He stared into the past, saw nothing there to give him any comfort. ‘She was in a bad way,’ he said, flatly. ‘She had a bit of a habit. Heroin, I mean. And sometimes . . . You know how it is. Some times are worse than other times. When Kenny showed up, she’d just been thrown out of a job and she didn’t have any money coming in. He practically said he’d keep her fucking supplied. Anything to get her to go back and live with him.
‘I told her. I frigging told her. You know yourself what he’s like. You know he can’t control himself. Even as a kid he was fucking dangerous, so what do you expect him to be like as a man? People like Kenny Seddon don’t change. He’ll hurt you, Nita. He’ll hurt you worse than . . . worse than you’ve ever been hurt in your life.’
It was as though he were having the argument with her now. As though she was standing there on the grass in front of us, visible only to him, talking only to him. The cigarette between his fingers burned down unnoticed, growing a longer and longer beard of ash.
‘She didn’t care,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘She knew I was right, but it didn’t make any difference. “I don’t deserve any better,” she said. “Look at me, Richie. Look at how I’m living. He’ll put a roof over our heads. He’ll be a father to Mark. Fuck knows, somebody’s got to be. I can’t go on like this.” And all the rest of it. Like it was a rational decision. Like what she was doing made sense. But it didn’t, Castor. And I’ll tell you why.
‘She knew. She went back knowing what he was going to do to her. In fact, that was
The cigarette burned his fingers. He gave a convulsive start, let it drop and put the tip of his finger in his mouth, tears gathering in his eyes. I didn’t think it was because of the blister.
‘How can you be so sure, Richie?’ I asked gently. ‘What makes you think she’s dead?’
He shot me an impatient look, as if it was a stupid question that didn’t deserve an answer. ‘Because she moved a hundred times in ten years,’ he said, examining the damaged finger irritably, ‘and we never once lost touch. Now she disappears without a trace. No, Castor. It doesn’t work like that, not between us. If she was still alive, she’d have called me. She always called me. And she would have taken Mark with her when she left, like she did every other time.’
‘Unless she thought Kenny was doing a good job of being a dad,’ I suggested.
Richie swore caustically. ‘If that was meant to be funny,’ he said, ‘I’m not laughing. He was as good a dad as he was a human being, Castor. You can’t bring out what isn’t there in the first place. I saw him with Mark, and he never even tried to pretend he gave a fuck.’
‘There was another man,’ I said, changing tack. ‘A builder’s merchant or something, from what I heard. Did Kenny find out that she was seeing him? Do you think he was jealous?’
‘Roman,’ Richie said.
‘Roman what?’
‘That was his name. And yeah, maybe . . . that could have been what happened. I don’t know.’ He gave a weary, barely perceptible shrug. ‘It was a game they played,’ he said glumly. ‘Nita found guys to sleep with, and Kenny beat her up. They both knew the rules. But . . .’
‘But?’
‘But Roman wanted her to leave with him. Set up somewhere else. See, normally she picked guys who were cynical enough to just use her and then get out when things got complicated. But this time she made a mistake. Roman seemed to really care about her.’
‘What was he like?’ I asked. ‘Did you ever meet him?’
‘Only the once.’ Richie considered. ‘I was up there for the weekend and we slipped out for a curry behind Kenny’s back. He was . . . good-looking, I have to admit. Sort of Mediterranean looks. Open shirt, lots of bling, leather jacket with the sleeves rolled up. You know the sort of thing. He didn’t really push my buttons, but I could see where he’d push Nita’s.’
‘Did he have a piercing?’ I asked. ‘Over his right eye?’
Richie looked at me in mild surprise. ‘Yeah,’ he said after a moment or two. ‘He did. Why? Do you know him?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘Not to talk to, anyway. But I’m starting to feel like I didn’t know Anita very well, either. Richie, is there some connection between this and you living like a submarine? Who are you hiding from?’
I wasn’t expecting the reaction I got from that question. The corners of Richie’s mouth quirked up and he smiled: a smile that most reasonable people would have wanted to back away from.
‘From the Seddons,’ he said. ‘Because I hit the bastards back, where it hurt them. And I’m going to keep on hitting them back until there’s nothing left of them but fucking greasy stains. If your brother took Kenny out, then it was the best day’s work he ever did in his God-bothering life — and if it was someone else, then whoever he is, he’s got my blessing. I love him. I take him to my bosom. I would have done it myself if I had the bottle, but I don’t. I couldn’t kill someone. So I got Ronnie the best way I could.’
Somewhere in my overstretched cerebellum, the other shoe dropped.
‘You grassed Ronnie up?’
‘Oh yeah.’ Richie nodded emphatically. ‘Just had to get the timing right. He always did the Red Pepper on a Friday night, so I placed a call to the Greater Merseyside drug squad and told them exactly where and when to flash the bacon.’ He smiled even wider: he was evidently enjoying the memory. ‘And I’m going to get Steve, too,’ he said in a more meditative tone. ‘I’ve been following him for months and I finally struck gold. The stupid bastard is seeing prozzies down the Dock Road and I’m getting pictures of him doing it. When I’ve got a nice thick photo album’s worth, I’m going to send it in to his boss. Should fuck him over nicely, don’t you think?’
I nodded, because there was no way of disagreeing. ‘You blame them all, then?’ I said. ‘For — whatever happened to Anita?’
‘They hounded her from pillar to post,’ he said, grinding out the discarded dog-end with his heel as though it were a Seddon he’d inadvertently missed. ‘They wouldn’t let her rest. And then when they’d hounded her all the way back to that bastard down in Walworth, they walked away and let him kill her. Yes, Castor. I blame them all. I blame a lot of people. Don’t get me started.’
I was prepared to take that advice, but there was one more thing I needed to know. Well, two things, now that I thought about it.
‘Richie,’ I said. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way or anything, but . . . it wasn’t you, was it? With the razor? You didn’t go down to the Smoke on a day return and — you know — do a bit more pruning?’
Richie gave a sardonic snort. ‘I wish,’ he said. ‘But I already told you, I’m no good at that stuff. I must be a throwback or something, mustn’t I? A Walton kid with no taste for aggro.’
He sounded like he meant it; and the accusation hadn’t got the smallest response beyond that weary, self- hating derision. ‘Okay,’ I said, feeling obscurely relieved. ‘Then answer me this and I’m out of your hair. Can you think of any reason why Kenny would have had a grudge against Matt? A big enough grudge that he’d frame him for murder? Because that was the last thing he did, as he was drowning in his own blood. And it seems like a strange . . .’
I tailed off into silence, because Richie was looking at me with enormous, astonished eyes.
‘Why Kenny would hate your brother?’ he echoed.
‘Yeah.’
‘Castor, who do you think you’re talking to? And what fucking tree did you just fall out of?’ Richie’s tone was pained and angry.
‘Okay,’ I said, cautiously. ‘I’m assuming those were rhetorical questions. You think there’s something obvious I’m missing, then? Something you know, and you think I should know, too?’
He stood up. ‘Here’s the thing,’ he said. ‘It wasn’t me in that car. I already told you that. But if it had been, and if I was someone else instead of me — a macho psycho killer kind of someone, in the real Walton style — then I wouldn’t have stopped at Kenny.’
He brushed the grass off his jacket, wincing as the movement chafed his blistered finger.
‘I’d have killed your brother, too,’ he said.
Then he seemed to recollect where he was; or perhaps he read the expression on my face. Either way, his gaze fell from my face to the name on the headstone we’d been leaning against, and he had the decency to look abashed.
‘Okay,’ he muttered. ‘Shitty thing to say. I’m sorry. It’s just — fucking priests, you know? Is there one of them out there who can—? Never mind. Forget it. There are degrees, aren’t there? Maybe he said a few Hail Marys and
