A Fistful of Knuckles

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: A HOT SHOWER

Sam hesitated, thinking of Annie, thinking of Gene. He glanced out of the net-curtained windows at the dark sky overhead and the crazy whirl of the fairground lights beneath it. Over the sound of music pounding from the rides (Suzi Q had long since given way to Crocodile Rock) Sam caught the yap and snarl of Princess as Patsy teased her in his bullying way.

Through the frosted glass door of the shower cubicle, Sam could see water streaming, steam rising, and the hazy pink blur of Tracy Porter within. Her nylon tracksuit trousers and Steve McQueen tee-shirt lay on the floor outside the cubicle, perfectly folded, in keeping with Patsy’s fetish for domestic order and tidiness.

Demurely, Sam tapped his knuckles against the glass door.

‘Tracy. It’s me. He wants me to … to come in there with you.’

At once, Tracy opened the door. Sam averted his eyes from her naked body.

‘I’m not going to do anything,’ he stammered.

‘Well you’d better!’ Tracy hissed. ‘Coz else he’ll know!’

Sam risked a glance at her. Her hair was streaming wet and plastered across her naked shoulders, but Sam’s attention was caught by the array of bruises, bites, cigarette burns and red welts that adorned her body almost as totally as Patsy’s tattoos adorned his. How many months or years of abuse did those marks bear witness to? How much pain and humiliation had they cost this poor slip of a girl?

‘Come on, get on wiv it,’ she said, her voice low and urgent. ‘He won’t want to ‘ang about, not more than ten minutes he won’t, not after a fight.’

So, Sam was to use this girl’s body, perfunctorily, without humanity, as a goodwill gift from Patsy. And then he was to hand that body back over to its rightful owner to do with as he pleased.

He looked at Tracy’s face, still misshapen and discoloured, her eyes already lifeless and doll-like as she resigned herself to what was expected of her. She would give herself to him, because that’s how Patsy sealed his deals, and then Patsy himself would be in here, demanding his due.

Sam could not dare to imagine the life she endured.

‘Get on wiv it!’ she urged, stepping naked from the shower.

Sam grabbed a towel and threw it over her. Tracy let it fall. Sam gathered it up and this time draped it around her brutalized body with care, bringing it together over her breasts to cover them. Tracy looked at him, frowning, uncomprehending, anxious.

‘You gotta do it,’ she insisted in a low voice. ‘He’ll know if you don’t. He’ll blame me.’

Did she recall that they had met before? Did she not remember him at all?

‘Please, Tracy, listen.’

‘He wants you to do it. You gotta do it.’

‘I’m Sam. I’m the policeman you met at the hospital.’

‘I’m not stoopid, mate. I know who you are. And you ain’t my first copper, believe me, so just do it!’

Sam was dumbfounded: ‘Tracy — I’m here to help you.’

‘Just bleedin’ do it!’

She grabbed at his belt buckle, but Sam took her by the wrist and gently moved her hand away.

‘No.’

She pulled her hand free and grabbed at him again. This time, Sam grasped both her wrists and held them. He could feel old scars and raised welts on them. There was a brief, confused struggle that dislodged Tracy’s towel and exposed her once again. Sam released her wrists and tried to grab the towel, but somehow ended up falling into the shower cubicle, with Tracy beneath him. Hot water rained down on his head and streamed along his jacket as Tracy hooked her legs around his body and tried to kiss him with her bruised lips. Sam struggled free, got to his feet and stumbled back, sopping wet. Tracy lay on her back looking up at him, half in the cubicle and half out of it. Sam switched off the hot water, gently helped her to stand, and patiently wrapped the towel around her once again.

‘I’ll tell him we did it,’ he whispered, wiping hot water from his eyes. ‘You won’t get into trouble on my account.’

‘Are you a pooftah, is that it?’

‘No, it’s nothing like that.’

‘Then it’s me. I ain’t like one of them page 3 birds. But you can do anyfink you want wiv me, so that makes up, dunnit.’

‘Tracy, please.’

‘He wants blokes to be jealous. He wants blokes to want me.’

‘Tracy — listen to me — not all men are like Patsy. Not all men treat women like he does.’

She glanced fearfully at the open windows of the caravan, terrified of seeing Patsy’s face appear suddenly at one of them. With a stifled cry, she hustled Sam inside the shower cubicle and slammed the glass door shut. Sam — sopping wet and fully clothed — stood pressed up against Tracy in her wraparound towel; above them, the plastic shower head slowly drip- drip-dripped hot water.

Sam opened his mouth to speak, but Tracy cut across him, her voice low and urgent: ‘You wanna help me, mate? Then do it, and tell him it was all right, then clear off. Coz if you don’t, it’s me what’s gonna cop it, you understand?’

‘Do you want to live like this, Tracy?’

‘You ain’t the Samaritans, you’re just some fella, so get your kecks off and do it!’

‘I can’t believe you want to live like this.’

‘I just want to live, mate — that’s the best I can hope for — and them what upset Pats, they don’t live so long, you know?’

‘Like Denzil,’ said Sam, throwing the name out to see if she would react.

And, to his surprise, she came straight back with: ‘Yes! Just like Denzil!’

‘So you did know him?!’

Tracy laughed — or rather, she snorted. It was a bitter, cynical sound.

‘I knew him all right,’ she said.

‘Did you … have sexual relations with him?’

Tracy peered up at him as if Sam had spoken in Norwegian.

‘What I mean is, Tracy, were you … were you and him doing it?’

‘I see …’ she said quietly. Her bruised face grew hard. Lines appeared on her forehead. Her eyes narrowed. ‘You are a copper, ain’t ‘cha.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Pin it on the bird, that’s your game, innit. It’s Pats what clobbered him, but it’s me what’s gonna take the blame.’

‘Why? Why would you take the blame? You didn’t do anything. Unless …’

Tracy scowled at him, full of hate, but she didn’t need to say a word. Sam was filling in the gaps in his imagination.

‘Patsy used you to get at Denzil — didn’t he?’ Sam whispered.

‘No.’

‘You were sent to seduce him, to win his trust.’

‘No. Course not.’

‘Where’d you meet him — at the gym?’

‘I never met him. I don’t know no Denzil.’

‘You met him at the gym. You won him over. And he invited you back to his flat.’

‘No.’

‘That’s how Patsy found out where Denzil lived. But he needed to get past all those locks and bolts on the front door. He needed a decoy to get inside … a Trojan horse.’

‘No. I don’t even know what that is.’

‘So you turned up at Denzil’s place. You knocked on the door. And he looked through the spyhole. And what he saw was you … you, but not Patsy, lurking round the corner.’

‘This is all bollocks.’

‘And so he opened the door. He pulled back all those locks and bolts, and he opened the door. And in steamed Patsy …’

Tracy’s face was just as hard, just as full of hate as before, but now her eyes were filling with tears.

‘No,’ she said, her voice cracking. ‘No, it weren’t nuffing like that. It weren’t nuffing like that! No.’

‘He used you. That bastard Patsy used you!’

‘No. No!’

‘You poor girl. You poor, poor girl.’

Sam put his arms round her — but she shoved him away.

‘You got ev’ryfing wrong!’ she grizzled. ‘Ev’ryfing!’

‘I don’t think I have,’ said Sam quietly. He knew, in that way only a copper can really know, that all the pieces were sliding into place. ‘He used you. And you were there. You were there when Denzil died, weren’t you.’

‘No I wasn’t!’

‘And you tried to stop Patsy. He was beating Denzil Obi to a pulp and you couldn’t bear it — so you intervened.’

‘Just shuddup, will ya!’

‘You intervened, tried to stop him, and he turned on you. And that’s how you ended up in A amp;E that night.’

‘I fell against the door!’ Tracy howled. ‘I walked into the cupboard! Now just drop your pants and do it!’

And then, in terror at the sound of her own raised voice, she clamped both hands over her mouth and stared at Sam with eyes that almost bugged out of her head. The towel fell from her. Sam left it; instead, he put his arms round her frail, fragile body and hugged her. And this time, she didn’t push him away. She didn’t push him away, nor did she return his embrace; she just stood there, crying silently.

‘I’m going to help you,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘I’m going to save you.’

‘You can’t,’ she muttered.

‘You’ll see.’

‘You’ll get us both killed.’

‘You’ll see.’

‘Just go. It’s better that way.’

‘No. I told you. I’m going to save you.’

‘Why?’

‘Because …’ He hesitated. After a few moments, he said: ‘Just because.’

Snuffling noisily, Tracy said in a timid voice: ‘I think you’ve had your ten minutes, mate.’

‘Good shower?’ asked Patsy, as Sam emerged from the caravan drying his hair with a towel.

Patsy was standing, smoking a fag, Princess on red alert beside him, prickly and defensive of her master. Behind them, the fairground glittered and sparkled beneath the black sky. What with the lights and the night sky and his disfiguring tattoos, Patsy looked like a malign alien monster just emerged from its spacecraft.

‘Very good shower,’ said Sam.

‘Hot enough?’

‘Plenty hot enough.’

Patsy flicked away the fag and roughly patted Princess. It was then that Sam saw that — theatrically, melodramatically — the incriminating C-90 cassette was hanging from the chain around the Rottweiler’s throat. The implication was clear: if you want it copper, then come and get it …

Princess snarled and slavered.

‘Well,’ said Sam, folding the towel neatly, just the way Patsy liked it, ‘seeing as I’m all freshened up …’ — he passed the towel to Patsy — ‘I take it we can declare our business satisfactorily concluded for the evening?’

‘Looks like it.’ Patsy refolded the towel. Sam’s folding just wasn’t up to snuff. ‘Now — if you don’t mind, I’ve had a busy day. I could do with a nice early night.’

Those words, and what they might entail for Tracy, brought a fierce burst of anger boiling through Sam’s veins. He clenched his teeth and did his best to act casual.

‘You’ve earned it,’ he said. ‘I’ll see that Spider gets the message about the fight. Where’d you want to do it? Back at the old factory?’

‘No. Here.’

‘At the fairground? It’s way too public.’

‘Four caravans, parked to make a square,’ said Patsy. ‘We’ve done it before. No one can see. All very cosy. Believe me.’

‘Very well then. We’ll do it here.’

‘Sunday night. We’re off Monday morning, movin’ on. So it’s gotta be Sunday. Eight o’clock. Sharp.’

‘I can’t guarantee that,’ said Sam. He could, of course, but it sounded more realistic to say otherwise. ‘If there’s a problem, I’ll get word to you. Otherwise — eight o’clock, Sunday.’

Patsy nodded curtly, then, without a word, lumbered past Sam and disappeared back inside the caravan. With care — daintily, even — he pulled the doors shut behind him.

Princess growled, telling Sam to clear off.

Sam glanced back at the caravan, its homely lights and neat net curtains so at odds with the violence and pain contained within. He silently repeated his promise to Tracy: I’ll help you … I’ll save you … I promise …

Turning his back on the fearsome Rottweiler, Sam began to trudge across the boggy ground, the lights of the fair spinning and popping away to his left. He turned over in his mind images of Tracy appearing at Denzil’s flat … Denzil throwing back the bolts … Patsy bursting in … Tracy screaming stop it, Patsy, please, please, don’t kill him! … Patsy’s fists pounding Denzil to a pulp … and then those same murderous fists turning on Tracy.

Gene had better appreciate just how much progress I’ve made with this case tonight, he thought. Single-handed, too! Still, perhaps it was better he wasn’t around. He’d only have made trouble. Perhaps it was better I was on my own and …

He stopped dead in his tracks. He looked to his right. Then to his left. Then both left and right. Then he turned a full 360, like an anxious parent suddenly finding their child was missing.

From between a rumbling power generator and lopsided caravan, two ominous figures emerged from the shadows. Sam knew them at once. Moustache-man hooked his thumbs into his belt; Ponytail cracked his knuckles.

Sam squared up to them, dead macho, and said: ‘Me and Patsy are best mates now. That means you boys and me are all on the same side. So — if you’ll just give me my guv’nor back, we’ll be on our way.’

Ponytail exchanged a look with his equally bone-headed companion, then turned to Sam and said: ‘We ain’t got ‘im no more.’

‘What do you mean you haven’t got him? What the hell have you done with him?’

‘It’s not my fault he’s a pansy,’ Ponytail said. ‘If he can’t take a punch he shouldn’t’ve come steaming after us like that.’

Sam felt a cold shiver run down his spine. This all sounded horribly ominous.

‘What’s happened?’ he asked. ‘Hasn’t he woken up yet?’

Ponytail shrugged. Moustache-man lit a cigarette and said nothing. The only sound was the cacophony of the fairground filling the cold night air.

‘I won’t ask you bozos another time,’ Sam snapped. ‘I want my DCI and I want him now. Where is he?’

With the lighted tip of cigarette, Moustache-man indicated vaguely in a direction behind Sam. Turning, Sam saw the lights of a St John’s ambulance trundling across the open ground away from the fair.

‘We don’t want a dead copper on our hands,’ Ponytail said. ‘If he snuffs it, better it’s in the back of a wagon. Nuffing to do with us, that way.’

The cold shiver along Sam’s spine solidified into a column of ice.

Brain hemorrhage, he thought. Those two brainless hulks have smashed his skull like it was a glass vase! My God, they’ve killed him … They’ve bloody gone and killed him … They’ve killed Gene Hunt!

Sam turned and ran, racing across the churned-up ground in the direction of the clanging ambulance. He forgot Moustache-man and Ponytail, he forgot Patsy and Princess and the clamorous fairground — he even forgot Tracy and Annie and the boys at CID. All he could think of was the guv, lying there in the back of that meat wagon, the blood filling up inside his cracked skull, the life fading out of him.

As he ran through the night, he glimpsed the pale, wan face of the Test Card Girl as she stepped from the shadows, clutching a black helium balloon.

‘You’ll be so lost without him,’ she said gently.

But Sam just tore straight past her and kept on running.