The Murder Exchange (33 page)

We pulled him to his feet and he snorted loudly,
filling his mouth with phlegm.

'All right, get rid of that spit,' demanded one of
the uniforms in his line of fire. 'Get rid of it now.'

305

r

'Come on now, Brian, let's be having you,' continued
Ramsay, persisting with his softly-softly
approach.

Brian gobbed something thick and horrible onto
his carpet, deciding against sending it into one of
the arresting officers' faces and risking a charge
of assault, and continued with his pointless
invective. We got him outside on the pavement
and, while one of the uniforms got the doors of the
van open, he had a final angry struggle, just to
show he wasn't coming quietly, and tried to kick
Benin who dodged out of the way. I grabbed him
by the shirt and pulled him back.

'Fuck off, you fucking wanker!' he shouted, and
lashed out again with a bare foot, this time in my
direction.

I stepped aside, then stepped back and stamped
hard on his other foot, grinding the heel of my shoe
in. Brian howled in pain and I felt a momentary
burst of satisfaction.

'Did you see what he fucking did, the cunt? Did
you fucking see?'

I turned away as he was manhandled into the
back of the van and cursed myself for losing
control. I'd forgotten what these lowlife domestics
were like, and how irritating drunks could be. Still,
that was no excuse for rising to the bait. As much as
anyone, I knew the possible long-term consequences
of a two-second loss of control.

'Nice one, Sarge,' said Benin, giving me a pat on
the back.

Another patrol car had arrived now and two
more officers went into the house. The van

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containing the prisoner remained where it was
while Ramsay and the other two officers chatted
among themselves, ignoring the steady rain that
beat down from the night sky.

I didn't say anything. I was pissed off. It struck
me as ridiculous that Benin and I should be sent
out on worthless exercises like this that did nothing
to bolster morale or understanding, while every
effort possible was being made to squeeze the life
out of the Matthews murder squad. Capper and
Hunsdon had now gone over to the aggravated
burglary inquiry involving the pregnant woman,
and I'd even had difficulty holding on to Benin.
Knox had lost interest in the case. Particularly now
there was no evidence to back up his theory of a
Matthews/Iversson partnership. Maybe if the Crimewatch mugshot helped to flush out Iversson,
things would change, but for the moment
Matthews's murder was slipping down the endless
list of priorities.

The sound of a baby crying came from inside and
I walked back in. The kid on the stairs had gone,
and the two officers who'd just arrived were talking
in the doorway of the room where WPC Fames had
taken the victim, who was still sobbing and cursing.
Since no-one else seemed bothered about the crying
baby, I mounted the stairs, wrinkling my nose
against the smell, and walked onto the landing. I
found a light switch, flicked it on, then went to the
door where the crying was coming from.

The smell when I opened it was foul, fetid. I had
to work hard to stop myself from gagging as I
switched on the lights.

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The room was a cramped mess of toys, boxes,
tissues, all sorts. It was difficult to make out the
floor in places. In the corner was a cot, and in
the cot was a baby of no more than six months,
naked except for a nappy and crying hysterically.
The stench of shit was horrendous, and I saw that a
lot of the tissues were stained brown with it.

I walked over to the cot, the smell getting worse
with each step, and looked down at the crying infant. He or she had sores round the thighs where
the nappy, which looked almost full to bursting,
must have been chafing. I wanted to turn round
and walk out of there, and I could have done, too there
was nothing to stop me. It wasn't my business
if this family, and I used the term loosely, couldn't
look after their own. But it wasn't the kid's fault
either so, steeling myself against the smell, I leant
down and picked it up. My hands immediately felt
wet and slimy and I knew without looking that
they were covered in shit. Grimacing, I turned the
baby over and saw that the nappy had leaked and
the stuff was all up the poor little kid's back. No wonder it had been crying, having to lie helpless in
its own waste. Nobody had changed this nappy for
hours, possibly days.

'Whatchoo doing with her?' came a hostile voice
from the doorway.

I turned to see the kid who'd watched us come in
standing in the doorway. 'Trying to change her/ I
said. 'Find me some wipes or a tissue, will you?'
The kid didn't move. 'Look, do as I say. I'm trying
to help her.'
As the kid rummaged through the crap on the

308

floor, I laid the baby on her front and removed the
nappy/ using it to mop up the worst of the stuff that
clung to her. I folded it up and put it on the floor,
for want of a better place. 'Here y'are,' said the kid,
handing me a half-used roll of toilet paper. Not
quite what I had in mind, but at least it was clean.

Thanks/ I said, continuing the grim process. 'Do
me a favour, will you? Wet some of these tissues as
well, and see if you can find a cloth. If you do get
one, put soap and water on it, and bring it in.'

'Is she all right?' asked the kid.

'Yeah, she's fine. I think she was feeling a bit
neglected.'

The kid came back a few moments later with a
i_ithat plastic bag over there?' The kid nodded. 'Put
the dirty nappy in it, then bring it back here so I can
chuck this stuff in it.' The kid did as he was told,
and I thought he'd probably make a good assistant.

When I'd finished making the baby half
presentable, the kid and I hunted round for a clean
nappy, finding a bag of them in the corner. 'Have
you ever changed your sister before?' I asked him.

'Course I have,' said the kid.

'Good. What's her name?'

'Karen.'

We cleared a place on the floor, then I lifted her
out of the cot and put her down gently on her back.
'OK, Karen. Your brother's going to change you
now, while I go and sort myself out.'

I found the poky little bathroom and washed my
hands thoroughly in the dirty sink. There were a
load of hairs clogging up the plughole - hopefully

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from heads, but it wasn't that easy to tell - and I
thought that this woman and her partner deserved
absolutely no sympathy whatever. They behaved
worse than animals - which was fine if that's how
they wanted to live, but to ruin their kids' lives too,
that for me was unforgivable.

I went back into the bedroom and helped the kid
with the rest of the nappy. Then we both put Karen
back into her cot. She was still crying.

'What's your name?' I asked him.

'Dean,' he said.

'I think Karen might be hungry, Dean. You go to
bed now, and I'll sort out some feed for her.'

The kid disappeared without a word and I
walked wearily back down the stairs, thinking that
he didn't really have a chance with parents like
that. Neither of them did. The ambulance had
arrived for the mother and they were tending her
wounds in the lounge while WPC Fames looked
on. The mother was wailing drunkenly and I found
it hard not to hate her for her selfishness.

Tour baby needs feeding,' I told her. 'I presume
she's on bottled milk.'

There was a commotion outside the front door
and Benin walked inside, talking excitedly to PC
Ramsay. He saw me and immediately came over.
'Sarge, we've got an all units out. There's been a shooting.'

'You'd better wait here until social services
arrive,' I told Fames. 'And sort out the baby's feed,
can you?' Fames tried to say something but I
wasn't listening. 'Where's this shooting at?'

'Heavenly Girls.'

310

Iversson

It's true I stood to make a lot of money from the
abduction of Krys Holtz, but I'll tell you this, I was
going to earn every fucking penny of it.

It was our third night in a row outside Heavenly
Girls, and tempers were fraying, particularly mine.
It was Johnny Hexham. He was driving me mad.
/.Her two nights stuck in the back, I'd finally
decided to risk sitting in the front where it was a lot
more comfortable. I now had a full beard, and with
a cap on and a pair of specs, I looked a lot different
than I had two weeks back. In fact the look quite
suited me, to tell you the truth. Showed my
intollpctual side.

uui unfortunately there was no escaping Johnny, who'd spent the night constantly trying to weasel
information out of me about what we were doing
on this street, and coming up with all these
theories, some of which veered dangerously close
to the truth. Not to mention the complications of his
love life, which he insisted on going on and on
about even though I wasn't in the least bit fucking
interested. Apparently, his ex-girlfriend Delia was
pregnant, the result of a flying visit by Johnny to
pick up some CDs he'd left there, but she was
already shacked up with some seventeen-stone
black bloke who thought the baby was his and who
was going to have something of a shock come the
happy day. Delia wanted to run away with Johnny,
who it turned out she still felt something for, and
was threatening to tell the boyfriend Johnny had
raped her if he didn't. But Johnny, not surprisingly,

311

wanted nothing further to do with her, and was
getting worried that any day now he was going to
receive a leg-breaking visit from half a dozen of the
boyfriend's mates. Also, he had another serious girl
now, Amanda, who he'd met at Arcadia some
weeks before, and who he was really smitten with.
Matters were further complicated, if you could
believe it, by the fact that Amanda was vigorously
bisexual and wanted Johnny to share her with her
other lover, German student Beatrix. Sp

'The problem is, Beatrix is, like, a full-on **
Magnus.'

'A what?'

'Magnus Pike, dyke. She wouldn't touch a dick if
her life depended on it, so there's no way of, you
know, having a bit of fun with both of them
together, which would definitely have helped to
numb the pain of having to share her. But I don't
want to lose Amanda. I don't know what I'd do if
she pulled the plug on it. But it's a bit of an odd
fucking way to run a relationship, isn't it?'

'You know, Johnny/1 said, taking a swig from my
bottle of mineral water, 'you are the only thirty
four-year-old I know who complains that he gets
laid too much.'

'It's not like that, Max. Honest. I really love her,
but I know what's going to happen. Beatrix is going
to make her choose between us.'

'So buy her some flowers or something. Get in
there first.'

'No, Max, you don't understand.'

'I know I fucking don't.'

'Amanda says there's something special about

312

girl-on-girl love. It's more gentle than the stuff you
get with a bloke, more sort of tender. Do you know
what I mean?'

'Not really, Johnny, no. I've never really thought
about it, to tell you the truth. I've seen women at it
with each other in porno films, though, and they
always seem to be enjoying themselves.'

'I tell you, Amanda swears by it. Says it's the only
way for her to achieve a multiple orgasm. There's
no way she's going to turn down that sort of action,
is there? Which means it'll be me who gets the old
heave ho. It's making my life a fucking misery, it
really is.'

'I'm sure there are millions of blokes out there
"'ho really sympathize.'

i turned away and stared out the window in the
direction of Heavenly Girls, a hundred yards away
down the road. It was raining steadily again, which
at least was helpful. We'd been parking on the same
stretch of road night after night, so we had to be
careful about the amount of attention we attracted.
Every wasted night increased the risks, not to
mention the stiff-legged, claustrophobic boredom
of it, blunting our senses and making reaction times
just that little bit slower - something that could
prove fatal in this sort of operation.

Johnny continued to rattle on about Amanda,
Beatrix, Delia and all his other birds, but I was
blanking him totally now. I had enough worries of
my own. The waiting around was beginning to lead
to the first rumblings of discontent from the others.
Kalinski had suggested that snatching him from
a place he only visited periodically, and with no

313

obvious advance warning, was tempting fate,
which was true I suppose, but there were no other
suitable venues. Joe hadn't helped matters either by
remarking, after we'd finished a frustrating four
and-a-half-hour stint the previous night during
which Kalinski had stunk the place out by shitting
in a Tesco carrier bag, that maybe it might be an
idea to knock the whole thing on the head. I knew
Joe was feeling a bit spooked thanks to his almost
daily visits from the Law, but I hoped it was just the
frustration talking. If he - or, to be honest, any of us
- pulled out then the whole thing was bolloxed and
I'd be back to square one. On the run, skint,
and with the near rape of my girlfriend unavenged.

I took another swig from the water as Johnny
recounted how Beatrix was the dominant partner in
the lesbian relationship even though she wasn't
good-looking at all, and was, in his opinion, bullying
Amanda into dropping him. 'She's got whips
and chains and everything,' he explained, shaking
his head. 'Apparently, her gaff's like a fucking
torture chamber. She's even got a selection of butt
plugs. How's Amanda meant to resist?' In the back
of the van, I could hear movement as they shuffled
about trying to make themselves comfortable.