I shook my head, took the flashlight from him.
Outside the cold bit like a bastard. I tested the bulb. It looked to be dimming but would do the job.
The key slotted into the lock without effort. As I pushed the door open a waft of dampness caught in my throat. ‘Christ Almighty!’ I closed my mouth and descended the stairs.
As I reached the floor, I checked for a light switch. None. The walls had been painted white at some stage and caught the light I shone on them, throwing off more into the room. The smell of damp rose like poison gas. I brought my T-shirt up over my mouth and nose.
I moved about, the place seemed to be empty. No shortage of cobwebs, streams of moisture on the walls and general grit and dust blowing about the floor. But nothing worth hiding a key in your shoe for.
‘Come on, Billy Boy. What’s your big secret?’
The flashlight started to fade. The bulb dimmed to a faint orange glow. I slapped the butt in my hand. It went out.
‘Fucking brilliant.’
I searched for my matches, struck a clutch of five or six. The fizzing flame heated my hand, threw shadows on the wall. I lit another batch, raising them aloft. For a good few seconds I’d a fully lit view of the room. It was empty. Not a thing there.
I returned to the stairs, at the top pushed open the door and gasped for breath.
‘Jesus… that was rough.’
Felt good to taste fresh air once more. So good, I sparked up a Marlboro. First of a new pack. Red top, proper fatal.
A few drags in I clasped the tab in my teeth, turned to lock up. A damp old donkey jacket hung on the back of the door. I’d always wondered how they got the name, I saw now it was because they smelled like them.
I pushed the door, and the hook holding the jacket snapped, dropped it on the ground.
‘Oh, shit.’
I picked it up, about to throw it down the stairs, when something fell out of the side pocket.
‘Hello…’
I bent down to see what it was.
‘Billy, you sly old bastard.’
A disk.
I took it back to the pub. Col sat in front of the bar, watching television.
‘You’re actually watching Big Brother?’
‘Thought I’d see what all the fuss was about.’
I picked up my Guinness, drained half of it in one go. ‘You disappoint me, I had you down as a man of some taste and discernment.’
‘Bollocks! Did you have any luck?’
I held up the disk.
‘What’s that?’
‘CD or DVD.’
‘And what do you think it’s for?’
‘I don’t know. Will we have a look?’
Col stood up, leaned over my shoulder to stare at the disk. ‘What are you doing?’ I said.
‘Having a look!’
‘You’re having me on.’
‘Sorry?’
‘I meant, on a player. I’m presuming you don’t have one, then.’
‘What’s that?’
‘A CD or a DVD player?’
‘Oh no, no. I’ve a video recorder, but I never use it. The wife used to hire the old films. Howard Keel’s her favourite.’
I was mystified. Drained the rest of my pint. As I did so the phone rang, Col went round the bar to answer it.
‘One minute. It’s for you,’ he said.
‘Me?’ I wondered who would call me at the Wall when I had my mobile. Took the mobi out my pocket, it was still switched off.
‘Will you take it? It’s your sister.’
She had no news I wanted to hear. I got to my feet.
‘Tell her I’ve left.’
‘I can’t do that. I’ve already told her you’re here.’
I buttoned my jacket, pocketed the disk. ‘Not any more.’
57
Hod had the Clash cranked up full when I arrived. ‘Tommy Gun’ blaring out, felt surprised the neighbours hadn’t complained.
‘You’ll get your door rapped,’ I said.
Hod flared out his chest, took a strongman stance. ‘Who’d mess?’
Took his point.
The place looked spotless as usual. Even the kitchen shone like a show home, every surface gleamed. The shine as the uplighters hit the stainless-steel kettle and toaster set almost hurt my eyes.
‘Do you know what this joint needs?’ I asked him.
‘What’s that?’
‘A man about the house.’
Hod took the opportunity to dip into mince mode. He had it down pat, sorta Dale Winton doing Freddie Starr… Whoa, there’s an image.
‘Oooh you are awful,’ said Hod, slapping me on the arm, ‘but I like you!’
We cracked a couple of Stellas and went through to the lounge. Joe Strummer wailed, ‘Someone got murdered, somebody’s dead for ever…’ I got up and turned down the CD.
‘So, the wanderer returns,’ said Hod.
I raised my bottle. ‘Here I am.’
‘ Slainte. What’s the story?’
I filled him in on my brush with the law and everything I’d unearthed about Billy’s demise.
Hod listened carefully. ‘What do you think he feeds it on?’
‘What?’
‘Zalinskas — the wolf?’
‘How the fuck would I know? Probably dog food.’
‘You reckon, like, just from Tesco?’
I couldn’t believe this, after all I’d revealed to Hod, the one thing that had provoked any response was Zalinskas’ pet wolf. ‘Definitely not. A man like Zalinskas, with all his cash, he’s doing his shopping at Waitrose.’
Hod coughed into his fist, made a clearing noise in his throat. ‘You wouldn’t be mocking me would you, Gus Dury?’
‘Never.’
We exchanged some childish dead arms, then Hod fell back onto the sofa.
‘Christ, it’s good to get you back in one piece, mate.’
‘Tell me.’
‘You had us worried for a while there. Amy-’ Hod checked himself, sat up.
‘What about, Amy?’
