Remote control, p.18
Remote Control, page 18
I said, ‘It’s really important, we might see somebody we know. Then we can give the tape to Daddy and he can find out who was shouting at him. Anybody that you think you might know, like Melissa’s dad or the man at the grocery store, or even the men who came to see Daddy, tell me and we can have a closer look, OK?’
I started to fast-forward, stopping the tape whenever there was traffic. I logged what they looked like: male, female, black, white, Asian; and what they were wearing: black on blue, red on blue.
The game wasn’t as much fun for Kelly the second time round.
‘What about him?’ I enthused.
‘No.’
‘That lady?’
‘No.’
‘You sure you’ve never seen this man?’
‘Never!’
At last she spotted somebody she knew. I rewound the tape. ‘Who is he?’
‘Mr Mooner on Fox Kids.’
‘OK, I’ll write that down.’
Another guy started to walk up the stairs. I stopped the tape and rewound. ‘Do you know him?’
She shook her head.
I said, ‘Well, I know somebody who looks exactly like him. I used to work with a man who could never remember where he left things, and one day we hid his false teeth and he had to eat soup all week!’ She had a little laugh and it kept her going a bit longer.
At 11.45 we were still going through the tape and logging. I stopped at two men who were going in together.
‘Do you know either of them, because I don’t, I can’t think of anybody who looks like them.’ I was racking my brains trying to think of another story to keep her interested.
‘No, I don’t know them.’
‘Oh all right then. Just a couple more, then we’ll do something else.’ I started to fast-forward, saw a figure coming out of the building, rewound and played it.
She moved to the edge of the bed. ‘I know that man,’ she said.
I pressed freeze-frame. I was looking at a black guy in his mid-thirties.
‘Who is he?’
‘He came to see Daddy with the other men.’
I tried to sound calm. ‘What’s his name? Do you know any of their names?’
‘Can I go home and see Mommy now? You said I could go home tomorrow and now it’s tomorrow.’
‘We have to sort this out first, Kelly. Daddy needs to know their names. He can’t remember.’
I was trying to do the psychology bit, but I knew more about fly-fishing now than I did about child psychology.
She shook her head.
‘Daddy knew them, though, didn’t he?’
‘Yes, he knew them. They came to see Daddy.’
‘Can you remember anything else about them? Were they smoking?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t think so.’
‘Did any of them have glasses?’
‘I think this man had glasses.’
I looked closer at the screen. He wore thin wire frames.
‘OK, were they wearing rings or anything?’
‘I don’t know.’
I tried the colour of the car, their shoes, their coats. Did they talk to each other using different names? Were they American?
She was starting to get upset, but I had to know.
I said, ‘Kelly, are you sure this man came to see Daddy the day I found you?’
Her eyes were welling up. I’d gone too far.
‘Don’t cry.’ I put my arm around her. ‘It’s OK. This man came with the other men, yes?’
I felt her nod.
‘That’s very good because I can give this information to Daddy when I see him and that will help catch them. You see, you’ve helped him!’
She looked up at me. There was a slight smile under the tears.
If she was right, then what we had was one of the people who’d killed Kev coming out of an office that was fronting for PIRA.
There was still more tape to run. I tried to sound upbeat. ‘OK, then, let’s have a look and see if we can see the other men. They were black too, weren’t they?’
‘No, white.’
‘Oh yes, of course.’
We carried on through the tape. I came out with a possible ID of Nelson Mandela, and she saw Michael Jackson. Apart from that, jack shit.
‘Can we go home now and show this to Daddy? He must be better now. You said so, if we saw anyone.’
I was digging myself deeper. ‘No, not yet. I have to make sure that he is the man who came to see Daddy. But not long now, not long.’
I lay on the bed pretending to read the fishing mag. My heart was beating loud and slow. I was trying to keep to my game plan of only concentrating on the matter in hand, but I couldn’t. Why would Kev be killed by people who knew him? Were Luther and co the same group? They must be. What did Kev know, or what was he involved in? Why would he tell me about his problem if he was corrupt? Were the DEA investigating PIRA and drug dealing? Maybe Kev was, and the murders were carried out by PIRA or the drug dealers because of something he had done or was about to do? But why did they know him?
Conjecture would get me nowhere. It was just a waste of time and effort. Kelly was stretched out beside me and was looking at the magazine. It was a strange feeling having her head on my chest. I moved my arm around her to look at my watch. She thought I was going to cuddle her.
It was nearly time for Pat to call. I got up and switched on the mobile phone, then stood by the window, pulling a gap in the curtain, looking at the highway through the rain, deciding my next phase. I tried to think of a good RV. It wouldn’t be secure to meet again at the shopping mall.
Dead on time the phone rang.
‘Hello?’
‘Hello, mate.’ I could hear the traffic going past a call box.
‘Things are happening,’ I said. ‘I need an RV.’
‘In two hours, is that OK?’
‘Two hours. Union Station all right for you?’
‘Er … Union … yep, no problems.’ He sounded spaced out.
I’d travelled through the terminus a few times before and could remember its layout. ‘Come in through the main entrance,’ I said. ‘Go up to the top floor, to the coffee bar facing the stairs. Buy a cup of coffee, sit down and wait. I’ll pick you up there, OK?’
There was a long, worrying pause. ‘Is that OK, Pat?’
‘I’ll be there. See yer.’ The line went dead.
Union Station is the main Amtrak station in Washington, DC. It is so grand and elegant that it should be in Paris, not here in the home of the breeze-block and dark-wood veneer. At most major railway stations in the world you expect to find the seedier side of life, but not so at Union. The ticketing, check-in and baggage-handling areas look like part of a modern airport. There’s even a first-class lounge. You don’t see the trains because they’re behind screens and, in any case, you’d be much too distracted by the shopping mall, the food hall, the coffee shops, even a five-screen cinema. More importantly for me, however, I remembered it as a big, busy location, and, because of the Easter holiday, I knew there’d be a big transient population of people from out of town, who would know nothing of the events at Hunting Bear Path.
A cab got us to the station early. There was just under an hour to kill, so I made the most of it shopping for items I’d be needing for the CTR of the PIRA office, besides the stuff I’d already bought at Walmart. Now that Kelly had confirmed the black guy, the only option was to get in there and have a look around.
I bought a Polaroid camera and six packs of film; a pair of cheap and nasty fibre coveralls; more rolls of gaffer tape and Sellotape; heavy-duty scissors that promised I could cut through a shiny new penny with them; a Leatherman, a tool that’s a bit like a Swiss Army knife; trainers; rubber gloves; batteries; clingfilm; a plastic bottle of orange juice with a large spout; a box of large drawing pins; a box of twelve eggs; and a quartz kitchen clock, 9 inches in diameter. Kelly looked at it all and raised an eyebrow, but didn’t ask.
By one forty I had a couple of carrier bags full of gear, as well as the books and time-wasters I’d had to put in her basket to keep her involved.
I remembered the beautiful tiled flooring in the entrance hall, but I’d forgotten the cathedral-high ceilings. In the middle was a rotunda shape with a news-stand and groups of tables outside. Above it, reached by a flight of stairs, was a restaurant. It was absolutely perfect for what I needed.
We were greeted at the top by a waitress.
I smiled. ‘Table for two, please.’
‘Smoking or non-smoking?’
I pointed at a table right at the back. ‘Can we have that one?’
We sat down and I put the bags under the table. I couldn’t see the main entrance, but I’d be able to see Pat heading towards the coffee shop because that was further into the main part of the station and up a level.
The waitress came to take the drinks order. I asked for two Cokes and said, ‘I’m ready to order now, if that’s all right? We’ll take a nine-inch pizza.’
Kelly looked up. ‘Can we have extra mushrooms, please?’
I nodded at the waitress and she left.
Kelly smiled. ‘I am just like my mommy. We both like extra mushrooms. Daddy says we must be forest pixies!’ She smiled again, wanting a reaction.
‘That’s nice,’ I said. This was a conversation that needed nipping in the bud.
Kelly got stuck into her Coke, obviously enjoying being able to watch real people for a change.
Pat was early and wore the same clothes as a VDM (visual distinguishing mark). Either that or the fucker simply hadn’t changed. As he walked past and below me, something about him didn’t seem right. There was a very slight stagger in his stride, and I knew it wouldn’t have come from drinking too much beer. I feared the worst.
I carried on doing my checks, covering his arse to protect my own.
I gave it about five minutes, got up and said to Kelly, ‘I have to go to the toilet. I won’t be long.’ On the way out, I asked the waitress to keep an eye on Kelly and our bags.
Another set of doors took me into the main ticketing and train area. The place was heaving; half of the USA must have been on the move. Even the air-conditioning was finding it too much: the combination of heat and wet from the people made it feel like a greenhouse. I joined the packed crowds slowly shuffling up to the top floor.
He was in the queue at the coffee shop, with about three or four people ahead of him. Very hale and hearty, I went over and slapped him on the back. ‘Pat! What are you doing here?’
Reciprocating my big smile, he said, ‘I’m here to meet somebody.’ His pupils were as big as saucers.
‘Me too. You got time for a Micky D’s?’
‘Yeah, yeah, why not?’
We started to walk beyond the coffee shop, following exit signs through automatic doors, and took the escalator up to the multi-storey car park.
Pat was a step or two above. He looked down at me, puzzled. ‘What the fuck’s a Micky D?’
‘McDonald’s,’ I said, as if he should have known. But, then, he didn’t have a seven-year-old on his case day and night. ‘Come on, mate, get with the programme!’
He started to do a Michael Jackson moondance.
By now we were nearly at the bus station level. I said, ‘If there’s a drama I’m going to the bus station area, turning right and out of an exit.’
‘Fine. No problems!’ He sounded OK, but looked shit.
The cars were on the two levels above. We walked up the bare concrete stairs, stopped at the first level and got into a position that looked back the way we had come.
I didn’t have time to fuck about. ‘Two things, mate. I’ve got a list here I didn’t fancy reading to you over a landline.’ I passed it over. ‘I need all that kit. And the other thing, what’s the score on the money?’
He was already looking at the small notebook I’d handed him. Either he was amazed at the contents or he couldn’t focus. Without looking up he said, ‘I got some money for you today. But, fucking hell, most of it’s going to be used up on this gear. I’ll be able to get you some more, probably tomorrow or the day after. Fuck me,’ he shook his head, ‘when do you want all this by?’ Then he started to giggle as if he’d just had a funny in his head and wasn’t going to share it with me.
‘Actually, tonight, mate. You reckon you can do it, or what?’ I moved my head to get eye-to-eye.
The giggle became a laugh, until he saw me looking serious. He cleared his throat and tried to switch on. ‘I’ll do my best, mate. I’ll see what I can get on this list.’
‘I’d really fucking appreciate it,’ I said. ‘Don’t let me down, Pat. I really need your help.’ I hoped the urgency was going to register with him. I was still checking down the stairs. ‘Also at the back there’ – I opened the page for him to make sure he saw it – ‘I’ve put a casual pick-up. I need that to happen at twenty-three hundred tonight.’
Pat was looking at the RV notes. I bent my knees to lower myself and moved his face over so I could get eye-to-eye again. ‘Eleven o’clock tonight, mate. Eleven o’clock, OK?’
I knew Pat well enough to tell he knew it was serious. He knew he was fucked up, and was trying hard to understand everything I said.
I was glad now that I’d put the details down on paper for him. He looked as if he needed all the help he could get.
‘What car do you drive?’ I asked.
‘A red Mustang.’ He pushed his face closer to mine. ‘Redder than Satan’s bollocks!’ He enjoyed the joke so much he couldn’t help laughing.
‘Leave via H Street.’ I pointed away from the rear of the station.
‘See you tonight, then,’ he smiled, moving off. From behind I could see a slight veer to the left as he walked.
I waited and checked he wasn’t being followed, then carried on up towards the car park level, making it look as if I was off to my car. From there, I took the lift back down to the coffee shop level.
I went back towards the restaurant, stood off and watched. Kelly was still fighting with the pizza.
‘You were ages!’ she said through a mouthful of mushrooms.
‘Yes, they ran out of toilet paper,’ I laughed as I rejoined her.
She thought about it for a moment and did the same.
22
AS SOON AS we got back I put the TV on for Kelly and tipped out the carrier bags on my bed. She asked me what I was doing.
‘I’m just helping Pat. He’s asked me to do some stuff. You can watch the TV if you want. You hungry?’
‘No.’ She was right, after a pizza the size of a tank mine it was a stupid question.
I picked up the big red-and-white-framed quartz kitchen clock and went and sat on the chair by the window. I broke off the frame until I was left with just the hands and clock face, with the quartz mechanics behind it. By bending it very gently, I now started to break off the plastic face. When there was just about an inch of jagged remains around the centre of the hands I finally snapped off the hour and second hands. Only the minute hand was left. I put in a new battery.
Kelly was watching. ‘Now what are you doing, Nick?’
‘It’s a trick. Once I’ve finished I’ll show you, OK?’
‘OK.’ She turned back to the TV, but with one eye on me.
I took the egg box over to the bin and tipped out its contents. I ripped off the top and half of the bottom so that there were just six compartments left. With Sellotape, I fashioned a small sleeve running all the way up the side of the egg box, and just big enough to accommodate the minute hand. I called over to Kelly, who was mouthing the signature tune to a soap. ‘Do you want to see what this does?’
She looked intrigued as I slotted the egg box onto the minute hand.
The bedside cabinet was about four inches below the level of the TV’s controls. I positioned the clock on it, so that it was directly below the infra-red sensor on the set, and secured it in place with gaffer tape.
Kelly was taking even more interest. ‘What are you doing?’
‘See the remote control? Use it to turn the sound up.’
She did.
‘Now turn it down. OK, I bet you that, in about fifteen minutes’ time, you can’t turn the sound up.’ I went and joined her on the bed. ‘Both of us must sit here and not move, OK?’
‘OK.’ She thought I was going to do something to the remote control, and smiled as she hid it under the pillow.
It was quite nice really, watching TV during some downtime, apart from every minute hearing ‘Is it fifteen minutes yet?’
‘No, only seven.’ By now the egg box, attached to the minute hand, was working its way up towards the base of the TV.
When the egg box was upright and obscuring the sensor I said, ‘Go on then, try to turn the sound up.’
She did and nothing happened.
‘Maybe it’s the battery?’ I teased.
We put a fresh battery into the remote control. Still nothing. She couldn’t work it out and I wasn’t going to explain my trick.
‘Magic!’ I grinned.
I got out the rest of the stuff, drank some of the orange juice and rinsed out the container, then made sure that all the electrical kit had fresh batteries, and prepared everything ready to be packed.
It was about twenty past ten and Kelly was asleep. I’d have to wake her up and tell her I was going out, because I didn’t want her to wake on her own and start flapping. At times I thought she was just a pain in the arse, but I wanted to protect her. She looked so innocent playing starfish again. What would happen to her after all this, I wondered – presuming she lived.
I checked and tested everything again, unplugged the mobile and put it in my pocket, and finally checked my weapon and that I had some cash. I picked up a half-empty packet of biscuits to eat on the way.
Close to her ear, I whispered, ‘Kelly!’
I got no response. I shook her a bit. She stirred and I said, ‘I’ve put the TV on low so you can watch it if you want. I’ve just got to go out for a little while.’
‘Yeah.’
I didn’t know if she understood or not. I preferred telling her this when she was half asleep.
‘Don’t put the lock on this time because I’ll take the key. I don’t want to wake you when I come in, OK?’
