‘What happened to her? Where is she?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said, my descent complete. ‘I never looked.’ Sian frowned and I found myself justifying my inaction. ‘She went to a well-off family, we had very different lives.’ It was a thought that had sustained me through some bad times. For each of my care-home low points, the undiagnosed personality disorders of roommates, the casual violence and cruelty of older boys, I’d awarded the sister of my imagination with a corresponding positive experience. An attentive mother, perhaps a protective older sister. Finding her now, with her own imperfect life, her own disappointments, would mean losing all that. ‘We’re just separate people,’ I said.
‘Do you hold it against her? That she went to a nice family?’
‘No,’ I said, thinking about it. ‘No, of course not. But she should be able to live her life.’ I swallowed. ‘We didn’t come from a very good place. Nine out of ten times she’d have stayed there. Her being placed with a family was the only thing I ever wished for in my life, and when it happened it was like a miracle to me. I was glad. That’s the truth.’
Sian put her hand on mine, but when I looked at her I saw it was for emphasis more than affection. ‘She’s your family, Aidan. You’re hers …’
I shook my head. ‘She has a family, and I’ve moved on. I’m sure she has too.’ We stood like that for a moment until someone approached the bar.
‘Hello-hello …’
I looked up and saw a man in a smart chequered suit, watching us closely. He was slim and in good shape, with skin that radiated health at first glance but looked made-up at second.
‘Ricky,’ said Sian, removing her hand too late from mine.
‘Something I should know about?’ He was smiling.
‘Shut up,’ she said, moving around the bar to hug him. ‘Aidan was just leaving.’
‘Nice to meet you,’ I managed to say, watching as I held out my hand.
He shook it. His palm was cool and soft, and I noticed the clammy sweat on my own.
‘The famous Aidan Waits,’ he said. ‘Don’t think I’ve ever met a detective before. Can you tell what I do for a living from the dust on my shoes?’
‘No, we’re just like normal people.’ I looked at Sian. ‘But less so …’
‘And has she been able to tempt you?’ He nodded at Sian, his partner. There was some challenge in his voice and I looked at her, not knowing what to say.
‘Aidan can’t make it,’ she said.
‘Oh come on, mate. You only get engaged once.’ In the silence that followed he almost certainly saw the truth of the situation but pressed on. ‘Well, twice in my case, but as far as I know Sian’s record’s clear.’
‘Well, I’ll see what I can do,’ I said, smiling. ‘And congratulations. You’re a lucky man. If you’ll excuse me.’ I put a hand on Sian’s shoulder as a goodbye and went up the steps, out of the bar and back into the blazing heat. I walked fast, feeling the sweat run down my back.
Feeling like a criminal.
I hoped that Sian wouldn’t be in trouble with Ricky. He’d caught us in what must have looked like an intimate moment and, for a second, I wondered if I should wait for him and explain. I had no right to feel hard done by. No right to feel anything but happy for them. So why did I risk my life crossing the road for a distraction?
And as for my sister, Sian had been wrong.
I saw her often, several times a day. Oxford Road was populated by young women, some with the same curled hair and serious expression I remembered from Annie’s face, from twenty-odd years before. Any one of them could have been her, so I thought of them all warmly. I felt proud when I saw them well dressed, on their way to important jobs, or happy, floating down the streets with their lovers, or weird, with piercings, tattoos, blue hair. I’d seen her marching in protest against fascists, and offering expert advice on the news. I’d lost certain things in life, but I gained all of this, these twenty smiles a day at strangers, because I’d been separated from my sister. Her brother was no kind of man anyway. A corrupt detective, a criminal. A user of women and drugs.
My phone started to vibrate and I took it from my pocket. It was a withheld number.
‘Waits,’ I said, picking it up. ‘Hello?’
There was no answer.
Straining, I thought I could hear someone breathing on the other end, but it was buried beneath the crackle of a bad signal. Then they disconnected. I slowed. My mind turned back to the man who’d been asking about me, to the Superintendent’s warning of a hit. I thought about the anonymous phone call I’d received at home, and the ones since, to my mobile. I thought of the crushed piles of cigarettes I’d seen outside the flat.
And then I stopped dead in the street.
The man looking for me knew my name, my home and mobile number, and my address. He knew where I drank and who my ex was. He hadn’t been fishing for information at all, he’d been telling me something. He knew I had a sister.
4
I returned, distractedly, to the CCTV. I’d watched so much of it in the last few days that I could feel the wrinkles forming round my eyes. Even if I found the cyclist, even if he’d looked right at the perpetrator and caught him on camera, I’d most likely have a blurred image of a kid with his hood up. One more for the collection. And anyway, this assignment wasn’t about getting results. It was about sitting me in the naughty corner with a dunce’s hat on my head, and I was bored of it.
I had a flash that I should walk out on my life. Leave a shit on Sutty’s desk as my resignation letter and accept the consequences of my accrued mistakes. I’d been telling Sian the truth. I didn’t know this scar-faced man. He didn’t sound like anyone I’d met or anyone I’d put away, and that set me on edge. Parrs had learned about the hit and quashed it months before. So why would another mechanic surface now? It was the mention of my sister that pushed things into uncharted territory, though.
Threats against family members just didn’t happen.
That kind of escalation was bad for everyone and actively discouraged from within the ranks of the criminal fraternity. Even dealers need to put their kids to bed at night. A hitman shouldn’t know I had a sister at all. If he did, she should be off-limits. So what had I walked into? If it wasn’t my past and it wasn’t my job and it wasn’t the hit, what was it? My relationship with Superintendent Parrs was at an all-time low, but I knew I had to tell him.
My mind was churning while I watched CCTV, and I traced the cyclist back to the start of his journey almost by accident. Studying the new footage, I saw him leave work and climb on to his bike a few hundred feet away from the Palace. He’d come from a florist on the other side of the theatre.
Pursuing leads in a case of dustbin vandalism was almost more humiliating than failing to do so. I picked up the phone anyway. It would be one less thing to apologize for when I next found the Superintendent in my car. I called and introduced myself. The man on the other end was disinterested until I mentioned the police. I asked if someone matching the description of my cyclist worked at the florist.
‘Erm, yeah,’ he said. ‘Speaking …’
‘Would you mind if I came around?’
‘OK … Is it for a special occasion?’
Just the crime of the century, I thought.