to beat ourselves up, we’ll all be fighting each other to take the blame, but it’s nobody’s fault.’
‘I know,’ I said. I got to my feet. ‘I just want to take a look at him.’ I walked down the hall to the spare room and pushed the door open. Davy was lying on his back, arms above his head, legs in a tangle of kicked-off duvet. There was a smile on his sleeping face. I leaned over and pulled the cover up over him. He stirred slightly, grunting. I didn’t know what else to do so, feeling awkward, I backed out of the room and closed the door behind me.
I went back through to the kitchen. Alexis was sitting on her own, rolling a modest joint from Richard’s stash. ‘Don’t you think there’s been enough drug-taking for one day around here?’ I asked. I was teasing, but only just.
Alexis shrugged. ‘The doctor says too much stress is bad for me. Chris is making a pot of coffee. You got time for a cup before you go back to wherever you were before you were so rudely interrupted?’
I raised my eyebrows. ‘I wasn’t planning on going back.’
‘Why? Had you finished what you were doing?’
‘Well, no,’ I admitted.
‘So get back on the road. There’s nothing you can do here. Davy’s zonko. Beth said he’d sleep till morning. Anybody can baby-sit a sleeping kid. But you’re the only one that can get Dick out of jail.’
‘Don’t call him Dick,’ I said automatically. ‘You know how it depresses me.’ I looked at my watch and sighed. I had plenty of time to drive back to Sheffield and still be in time for the six o’clock sale. With luck, it would be over early enough for me to get back to Manchester in time to visit Richard. I got to my feet just as Chris came in with a tray of coffee.
‘Aren’t you stopping for a brew?’ she asked.
I put on my FBI face. ‘You expect me to drink coffee at a time like this?’ I asked sternly. ‘People, a girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do.’
Chris giggled. Alexis guffawed. I don’t know why it is that people just don’t take me seriously.
Chapter 12
Literary critics punt the theory that private eyes are society’s outsiders. That might have been true in 1940s Los Angeles, but it’s a joke in 1990s Britain. These days, if you want to last more than five minutes as a private investigator, you’ve got to have the instincts of a chameleon. Gumshoes that stand out in a crowd are as much use to the client as a chocolate chip pan. I’ve had to pass as everything from lawyer to temp, including high-class hooker and journalist, sometimes both on the same day. At least tonight I’d already cased the venue, which gave me a pretty substantial clue as to dress code.
I pulled the crumpled flyer out of my pocket and gave it the once-over. Whoever had put it together wasn’t going to win any awards for grammar or graphic design. The one-day sale promised bargains of a lifetime — video recorders for ?69.99, camcorders for ?99.99, microwaves for ?49.99, plus hundreds of other exclusive, unique,
I was back in Shelfield for half past five. I dumped the car in a city-centre car park and found a cab to take me out to the council estate. I tipped the cabbie a fiver, which persuaded him to come back for me later. At quarter to six, I joined the queue snaking along the pavement outside the community centre. There were getting on for a hundred punters, and none of them looked like they’d be allowed to carry a donor card, never mind a gold card. I reckoned the youngest were under two, slumped slack-mouthed and sleeping in their pushchairs. The oldest were never going to see seventy again. The rest included harassed-looking women, middle-aged at twenty- five, to lads who looked fifteen till you clocked the eyes. I’d calculated well. Nobody gave me a second glance.
At ten to six, the doors opened and we streamed in. The hall was brightly lit, empty except for a raised dais in front of the Fire Exit sign. On the dais was a high counter, piled higher still with cardboard boxes claiming to be filled with microwaves, camcorders, videos and TVs. Other boxes had garish pictures of pan sets, dinner services, game consoles, canteens of cutlery, radio alarms, toasters, battery chargers and socket sets. It looked like a cut- price Aladdin’s cave. Behind the stack of boxes I could see a burly man with a perm like a 1970s footballer. If his suit had been any sharper he’d have been arrested for possession of an offensive weapon. He fiddled with a mike, clipping it on to a tie so loud I expected a shriek of feedback. ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he cajoled, ‘don’t hang back. Come right down to the front where I can see you, and I mean that especially for you lovely ladies. I want to feast my eyes on your charms, because I have to tell you that even though I’m supposed to stand up here being scrupulously fair with you ladies and gentlemen, I’m only human. And I’d have to be more than human to resist some of the lovely ladies I can see in here tonight.’ Unbelievable. Even more unbelievable, they obeyed. Like lemmings.
Sticking with the flow of the crowd, I moved forward, edging out towards the side of the hall. I looked around, searching for Terence. I spotted him after a few moments, one of several men flanking the dais. Their ages varied from late teens to early forties. I wouldn’t have trusted one of them to hold the dog while I went for a pee. I reached the far wall and stopped about ten feet away from the platform. I took a good look round. The punters were eager, many of them patting the pockets that held their money, reassuring themselves it was still there. It wouldn’t be for much longer, I suspected, and not because of pickpockets, either.
Now, most of the men by the platform, including Terence, were fanning out among the crowd, keeping one eye on the auctioneer as he ‘entertained’ the audience with a steady stream of patter consisting of
‘Yeah,’ they roared back. I couldn’t believe it. The guy looked like they’d minted the word ‘spiv’ just for him, yet the punters lapped it up like free beer.
‘Now, who wants to start the ball rolling with me tonight? Who needs a cigarette lighter?’ A few hands shot in the air. ‘Who could use a pack of five blank cassettes?’ A forest of hands joined them. ‘And is there anyone out there who would like a pack of three brand-new video tapes?’ I was probably the only person in the room not waving wildly. I buried my pride and stuck my hand up. The salesman grinned. ‘Now if it was up to me, I’d be giving these items away, but unfortunately, the law of the land forbids me from exercising my natural generosity. So, you need to give me a token payment for these little tasters of what’s to come.’
He paused for dramatic effect. The crowd hung on his words, rapt as a nineteenth-century congregation in thrall to some lunatic visionary minister. ‘I’m going to be as fair as I can be. My team of lads are keeping a careful eye on you all, to see who qualifies. Now, I’ve got twenty of these disposable lighters here, and the first twenty to stick their hands in the air…’ he paused again, and half a hundred arms flew wildly into the air. ‘The first twenty to stick their hands in the air
The crowd obviously thought not. The salesman waved a ridiculous gavel in the air. ‘Now, I’m going to bang me little hammer three times, and when I hit the counter the third time, that’s the signal. Then the lucky twenty will be privileged to be allowed to buy a cigarette lighter for only one penny.’ There was a pregnant pause. The hammer descended once, then twice. Half the hands in the room flailed in the air at the moment the hammer should have fallen the third time. Embarrassed, they dropped their hands again. ‘Don’t be greedy now,’ the
