Kathy thought. She seemed troubled.
‘He was always gettin’ into hot water, dat Walter. He had a big mouth and never went to church. He came from a bad crowd in the Gardens.’
‘Covent Garden?’ Kathy asked, puzzled.
‘Tivoli Gardens, in Kingston. Dat’s where the Shower Posse hang out, you know? Walter and Joseph were both Garden boys.’
‘They were rudies, were they?’ Brock said. ‘With the Shower Posse? Is that why they had to leave Jamaica?’
‘Oh,dey weren’t serious gangstas,Mr Brock.Dey was what dey call “fryers”, at the bottom rank, but dey got in trouble with the police. When Joseph came here he tried to start a new life, but before too long Walter led him astray again. Dey called themselves the Tosh Posse, which was just stupid showing off to the girls at the club, and dey upset the Spangler boys across the railway line with their boasting about what big men dey’d been in the Gardens.’
‘Were they selling drugs?’
She flared.‘I wouldn’t have no drug dealers in my house! Joseph was a show-off and weak in the face of temptation, but he wasn’t really bad. Father Maguire had faith in him. But Walter . . .’
‘This Tosh Posse, who else was in it?’
‘I only remember one other boy with them. He was older than them, nice-looking boy. Don’t know the name.’
‘How old was Walter?’
‘He was a few years older than Joseph, I’d say. Dey made an odd pair, Joseph tall and so particular about his appearance, and Walter short and dirty.’
‘How short?’
‘Oh, shorter than her,’ she nodded at Kathy, ‘but not as short as me.’
‘Was Joseph left- or right-handed?’
‘How can I be expected-No, wait, he was right-handed. I remember watching him trying to write a Christmas card to someone back home. It was a struggle for him.’
‘And you say they upset people across the railway- Spanglers?’
‘Dat Shower and Spangler business was from the yard; it had no place here. But some of ’em brought it over with dem.’
‘Any names?’
Winnie shook her head.
‘When we met in that pub in Angell Town, you told me that Joseph had been frightened by two white men. They couldn’t be Spanglers, could they?’
‘Not if dey was white dey couldn’t.’
‘So who were they?’
Again,Winnie seemed to close in on herself.
‘You’d seen them before, hadn’t you? Come on,Winnie. Let’s have it.’
‘I wasn’t sure. At first I thought dey might be coppers, but then I thought dey might have been Mr Roach’s boys.’
‘Yes,’ Brock said quietly. He seemed to Kathy to relax, easing back in his chair as if finally satisfied.‘Did Joseph get on the wrong side of Mr Roach, do you know?’
‘Not to my knowledge. Dey seemed to get on just fine. Too fine, if you wan’ my opinion.’
‘You’ve been very helpful, and the tea was just what we needed.’ Brock got to his feet.‘Would you have a picture of Joseph or Walter?’
‘No, I don’t have no camera. I don’t know if Father Maguire might.’
‘We’ll ask him. If he doesn’t, I’d like you to help one of our computer people make a likeness of them and the third man. Would you do that for me?’
Winnie seemed quite taken with the idea as she bustled out with them to the street, where George was standing miserably stamping his feet.
The sun had disappeared behind dark clouds and the threatened rain or snow seemed imminent as they made their way between the market stalls towards the church. There were few people around now, hoods and collars turned up against the sharp wind. The church was locked, and they knocked on the door of the presbytery next door. A housekeeper answered and told them that Father Maguire was at the hospital and would be back in an hour. Brock suggested they see if the Ship did lunches.
The pub had succumbed to TV, an absurdly large screen on one wall showing a game of American football. Otherwise it seemed little had changed. Lunch was limited to an assortment of greasy sausage rolls and meat pies in a hot cabinet. Brock ordered a couple, and a beer and a tonic water, and took them to Kathy, who’d found a small table as far as possible from the TV speakers. She thanked him for the tonic and unbuttoned her coat.
‘You need more than that,’ Brock said.
‘Had a big dinner last night.’
‘Ah yes, with Tom Reeves. So how is he these days?’
‘Fine.’She was going to leave it at that,then thought she should say more, for the purposes of barter. ‘He was called away over Christmas, so we’re just catching up again. Do you remember that other Branch bloke we worked with a couple of years back,Wayne O’Brien, who just disappeared one day? I thought the same had happened to Tom. They’re difficult people to keep track of.’
‘True enough. It’s the nature of the job. Not easy.’
‘He wants to transfer out. Anyway, he made a Jamaican dinner from stuff he bought here in the Lane-pot roast with Red Stripe beer. It was really good.You can get takeaway from the cafe, too.’ She described the other dishes.
‘I’ll have to try that. It’s ages since I tasted jerk.’
‘He said that’s next. Maybe we could do something together.’
Then,having prepared the ground,she said,‘How about you? Have you heard from Suzanne? I got a postcard from her from the Great Barrier Reef. Looked beautiful.’
He saw it coming, of course-but even so, the probe, gentle as it was, made him wince unexpectedly, like the slightest touch to an infected wound that doesn’t want to heal. The trouble was that he hadn’t been talking to anyone, so he hadn’t developed the protective form of words.And there was the other thing,too,which made it worse. In telling Kathy about 1981 he’d omitted the part about going home to the deserted house, but here he was back in Cockpit Lane again in much the same situation, twenty-four years later,locked into the same old patterns,as if nothing had progressed. He hadn’t got a postcard from the Great Barrier Reef, but he had received a Christmas card from Suzanne’s grandchildren in Hastings, back with their mother now, which had shaken him for a time.
‘No, no.We haven’t been in touch.’
‘It’s over then?’ It sounded too abrupt and she sensed Brock flinch, but she was suddenly irritated by this cocoon of silence on the subject of Suzanne; Bren whispering, his wife phoning up to casually inquire about the boss’s Christmas arrangements. She was also fairly certain that the old man wasn’t talking to anyone else.
‘I’m not sure, Kathy.’
‘I mean, I’d be very sorry because I like her so much and I think she’s great for you, but sometimes these things aren’t meant to be . . . as I’ve discovered on numerous occasions.’ She grinned and the sombre look on his face melted a little.
‘Several times I’ve got as far as the travel agent’s door,’ he confessed,‘but I never made it inside.’
‘Do you need a push? I’ll take care of everything if you want.’
‘Thanks. I know you would.We’ll see. Now . . .’ He addressed himself to the discouraging lump of pastry on his plate.‘. . . what have we got here?’
‘Are you going to tell me about the Roaches? You reacted to what Winnie said as if you’d been expecting it all along.’
He shot her a sideways glance as he chewed.‘You’re annoyed I haven’t been open with you?’
