was check the answering machine. Its friendly red light was flashing, so I hit the replay button. ‘Hello, Kate, it’s Ruth.’ Her voice was friendlier than I deserved. ‘It’s just before six, and I thought you’d be pleased to hear that I’ve manged to persuade the divisional superintendent that he has most chance of obtaining convictions from this situation if he keeps Richard’s arrest under wraps. So he’s agreed, very reluctantly, not to hold a press conference announcing a major drugs haul. He’s not keen, but there we go. Was I put on earth to keep policemen happy? He’s also receptive to the idea of a lie-down, but he wants to hang on till later in the day before he makes a final decision. Anyway, I hope you’re managing some sleep, since working yourself to the point of exhaustion will not serve the interests of my client. Why don’t you give me a call towards the end of the afternoon, by which time we both might have some information? Speak to you soon, darling. It’ll be all right.’ I wished I could share her breezy confidence.
As the coffee brewed, I called my local friendly mechanic and asked him to collect Richard’s Beetle, promising to leave a set of keys under the kitchen window box. I also phoned in to the office and told Shelley what had happened. Of course, it was Richard who got the sympathy. Never mind that I’d been deprived of my sleep and landed with a task that might have caused even Clint Eastwood a few nervous moments. Oh no, that was my job, Shelley reminded me. ‘You do what you’ve got to do to get that poor boy out of jail,’ she said sternly. ‘It makes me feel ill, just thinking of Richard locked up in a stinking cell with the dregs of humanity.’
‘Yes, boss,’ I muttered rebelliously. Shelley always makes me feel like a bloody-minded teenager when she goes into Mother Hen mode. God knows what effect it has on her own two adolescents. ‘Just tell Bill what I’m doing. I’ll be on my mobile if you need me urgently,’ I added.
I washed two thick slices of toast down with a couple of mugs of scalding coffee. The toast because I needed carbohydrate, the coffee because it was a more attractive option than surgery to get my eyes open. I pulled on jogging pants and a sweat shirt without showering and drove over to the Thai boxing gym in South Manchester where I punish my body on as regular a basis as my career in crime prevention allows. It might not be the Hilton, but it meets my needs. It’s clean, it’s cheap, the equipment is well maintained and it’s mercifully free of muscle-bound macho men who think they’ve got the body and charm of Sylvester Stallone when in reality they don’t even have the punch-drunk brains of Rocky.
I wasn’t the only person working out on the weights that morning. The air was already heavy with the smell of sweat as half a dozen men and a couple of women struggled to keep time’s winged chariot in the service bay. As I’d hoped, my old buddy Dennis O’Brien, burglar of this parish, was welded to the pec deck, moving more metal than the average Nissan Micra contains. He was barely breaking sweat. The bench next to him was free, so I picked up a set of dumbbells and lay back to do some tricep curls. ‘Hiya, kid,’ Dennis said on his next outgoing breath. ‘What’s the world been doing to you?’
‘Don’t ask. How about you?’
He grinned like a Disney wolf. ‘Still doing the police’s job for them,’ he said. ‘Got a real result last night.’
‘Glad somebody did,’ I said, enjoying the sensation of my flabby muscles tightening as I raised and lowered the weights.
‘Fourteen grand I took off him,’ Dennis told me. ‘Now that’s what I call a proper victim.’
He was clearly desperate to tell the tale, so I gave him the tiny spur of encouragement that was all he needed. ‘Sounds like a good ’un. How d’you manage that?’
‘I hear this firm from out of town are looking for a parcel of trainers. So I arrange to meet them, and I tell them I can lay my hands on an entire wagonload of Reeboks, don’t I? A couple of nights later, we meet again and I show him a sample pair from this truck I’m supposed to have nicked, right? Only, I haven’t nicked them, have I? I’ve just gone down the wholesaler’s and bought them.’ As he got into his story, Dennis paused in his work-out. He’s physically incapable of telling a tale without his hands.
‘So of course, they fall for it. Anyway, we arrange the meet for last night, out on the motorway services at Sandbach. My mate Andy and me, we get there a couple of hours before the meet and suss the place out. When these two bozos arrive, Andy’s stood hiding behind a truck right the far side of the lorry park, and when the bozos park up beside my car, I make sure they see me giving him the signal, and he comes over to us, making out like he’s just come out of the wagon, keys in his hand, the full monte.’ Dennis was giggling between his sentences like a little lad outlining some playground scam.
I sat up and said, ‘So what happens next?’
‘I say to these two dummies, “Let’s see the money, then. You hand over the money, and my mate’ll hand over the keys to the wagon.” And they do no more than hand over their fourteen grand like lambs. I’m counting the money, and when I’ve done, I give Andy the nod and he tosses them the keys. We jump into the motor and shoot straight off. I tell you, the last thing I see is the pair of them schmucks jumping up and down beside that wagon, their mouths opening and shutting like a pair of goldfish.’ By the end of his tale, Dennis was doubled over with laughter. ‘You should’ve seen them, Kate,’ he wheezed. ‘The Dennis O’Brien crime prevention programme scores another major success.’
The first time he said that to me, I’d been a bit baffled. I didn’t see how ripping someone off to the tune of several grand could prevent crime. So Dennis had explained. The people he was cheating had a large sum of money that they were prepared to spend on stolen goods. So some thief would have to steal something for them to buy. But if Dennis relieved them of their wad, they wouldn’t have any money to spend on stolen goods, therefore the robbery that would have had to take place was no longer necessary. Crime prevention, QED.
I moved over to a piece of equipment designed to build my quads and adjusted the weights. ‘A lot of dosh, fourteen grand,’ I said. ‘Aren’t you worried they’re going to come after you?’
‘Nah,’ he said scornfully, returning to his exercise. ‘They’re from out of town. They don’t know where I hang out, and nobody in Manchester would be daft enough to tell them where to find me. Besides, I was down Collar Di Salvo’s car lot first thing this morning, trading the BMW in. They’ll be looking for a guy in a red BM, not a silver Merc. Take a tip, Kate – don’t buy a red BMW off Collar for the next few days. I don’t want to see you in a case of mistaken identity!’
We both pumped iron in silence for a while. I moved around the machines, making sure I paid proper attention to the different muscle groups. By ten, I was sweating, Dennis was skipping and there were only the two of us left. I collapsed on to the mat, and enjoyed the complaints of my stomach muscles as I did some slow, warm-down exercises. ‘I’ve got a problem,’ I said in between Dennis’s bounces.
Just saying that brought all the fear and misery right back. I stared hard at the off-white walls, trying to make a pattern out of the grimy handprints, black rubber skidmarks and chips from weights swung too enthusiastically. Dennis slowed to a halt and walked across to the shelves of thin towels that the management think are all we deserve. Like I said, it’s cheap. I suppose it was their version of crime prevention; nobody in their right mind would steal those towels. Dennis picked up a couple, draped them over his big shoulders and sat down on the bench facing me. ‘D’you want to talk about it?’
I sighed. ‘To be honest, I’m not sure I can.’ It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Dennis. Quite the opposite. I trusted his affection for me almost too much to tell him what had happened to Richard. There was no knowing what limits Dennis would go to in the attempt to take care of anyone threatening my happiness and wellbeing. Considering
