Borstal Slags (17 page)

‘Yes, but something went wrong this time,’ said Annie. ‘The message says he’ll be in a fridge on the back of
Gertrude
. But he wasn’t. He was in an old oven that got brought in by the other lorry.’

‘
Matilda
.’

‘That’s the one.’

‘Which means,’ said Sam, ‘that either Andy Coren buggered things up and got in the wrong lorry, or—’

‘Or somebody knew about his escape plan and buggered it up for him. Who might do that to him, Sam?’

‘Well, what about House Master McClintock? He personally vets all the outgoing letters at Friar’s Brook. He would have seen this letter before it was sent. He rubber-stamped it for approval and let it go out. But what if he spotted the code? Or was tipped off about it? Either way, let’s suppose he deciphered the hidden message. He would have known what Andy Coren was planning.’

Annie nodded, then frowned. ‘Yeah, but – if this House Master knew that Coren was planning to escape, why didn’t he just scupper his plan right away?’

‘Because that’s not how McClintock operates,’ said Sam. ‘I met him today. He’s a bastard, Annie. A
real
bastard. He runs that borstal like it’s a concentration camp. You wouldn’t believe the things that go on there, Annie.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Okay. Let’s suppose that Andy Coren was a troublemaker. Let’s suppose there was bad blood between him and McClintock.’

‘Okay. Let’s suppose that. What of it?’

‘McClintock doesn’t pull his punches when it comes to discipline. And he can’t stand to have his precious System challenged. What if he somehow deciphered the message in that letter, but let it be posted anyway?’

‘Why would he do that, Sam? It makes no sense.’

‘But it
does
make sense. Because, once he’s let that letter be posted, he changes the work detail! On the day of the escape, he shifts Coren from loading fridges onto
Gertrude
to loading
ovens
onto
Matilda
. He foils Coren’s escape plan at the very last second, just to show him, just to really rub it in!’

‘But he didn’t
stop
him, Sam. Andy Coren did escape!’

‘Yes. Perhaps Andy couldn’t resist the chance. Perhaps he trusted to luck that his brother would find him anyway once he was at Kersey’s Yard. But what really matters here, Annie, is that
McClintock knew he was inside one of them ovens
! He knew it, but he let that lorry carry him out anyway.’

Annie frowned. ‘And why would he do that?’

‘Because those ovens were destined for the crusher. It was his punishment, Annie. McClintock knew Coren was being taken to his death, and he let it happen. He let it happen!’

‘That’s a pretty big accusation to make, Sam. You sure that flu bug hasn’t gone to your brain?’

‘If you’d seen what
I’d
seen today, Annie, you wouldn’t put anything past that bastard McClintock.’

‘Well,’ said Annie, glancing at her watch. ‘Whether you’re right or wrong, there’s not much we can do about it tonight. And since you’re supposed to be down with the flu, perhaps you’d best be in bed.’

‘That bed’s awfully cold – you know, for a man on his own.’

‘I’m not sharing with a sick fella!’ Annie exclaimed. ‘I got too much to do, Sam. I can’t catch your lurgy and go off sick an’ all.’

‘Don’t leave just yet. We need to celebrate your new role as CID’s very own Enigma machine! I’d open a bottle of champagne, but I haven’t got one. So what about a bottle of brown ale? It’s refrigerated.’

He waggled a bottle enticingly at her.

‘I’m sold!’ Annie smiled. ‘But don’t you start thinking you’re going to get me tipsy enough for what
you’ve
got in mind.’

He poured them a glass each, and toasted her.

‘You did some good work with that letter, Annie. I mean it. At this rate, you’ll make DCI before I do.’

‘Oh, yeah, Sam, I can really see that happening! A
bird
running a department!’

‘Don’t write it off. Who can say what the future holds? Just think how proud your parents would be!’

Her parents.

He recalled at once that modest little house with upstairs bedroom window all lit up, and a teenage Annie almost visible within in. And then he thought of Tony Cartwright, that anxious, frightened, troubled man, with his guilty conscience, his split loyalties.

‘You never talk about your parents,’ he said. ‘What are they like?’

Annie shrugged, sipped her beer, and grimaced at it. But that didn’t stop her taking a second swig.

‘Are they still alive? Do they live in Manchester? Are you close to them?’

‘Sam, you sound like you’re interrogating me.’

‘I’m just interested.’

‘No. I know that tone of voice.
And
that expression. You use both of them when you’re questioning suspects.’

‘You can hardly blame me for asking,’ said Sam. ‘I mean, we’re supposed to be – you know, getting closer to each other.’

‘And so we are,’ said Annie.

‘Then why won’t you talk about your family?’

‘Why won’t you talk about
yours
?’

‘I never said I wouldn’t!’ Sam smiled. ‘If you want to know, I’ll tell you right now. I’ve got a mum. She’s—’

He broke off. Sam thought of his mother, wherever she was now – a beautiful young woman, several years younger than he – and, at the same time, a woman in her sixties, somewhere in the future, mourning the tragic death of her only son.

Haltingly, he said, ‘She’s – a really great mum.’

‘That’s a bit vague, Sam.’

‘It’s complicated.’

‘What about your dad?’

Sam swigged deeply from his beer bottle, gulped it down heavily, and said, ‘My dad’s even more complicated than my mum.’

‘Well there you go!’ laughed Annie. ‘Family ain’t easy.’

‘But I know so little about you. Why won’t you tell me anything about where you come from?’

Annie shrugged.

‘Well?’ Sam gently prompted her.

‘Nothing to say.’

‘Oh, come on.’

‘I mean it.’

‘It’s like you’re avoiding talking about it.’

‘Knock it off, Sam.’

It was as if she was hiding something – but Sam knew that the real reason was quite different. It was as Nelson had said: she simply couldn’t remember. She had been here too long, her old life had faded from her mind, she knew nothing outside of this strange facsimile of 1973.

Surely there’s some scrap of memory remaining,
Sam thought.
And, if there is, maybe I can rekindle it.

‘Annie?’

She turned and smiled, holding her bottle of brown ale.

‘I want to ask you a question.’

‘That sounds ominous, Sam.’

‘It’s difficult. I … heard something, saw something. Some information – about you.’

‘Hey, Sam, it’s me you’re talking to. You don’t have to be cagey
.
What do you want to know about me that’s so important?’

Sam looked into her eyes and decided to come straight out with it.

‘Does the name Clive Gould mean anything to you?’

‘Not a thing.’

‘Think. Think back. Think back to when you were a teenager. Was there a – a boyfriend? Or a
would-be
boyfriend? A fella who used to hang around?’

‘What’s on your mind, Sam? Checking out the competition?’

Once again, she was slipping around all questions of her past.

‘It’s important, Annie. Please think. Does the name Clive Gould really mean nothing to you at all?’

‘Is it
supposed
to mean something to me?’

Could he jog her memory? Could he ignite a recollection of what once had been? And, if he could, would it help save her?

‘There was a man,’ said Sam. ‘A villain. He was on the make, back in the sixties. Owned casinos. Bought off coppers. Bumped off rivals. He knew your dad – and he knew you.’

‘Sam, I don’t know what you’re on about.’

‘His name was Gould. He was – he was interested in you. Years ago, when you were just a girl.’

Annie laughed, then stopped. Her brows furrowed.

‘He was determined to get his hands on you. But your father stood up to him, tried to put together evidence to convict him of murdering a rival. I think things went badly wrong.’

Annie carefully set down her beer and stood looking at Sam with a strange expression.

Sam hesitated, wondered if he should continue, and then decided to take the risk and keep talking. ‘Your father was a police officer. The department was thoroughly corrupt. Most of his colleagues, and those higher up, were on Gould’s payroll. That’s how he literally got away with murder. But your father’s conscience was deeply troubled by this. He tried to make a stand.’

The light had gone out of Annie’s face. She had backed away from him, her expression hard to read.

‘One of his colleagues tipped Gould off,’ Sam went on. He wasn’t going to even attempt to explain that that colleague had been McClintock, and that Sam himself had witnessed the whole thing first hand. ‘Your father was betrayed. And I think – I think Gould may have – I think he may have …’ Sam ran his hands over his face, took a breath, and said, ‘I know how I sound.’

‘You’ve talked like this before,’ Annie said quietly. ‘Stuff about the future.’

‘And now I’m rambling on about the past.’

‘No, Sam, it’s not the past. It’s certainly not
my
past, though you seem to think it is.’

‘You must think I’m bonkers, right?’

‘Do you
feel
bonkers, Sam?’

Sam nodded. ‘Yes. Totally. Completely.’

‘Well, that’s a good sign. I mean, it’s them who’s most bonkers that think they’re most sane.’

‘Then why are you standing so far away from me? You’re not frightened of catching the flu.’

‘You ain’t got the flu. That’s not why you’ve gone off sick.’

Sam sighed. ‘No. That’s not why I’m off.’

Annie looked about awkwardly. ‘Sometimes, Sam, I don’t know what to make of you.’

Her awkwardness, her genuine discomfort at what he had been saying, told Sam that he had been wrong to try to stir up her past. Was this what Nelson had been warning him against? Was this why he had told him to keep all that he had learnt this evening to himself?

‘I’m sorry, Annie, my thoughts sometimes run away with me,’ Sam said. ‘You shouldn’t listen to me when I talk like that. I think about things too much sometimes. It gives me a distorted view.’

‘You’re not kidding,’ said Annie. But her tone was softening. She drew a little nearer. ‘Where do you get all this stuff? Do you make it up?’

‘I probably do.’ Sam laughed. He imagined how ridiculous he must look to her. ‘Oh, Annie, my brain’s like scrambled eggs tonight! And I’ve had too much to drink. What I need is to
sleep
!’

‘Excellent plan,’ Annie said, and now she touched his arm and smiled warmly at him. ‘And tomorrow you stay in bed, and you rest.’

‘Oh, no. Tomorrow, I get back to work. Best thing for me. You’ll see.’

‘But you’re on the sick. Make the most of it, Sam. You’re getting paid to lie in bed and watch telly and that.’

‘Just like a DCI!’ He grinned. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Annie. Bright and breezy.’

There was no time to waste, not on this case. The stakes were too high. But he couldn’t explain that to Annie.

‘Well,’ said Annie, ‘you’re a grown-up lad, you make your own decisions.’

She kissed him on the cheek. It was all the tonic he needed to get him back on track.

With her coat back on, she paused in the doorway. ‘Sleep tight, Sam.’

‘I’ll be dreaming of you,’ he replied.

‘But of course!’ She winked. And then she added, ‘Oh, and Sam?’

‘Yes?’

‘Get yourself a bottle of mouthwash. You stink of Marmite.’

And with that she was gone.

It was morning at CID A-Division. Sam stepped through the doors and saw that the cigarette butts were already piling up in the ashtrays. Gene was lurking in his lair, visible as a looming shape behind frosted glass.

‘I thought you was signed off on the sick,’ said Ray, sitting with his feet up on his desk, reading the tit page of the
Sun.

‘Lucozade, Vicks VapoRub, and plenty of satsumas,’ said Sam. ‘Now I’m right as rain and all up for nicking villains.’

‘
And
talking like a twat,’ smirked Ray. ‘Hey Chris, you still playing with that bloody whiz gig?’

Chris was hunched over the Xerox, pressing buttons and giggling at the copies he was making. Grinning, he lifted up a crude cut-and-paste job in which Sam’s face had been photostatted onto the body of a naked young man engaged in the vigorous act of sodomy.

‘Slapping on plenty of Vicks, is that what you said, Boss?’ Chris sniggered.

‘Suck on them satsumas, eh?’ Ray grinned.

Sam took Chris’s Xerox masterpiece and examined it. ‘I see what you’ve done. You’ve cut out somebody’s face and copied it onto a porno picture. Extraordinary. In all my life, I have
never
seen that done before, Chris.
Ever
. You’re a pioneer. How on
earth
did you think up such an off-the-wall idea? Chris
Skelton
? I think we should start calling you Chris
Morris
.’

‘Off
Animal Magic
?’ Chris frowned. ‘I don’t get it, Boss.’

‘No, well, my humour’s perhaps not quite sophisticated enough for you,’ said Sam. He grimaced at the intimate details displayed on the photo. ‘Where the hell did you get this awful picture from, anyway?’

‘From the files, boss. It’s your official ID mugshot.’

‘No, Christopher, I was referring to the homoerotica.’ And, in response to Chris’s utterly blank face, he clarified: ‘The gay porn.’

‘Oh, that. From Barton, the lad we nicked in the park,’ said Chris. ‘He were carrying tons of the stuff.’

‘Chris is hanging onto it – just for safe keeping, mind,’ Ray said, examining a whopping set of Page 3 knockers. ‘He’s got strangely attached to it.’

‘Give over, I’m just using it for me artworks,’ protested Chris.

‘Is that what you’re calling this stuff – your “artworks”?’ said Sam, picking up a sheaf of photocopies, all of which were variations on the theme of Sam’s head crudely pasted onto the buggered boy’s body. ‘I hope you’re not thinking of sending it in to Tony Hart.’