‘Just the once, but I think he’ll remember me. I want to look in on him, make sure he’s doing all right.’
‘Same old Charity Case. Sure. I can give you the last address I’ve got for him, anyway.’ He took another drink, got up. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, leaving the room with an affectionate squeeze of Nia’s shoulder.
‘How did the two of you meet?’ I asked her.
‘I was working in the Light Fantastic, in town. After he met me, he bought a stake in the club. Kept coming back until I said I’d go on a date with him.’ She touched her bump. ‘Things progressed from there, as you can see …’
‘Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?’
‘We want it to be a surprise but I think we’re both hoping for a girl. He’s got girls’ names for days …’
‘Good luck with it all,’ I said, with more emphasis than I’d intended. I saw a question starting to form on her face, but before she could say anything else Zain re-entered the room with a slip of paper.
‘Best I can do,’ he said, holding it out. ‘He used to own this place.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, accepting it. ‘Listen, I should really get going. Nia, it was great to meet you, and congratulations.’
‘Thanks. You too. Next time we’ll have to make a night of it.’
‘I’ll see you out,’ said Zain.
When we reached the door I turned to him, lowered my voice. ‘Is this genuine?’
He nodded. ‘I don’t play games, if you recall correctly. You might as well shit into a desk-fan as go out there, though …’
I started to leave.
‘I know you won’t believe me,’ he said. ‘But I never wanted to see you hurt, Aidan. It was you who wanted that, it really was. The worst part is that nothing’s changed.’
‘Is that why you put a price on my head, Zain? To give me what I wanted?’
He smirked. ‘I wouldn’t know anything about that.’
‘Go through with it,’ I said. ‘I’m sure they’ll let you see the kid once or twice a year.’
He stopped smirking. ‘Doesn’t like you, y’know, your boss. Said he’d crucify the lot of us if it happened while you still had a badge. But if you got fired there’d probably be no arrests …’ He tailed off. ‘How are things at work, Aidan? They must be really bad if you’re coming here.’
‘As I said, this is personal.’
‘It always is with you. Tell you what. Because I don’t want Nia opening the paper seeing you’ve gone missing. I could talk to some people. I could make all those hit conversations go away. Probably give you your first decent night’s sleep of the year …’
‘And how would that benefit you?’
‘Just tell me where Cath is. I’ve been wanting to catch up with her …’ Part of my deal with Cath was that I’d never know where she went to when she finally got away from Zain. For the first time, I was happy about it.
I smiled. ‘What was it about our last conversation that made you think I’d be talkative?’
He shrugged. ‘It’s your funeral. Good to see you, though, Aid. I was starting to think you’d forgotten …’
‘That’s the rest of the world, Zain. Not me.’
‘Good luck,’ he said, closing the door.
9
The address that Carver had given me was on the outskirts of Rochdale, half an hour from Fairview if I really went for it. I knew I couldn’t trust him but had no choice. I was testing the speed limit when my phone started to vibrate. I picked up, hoping for Bateman. The thought of him inside my sister’s house had rattled me. I was ready to agree to whatever he wanted.
‘Detective Constable Waits?’
‘Hello …’
‘This is Constable Black, reporting from the Palace. I wanted to let you know that an IC4 male just entered the building.’
‘Dressed as a security guard?’
‘Correct. Can I ask when you’ll be arriving?’
‘As soon as I can, Constable, I’m following a lead. If you need relief, call someone you can trust, but don’t leave the building unattended.’
‘… Received,’ she said.
‘If you see anything unusual, don’t approach the building without calling me first.’
‘What exactly am I doing here?’
‘Surveillance,’ I said. ‘Keep an eye on the top floor. If a light goes on in any of those rooms, let me know.’
My plan for the Palace had been a gamble, committed to in the heat of the moment. Now I was starting to have my doubts. Learning of the smiling man’s profession, and speculating how it might have brought him into contact with certain people, I’d looked anew at Sutty’s theory. That his place of death had been a conscious act.
A pointed finger.
The problem was that so many people were involved with the Palace that the finger could point at anyone. The owners, Natasha and Freddie. Their solicitor, Aneesa. Freddie’s lover, Geoff Short. Short’s wife, who could still be behind the notes sent to Natasha, whether she was out of the country or not. And the two security guards, Ali and Marcus. Of the three hundred or so rooms in the hotel, 413 was the only one I’d seen with the light switched on since the murder. Twice now. In both instances, by the time I was able to investigate who was inside the room, that light had been switched off.
Someone was drawn to 413.
Someone was nervous about it.
By asking Aneesa to inform the owners that a forensic team would be re-examining it the following day, I’d been hoping to flush that person out. But now the tangle of who could be responsible, or why, seemed impossible to navigate. Worse, Bateman’s move against my sister meant that I couldn’t be there. I hadn’t been able to intercept Ali, and he was already inside. There was nothing outwardly suspicious about him arriving early for work, but because of Cherry’s testimony, of Ali hitting himself over the head with the fire extinguisher, he was the prime suspect for the smiling man’s murder. I tried not to think about the case sliding down the drain. I pressed my foot flat on the pedal, it didn’t matter any more anyway.
10
I pulled up outside Nicky’s, the address that Carver had given me. It was a boxing club built into the alcove beneath a viaduct. I killed the engine and watched a freight train passing over the tracks. When it had finally gone by, everything fell silent. It was the tail-end of another humid day, of hanging, muggy air, and when I climbed out of the car my shirt was already pasted to my body. I went to the front door not knowing what to expect and I was surprised by the silence from inside.
Something was wrong.
The boxing clubs I’d known had been about community and continuous movement. They were impossible to imagine without the sight and sound of young people perfecting stances, head weaves and mitt drills. Without rap blasting out from the speakers. I walked past an unmanned front desk and into the gym itself. There was no one in the ring, and no one working any of the bags that I could see hanging from the ceiling. It wasn’t completely abandoned, though. The air was thick with the smell of fresh sweat and testosterone. My shoes echoed off the gleaming parquet floor, which I could almost see my face in. I was about to call out when I heard the staccato blast beat of someone working a speedbag.
Walking slowly around the ring I saw a young black man, naked to the waist, and streaming with sweat. He was striking the bag in small circles, rolling his shoulders and bouncing, minimally, on the balls of his feet. His stance was loose and easy, leading with the left, chasing with the right, laying a foundation and then steadily increasing his rhythm. He didn’t stop as I came into view, but began embellishing the drill with elbows and double-strikes, his eyes glazing over in total commitment to the bag. His speed and technical timing increased until he was a blur. He held this pitch for a minute before slowing and steadily decreasing his hit rate, finally coming to a stop. Steam rose off his body through shafts of light from outside and, breathing deeply, he looked like a man coming back down from a high. He’d tuned out his surroundings and only looked in my direction when I cleared my throat.
‘You’re fast,’ I said.
‘Could be faster,’ he muttered, grabbing a towel, getting his breath back. ‘Help you?’