Chapter Twenty-Two
After depositing the children at school I topped up the car with petrol and checked my oil, tyres and water. It was hardly a mammoth journey but I didn’t want car trouble cocking it up.
It was a beautiful day for a trip to the seaside, sunny and still. The route into North Wales runs down around the outskirts of Chester, past Port Sunlight, home of soap and a host of chemical factories, and then along the coast.
There was an unmarked white transit van that had been a few cars behind me for some miles. Was I being followed? I watched it for the next few minutes. It was too far distant to see the occupants. Paranoia? After all, if the van was going to Rhyl or Llandudno this was the only route. Nevertheless I needed to set my mind at ease. There was a lay-by ahead with a Greasy Joe flying a Confederate flag. I pulled in and watched as the van passed me by. I got a glimpse of two people but couldn’t tell anything more; it was going too fast. I sat for a while; the knot in my stomach gradually relaxed and then I drove on.
In the heat the farms and fields looked their best: luminous yellow rapeseed and green sugar beet stretching away to the distance, cows browsing. Now and then I caught the stench of fertiliser. I was sticking to the seat but I was only three miles from Prestatyn.
The resort was pretty much as I remembered it. I pulled into the car park next to the promenade. There was a large leisure centre to one side and behind me across a small road, a café and games room. I’d plenty of time to spare, as the station was only a few minutes’ walk away. Good – I could fit in a paddle. I took my socks and shoes off in the car.
On the beach, the tide was out and the sand was still damp and hard-packed. My feet made little impression on its surface. I took a big breath of the briny smell and stretched my arms, then walked down to the sea’s edge. The water was very cold. I dug my toes into the sand again and again, relishing the sensation, neither solid nor liquid.
There were a few families on the beach, though it was still term time, and a handful of individuals walking dogs. In a couple of months the place would be heaving, full of the ingredients of the great British seaside holiday: the smell of hot fat and vinegar and candy floss, shouts of children and sudden outbursts from harassed parents, rows of windbreaks and vacuum flasks, buckets and spades. And as often as not, rain or wind or jellyfish to round it all off.
I paddled along the shore for a while then made my way back up the beach looking for shells. There were a few cockles, small white and orange ones. The sand was littered with small dead crabs, pale green and brown, almost translucent. Oh God – the flies…Mr Kearsal…I shook the thoughts away and ran back to the car.
I made sure I was exactly on time. Joey D was waiting as he’d said by the ticket office. He wore a long-sleeved, outsize Adidas top and shiny black Adidas joggers. The baggy clothes seemed to emphasise his small frame. If I hadn’t known better I’d have guessed he was thirteen or fourteen. He had short wavy blond hair and was very pale. Awfully pale – as though he’d been indoors all year or was malnourished. He wore black shades so I couldn’t see his eyes. I introduced myself and he nodded, then looked around, beyond me. Was I being followed?
‘I parked down at the beach and walked up here. Where do you want to go? Get a coffee?’
He shook his head. ‘This way, there’s some gardens.’
I didn’t try to talk to Joey as we walked. I was busy assessing his mood. He was tense, twitchy and he kept coughing – a raw, painful sound.
We turned into a small formal park resplendent with municipal bedding plants; busy lizzies, brick-red geranium and silvery cinerama, its leaves like thick felt. There were benches around a bowling green, the grass smooth as peach skin. A party was playing, elderly men and women, joking with each other as they took their turns. The place felt tranquil and the atmosphere cheery. I wondered what they made of us; we were hardly here for the sport but no one paid any attention. How did he know this place? Had he been here before? I had a sudden image of Mrs Deason in full throttle playing for the away team, Joey on the sidelines. As if! I was sure he wasn’t hiding in Prestatyn, but if he’d gone to ground in Liverpool or Warrington or Wigan he could have got here easily enough by train.
We sat side by side. He bit at his fingers, kept his face averted. Hard enough to read anyway behind his black glasses.
‘Joey, you understand who I am and that I’m working for Luke Wallace’s father?’
‘Yeah.’
Now I’d got Joey D I didn’t want to pussyfoot around. As far as I was concerned, the fact that he was here meant he’d talk to me, and I didn’t want to have to drag it out syllable by syllable.
‘Tell me what happened.’
‘I’m not going back,’ he said, ‘I’m not going to be a witness – right? No police, no lawyers. Nothing.’
I felt a flash of anger at all his conditions.
‘Why did you agree to see me, Joey?’
‘I didn’t do it – Ahktar,’ he spoke rapidly. ‘It was my knife but I didn’t kill him. They could charge me, if you tell them about the knife. They’ll think it’s me then. They set Luke up, they can set me up too.’
‘Hang on.’ I rifled in my bag and brought out a small Dictaphone.
‘Oh Christ.’ He shook his head. ‘No way.’
‘Listen,’ I made my voice hard, ‘you telling me that you didn’t do it is not enough. I need an account of what happened and I need it on the record. Especially if you intend to disappear later. If I go back with just your word and no proof to back it up, they’ll be pulling your grandma in for questioning before the week’s out. I need your statement. You say Luke was set up, I need proof. And if you haven’t got the guts to come back and tell-’
‘They’d kill me!’ He became agitated.
I switched on the tape. ‘Who’d kill you?’
‘You don’t get it, do you? They’d kill me. I go anywhere near Manchester, I’m dead.’
‘Who? Why? Look -just tell me what happened,’ I said gently.
He rocked back and forth on the bench a couple of times. Was he going to bolt?
Then he began to talk. ‘We were coming out, been a good night, one of the best. All this energy, you know, no grief. Everyone’s flying. Luke needed to throw up, he’d been mixing it, too much booze. We were gonna meet him outside, on the corner.’
We? Him and Ahktar? I didn’t interrupt.
‘There’s these two guys, this big guy and another one. We’re just going past them and one of them, the shorter one, grabs Ahktar from behind. He’s got his arm up his back and he’s holding his face so he can’t turn round. At first I thought they were fooling around but then they hustled him into the alley. I’m going “Hey, hey, what are you doing, man? Get off him.” They thump him in the guts and I get my knife out, right?’ He swallowed, coughed violently and rubbed his hands on his thighs. The sun was hot. I felt a bead of sweat trickle down my side.
‘This guy turns and he moves so fast, he’s twisting my arm, nearly breaks my wrist and I drop my knife.’
‘Where’s the other one?’
‘Still got Ahktar, he’s got his arms round his neck, holding him up. The one by me, the big one, gets the knife and…shit.’ He squeaked the last word and fished in his pockets. Pulled out a packet of Benson & Hedges. It wasn’t a cigarette he lit up but a small joint. Oh great, I thought. Now he gets busted for smoking dope before I get the full story. But no one blinked an eyelid. He dragged hard, sucking the smoke and holding it deep in his lungs. He erupted in a fit of coughing again.
‘He’s bending down, right?’ His voice was tight. ‘And he’s just got the knife and Ahktar kicks out, kicks him in the face, hard. The guy rears up, he’s screaming and…it happens so fast he sticks the knife in Ahktar. Then, I can’t remember, it was all going off at once.’ He took another toke, held it in, released a stream of smoke.