Crack Down

towards Salford Quays. I can’t say I was totally surprised. He looked the sort.

The Quays used to be, unromantically, Salford Docks. Then the eighties happened, and waterfronts suddenly became trendy. London, Liverpool, Glasgow, Newcastle, Manchester. They all discovered how easy it was to part fools and their money when you threw in a view of a bit of polluted waterway. Salford Quays was Manchester’s version of greed chic. It’s got it all: the multi-screen cinema, the identikit international hotel for jet- set business people, more saunas per head of population than Scandinavia, it’s very own scaled-down World Trade Centre for scaled-down yuppie losers and more Penthouses than penthouses. The only thing it lacks is any kind of human ambience.

I noticed that the Cosworth was slowing. I pulled into the parking bay of a small block of flats and killed my lights just as he drew up. He’d stopped outside a long block of narrow three-storey town houses with integral garages on the ground floor.

He got out of the Cosworth, but I could see a whisper of exhaust in the cold night air that told me the engine was still running. He waved a hand in the direction of the garage door and it rose slowly to reveal a two-year-old black Toyota Supra. He swapped the cars over, leaving the Supra on the hard standing and the Cosworth tucked safely away inside the garage.

I watched for another twenty minutes or so as lights went on and off in various rooms. When the house went dark, I decided that if Richard’s car thief was entitled to sleep, so was I.

I got home just after two. The house was silent, the bed chilly. If I didn’t get him out of jail soon, I was going to have to buy a hot-water bottle.

Chapter 10

I dreamed I was walking down a corridor filled with breakfast cereal, going snap, crackle and pop with every step. Cautiously, I opened one eye. It was only half a dream. Davy was sitting on the edge of the bed, tucking into a bowl of one of Richard’s noisier cereals, a tumbler of orange juice on the bedside table next to him. He was watching me, and as he registered the rising eyelid, he smiled uncertainly.

‘Did I wake you?’ he asked. ‘I didn’t want to miss you.’

I propped myself up on one elbow and shook my head. ‘Not really,’ I lied. Things were bad enough without me giving Davy a bad time. I glanced at the clock. Five past seven. I couldn’t even summon up the energy to groan.

‘Have you got to work today?’ he asked.

‘I’m afraid so,’ I said.

He looked crestfallen. ‘Can’t I come with you?’ he asked wistfully. ‘I could help.’

‘Sorry, hon, not today. But I don’t have to go out for a couple of hours yet, so we could play some computer games first, if you want?’

He didn’t have to be asked twice. When Chris and Alexis stumbled through the conservatory just after half past eight looking like Beauty and the Beast, Davy and I were absorbed in a game of Lemmings. Alexis threatened to pull the plug out of the socket unless we reverted to normal English usage. Guess which one is the Beast?

I got up and said I had to go. Before Davy’s disappointment could turn into a sulk, Alexis asked if he’d brought his trunks and if he fancied spending the afternoon at a fun pool. Nobody invited me, which is probably just as well, since the temptation of playing on the slides and surfing in the wave pool might just have proved too much.

Before the grown-ups could go into a huddle about how we were going to amuse him till lunch time, Davy solved the problem. ‘Kate, is it all right if I go out and play this morning?’ he asked.

‘Who with?’ I asked, trying to act like a responsible co-parent. Judging by the look on Davy’s face, he was afraid I was turning into the wicked stepmother.

‘Daniel and Wayne, from the estate. I always play with them when I come and see my dad.’

I didn’t see a problem, and as soon as the deal was struck, Davy was gone. ‘I’ve got to run too,’ I said, heading for the shower.

‘What’s happening with Richard?’ Alexis demanded, following me down the hall as Chris disappeared into the kitchen and started brewing some more coffee.

‘They’ve charged him with possession with intent to supply,’ I shouted over the sound of the spray and the pump from my new power shower.

‘Oh shit,’ Alexis said.

‘I’m hopeful we can keep the lid on it,’ I said. ‘Will there be any reporters in the magistrates’ court this morning?’

‘Well, if I don’t go down, there won’t be anyone from the Chron,’ Alexis said. ‘And with it being a bank holiday weekend, the court agency probably won’t bother with cover either. You might just get away with it. If you do drop unlucky, there are two courts sitting. If there is a reporter kicking around, ask your solicitor to get the case called in one court while the reporter’s in the other one. Shouldn’t be a problem. I take it that Plan A is for you to find the evidence that will clear Richard before his next court appearance?’

‘Got it in one,’ I said. ‘And unless you’ve got any bright ideas about how I’m going to do that, sod off and let me have my shower in peace.’

Alexis chuckled. ‘OK. I’m going in to the office in a bit to write up my copy from dinner last night. That’ll be my alibi for ignoring the mags. If anybody asks me, I’ll say I checked it out with the clerk and there was nothing of any interest coming up. I’ll be at my desk till lunch time if you need me for anything.’

‘Thanks. I might just take you up on that. How did your evening go, by the way?’

Alexis pulled a face. ‘That depends on whether you’re asking the cold-hearted bastard journalist or the human being. As a journo, it was a major coup. There is definitely a big-time child porn ring operating somewhere in Greater Manchester, and I’m the only journo that knows about it. We’re talking million-pound industry here. But Barney showed me some of their stock in trade. And as a human being, I have to say it was one of the nastiest experiences of my life. It made me fucking glad I don’t have kids of my own to worry about.’

‘I don’t need child porn to make me feel like that,’ I said gloomily. ‘Temporary custody of Davy’s quite enough. Did you ask him about any tie-ins with drugs?’

‘I did, and if there are any, he doesn’t know about them. Most likely, one of your drug dealers is a pervert. Which doesn’t really help, does it?’

I love to start the day with the good news.

Saturday morning, Manchester Magistrates’ Court. The one day of the week the marble corridors of the court don’t resemble the supermarket chill cabinet — there’s hardly a headless chicken in sight. The only cases dealt with at the Saturday court are the overnighters — breaches of the peace, drunk and disorderly, soliciting, the occasional assault. And Richard. Because his was such a major charge and he was arrested after midnight, the police hadn’t been inclined to process the paperwork fast enough for him to appear at Friday’s court, so he’d spilled over into Saturday. Although it probably didn’t feel like it to Richard, that had its advantages. As Alexis had confirmed, the chances were good that it would escape press attention, so the people whose drugs Richard had driven off with wouldn’t be picking up their Evening Chronicle and finding ‘Rock journalist charged with massive drug haul’ splashed all over the front page.

According to Ruth, Richard had been moved the night before from the nick at Longsight into the custom-built secure detention cells inside the magistrates’ court building. As we’d arranged, I made my way to the duty solicitor’s interview room on the fifth floor. Normally at quarter to ten on a court morning, the place is heaving with defendants, their families, their kids and their harassed lawyers. The air’s usually thick with cigarette smoke and recriminations. Today, while it wasn’t as silent as the executive floor lobby of a multinational, it was a lot quieter than weekdays.

I pushed open the glass door of the small office and sat on the far side of the round table, commanding a