Outside (9 page)

‘
What’s that gross smell?
’
I ask.

‘
Shh. Most places outside our Perimeter smell like this. It
’
s how people live. In squalor mainly.
’

I get that feeling of inadequacy again. There are so many things about this trip I’m not prepared for. I half-wish I hadn
’
t suggested coming in here now. The smell of the place makes me think I
’
ve seen enough and the rows and rows of vehicles are a strange sight, making me feel dizzy. But I can
’
t change my mind after making such a fuss to come here in the first place.

We don’t see either of the guards, so we thread our way through the cars towards the other set of gates. Most of the parked vehicles are little more than rusted heaps that don’t look as if they’ll be going anywhere ever again.

Luc holds out his hand and I take it, feeling self-conscious. His skin is cool and firm. As well as the massive gates, there are also several small entrances up ahead with uniformed guards stationed at each one, but strangely all I can think about is the feel of my hand in Luc’s.

‘
I think this is going to be an expensive visit,
’
he says, drawing half-a- dozen silver bits from his pocket to grease more palms.

Finally we’re in.

Chapter Eleven

Riley

*

Once inside, the stench triples in awfulness and the place looks like nothing I’ve ever seen. The Compound
’
s inner entrance doors open up onto a long street, lined with busy shops and eateries. Above these, precarious-looking flats jut out all higgledy piggledy in various styles. No cars clog the roads, just pedestrians, horses and an imaginative array of non
-motorised
vehicles: push bikes with home-made trailers, wooden carts, covered wagons and people-powered rickshaws.

In front of the cosmopolitan shop facades, a vibrant street market is in full flow, packed with stall holders and shoppers. I don
’
t think I can recall ever seeing so much activity and so many people together in one place. I feel a little overwhelmed and have to stop to take several deep breaths.

‘You okay?’ Luc asks, as I tug on his hand for him to stop.

‘I just need a few seconds.’

‘Here, sit down and put your head between your knees for a minute.’ He guides me over to the side of the road, behind a cake stall and squats down, patting the ground next to him. I sit and take a few swigs of water. After a minute or two, I feel slightly less giddy.

I realise Luc has his arm around my shoulders. It feels good. Reassuring. Eventually, I compose myself and recover enough to stand.

‘Take your time.’ Luc rubs my arm and smiles into my eyes.

‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘I feel like such a lightweight. But the noise and heat; the smells. There are so many people. It’s amazing, but it freaked me out a bit.’

‘Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. I should have warned you what to expect. I didn’t even think. You’ve never been outside before have you?’

‘You kind of just assume it will be the same as home. The Perimeter is so peaceful and calm. This is great but it’s a bit intimidating, seeing all these people in one place.’

Vendors shout at the top of their voices and buyers haggle over produce with pretended indifference. There are fruit and vegetables in varying stages of freshness, great mountains of autumn
-coloured
grain, unappetising fly-covered meat, sweets, cakes, biscuits, home-made and second-hand clothing, skittish livestock, toys and crockery. Fire-eaters, jugglers, dancers and fortune tellers jostle for space. Now I’m over my panic attack, I’m
hypnotised by it all
.

‘
Is it like this all the time?
’
I ask Luc.

‘
Every Saturday, darlin',
’
an elderly street vendor standing next to me replies.
‘
Where you from then?
’

‘
Just visiting,
’
Luc says. He grabs my elbow and propels me forward into the throng.

‘
I
’
ll mind me own business then shall I?
’
The vendor goes back to crying his wares.

The main Charminster Road has smaller roads leading off it, which appear to be residential with a mixture of run-down houses and slightly larger apartment blocks. Some of the roads have been converted into small strips of farmland, with narrow paths running in front of the houses to allow access. There are penned animals, garden produce and crops, all patch-worked along into the distance.

Most plots have someone on guard, but it’s quite a laid-back affair. A man lounges on a garden chair, chatting to his neighbour, a rifle lying at his feet. The crop-carpeted roads give the overall impression of a quaint rural village and, from what I can see, most of the residents seem to be very cheerful and friendly. I could spend hours wandering the streets, sightseeing. It’s a huge and fascinating settlement, but the vastness of the place is going to make finding Chambers’ accommodation very difficult.

‘
We
’
ll have to ask someone where he lived.
’
I state the obvious.

‘
Yeah. We need to find someone.
’

I get a sudden surge of bravery.
‘
Excuse me.
’
I turn to a girl my age who strolls past, biting into a toffee apple.
‘Sorry, d
o you know where I could find Ron Chambers
’
place?
’

‘
The electrician?
’

‘
That’s right,
’ I reply, not believing she actually knows who I’m talking about.

‘
Haven’t you heard?’ she says. ‘He
’
s not here anymore. I think he was arrested. Not sure though. He used to live with the other trades on Porchester Road, D’you know it?’

I shake my head.

‘It’s down there.’ She points back down the road. ‘Northumberland Mansions. They’ll definitely have reallocated his apartment by now though.
’

‘
Thanks very much.
’
I smile. 

‘
You’re welcome.
’
She gives us a curious stare before turning off down a side street and disappearing.

‘
Cool, Riley.
’
Luc punches my arm.

Northumberland Mansions is a large ugly brown block, reserved purely for skilled trades people and their families. It sits on a wide tree-lined road and is probably quite a prestigious place to live. Close enough to the main road and the main gates, but far enough away not to be disturbed by the noise of the street market. Litter covers the pavement though and there’s dog shit everywhere.

Luc says I should speak on the intercom, as a girl’s voice is less intimidating. We stand in a urine and cabbage-smelling foyer and buzz a few numbers until someone answers. The woman on the other end confirms Chambers has left the compound, but that he used to live in apartment 26B. I duly press the bell for 26B and a man
’
s voice answers.

‘Hello,’ he says.

‘Hi, my name’s Riley. Can I speak to you for a few minutes?’

‘Who?’

‘Riley. I wonder if I could speak to you.’

‘Dunno any Riley. You need to go through the committee if you want an electrician.’ The intercom squeals and then goes dead.

‘Offer him some cigarettes,’ suggests Luc.

I press the bell again and put Luc’s offer to him.

‘
Fifth floor. Come on up.
’

We jog up the dim airless flights of stairs until we finally reach the fifth floor and push open an opaque glass door at the top of the stairs. I scrutinise the flat numbers listed on the wall and Luc points to a short, dark corridor on our left. There at the end we see a man peering out from behind his door, with 26B in dull gold lettering on it. He has the chain across and eyes us warily as we approach.

‘What do you want then?’

We briefly explain the reason for our visit, saying Chambers is wanted for murder and we’re here to see if he
’
s left anything behind that might give us a clue to his whereabouts.

‘Who are you then, the Munchkin Army? No offence, but you look a bit young to be playing detective.’

‘He killed my sister,’ I say quietly, starting to loathe this rude man.

He doesn’t reply for a while. Just stares, as if sizing us up.

‘Come on, Riley,’ says Luc. ‘We’re obviously wasting our time. We should go.’ He turns, as if to make his way back to the staircase.

‘Hold on a minute,’ says the man. ‘Got those smokes you were talking about?’

Luc produces a packet of cigarettes from his rucksack and holds them out for the man to see.

‘Blimey, those look like the real thing? Where’d you get those? Better not ask eh?’ He closes the door and I hear the sound of the chain sliding across.

The door opens again, without the chain, and a middle-aged man stands before us wearing a pair of almost indecently threadbare red nylon football shorts and a matching vest. His large white hairy belly protrudes from a gap between the two items of clothing. He pats it.

‘
Maybe I can start to lose some of this now I
’
m on the fifth floor with no bloody lift.’ Luc passes the cigarettes across and the man steps aside. ‘Okay, come through then, but no funny business. I’m watching the pair of you.
’

We follow him in and stand awkwardly in his entrance hall. I ask if he’ll let us have a quick look around the apartment.

‘
Got any more of those ciggies?
’
he asks, eying Luc’s rucksack.

Luc raises his eyebrows at me and I reluctantly nod. He produces another packet and hands them to the man.

‘
You beauty.
’
He grins at Luc and claps him on the shoulder.
‘
Mi casa es tu casa
’
he says cheerily, in bad Italian. ‘But I’ll come round with you, don’t want you rooting through me underwear drawer do I?’ He raises his eyes at me, as if to imply I’d enjoy doing such a gross thing.

I shudder.

‘Just moved in last week. Bloody lovely place. Clean white walls, wood floors. Can
’
t believe my luck. Didn
’
t find anything out of the ordinary though. Can
’
t believe you
’
re telling me the bloke’s a murderer; that
’
s a bit creepy. I
’
m a sparky, new to the area. Ever need anything electrical doing, just talk to the committee and I’ll give you a good deal.
’

We follow him around the flat. There’s a large lounge, two double bedrooms, an adequate kitchen and a shower room. It’s a lovely, airy apartment, simple and clean with high ceilings and, best of all, no horrible smell.

‘
This is hopeless,
’
I say.
‘
We
’
re not going to find anything.
’

‘
You done now?
’
asks the man, as we follow him back into the hallway. He looks as though he’s about to say something, but then he closes his mouth again and gives a tight-lipped smile.
‘
Well, cheers for the smokes.
’