23
DS Clayton Thompson drove slowly down the narrow New Town road, cars parked on both sides allowing only one vehicle at a time. The rows of dark, dirty red-brick terraced houses just added to the closed-in, claustrophobic feeling. The only people around in New Town after dark either lived there, or were trying to get out of there. Or had business there. It wasn’t somewhere most people went by choice.
Colchester might have been Britain’s oldest recorded town, the capital of England during Roman times. It had the wall round the town centre and the grid-like road system to prove it. It also had an old castle, a theatre, open spaces and parks, lots of old buildings. The University of Essex was based there. It had boutique shops, good restaurants and bars. As big as a small city with the feel of a market town. No concrete tower blocks or sink estates to spoil the view.
But a town didn’t need tower blocks to have their associated problems. It still had areas where poverty and deprivation gave way to rage and criminal activity. New Town was an area of warren-like Edwardian terraces running from North Hill at the fag end of the town centre down to the river’s edge at the Hythe. Where Clayton was headed was bad enough, but there were parts of it that even he wouldn’t visit after dark. At least not without back-up. And people here he never wanted to meet again, at least not without bars between them. Developers had recently tried to smarten the place up, building expensive gated apartment blocks in amongst the terraces. The locals had responded well, giving these new developments the highest rates of burglary, theft and criminal damage in the whole town.
Clayton parked the car in front of the street-corner pub, amazed that there was a parking space, but worried because he had to leave his ride unattended. He loved his 5-series BMW. Expensive to run and maintain, not to mention the monthly payments he made on it. But that was okay. He just compromised on other stuff. It was worth it.
He had been brought up in a house of women. A mother and two sisters, his father dying when he was six years old. His mother had wanted him to work in a bank, an office, do something with money, something steady. Much as he loved his mother and wanted her to be proud of him, he hadn’t wanted that.
Whatever sense of masculinity he had came from films, TV, games. If the man had the car, he got the woman. The fact that he was well dressed and handsome didn’t hurt either. So the police force had been natural for Clayton. And then the car.
He had planned it for years. Spent days fantasising about what he would do when he could eventually afford it. Lower the chassis; what rims and exhaust to fit, what sound system to give it, the whole nine-yards pimp job. All those teenage years spent devouring car magazines, especially
He sat there a moment, engine idling, hip-hop on the stereo. The Game. Cool, hard stuff. Gave him the right kind of swagger. He pulled down the sun visor, checked his eyes in the mirror. This meeting was important. Thing had to be said. But more importantly, things had to be kept quiet. He had to be full-on for this; no doubt, no insecurity. Took a deep breath, then another. He wasn’t going to lose his car, his lifestyle and most importantly his career over this. No way. So. Keep it firm, keep it strong. And if that failed, use any means necessary. Another deep breath. Another. Checked his eyes again. Flipped the visor back into place, took the key from the ignition, got out.
He opened the door to the pub, stepped inside, letting it swing closed behind him. The interior looked as bleak and depressing as the exterior. Tired red faux leather ran the length of one wall, old, scarred tables and battered wooden chairs before it. A carpet whose pattern had surrendered to age and various kinds of darkness covered the floor. A TV was mounted above the bar, the brightness and colour showing the few drinkers what they were missing elsewhere in the world.The bar was a semicircle curved round the centre of the pub. A lone barman stood at one end, chatting to an old man who might not have lived there but who certainly belonged there. Clayton saw a couple of men sitting at a corner table. He knew them. Brothers, supposedly builders, they were in fact behind most of the criminal activity in the area. Drugs, prostitution; they probably took a percentage of whatever was taken from the posh cars parked in front of the new flats. Clayton stared.They looked away. He did the same. A mutual thing: they wouldn’t bother him if he didn’t bother them.
He saw who he wanted, sitting at a table, alone. A glass of something clear, half drunk, before them, bag by the chair leg, workout gear sticking out. They saw him. Waited. He sat down opposite. Found a smile.
She flicked a smile in return. Sharp, practised. ‘Hello, stranger.’
‘Hello, Sophie,’ he said.
Before he could answer, the smile was dropped. She looked quickly round, checking no one was listening or watching. ‘You took your time,’ she said.
‘Briefing,’ he said. ‘And traffic.’
‘Yeah. Well I haven’t got time to sit around here all night, have I?’
Clayton smiled at her. ‘Sorry.’ She didn’t respond. ‘Anyone bothered you in here?’
She shook her head. ‘Told them I was waiting for someone. Told them in a way that made them leave me alone.’
‘Right.’ He ran his eyes up and down her body. She had changed out of her working clothes. Jeans, trainers and a pale, tight, translucent blouse, her dark, lacy bra clearly visible through it, a generous amount of cleavage on display. Her hair was down, accenting her heart-shaped, make-up-caked face. ‘You’re looking good.’
‘Not good enough, apparently. Haven’t heard from you in ages. Years.’ She leaned forward. He couldn’t help but stare down her cleavage. ‘But you only call when you want something. And I expected you to call after today.’
‘Bit of a shocker, that,’ he said. ‘Didn’t expect to find you there.’
She shrugged. ‘And what was all that fuckin’ DVD crap? What did you come out with that for?’
‘Just doin’ my job.’
‘Yeah. Well I know what that involves, don’t I?’
His smile disappeared. He felt edgy, uneasy. She was gaining the upper hand. He had to stop it. ‘Yeah, well. That’s in the past. And it’s going to stay there. It’s the present I want to talk about.’
She allowed herself a smile, adjusted her top. ‘I’m sure.’
Clayton stared at her, his features hardening. He felt his control slipping. Wouldn’t allow it to happen. ‘And you do too, otherwise you wouldn’t be here. Would you?’
Uncertainty flickered across her eyes. He tried not to smile. He had her. Yes, she could make things difficult for him, but he could do the same for her too.
‘I must admit, I was surprised to see you when you came into the yard.You did a good job of not letting on you knew me. Really good. Should be an actor, you know.’
‘You hid it well too,’ he said.
She gave a sharp laugh. ‘Nothing wrong with my acting skills.’ Her turn to look him up and down now. ‘You dress better than you used to. On more money?’
‘More money, new job.’ He swallowed hard. ‘New me.’
Another laugh. ‘Doubt it,’ she said. ‘Leopards and all that.’
He leaned forward. ‘Listen, Sophie… do I have to call you that?’
‘It’s my name. Sophie Gale.’
‘You used to have a different one.’
‘Only for professional purposes. And anything that went on between us was always strictly professional.’
‘Yeah, but that was after. I knew you before all that, remember? When you used your real name. Gail Johnson. When I busted you in that New Town brothel raid. You’ve grown up since then. Done all right.’
‘And I suppose I’ve got you to thank for that, have I?’
‘Amongst others.’
‘Yeah. Well I think I’ve thanked you enough times.’
