Shadow Box (21 page)

“You think?” A few days of R&R, kip and square meals wasn’t a bad idea. “Just until you and Sharpie decide on the next move?”

In truth, I felt secure up at my mum’s. In the depths of the Midlands, I felt like no one could get at me.

“Do it,” she said. “You’re only a phone call away, and a couple of hours on the train. I think it’s a good idea.”

“When will I see you again?” I found myself asking.

“Don’t be a sap, Eddie,” Anna said. “You know where I am. You know what we have. You know the score. Don’t go applying terms and conditions.”

I considered myself told and got dressed.

Anna went off to the office and kissed me on the mouth as we left.

“Keep it cool, Eddie,” she said. “I’ll let you know if there are any developments. I’ll tell Sharpie where you are. I think he’ll be glad that you’ve decided to take a few days off. He’s very uptight at the moment, but you’ve got to let him have his head. This is a big case for him, and these things tend to drive their own pace.”

“Understood,” I said and kissed her again.

I got the tube back to the flat, threw a few things into a bag and left. Euston was a short walk away; if I got an afternoon train, I’d be in Stoke by early evening.

“Dave?”

“Don?”

“Yeah. How’d you know?”

“What is it, Don?”

“He’s gone on the train.”

“Who?”

“The kid, Savage, Kelly, whatever.”

“Where?”

“Euston.”

“No, I mean
to
where?”

“Dunno. Manchester train.”

“Why didn’t you get on it and follow him, Don?”

“I was tired, Dave. You know I’m tired. I’d only just woken up when I got the nod from Jimmy Gallagher about where he was. It was all I could do to catch up with him, and he was on the train by three.”

Donnie was exasperated. He’d subcontracted Jimmy Gallagher to do some of the watching and waiting. He’d thought he’d be off-duty after the hit, and then the kid turned up at Belmarsh again. What was going on?

“I don’t want to go up ’effing north, Dave. You don’t know who you’re going to bump into. All them Scouse gits, Manchester Tony and Billy Whizz. I don’t want to get mixed up in all that toffee. It’s complicated enough already.”

“Don’t be a wanker all your life, Don,” Dave said crossly. “Take a day off. He’s gone to Stoke-on-Trent, where his old tit lives. I’ll text you her address. Get on the train and keep an eye. Treat it as a holiday. Plenty of old boozers and curry houses up there to keep you happy for a day or two. TK said five grand bonus. On top of what you’re owed.”

The money clicked a synapse in Donnie’s brain.

“Someone said they do a naan bread the size of a table up there in the Balti houses?”

“Land of milk and honey, Don,” Dave assured him.

“Do I need tools? I might just take a shiv and a five mil?”

“No action, mate, it’s easy. Just watching and waiting. Take a flat cap and a whippet and you’ll fit right in, you plum.”

“When, Dave?”

“Toot dee sweet,” Dave said. “That’s French for yesterday.”

“I’m tired, Dave. That time in hospital took—”

“Have a kip on the train, Don. Plenty of time for sleep when you’re dead.”

As the train pulled in to Stoke I began to regret my decision.

I had left London in sunshine, and as soon as I stepped onto the platform I felt the drizzle of a dull Midlands day on the back of my neck. It brought it all back to me like a conditioned reflex: the months I had spent here, recovering from the bullet wound and post-traumatic stress after I was shot.

I got into a cab and gave the driver my mum’s address. We headed out around endless ring roads before turning off and crawling in among the red brick terraces.

I had decided to arrive unannounced: a nice surprise, I thought. I knocked on the door and waited. No answer. Knocked again.

She was probably out. Stupid not to have just sent a text to say I was coming. Still no answer, and I didn’t have keys. I walked across to the other side of the street to check the house for signs of life. An upstairs curtain twitched, so I knew someone was in.

Being in this line of work, I always suspect the worst. I walked back across the road and banged harder on the door. Footsteps on the stairs followed, and my mum opened the door.

“I didn’t hear you,” she said, flustered. “I had the radio on. What a surprise.” She hugged and kissed me, held my face between her hands and cried a bit, then we went in.

“Cuppa?”

I looked around as she put the kettle on. An unfamiliar laptop was open on the kitchen table.

“Got yourself a laptop?” I asked. That was unlike Mum. She managed to order stuff online, but beyond that, computers were not really of any interest to her.

“No,” she said. “I’ve got a guest staying.”

“Kath?” I asked. Her sister often stayed when she was not travelling around India or Thailand.

“No,” she said, offering no further information.

“Hello, mate,” a voice came from behind me.

I spun round to see Tony Morris standing in the doorway.

“Tony! What are you doing here?”

“Probably same as you,” he said, shaking my hand vigorously and clasping me in a bear hug. “Keeping my gourd out of the firing line. Getting a bit of P&Q.”

I returned the hug. I was really pleased to see him.

“Cuppa, Tony?” Mum asked.

Tony had always been a regular visitor when I was growing up, but there was something else here, an ease between him and Mum in this domestic situation that made them seem like an old married couple.

“Ta, yes,” Tony said. “Coming outside?”

He winked at me and we went out through the kitchen into the small patch of garden. Tony began to make himself a roll-up.

“Smoking?”

“Just the odd twister. I gave it up for five years,” he said. “But, as you probably know, I’ve been having a bit of a stressy time. Stupid, really, fags aren’t going to solve it.”

“So what’s new, apart from taking up smoking again?”

“Bit of a deadlock, really. Napier’s working to get me off the hook. I don’t know how much you’ve been told – they know it’s a load of bollocks, but they have to follow the necessary protocols to keep the Met and the Awkward Squad happy until I’m cleared. Of course, they all know I’m working away in the background, they can’t stop me … but I can’t be seen to be making contact with you or anyone else on our firm. But what about you, more to the point. You OK?”

Whatever had happened to me, he knew. He always did.

“I’m over it, but I’ve been having a bit of a prickly time since with Sharpie,” I said. “Without you there, he seems to have taken it upon himself to run things.”

Tony nodded. “Sharpie’s ambitious. Likes to know the ins and outs of the cat’s arsehole. I sometimes limit what I tell him.”

“And then he limits the information he gives me.”

“Nature of it,” Tony said. “Too much information can be more dangerous than too little. It’s all on a need-to-know basis. So is he getting in your way?”

“I went to see Tommy Kelly.”

“Good move.” He didn’t seem surprised.

“Anna thought so, Sharpie didn’t. He thought it was too soon.” Tony shook his head. “Anna supported me, so he got outvoted.”

“Good girl,” Tony said approvingly. “She thinks the world of you. So how was Uncle Tommy?”

“Not bad,” I said. “He more or less admitted responsibility for the Martin Connolly hit.”

Tony agreed. “Sure he did. He’s pleased with himself. From our point of view it would have been good to have Connolly alive a bit longer. Once you’d drawn him out, he was a good lead.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because he is – was – Paul Dolan’s brother. Michael Dolan was his real name. He was a player.”

“Shit.” Suddenly the familiarity of Martin Connolly’s face and build made sense. The reason I had been sent to spy on Hannah suddenly joined up. “Shit.”

“We’re sure it was Connolly – Michael Dolan – who spirited Paul Dolan away on that video we saw. He made sure he disappeared before Tommy could get to him. So Tommy got to the brother instead, and Bashmakov’s bitch into the bargain.”

“Deliberately?” I asked. Tony shrugged.

“Seems too good to be a coincidence. Whichever way, it’ll have put a smile on Tommy’s face.”

“I managed to sneak in a picture we got of Sophie,” I said. “That really cheered him up.”

“Good,” Tony said. “He’s still showing his soft underbelly. If we can bring Sophie in, we have a strong bargaining tool. What did Tommy think?”

“He wanted me to go straight to New York and try to track her down. I was all enthusiastic and geed myself up, ready to go.”

“And?”

“Sharpie blocked it. Said it was too early again – but he really dug in this time. So I said I’d wait for his instructions and came up here.”

Tony flicked out the roll-up. Thought for a moment.

“What’s he waiting for?”

“I don’t know,” I said.

“I’m generally of the strike-while-the-iron’s-hot school. Maybe Sharpie’s playing a longer game. I’ll have a think about it.”

“This tea’s going cold,” Mum called from the kitchen.

“Sorry,” Tony called back. “We’ve been chatting.”

We went inside.

“What do you boys fancy for your tea tonight?” Mum asked.

Tony and I looked at each other.

“Curry,” we grinned.

Donnie checked into the Stoke Travelodge.

He didn’t like “up north” and he didn’t like Travelodges, either.

They never had a proper bar. Or nosh.

As soon as he’d dumped his grip, containing socks, pants and a worn toothbrush, he went back to reception and ordered a cab.

He gave the driver an address and they drove a mile or so through the rows of terraced streets in an area that Donnie couldn’t pronounce. He asked the driver to drive past the address he had given, clocked the house, then asked to be taken to the nearest pub.

“You sure, pal?” the cabbie asked. “The nearest one’s a bit rough. You’re better off going to The Greyhound.”

Donnie wasn’t bothered by the idea of a rough pub; he had spent plenty of time in them over the years, and his presence usually added to their reputation. However, he took the cabbie’s advice and was dropped off outside The Greyhound. It wasn’t bad at all, a good old-fashioned boozer with areas divided by wooden panelling.

It was busy, and Donnie waited patiently while several locals were served before him. He found himself a seat in a corner booth and sipped his first pint. He didn’t spot the kid at first. An older, nondescript bloke was buying the beer. It might have been his dad, and as they chatted and joshed while their drinks were being poured, Donnie envied their easy father-son bond.

For a second he was sorry that he was going to have to kill the kid.

They were on the other side of the pub, a good distance away, the other side of a wooden divide, but Donnie couldn’t afford to be seen. He couldn’t spend an hour with a copy of the local paper in front of his face, they’d spot that a mile off, but to leave he would have to walk past them. The only available door on his side of the pub was the gents’. With his back to the bar, as subtly as he could manage, Donnie slipped across to the toilets – on second thoughts, stopping to take his beer with him – and locked himself in the cubicle.

As custom dictated, Tony and I had a pint in The Greyhound before picking up the takeaway. The pub was pretty full, so we stood at the bar. Tony was affable off-duty.

“How long you been up here, Tony?”

“Just a few days. Your mum’s been very good to me. We’ve had a nice time. Went out yesterday for a spot of lunch and a walk round Trentham Gardens. It’s relaxing. I feel safe up here, out of the way.”

“I know what you mean,” I said. “But lying low gets a bit boring after a few days. That’s why I ran off to Spain last time I was stuck up here.”

Tony laughed.

“And look where that got you.”

“Told you I get bored easily,” I joked.