They shifted an amazing amount of stuff. ‘It won’t fool the police, though,’ he said anxiously, standing in front of a small mountain of car stereos, handbags, empty wallets, ‘lost’ credit cards, coats, and God knows what else that Nick and Davey and various other people had sold to him over the years, and that he’d never parted with. He tried to convince the boys to smuggle them out of the house, but they refused.
‘It’s all yours now, Shine,’ said Davey generously, and Shiner groaned dramatically and called him a Judas.
And he kept his weed, of course. ‘Just a few ounces for me own personal use,’ he said. ‘No one’s going to do a Jamaican man for a likkle smoke.’ But for now, Davey and Nick had to take their stolen goods elsewhere, or stockpile it till Shiner felt the heat was off.
It had been ten days since the killing. The police had been round asking questions several times, but they hadn’t searched the place so far. Davey reckoned Sunshine was being paranoid. Jones was miles away by now, out of the country, sitting pretty somewhere - as pretty as such an ugly bastard could be, anyway.
‘They don’t need Jones here to want to search it,’ said Sunshine. ‘They just need to think there might be a clue, that’s all. It’s just a matter of time,’ he added, and refused to budge.
Nick gathered up the cards and shuffled for another deal. The past week had been vile. The police were still after him, wanting to question him about Stella and Jones. What was he supposed to do? Admit he’d helped Jones rob a chemist’s? Then what? It would be back to Meadow Hill and dear Tony Creal.
His nerves were on edge. He glanced anxiously at the door as a loud creak cracked on the other side. Davey laughed.
‘It sounds like the bloody cops on the stairs,’ complained Nick, smiling despite himself and dealing out the cards.
Davey shrugged. ‘You’re not made for this life, mate - too nervous. You should be round at Jenny’s. Nice safe bed, bowl of cornflakes whenever you want one.’
‘Boring,’ said Nick. ‘Nothing ever happens.’
‘Too edgy for the good life you and me, both, mate, that’s us. We’ll be in trouble all our lives because boredom’s even worse than getting caught. You reckon?’
‘I reckon.’
‘I’ll have three.’
Nick dealt. From deeper in the house came a silver burst of laughter and Sunshine’s throaty, smoky chuckle. ‘What’s he doing?’ muttered Davey.
‘What do you think he’s doing?’
‘I know what he’s doing, Nick, I just wonder why he’s doing it now as soon as Stella’s gone.’
‘Not much to wait for now.’
‘It’s disre-bloody-spectful, mate, that’s what.’
Nick shrugged. ‘She’s not going to know.’
‘I’m a Catholic, mate. I believe the dead know everything.’
‘Even when you have a crap?’
‘Now you’re being disrespectful.’
‘I’m just asking.’
‘Jesus sees. Jesus knows.’
‘Bloody hell.’
‘But that doesn’t mean He has to look.’
‘Is that what all Catholics believe?’
‘I’m a Catholic and I believe it, don’t I?’
‘Yeah, right.’
The two boys studied their cards. Across the room, the intercom buzzed. They looked at one another and waited. Nick looked up at the clock.
‘Bit late for visitors,’ he said. Shiner had left orders that he was to OK anyone who came in.
They waited. The bell rang again. Then, a voice crackled over the intercom and they both leapt to their feet.
It was Jones.
‘Jesus.’
‘It’s ’im!’
Davey ran over to the intercom and bent to listen. ‘Go and tell Shine. Quick!’
Nick ran down the corridor and banged on the door. ‘Shiner! Shine - it’s him.’
‘No...’
‘It bloody is. Come and listen.’
A second later Sunshine was out of the room zipping up his jeans, with a pale blonde girl following after him. Anxiously they all gathered around the intercom.
No noise.
‘It was him,’ insisted Davey.
‘Maybe he’s gone.’
‘It’ll be the first time he’s taken no for an answer,’ said Shiner.
The bell rang again. They all held their breath. A moment later Jones’s voice came hissing through the intercom.
‘Open this fucking door, you little black shit. You think I have anything to lose? Open this fucking door before I come in to get you, you hear me?’
‘Jesus man!’ Shiner turned and staggered around the room clutching his hair. ‘What’s he doing here, man? Here of all places. Thank God we cleaned the place out. Man!’
‘What’s going on?’ demanded the girl, but no one even heard her.
‘What you going to do, Shine?’ Davey asked.
Shiner walked round and round the kitchen, shaking his head.
‘What’s going on?’ asked the girl again.
‘We have an unwanted visitor,’ explained Davey. He glanced at Nick, who was edging away to the back of the kitchen.
‘Don’t let him in, Shine,’ he said. ‘If he sees me, he’ll kill me.’
‘Why’s that?’ demanded Sunshine. ‘What’s he got against you?’
‘Nothing ... I can’t explain it. Just don’t let him in.’
Suddenly a barrage of explosive bangs came through the intercom.
‘Open this fucking door, open this door, open it now!’ screamed the crackly voice.
‘Oh, man! Oh, man!’ wailed Sunshine.
‘What we gonna do?’ demanded Davey.
Shiner came to the same conclusion he always did.
‘Open it. Let him in. What can we do? Go on, open it.’
As he spoke Nick slipped away through the kitchen and into the sitting room. Just by the kitchen door there was a series of iron hoops hammered into the wall underneath an entrance up to the roof space. Four steps up, and he was in the attic, tiptoeing away across a line of old cupboard doors someone had laid down years ago, to hide in the dusty darkness.
Below him, Shiner ordered the girl back to bed.
‘Who is it, anyway?’ she demanded.
‘You read the papers? You heard the name of Ben Jones?’ demanded Shiner.
‘The one that did that girl in? You’re joking. Bloody hell, what’s he doing here?’ she asked over her shoulder, and disappeared back into the bedroom without waiting for an answer. Davey began to head for the door as well, but Shiner lifted a finger.
‘Two against one is better odds, Davey. Don’t leave me here on my own, OK?’
Davey looked hard at him, and he sat back down. Shiner sat down slowly on the other side of the table. Like this, heads turned to the door, they waited for the coming of Jones.
Shiner picked up the cards.
‘Might as well enjoy ourselves while we wait, eh?’
Davey snorted mirthlessly, picked his cards up, and they pretended to play.
The floors creaked and the doors groaned with the wind, but they didn’t have long to wait. In the end he burst suddenly in on them as usual, when they weren’t expecting it, so quick, it made both of them jump with fright.
Jones looked awful - unshaven, white-faced, black rings under his eyes, his face screwed up in a permanent clench of fear and suspense. He stank - sour sweat and acrid breath. It was the smell of fear. He’d been on the run ever since he killed the girl he loved.
He stood in front of them, glaring and holding his coat around him; then he suddenly flung it open and closed it again in a moment, quick enough to reveal the sawn-off shotgun. ‘I’ve got this,’ he said, ‘in case anyone has an opinion.’
‘No opinions,’ insisted Shiner. ‘What, man, eh, Jones? You don’t need no guns here. We thought you’d left the country, man.’
‘I tried.’
‘What ’appen, man?’
Jones grimaced in fur
y and humiliation before he could look at them. ‘Passport,’ he said. ‘I left me passport behind.’
There was a pause. Jones watched them closely to see even a flicker of derision, but no one dared show anything. Indeed, no one felt anything but fear. He clutched at the gun under his coat.
Jones bustled suddenly into the room, moving like a man continually making up his mind and then changing it. He opened the fridge door, and began stuffing mouthfuls of cheese and bread into his mouth.
‘Have they held the inquest yet?’ he demanded, through a full mouth.
‘Not that I know of,’ said Shiner.
‘How can they bear to keep her?’ muttered Jones, half to himself. Stella came to him every time he closed his eyes. In his madness, he’d come to believe that once she was buried or burned, she’d leave him alone.
Over the intercom, there was a huge crash. Jones froze. Shiner lifted his hands in the air. Another crash.
‘The police!’ Jones tore the gun out of his coat and pointed it straight in Shiner’s face. ‘You rang them. You bastard, you rang 'em!’
‘No, no. Jones, no ... ’
‘I swear to God he never did, Jonesy,’ insisted Davey. ‘None of us did.’
‘They must have been watching the house,’ begged Shiner.
Jones glared at him and gripped the gun.
‘I swear to God,’ said Shiner quietly. ‘They must have seen you come in. I knew they’d come sooner or later. Man, you brought them here yourself!’
Jones grimaced. He looked around.
‘The roof,’ said Shiner. Jones turned and ran out of the kitchen to the iron hoops that led to the attic, his long coat swinging behind him as he climbed.
He paused halfway up.
‘I’ll hear every word you say,’ he said. He patted the gun, and disappeared into the roof.
‘You sent him up after Nick, you twat,’ hissed Davey. Above them, as if in answer, there was a scratching scuffle over their heads.
Behind him, the intercom reported the front door caving in and there was a torrent of feet coming up the stairs. They knew the way, too. Only a minute later there was a bang at the door.
‘Police,’ said a voice.
‘It’s open,’ said Shiner.
‘You open it, Sunshine. Do it now,’ said the voice.
Slowly and deliberately, Shiner got up and opened the door. An armed policeman appeared behind it, shielding himself from the room with Sunshine’s body, and scanned the room. Once he was sure it was empty, he pushed Shiner back into the room and gestured to him to sit down. The policeman looked to someone still in the corridor and nodded. A senior officer appeared behind him and looked at Shiner.
Above them came a voice. ‘Oh!’ a little cry of surprise. The voice was Jones’s. Shiner said nothing, but nodded and raised a finger and pointed above at the roof.
Up in the dark attic, Nick heard everything. When Shiner told Jones to go to the roof, it was like someone planning his nightmare, or death. But it didn’t mean Jones was going to find him. Even though he could see hardly anything, it was as dark up there for them both. And the attic was huge - Jones could end up anywhere. Nick just had to stay very, very quiet.
As soon as the murderer was safely up on the beams, he struck a light on his zippo lighter. The yellow fire illuminated his face - Nick could see him quite plainly - and glinted a long bright line on the barrel of the shotgun. Nick was certain he was looking at the instrument of his death. Then, the nightmare began to come true when out of all the space up there, Jones began to shuffle directly towards him.
It wasn’t simply bad luck. As soon as Jones struck a light, he could see the way. Holding the lighter at arm’s-length before him, Jones began to creep along the cupboard doors that lay at his feet.
Nick sat stiller than he ever had in his life. As the drama below them unfolded and the armed police ran up the stairs and into the flat, the laid-out doors led Jones right up to him, until finally, they were standing just inches from one another. Jones let the lighter out before he spotted Nick, but he must have heard him breathing, or felt his heat, because almost at once he flashed it on again right in Nick’s face...
‘Oh!’ gasped Jones in a fright, thus giving himself away to the police below. He swayed in surprise, then shot a hand out and seized Nick by the front of his shirt.
‘You little fuck,’ he mouthed.
Before Nick could say a word, the police called up.
‘Ben Jones!’ The policeman sounded as if he was only feet away; he was. ‘You are wanted for the crime of murder. You are surrounded by armed officers. There is no possible way you can escape from this situation. Give yourself up. It’s over, Jones,’ he added, more quietly.
Jones lifted the gun out of his coat, pointed it at the floor, to one side of the voice, and fired. The gun roared and flashed in the darkness and blew away a slab of ceiling. The light in the kitchen went off and coughs and yells came from below, where Davey, Shiner and the policemen were plunged into sudden darkness and dust and plaster, and the filth of generations of pigeons fell down on them. Still with a grip on Nick’s throat, Jones shuffled backwards into the darkness. Below, the police, Shiner and Davey bent to cover their faces against the falling plaster and dust.
Someone turned a light on in an adjacent room and the borrowed light flooded up through the hole in the ceiling. Jones and Nick stared at each other in terror.
‘Turn it off!’ screamed Jones. ‘I’ve got the kid up here. Turn off that light.’
Down below them the ceiling was still crumbling amid footsteps and a babble of voices. It went quiet at Jones’s command, though. Someone barked a command and the light was turned off. Immediately, they were all plunged into darkness again.
Jones turned Nick round and pushed him away in front of him, swaying perilously over the beams that supported the dusty ceiling. In front of them, there was a small chink in the roof tiles, through which a few pale lines of light from a streetlamp below them shone.
‘You wait there, where I can see your face,’ Jones commanded, pushing Nick down onto his haunches so the fragile light shone on his face. ‘And don’t you move, not one inch out of the light, because as soon as that face disappears from my view, I’ll kill you. Understand?’
Nick nodded agreement. Jones backed off and flicked on his lighter, still pointing the shotgun at him, casting around to see where they were. There was a wall a few yards behind him, and he carefully paced over the beams to that. He turned, still keeping the gun pointed at Nick, and gently lowered himself to the floor.
For a moment Jones held the lighter up in the air, illuminating himself, the gun and Nick all in its little light. The gun was pointing straight at Nick’s face. ‘So you know I got you covered,’ said Jones. ‘Understand?’ Nick nodded. Jones nodded back, and turned the lighter off.
When the light vanished, so did Jones. Nick couldn’t see a thing. It was the devil’s own darkness though. The next thing Nick heard was the gun being cocked.
Nick closed his eyes and prayed, although he’d never believed in anything. Around him the timbers creaked. He had no idea if it was the police, the wind, or Jones himself.
Then, in front of him, the gun clicked. Nick’s eyes sprang open. It was coming, it was coming. He heard Jones sigh. He closed his eyes again to wait for oblivion, but it was almost as dark with them open. So it was that when the gun went off, Nick missed the flash of powder that might have shown him what happened.
He screamed when the gun fired and cringed back, but nothing struck him. He sat shivering in the darkness as something slid to the floor. Rapidly, the air began to fill with the thick smell of warm blood.
Nick could guess what had happened, what was lying opposite him, but he was too scared to move, or make any kind of noise at all. He sat in total darkness for several minutes more, as the policemen called and ran about below. He began to weep, then, and they could hear that. It was only when, by accident, one of them below flicked the switch that tur
ned on the attic light, that the dreadful sight of Jones sprawled on the floor with his brains spattered on the wall behind him sprang out of the darkness at him, and Nick began to scream and scream with all his might, and the policemen came running up the stairs to fetch him down.
36
Aftermath
Shiner and Nick were both taken in for questioning and the police began a thorough search of the whole building, just as Shiner predicted - not for drugs, but on the off-chance they might find something connected with the murder. That didn’t mean to say they wouldn’t act on anything else interesting, of course.
Shiner had cleared away evidence of the more illegal sides to his business, but finally his inability to do housework caught up with him. The great bags of weed he used to wheel and deal were out of the way, but under every table, all along the side of his bed, all over the work surface and scattered generally around the place were the droppings and spillings from all the spliffs he’d smoked since Stella had gone. All in all, the police swept up over an ounce of weed, more than enough to put Sunshine in the cells for a while and to fine him several hundred pounds when the case came up in court some months later. But he was back smoking his weed, drinking his beer and trekking around his women within a week or two. He never dealt in pharmaceuticals again, but apart from that there was not much change in the appearance of his life, at least. He always claimed though, that his heart was broken, and perhaps it was. At least, it was several years before he moved another woman in to live with him.
Davey, despite a building full of armed police, managed to pull off one of his fabulous disappearing acts that night. He asked to go to the toilet, and once inside, cleverly forged his own peeing by tying the ballcock in the cistern so that the water was coming in at a steady trickle, and re-routing it with one of his trainers, out at the toe, into the lavatory pan. The officer in charge of him stood waiting outside the door listening in increasing amazement to a staggeringly long piddle, while Davey let himself out through a fourth-storey window, climbed along a ledge at a dizzying height above the streets below to a gully on the roof, off onto another building, in through another window, down the stairs and out onto the street and freedom, all wearing only one trainer. He deserved his freedom for a trick like that, but although he could escape almost anything, he couldn’t escape his old habits and his old haunts. They picked him up at his parents’ house a few days later.