Dead Wrong (15 page)

Friday night, kids asleep, I was wrapping up a Pass the Parcel game, inserting super bouncing balls, dinosaurs that could squirt water, tattoos and face-paints between the layers of paper. Ray was labelling party bags with the guest-list and getting muddled as to which bags had got which novelties in. Digger had been banished to the kitchen after showing too much interest in the sweets.

‘I just hope it’s dry,’ I said, ‘if we can keep them in the garden it’ll be ten times easier.’

Ray grunted.

The phone rang. It was Victor Wallace. He was over the moon when I told him about the replacement knife. He demanded I see Pitt right away, asked if I’d told the police yet, was all for calling the press in. I tried to calm him down a bit. I didn’t want either police or press at this stage. I was still hoping that I could see Joey D and find out what had actually gone on that night. And it would be wise to see the lawyer with the fresh evidence before doing anything else, as he would be more of an expert in how to use it. I got Victor’s agreement on this and accepted his effusive thanks, hoping that they weren’t misplaced.

Tom is usually a very equable child with an adventurous spirit. Unlike Maddie he enjoys new situations and challenges, while she hangs back convinced that ‘there be monsters’ in any fresh environment. But the strains of his fifth birthday party pushed him to the limit.

He held it together for the first highly exciting half-hour while he ripped open carefully wrapped presents and tore open cards with signatures laboriously scrawled by his little friends. He coped fairly well with the ensuing games of Pin the Tail on the Dinosaur and Hunt the Treasure in the garden, even though two of his bigger pals knocked him down in their determination to find more sweets than anyone else.

However, anyone who knew him could see signs of mounting tension in his clenched fists and increasingly glazed eyes as he lurched around during Musical Bumps. And when Daniel Metcalfe began to tease Tom over the birthday tea with a typically cruel playground chant: Tom Costello is a smello, and Maddie, o traitorous one, hooted with laughter, then Tom really lost it. He knocked over Daniel’s Cola, yelled at everyone to go home now, dissolved into tears and ran off to his room.

Intense negotiations finally resulted in his return after he’d been promised that he could work the music for Pass the Parcel. The admiration that greeted Sheila’s Tyrannosaurus cake helped as well.

‘I’m shagged.’ Ray staggered into the kitchen having parcelled off the last small guest with a party bag. ‘How many more years of this do we have to go through?’

‘Five or six,’ muttered Sheila with feeling born from experience. ‘It gets worse -. seven and eight are the pits.’ She scraped jelly into the bin. ‘Once they hit ten it’s a few friends to the pictures or ice-skating.’

‘No more party bags,’ I said, ‘it was a nightmare finding things that were cheap enough and wouldn’t break before they got them home.’

‘In my day,’ Sheila said, ‘it was a piece of cake and a balloon. And only one of you got a prize in Pass the Parcel. None of this prize in every layer and stop the music to make sure everyone gets one,’ she laughed. ‘Awful really, all the bitter disappointment when you didn’t win.’

After snacking on cheese and pineapple kebabs, veggie sausages on sticks and jelly, I didn’t feel hungry enough to cook a big meal and neither did the others. It was dry and warm even if it was overcast, so we decided to have a picnic in the garden. Sheila had some hummus and cheese, I made a salad, Ray boiled some eggs and heated up some pitta bread, I opened a bottle of chilled white wine.

Maddie and Tom were busy playing with his new acquisitions and ate on the hoof.

It was rare to share a meal with Sheila, who as our lodger led a fairly independent life. She was in her first year of a geology degree and enjoying it immensely. Term was practically over and she was planning a summer travelling round – a mixture of study and socialising.

‘I’ll start up in Scotland, at Dominic’s,’ she referred to her younger son. ‘He’s kept his flat on and St Andrews will be a great base for touring. I’ll do a few of the cities then head off to the highlands.’

I groaned with envy, ‘I need a holiday.’

‘Thought you were going camping,’ said Ray.

‘Maddie, get off that trellis.’ I waited till she obeyed me. ‘Yes, I need to sort something out, borrow a tent, see if Bev and Harry can lend me theirs.’

My old friends and their three boys lived a couple of miles away in Levenshulme. We’d all squashed into that tent on shared holidays when Maddie and Sam and David had been tiny.

‘It’s mine!’ Tom’s shriek rent the air. He clung to his new scooter, Maddie stood astride it.

‘You’ve got to share, Tom.’ Maddie cast a guilty glance our way.

‘C’mon, Maddie, it’s his birthday present. Get your own bike out.’

‘I hate my bike, it’s horrible.’ She let go of the scooter which fell, but not on Tom, and wandered off to sit on the swing at the other end of the garden. Tom lifted his scooter up and stood uncertain what to do with it now he’d won sole possession. He could not yet scoot. Once he judged Maddie far enough away to pose no immediate threat, he ran to join her.

The phone broke into the conversation. I looked at Ray. ‘It won’t be for me,’ he insisted.

‘Hello?’

‘I want Sal Kilkenny.’

‘Speaking.’

‘That boy that was killed, Ahktar Khan, you’ve been asking questions about it.’ A woman’s voice, my age or younger.

‘That’s right.’

‘Well, that witness, Sonia Siddiq, she wasn’t there. She’s lying – she never saw anything, she can’t have done.’

Mancunian accent but with a tinge to the words that made me think she was Asian.

‘Who is this?’ I asked. No reply. ‘How do you know she wasn’t there? Do you know where Mrs Siddiq was, that night?’

‘She wasn’t at the club. She’s been told to say it – it’s not right, she’s lying.’ The phone went dead.

I sat down trying to digest what I’d just heard. It made sense. It made so much sense when I thought of Mrs Siddiq’s attitude, the questions that had troubled her, the delay in coming forward. What about him, though? The caller had only talked about Sonia. Emma had been astonished that Rashid had been at Nirvana. Had he? Had either of them?

But an anonymous phone call – untraceable, impossible to corroborate. A mixed blessing. Progress though.
She’s lying.

Outside it had started to spot with rain. The picnic was over.

On the way to see Luke at the remand centre I played with scenarios in my head. The club, kids tripping, happy. Joey, running round with a little something for everyone, knife tucked away. Ahktar and Luke partying, Zeb irritable and pressed for cash, Emma storming off. Rashid Siddiq, on his own? Out of place, looking like some of the hired help?

Joey stabbing Ahktar, a bad trip, seeing monsters instead of his friend. Luke holding Ahktar, too drugged to cope, to stay awake. Ecstasy wires you up, lets you dance all night, but they’d taken all sorts, hadn’t they? Maybe the drugs had been bad, cut with something nasty? Or a dodgy combination powerful enough to make someone psychotic for a while?

I wiped the image clean and started again. Suppose the lads had argued, what then? Joey, eager to help, slipping Luke the knife. ‘Here Luke, you show him this, soon shut him up.’ Luke, out of it, takes the handle, stumbles. Surprise as Ahktar pitches forward, blood spilling. It wasn’t meant to be this way. Joey watching, clocking it, running. Rashid Siddiq walks on by.

With a chill in my guts I realised that there really was no guarantee that Joey’s account would exonerate Luke. Joey might not even know what had happened – only that his knife had gone and a young man lay dead. But it must be more than that, surely, to send him so far for so long?

We met in the same grim cubicle as before. Luke looked pinched and pale; he’d lost weight and the nervousness I’d noticed had given way to a dull apathy. He seemed to be half-asleep. I told him about Mrs Deason buying a new knife from Henson’s. He frowned in concentration. ‘You think Joey did it?’

‘I think his knife was used. That’s the only reason she’d go out and buy a new one, and it partly accounts for him doing a runner. Though I think there’s more to it than that.’

He blinked a couple of times and shook his head. I wondered whether he was getting some sort of sedative, he seemed so dull.

‘We don’t have to convict anyone else,’ I said. ‘We just need to make the charge against you look doubtful. I’ve seen Emma, she wanted to know how you were.’ He looked mildly surprised at that. ‘She’s convinced you’re innocent. She split up with Zeb that night, hasn’t seen anyone since, but she had some interesting things to tell me. Your dad probably mentioned it. Emma said Rashid Siddiq worked with Zeb and would have known Ahktar, by sight if nothing else. So the Siddiqs have been lying about whether they knew Ahktar, and Zeb Khan has been lying as well, claiming he didn’t know Siddiq. For some reason he wants to make a secret of it. Emma also told me that the brothers are involved in drugs, importing stuff. Zeb and Rashid Siddiq collect the stuff and distribute it. You’re not surprised?’

‘Ahktar said something once, how they were getting into deep water. He knew it was happening but he never had anything to do with it. They were family, so I suppose he heard stuff but he kept his distance. Zeb is a jerk anyway.’

‘Emma says he owed Jay money.’

‘He owed everyone money,’ Luke said, ‘but what’s all this got to do with me and what happened to Ahktar?’

If only I knew. ‘There’s something else which makes me more sure that there is a connection,’ I went on. ‘I got a phone call on Saturday, an anonymous one. The caller said that Mrs Siddiq had not been at Nirvana that night, that her statement was all lies. That someone had told her what to say.’

Luke looked at me, struggling to work out what I meant.

‘I’ve no proof,’ I said, ‘but it fits with what I’ve heard so far. When I saw her she got very defensive about the details of that evening – innocent stuff about where they’d sat and who they’d seen. If she’s perjured herself, it’s good news for you as their testimony is the biggest part of the case against you. There’s no motive, after all.’

‘What about him?’

‘If all I’ve heard is true, Rashid Siddiq is a very nasty piece of work. He’s employed as a minder, security man, whatever, by Jay and every so often he’s involved in drug smuggling. According to Emma, he drives down to Southampton or up to Hull or over to Holyhead with Zeb and they collect a little something for Jay. Now, this hard man sees a crime committed. He does nothing at the time but late the next day he’s at the police station offering himself up as a witness. To me, that’s a bit peculiar. Most people in his position wouldn’t go anywhere near the police. They don’t want to be known to the police.’

‘Maybe he’s an informer,’ he said.

‘It’s possible.’ I thought about it, ‘OK, suppose he is informing on the drug stuff. They’ll be after the big players, won’t they – the suppliers overseas as well as Jay. if they’re using Siddiq, they’re not going to want him attracting attention by getting involved as a model citizen in a murder trial. That would only make Jay suspicious, wouldn’t it? Because it comes back to it being out of character.’

Luke rubbed his hands over his head, tired of all the supposition. ‘It’s all “if this” and “maybe that” and “what if” – and yet I’m still fucking here.’ His voice rose in desperation. ‘Can’t you just get me out of here? Can’t you just…’ He covered his face with his hands.

I waited a moment. This place was crushing him: the harsh regime, the pervading culture of hard men and bad boys, the smell, the ceaseless noise, the constant bullying.

‘I’m sorry. I realise how hard this must be, being in here. We are making progress,’ I said gently. ‘I’m going to see Pitt. Think about it: so far we’ve found new evidence about the murder weapon – Joey D’s knife killed Ahktar, the witnesses are lying about knowing him, and one if not both of them is lying about the whole thing. I’m sure Pitt can use this, Luke.’

He didn’t respond.

‘I’m pushing very hard to see Joey. His grandmother is in touch with him. He knows something, that’s why he’s hiding. I’ve given them an ultimatum: me now or the police will be after him. And you’re seeing Eleanor tomorrow for the hypnosis.’

‘Yeah,’ he said gruffly. He looked up at me then, dry-eyed, vulnerable. ‘What do you think happened?’

I took a breath, sat up in my seat. It could be dangerous to speculate as he wanted me to, raise false hopes or paint an untrue version of events, but he needed something to hold onto. ‘I don’t think you killed Ahktar; I don’t believe you even argued with him. I think someone else killed him, with Joey’s knife. I don’t know why Zeb would lie about you two arguing, or why Mrs Siddiq would pretend she was there if she wasn’t, or why Rashid Siddiq wanted to stand up and be counted, but I don’t think you did it.’

‘And the hypnosis. What if it comes out that I did do it? What if it was me?’ He shivered.

‘Luke, you don’t have to go ahead with it, if it’s too much, if the time’s not right.’

‘No, I will. If I can just remember…It’s the not remembering. You start to think – well, maybe I did do it. I could’ve done anything.’

‘Yes. The hypnosis – she won’t get you to remember anything that you don’t want to.’

He looked puzzled.

‘She said it’s got to be relaxed and comfortable – she’ll take it gently. I think you’ll be fine, but if you start blocking things out or get upset, Eleanor will stop. She’s not going to take you any further than you want to go. And you can change your mind; now, in the morning, whenever. OK?’

I let the guard know we had finished and waited while Luke was escorted away. The guard returned for me and took me through to the main entrance.

Outside it was a warm summer’s day. There was a border of shrubs around the car-park, purple hebe full of pointed flowers and a mock-orange blossom shedding white petals with a sweet, tangy scent. There was a carton of juice in the car. I wound the window down so I could smell the air and watch the bees busy combing the hebe while I had my drink.