Dead Flowers Read online

  ‘Are you two serious?’ I asked. ‘Or is music hall making a comeback.’

  Albert looked over his shoulder at Freeze. ‘Fucker is stupid,’ he said. ‘He gets dead flowers, he almost comes to a sticky end on a building site, he gets a friendly warning, then he gets a bullet through his window, and still he won’t take the hint.’

  ‘So it was you left the flowers,’ I said. ‘What was all that about?’

  ‘Can’t you guess?’ said Albert. ‘You get dead flowers, next thing you’re dead. Simple. Especially for a man of your alleged mental calibre.’

  ‘I thought you’d heard I was stupid,’ I said. ‘I’m getting confused.’

  ‘We heard you were a bit of both,’ said Albert. ‘Now we’ve come here in a friendly way, and we’ve got other things to do today, so what we want you to do is forget you ever heard of Sharon Miller or Chris Grant or Freeze or me, and everything will be wonderful in your life. But if you don’t, it won’t just be half a block of flats falls on your head, it’ll be the whole estate and you wouldn’t like that, would you?’

  ‘I wouldn’t like that one bit,’ I agreed.

  ‘We’ve been good to you so far. Let you off easy. But that could all change. Will all change unless you get your nose out of other people’s business.’

  ‘I’m a nosy person.’

  ‘We heard that too. But people have been known to alter habits of a lifetime. Take my advice and get into that mode. It’ll be better for all concerned. You hear what I’m saying?’

  ‘I hear you.’

  ‘So there you go,’ said Albert. ‘Just chill out. Relax. Have fun. But stay away from our business and we won’t bother you again. Now like I said we’ve got things to do. Stay here, mull over what we’ve said and I’m sure you’ll come to the same conclusion that we have. Discretion is the better part of valour, you can take my word for that. Have a nice day, Mr Sharman,’ and with a wheezy grunt he got to his feet.

  ‘OK, Albert,’ I said. ‘But just tell me one thing before you go.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  “Where the hell did you get that shirt?’

  I saw Freeze pull a face.

  ‘What’s wrong with it?’ said Albert quietly, and I could see I’d hit a nerve.

  ‘Nothing, man,’ I said. ‘Pink’s always been one of my favourite colours. I just wondered, that’s all. It works for me, see, and I wondered where I could get something similar. Maybe in lilac or puce. But maybe a teensy-weensy size smaller.’

  ‘You really are a funny man, Sharman,’ said Albert. ‘But the joke’s over now. The next time I see you will be the last. Just make sure it doesn’t ever happen. Get me?’

  ‘Got you,’ I said. The pair of them filed out of the room and Albert quietly closed the door behind him.

  34

  I sat there after they’d gone and considered the future. It looked like I had two choices; either do as they said or take a chance on the next bullet finding its mark. It really was no contest. I’ve always hated being threatened, and it always meant I was getting close. And anyway, now it was just me, me on my own. Everyone else was gone, and even if the next bullet did find its mark, I didn’t reckon too many people would miss me.

  But of course there was the other option. To swallow what had happened so far, put it down to experience and do what Albert had said: chill out, relax, have fun.

  I thought I’d better have words with my principal.

  I phoned the landline number he’d given me, but there was no answer. Then I tried the mobile. He answered on the fourth ring. ‘Ray Miller.’

  ‘Hello Ray, it’s Nick Sharman.’

  ‘You got some news for me?’

  ‘Maybe. Maybe not. We need to talk.’

  ‘So talk.’

  ‘Face to face. It’s a long story.’

  ‘What are you doing now?’

  ‘Not much. But I could find an errand or two to run if I wanted to.’

  ‘Why not come over? We’re just moving into our new place. You can help christen it.’

  ‘I dunno,’ I said.

  ‘Come on, Nick. You want to talk, I want to listen. You can meet Sharon’s mum, Angela. There’s a decent Thai restaurant in the village. It’s in Egon Ronay. We can eat there or get food sent in. I want to show off the place. When you see Sharon I want you to tell her about it.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I really have got things to do.’

  ‘And there’s another reason,’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’ll think this is daft. But you’re the only person I trust these days. Apart from Angela and Liam. Everybody else I know just sees pound signs when they look at me.’

  ‘Maybe I do too.’

  ‘Everybody else would’ve been halfway here before I finished asking, looking for free booze and grub. You don’t even sound keen.’

  ‘It’s a long drive to Essex.’

  ‘Do me a favour and make it.’

  For all his money he sounded desperately lonely and I softened. Like Albert had said: Chill out. Relax. Have fun. ‘OK,’ I said.

  ‘I knew I could count on you. I’ve got spare trunks here, you can try out the pool. Or we can play snooker. Whatever you want. Stay the night. There’s enough bedrooms to sleep a football team. You can have a decent drink. How does that sound?’

  ‘Sounds good,’ I replied. ‘How do I get there?’

  35

  He told me which exit to take off the A12, and the route thereafter, which I scribbled down on the back of an envelope. I told him I’d see him as soon as I could, went out to the jeep and set off towards the river and then east to Essex. For once it wasn’t raining. In fact it was a beautiful evening. I followed his instructions and eventually found myself in a pleasant little village that could have been a hundred miles away from London instead of the twenty or so it was.

  Funnily enough, the journey took me close to Walthamstow, and I was tempted to drop in on a certain young lady and demonstrate my expertise at the art of whistling. But in the end I didn’t.

  I slowly drove through the village and along the main road beyond, looking for the turn-off he’d described, found it, and pulled up outside an imposing set of wrought-iron gates at just after eight-thirty. I hopped out of the car and rang the bell on an entryphone mounted on one of the brick gateposts. A woman’s voice came over the speaker. I told her who I was, and the gates started to swing open. I got back in the jeep and drove up the long, gravelled drive, over a slight hill, and suddenly I was in a remake of Dallas.

  Remember Southfork? This was it transplanted to southeast England. The sprawling brick ranch-style-built house with room for about forty cars to park out front, the patio complete with tables and chairs to enjoy eating breakfast whilst looking at the neatly tended garden, and the huge azure-blue pool to take a morning dip. Everything a lottery winner could want and more. Especially with the sun setting behind the pool and tinting the blue water with gold.

  Parked outside the imposing front door were Ray’s Aston Martin, a Bentley Continental and a Wrangler jeep with the top off.

  I was almost salivating.

  I parked my lesser jeep next to his, climbed out and headed for the door.

  It was opened before I got there, and Ray, dressed in a pale blue polo shirt with a little crocodile appliquéd on the front, pressed chinos and deck shoes, came towards me. ‘What do you think?’ he asked, looking round.

  ‘I’m impressed,’ I replied. ‘Very impressed.’

  He shook my hand and said, ‘What happened to your eye?’

  ‘Just a little local difficulty,’ I said.

  He nodded. ‘Come on in. Meet Angela, say hello to Liam again and have a drink.’

  I did as he asked and entered a vast hall with a polished wooden floor interrupted by brightly coloured rugs, white plastered walls and a high ceiling hung with a single, glittering chandelier. There were boxes and packing cases stacked everywhere.


  ‘Excuse the mess,’ he said. ‘Moving. You know. But it’ll be all right in a day or so.’

  ‘No problem,’ I replied.

  He looked around again, every inch the proud home owner. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘But it’s lacking something.’

  ‘How about a stuffed buffalo head on the wall? Then you could be in Texas.’

  ‘Got one on order,’ he replied, and I didn’t know if he was joking or not.

  ‘Ange and Liam are in the playroom,’ he said. ‘I thought I’d try and make him feel at home as soon as I could. This way.’ And he took me off to the right into a massive room that was so full of expensive toys that it was like an annexe of Hamleys. Liam was sitting in the middle of the room on the floor surrounded by goodies and looking a little dazed at his good fortune. A woman was standing at the french windows, silhouetted by the sun, smoking a cigarette and holding an ashtray in her left hand. ‘Ange, this is Nick Sharman,’ he said. ‘Nick, Angela. Liam. You remember your Uncle Nick, don’t you?’

  The boy looked at me but showed no sign of recognition.

  The woman moved away from the window and into focus. She was about fifty, blonde like her daughter, slim, wearing a short skirt and a white sweater.

  ‘Hello, Nick,’ she said as she put the ashtray on the top of a pile of boxes, transferred the cigarette to her left hand and walked towards me holding out her right to be shaken.

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ I said, taking the proffered mitten and squeezing it gently. ‘Nice place.’

  ‘It will be,’ she replied. ‘When we’re sorted and Sharon’s home.’

  I saw Ray shake his head slightly and look at Liam. Angela pulled an ‘I’m sorry’ face and took a drag on her cigarette. ‘You found us all right then,’ she said to me.

  ‘No problem,’ I said back.

  ‘So where are we going to eat?’ said Ray. ‘You want to go out for Thai? Nick? Ange?’

  ‘I don’t mind,’ I said.

  ‘Can I have chips?’ said a little voice. Liam had spoken for the first time since I’d met him.

  Angela stubbed out her cigarette and knelt down beside him. ‘Course you can, love,’ she said. ‘You can have what you want.’

  She looked up at Ray. ‘He can have chips, can’t he?’

  ‘Course he can.’

  ‘I can make something here if you like,’ she went on. ‘Try out that flash cooker.’

  Ray looked at me. ‘Nick?’

  ‘Whatever,’ I said. ‘I’m easy.’

  ‘How about a good old fry-up?’ said Sharon’s mother. ‘Egg, bacon, chips and beans?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Liam, suddenly looking a lot happier.

  ‘Sounds good to me,’ I said.

  ‘That’s it then,’ said Ray.

  ‘Go and have a drink and a talk,’ said Angela to us, getting up and pulling Liam to his feet. ‘Me and Liam will get it ready. I’ll give you a shout.’

  ‘Fine,’ said Ray. ‘Come on, Nick, the booze is in the other room. I made sure that was unpacked first.’

  I smiled at Angela and Liam and followed Ray out to the hall again, straight across and into what I suppose was the living room, another huge expanse of wooden floor with a square hole in the middle, three sides being thickly upholstered sofas. A leisure pit I believe it’s called. There was a pool table in one corner, a juke box in another, and a wet bar with stools in front ran along one wall. ‘All the comforts of home. Go and sit down,’ said Ray. ‘What do you want to drink?’

  ‘A beer.’

  ‘Beck’s? Bud? Heineken? Guinness? Bitter? What?’

  ‘Lager. Whatever you’ve got.’

  He went to the bar and came back with two bottles of Beck’s and glasses.

  ‘Mind if I smoke?’ I asked.

  ‘Sure. I’m going to.’ And he opened a little drawer in the side of the sofa where he was sitting and took out a slim cigar. ‘I’ll get some ashtrays,’ and went back to the bar for them.

  When we were settled, he said, ‘You wanted to talk.’

  I nodded as I fired up a Silk Cut and said, ‘This whole thing is starting to get complicated.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Someone’s tried to kill me twice, and today I had a visit from a pair of hitmen straight out of Comic Cuts. Only I don’t think they think they’re funny. That’s how I got this.’ I touched the bruise on my face. ‘And that’s not all.’

  He leant forward and cigar smoke swirled up in front of his face. ‘Tell me,’ he said.

  So I did. The only thing I didn’t tell him was what Wally had told me about his missus being strung out and turning tricks. That could wait. For as long as possible as far as I was concerned. And I didn’t tell him about the twins. I didn’t want him to think I’d been taking bad acid on top of everything else.

  ‘Well, you’ve certainly stirred up a wasp’s nest,’ he said, when I’d finished giving him the seven-inch version.

  ‘And I was going to go in and stir it up more tonight at Grant’s boozer. That was the errand I said I might run.’

  ‘I’m glad you came here first,’ he said.

  ‘Well, I wasn’t exactly relishing the thought. It was just something I had to do. Or maybe not do at all.’

  ‘Were you ever in the services?’ he asked suddenly.

  ‘No. The police. My one time in uniform.’

  ‘Yeah, I heard. You’d’ve made a good soldier, I think.’

  ‘I doubt it. I don’t take orders well. That was one of the reasons I’m no longer a copper.’

  ‘The thin blue line, eh? And I was part of the thin red line. Brothers under the skin.’ He slapped his leg. ‘And all I got was a pay-off, some useless medals and this.’

  ‘At least you got paid off,’ I said. ‘I got shot and all I got was a bad foot and no pension.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘I was a naughty boy.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Long story. Maybe another time.’

  ‘Maybe. But if I’d not been shot maybe I’d’ve been a naughty boy in the Falklands.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  He shook his head. ‘Just stories. War stories about what our boys did.’

  ‘Like?’

  ‘Like they’d been watching too many Vietnam films. Shooting prisoners, taking souvenirs. Body parts, you know. Ears. Not good. I’m glad I came home.’

  I nodded.

  ‘And now you don’t know whether or not to carry on working for me. Is that what you’re saying?’ he went on.

  ‘It would be easier not to. Just to forget about the whole thing, return your money and take a long holiday.’

  ‘Forget the money,’ he said with a dismissive gesture. ‘That doesn’t matter. So what are you going to do?’

  ‘I dunno,’ I said.

  At that point Angela came through and told us that dinner was ready.

  36

  We ate in the kitchen, which was the most comfortable room I’d been in so far. We sat at a big polished wooden table without a cloth next to a massive cast-iron range that looked to be a hundred years old. This was next to a very modern cube of work surfaces which incorporated a state-of-the-art oven, cooker and grill, a triple sink and an industrial-sized dishwasher. What looked like a thousand shiny cooking implements hung over the cube on stainless-steel racks. It was like the set for Masterchef.

  Ray sat at the head of the table, Liam next to him, me at the foot and Angela next to me. She served up huge plates of egg, bacon, chips and beans. The adults washed the food down with chilled white wine, and Liam drank Coke. The food was good, the eggs over easy, and the chips big, brown and crisp. There was brown sauce, ketchup, salt and pepper and vinegar on the table. We didn’t say a lot as we ate, because Liam’s big blue eyes moved to each of us as we spoke.

  When we were done Angela stacked the dishes in the dishwasher and said, ‘You two men go and chat. I’ll get Liam bathed and into bed.’

  I expected ructions from the boy, but he just finished his C
oke and added the glass to the machine.

  ‘Say goodnight to Uncle Nick,’ said Angela, and he surprised me by coming over to me, holding out his hand to be shaken and speaking only for the second time since I’d met him. ‘Bring my mummy home please,’ he said. ‘I know you can.’

  I held his small, soft hand in mine for a moment and swallowed. What could I do? ‘OK Liam,’ I replied. ‘I’ll do my best.’

  ‘Do you promise?’

  That was the killer. I hesitated, then said, ‘I promise.’

  He nodded sagely and Angela took his hand in hers and led him out of the room. I watched them go, and as she went through the door she turned and raised her eyebrows to me. ‘I’ll see you two when he’s had his bath and I’ve tucked him in.’

  Ray and I went back into the living room and he got a bottle of Rémy and three glasses, putting a decent-sized slug into two of them and passing one to me.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ he said. ‘I didn’t put him up to it. He may be just a nipper, but he understands what’s going on. Poor little sod. He’s so quiet sometimes, me and Ange forget he’s there and say too much in front of him.’

  ‘I understand,’ I said.

  ‘So?’ said Ray.

  ‘What can I tell you?’ I replied. ‘I always was a soft touch with kids.’

  Ray smiled, and raised his glass in a toast and I touched mine to his with a clink.

  ‘But there’s something I have to take care of first.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘A personal matter. I have to speak at the funeral of a friend.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Ray. ‘A close friend?’

  ‘Very. I feel bad about his death. Our families go back a long way. I have to be there. After what’s happened I don’t think I can go to Grant’s until I’ve paid my respects. In case I don’t come back. You understand?’

  Ray nodded. ‘When’s the funeral?’

  ‘Wednesday afternoon, three o’clock.’

  ‘I don’t suppose a couple of days is going to make any difference now.’

  ‘I’m glad you see it that way.’

  ‘I’ve lost friends too.’

  After that we didn’t say much.