I laughed.
She laughed too, a real eye-twinkling giggle, and just for a moment she didn’t seem quite so tired and gaunt any more.
I said, ‘How can I get in touch with you again? I mean, if I’ve got anything to tell you about Anna.’
She smiled sadly. ‘I’m down here most nights. Just … you know …’
I nodded. ‘I’ll come and find you.’
‘OK.’
‘And thanks again.’
‘Yeah,’ she said softly, lowering her eyes. ‘Now, fuck off, before I start liking you.’
I wanted to talk to some of the other girls again before I went back to my car, to see if they knew anything about the man in the Nissan Almera, but most of them seemed to have disappeared. The only one I could see was a tall red-headed girl, and she was having an argument with a big Asian guy, who she seemed to know well enough to keep slapping in the chest, and I thought it was probably best to leave them alone. So, with everything that Tasha had told me still buzzing around in my head, I made my way back to my car.
Almost as soon as I’d got in, I saw someone approaching the car from the passenger side. It was a young woman, and as she got closer I recognised her as one of the girls I’d spoken to earlier. She was a little older than the others — in her mid-twenties, I’d guess — and she was dressed in tight jeans, a bra-top, and a black leather coat.
As she came up to the car, smiling seductively, I wound down the window.
She leaned in, showing me what she had to offer, and said, ‘Have you finished your detecting now?’
‘Yeah, thanks.’
She ran her tongue over her lips. ‘Can I offer you anything else before you go?’
I was just about to say, ‘No, thanks,’ when a siren suddenly wailed and the road lit up with a flashing blue light, and before I knew what was happening, the girl had run off, and two uniformed policemen were getting out of their patrol car and striding purposefully towards me.
12
The initial offence I was charged with was kerb crawling, but while they were taking down my details, one of the officers noticed the smell of alcohol on my breath, and I was subsequently breathalysed and arrested for drink-driving too. As I was being driven away in the back of the patrol car, I caught a glimpse of the girl in the black leather coat talking to one of the other girls. She obviously hadn’t been arrested, and she didn’t even seem bothered by the presence of the police, which pretty much convinced me that my arrest had been set up.
There was no doubt in my mind that Bishop was behind it, but as to why …? I wondered if he could have been the man in the Nissan. An oldish guy, Tasha had said. Early fifties, dark hair, pale skin, dark eyes … it could be Bishop, give or take a few years. And if Bishop had done something to Anna, or even if he was just one of her customers, it would explain why he didn’t want me investigating her disappearance. But Tasha’s description was pretty vague, and Mick Bishop was by no means the only dark-haired, pale-skinned, middle-aged man in the country. In fact, the description could be stretched to fit Graham Gerrish. Maybe he knew that Anna worked the streets at night, and maybe he’d just driven out there and picked her up with the fatherly intention of helping her sort her life out … but then something had gone wrong. They’d argued, had a fight …
Or maybe he’d picked up his ‘little girl’ for another reason altogether.
I sat back, closed my eyes, and thought about it.
When we arrived at the police station, I was taken to the custody suite and told I’d have to wait until the custody officer was free to see me. There was no one else in the room, and I hadn’t seen anyone else being processed as I’d been led through the station, so I guessed that orders had been given to make my stay as long and uncomfortable as possible.
And I was right.
After about half an hour in the custody suite, during which I was told that I wasn’t allowed to smoke, the arresting officer took me along to the custody officer who laboriously explained both the kerb-crawling charge and the drink-drive procedure to me. My personal details were taken and checked — another long wait — and all my belongings were confiscated, including my cigarettes, phone, and the photograph of Anna Gerrish. I was asked countless questions about my medical history — specifically if I’d had any problems with depression, drug addiction, alcoholism, etc. — all of which I refused to answer. I also refused the offer to contact a solicitor. Next I had to provide two more breath specimens, and a blood and urine sample — which I knew for a fact was totally unnecessary — and, of course, this meant more waiting around for the appropriate medical staff. After that, I had my photograph, fingerprints, and DNA taken, and then the custody officer explained to me that after conferring with the arresting officer, it was his belief that if I was released immediately I’d more than likely get straight back in a car and commit another offence, and that, in view of this, I was to be further detained at the station overnight.
It must have been getting on for midnight by then — I was only guessing, as they’d taken my watch away — and I was hoping that the worst of it was over. I was really tired now, and while I wasn’t exactly looking forward to spending the rest of the night in a cell, at least it would give me a bit of peace and quiet for a few hours, time enough to think, and rest, and maybe even sleep.
I should have known better.
‘I’m afraid we’re a bit busy tonight, Mr Craine,’ the custody officer informed me as he led me down to the cells. ‘It’s just been one of those days.’ He smiled at me. ‘I hope you don’t mind sharing.’
And with that, he opened the cell door and ushered me inside.
As the door clanked shut behind me, locking automatically, I looked over at a giant-sized man who was sitting on the edge of one of two small beds — his legs splayed wide, his empty eyes fixed hungrily on me. He was, without doubt, one of the nastiest-looking individuals I’d ever seen. A massive man, well over six feet tall and almost as wide, he had long, lank, greasy hair, half an ear missing, yellowed skin, long dirty fingernails, and a lightning bolt tattooed on his neck. He was wearing a purple tracksuit, the top unzipped, revealing a hairless fat chest underneath, and he was smoking a king-size cigarette with the filter ripped off. He was so huge, so solid and heavy, that the metal-framed bed was bending under his weight.
He grinned at me, showing tobacco-stained teeth. ‘Well, now,’ he said. ‘Aren’t you a sweet-looking thing.’
My father didn’t overburden me with advice when I was growing up, but one of the things he taught me, a lesson I’ve never forgotten, was that although violence should be avoided whenever possible, it’s an integral part of human nature. And, as such, you have to know how to use it when necessary.
‘There are only three things you have to know about fighting, Johnny,’ he told me. ‘You hit your opponent before they hit you; you hit them as hard as you can, preferably with something other than your fists; and you hit them wherever it’ll do the most damage. And remember, you’re not trying to humiliate your opponent, or show them how tough you are, you’re simply trying to hurt them as much as you can and incapacitate them as quickly as possible.’
And that’s what I had in mind as the big bastard heaved himself up from the bed, cupped his hand over his groin, and began lumbering across the cell towards me. I didn’t want to wait for him to reach me, and I didn’t want to give myself time to stop and think about what I was doing, and so — ignoring every cell in my body, all of which were screaming at me to get as far away from him as possible — I willed myself to move towards him. As I did so, I saw a brief flash of surprise in his eyes, and maybe just a moment’s hesitation in his walk, and that’s when I looked up at the ceiling. By the time he’d instinctively followed suit and lifted his head back to see what I was looking at, I was close enough to slam my fist into his unprotected throat. I put everything I had into the punch, throwing it so hard that my feet actually left the ground for a moment, and the big guy went down like a sack. As he lay there on the floor, clutching his throat and gasping for breath, I took a step back and launched a cannonball kick at his groin, and then — just for good measure — I gave him an equally hard kick in the head.