A Cry in the Night (22 page)

Zoe didn’t move. She watched Eli and felt sick as his tongue slowly slipped out of his mouth. He twitched and suddenly Malcolm was beating him again with his truncheon, this time around the back and kidneys.

‘Don’t move, don’t you dare bloody move,’ he hissed, timing his words to the cruel, metronomic beat of each strike.

‘Sarge …’ she said quietly. But the attack continued. She saw Eli’s eyes roll up into his head.

‘I said don’t move, you little runt …’ Malcolm grunted and spat.

Behind her, Zoe heard the crunch of boots and turned to see two PCs rushing along the alley. Malcolm saw them too and stopped. He sucked air into his lungs and stood tall and proud over Eli’s inert body. The two young cops stared at him, shifting uneasily.

‘Little bastard went for me. With this,’ Malcolm said
loudly, stepping away from the body and grabbing a metal bar which he held up. ‘I’m lucky he didn’t brain me.’

Eli’s eyes fluttered and closed.

‘The kid went mad, totally out of control. Bloody animal,’ he added. And then he pointed at Zoe. ‘She’ll tell you. Our Zoe saw the whole thing.’

All eyes turned to her, but all Zoe could see was Eli and the blood. His unconscious body suffered another involuntary spasm and for a second she thought that Malcolm was going to hit him again. But no one moved.

‘Call an ambulance, lad,’ Malcolm said to one of the PCs, who hurriedly did as he was told. Malcolm went over and stood very close to Zoe. She could smell his breath.

‘Glad it was you that found me,’ he said quietly. ‘A proper cop. Part of the team. Knows what’s what.’

She didn’t acknowledge the comment.

‘Had it coming, didn’t he?’ Malcolm said.

‘Ambulance is on its way, Sarge,’ said the young cop behind them. She heard the words and heard Malcolm thank him in his hearty, confident, blokish manner. And then she felt his hand on her arm.

‘Zoe. You saw him go for me. You saw that I had no chance.’

She pulled away from him and walked off. He went to grab her again, but she was too quick, hurrying away. She saw the two young cops look at her, astonished, as she went. A moment later she heard him shout after her.

‘So I’ll see you back at the nick, then. Okay, Zoe?’

She walked on and away. She didn’t go back to the station but did manage to meet up with her friends, where she drank a little fast and argued a little too loudly. They were used to her, and tutted and shushed her when she became too abrasive. She watched them chat and gossip, and laughed at herself when they despaired of her single status.

Later, when they all cried off to bed, with jobs and boyfriends awaiting, she found an ugly bar close to home where she sat in a corner and drank herself properly drunk.

Issy and Jenny came downstairs next morning to find Sam burning pancakes on the stove and swearing his head off. The congealed mess in the sticky frying pan made them laugh, and this didn’t improve his mood.

‘When did we get this stupid thing?’ he moaned, waving the pan in the air. The girls both shrugged and busied themselves with cereal and toast. Sam offered to drive them into school and, after a shared glance that made it clear this was never going to happen in a million years, they both declined with a snigger.

Magda had every Wednesday morning off and was enjoying a lie-in, so Sam took his frustrations out on the washing-up. As he beat the living daylights out of a couple of mugs, he wondered again about Helen’s appearance that night. He felt calmer now that it was day, but he still couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that those little boys had provoked. He
stared at the soapy bubbles and wondered what Helen was capable of, and how best to defeat her.

Aware that his daughters were watching him and that he looked ridiculous in the apron he wore to protect his shirt and tie, Sam tried to play the fool to raise a laugh. His antics fell flat. Issy shoved a school form in front of him to sign – a trip to a local museum – and snatched it back off him when he did. Trying a little too hard, he asked them if they needed money. Jenny took some for a new set of files (to which Issy made sarky comments) and Issy ignored the question completely.

‘We’re out of Marmite,’ Jenny said.

‘And everything else,’ her sister added.

‘Like what?’ Sam asked. The girls just shrugged as if the list was too enormous to contemplate. Then they dumped their things in the washing-up bowl, muttered goodbyes (Issy was already on the phone by this point) and shot out, slamming the door behind them.

Sam wandered around the kitchen, opening cupboards and peering at tins and jars, trying to work out what was needed. Now fully deflated, he headed off to the local supermarket and trudged miserably round the aisles. As he got lost somewhere amongst noodles and spaghetti, his mind pushed the case back at him.

No one disappears without a trace. There must be a trail, somehow, that would lead back to Helen Seymour. His brain
coughed and sparked like a flooded engine as he tried to put the pieces together. It wasn’t until he reached the police station that he finally saw a way forward and everything inside him roared.

Helen was clever. She’d have made sure that all mail would be forwarded to her chambers and they would use an automatic post office service to be certain that any other correspondence would be mopped up. There was no way he could find the missing witness that way. But such a service does not cope well with misspelled names and similar anomalies. And that, Sam knew, would give him his chance. But just as he reached for the file, excited by the possibilities, there was a knock on the door and he saw Zoe standing on the other side. His heart sank, but then he noted how pale she looked and he waved her in.

*

The trouble had started the moment Zoe reached the station the next morning. As she approached the back door, she caught a glimpse of two young PCs heading out on foot patrol, and the look from one of them – that shifty, knowing glance – told her all she needed to know. Sure enough, when she entered the locker room, the place fell silent. She got changed as though she hadn’t noticed a thing. Only a few moments later Malcolm appeared at the door, clearly tipped off as to her arrival.

‘Morning, Zo-Zo,’ he said.

‘Hi, Sarge,’ she replied with matching jollity, but she wasn’t quite confident enough to meet his eye.

He sat down next to her and she was drowning in his heavy aftershave. His thick hand patted her thigh as she pulled on her top.

‘Quite a night, eh?’ he said.

‘Yes it was.’ She was standing now, shutting the locker door, getting ready to get the hell out of there. When she turned she realised that all the guys were facing her. She was alone in a room with seven men.

‘What I’ve always liked about you,’ Malcolm said, ‘is that you’re a team player. Remember how I’ve always said that? It’s what sets us apart from the mongrels out there. We work for each other, watch your mate’s back, you know.’

‘I know.’

‘When you buggered off over to CID, some of the guys they were saying stuff about you, honey. Jumped up little something or other, I can’t remember the words. Thought you were acting above your station, anyhow. But I saw them right. I’ve always known you’re a good ’un.’

‘Thanks, Sarge.’

‘Do I need to go on? It’s getting a bit stupid now, isn’t it?’

There was no air in the room.

‘How is he?’ she finally asked. She wanted to give in but she could still see Eli’s gasping face on the pavement. She
imagined that Malcolm’s hand might still have flecks of blood on it.

‘He’s gonna be fine. More than he deserves.’

There was a muttering of approval from the other men in the room.

‘He’ll say nothing,’ the Sergeant continued. ‘Come on, Zoe, he knows how it all works. He tagged a cop car. He smashed that poor little girl’s house to pieces. He’s scum. He got caught. He’ll say he can’t remember and we all carry on.’

‘I suppose I was just being silly,’ she said, a little bashfully.

‘There you go.’

‘Wondering how it would look if I backed up your version of events only to find him saying something else. Like that you went for him and beat him and beat him and beat him.’ Her tone was sharp now, but she couldn’t stop herself.

‘And if he did? His word against mine.’

‘His word and his wounds.’

Everyone in the room would know she was right. There was no way that a beating like that could ever be claimed as self-defence.

‘We’re talking about Eli, here. Remember him? Remember the things he’s done, Zoe?’

‘Yes, Sarge.’

‘It might get messy. Fair call, you’re right, it might get a little sweaty. But my boy Gareth’s already writing up a statement that backs me up. And when you do too, well,
what can they say? They might not like it and some people might wave their hands in the air, but that’s all they can do. You know how it works.’

He was probably right. With no evidence and with coordinated testimony from the police, something like this would eventually die. The local community would be up in arms, and relations between them and the cops would sink even lower, but Malcolm, most likely, would get away with it.

‘It’s not like you’re exactly whiter than white yourself, is it, love?’

She had to get out of there. But his hand was on her shoulder now.

‘See, boys? She’s a good girl. She wouldn’t do anything to harm one of us.’

She hadn’t done anything to warrant this comment and they all knew it. The men carried on staring silently at her. She’d done the same to others over the years, but the familiarity of it all didn’t lessen its impact.

‘Time I got upstairs, Sarge,’ she said as lightly as she could, and tapped her watch.

‘Sure, honey, sure,’ Malcolm replied. ‘You’ve got to get out there, serve and protect. That’s what we do.’

But his hand was still pressing down on her shoulder. He was so tough and thick. She imagined trying to fight him and could only see her puny fists bouncing uselessly off his body.

‘You get yourself upstairs, sweetheart. But we’ll need your report in today. They don’t like it if paperwork takes too long, do they?’

His lifted his hand and she was free to go. She walked towards the door, but noticed that a cop stood in front of it, barring her way.

‘Shift it,’ she said, but he didn’t move.

For a moment she thought it would kick off right then and there. She imagined an arm around her neck, pulling her back, and for these unsubtle innuendoes to turn into direct threats. She stood there and waited. But then the cop stood aside. Malcolm must have nodded to him behind her. She walked past, out into the corridor, which was busy as usual, unaffected by the sweaty antics of the locker room.

Zoe didn’t run but she certainly walked fast. She got up to CID and, to her great relief, saw that Sam was in. She barged into his office and crashed into a chair. When she looked at him she got the sense that he was disappointed to see her.

‘Hi,’ he said.

‘You heard about last night?’

He shook his head. ‘I’ve been a bit wrapped up with things. What’s up?’

‘Really? You’ve …? Really?’

He was thrown by this. He shrugged at her – so tell me.

‘Malcolm went mental.’

‘Sergeant Cartmell,’ he corrected.

‘Yes, Sergeant Cartmell, sorry. The fine and upstanding Sergeant went and kicked a boy into a coma last night. And I was the lucky one to see it happen.’

‘Shit,’ Sam replied, rubbing his eyes. He looked exhausted. ‘What are you doing about it?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know.’ There was a slight wobble in her voice as she said it, a release that she hadn’t been able to allow herself until now.

‘How bad was it?’

‘It was disgusting, boss.’

He nodded, but didn’t speak for a while. Finally: ‘You okay?’

‘I will be,’ she said, trying to sound strong. It was a job requirement, after all.

‘They want you to make up a report, I take it?’

She nodded and listened as he gave her the stock advice: do nothing, weigh it all up, let them think you’re doing what they want, even tell them you have if they push. It wasn’t the advice she was hoping for.

‘Will you talk to him?’ she finally asked.

‘Okay,’ he said, and his head dropped back to his paperwork. The speed with which he seemed to dismiss this irritated her. She still felt a little juddery from the locker room and didn’t want to be shoved back out onto normal duties so soon.

‘It might need more than a matey chat,’ she added.

‘It’ll be fine.’

He couldn’t know this, not for sure, and as she watched him run his pen under a line in a report, she felt increasingly angry.

‘Well, thanks, then,’ she said.

‘Yeah,’ he replied, not looking up. She stood and walked out, back into the goldfish bowl.

Zoe flopped into her chair and checked her computer. There were various work-related chores, nothing urgent – mainly HR and new directives. But then two messages popped up that made her lean closer to the monitor. The first was from an anonymous email address with the subject ‘
DO THE RIGHT THING
’ and no content. She knew it would be from one of Malcolm’s minions and she knew that there would be more soon. The second was from ‘Seymour, Helen’.

She glanced around before opening it.

‘
Hi Zoe. Do you have a chance to meet? I can come to you if easier. Best, H
.’

An email. Not a secretive phone call but an easily copied and forwarded piece of correspondence. It was almost brazen. At the bottom of the email were contact phone numbers, including a mobile. She slipped out into the stairwell before she dialled the number.

Helen picked up after a single ring.

‘Zoe, hi!’ she said, almost as though they were buddies.

‘Yeah. So you wanted to meet?’

‘Yes, please.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s easier to tell you in person.’

Zoe bit her lip. She didn’t like this. ‘Okay,’ she said.

‘Thank you. I assume you won’t want to be seen by your colleagues.’

‘Damn straight.’

‘How about that cafe on Lyall Street?’

‘Fine. When?’

‘Now?’