn’t seem to notice. I went
to the window. The hedge by the towpath blocked the view of the road and made
me start worrying that Stoke might already be on his way and I wouldn’t even
see his car pull up.

I went outside. The air was warmer now,
the low mist lifting. I could see the road, grey and empty.

Charmain was right. Neither of us would
stand days of waiting, especially if her heroin supply ran out. Rather than
hide the fact that we were here I should have been advertising it. The sooner
Stoke knew, the quicker he’d come.

I’d get my car back and leave it at the
top of the towpath. It could only be a matter of time before one of Stoke’s
buddies passed by. I told Charmain but her relief seemed marginal, about the
same as a condemned man shows when you tell him his sentence has been bought
forward.

Along with my car, I brought back from
the village some groceries, a pink tracksuit and yellow training shoes. The
last two items were for Charmain but by the time I got back to the boat I’d
decided not to give them to her.

‘Why?’ she asked as I stashed them in a
small locker.

‘Because when Howard does come ...’ I shut
the clasp lock and straightened to face her ‘I need him to think you’re being
held prisoner.’

‘By you?’

‘Yes. And there’s a hell of a lot better
chance of him believing it if you’re locked in dressed just in your nightgown
with no shoes.’

‘Why do you want him to think that?’

‘To protect you. So you’ll have to do
your bit to convince him from the moment he comes through that door.’

She was looking nervy again. ‘What will
you be doing?’ She asked.

‘I won’t be here.’

She stared at me. I went to the sink and
filled the kettle again and lit the stove. ‘Did you notice the old barge moored
just behind us?’ I asked. She nodded.

‘When he comes down the towpath I’ll be
in there. When he gets through this door I’ll slip out and ring the police from
the lock-keeper’s cottage.’

‘What if the lock-keeper isn’t in?’

‘We’ll just have to hope he is,
otherwise I’ll have to drive into the village.’

‘Then what?’

‘You convince him I kidnapped you. Tell him
I’ve gone to buy some booze and that I’ll be back any time. I’ll speak to
Cranley, he’ll make sure the police come quickly and quietly.’ That was said
with more hope than confidence.

I rinsed the coffee mugs. ‘When the
police get here I’ll come back on board and make Howard incriminate himself
loudly enough for the police to come in and get him.’

‘That’s silly.’

I shrugged. ‘It’s the best I can come up
with.’

‘Howard won’t come alone, you know.’ she
said.

‘We’ll have to wait and see. As long as
they all come on board then I can still make the call.’

She stood, arms crossed, clutching her
elbows tightly. ‘What if he doesn’t believe me?’

The kettle bubbled. I poured and
stirred. ‘You’ll have to make him believe you.’ I carried the drinks over and
we sat down. She looked across at me. ‘What if he shoots you as you walk
through the door?’

I sipped the coffee and shook my head.
‘He won’t, Howard will want to see me squirm, make me suffer.’ I looked at her.
‘Don’t you think so?’

Despite the warmth from the fire and the
hot coffee, she shivered and looked away. We both knew I was right.

I locked
Charmain in, ducked through a gap in the hedgerow and set off across the field
up toward the ruined farm I’d watched Greene and Skinner from. The binoculars
swung from my shoulder.

Reaching the rock I’d used before, I
settled down knowing I could wait days for one of Stoke’s men to come along.

Earlier that afternoon I’d gone to the
lock-keeper’s cottage and asked to use the phone. In the general small talk I
found that the couple who lived there had no plans to be away over the weekend.
At least there’d be a phone available when the ‘emergency’ came.

It was a fine warm windless evening. A
tractor, orange light flashing lazily on its roof, chugged up the hill and
turned away into a cornfield on the far side. The only other vehicles I’d seen
after half an hour were six cars and a laundry van.

I’d been there forty minutes when I
heard noises from the direction of the canal. I focused on the boat. It was
rolling heavily and unevenly in the water. Faint but distinctive sounds of
breaking glass or crockery reached me.

What the hell was she doing down there?
No one got could have got on board without me seeing them; she had to be making
all that noise on her own.

My first inclination was to run down the
hill but what would I be running into? The noise got worse. A metallic banging
echoed as though she was hitting the draining board with a cooking pot. Was she
trying to get out? Had a fire started?

A curtain moved. I concentrated on the
window and saw her grip the curtain and tear it down. I set off half-limping,
half-running toward the boat.

Charmain sat cross-legged on her bunk. A
corner of the torn curtain lay over her shoulder tucked under her chin which
was sunk deep on her chest. Her hair had fallen forward hiding her face. Her
hands, white-knuckled, were clamped to her sides as if she felt her ribcage had
to be held together. She was rocking to and fro making a tuneless sound
somewhere between a moan and a hum, as though she were trying to drown out
something she didn’t want to hear.

The damage around her couldn’t have been
worse if the boat had overturned. Every internal door lay open; lockers,
cupboards, fridge, cooker, toilet. Some of the smaller ones hung only from one
hinge. All looked empty; their contents were on the floor: books, magazines,
towels, bedding, clothing, pictures, mirrors, twisted coat hangers,
light-bulbs, crockery, glasses, cutlery. Many things were broken, bent, torn,
twisted, smashed, spilled.

In the kitchen area a mess of food lay
over and among the wreckage. A slab of butter spread wide by her foot, blobs of
corned beef with jelly still clinging, raspberry yogurt bleeding from a cracked
carton, a burst loaf, bruised apples, torn teabags, a trail of coffee grains,
puddles of milk and orange juice, hundreds of loose matches, many with spent
black heads, and, scattered over everything like corn-coloured snowdrops,
thousands of cereal flakes.

The only object I could see which wasn’t
on the floor was a plant pot which lay on its side on the small table next to
me; the contents, a short but vicious looking cactus, had been dragged out.
Some of the spikes at the tip were blood-stained. I righted the pot. What was
left of the soil inside bore Charmain’s scrabbling, desperate, heroin-seeking
finger marks.

I went over to where she sat rocking.
Rolling to and fro with her, in the dip made by the nightgown between her open
knees, was the empty heroin phial. I squatted in front of her, trying to look
up into her face. ‘Charmain, what happened? I thought you had enough to get you
through?’

She didn’t answer, just kept rocking.
Delicately, I reached for the phial which had dropped into a fold between her
thighs. Empty. I looked closely at the cap. It was cracked. By her side were
the tattered remains of her little pink bag, the lining had been torn out.
Gently, I parted her hair. A piece of the lining, sucked dry of the leaked
drug, hung limply from her mouth.

Whether it was shock or the beginning of
withdrawal I don’t know but I couldn’t rouse her. She was locked away, eyes
still open, in her own little world. I thought of cleaning the place up then
decided Stoke would be more easily convinced by our story if I left the mess.

I sat by the window to keep watch as
best I could while Charmain rocked and swayed on her bunk. About early evening
she began moaning and whining.

I gripped her knees. ‘Tough it out.
We’ll soon be away from here.’

She shook her head. ‘Can’t.

‘You can.’

‘No!  Get me some stuff!’

‘Charmain ...’ I tried to make her look
at me but she wouldn’t. I touched her chin, trying to bring it up. ‘Charmain
...’ Slowly she straightened and looked at me with red, pained, pleading eyes.
‘Please ...’ she moaned.

‘There isn’t any, Charmain. There’s nowhere
I can get it. We’re in the middle of the countryside, it’ll soon be dark.’

She just kept staring like a frightened
child. ‘Just a little ...’ The whine again. This was no good. I couldn’t face
many more hours of this, never mind days. Somehow I had to let Stoke know we
were here. An idea came to me. I checked my watch.