A Dark Place to Die Page 30

  'I'll be back for you later, Captain Plastic,' he hisses, jabbing a finger as thick as a Cumberland sausage in the wide-eyed student's face. 'Stay there, you cunt.'

  The boy shrinks against the plaster wall, a meerkat making way for a rogue elephant, his clothing crackling against the peeling plasterwork.

  The two coppers move onwards, no time for Suggs to waste on simple possession when there might be a decent ruck waiting up ahead. And the maxim of never dawdling on the way to help your brother officers (no sisters, of course, not then).

  Koop pats the student's cheek and follows his partner's black-clad back through the crowded hallway and up to the first floor, Suggs making good and sure he steps on as many toes as possible on his way up, a chorus of insults bouncing off his thick hide like a sprinkle of hailstones against the Liver Building.

  Up to the first-floor landing and the air is thick with dope. It's easy to see where the other coppers are: the bathroom – such as it is – is the only half-empty space in the entire building. Outside the door stands a growing ring of agitated black youth and student types. Suggs and Koop push past with some difficulty. A thin black girl lies dazed on the floor, her skin gleaming under the fluorescent light. Another girl, white, not quite so skinny, is leaning over her, whispering to her.

  Zoe.

  'Joined us, 'ave yer, Koopman, you fucking cheese-munching cloghopper?' says Sergeant Gittings, who is regarding the black girl much as someone would look at a hedgehog flattened in the road. He glances at Suggs. 'The darkie fell over or somethin',' he says. 'Won't wake up and the other spearchuckers are gettin' restless.'

  'She's been attacked,' says Zoe. 'And you lot are just standing around doing nothing.'

  'Yeah, luv,' says Gittings. 'Whatever you say. Now fuckin' shut it or we'll pull you in too.'

  Zoe stands up and Koop knows it's at that point he is lost. He's never subscribed to all that love at first sight garbage until then.

  She is only small, but built like an athlete, a toned body long before that became common – he finds out later that she has a passion for swimming. Her hair is very short and has some sort of arty style to it that Koop couldn't have named, but privately thinks of as 'Art School Punk'. He can't now remember much of how she was dressed – he has a vague recollection of stockings and biker boots – but it would have been something unusual and sexy: with variations over the years and allowing for the fluctuations and vagaries of fashion, that has been Zoe's underlying style.

  She moves towards Gittings who looks at her, his eyebrows raised in amusement. Gittings looks around at the other coppers as if to say: have you seen this? Zoe is clearly bent on telling Gittings what she thinks of him and, knowing Gittings as he does, Koop steps smartly forward between them, surprising himself as much as anyone else.

  'Let me get some details off you, luv,' he says, kindly, ignoring the leering grimaces from the rest of the Saturday Night Squad who, like him, haven't been slow to recognise Zoe's obvious charms. Koop takes hold of her arm to lead her to safety.

  Which is the point at which she headbutts him.

  Koop smiles at the memory and involuntarily rubs his cheek where her head struck. He should have known better. 'Luv', indeed.

  It takes a lot of persuasion to stop Gittings taking Zoe somewhere quiet and pointing out the error of her ways. As Gittings's teaching methods are rumoured to include straight-out rape, Koop has to act quickly and uses up a year's worth of brownie points in one go.

  'Get out of my sight, Koopman,' growls Gittings. 'Take bitch number one,' he nods down at the black girl, 'to casualty, and get bitch number two to wherever the fuck you want, just so long as I don't have to see her fuckin' face again. Suggs, you can help me spread some peace and love amongst our coloured brethren.'

  Koop manages to get Zoe and her friend out without further incident and takes them to the Royal, ambulances at that point not venturing into Gambier Terrace. On a Saturday night the A&E is a zoo and Koop has to use some more valuable favours to bump Zoe's friend up the queue.

  'If you think I'm going to be grateful, you've got another think coming,' she says as they wait outside the cubicle door for the girl to be examined. Koop doesn't push it. He just sits and talks a little and gives Zoe a lift home after her friend is kept in for observation, Zoe wanting her to fill out a complaint, her friend refusing.

  She lives in Huskisson Street, not far from the site of the party. Koop writes his number on a sheet from his notebook and gives it to her. She looks at it scornfully but, Koop notices, doesn't throw it away as he feared she might.

  She never calls.

  But he sees her again, several times, soon after and in less dramatic circumstances. At a student-grant protest meeting he is policing. In town, at a few bars when they do the rounds before closing time. And then, crucially, as it turns out, off duty at a Clash gig at the Royal Court in October. Koop remembers her incredulity at seeing him there out of uniform. He doesn't know what she found more ridiculous; his liking for a band like that, or the way he's dressed. In truth, Koop is a fan.

  At this gig, if not quite blending in, he is certainly unremarkable.

  And while the band are onstage, no-one is looking at anyone else. With the drawn-out, punked-up chop of 'Police and Thieves' being belted out by Strummer, and surrounded by Liverpool's pale and interesting youth, Menno Koopman and Zoe Cane fall in love.

  He and Zoe spent that night together and, a very large number of ups and downs in those early years notwithstanding, have remained together ever since. An unlikely pairing, but, as it turns out, a durable one. Zoe, two years younger than Koop, isn't quite as leftfield as she appears, or wants to appear; Koop not as hidebound or reactionary as his profession suggests. They were both brought up in near-identical houses and socio-economic backgrounds, attended schools within three miles of each other, both had reasonable relationships with their parents and, crucially, thrillingly, they found that in bed, the sum of the parts exceeded the whole by a ludicrous amount. They are good at sex, inventive, exciting and energetic, and revel in their passion which has not significantly altered over the years.

  And now she's gone.

  70

  Zoe wakes with her head on the madman's chest.

  She pulls away, disgusted with herself, and with her humiliation. It's almost light and she tries to step down from the tray without waking North.

  Perhaps she can untie herself.

  She should at least try, right?

  A fresh flush of shame shoots through her as an inner voice picks away – didn't try very hard last night, did you?

  She manages to get her feet on the red dirt before North wakes up and looks at her.

  Zoe braces herself for his reaction. When it comes it's somehow harsher than being assaulted.

  He laughs.

  The man who cut Mel in two is laughing at her.

  She knows what she looks like; naked, trembling, vulnerable. He can do whatever he likes to her. He looks at her like a bug.

  But I'm going to try and kill you, she says to herself, holding his gaze. Just give me the slightest opportunity and I will do it, you motherfucker. She can taste how much she wants to kill him and knows she'd do it in an instant, no hesitation. Everything has been reduced to basics.

  Live. Eat. Drink. Die. Or kill.

  North steps down from the truck and stretches, nude, in front of her. He looks somehow fragile and, for the first time, Zoe thinks, This is just a man, and allows a faint hope to flicker into life. There is a lack of focus around his eyes and Zoe is struck with the possibility that maybe he is unravelling in front of her.

  He walks to the cab and takes out the cocaine. North scoops out some on his finger and shoves it up his nose. He snuffles and coughs and wipes a gob of snot from his upper lip. He puts the coke back in the cab and comes towards Zoe, his face shining.

  'Come here,' he says. His penis is erect.

  Zoe does nothing.

  'Here,' barks North and this time she's i
n no doubt what he wants. What he commands.

  Zoe considers her options. Live or die.

  She walks forward and drops to her knees. North smiles and thrusts his cock into her mouth. Zoe does as he wants, thinking two things. Come and get me, Koop. And, looking up at North: whatever happens, this is the last time I do this, motherfucker.

  71

  Koop opens his eyes and blinks.

  For a moment he doesn't know where he is.

  And then it comes back to him in one single, horrible rush.

  He looks at his watch. It's mid-afternoon. He's been out for almost six hours, thanks to Eckhardt calling a doctor who gave him a sedative. It took all Warren Eckhardt's powers of persuasion to get the drug into him.

  For one seductive thrilling moment Koop wonders if the whole thing was, movie-like, a nightmare. And then he sees he's in a motel room; he remembers Eckhardt bringing him here last night. His house – his and Zoe's house – is a crime scene and he couldn't have remained there last night even if he'd wanted to.

  Koop jumps off the bed, sickened to his stomach by his sleep. What sort of man is he to lie in bed while his wife is Christ knows where with that . . . that monstrosity?

  And Mel. Jesus, Mel.

  Koop runs to the bathroom and is violently sick.

  He cleans himself up and comes into the bedroom.

  'Call me', says a note from Eckhardt propped against a lamp on a small desk. Koop doesn't know what to do with his hands. Doesn't know where to stand. He's never felt so useless, so powerless in his life.

  He wanders around aimlessly for a few minutes. Then he goes into the bathroom and showers, turning the water as cold as possible. Shivering, he gets out and dresses in the clothes he picked up from the house last night. Jeans, boots, a work shirt.

  Thinking: I'm dressing for action and there's nothing to do.

  He calls Eckhardt. Something might have happened. Someone might know something.

  'Anything?'

  'Sorry, Koop, nothing as yet.'

  'Has anything been done?'

  'We have an alert at airports for North, but the level is only to detain. Collins doesn't want an itchy fingered cop shooting him.'

  'Why not?' says Koop. 'The fucker's guilty!'

  Eckhardt pauses. 'Koop, think like a cop again. Guilty or not, if North's dead there's no-one who'd know where Zoe is. Think.'

  Koop breathes deeply. 'Sorry, Warren,' he says. 'It's just the whole . . .'

  'I know.' Warren Eckhardt waits a couple of beats. 'We got some work done on Mel,' he says quietly. 'Do you want to know?'

  'Yes,' says Koop. Think like a cop. It might be all Zoe has.

  Eckhardt's voice assumes the detached tone of the professional.

  'She was killed first, by a single blunt trauma wound to the head. She didn't suffer, Koop.'

  'And the cutting?'

  'She was cut in two – as you know – and the killer allowed her to bleed out.'

  'Bleed out?'

  'Drained. He drained her.'

  There's silence.

  'What?' says Koop. Eckhardt is waiting for him to respond. 'What do you want me to say?'

  'I want you to think like a cop,' says Eckhardt, his voice a slap. 'Not a fucking amateur.'

  Koop reflects. 'Why? Why did he do that?'

  'Better,' says Eckhardt. 'No fucking idea right now, but it's worth thinking about.'

  Yes, reflects Koop, Warren is right, it is worth thinking about. Why did that fucker go to all that trouble with Mel? If he wanted to send out a warning he would have just killed her and left her, surely?

  'And you're out of the frame too,' says Eckhardt. 'Time of death places you with me, so unless Chakos and Collins think we're in this together, you're in the clear.'

  'Well, that's something.'

  'I've been chasing what I can on this whole drug thing from the Liverpool end – see if there's any clue about what this nut might do next.'

  'And?'

  'Nothing so far. Frank Keane's all jazzed about something I sent him – nothing you have to worry about – but I don't think it's going to break anything our way soon.'

  'It has to be soon,' says Koop.

  'I know. Listen, I've been thinking. Let's assume North killed Gelagotis.'

  'Right.'

  'That could be as punishment for stepping up to the guy in Liverpool.'

  'Kite.'

  'Yeah, Kite. So that could be why he kills him, yes?'

  'OK. Where's this going?'

  'Bear with me. Why would North kill Gelagotis? It's business? And if that's the case, then why not leave Gelagotis in place and carry on with the deal? They'd already taught the new boys a lesson.'

  'You mean Stevie.'

  'Yeah, Stevie. This deal must have been very big to get them so fired up. So why not leave Gelagotis?'

  'I like it. Why not?'

  'Because North was stepping in. He'd organised with the people under Gelagotis to off Jimmy and take over. He killed Kite, right?'

  'Yes.'

  'So the next logical step is to get shot of Gelagotis.'

  Koop's brain feels clear for the first time in days. 'But what about those other two? The ones in the lock-up?'

  Eckhardt sounds pleased with himself.

  'Ah, well this is where Uncle Warren did good. I think North killed Link and Meeks.'

  'Why?'

  'Because the deal went bad, maybe? They cheated him, or maybe he just thought they cheated him. Or maybe he wanted it all for himself? Although that last one isn't what I think happened.'

  'Why not?'

  'Because North would have needed the other two to distribute. A deal of the size this one must be would need local distribution.'

  'Makes sense.' Koop thinks about the labyrinth of distribution in his old patch. A newcomer would flounder. 'So North must either not have any merchandise . . .'

  'Or only as much as he's able to handle with one sale.'

  'Does that get us any further?'

  Koop can hear Eckhardt puffing away and wonders where he is. Probably inside his car.

  'I think I know why he's got Zoe,' he says.

  Koop swallows. 'What?'

  'He thinks you're in on it. Think about it, Koop. Your son is the one who comes to Liverpool. North has no way of knowing that he's a stranger in all but blood. They kill Stevie and that's followed by this deal being skimmed . . .'

  'If your theory's right about that. You don't know anyone was skimming.'

  'Well, let's assume I'm close. They all skim on the deals, you must know that. But that's not important. North took Zoe for one reason and one reason only.'

  Koop waits.

  'He's going to use her to teach you a lesson, Koop. And that's if he hasn't already done it. My opinion? I think she's already dead. I'm sorry to be so upfront but I figured you'd prefer that to a load of old crap.'

  'She's alive.'

  'Well, I understand that's what you want to believe. That's what I want to believe. But that doesn't make it so. North's going to use her to send you a message. That message will be: don't steal from me. And another thing.'

  'What?'

  'He'll be coming back for you.'

  Koop doesn't say anything. Something Eckhardt said has rung a bell.

  A message.

  'Koop? Koop?'

  Koop hangs up.

  He knows where North is taking Zoe.

  72

  They drive all day. They drive for so long Zoe finds herself getting bored. Boredom is not something she'd have predicted during an abduction.

  North gives her some clothes – a t-shirt and jeans – and makes her sit up front. He places the gun he took from Link in the pocket of the driver's door and tells Zoe he'll kill her if she does anything. If they're pulled over by cops and she blabs he'll kill her and the cops.

  'You know I can do that.' It's a statement not a boast.

  Zoe says nothing. Since he forced himself on her she's said nothing. Only nodded, as if ex
pending words on this animal is beneath her. She'd let him come and then spat it into the red earth.

  The landscape unfolds in front of them all that day, North keeping himself going by regular snorts from his brick. They stop for food once and twice for the toilet. North doesn't bother roping Zoe and she doesn't bother running. In this desolation there's no point. He's faster and stronger and armed.

  So she pisses and eats and watches.

  He caught her looking at the door in which the gun was stored and smiled. 'Don't even think about that, doll. I want you fresh for a few days more.'

  That's good information. She believes it to be true; that he wants her alive for a little longer. Which gives her more time to watch and wait for an opportunity, or for Koop to come.

  Or for a fucking lightning bolt to strike him down.

  Which is about as likely, she thinks. He's going to kill you. When we get to wherever he's going, he's going to kill you.

  Zoe notes the place names they drive through. They are, to the Belfast boy, unimaginable distances apart, and mostly deserted: Wilcannia, Broken Hill, Cocklebiddy. Twice North places her back in the lock-box, roping her as he's done previously and gagging her with a scarf. She presumes this is when they're passing through more populated areas although her geography isn't good enough to pinpoint exactly where. She knows they're heading west. Perth?

  Several times they pass convoys of grey nomads, or supertrucks. For some hours they drive with the distant ocean visible out of Zoe's window. She falls asleep and wakes as North pulls the truck off the road. He repeats the previous night and camps several kilometres into the bush.

  They eat tinned food which North makes Zoe heat over a camping stove. She racks her brains about a way to use the flaming canister of gas – seeing him exploding in a ball of flame – but even as she imagines it she knows it's pure James Bond. Easy to visualise, impossible to do.

  After the meal, North ties her up while he cleans himself using a makeshift camp shower. When he's finished he makes Zoe strip and watches as she showers. She tenses as she finishes, expecting a repeat of the previous night's assault. It doesn't come. North ties her hands and feet and tethers her in the tray of the ute. He climbs in alongside and falls asleep.