Dead Flowers Read online

  ‘That’s how it works too.’

  ‘We had a real laugh. But then he started me on the smack. In the end I’d do anything to get sorted. Anything. With anyone. Do you think Ray will forgive me?’

  ‘I don’t think he ever really blamed you.’

  ‘He’s a good bloke, Ray. I really pissed him about. And my mum. And Liam.’ She looked over to where Action Man was sitting on the chair I’d used at first.

  ‘He really gave you that?’ she asked. I’d told her what had happened at Ray’s house on the day I’d stayed over there.

  ‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘And he asked me to bring me home.’

  ‘Do you think he’ll forgive me?’

  ‘There’s no question.’

  ‘And all that money. I still can’t believe it.’

  ‘It’s there,’ I said. ‘I’ve seen some of the things it’s bought.’

  ‘Once that would’ve been very important.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The things money can buy. But now I don’t care.’

  ‘Maybe that’s good.’

  ‘I think so. All I care about now is my family.’

  ‘And that is very good.’

  And soon we were talking constantly.

  ‘How did you find me?’ she asked, one long, dark, wet afternoon.

  ‘Luck mostly. And information, of course. And being good at what I do. And I put the frighteners on one bloke.’

  ‘Wally,’ she said.

  ‘Not one of nature’s heroes.’

  ‘I don’t know why Chris kept him around. He stank.’

  ‘And your friend Melanie pointed me in the right direction.’

  ‘Mel.’ She smiled as she said the name. ‘I haven’t seen Mel in ages. How is she?’

  ‘Looking for a chum.’

  ‘That’s Melanie all right.’ Sharon looked up at me from under lowered eyelids. ‘I’m surprised she didn’t try and rope you in. You’re just her type.’

  ‘She did. But I had other things on my mind.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Such as looking for you. But I’ve still got her number.’

  ‘You should use it.’

  ‘I very well might.’

  ‘She’s been a good friend to me over the years.’

  ‘She told me she warned you off Grant,’ I said.

  ‘She did. But I took no notice. Infatuated. And glad to get out of the house.’

  ‘It was that bad?’

  ‘No. I just couldn’t stand seeing Ray lose everything. And I wasn’t very good with Liam. Some women aren’t good with babies. I wasn’t. Now my mum … You’ve met her, haven’t you?’ She was having some memory problems. Nothing too serious I hoped.

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘She cooked us supper at the new house.’

  ‘That’s right. You said. Now she’s a natural. She was always great with Liam. He’d cry all day and all night and there was nothing I could do. And then she’d come in, and in a minute he was laughing. I could never work out how she did it.’

  ‘Some people have the knack,’ I said.

  ‘I wish I had.’

  And she’d go on to tell me what else Grant had put her through. It wasn’t a pretty story. Humiliation. Physical and mental abuse. The withholding of her drug privileges. Pretty much par for the course in a pimp/whore relationship. I told her not to worry. It was all over.

  That I’d take care of her.

  That was a laugh.

  But I knew she believed me, and that brought us even closer together. It was good. I felt I had some aim in life at last.

  To get Sharon off the smack.

  I asked her about Albert and Freeze. They scared her, and she didn’t want to talk about them, so I left it.

  And of course I told her about myself too. Things I’d never told anyone else in my life. Ugly things. But I knew she’d understand. Why, I didn’t know. But she did.

  And it was working. Every day I saw an improvement in her appearance. Gradually she got better. She stopped smoking the sixty fags a day that the girls brought home from their frequent trips out, and she stopped begging for heroin. At first, when the withdrawal pains got too bad, I allowed her a joint in the evening, but even that became a social event rather than desperation stakes, and finally we’d both end up sitting on the end of the bed sharing the spliff and looking out at the cars speeding along the Westway beside us, in the almost constant rain that seemed to beat a counterpoint to our conversations during those strange days we were together. The night-time was the best, sitting in the dark, the drug making the head- and tail-lights of the vehicles blend into lines of yellow and red like a movie on time delay.

  But of course it couldn’t last. Nothing does.

  On the twelfth or thirteenth day, she asked for her handbag.

  ‘Why?’ I asked.

  ‘I haven’t been near a mirror for ages,’ she said. ‘I haven’t been able to pluck up the courage. I want to see what I look like.’

  ‘You look fine,’ I said.

  ‘Go on, Nick, there’s no dope hidden in the lining, and I don’t have a knife or a gun. A girl needs her things.’

  I got the bag, and believe me I did check just in case she’d been holding out on me, but like she’d said there was no contraband inside. ‘You still don’t trust me, do you?’ she asked.

  ‘Sorry,’ I replied sheepishly.

  She hauled out her mirror, make-up bag and hairbrush. ‘Jesus,’ she said. ‘You could’ve told me I looked like a witch.’

  ‘You don’t,’ I replied. ‘Now a week ago …’

  ‘Funny.’ She messed around with her hair and put on some slap. She looked great.

  ‘How’s that?’ she asked when she’d finished.

  ‘You look terrific.’

  ‘I feel pretty good too. When can I see Ray? And Liam? I think I’m ready now.’

  ‘It’s up to you.’

  ‘Have you spoken to him?’

  ‘Not since we came here.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I had nothing to say.’

  ‘Not about finding me?’

  ‘Not until you were well.’

  ‘I am well, I think.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘And he’ll be worrying.’

  ‘That’s nothing new, from what I can understand.’

  She pondered for a moment. ‘Fair enough. I asked for that.’

  ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean anything.’

  ‘You’ve been kind to me, Nick. Kinder than I deserve.’

  ‘We all deserve a little kindness.’

  ‘Well thanks, anyway.’

  ‘Don’t mention it.’

  ‘So are you going to? Call him I mean.’

  ‘That’s more or less up to you.’

  ‘Then I think it’s time. Tomorrow would be good.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Tell me about the new house he’s bought us.’

  I’d told her a dozen times already, but I told her again. It was good to see her enthusiastic about something at last. I told her where it was and what it was like, and she almost clapped her hands with delight.

  ‘And Liam,’ she asked. ‘How is he?’

  I’d told her a dozen times about him too. But once more I didn’t mind repeating myself.

  ‘Yeah,’ she said, when I was finished. ‘Tomorrow would be good.’

  ‘Fine,’ I said.

  But it wasn’t.

  I moved back to the couch that night and had a desperate dream about Dawn. Not a nightmare. Just the opposite and they’re the worst. She and I were sitting, talking. And she did more or less everything that had made me fall in love with her in the first place.

  You know what I’m talking about. The look, the expressions, the way she ran her finger under one bra strap. The little jokes. Nothing really, but everything.

  And when I woke, my face in a puddle of spit, I expected her to be there next to me in our bed in our flat. And of course she wasn’t, and the pain was as harsh as
the first time I felt it.

  I woke up knowing she was dead.

  And it hurt like hell.

  And I knew something else was wrong, but I didn’t know what.

  But I soon found out.

  53

  Maddie was standing by my bed when I came to, the remains of the dream about Dawn still clunking around in my head. ‘She’s gone,’ she said.

  ‘Who?’ I was confused and my mouth was dry. I thought she meant Dawn and I was well aware that she was gone. Forever.

  ‘Sharon,’ she said.

  I blinked and shook my head to clear it. ‘What?’

  ‘Sharon’s gone,’ she said patiently. ‘Vanished.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  She nodded.

  ‘When?’ I said.

  ‘In the night.’

  ‘I didn’t hear the lift.’

  ‘She used the fire stairs.’

  ‘Wasn’t the sodding door locked?’

  ‘She broke it.’

  ‘Shit.’ I got up from the sofa and tugged on my blue jeans. I went to the bathroom, took a piss, cleaned my teeth and tried to think. Where would she go?

  When I got back I could smell coffee brewing. Maddie was sitting on my temporary bed and I guessed Matty was in the kitchen. ‘What did you do with your gun?’ Maddie asked.

  ‘In the drawer in the cupboard over there.’ I pointed towards the corner.

  She shook her head.

  ‘Oh fuck,’ I said and grabbed the phone as Matty came in with three steaming mugs. I grabbed one and dialled Ray Miller’s mobile number from memory. He must’ve been asleep too and answered groggily after seven or eight rings.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said.

  ‘Ray. It’s Nick Sharman. Have you heard from Sharon?’

  ‘Sharman! Where the hell have you been? I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for days.’

  ‘Long story.’

  ‘Have you found Sharon? That is what I’ve been paying you for, isn’t it?’

  ‘I found her.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘A couple of weeks ago now.’

  ‘And you didn’t let me know. I’ve been going half out of my mind with worry.’

  I cut him off. ‘She’s been sick, Ray. Very sick.’

  ‘What’s wrong with her?’

  ‘She was hooked on smack.’

  ‘Smack. What? Heroin?’

  ‘That’s right. I’ve been getting her clean. That’s why I didn’t get in touch. I had her in a safe house’

  ‘Had! What do you mean, had?’

  ‘She’s done a runner.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I know, I know. But I thought she was OK here. She seemed fine. I left her alone. I shouldn’t have done that.’

  ‘Where’s she gone?’

  ‘I don’t know. I hoped she was with you.’

  ‘When did she go?’

  I shrugged, although he couldn’t see it, and went on, ‘Dunno. Some time during the night. She might be on her way. Did she take her bag?’ I asked the girls.

  ‘What?’ said Ray, confused.

  ‘I’m talking to the people here,’ I said. ‘Hold on a sec.’ I covered the mouthpiece of the phone. ‘Did she?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes,’ said Maddie. It’s gone.’ There had been fifty quid or so in her purse when I’d looked.

  ‘How about your cars?’

  ‘Both sets of keys are still here,’ said Matty.

  ‘She’s not driving, but she’s got a cab fare, Ray,’ I said. ‘Keep a look out for her,’ and I put down the phone before the recriminations started. I didn’t tell him about the gun. That scared me. That I didn’t tell him. But I didn’t want to make things worse. As if I could. I knew I should’ve told him. But we all make mistakes. I know that better than most.

  ‘You didn’t tell him about your gun,’ said Maddie.

  ‘I know,’ I replied. ‘I don’t think she’s going to shoot Ray. But Chris Grant is another matter. I think I should go see him.’

  54

  When I got outside it was pissing down and even though it was mid-summer it was as dark as a November morning.

  I took the red jeep this time. It was all gassed up and ready to rock and roll. The blue one was still on the wanted list.

  I wasn’t as well prepared as the car. I was unarmed, and not even sure what was going on. What the hell was Sharon playing at? She was clean for now and seemed determined to go back to Ray and the family and be a good girl. So why the sudden disappearance?

  I was soon to find out.

  I drove back down the old familiar roads through the downpour to the river, then over Lambeth Bridge and turned east.

  First I went to Sharon’s block in Shad Thames, but there was no answer when I leant on the bell next to the card that said, S MILLER, FLAT NINE. At least she’d made no secret of who she was.

  I hung around for a bit waiting for someone to come out, getting soaking wet for my trouble. After a minute or two the security door was opened by a bloke in a mackintosh and I caught the handle as he let it swing closed. He protested, but I shrugged him off, ran up the stairs to the second floor where there was a sign that read, FLATS 9–12, and hammered on the door of number nine, but got no reply. He followed, and I said, ‘Sorry, pal. Girlfriend trouble.’

  ‘This is a private dwelling,’ he said pompously, ‘and unless you leave I’ll be forced to call the police.’ He produced a mobile phone to prove his point.

  ‘I said I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I’m going.’

  ‘I’ll see you off the premises, and make sure you don’t do this sort of thing again.’ I almost expected a ‘my man’ at the end, but at least he had the sense not to force the issue, as I might have put the telephone he was holding where the sun didn’t shine. But instead I just raised my hands in surrender and walked back down the stairs and out into the street. Let him have his moment of victory, I thought. He’d be telling all his mates at the office for weeks, how he’d seen me off. Good luck to him.

  I splashed back to the car and headed for Grant’s pub. If she wasn’t there I didn’t know where she’d be.

  I drove round the block and saw the Beemer that Grant had been driving the night he’d taken Sharon to the restaurant, and parked up a couple of spaces behind it. I got out and took a stroll, getting even wetter. The pub was all closed up and looked deserted, but appearances can be deceptive.

  I tried the front doors but they were locked. The pub was on a corner and at the back of it, running maybe twenty yards down the side street, was a brick wall about twelve feet high topped with rusty barbed wire. Set into the wall about halfway down was a pair of double doors for delivery access. These were firmly bolted too, and also topped with wire, but they weren’t as high as the wall and the wood was warped and split and stuck out far enough to give me hand- and foot-holds. I knew I was asking to get my collar felt, but, what the hell, I had to try to get inside. I waited until the street was empty and pulled myself up and over, only ripping one knee of my Levi’s and the skin beneath in the attempt. I dropped down on the other side and looked round. It was the typical back of a typical old boozer. An outside Gents painted scabby green, with a single bulb behind rusty wire over its door, piles of empty bottles and casks waiting for collection, the blank back wall of the building broken only by a couple of filthy windows at second-floor height and an ancient-looking burglar alarm box just below them. There was cracked concrete sprouting with weeds at ground level, with a set of splintered cellar doors, padlocked closed, set flush into it, and the door to the back of the pub was dead in front of me.

  The only thing that wasn’t typical was a shiny red Jaguar XJ6 saloon with tinted windows parked nose in. Now who the fuck does that belong to? I thought.

  But I wasn’t going to find out standing where I was. I had to get inside. I tried the back door first. Locked tight.

  Then I investigated the cellar doors. They were loose and dangerous looking to anyone wandering about after dark. I
gave them a tug and could clearly see down into the darkness below through the gap between them.

  I squatted down, got a firm grip on the edge of the outside door and pulled as hard as I could until I could almost hear the muscles on my back creak. Then suddenly, with a crack, one of the hasps broke, the padlock spun off, the door flew upwards nearly smashing me in the face and I ended up on my backside. I waited for the alarm to start ringing, but it remained silent, which meant that either the door wasn’t connected to the system or, more likely, someone was inside and it was switched off.

  I hung about for a moment to see if the racket I’d made brought anyone running, but the pub remained quiet, and I lowered myself down into the cellar. Luckily there was a ladder arrangement which the barrels rolled down, so it wasn’t a straight drop.

  The light from outside wasn’t enough for me to see to the far end of the cellar, but fortunately I had my Zippo in the pocket of my jacket and I thumbed it alight. By the flickering light from the flame I made my way across the floor, avoiding the barrels and cases that were littered everywhere, and found another door at the far end. This one was unlocked and I pushed it slowly open and found myself at the bottom of a flight of wooden steps.

  I climbed them slowly, trying to be as quiet as possible and pushed the door at the top open gently too.

  I recognized the corridor that led to Grant’s office and I crept along it, wishing that Sharon hadn’t taken my gun, feeling half-naked without a weapon of some kind. There was a light under the door of Grant’s office and I could hear voices from inside. I put my ear against the woodwork to try and make out who was talking.

  I could hear two voices. One was definitely Sharon’s and the other I was sure was Grant’s. They didn’t sound too happy, and I thought it was time someone else got into the party.

  ‘Here goes nothing,’ I whispered to myself, and I slammed open the door, stepped inside and said, ‘Mornin’ all.’

  55

  Another mistake.

  Oh shit! I thought as I looked round the office, and realized who the Jag parked out back belonged to.

  Sharon and Grant were in the room OK, but they weren’t alone. Sitting on the sofa that backed on to one wall, as cosy as two cockroaches on a turd, were Adult Baby Albert and Mr Freeze. Freeze was holding a Beretta nine semi, fitted with a silencer, the barrel resting across one thigh, but pointing generally in my direction. Albert was cuddling some fancy target pistol, almost certainly a .22, with an integrated noise suppressor, and the magazine in front of the trigger guard. It was all carbon fibre with a polished wooden butt, sculpted to fit his podgy hand.