Twenty-three. Callie 9 page

Dan carried on walking.

Fifty-one

Back at home, I had to wait till Mum went back to bed before I could get down to what I really wanted to do. I connected up McAuley's memory stick and started scanning it. And what did it contain? Letters of complaint to the Inland Revenue and other government bodies about a shipment of rugs imported nearly a year ago and still being held by Customs. A spreadsheet comparing the price of rugs from around the world. More letters of complaint. An inventory of the contents of McAuley's warehouse. Godsake! The files contained stale, boring stuff that was of absolutely no use to me at all. And each file I checked after that was more of the same. They all contained import/export details of artefacts and luxury knick-knacks and other rubbish. It was beginning to look like swapping the memory sticks had been a complete waste of time. When I thought of the risk I'd taken, I felt sick. There were only three more files to check and from the file names, I didn't hold out much hope that they'd be useful.

The next file I opened was called Schedule. Only one problem – it was completely empty. Why on earth would McAuley keep an empty file? What a waste of disk space. I opened up the last two files. The first was more twaddle about misshapen figurines and sculptures. The second file contained the bank account details of McAuley's lieutenant, Byron Sweet. I couldn't believe that Byron, Mr Pit-bull himself, had the surname of Sweet. That was about the only interesting thing in the last file. I learned Byron's bank, his branch code and his bank account number – which were all worse than useless.

And that was it.

I slumped back in my chair. Now what? There was nothing in any of the files that was the least bit illegal, unless I was missing something. I listed all the files, in case there was one I'd missed and hadn't read yet. But there wasn't. I read them all again, every word, but there was nothing remotely worthwhile. I held my head in my hands and tried to think. There was no way I'd get another crack at McAuley's computer. I looked at the list of files on my screen, desperately willing them to turn into something I could use.

Something I could . . .

Something . . .

I leaned closer to the screen. Schedule, the file with nothing in it, was almost one hundred kilobytes big. Why would a file with nothing in it be so large? I opened the file again. It consisted of eight blank pages. I scrolled all the way down then back up again. The file was definitely empty. Or was it? A light bulb started flashing in my head. Mouth dry, heart thumping, I clicked the option to select everything in the file, then changed its colour to black. The file was immediately filled to overflowing with text and a grid that must've been from a spreadsheet.

Oh, yes!

'Very clever, McAuley,' I muttered.

I mean, credit where credit was due. The colour of the words in the file had been changed to white. White words on a white background. No wonder the file looked blank. I tried not to get too excited, but this looked far more promising. I settled down in my chair and started reading. I read the file from top to bottom, then read it again to make sure I hadn't misread any of it.

According to the spreadsheet in the file, McAuley had invested every penny he had in three shipments coming into the country within the next few days. He'd euphemistically referred to his shipments as 'X'. The first shipment was due the day after tomorrow. Two more shipments were scheduled to arrive after that, each at intervals of three days. Each shipment was going to a different address, where they would be stored until McAuley arranged collection. He wasn't taking any chances. From the look of it, it seemed the Dowds had taken away more of McAuley's business than anyone suspected and he wasn't quite as loaded as we'd all assumed.

Why on earth hadn't he quit when he was ahead?

And then I realized. He couldn't quit. It wasn't just the money that McAuley craved, it was the sense of control and power it gave him. He was like a pathetic despot, looking out over the portion of his kingdom called 'half of Meadowview' and longing for it all. And the Dowds were exactly the same, two wings of the same bird. They targeted those who had little and made sure they ended up with less. And Dan's attitude to McAuley was 'at least he's one of our own'. I shook my head, wondering if he still felt the same way.

The file contained details of delivery addresses, times, the initials of a number of people who were going to pay for 'X' and the amounts of money involved. And I mean, large, eye-boggling amounts of money. I finally had something I could use. The question was, how? I could just tell the police, but there was no way to link the shipments to McAuley unless he was found with the stuff and McAuley was much too smart for that. After it was delivered, he'd have his minions do his dirty work for him. And even if there was some way to link the shipments to him, a smart lawyer could claim that McAuley didn't know what was being imported in his name or that it wasn't even his property. I could tell the police and they'd confiscate his shipments, but that wasn't enough. I admit it. It wasn't anywhere near enough. I wanted McAuley's world to unravel slowly but irrevocably. So I'd have to find some other way to use this information to his disadvantage.

It was time to make a phone call.

Phone call concluded, the next thing I had to do was protect the information I had. I printed off all the sheets, then placed them in an A5 envelope, which I addressed to Callie Rose. I took a second-class stamp from Mum's handbag and stuck that on the letter. This letter would be my insurance policy – just in case. I knew Sephy would never open her daughter's letters, and once Callie was out of hospital the letter would be easy enough to retrieve – if I got through this.

Once that was done, I tried to figure out my next move. I finally decided on a course of action. It wasn't smart and it sure as hell wasn't foolproof, but it was all I had.

I headed for my local library, memory stick hidden in the cuff of my jacket – just in case McAuley or the police decided they couldn't do without my company. At the library, I booked a computer for an hour and started working on my first letter. It would probably be the most significant one of my life. I decided to use a handwriting font that I didn't have on my computer at home. I couldn't take any chances. If the letter was ever traced back to me . . .

To the Dowds,

This letter contains information about Alex McAuley and his business interests that you will hopefully find useful. McAuley is expecting a shipment to be delivered to 3 Londridge Street, Meadowview on 14th August at 4.30 p.m. The shipment will arrive in a home food shopping delivery van. I don't know the route the van will take before it arrives at the above address. This delivery, one of the smaller ones scheduled to arrive in the next couple of weeks, is worth over three-quarters of a million pounds. How you decide to use this information is of course entirely up to you. If you do decide to act upon the information in this letter, I will supply you with the times, dates and venues of all McAuley's other consignments for the rest of the month – but only if you decide to act on the information contained herein.

I thought my use of the words 'consignment' and 'herein' was a good touch. No one ever used those kinds of words in real life. Hopefully those words and the way I'd phrased certain other sentences would make it seem like someone much older than me had written the letter. And possibly a woman? After a lot of deleting and rewriting, I decided the letter was ready – except for one thing. The Dowds would never believe the information I was giving them was genuine if I didn't ask for some kind of reward. As far as they were concerned, altruism – especially criminal altruism – didn't exist. So I added:

Once the above shipment is yours, I would expect payment of 10% of the gross worth of the product before I part with any further information about other future deliveries. I feel 10% is fair. I would expect this money in cash. I shall provide further instructions regarding the payment of my money once McAuley's goods are in your hands.

I had no intention of taking a penny from the Dowds, but they needed to believe I was just as avaricious as they were. I printed off the letter, making sure to hold it with a tissue so that my fingerprints wouldn't get on it. Folding it, I placed it in the envelope I'd brought with me. The question was, should I post it to Gideon Dowd at TFTM or should I post it to Vanessa Dowd? Thanks to Rebecca, I now had her home address. But I suspected I was one of a mere handful of people who knew it. If I posted the letter to Rebecca's mum, it might be easier to trace. Giving it to Owen wasn't part of the plan. Besides, I wanted as little as possible to do with him. TFTM it was then. I would just have to hope that Gideon Dowd would be at the Club the following day to receive the letter. I could've sent it as an email, but Gideon could trace the email back to this library and it was in my neighbourhood, plus it had twenty-four-hour CCTV. With Gideon's connections, he could easily get hold of the footage and discover that I'd been in the library around the time he received the email. No, far better to send it via snail mail. Slower but safer.

My second letter was far easier to write. I used the same font and took the same precautions to make sure that my fingerprints didn't appear anywhere on it. This letter was much simpler, though. This one gave details of McAuley's second shipment. What should I do about the third scheduled delivery? Tell the police? Tell the Dowds?

Tell no one?

I took the latter path. It would take expert timing, but maybe I could move the shipment, or at least part of it, to some place where no one but me would ever find it.

I mean, why not me?

Why not?

It's not that I fancied myself as another McAuley. Far from it. But I had to think ahead. I had to think. I had to look out for myself. No one else would.

I'd make no snap decisions about the third shipment. The answer would come to me. But one way or another, all this should start to hit McAuley where he would feel it the most. I wasn't finished with him yet.

Not even close.

Fifty-two

Hello, Callie Rose.

I . . .

Today I . . .

I have nothing to say.

Fifty-three

As I walked down the hospital steps, my whole body felt as if it was made of lead. I'd sat with Callie for over thirty minutes – and I couldn't think of anything to say. What was happening to me that I couldn't find anything to say to her? I pulled my T-shirt rapidly back and forth away from my sweaty chest. The sky was white-grey and the air was really humid and sticky. This damned weather was really getting to me. Time to head back home. My letters were posted and I'd managed to visit Callie again without getting caught. Mum must've set off for work by now, and as for Jessica . . . ? Well, I'd barely seen her recently. We'd been avoiding each other. But Jess wasn't uppermost in my mind. I had other matters to attend to. First a shower, then phone Rebecca to ask her for a date. I hadn't heard from her in a while and I needed to know where I stood now that her brother had banned us from being together.

Why couldn't I speak to Callie?

Head bent, I was lost in my own thoughts as I left the hospital grounds, so they saw me before I saw them. I only knew I had company when they appeared in front of me. Three sets of feet belonging to three morons – Lucas, Drew and Aaron. After a cursory glance at them, I tried to walk round them. I just wanted to be left alone. Drew deliberately stepped in front of me.

Godsake . . . I wasn't in the mood for this, I really wasn't.

'Hello, Durbrain.' Drew smiled.

That nickname was so old and tired it needed a walking stick. Was that really the best he could come up with? I tried to step past him, but he moved to block me again. OK, now he was officially pissing me off.

'Callie's not here to protect you,' Drew taunted.

I smiled faintly. He just didn't get it.

'Are you satisfied now?' Lucas asked, moving to stand directly in front of me.

My eyes narrowed. What was he on about? I took a half-step back so I could keep Drew and Aaron in sight as well.

'Thanks to you and your fellow blankers, Callie is in hospital,' said Lucas. 'I warned her that she'd end up getting hurt or worse hanging around you.'

'She could do better than you at the local pig farm. You're just about the same colour as a pig, aren't you.' Aaron turned to his mates, a stupid grin plastered over his face. He really thought he'd said something profound.

Lucas, however, never took his eyes off me. 'I told her not to trust you, that you were no good. And when she regains consciousness, she'll realize I was right all along and dump you like the steaming pile of dog—'

My fists shot out. Both of them hit their target – Lucas's stomach, followed by his face when he doubled over. He dropped like a stone. Aaron charged at me. I sidestepped him, then stuck out my foot to trip him. He hit the pavement like a felled tree. Not that he stayed there long. For a guy with such a big build he was surprisingly agile.

'Blanker, you'll pay for that,' Aaron hissed at me.

He came at me, arms up, fists clenched. So I kicked him where it'd do me the most good. This time he went down and stayed down. By which time Lucas was back on his feet, though holding his nose, which was bleeding. Aaron was still rolling on the ground.

'Who's next?' I asked quietly.

No one spoke. I stepped over Aaron and continued on my way. Maybe now Drew would realize it was never me Callie was protecting, even if he – and Callie – had thought otherwise.

Once I got home, I sat on my bed, rubbing my forehead with the palm of my left hand, trying to ease away the headache that was lurking behind my eyes. It was not the time for my phone to ring. I glanced down at the screen, checking the caller's ID, but it said 'Private'. At least it wasn't McAuley bothering me. I could guess who this was. Did I really want to speak to him? I had no choice. Even so, I let it ring seven or eight times before I answered.

'Hello?'

'I thought you weren't going to answer,' Owen Dowd said at once. 'It's far too late to have second thoughts.'

'No second thoughts. No third ones. I was in the bathroom washing my hands, that's all.'

'Did you do as we agreed?'

I sighed inwardly. This man certainly didn't believe in pleasantries.

'Yes, I did. And I made sure the letter was addressed to your brother as we discussed earlier.'

'Good. Excellent. Leave the rest to me.'

I had every intention of doing just that.

'Is there anything else you want to tell me?' Owen asked.

Like what?

'I don't think so,' I replied. 'It's all working out the way you wanted.'

'That doesn't mean that either of us can get complacent.'

'No, Mr Dowd.'

'You're sure there's nothing else you want to tell me?' he said.

'Nothing, sir.'

The existence and destination of my second letter, I intended to keep to myself. Or was this his subtle way of telling me that he already knew what I was up to? But he couldn't know anything about the second letter. I'd been very careful. Owen Dowd only knew about the first shipment. Unless I'd overlooked something . . .

Tobey, calm down, I told myself. He's just fishing.

I decided not to rise to his bait.

'What other information did you find?'

'Nothing of use. Lots of complaining letters to the tax office, I think. Oh, and Byron Sweet's bank account details. He's one of McAuley's minions. But there was no password information in the file or even how much money he has in the bank. It was just . . . just . . .'

And that's when it occurred to me. Ideas flowed one after the other like the tide coming in.

'I know a way we can use Byron's bank account to our advantage,' I said, trying to dampen down my excitement in case Owen didn't go for my plan.

'I'm listening,' he said.

'It will require quite a lot of money,' I warned.

'Doesn't it always?' he replied sourly.

So I told him what I had in mind. There was a significant pause when I'd finished.

'I'll think about it,' he said at last.

I released the breath I didn't even realize I'd been holding.

'Anything else?' he asked.

'When will I be paid?'

'Once I have what I want, you'll get your money.'

'I'll look forward to it,' I replied.

'You're going to be a very rich man, Tobey.'

'Yes, sir.'

'I'll send you a banker's cheque as we agreed. Don't spend it all at once!' Owen rang off, his laughter ringing in my ears.

It was lucky for both of us that he couldn't see my expression as I disconnected the call. Just listening to him made me want to go down to the kitchen and scrub out my ear with the saucepan scourer.

Rich people were so predictable. They reckoned everyone wanted money, that everyone had their price. And for rich people there was no such thing as 'rich enough' – at least not for people like the Dowds and McAuley. Too much was never enough. That was why I was going to succeed and they were going to fail. And there wasn't enough money on the planet to stop me now.

Fifty-four

The whole of Meadowview was buzzing. McAuley's latest shipment had been hijacked by 'persons unknown'. The news was that, en route to its destination, a home shopping delivery van supposedly filled with food had been intercepted and relieved of all its contents. There was an awful lot of speculation as to what those contents might be. Some said drugs. Some said smuggled immigrants brought in as cheap labour. Some said dodgy electronic gear. All said illegal. None said food. The job was sweet (apparently), 'cause it wasn't as if McAuley could go bleating to the police about his lost merchandise. And the best thing of all was that everyone was having a really good laugh at his expense.

That, if nothing else, was enough to put McAuley on the warpath. He had to be asking himself some hard questions by now. Like how had the Dowds known about his shipment – for who else would have the brass nerve to take what belonged to McAuley? How did they know the route? Even I didn't know the answer to that question. I didn't have that information, so how did the Dowds get it? There was no way McAuley could let the hijacking of his goods stand. If he did, every minor-league, two-apenny thug would try their luck against him. So once the laughter ceased, the whole of Meadowview would be holding their breath to see how McAuley would retaliate. He was going to declare war on the Dowds over this. Still, that wasn't my problem, at least not yet. I had a more pressing dilemma.

Like, did McAuley suspect me of any involvement in this? Well, I was still breathing and walking around on two working legs, so I guessed not. But surely it was only a matter of time . . . ? I'd tried to be careful and cover my tracks, but now was not the time to get complacent. If McAuley suspected me of being involved in the loss of his merchandise, then it would only be a matter of time before I got the Ross Resnick treatment.

Fifty-five

Mum had the evening off, Jessica wasn't off to a party or to one of her friends' houses and I no longer had a job, so for once we all ate together. Mum made us spaghetti bolognese and we had a small bowl filled with grated cheddar cheese to sprinkle on top of it if we wanted. Mum reckoned she wasn't going to buy stinky cheese (as she called any cheese that originated in another country), just so she could sprinkle some on spag bol the once a fortnight we had it. We sat around the tiny table in one corner of our living room. Mum's eyes were trained on the TV in the opposite corner as she watched the early evening news. My eyes never left my sister. And it was getting on her nerves.

'What?' she silently mouthed at me, venom darting from her eyes and mouth.

'Are you OK?' I mouthed back.

Jessica glared at me and concentrated on her food. 'Mum, is there any orange juice?' she asked.

Mum turned back to the table. 'Didn't I put any out?' There were three non-matching glasses but no juice carton present. 'I'll just go and get some,' she said. She stood up and headed for the kitchen.

'Where's the rest of my stuff ?' Jessica barely waited for Mum to leave the room before she started.

'What stuff ?'

'Tobey, don't muck about. Where's my stuff ?'

'I don't know what you're talking about?' I popped a forkful of spaghetti into my mouth.

'Tobey, I'm warning you.'

'Have you told Mum yet?' I asked.

Jessica drew back slightly. 'Not yet, but I will.'

'When?'

'When I'm ready.'

'You'll never be ready,' I said. 'If you don't tell her by this weekend, I will. I mean it, Jessica. You've had long enough.'

'Tobey, give me back my stuff. I need it.' Jessica's voice was half plea, half demand.

'Is this the same stuff that you only use occasionally and that you can handle?' I asked.

'I don't need a lecture from you,' said Jessica. 'Just give it back.'

'Can't do that,' I replied. 'I flushed it down the loo.'

She stared at me, then glared at me. Without warning, she launched herself across the table, knocking the glasses and her plate flying. My chair tipped backwards and I almost ended up on the floor. Jessica was on her feet and trying to pummel all bloody hell out of my body. All I could do was try to protect myself from her feet, hands and knees. I didn't want to hurt her by seriously trying to defend myself. Mum came running into the room and tried to separate us, but Jessica was like a wild animal. She was ready to knock Mum over just to get to me.

Mum grabbed my sister's arms and shook her violently. 'Jessica, what the hell is the matter with you? What's going on?'

'He . . . He . . .' The wild stare left Jessica's eyes and she slowly returned to normal, her breathing slowing down.

'Jessica?' Mum frowned. 'D'you want to tell me what's going on?'

'Yeah, Jessica. Why don't you do that?' I said, getting to my feet. I touched a tentative finger to my mouth. I was right. My lip was bleeding. Godsake! Jessica scowled at me like she hated me, which at that moment she probably did.

'I'm waiting, and this had better be good,' said Mum. 'Which one of you is going to tell me what this was all about?'

Silence.

'Tobey has started working for McAuley, delivering drugs,' Jessica said viciously. 'He's a drug dealer.'

Huh? I stared at Jessica like I'd never seen her before. I had to hand it to my sister. I hadn't seen that one coming. At all.

'Mum, that's not true,' I protested.

'It is true, Mum. Ask anyone around here,' Jess insisted. 'Ask Dan.'

Mum looked so shocked, my heart sank. She was already three-quarters of the way towards believing my sister.

'Is that why McAuley spoke to you at the police station?' asked Mum. 'Why the police arrested you?'

'The police didn't find a thing on me, Mum. You know they didn't,' I said. 'I'm not a drug dealer. Jessica's lying.'

'Why would your sister say something so outrageous?' asked Mum.

I looked at Jessica. She scowled at me, totally defiant. We both knew that if I now told Mum what Jess had been up to, Mum would never believe me. She'd think I was just trying to get my own back.

'Tobey, are you mixed up in drug dealing in any manner, shape or form?' asked Mum. 'And I want the truth.'

One package. One frickin' package with drugs inside. That's all I'd delivered. That didn't exactly make me a drugs baron. But it didn't make my hands squeaky clean either. Suppose something had happened to Jess? What if the first package I'd delivered to Adam Eisner had contained smack and she had overdosed on the stuff I'd ferried across Meadowview? How did I know that someone else out there hadn't, no matter what drug was in the package? I looked from Jessica to Mum, unable to say a word.

Mum burst into tears.

I don't know who was more shocked, me or my sister.

'Tobey, I've shown you how that stuff destroys lives.' Mum was so disappointed in me, her words came out choked and full of sorrow. 'After all my warnings, all the things I've told you about drugs? How could you?'

I tried to put my arm around Mum, but she shrugged me off and headed out of the room. She went upstairs, her steps slow, almost like she had to drag herself upward. I listened as she closed her bedroom door. Silence surrounded me like fingers pointing. I turned to my sister. All this because she didn't want Mum to know that she needed help. Jessica actually looked ashamed of herself, but so what?

'OK, Jess. You know what? You win,' I said. 'But do me a favour? When you move on to injecting junk instead of inhaling it, do it somewhere where Mum and I won't find you if . . . when it goes wrong.'

I went into the hall, grabbed my jacket and headed out of the door. At that moment, I needed to be as far away from my sister as I could get.

Fifty-six

THE DAILY SHOUTER 16th August Page 5

BLAZE DESTROYS TFTM

At around 3 a.m. this morning, a fire broke out in the well-known exclusive celebrity eatery – Thanks For The Memories. The restaurant's sprinkler system failed, leading to extensive damage of the restaurant and the famous Club above, but no one was injured as the building was empty at the time. Although local firefighters were at the scene within ten minutes, they still had to battle for over two hours to control the inferno. Police had to be called in to control the watching crowds.

'There is some water, smoke and fire damage to the furnishings and the décor, but the structure of the building remains mostly unaffected,' said Mr Thomas, TFTM's deputy manager. 'I'm looking forward to welcoming our regular customers and all newcomers to the new and improved TFTM. We shall return bigger and better than ever before.' Mr Thomas stated that he expects his restaurant to be open for business within the next couple of months. The fire is being investigated by the police and the fire service. A spokeswoman for the Fire Department stated that because the fire took hold of the building and blazed so quickly, arson has not been ruled out.

It had begun.

Fifty-seven

There was something I needed to sort out for Callie whilst I still had the chance. And if I could just find this out for her, then I'd have something to say the next time I visited her. Was that what Callie was waiting for? News as to whether or not she was safe from her uncle? Is that what she needed to wake up?

I didn't want to put it off any longer. I headed next door, even though the thought of being dissected by Sephy Hadley's penetrating gaze didn't appeal. At all. I could still remember her expression when she saw me kissing Rebecca. But it wasn't Callie's mum I needed to see. I took a deep breath and rang the doorbell, hoping against hope that Sephy wouldn't be the one to open the door. Surprise! Surprise! For once, good luck was running with me.

'Hi, Meggie.'

'Hello, Tobey.'

'I wondered if I could have a word with you in private.' I looked past Meggie up the stairs, then into the kitchen at the end of the hall.

'Sephy's at the hospital visiting Callie, if that's who you're looking for,' Meggie said, amused.

'No,' I denied quickly. 'It was you I wanted to speak to.'

Meggie looked surprised, but she ushered me into the living room. After waiting for me to sit down, she sat opposite. It took her a bit longer than it took me. Once she was comfortable, she looked at me expectantly.

'Meggie, I need to ask you something.'

'Oh, yes?'

'It's about your son.'

Meggie's gaze was instantly watchful. 'Which one?' she asked.

'Jude.'

'What about him?'

There was no easy way to say this, so I'd just have to spit it out.

Date: 2015-12-18; view: 556