Crossing the Line (Kerry Wilkinson) (17 page)

was nice someone she knew had done the same. In a way, it made what they did worthwhile – all the

petty arrests, the drugs, the drink, the abuse – and yet Tony had got himself clean while he was still

young enough to start a new life. Now, he was just another junkie.

Bollocks.

As her alarm clock flipped over to read 05.05, she heard the bump from the room at the far end of

the hallway. She’d been waiting for it since she first started trying to sleep. She slipped on her

dressing gown and padded barefoot to the box room, knocking gently and heading inside. Tony was

laid on his back, trying to put Adam’s jeans on the wrong way around.

‘Where’s the fly?’ he croaked, the words sticking in his throat.

‘Do you know where you are, Tony?’

He kicked the trousers off, sitting on the bed in a pair of boxer shorts, his pale, thin frame almost

see-through in the overhead light. His words slurred into one another but were clear enough. ‘You

told me you were taking me to your house and that if I threw up again, you’d chop my bollocks off.’

‘That sounds like me. I didn’t realise you were awake. What happened?

Tony put the trousers on the correct way and pulled the jumper over his head. His face was white,

his pupils still small.

‘Where’s my coat?’

‘By the front door. I’ve washed it but it stinks. Your key’s in the pocket where you left it.’

Tony stood abruptly, heading past Jessica through the door onto the landing. He looked both ways,

disorientated and then stumbled towards the stairs.

‘Tony—’

Jessica hurried to catch him but he had half-walked, half-fallen down the stairs into their hallway.

She snagged him as he reached the front door, taking his still-damp coat off the radiator.

‘What happened? When I saw you last week, you were talking about being clean, having a job and

going home.’

Tony heaved the enormous jacket around himself. His hair was still damp from where she had

washed him and hung across his face. ‘It’s all messed up.’

‘I can get you help – you don’t have to leave the house. Let’s have something to eat and then I’ll

make a call, yes?’

Tony paused, one hand on the front door, the faint smell of vomit still clinging to him – or perhaps it

was her. He took a deep breath and Jessica thought he was going to answer but instead he burst into

tears. She reached out to touch him but he pulled away, stumbling backwards and clattering into the

still flat-packed IKEA boxes. She tried to stop him but Tony yanked the door open and fell through it,

slipping on the icy welcome mat before righting himself. As he disappeared into the early morning in

a cloud of freezing breath, Jessica could hear his sobs echoing behind him. ‘It wasn’t me.’

17

The first person Jessica saw at the station was Niall. He was pacing through reception, distracted and

pale as he headed towards the canteen. She caught him as he was passing her office.

‘Bit early for you, isn’t it?’ Jessica said, tapping him on the shoulder.

The former DSI spun around. ‘Oh, Jess . . . sorry. I’m not due in today but it’s been a long weekend

and they said we could come in whenever we wanted as long as we signed in and out. I think it’s a

health and safety thing.’

‘I didn’t mean it like that. You didn’t look like yourself.’

He was wearing the same sweater as when she’d last seen him and his black suit trousers were

creased, almost as if he’d worn them to bed. It was as if he had aged a decade over a handful of days.

He glimpsed down at himself, sighing. ‘I’ve not slept a lot this weekend. All the news people have

been onto me since Rawlinson’s death, wanting a comment. I unplugged the phone, so they started

knocking on the door. I snuck out this morning, figuring I was safer here. There are so many files in

storage, there’s always something to be getting on with.’

‘It’s no wonder they’re interested in you – it’s the closing of a chapter.’

Niall shook his head, turning back towards the canteen. ‘The chapter closed for me when I retired.

I only came back to keep myself out of the garden.’

Jessica was already thinking of an excuse for why she couldn’t have breakfast with him but Niall

didn’t ask, mumbling something about the weather and then hurrying into the canteen, apparently keen

on giving himself stomach cramps as quickly as possible.

Given the way she had folded under his imposing stare in the pub last week, the journalists must

have been relentless to rattle him so badly.

Jessica headed into her office, closing the door too quickly and sending stacks of papers scuttling

across the room. On her desk, someone had left a pile of flavoured condoms, thankfully still in their

wrappers. Probably Joy Bag Jane’s idea of a joke – at least it wasn’t the dead seagull. Wincing at the

idea of a bubblegum-flavoured one, Jessica swept them into her top drawer.

She fumbled for her glasses, finding them in a coat pocket, and logged onto the system as she

flicked through her pile of messages. The top Post-it note read: ‘Call SDC’, which presumably meant

‘SCD’ – Serious Crime Division. She screwed it up and aimed for the bin, missing by a whisker.

Almost three points. Sod that – they could call her. Underneath was one which read: ‘Ester called’,

followed by a number. That ball at least hit the rim of the bin before bouncing away. PC Pen-Thief

must have been answering the phones today, either that or Fat Pat had overdosed on sugar and

forgotten how to spell. She’d already spoken to Esther that morning anyway. Some people wrote

anything down.

Jessica used the Internet to search for all the cafes within a half-mile radius of Tony’s flat and then

began phoning around, asking if they employed him. Her fifth call was answered by a woman who

sounded like she was halfway through having a conversation with someone else. ‘. . . Fried, poached

or boiled? Hello.’

‘Er, hello?’

The line was muffled for a moment but the woman’s words were still clear as she shouted: ‘That’s

a full English with fried. No mushrooms.’ Quieter: ‘That’s four-eighty, love.’ Then Jessica could hear

clearly again. ‘How can I help?’

‘I was wondering if you employed someone called Tony Farnsworth?’

‘Have you got the exact money, love?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Not you.’

Jessica waited as what should have been a simple question took five minutes to get an answer, with

the woman holding anything up to four conversations at the same time. Eventually the phone went

dead before a man’s voice came on, asking who he was speaking to. After introducing herself again,

Jessica finally got the answer. ‘Tony? Yes, he’s been working here. I’m paying the National Insurance

if that’s what yer on about. I’m a bit late with the papers, that’s all. I’ve got a business to run.’

When he finally accepted that Jessica wasn’t from the tax office and wasn’t trying to catch him out,

she eventually got to the point. ‘When was the last time you saw him?’

The man huffed loudly. ‘Last bloody Tuesday – you give a guy a chance and this is how he repays

you. Didn’t bother calling in and didn’t turn up on Wednesday and then missed another on Saturday.’

It was Wednesday when Jessica had seen Tony outside his flat and he said he was going to work. If

he hadn’t turned up, then where had he gone?

‘Have you heard anything from him?’

‘Like buggery, have I. I’m gonna have to get a new ad in now, ain’t I? Probably have to settle for

some Pole who don’t know how to speak English.’ Jessica didn’t get a chance to point out that he

wasn’t exactly identifying himself as a defender of the Queen’s English either before he finished with

a flourish. ‘. . . And if you see him, you can tell him from me he’s fired. F-O-R-E-D. Fired!’

Jessica thought if she did run into Tony again, it would probably be the least of his concerns.

Jessica hurried across the frozen supermarket car park and opened the passenger door of the almost-

new Vauxhall.

‘Are you Josh?’ she asked, offering her hand for the man in the driver’s seat to shake.

‘If I wasn’t then you’d be feeling pretty stupid right about now, wouldn’t you?’

Jessica paused half in the car. ‘Does that mean you are or you aren’t?’

The man reached forwards and took her hand. ‘Hi, I’m Josh.’

Josh was around her age, with a muscular chest and strong, thick fingers, although he didn’t

squeeze tightly. He was wearing glasses but there was steel behind them, dark, determined eyes that

met hers as they shook.

‘Sorry about the clandestine meeting place and everything,’ she said. ‘This isn’t exactly for work

purposes.’

Josh continued to eye her. ‘Esther called this morning and asked if I’d do her a favour by doing you

a favour. She said your exact request was: “Can you get me someone from the drugs squad who isn’t a

total tosspot?”’

Jessica squirmed. ‘I may have said something like that – but at least it means she doesn’t think

you’re a, erm, tosspot.’

‘That’s nice to know considering we went out for a year. Anyway, how can I help you?’

‘I’m worried about someone I know. I’m pretty sure he’s got himself into something stupid and

wanted to ask about the supply situation into the city.’

Josh’s eyes narrowed on Jessica before he gave a shallow nod. ‘Unofficial, yeah?’

‘For me too.’

‘Fine. The supply in and out is as under control as it’s been in years. It’s not like we’re going to

stop it any time soon but we roughly know what’s coming in and where it’s coming from.’

‘Is that the press office bullshit or what’s actually going on?’

‘Ha! Esther said you were one to watch.’

‘Did she?’

Josh laughed again. ‘She reckoned you were like her, only gobbier.’

Jessica’s neck was hurting from turning to the side so she shuffled around to face the front. ‘That

also sounds like me.’

‘That’s the real story. It could be a lot better but it has been far worse. Coke’s at a relative low

because the boys out at Liverpool have got tighter on the container ships coming in.’

‘I’m more interested in the harder stuff.’

‘How hard?’

‘The stuff that makes your pupils shrink.’

Josh grinned. ‘A bit of the old horse?’

Jessica shrugged. ‘If you say so.’

His face was serious again. ‘Heroin is the one drug where use went up in the city last year. It’s still

low compared to the recreational stuff but we’ve barely made a dent on the supply chain. We don’t

have the numbers plus we have to prioritise something – and it’s not this.’

‘Do you know any of the people involved— oh for f—. Sorry about this.’ Jessica slipped her phone

out of her pocket and pressed answer. ‘Mum, I’m at work, I’m really busy. Can this wait?’ She

mouthed a sorry to Josh, whose sideways smirk was quickly becoming a grin. ‘What? Of course I’m

eating properly.’

Shite, shite, shite, shouldn’t have answered.

‘Mum, I’m working. I’m fine, honestly. So’s Adam.’

More mouthed apologies as Josh tried not to laugh.

‘Well, why didn’t you ask him then? Look, I really have to go – I’m in the middle of something.’

Jessica hung up before her mum could reply. ‘I’m really sorry about that. She always calls at the

worst times. She sees some health scare thing on the news and then wants to make sure I’m all right.’

Josh was still smiling. ‘At least yours calls – mine sodded off when I was a kid.’

‘I was wondering if . . . ?’

Josh reached into the back seat and grabbed a cardboard folder, opening the top flap. ‘I’m way

ahead of you. I’m only doing this as a favour to Esther, okay?’

Jessica checked her front jacket pockets, then her trouser ones, before finding her glasses in the

jacket’s internal pocket. ‘Bloody things. That’s fine.’

Josh slipped a glossy photograph out of the folder and handed it across. ‘There was a bit of a

scramble when Nicholas Long died and his son ended up in prison. They weren’t even big-time

players but their clubs were an outlet for this type of thing. Then there was that whole episode with

Harry Irwell. Their deaths have left a bit of a hole in the scene but with these powerful crime guys, if you cut off a head, two more grow back.’

He showed Jessica pictures of a handful of people they believed were at the top of the drug chain,

explaining that much of their information could never be presented in court.

‘These guys themselves are more or less untouchable – but it’s like a Christmas tree, with these at

the top and all sorts of interesting characters lower down. These next ones are the lieutenants. They

do a lot of the dirtiest work but still have that level of protection below them if we come calling.

They’re loyal and it’s not usually about money, more the power. These are the ones we
really
want because they know the detail of what’s going on below them with the street dealers – as well as

above them with the bosses and the importing. Every now and then we’ll get enough on one of them to

take them down – but then it’s trying to get them to turn, which almost never happens.’

Josh handed the first picture to Jessica, talking her through the list of things the man was suspected

of doing. It was the usual rundown for an average scumbag: trafficking, pimping, violence, drug-

dealing, money-laundering, eating the last Rolo; that sort of thing.

When he passed her the third photo, Jessica froze, finger pressed to the image, taking in the man’s

bald head and sharp suit. It was the person she had seen standing across the road from Tony’s flat.