Dear Departed (29 page)

‘Well, yes, of course, I know that—’

‘But do you? You seem to be taking it very lightly.’

‘I’m just trying to reassure you. Don’t bite my head off.’

Atherton sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Yes, sorry. I’m tired, that’s all. I think I’ll knock off now, if you’ve nothing else urgent for me.’

Slider nodded, and then, unwillingly – but compassion demanded he didn’t let his friend walk into it unprepared, ‘Have you got plans for tonight?’

Atherton clearly didn’t know how to take it. Was he going to be quizzed on his love-life or was it an invitation to supper?
‘Um, well, nothing definite.’

‘Were you meaning to see Marion Davies?’ Slider asked, hating it.

‘Nothing planned, but I thought I might call in and see if she’s all right. It must have been a big shock for her. Why?’

‘So she hasn’t phoned you?’

‘No. What is all this about?’

‘Have you checked your answer machine at home?’

‘For God’s sake!’

Slider gave in. ‘She phoned here, asking for you, and when I said you were out she asked me to give you a message. I made it clear I don’t do that sort of thing, but if she hasn’t phoned you – well, I don’t want you to …’ He hesitated, looking for the right words.

‘Make a fool of myself?’ Atherton said, with a sour smile. ‘What was the message? From your face I gather it was thanks but no thanks.’

‘She doesn’t want to see you again. I’m sorry,’ Slider added awkwardly. ‘I didn’t want to get in the middle of this.’

‘No, it’s all right. I’m sorry you got let in for it.’ Atherton wandered across the room and sat down on the windowsill. He stared at his feet, still kneading his neck muscles. The angled sunlight picked out the planes of his face and Slider realised the boy wonder was showing signs of wear.

Atherton looked up suddenly, and gave Slider a rueful smile. ‘Can I tell you something? I find I’m actually not too disappointed. I think I went a bit off the rails with her.’

Slider nodded, not to indicate agreement, which would have been tactless, though true, but to show he was listening.

‘She’s a gorgeous girl, and I couldn’t resist her. But – God,
she’s so young! I mean, not so much in years but – her
mind.
She doesn’t know
anything!
How can someone educated be so ignorant? History, geography, literature, current events – all closed books to her. Half of what I said to her went straight over her head. And she wasn’t even curious; she didn’t care, she didn’t even seem to
know
how ignorant she was.’ He paused. ‘And I hated the way she talked. All that “you know” and “sort of ” and “like”. All we had together was bed.’

‘Well, that’s always been enough for you in the past,’ Slider couldn’t help saying.

‘Mm,’ said Atherton; and then, ‘Can I tell you something else?’

‘Is it going to hurt?’

‘Eh?’

‘Don’t tell me anything that’s got body fluids in it. I’m squeamish.’

Atherton acknowledged the hit with a movement of his hand and a tired smile. ‘I’ll keep it basic. I was just going to say that even bed wasn’t that great. Not that there’s anything wrong with her. She is gorgeous. But it just seemed – oh, I don’t know – odd. When I woke up in the morning and she was there, it seemed so weird I jumped straight up and went and showered.’
The pause was so long that Slider didn’t think he was going to finish, though he had guessed what it was. ‘It seemed weird because she wasn’t Sue,’ he said at last.

Slider kept silence. When people tell you their troubles they rarely want your advice, though the human urge is always to give it. And he didn’t want to get into the position of agony aunt to Atherton, who was not only his friend but his colleague and subordinate, which complicated things. Atherton was staring at his feet again, his thoughts far away. At last he said, in a low voice, ‘I miss her.’

Despite his noble resolve, Slider found he had said, ‘Why don’t you ring her?’ before he could stop himself. He cursed inwardly.

Atherton looked up, the steel coming back into his face. ‘She dumped me, if you remember. She was the dump-er, I was the dump-ee. I am not going to extend my rear for a second kicking, thank you.’

There was an awkward silence (and serve him right, Slider chastised himself, for opening his mouth), and then Atherton
rose from the windowsill and said, ‘I’ll get off home, then, if that’s all right?’

‘Yes, okay. Nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow.’ He hesitated and then added, ‘Do you want to come round later for supper, when Jo gets home?’

‘No, thanks all the same. I might have an early night. I’ll just clear my desk and be off.’

He went away into the CID room. Slider returned to his work. A short time later he heard the phone ringing through there, but it stopped quite quickly so Slider assumed someone had picked it up. A few minutes more, and Atherton appeared in the doorway. ‘News,’ he said.

‘Good or bad?’

‘Depends on your viewpoint. We’ve found Darren. He didn’t get very far from Brixton, home and beauty. He’s been staying with a friend in Coldharbour Lane, about five minutes from Ferndale Road. He and the friend went out in the friend’s car this morning to get some more supplies, and got stopped for running a red light: the car’s rather conspicuous, death’s-head paint job, no silencer and no tax disc.’

‘Dumb,’ said Slider.

And it gets dumber. The friend pulls over, and as soon as he stops, Darren’s out and running for it. Of course, that’s a hare to a greyhound as far as the Brixton officers are concerned. Suspicion circuits engage, they go after him and bring him down running. He manages to break loose and lands a punch on one of them. He gets nicked for assaulting a police officer, while the friend meanwhile takes the opportunity and scarpers.’

‘A tale for our time.’

‘The patrol takes him in, he refuses to give his name and has no ID on him, but the custody officer recognises him from the picture we circulated, takes his tenprint and runs it to confirm. So Darren is now sitting in a cell in Brixton nick waiting for us to go and interview him.’

‘Well, that sounds like good news. Where’s the bad news bit?’

‘I only said it depended on your viewpoint. It’s bad news for Darren.’

Slider stood up. ‘I’d better get over there. This Sunday never seems to end.’

‘I’ll come with you,’ said Atherton.

‘I thought you were going home?’

‘When all that awaits me is the cold hearth and the empty chair? I’ll take a sweating villain any time.’

Darren was sweating. He was also sullen. There was a bump on his forehead, presumably where he had hit the pavement after the rugger tackle that brought him down. But he hadn’t the look of a junkie, for which Slider was grateful. There might be more frustrating jobs than having to interview the chemically altered, but he hadn’t come across one yet. Darren looked well fed and strong, he didn’t twitch, his eyes didn’t wander – on the contrary, they glared with full resentment and purpose. He looked like a dangerous animal. His hair hung round his head in matted dreadlocks, and he wore a tuft of beard between his lower lip and his chin. There were rings in his ears and eyebrows and a tattoo of a rearing cobra on one forearm – which must have been a bit of a handicap to a criminal wanting to avoid identification. He bared his teeth when Slider and Atherton came in.

‘Darren Barnes?’ Slider said. The reply was a profanity. ‘Give it up, son,’ Slider said. ‘We know who you are. We want to ask you some questions. Don’t make things worse for yourself.’

‘What you want?’ he snarled.

‘I want to know about you and Chattie Cornfeld,’ Slider said. He pushed a packet of cigarettes across the table. ‘Smoke?’

Darren took one automatically, and then the action seemed to give him pause. He stared at Slider with sudden fear. In a moment of telepathy, Slider saw that the small piece of kindliness had made him realise this was something grave. It was like the consideration of the executioner. Darren, Slider concluded, was not as thick as he looked.

Darren lit the cigarette and dragged the smoke down. His eyes flitted once to Atherton, who was being a self-effacing stork, standing a little back from the table, but then returned to Slider as if drawn by strings.

‘Let me help you along a bit,’ Slider said. ‘I’d hate you to waste your time denying things that are established beyond any doubt. A large stash of cocaine was found in Chattie’s house, hidden there by you. This, as I’m sure you know, is too
large an amount for a mere possession charge. This is dealing, and you know what that means.’

‘You can’t prove it’s mine,’ Darren said, his voice husky with smoke and fear.

‘Don’t be stupid, of course we can,’ Slider said, in an offhand way.

Darren clenched his fist. ‘Don’t call me stupid!’ he shouted, his eyes glaring.

‘On the contrary, I don’t think you’re stupid at all, Darren,’ Slider said calmly. ‘You’ve done some stupid things, but you’re not such a fool you think you can get away with them. How well did you know Chattie?’

‘She’s my bird’s sister, that’s all.’

‘You knew her house well enough to know where to hide the charlie, didn’t you?’

‘I stayed there wiv Jass sometimes.’

‘Were you and Chattie closer than that? Were you selling her stuff?’

‘Fuck off.’

‘That’s no answer. Did you sleep with her, Darren?’

His nostrils flared. ‘That snotty slag? I’d sooner shag a dog.’

‘She turned you down, did she? That must have made you angry.’

‘I never asked her. I told you, I wouldn’t touch her wiv a bargepole. I just—’

‘You just used her house to hide your stash until the heat was off,’ Slider supplied. ‘Well, we know that bit. What I don’t understand is why you killed her.’

Sweat jumped out of his pores almost visibly. ‘I never! I never! Get outa here, you pig bastard! You ain’t gonna stick that on me. I know what you’re like, you fucking pigs.’

‘But you were seen, Darren. You were seen talking to her in the park that morning, just before she died, right on the spot where we found her body.’

He stared for a moment, and then something quite visibly came to him. His mouth hung open for a moment as he thought something out, and then his hands relaxed. ‘It wunt me. I gotta nalibi.’

‘An alibi for what?’ Slider asked.

‘You never saw me in the park that morning. I was in Manchester.’

‘Yes, so we were told. Unfortunately, your mate Dave didn’t back you up. He said he’d not seen you in weeks. So I’m afraid that won’t help you.’

‘Not Dave. I wunt wiv Dave.’ He looked at them triumphantly. ‘I was in the nick.’

‘Nice try, Darren, but not very convincing. We asked our colleagues in Manchester about you and they hadn’t seen you either.’

‘Yeah, well, they din’t know it was me.’ He grinned. ‘I borrowed me mate’s credit card. I went to see a bird I know down Moss Side, but we had a row so I dumped her and went and got legless. The coppers picked me up and shoved me in a lockup overnight and let me go in the morning. I told ’em I was Trevor Wishart. Well, he ain’t got a record. You ask ’em. That’s where I was Tuesd’y night.’

‘We will ask them,’ Slider warned, ‘so you’d better not be wasting our time.’

‘I never killed her,’ he said with growing confidence. ‘I hated her, but so what? She was nuffing, just a piece o’ snobby trash. I wouldn’t waste my time killing her.’

‘So why did you run?’ Slider said. ‘You took off Wednesday night and you’ve been in hiding since. What was all that about?’

The self-satisfied grin faded and he looked sullen again. He shrugged, and smoked.

‘The cocaine in Chattie’s house? Was that why you ran?’

He muttered something, avoiding eyes.

‘You’re not such a big man after all, are you, Darren? You’re just a chicken-shit little dealer, and we’ve been wasting our time on you. Brave enough to hit a woman, and leave her to take the fall, but that’s as high as you go, isn’t it?’

Darren threw him a quick glance, in which anger gleamed, but he held his tongue.

‘Or
was
it just about the cocaine?’ Slider said musingly. ‘Maybe you wanted Chattie dead. Maybe she’d crossed you. Maybe it was about the money. Was it the money? She was pretty well off, wasn’t she? If she was dead, maybe her money would go to her sister, your girlfriend.’

‘There wasn’t nuffing comin’ to Jass from that cow. She told
her, she leavin’ everfing to charity, the stupid bitch!’ He said it with deep contempt not unmingled with wonder that anyone could be so mad.

‘Revenge, then. That’s a good enough reason to want her dead. But you hadn’t got the bottle to do it. So you got someone to do it for you – is that the way it was?’

‘If I kill someone I do it myself, man,’ Darren snarled. ‘I don’t need no-one to do my dirty work for me.’

‘Oh, really? So what sort of work does Dennis do for you?’ He slapped down the photograph of Dennis and shoved it across the table in one movement, his eyes on Darren’s face.

But Darren looked at the picture with complete blankness. ‘Who this piece o’ shit little kid? I don’ mix wiv the kiddie league. An’ who the fuck is Dennis?’

Slider believed him. The whole Darren edifice had crumbled at a touch. He was not their man. He found space in his mind for relief that it looked as though Chattie was cleared of any suspicion of dealing drugs. But mostly he felt a weary anger that they had had to waste so much time and so many resources in trying to find this graceless, worthless crook. If the Manchester alibi stood, and he believed it would, at least they could still get him for the cocaine and for striking a police officer. That ought to add up to a spell inside for master Darren.

In the car on the way back to Shepherd’s Bush he was silent, deep in thought. A phone call from Brixton to Moss Side had confirmed that a Trevor Wishart had been held drunk and incapable overnight on Tuesday, and a photograph of Darren sent through was identified as the same man. So Darren had not killed Chattie, however else he was connected with the case – and Slider was afraid it was turning out to be not at all. So much of police work was like that, following trails that petered out in the sand, unpicking lies that had nothing to do with anything and need never have been told.