Warhol's Prophecy (26 page)

He took a torch from his toolbox, jammed it into his belt, and began his descent, the stench growing even more intense as he drew closer to the bottom.

Cattran was beginning to wonder if he would make it. Was he going to faint before he reached the foot of the ladder? But he persevered, and finally made it into the conduit itself.

It was about three feet round, and he pulled the torch from his belt and shone it in both directions.

When he saw what was blocking the drain it took an almost superhuman effort to stop him vomiting.

Lumps, chunks, scraps of rotting meat clogged the drain.

The entire conduit was packed with the decaying white matter, much of which had already begun to putrefy. At first it looked like chicken flesh, but when he touched it he realized it had a different consistency: softer. There was something familiar about this seething mass of carrion. Something appallingly familiar.

The stench. The feel of it.

The realization hit him like a thunderbolt.

This rancid flesh wasn’t chicken.

It was human.

8 February 1983

I
T SOUNDED LIKE
an explosion.

As Rob Gibson heard the first rumble of thunder, he turned in his chair and looked out at the slate-grey sky.

Rain was already pelting down on the Velux windows of his office. Beating out a machine-gun tattoo on the glass.

He stood up and looked out, seeing the first phosphorescent shaft of lighting tear across the heavens. It looked like a luminescent vein against the mottled grey flesh of the sky.

Rob thought about Becky. She was terrified of thunderstorms. Had been since she was a baby.

He remembered, on more than one occasion during the last five years, how he and Hailey had woken to find she had climbed into bed between them. Or was crying for them in her own room.

Rob himself had gone in to comfort her the last time. Cuddled her and held her close. Told her that the storm was nothing to worry about.

The thunder, he’d told her, was just the clouds bumping together. Then he’d taught her the trick his father had taught him. The one where you counted between the flash of lightning and the rumble of thunder, so you could tell how far away the storm really was.

He’d stayed with her for an hour or more that night, counting the seconds between each flash and rumble. Counting the miles as the storm moved away. Then he’d sat in silence beside her bed until she fell asleep.

The thought of it brought a smile to his lips.

Hailey would be thinking about her too, he guessed.

Wherever the hell she was. Whatever she was doing.

The rain hammered even harder on the roof and windows, as if trying to break through them.

Hailey?

He wondered precisely what she was doing, how her meeting was going.

Taking an interest in her job? Watch it, you’re slipping.

He watched the sky, washed out by so much rain. The clouds that only promised more.

Rob glanced at his watch. He’d be home in another three hours. He’d see them both.

His wife and his daughter.

He smiled again.

The office door opened and he turned slowly to see who it was.

Sandy Bennett looked at him and smiled.

He didn’t return the smile.

‘Am I missing something?’ she asked.

‘I was just watching the rain,’ he told her.

‘The storm’s getting worse. I think we’re in the best place. Although I could think of one better.’

She pushed the office door shut and moved across to his desk.

‘Like where?’ he wanted to know.

‘Bed. We’d be nice and cosy tucked up in bed together.’

‘What do you want, Sandy? I’m busy.’

‘I typed up that stuff you wanted, and there’s a couple of faxes.’ She handed him the sheets of paper, touching his hand as she did so.

‘Is that it?’ he said, glancing at the fax communications.

‘I wondered if you might want to nip round for a drink tonight. You could always call Hailey and tell her you’d got a meeting or something.’

He regarded her impassively.

‘Yeah, I
could
,’ said Rob quietly, ‘if I wanted to. The thing is, I don’t
want
to.’

‘Rob, I know how you feel. I know you didn’t want to stop what was going on between us. If Hailey hadn’t found out, we’d still be together.’

‘We were never
together
, Sandy,’ he reminded her. ‘The sooner you get a grip on that, the better.’

‘Don’t tell me it isn’t a problem for you, too,’ she hissed. ‘Because I don’t believe you. You see me here every day, and you still want me.’

‘You’re right about one thing: it
is
a problem. And it’s about time I did something about it. You’re sacked. I want you out of my firm as well as my life. I’ll have your P45 sent on with any wages we owe you.’

‘You can’t do that.’

‘I’m doing it. Don’t come in tomorrow, Sandy. I mean it. I’m doing what I should have done when all this first happened. Hailey was right.’

‘I thought it
would
be her fucking idea. Is she scared she’s going to lose you? Scared she can’t compete?’

‘I tell you what: don’t wait until tomorrow. Get your stuff and go now.’

Sandy held his gaze for a moment, then spun round and left his office, slamming the door behind her.

Rob stood up, watching, as she crossed to her desk, picking up her handbag, pulling on her jacket. He saw Frank Burnside peering out, also watching the activity.

Then Sandy was gone.

Burnside had already left his office. Rob met him at the door.

‘What the hell is going on?’ Burnside wanted to know.

‘Come in, Frank,’ Rob said quietly. ‘I’ll explain.’

Outside, there was another loud rumble of thunder.

A
LL HE HAD
in the world, he carried with him in a Puma sportsbag. Some socks. A clean pair of jeans. A couple of shirts. A broken Walkman. T-shirts. A Zippo lighter.

There were a few other things in the bag that David Layton carried towards the main gate of HM Prison Wandsworth, but nothing of any worth.

He walked between two warders: the tall screw, Collinwood, and another man he hadn’t seen before.

None of the trio spoke. Not even when Collinwood selected a large key from the many on his chain and slotted it into the lock of a smaller door set in the larger gates.

He pushed open the door and motioned with his head for Layton to step out – when he gladly did.

He looked up at the sky, feeling the rain on his face. Glad to feel it.

It felt like freedom.

It
was
freedom.

‘Anyone meeting you?’ Collinwood asked, surveying the empty street beyond.

Layton shook his head.

‘There isn’t anyone,’ he said, looking around.

‘What will you do?’

‘What do
you
care? I’m not your responsibility any more, Mr Collinwood.’

He stared directly at the uniformed man.

‘That’s the first time in eighteen fucking months I haven’t had to call you “sir”,’ he snarled. ‘And it feels good.’

‘You’ll be back. Your kind always are.’

‘We’ll see. Don’t wait up for me.’

‘The nearest train station is—’

Layton cut him short.

‘I know where it is,’ he interrupted.

‘See you soon, Layton,’ the uniformed man intoned.

‘
Mr
Layton,’ he said, grinning.

The door closed behind him and, for long moments, he stood motionless in the rain. Staring back at the locked gate. The gate that kept him out now.

‘Fuck you, Collinwood,’ he rasped under his breath.

He swept his wet hair back, and began walking. He had about twenty-five quid on him.

It would be enough to get him where he wanted to go.

H
AILEY’S FIRST THOUGHT
: ‘Jim was right.’

As she entered the hotel room occupied by two members of Waterhole, she smiled at them, surprised when they both stood up . . . then turned their backs to her, bent over and broke wind in unison.

They both laughed hysterically and flopped back down on the sofa.

Trudi was laughing also. A high-pitched caterwaul of a laugh that echoed through the spacious room.

Hailey recognized the two men immediately.

Craig Levine and Matt Dennison. Vocalist and drummer respectively. Early twenties, unshaven, long shirts undone and flowing loose outside their grubby jeans. Levine was wearing a pair of Caterpillar boots, which he had resting on the coffee table in front of the sofa. Hailey noticed chewing gum stuck between the treads of the sole.

Dennison was wearing a pair of yellow wrap-around Ray-Bans, despite the fact that every light in the room was on.

Sitting next to him was a girl Hailey thought could be no older than twenty. She was blonde, dressed in a pair of jeans that looked as if they’d been sprayed on, and a tightly fastened black jacket that pushed her ample breasts together to form a cleavage you could lose a Filofax in.

She was stroking Dennison’s hair, occasionally flicking at strands of it with one index finger. Every time she did so, she giggled.

There was a large ghetto-blaster propped on top of the television in the corner of the room. Hailey recognized the sound of Waterhole’s latest album coming from it.

‘This is Hailey Gibson,’ Trudi said, waving a hand in Hailey’s direction.

‘I suppose you know who
we
are?’ said Levine, grinning. ‘Most people do.’

The room was filled with raucous laughter again.

‘
Jumped-up little shits.
’

From the bedroom of the suite another man appeared.

Mid-thirties, a little overweight. The Armani suit he wore fitted a little too snugly, Hailey thought, as she shook his hand.

‘Ray Taylor,’ the man said. ‘Manager.’

‘You’re supposed to curtsy now,’ Levine said.

More raucous laughter.

Hailey sat down opposite the two band members, trying to prevent her gaze from straying too often to the blonde, who was still stroking Dennison’s hair.

‘Leave it out, Sophie,’ said the drummer finally, looking round at the girl, who pouted for a moment then wandered off towards the bedroom.

‘I’m going to help Jenny try on those clothes she bought,’ said Sophie before disappearing from view.

‘Women,’ said Dennison, shrugging his shoulders and grinning.

Hailey was aware of his gaze travelling up and down her slender legs. He had barely looked at her face since she entered the room.

I’d eat you alive, you little bastard.

‘You’re from Jim Marsh, aren’t you?’ said Taylor, pouring himself a drink from the mini-bar.

Hailey nodded.

‘Worked for him long?’ Taylor persisted.

Hailey told him.

‘Would you like a drink?’ he asked.

‘Yeah,
we’re
going to have one, aren’t we, Matt?’ said Levine, also grinning.

Trudi hurried to the mini-bar to fetch what they wanted.

‘I know you’re busy, so I won’t keep you,’ Hailey said.

And the quicker I can get out of here the better.

‘I just came to check some details about the gig and the party afterwards.’