Blood Guilt Page 13

  Susan, it seemed, had been right when she’d said Neil could be trusted. Harlan was beginning to wonder if he was wasting his time following him. More than that, he was starting to feel bad about it. Jim’s words kept returning to him. He’s just some poor kid who got caught in this mess through no fault of his own. Harlan was on the point of accepting that this was precisely what Neil was, and no more, when the number 77 bus chugged into view again. As previously, Harlan had tailed Neil to Susan’s, then to the Baptist church. But unlike previously, this time Harlan saw him board the bus in his car’s rear-view mirror. A little spurt of adrenaline racing through his bloodstream, he tailed the bus, pulling over at an inconspicuous distance every time it did.

  Harlan kept thinking about the woods at the end of the line – how easy it would be to hide a freshly dug grave under the thick layer of pine needles beneath the trees. But after only a couple of miles Neil disembarked. Harlan parked up and followed him on foot along a busy road flanked by exhaust stained terraced-houses, pubs, small shops, restaurants and takeaways. Neil entered a rundown bookies. ‘ACE RACING’ read the faded sign over its door. A heavily-built, bulldog-faced skinhead stood behind a plexi-glass screen at the rear of the bookies. Neil handed him some cash, which he counted out onto the counter, before pocketing. Harlan estimated there to be one or two hundred quid. He dodged out of sight into a shop as Neil exited the bookies. What was the cash for? This question was uppermost in his mind as he watched Neil cross to a bus-stop on the opposite side of the road. The most obvious answers were that Neil had either laid a bet or made a repayment on a line of gambling credit. But Harlan doubted for several reasons whether this was the case. For starters, the skinhead hadn’t given Neil a betting-slip or put the cash in the till, which meant the money wasn’t going through any official books. More significantly, if Neil was a serious gambler, there was no way the police wouldn’t have found traces of it on his financial history. There was another possibility, namely that Neil had paid off an instalment of a loan. Harlan knew from past experience that many bookies also ran a profitable sideline in illegal loan sharking.

  As Neil waited for a number 77 to take him back into town, Harlan phoned Jim. “I need some information,” he told his ex-partner. “Ace Racing on the Penistone Road. Who owns it? What’s their story?”

  “Never heard of it. I’ll make a few calls. Then I’ll get back to you. I assume this has got something to do with Ethan Reed.”

  “Uh-huh.” Harlan hung up. He wanted to get a clearer picture before saying anything more. He was in his car, tailing the 77 when his phone rang. He put it on loud-speaker.

  “Ace Racing’s owned by a guy called Gary Dawson,” said Jim. “Nasty piece of work, by all accounts. Got his fingers in a lot of pies – dog fighting, fencing stolen goods, loan sharking.”

  “Has he got a record?”

  “GBH, demanding money with menaces, handling stolen property – all the typical crap you’d expect from a character like him. So are you going to tell me what this is about? Dawson’s a scumbag, but he’s not exactly the type to be involved in something like this.”

  Harlan hesitated. He wasn’t sure he wanted to tell Jim. He was pretty certain that the first thing Garrett would do once the information filtered back to him would be to haul Neil in and sweat him for a day or two. Harlan suspected this wouldn’t achieve anything besides putting Neil’s guard up. Under immense scrutiny, Neil had managed to lie successfully to Susan and the police. Whether that lie concerned gambling or illegal loans or both was beside the point. The point was that beneath his timid exterior there lurked a steely resolve that few, if any, others had detected. Harlan wondered what else was concealed in the shadows around and inside Neil. What hopes? What desires? What other secrets? And he figured that the best chance he had to find out was to keep tailing him.

  “I tell you something, you tell me something. That was the deal,” said Jim.

  “Trust me, Jim, I will tell you. I just need more time to work out what I’m on to here.”

  Jim released a nasal sigh. “You’ve got two days, then I want to hear everything you’ve got.”

  Harlan knew there wasn’t much chance of finding out the truth behind Neil’s lie in two day. Not unless he got lucky. “I need at least a week.”

  “Four days. If I don’t hear from you after that, I’m going to do some digging myself. See if I can’t find out who owes Dawson what.”

  Harlan smiled thinly. Jim might be getting a bit past it, but he was still a shrewd operator. From his tone, it was obvious he suspected Harlan’s interest in Dawson had something to do with Neil Price. And, adding two and two, it didn’t require a huge intuitive leap to guess what that something entailed. “Okay. Four days.”

  Chapter 13

  Time suddenly seemed to be on fast forward. With the speed of a thought that was gone before it was barely formed, one, two, then three days flashed by. Neil’s routine, by now so familiar to Harlan, never once varied – work, sleep, off-licence, Susan’s house, pick up Kane, hand out leaflets, work, sleep…The relentless tediousness of it numbed Harlan’s brain, blotting away all thoughts except those that flowed from the question: why had Neil lied? The question whirled round and round in his head, even though he knew he wouldn’t find the answer there.

  On the fourth night, Harlan parked at the hospital, and as had become his habit, after watching Neil head into A&E, went for coffee and doughnuts. As he queued, he thought with mixed feelings about phoning Jim. On the one hand, he would’ve liked more time to follow Neil. But on the other, he was acutely aware that Susan deserved to know about Neil’s lying, regardless of what lurked behind it – be it shame, fear or something more sinister. Harlan paid, turned to leave and found himself staring into Neil’s eyes. Both men blinked in surprise. Neil’s watery blue pupils darted about as if looking for an escape. “What are you doing here?” he asked with a swallow in his voice.

  Keeping his expression carefully deadpan, Harlan raised his box of doughnuts in answer. He stepped around Neil and headed for the exit. “Fuck, shit,” he muttered under his breath, feeling Neil’s eyes follow him until he was out of sight. The last thing he wanted was for Neil to realise he’d been tailing him. Not only because it would put him on his guard, but because if there was something sinister behind his lie it might panic him into doing something rash. He tried to phone Jim. No answer. “I need to talk to you,” he told the answering service. “Call me as soon as you can.” He waited five minutes, fretfully sipping coffee, then tried again. Still no answer. For fuck’s sake, he thought. Jim was never without his mobile phone, so why the hell wasn’t he answering? “Price made me. We have to get him off the streets as quickly as possible,” he said, then hung up.

  Ten more minutes passed. Harlan stared at his phone as if willing it to ring, but it remained infuriatingly silent. Thrusting it into his pocket, he made his way back to his car. He approached it warily, scanning the car-park for Neil. He was nowhere to be seen. He got into the car and started it up. As much as he was reluctant to leave Neil unwatched, he couldn’t risk spending the night there. He pulled out of the parking-space, jamming his foot on the break as Neil appeared from behind a van. Neil’s eyes weren’t dancing now. They were fixed on Harlan. Pushing his glasses up on his nose, he approached the driver’s side window. “Are you following me?” He still sounded nervous, but there was a kind of forced courage behind his voice.

  Harlan motioned with his chin at the front passenger door. “Get in.”

  Hesitantly, Neil made his way to the door and ducked inside. Harlan accelerated towards the car-park’s exit. “Hey, what you doing?” said Neil. “I’m working. I only nipped out for a sandwich. I’ll get in trouble if I’m not back on the wards soon.”

  Harlan made no reply. As he pulled into the last remnants of the rush-hour traffic, he watched Neil out of the sides of his eyes, studying every movement of his features.

  “Where are we going?” persisted Neil. More stony silence. “
Hey, I asked you–” he started to say, but his nerves got the better of him, and the words stuck in his throat. He sat stiffly with his thin hands clasped in his lap. His tongue flicked at his lips. His eyes flicked at Harlan. That dancing look came into them again as the car turned onto the Penistone Road. One of his hands moved towards his coat pocket.

  “Don’t,” said Harlan, his voice hard with warning.

  “I just need to phone my manager, let him know I’m okay.”

  Harlan shook his head, holding out his hand. “Give me your phone.”

  “What for?”

  “Just fucking do it.”

  Neil reluctantly handed over his phone. It started to ring. ‘Susie’ flashed up on the screen. “Who is it?” asked Neil. His eyes widened when Harlan told him. “Let me talk to her. Please, it must be something important. She never usually rings me at work.”

  Harlan put the phone in his pocket, watching closely for Neil’s reaction. A slight flush rose into Neil’s cheeks. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again without doing so.

  “Go on, say what you were going to say,” said Harlan, wanting to see if he could draw some kind of angry response from Neil.

  Blinking, Neil dropped his gaze to his lap. They drove on in silence, passing a number 77 bus. Neither of them exchanged a word until they pulled over outside ‘Ace Racing’. Then Harlan turned to Neil and gave him the hard stare he’d perfected as a cop, the one which said, I know everything so you might as well spill it. Neil’s eyes flickered crazily all over the pace, but he held his silence. “How much do you owe?” Harlan’s voice was even and low, but there was a weight behind it that was calculated to knock Neil off balance.

  “I…I…” stammered Neil, then he sucked his lip into his mouth and pinched it between his teeth, staring at his clasped hands.

  Like a father disappointed in a child, Harlan sighed and shook his head. “Listen up, Neil, at the moment I’m the only one who knows about this. If you want to have any chance of keeping it that way, you’d better tell me what I want to know right now.” No matter what Neil told him, he had no intention of keeping it between them. Using a lie to uncover the truth always left a sour taste in his mouth, but he’d long ago come to accept that the ability to do so was one of the most important tools in any detective’s toolbox.

  Neil released his lip suddenly and touched a finger to it. Blood. He stared at the crimson droplet as if trying to work out what it was. “Nearly ten thousand.” His voice was tiny as the squeak of a mouse.

  “Is it a gambling debt?”

  “I’ve never gambled in my life. It was a loan.”

  “What for?”

  Neil gave a slight shrug. “A car, clothes, furniture, rent for my flat.”

  “But you live with your parents.”

  “I do now, but a few years ago I moved out and lived in a flat in Ranmoor.”

  Harlan’s eyebrows lifted. Ranmoor was an upscale suburb on the south side. Neil obviously had ambitions to escape Manor Lane. “That’s a long way from the Manor.”

  Neil’s nose wrinkled as if the word ‘Manor’ smelled bad, but he said nothing.

  “What’s the flat’s address?”

  “340 Manchester Road. Flat 1b.”

  “Nice place was it?”

  Again a shrug. “It was just a one bed-roomed basement flat, but I liked it.”

  “How long did you live there?”

  “A couple of years.”

  “So you lived above your means and ended up having to run home to mum and dad. That must’ve hurt.”

  Neil remained silent, but his expression answered all.

  “Who put you in contact with Dawson?”

  “A friend.”

  “Name?”

  “Dave Brierly. A guy I play darts with.” Neil’s eyes blinked as though he had a pain behind them. “He told me not to go to Dawson, but I didn’t listen. I must’ve been mad. I never seem to be able to pay off what I owe. The debt just keeps getting bigger.”

  “That’s how scumbags like Dawson operate.” Looking at Neil’s tired boy-man face, Harlan felt a needle of sympathy. Alcoholic father, Manor Lane, no prospects – the kid hadn’t exactly been dealt much of a hand. He pushed the emotion aside. He couldn’t afford sympathy, not considering what was at stake. “Why didn’t you tell the police about your debt?”

  “I’ve never told anyone about it. Not even my parents.”

  “Why?”

  Neil was silent a moment, then he said quietly, “I was ashamed. When I had to give up my flat and return home, I felt such a…a…” He trailed off as if he couldn’t bear to say the word.

  Harlan said it for him. “Failure.”

  Neil nodded, his head hanging low as if a heavy weight was pressing on the back of it.

  “And is that why you haven’t told Susan either?”

  “That and because, well, she’s already got so much to deal with. I don’t just mean with Ethan, I mean with her being a single mum and barely having enough money to get by. I was afraid that if she found out she’d leave me. You can understand that, can’t you?”

  “Sure I can, but I don’t think that’s all there is to it. Is there, Neil?”

  Eyes wide and glistening, Neil jerked his head up. “What do you mean?”

  “A young boy’s been abducted and you’re hiding things from the police. You must see how that looks.”

  “I know it looks bad, but you’ve got to believe me it’s got nothing to do with Ethan’s abduction.” Neil pressed his hand over his heart in avowal. “I love that boy. Since he was taken I’ve done everything I can to try and help get him back. I’ve handed out thousands of missing-person posters, I’ve helped organise fundraisers, I’ve–”

  “Maybe you’re just trying hard not to look suspicious,” cut in Harlan. “I’ve been involved in plenty of murder investigations where someone’s come forward to offer their help only to turn out to be the killer.”

  “Why would I take Ethan?”

  “Plenty of reasons. Maybe you sold him to a paedophile ring. Maybe you’re a paedophile yourself. Or maybe you’ve cooked up some plan to get your hands on the reward money.”

  Neil shook his head vehemently, eyes bulging at Harlan. “You’re crazy.” His voice rose as indignation overcame his submissiveness. “I love Ethan.”

  Ah, so you can get angry, thought Harlan, returning Neil’s stare impassively. “So you said.” He took out his phone and pushed its buttons as slowly and deliberately as he was pushing Neil’s.

  “Who are you phoning?”

  “The police.”

  A sick look came over Neil’s face. “But you said if I told you what you wanted to know you’d keep this between just you and me.”

  “I said there was a chance of it. But you haven’t told me anything that’s convinced me not to phone them.”

  “I…I–” Desperation made Neil’s voice break. He cleared his throat, before blurting out, “If you tell the police about me, I’ll tell them about you and Jones.”

  A hint of a crooked smile crept across Harlan’s lips. The cracks in Neil’s mask of timidity were rapidly growing. It wouldn’t take much more pulling and prodding to reveal his true face. “If you knew me, you’d know that wasn’t a threat to me.”

  Neil’s eyes dropped apologetically from Harlan’s. “I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean it.” He breathed a sigh of shame and despair. “I know you’re only doing what you have to do. But that’s all I’m doing too. You see, the thing is, Susan’s the first, the only woman who’s ever looked twice at me. She means more to me than anything. If she leaves me I…I don’t know what I might do. So I’m asking you, begging you, please don’t tell the police.”

  There was no lie Harlan could detect in Neil’s voice. All he heard was a pleading, almost pathetic desire to love and be loved. Again, in spite of himself, he felt a stirring of sympathy. He knew what it was like to lose everything that meant anything. He knew what it was like to feel that life is
too painful to live. The thought of inflicting that on someone, anyone, else was a torment to him. Again, he slammed a door in his mind, shutting the emotion out. As much as he wanted to believe Neil, he couldn’t risk doing as he asked. “I’ve got to.”

  Neil’s features crumpled like a cardboard box left out in the rain. “Okay, tell the police.” His voice was crushed by hopelessness to a whisper. “But before you do, please will you let me tell Susan myself?”

  Harlan considered this a moment, then nodded. He took out Neil’s phone and scrolled through its contact’s list for Susan’s number. “Tell her you want to meet at the hospital.”

  “Can’t I just go to her house?”

  “No. I can’t risk going to her house.”

  “You mean you’re going to be there when I tell her.” When Harlan nodded, Neil continued, “I’m not sure I can do it with you there.”

  “You’ve got no other choice.”

  Harlan pressed the dial button. When Susan picked up, he put the phone on loud-speaker. Her voice came down the line with urgency. She sounded different to how he’d ever heard before – unguarded, less angry, more fragile. “I’ve been trying to ring you. Why haven’t you been answering your phone?” Before Neil had chance to reply, Susan continued, “I rang Detective Greenwood and he said he didn’t have time to talk. He wouldn’t say why. I got the feeling something’s going on.”

  “You get that feeling every time you talk to the police,” said Neil.

  “I know, but this time I’m certain of it. Something’s not right. It’s like I keep saying, the police know more than they’re telling us. Oh Christ, Neil, what if…what if they’ve…” Susan’s voice quivered breathlessly as she tried to bring herself to say what she barely dared think.