Blood Guilt Page 25

  “I won’t need another chance,” Neil said. “I promise on my life.” He held out a hand to Harlan. “Sorry about before.”

  “No need.” Harlan took Neil’s hand. He held it longer than was necessary, staring searchingly into Neil’s eyes. They were weak looking eyes. The eyes of someone who lacked self-esteem, someone who might be easily led. Not the eyes of a hardened criminal.

  Blinking, Neil pulled his hand free.

  Susan glanced at the ceiling, her mind suddenly elsewhere. “How’s he been?” Harlan told Susan about Kane’s nightmare. Her face wrinkled with concern. “Maybe I should go see him.”

  “I wouldn’t. I think he’s sleeping.” Casually, as if as an afterthought, Harlan added, “The wall seems to be drying out.”

  “What wall?” asked Neil.

  “The roof started leaking again where your mate…What was his name?” asked Susan.

  Perfect, thought Harlan, she’s doing the job for me.

  Neil hesitated to reply. The faintest ripple of a frown crossed his forehead, but it was impossible to tell whether the question had sparked a flame of unease or he was merely searching his memory. “Martin Yates.”

  Susan clicked her fingers. “Martin Yates. That was it. We had to call a roofer out today to fix his botch job.”

  “Have you got his phone number?” Harlan asked Neil.

  “Why?”

  “I’m thinking about ringing the guy to ask for Susan’s money back.”

  “I haven’t got his number. He was just some bloke I played darts with a couple of times. It’s been over a year since I last saw him.”

  “There’s no need to talk to Martin,” said Susan, her eyes narrowing slightly, as if she was wondering whether there was more to Harlan’s question than the surface of his words indicated. “Like I said, he did the roof on the cheap. I’m lucky it’s lasted as long as it has.”

  “Well maybe he can do the job cheaper than we were quoted today.”

  The narrowness left Susan’s eyes. Harlan knew that she knew him well enough by now to know that he couldn’t care less about the spending or saving of a few quid. And he saw that, even if she didn’t understand his game, she was playing along, as she said, “Um, well, I suppose it makes sense to ask. It’s not as though any of us is flush with cash.” She turned to Neil. “Where did you meet Martin?”

  Again, Neil hesitated. Again, a frown gathered on his face, deeper this time. Again, Harlan couldn’t tell whether he was troubled or simply struggling to remember. “The Railway Hotel on Bramall Lane.”

  Harlan knew The Railway well – as did any copper who’d ever policed a Sheffield United match. “Come on then.” He reached for Eve’s car keys. “Let’s go see if we can find Martin.”

  Neil’s eyebrows lifted. “What? Now? Can’t it wait?”

  Harlan shook his head. “It was like Niagara Falls in Kane’s room this afternoon. If the roof goes again, it won’t only be a few tiles that need replacing. The plaster will need stripping back, a new ceiling will have to be put in, the carpet and floorboards will have to be ripped–”

  “Okay, okay, I get the point,” sighed Neil. He looked concernedly at Susan. “Will you be okay on your own?”

  She nodded. Neil leaned in to kiss her, but she turned her face so that his lips brushed her cheek. A small tick of hurt pulled at his face, but he managed a smile. “This shouldn’t take long.”

  They headed to the car. As Neil got into the passenger seat, Susan pulled Harlan back by the arm and hissed in his ear, “What’s going on?”

  “I just want to check something out. It’s probably nothing.”

  “You don’t think Neil’s–”

  “We’ll talk later.”

  Harlan ducked into the car. Neil waved at Susan as they pulled away. She didn’t wave back. Neil released another sighing breath. “This is going to be a complete waste of time. Chances are, Martin won’t even be there.”

  “If he isn’t, we’ll ask around, see if anyone knows how to get hold of him.” As he spoke, Harlan watched Neil from the sides of his eyes, taking in every movement, examining every detail of his face. Was his complexion a shade paler than usual? It was difficult to tell in the unnatural glow of the streetlamps. His hands were clenched on his thighs, the veins showing unusually prominent on the backs of them. A sign of anxiety, perhaps. A few silent minutes passed. Neil’s right hand crept into his coat pocket. What’s he got in there? wondered Harlan. A knife? A phone? Is he trying to send someone a text to warn them? Is it possible to send a text blind? He resisted an urge to yank Neil’s hand out of his pocket. He was glad he’d done so a second later, when Neil took out his glasses and put them on.

  Sheffield United’s stadium loomed up from the city skyline as Harlan turned onto Bramall Lane. Across the road from the south-west corner of the stadium stood The Railway Hotel. They pulled over and got out of the car. Neil hurried towards the pub’s entrance. As with his hesitant reaction to Susan’s questions, there was no way of telling whether his feet were quickened by nerves or impatience to return to her. “Slow down,” Harlan said through gritted teeth, struggling to keep up.

  “Sorry, I forgot about your injury. It’s just I don’t like leaving Susan alone.”

  It wasn’t a match-day, and the pub was empty, except for a scattering of early evening drinkers hunched over their drinks – mostly glazed-eyed men with nowhere better to be, or hiding from their families and themselves. Harlan recognised them well from the years between Tom and Robert Reed’s deaths. He watched Neil scan the bar, wondering whether he’d told the truth about meeting Yates here. A dartboard in one corner at least partially suggested he had done.

  “He’s not here,” said Neil, his voice flat, expressing neither disappointment nor relief.

  They approached the barman and Harlan asked if he knew Yates. “Sorry, mate, never heard of him,” came the reply. They made their way around the bar’s patrons and got the same response from all of them. Harlan saw no flicker of recognition in any of their eyes to suggest they were lying.

  “He’s obviously not a regular here,” he said, frowning in thought. “We could check out some of the other pubs around here.”

  Neil expelled a breath of irritation. “What’s the big deal about finding this guy? He didn’t even do a good job. Surely it’s better to spend a few quid extra and get the job done properly.”

  As Neil spoke, a man came out of the toilets. “Excuse me, mate,” said Harlan. “I’m looking for Martin Yates. Do you know him?”

  “Yeah, I know Martin, but I’ve not seen him in months.”

  “Any idea how I can get hold of him?”

  “He used to drink in The Cricketers sometimes.”

  Harlan thanked the man, and they headed for the car. The Cricketers Arms was a few hundred yards further along Bramall Lane. As they drove past the stadium, Neil sat with his arms crossed, hunched forward in his seat. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered. “Susan–”

  “Will be fine,” interjected Harlan. He’s getting panicky, he thought. Keep pushing his buttons, see how he responds. If he’s truly involved in Ethan’s abduction, maybe you can nudge him into sticking his neck out. “Don’t worry, I’ll find Yates. That’s what I’m good at. Jim – that’s my ex-partner – he used to say I was like a sniffer dog on a trail. Once I get the scent, I never give up.”

  Neil gazed at the approaching pub, seemingly brooding over Harlan’s words. As they pulled over, he turned to Harlan and said, “This isn’t only about the roof, is it?”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “I just don’t believe you’d go to all this trouble over a few quid. I know you’ve got money. Susan told me you tried to give her thousands.”

  Straight as a dart, Harlan looked Neil in the eyes. Offer him just enough rope to hang himself with, said his cop’s brain. “I have reason to believe Martin Yates abducted Ethan.”

  Neil’s eyes widened. “What reason?”

  “A good reason,” said
Harlan, trying to judge whether or not Neil’s surprise was genuine. “That’s all you need to know for now.”

  “But I thought Jones and that other guy took Ethan.”

  “They did as far as the police are concerned.”

  “You mean you’ve told them and they don’t believe you.”

  Harlan nodded.

  Neil shook his head in indignant amazement. “How can they doubt you after what you’ve done?”

  “They have procedures to follow.”

  “Bollocks to their procedures.” Neil’s eyes flashed with uncharacteristic fierceness. “If you say Martin Yates took Ethan, that’s good enough for me.” He jerked open the car door. “We’ll find him, if we have to look in every pub in this city.”

  Harlan could detect no false note in Neil’s voice, no trace of insincerity in his expression. If he was acting, it was a convincing performance. He recalled what Neil had shouted to Susan the first night he’d come banging at the door. I’d rather die than lose you! If those words were true, surely they marked him out as innocent. Looking at Neil’s nervous but determined boy-man face, part of Harlan couldn’t help but want to believe they were. He wanted to believe love meant more than money, more than life itself even. But if all those years on the force had taught him anything it was to view the world with the eyes of a cynic. He motioned for Neil to enter the pub first. He didn’t want to take his eyes off him. Not for a second. He realised that might prove difficult when he saw how busy the pub was. There was a band playing, and the barroom was wall-to-wall with bodies that reluctantly parted as the two men approached the bar. Someone swayed against Harlan, knocking him off balance. Someone else’s elbow poked into his midriff – not hard, but hard enough to double him over. “Wait,” he called to Neil, but his pain-choked voice couldn’t make itself heard above the grinding music and rowdy crowd. He lowered his head, gritting his teeth, sucking up the pain, then straightened.

  Neil was nowhere to be seen.

  Angry glances flashed at Harlan as, eyes darting from side to side, he elbowed his way forward. People were standing three deep at the bar. Neil wasn’t amongst them. His heart was pounding now. He stood on his tiptoes, craning his neck, ignoring the stretching agony in his gut. No sign of Neil. “Fuck,” he hissed. This wasn’t good. This wasn’t good at all! “Where are the toilets?” he shouted in someone’s ear. They pointed to a door at the rear of the room, and he headed for it. Sweat was dribbling down his face by the time he reached the door. He yanked it open, half ran, half staggered along a short corridor and through a door with a male stick figure on it. He found himself facing a urinal trough. To its right were a couple of cubicles, one vacant, the other engaged. He kicked the locked door in, and felt something bust inside of him. Neil was stood facing him, goggle-eyed with shock, a phone pressed to his ear. Propelled by an explosion of searing pain, Harlan drove the heel of his hand against Neil’s nose. There was a crunch of cartilage and plastic. Neil reeled back onto the toilet, with instant tears in his eyes, his glasses broken, blood streaming from both nostrils. Harlan snatched the phone off him. A number he didn’t recognise was dialling. He cut it off and pocketed the phone.

  “I think you broke my nose,” Neil groaned nasally.

  Harlan glared down at him. “I’ll do a lot fucking worse than that if you don’t tell me who you were phoning.”

  “I…I was calling my boss to say I won’t be coming into work.”

  The lie was as shaky as Neil’s hands that were pressed to either side of his nose. “Bit late for that, isn’t it? It’s after eight. Your shift started at six.”

  “Not tonight. I changed my hours so…” Neil trailed off under Harlan’s gaze, which was sad and hard at the same time. Snuffling back blood, he gave a slight nod, as if to say, okay, you got me.

  Harlan took out the knife. “Who were you calling?”

  Neil made no reply. For once there was no nervousness in his eyes, only blank resignation. The music briefly jumped in volume as someone entered the corridor to the toilet.

  “Stand up,” commanded Harlan. Neil did so, and Harlan pulled him roughly out of the cubicle and jabbed the knife into his ribs. “We’re gonna walk out of here. Fuck with me and I’ll stick this in you.”

  Harlan put his hand holding the knife in his pocket. With his other hand closed like steel on Neil’s arm, he guided him through the packed bar. His breath caught with every agonising step. Neil made no attempt to get away. When they reached the car, Harlan opened the boot. “Get in.”

  Neil compliantly folded himself into the cramped space.

  “Who were you phoning?” Harlan asked again.

  Still no answer.

  “We can do this the hard way or the easy way.” Harlan thumbed the knife. “I could go to work on you until you quite literally spill your guts, or you could just tell me the truth right now.”

  Some of the animation came back into Neil’s face. His pale, watery eyes blinked fearfully at Harlan. “I already told you the truth.”

  “Have it your own way.”

  Harlan slammed the boot. He felt beneath his sweatshirt. A wetness seeped through the bandage, warm and sticky against his fingers. The wound was bleeding, but not badly enough to prevent him from doing what needed to be done – he hoped. He got behind the wheel and accelerated back the way they’d come. There was no time to follow through on his threat. Even unanswered, Neil’s phone call might give warning to Yates that something was wrong – assuming that’s who it was intended for. Speed was everything now. And he could see only one way to prove quickly and irrefutably whether or not Neil was lying. Yet the thought of the trauma doing so would cause almost made him wish there was time to take Neil out to some isolated place and beat the truth from him.

  Harlan sped through the city streets, ignoring red lights, overtaking at every opportunity. Neil’s phone rang. He snatched it out. The same number flashed up on its screen. The caller rang off after a few seconds. Harlan returned the phone to his pocket and pressed down harder on the accelerator. Minutes later, he screeched to a stop outside Susan’s house and popped the boot. Dazed and blinking, Neil uncoiled himself from its confines. “I don’t want Susan to see me like this,” he said, resisting as Harlan pulled him towards the house. “It’ll upset her.”

  There was no time to talk or reason. Harlan slapped Neil hard. As if it’d been programmed into his nervous system, Neil instantly went into a blank, passive state again. Harlan hammered on the door. Even before he stopped knocking, Susan opened it. Her eyes grew big at the sight of Neil’s bloodied face. “What happened? Who did that to you?”

  “I did,” said Harlan, hauling Neil into the living-room and shoving him onto the sofa.

  “What? Why?”

  “’Cos he’s crazy, that’s why,” said Neil, snapping himself out of his stupor with a shake of his head. “He’s got it into his messed up head that I had something to do with Ethan’s abduction.”

  Susan face twisted into an expression caught between suspicion and fear. “Why would he think that?”

  “Because I tried to phone my shift manager.”

  A look of confusion took over Susan’s features. “I don’t understand.”

  “That makes two of us then.”

  “Kane!” shouted Harlan.

  “Harlan, will you tell me just what the hell’s going on here,” Susan demanded to know as the boy came thundering downstairs.

  In answer, Harlan took out Neil’s phone. Kane pulled up abruptly, sucking his breath in at the sight of Neil. Harlan scrolled through the phone to the missed call list and found the number. Then he pulled out the knife and held it to Neil’s throat. “Jesus,” gasped Susan. “What are you doing?”

  “I told you he’s crazy,” said Neil, his tone curiously flat for someone with a blade at their jugular.

  He knows he’s caught, thought Harlan. Pressing the blade’s edge into Neil’s flesh, Harlan breathed in his ear, “Say one more fucking word and I swear to God I’ll cut your
throat. In fact…” His gaze scanned the room, coming to rest on the coat hooks by the door. He pointed to a scarf. “Pass me that, will you?”

  Susan hesitated, uncertainty clouding her haggard face.

  “Do it,” snapped Harlan. “There’s no time for explanations now.”

  Susan passed the scarf to Harlan. He snatched up a handful of missing-person flyers and stuffed them into Neil’s mouth, before gagging him with the scarf. Neil struggled for breath, expelling black plugs of congealed blood from his nostrils. Harlan’s features softened as he looked at Kane. “Come closer. You need to hear this.”

  Kane remained motionless, eyes shining like those of a wild animal ready to fight or flee.

  “Don’t worry. No one’s going to hurt you or your mum.”

  Kane’s gaze flicked to Susan. When she gave him a nod, he warily approached the sofa. Harlan raised a finger to his lips, then pressed the dial button. He put the phone on speaker mode. With each of the phone’s rings, Neil flinched slightly, causing a thin line of blood to trickle down his throat. He closed his eyes as a gravelly male voice answered the phone. “What you calling me on your moby for? I thought we agreed to use landlines only.”

  Harlan watched for Kane’s reaction, mouthing silently, “Is it him?” The boy didn’t shake his head or nod, but he didn’t need to. His ashen face with its expression of paralysed fear told Harlan everything he needed to know.

  “Neil, you there?” said the man. “Neil–” Harlan hung up.

  Susan’s eyes widened as the penny suddenly dropped. “That was him, wasn’t it?” she hissed. “That was the bastard who took Ethan.”

  Kane nodded mutely.

  Harlan tore away Neil’s gag. “Where’s–” he started to say but before he could finish, Susan flew at Neil, her fists and nails flailing, drawing livid red lines across his face. He made no attempt to defend himself.

  “It was you!” she screamed. “It was you all along! How could you do this?”

  Neil’s reedy voice quivered in reply. “I did it for us.”