‘I can’t promise,’ said Shaw. ‘But there’s a good chance. Your best chance.’ He looked around. ‘Your only chance.’
Hendre put a knee down, folded himself forward, and took a piece of wood out of the fire to light a roll-up. At first Shaw thought he was nodding, but now he saw it was a tremor, the whole skull vibrating at a high frequency.
‘I was at the Sacred Heart of Mary a year ago. Out in the day, in the nave at night. They didn’t like anyone drinking so I kept it secret, drinking in the day, then I’d sober up in time for the free food. I give it a bash sometimes, but I don’t need it every waking hour. If they caught you boozing they’d put you on those drugs that make you throw up with it. I didn’t want that. So I played the game.’ He swigged at the bottle again. ‘It worked. It still works. That’s the problem with good people — they want to believe the best of you.’
A laugh ran round the circle. Hendre looked at his feet. ‘Maybe I fooled them, maybe they didn’t give a fuck. Anyway, I was out on the rough lots by the abattoir sleeping one off last summer when I woke up. There’s a grass bank, and I’d curled up on it. I’d got a book off the travelling library —
Pie threw a broken crate on the flames, which reared up, the air shimmering in the sudden blast of heat.
Hendre stood, opened the jacket, and pulled a T-shirt free of the belt so that they could see his skin, the edge of the pubic hair, the navel, and to one side a scar.
‘I woke up with this.’ An incision. From Peploe’s description Shaw was confident it was the result of a kidney removal — keyhole surgery, two small scars, six inches apart, one for each surgical tool, like the mechanical hands in a seaside arcade machine, fishing for a cuddly toy.
‘Where did you wake up?’
‘A room. Blank concrete walls, pipes in the ceiling. There was a kind of hum, like a machine. A metal door with rivets. Just the bed, linen, a neon light. I was shitting myself, and I could feel the pain in my side. We’d talked at the hostel about the Organ Grinder. Rumours, gossip. Some stories had trickled back on the grapevine.’ They all laughed at a private joke. ‘But nobody really knew shit — though they knew someone was out there, and what they wanted. So I had to just lie there, knowing what they’d done to me.’
‘Did you see anyone?’
‘I waited. It was really quiet, except for that hum. Nothing outside. Then I heard someone coming. First
‘Portuguese?’ asked Valentine, unable to keep the insistence out of his voice.
Hendre shrugged. ‘He said I’d agreed to donate a kidney, that they’d offered a thousand pounds.’ He laughed. ‘That’s crap. But I guess it made him feel better. Anyway, it’s academic, because there wasn’t going to be any money ’cos they couldn’t use my kidney. He didn’t say why, even when I asked. But, you know, it’s kind of obvious.’ He took another two inches off the whisky level in the bottle. ‘I stayed a few days, then they gave me two hundred — two hundred fucking quid; drugged me up again and dumped me back at the Sacred Heart of Mary. I had a week to get out. Find somewhere new. If they ever saw my face again in Lynn they’d pick me up. If I talked about what had happened I’d pay a price. He had a knife, this bloke, and he got it out, pressed it right up here…’
Hendre pressed an index finger into the soft flesh under his right eye.
‘Eyes. He said they could get a fortune for those. But no donors — unless they’re dead. Pissed himself laughing at that. He said I’d have trouble reading Tolstoy after that.’
He shrugged. ‘What’s to tell? It was hot. Always, like a constant heat, but there was nothing in the room, no radiator, and the pipes were in the ceiling. The lights never went off — no, they did once, like a quick power cut, but there was emergency lighting outside ’cos even in the dark I could see a light through the keyhole. When they opened the door to bring in food and drugs — it was always the dago — I could see out into a corridor. Narrow, lit — but, like, not a lot. Darker than the room. Bare concrete walls. And pipes again — services, I guess — taped up on the ceiling.’
Shaw caught Valentine’s eye, knowing they were both thinking the same thing: the hospital basement, Level One, with its maze-like corridors. ‘And the hum?’
‘Yeah. Always, like you were inside something.’
Pie retrieved a large plastic bottle of white cider from under his crate and drank. Over by the edge of the gas holder they heard shouts, two figures fighting, locked in a dance. Dogs barked, and shadows ran to break them apart.
‘Why’d you come back to Lynn?’ asked Shaw.
‘Bit of luck. Unfinished business. Before this life.’ He looked around the fire at the faces. ‘I had another life. I fleeced a couple of old dears of their money. I thought they’d die. They didn’t. It was just bad luck. I got barred, started living on the streets. It’s not much of a qualification, right — dishonest accountant. Well…’ He laughed, swigging at the bottle. ‘Actually, you can make a good living at it, but you’re not supposed to advertise the fact.’ He stood. ‘After they dumped me back at the
All the faces round the fire smiled.
‘And the Organ Grinder?’ asked Shaw. ‘That night of the fire — how come you
‘Because he knew I was back.’ He slugged the whisky again, leaving his lips wet. ‘The monkey told me.’
His hand was trembling now, in perfect rhythm with his skull. ‘It had been a year. Christ, I hadn’t said a word, nothing, even when some of the old guys at the hostel asked where I’d been. I thought, fuck it, I’m not saying a thing. I thought it’d be OK for a night, two, back in Lynn. I asked the kid to put me in the hostel and he said he could — they had spaces, as long as I was clean. I said I was.’
‘And I’d be inside, out of sight. But the first evening — the night before the fire — I walked, I have to walk, get under the sky. So I went down by the docks, out along
Hendre held up his fist, clutched. ‘Then he said it — just flat, like a line he’d been made to learn. “He knows you’re back.” Just that. Then he pointed at his eye — just like the wop did. Then he ran.’
‘It’s Level One,’ said Shaw, wiping condensation from the windscreen of the Mazda. They were parked in Erebus Street, facing back up towards the T-junction, the dock gates behind them. There were lights on within the Sacred Heart of Mary, the tracery of the windows and the Victorian stained glass glowing in the dusk. White light that spilt from the frosted windows of the Crane. A late summer storm had cooled the air, so that the tables outside were empty, although the pub windows were open, allowing a thin trace of jukebox sound to leak out under the orange street lights.
‘Got to be,’ said Shaw. ‘The sound, the heat, the pipes. We’re out of time today but set it up for the morning, George. I want Level One ripped apart. We should have looked before, because if they were regularly getting rid of human waste down there then having the whole deal there — on the doorstep — it’s perfect.’
Shaw covered his eyes, trying to dredge something from his memory. Something Liam Kennedy had said.
‘Get to Phillips, or Peploe, and tell them we want Level One sealed off tonight. The areas they have to use, round the lifts, the offices, the rest, we’ll do those first thing and they can have them back. It won’t be there, anyway — my guess is it’s out on the edges somewhere. But let’s do the best we can. Tell Twine what’s up; give him the background. I want everyone up to speed by dawn. All right?’
The doors of the Crane opened and DC Campbell came out. She’d insisted the landlord wake up his grandson Joey — the child Pete Hendre thought was the Organ Grinder’s monkey.
‘Nothing, sir,’ she said. ‘But he was pretty scared. Said he’d never run an errand like that, and he didn’t know anything about any organ grinder. I’ll get family liaison to have another go in the morning. But there are limits. He’s seven years old.’
‘Thanks,’ said Shaw. ‘It was a long shot, anyway. See you tomorrow.’ They watched her walk to a parked Citroen, then make a call on her mobile, before driving off.
Valentine looked at his Rolex. ‘We done?’ he asked.
‘Almost. The statement you got off Father Martin is a perfect match for Ally Judd’s — to the minute. So
