That wasn’t the right response either. ‘Don’t you accuse my lads of taking drugs,’ she said dangerously, her eyes glinting like black ice. ‘We might not have much compared to you, but I take care of my kids. You’ve no shame, have you?’
That was when I lost it. ‘Will you for Christ’s sake listen to me, Cherie?’ I snarled. ‘I’ve not come here to have a go at you or your kids. Something scary, something dangerous, happened to Davy and I don’t want it happening to any other kids. Not yours, not anybody’s. You and me smacking each other over the heads with our prejudices isn’t going to sort things out.’
In the silence that followed, Cherie gave me the hard stare. Gradually, the sullen look left her face. But the suspicion was still there in her eyes. ‘OK. You got somebody else’s kicking. I had them bastards from the Social round the other day, doing a number about how Eddy’s not paying any maintenance and I must know where he is.’
I pulled a face. ‘Pick a war, any war.’
‘That’s more or less what I told them. So, what’s all this business with Davy got to do with me?’ The adrenaline rush had subsided and her eyes had dulled again, emphasizing the dark blue shadows beneath them. She sat on the arm of the sofa, keeping her eyes firmly fixed on mine.
‘These drugs were absorbed through the skin. From those tattoo transfers that the kids stick all over themselves. According to my doctor friend, the tattoos are impregnated with drugs. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s to give kids the taste for it. You know, a few freebies to get them into the habit, then it’s sorry, you’ve got to cough up some readies.’
Cherie pulled a pack of cheap cigarettes out of her dressing-gown pocket and lit up. ‘I’ve seen my two with a few transfers,’ she admitted. ‘I know they must have got them from one of the other kids because I don’t buy them the stickers, and they’ve had them some times when they’ve not had spends. But I’ve never seen them out of their heads, or anything like it. Mind you, the way they wind each other up, you probably couldn’t tell,’ she added, in a grim joke.
I mirrored her thin smile. ‘The problem seems to have arisen because Davy OD’d on the transfers. He loves them, you see. Given half a chance and a year’s pocket money, he’d cover himself from head to foot with them. Especially if they were Thunderbirds ones. Now, Davy says he was playing with Wayne and Daniel yesterday. A boy he didn’t know gave him the transfers, and he seems to have handed over as many as Davy wanted. He says he thought it was OK to take the transfers from the boy because Wayne and Daniel knew him,’ I said.
‘I suppose you want to ask my pair who this lad was,’ Cherie said with the resignation of a woman who’s accustomed to having her autonomy well and truly usurped by the middle-class bastards. Once upon a time I’d have been insulted to be taken for one of them, but even I can’t kid myself that I’m still a working-class hero.
I shook my head. ‘If you don’t mind, I’d rather you asked them. I think you’re more likely to get the truth out of them than me. They’d only think I was going to bollock them.’
Cherie snorted. ‘They’ll know I’m going to bollock them. OK, I’ll ask them when I see them. It’ll be a few hours, mind you. Once they get stuck into a pile of videos, they lose all track of time.’
‘Great. If you get anywhere, can you let me know? I’m going to be in and out a lot, but there’ll probably be somebody in next door in Richard’s. Or else stick a note through the door. I’d really appreciate it.’ I got to my feet.
‘You going to hand the slags over to the cops?’ Cherie asked. Behind her bravado, I could sense apprehension.
‘I don’t think people that hand out drugs to kids should be out on the street, do you?’
Cherie shook her head, a despairing look on her face. ‘Put them away, another one jumps in to take their place.’
‘So we just let them carry on?’
‘No way. I just thought you’d know the kind of people that’d put them off drug dealing for life. And put off anybody else that was thinking it would be a good career move.’
People get strange ideas in their heads about the kind of person a private eye hangs out with. The worrying thing for me was that Cherie was absolutely right. I knew just the person to call.
Chapter 15
Ruth hadn’t hung around waiting for me in reception. I spotted her behind the Independent on Sunday from the other side of the coffee lounge. There was already a basket of croissants and a selection of cold meats and cheeses on the table. Whipped cream in Alpine peaks was gently subsiding into her hot chocolate, and somehow she’d managed to get a whole jug of freshly squeezed orange juice all to herself. Luckily, she’d chosen a window table which commanded a view of the Quays. On the way to meet her, I’d swung round by Terry Fitz’s flat and been relieved to see the Supra sitting on the drive and the curtains still firmly closed. From the hotel, I’d be able to see if he left home.
I sat down and said, ‘If I rush off suddenly, it’s not because of something you’ve said.’
She lowered the paper and groaned. ‘Oh God, not melodrama over Sunday brunch? Frankly, I can see why you copped out of the law. Not nearly exciting enough to keep you going.’
‘I’m not grandstanding,’ I bristled. ‘I’m trying to get Richard out of jail.’
‘You and me both,’ Ruth said calmly, dumping her paper, reaching for a croissant and dunking it into her chocolate. I felt faintly sick. ‘Any progress?’ she asked.
I brought her up to speed. It didn’t even fill the gap between me ordering coffee and wholemeal toast and them arriving. Ruth listened attentively in between mouthfuls of soggy croissant. ‘How fascinating. It’s a novel way of distributing drugs. This sounds very promising for Richard,’ she said as I ground to a halt. ‘But you’re going to need a lot more than that before we can persuade the Drugs Squad that Richard was merely an innocent abroad.’
‘What are the next moves, from your point of view?’ I asked.
‘That depends to some extent on you. If you can come up with enough by Tuesday morning for the Drugs Squad to get going, then I’ve got a slight chance of getting bail on Wednesday.’
‘How slight?’ I asked.
Ruth studied the cold meat and speared a slice of smoked ham. ‘I’d be lying if I said it looked good. Failing that, what I can go for is a short remand, say an overnight or a couple of days, arguing that investigations are in progress which may produce a significantly different picture within twenty-four hours. If the Drugs Squad then mount a successful operation based on information received from you, the chances are we can then get Richard out on bail. It’ll take a little longer to get the charges dropped, but at least he won’t be languishing in the CDC while I’m working on it.’ She split a croissant and loaded it with ham, followed by a slice of cheese. I envied her appetite. I stared morosely at the toast and poured myself a coffee.
I didn’t even have time to add milk. A flash of light as the sun hit the windscreen of Terry Fitz’s car alerted me. He was turning out of his drive. I hit the ground running. ‘Sorry!’ I called back to Ruth. ‘Send me the bill.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ she shouted. ‘I’ll charge it to the client.’
And I thought I padded my bills. One thing about hanging out with lawyers: they don’t half make you feel virtuous.
This time, we headed up the M6. I had no trouble with the tail at first, since half of the North West of England had decided the only place to be on the sunny Sunday of a bank holiday weekend was in a traffic jam on the motorway. Things improved after Blackpool, but there were still a lot of families having the traditional bank holiday argument all the way to the Lakes. The Supra was an impatient outside-lane hogger and flasher of lights, but he had few chances to hammer it till the traffic thinned out after the Windermere turn-off. Then he was off. I prayed he was keeping a look-out for traffic cops up ahead as I watched the speedo creep up past a ton. The last thing I needed was a driving ban.