CHAPTER THREE
©©The sky was gray and filled with large black clouds. Raithe pulled the collar of his coat up and leant into the wind. Reaching Tower Hill, he crossed over the road. Light rain, blown horizontal, stung his face. He joined the throng of jostling travelers making their way up and down the Underground steps. A long line of expressionless faces passed him by as he rode down on the escalator. They reminded him of other faces in another time and place.
Being category A meant he ate with the rest of the hard men of crime; the murderers, armed robbers and men convicted of GBH. Every mealtime meant the same routine. A snake-like line of men would slowly shuffle in single file down one side of a long metal barrier, turn around at the end, and shuffle back to the front of the serving position. A prison guard stood each end of the barrier while another stood by the door through which the prisoners entered the dining hall. Being a convicted child killer, he was shunned and ate on his own.
When it came to child killers, rapists and those who beat women, there was nowhere to hide from rough justice. The guards had a welcome for their “special” guests. Each time a “special” new arrival was being processed, the photo of his battered or dead victim would be shown along the landings.
Later, as the new inmate was escorted into the noisy landing area and was taken to his cell, a hush would descend throughout the building. All that could be heard were the footsteps of the inmate and the escort party as they walked across the metal grating.
The new prisoner normally suffered a beating every two to three days for the first month while the Capo and his lieutenants paid their respects. After that it was fair game for anyone to put the boot in whenever they got the chance. It was normal for a prisoner to ask for rule 43 at about this time, sometimes reluctantly. He would have to join all the sex offenders, rapists and pedophiles in a special wing of the prison. Although an unpleasant experience except for the sex offenders, it was preferable to running the daily gauntlet of abuse and violence.
Raithe had descended into this hell after eighteen months. No one had listened to him as he protested his innocence. He gave up and asked for solitary confinement.
He breathed in deeply and tried to put the nightmare out of his mind. A rush of cold air blew through his hair and made his eyes water as a train approached through the tunnel. He stood amongst the crowd and looked up at the electronic information board. The Central Line train was arriving. It would take him to Notting Hill Gate where Danny’s sister lived. He wasn’t sure of the street number but remembered what the place looked like. He had gone there two months before the job and been introduced to Danny. Peter had recommended the lad as a driver.
A few years younger than the other members of the gang, Danny had a happy-go-lucky outlook on life. Poorly educated, whatever he lacked in general academic achievement was made up for by other qualities he learned on the street, such as a great understanding of mechanics. Raithe had once watched, amazed, as the lad stripped an engine and put it back together in hours.
Danny could also drive very fast, but safely. They’d taken him out one night to South London in a Jaguar and told him to drive the quickest route between Burgess Park and Trafalgar Square. Try as they might, no one could beat his time across the city.
The lad was slim and strong, of medium height and with shoulder-length blonde hair. He had been brought up in a poor family, watching his older sister bring lots of boyfriends home. Their father left when they were young, leaving a sickly mother who died four years later from cancer. Danny fended for himself for the most part, and it was during his teens that his criminal activities began.
Raithe quickly warmed to him as the two got to know each other during the period leading up to the robbery.
The train came to a halt amid screeching brakes and carriage doors rumbled opened, freeing a noisy tide of marching feet that spewed out onto the platform. Raithe pushed his way forward through the crowd and stood in the middle of the carriage, holding on to the handrail above his head. The doors hissed shut and the carriage jolted forward.
Entering the tunnel, the train’s lights flickered before they were swallowed up by the darkness. Raithe looked down at a young woman sitting in front of him and saw the mother of the shot child again. Her face wouldn’t go away.
The police had smashed their way into the flat the following morning while he was still in bed. His leather gloves, which he forgot to dispose of along with the overalls and ski mask, had been found and taken away for forensic evidence.
In his statement he admitted to the robbery, something he always intended to do if caught in order to secure a lesser sentence if possible. He also admitted to the charge of murder, being an accessory. Having done so, no one wanted to believe that his was not the gun that killed the girl.
At his trial the judge told him, “You have admitted to murder and robbery
and to carrying a firearm. It was not a blank cartridge that killed that child, and
I am satisfied that you lied to cover your guilt in her death.” Raithe was branded
a child killer.
The train rattled on through the twisting tunnel, stopping at every station.
When it reached Notting Hill Gate, Raithe stepped out onto the draughty
platform and made his way to the exit.
He caught a cab to Godffrey Street, where a long row of curving terraced houses stretched the whole of its length on either side. Wide flights of eight stone steps led up to the Victorian terrace every few yards. Between each set of steps was an ornate iron railing, corroded over the years, set in a small concrete wall that overlooked basement apartments. Brown rust stains surrounded the bottom of each post and spread across the top of the wall. Flakes of dirty white paint clung to the brickwork or lay on top of weeds that grew from every crack between the sidewalk and the wall.
Walking slowly, Raithe passed some children playing in the street, looked over by mothers with folded arms, gossiping outside one of the buildings. The women gave him a cursory glance.
He knew Danny’s place as soon as he saw it. The railing outside was still broken and the glass panel above the front door inside the shared entrance was still cracked. He walked up the steps and into the wide porch and pushed the bell-button but heard nothing. Pushing it again, he realized Danny’s place was two floors up. He waited a few seconds. From inside, he heard the sounds of someone coming down the stairs.
The shadowy figure of a woman appeared behind the reeded glass of the front door. When the door opened, Raithe didn’t recognize her at first. She had dyed her scraggy hair blonde. Apart from that, she had not changed much. She still wore a tart’s clothing and still looked a tart, even more so nine years on. Her false smile turned to a sneer as she recognized him and placed her hands on her hips. “What the fuck are you doin’ ’ere? Lookin’ for a little girl, are we?” she mimicked child-like.
He felt the anger rising. He wanted to slap her face but clenched his teeth and took a deep breath. “I need to speak to Danny, Gail. Where is he?”
“Don’t know and don’t bleedin’ care. Piss off.”
She started to close the door but Raithe managed to block it with a foot.
“Gail, you know it wasn’t me who shot the girl.”
Gail leant against the doorframe, a hand on one hip. “That brother of mine was always trouble. Then he met you and got into even worse bleedin’ trouble. I don’t care who did what. He hasn’t been ’ere since you went inside, and I don’t know where he is. What’s more, I don’t bleedin’ care. I would’ve thought one beating was enough. What are you gonna’ do, give him another kickin?”
“I want to talk to him. I don’t want to harm him.”
She shook her head. “Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you. Wherever he is he’s better off without you buggering up his life.” She straightened up. “Now, unless there’s anythin’ else, I have to get on.” She pointed upstairs.
“Oh yes, I forgot,” said Raithe, “you’re self-employed. Time is money and all that.”
She leant forward and scowled at him. “That’s right, and unless you’ve got fifty quid you can have one off the wrist. There ain’t any freebies ’ere. Like I said, piss off.”
Raithe took a bundle of notes from his pocket and peeled off a fifty pound note. He held it up in front of her face. “Fifty, you said.”
The smile of an actress returned. “I suppose it must be very lonely in prison; all those lonely nights and no warm body to satisfy those special needs.” She hesitated and looked at the note in Raithe’s hand. “I’m sorry about bein’ upset. You know how it is. Listen, I’ll tell you what.” She stood to one side and put a hand on his shoulder. “Why not come upstairs and get comfortable. I’m sure I’ve got Danny’s address somewhere.” Her lips parted slightly, revealing the tip of her tongue. It moved slowly across the deep red lipstick. “Of course, I would expect another fifty for that.” She made a grab for the note.
Raithe put it back in his pocket. “I don’t think so. I wouldn’t pay you if you was the last whore on earth. I’ll find Danny eventually, with or without your help.” He turned away.
Gail’s jaw dropped. She stood screaming after him, waving a clenched fist at him. “You fuckin’ bastard! You bleedin’ child killer!”
The gossiping women looked up at Gail and then at Raithe. He walked quickly past them to the end of the street, turned right into the main road and stood on the curb, waiting for the traffic to clear.
“Scuse me, mate.”
Raithe looked sideways at a scruffy man in his thirties, wearing an old pair of denims, a three-quarter-length leather coat and a pair of trainers. Long dark lanky hair, full of dandruff, spilled over his collar. A plaster had been stuck over a cut on his stubbled chin. Raithe sniffed disapprovingly at the man’s bad breath.
“If you’re lookin’ for Danny, you’ll find him up in Birmingham.”
“And you are?” asked Raithe. He took his hands out of his pockets.
The man tensed. “You don’t remember me then.” He grinned, showing a mouthful of yellow teeth. “I met you once when you came to pick Danny up. It’s okay, mate, I heard you talkin’ to Gail. I’m a friend.”
“You mean pimp, and while we’re about it, I’m not your mate.” Raithe put his hands back in his pockets.
“Sorry, mate—I mean sorry. Danny’s been workin’ at my brother’s place.
Pub called the Bread ‘n’ Cheese. It’s near the city center, not far from the main station in Hanley Street. I got him the job to get him out of town. Poor little sod was in such a state that night I really felt sorry for him. Mind you, he shouldn’t have panicked and grassed like that. He got no more than he deserved.”
Raithe turned to the man. “What happened to him?”
“It was a couple of days after you got sent down. He was in a right state for weeks before the trial. I found him on the steps when I got home with Gail. Someone had given him a right kickin’. All his face was cut and they’d broken his arm and a finger. Blood everywhere, there was. Poor little sod’s teeth were a mess, too.”
“Did he admit it was him that grassed on me, or is that what you and the wonderful Gail assumed?”
“Well, he kept sayin’ it wasn’t him, but we knew. He’d already told us it was him that fired the gun that killed the little—” The realization of what he had said dawned on him. “Sorry, we could have come forward, but seein’ as how you were gonna’ do a length anyway, Gail didn’t wanna’ get involved.”
“Yes, I can see how it would ruin her social life. Bad for business, right?” Raithe thought for a moment. Something wasn’t right. Why would Danny admit to killing the girl but not admit to being a grass? “So what happened?”
“Well, she wanted him out of it so I called my brother. He didn’t know about the circumstances; only that Danny was on the run from some heavies and needed to disappear. He gave Danny a job and a place to stay, and that’s the last we heard until a few weeks ago. My brother phoned to say he was comin’ down to town and we could meet for a drink. When I met him later he was tellin’ me about Danny sortin’ out one of his cars. He’s still there.”
“Are you telling me you and Gail never called or saw Danny in the last nine years?”
“Oh, no, no, of course not. Gail phoned him a couple of times. She’s been meanin’ to go and see him for some time. We just ain’t got around to it.”
Raithe wanted to put his hands around the man’s throat. “Thanks a lot. When I see him I’ll pass on your regards.”
“No problem, mate.”
Raithe glared at him.©©