Nineteen
‘It’s really not that uncomfortable,’ Cheshire said.
‘Are you pulling my leg, Barry?’ The basement was a good size, but with the exception of one small area it was dank, smelly and seriously cold. Even that dimly lit corner of it which Barry Cheshire had been calling home was … Miller’s thought -process came to a sharp halt as he corrected himself.
It wasn’t a basement, it was a sodding cellar.
Basement was just another stupid Americanism that people had taken to using, like reach out to or so fun, or how do you like them apples?
which, in Miller’s opinion, was a question that should only ever be asked by a greengrocer seeking customer feedback.
Worst of all was gotten, which drove Miller barmy.
He’d heard Tony Clough saying it once (‘I was in a right good mood because I’d gotten two meat pies for the price of one’) and, for the rest of that day, whenever he’d been passing Clough’s desk Miller had fought the urge to lean down and slap him.
Ask him how he liked them apples.
This was a cellar, simple as that, and – the dimensions and ad hoc ‘bedroom area’ aside – was not unlike the one beneath Miller’s place or the house a few miles from this one in which he’d grown up.
There were a handful of swankier areas (even if swanky was very much a relative term in Blackpool) where a cellar might have been dug out, rechristened the ‘lower ground floor’ and transformed into a home cinema or a Pilates studio or what have you.
More often than not, though, it served no grander purpose than to store all the manky/broken/ugly shit you might have needed at some point in the past and might one day need again, but didn’t actually want or have room for in the house.
Old tins of paint, pointless bits of wood, a knackered stepladder …
People made some terrible decisions, always had and always would.
In 1962, a man called Dick Rowe had failed to sign the Beatles when he had the chance.
JFK had plumped for a convertible on his trip to Dallas, and people still bought tickets to see Coldplay.
A few years earlier, Miller had joined those less than distinguished ranks himself, when he’d decided that the cellar would be the ideal place to store the hefty sacks of rat food he bought for Fred and Ginger every few months.
In retrospect, the flaw in his thinking was not difficult to spot; every bit as easy, in fact, as it proved to be for a great many local rodents far less cuddly than Fred and Ginger to pop by for a nibble, and turn Miller’s cellar, overnight, into their ratty restaurant of choice.
‘That is pretty high up on the list of daftest things you’ve ever done,’ Alex had said at the time. ‘And it’s a very long list.’
‘Plus, I’ve got everything I need within arm’s reach,’ Cheshire said now.
Cradling his wonky sausage dog, he continued walking towards the least horrible corner of the cellar, Miller close behind him.
He nodded towards the freshly ironed shirts and trousers lined up on a rusty hanging rail.
A pile of neatly folded T-shirts was squared away in a cardboard box beneath, with socks and underwear balled up on top.
‘It’s actually a lot comfier than it looks. ’
‘Well, it definitely couldn’t look any less comfy.
’ Miller stared at the bare brick walls and the pitted cement floor; the camp bed and the armchair that must surely have had things living in it.
He’d been in the cellar only five minutes and felt about ready to top himself.
He couldn’t begin to fathom how Barry Cheshire had been managing to live down here.
‘I’ve got a nice Ikea lamp.’ Cheshire pointed to the cobbled together assortment of fixtures and fittings as though showing off an expensive apartment. ‘A microwave, a heater … and there’s a telly, see?’
Miller nodded and brushed a cobweb from his sleeve.
‘I did tell you that it was an unusual arrangement,’ Cheshire said. ‘When I was at the station. Me and Stacey.’
‘Yeah, but there’s unusual and there’s … mental.’
‘I know it seems a bit strange at first glance.’
‘And second glance,’ Miller said. ‘And after a good hard look. This is your house, Barry.’
‘Right, I get that—’
‘It’s in your name, and I know that because I checked.’
‘I didn’t want to make a fuss, that’s all.’ Cheshire leaned in to wipe dust from the top of the portable television. ‘With me still not coping with the whole coming out of the army thing, and Stacey and Darren being together, it seemed like the easiest thing to do at the time.’
‘Well, they’re not together any more, are they?’
Cheshire looked at the floor, clutching his dog a little tighter. ‘No.’
‘So I’m guessing it’s all going to change now,’ Miller said. ‘Your arrangement.’
‘I suppose.’ Cheshire raised his head and saw that Miller was looking for something. ‘What are you after?’
‘I don’t remember seeing a kettle down here, that’s all.’
‘You want tea?’
‘I thought you’d never ask.’ Miller hurried across to the narrow flight of stone stairs. He stopped halfway up and cocked his head. ‘What’s that?’
‘What’s what?’
Miller listened, leaned an ear close to the wall. ‘Like a faint … squeaking.’
‘Oh, that’s a violin,’ Cheshire said. ‘The woman two doors up practises the violin in her basement, which, as you can imagine, is a bit nicer than this one. She’s actually in some local orchestra, so she must be pretty good.’
‘Right … it’s difficult to tell.’ Miller continued to listen.
Cheshire set Ruby down and, as if to protest at the cessation of cuddles, she immediately weed on the floor. Once Cheshire had grabbed some tissues and knelt to clean it up, he laid her down in a basket next to the bed and trudged up the stairs behind Miller. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘You hear this woman playing her violin a lot, do you?’
‘A couple of times a week, maybe.’ Cheshire looked at Miller. ‘What?’
‘Nothing. It’s just that you’ve been insisting that you slept through whatever happened when Darren Grant was killed, but obviously sound carries fairly well between these houses.’
‘Yeah, it does. Thin walls, lots of vents.’
‘So, I don’t quite understand how you didn’t hear what was happening right outside this one.’ Miller looked up. ‘Directly above you, near enough.’
‘Er … because I was asleep?’ Cheshire stared as though Miller was an idiot.
‘I hear that woman playing her violin when I’m awake, but once I’m out for the count I can sleep through anything.
It’s something you learn to do in the army.
’ He moved past Miller and carried on up towards the kitchen.
‘Something you pretty much have to do whenever you get the chance.’
Miller followed him, then sat and watched from the kitchen table as Cheshire made the tea.
‘Actually, I did wake up once,’ Cheshire said.
‘Just briefly, when Ruby started barking. That’s always going to wake me, because I’m sort of attuned to it and I always wake up in a flash if she barks, in case she’s in pain or whatever.
On top of which she sleeps with me, right next to my head most of the time, so—’
‘You don’t know what made her bark?’
‘No idea. I sat up and listened for a few minutes, but there was nothing. I couldn’t hear anything at all, so we both just went back to sleep.’ He carried two mugs of tea to the table.
‘Where’s Stacey now?’ Miller asked.
‘Her sister came to pick her up when she got home from the station. I think she’ll be staying there for a while. Sorting everything out, you know. Darren’s funeral, or whatever.’
Miller should probably have talked a little about grief counselling or some such, but based on iffy personal experience it wasn’t something he had much truck with. That wasn’t where his mind went, anyway. He said, ‘You get to sleep in your own bed again. So that’s a result.’
‘Oh.’ Cheshire stared into his mug. ‘I hadn’t really thought about it.’
‘Blimey, it’s the first thing I’d have been thinking about. I mean, let’s be serious, Barry.’ Miller pointed to the floor. ‘An Ikea lamp and a tiny TV are all well and good, but it’s hardly Grand Designs down there. It’s properly minging, mate.’
Cheshire nodded in reluctant agreement. ‘I suppose I’ve learned to cope with stuff. Been trained for it, you might say.’ He slurped at his tea. ‘I’m just not that fussy any more.’
As soon as the tea was finished, Miller decided it was high time he told Barry Cheshire what he’d come to tell him. The good news and the bad news. Cheshire listened very carefully, then said. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘I didn’t think you would,’ Miller said. ‘I’m not altogether sure I do, because it doesn’t make a fat lot of sense.’
‘First off, how the hell does this drug … kingpin even know who I am or where I live?’
It was a perfectly reasonable question and Miller saw little point in tarting up the answer.
‘The people who run these organisations have all manner of sources, and one or two of them almost certainly wear uniforms. Coppers passing on the odd snippet to local villains for a wodge of cash every week. My guess is they knew all about you five minutes after you walked into the station the other day.’
‘That’s a bit bloody disturbing,’ Cheshire said. ‘But presuming you’re right, why the hell is he trying to kill me?’
‘First of all, you need to know that, in this particular instance, we’re talking about a woman, so in the interests of accuracy we should probably say queenpin.
She took over the firm when her husband got put away.
’ Miller grinned. ‘When I put him away.’ He raised his hands.
‘No, really, don’t feel the need to applaud. It’s what I do.’
‘OK, so why is she trying to kill me?’
‘Well, whoever her source is got the wrong end of the stick, same as we all did. So she thinks you killed Ezra Simmons, who, in a manner of speaking, worked for her, and people like Jacqui Cutler are always looking over their shoulder, watching out for people having a pop at them.’
‘She’s this … queenpin then, is she?’
Miller nodded. Perhaps he shouldn’t have mentioned Jacqui Cutler by name, but it had slipped out and he didn’t really see that it could do any harm.
‘They do whatever they think they need to do to protect their position or even just their reputation. She felt threatened when she thought someone had killed Simmons, so killing you sends a message to whoever you’re working for.
Whoever it is that’s coming after her and looking to claim her territory. ’
‘Nobody’s coming after her though, are they?
Because I’m not working for anybody and because no one killed that daft little git in the park.
He tripped over his dog.’ Cheshire did not seem nearly as alarmed as Miller thought he should be, clearly finding the whole thing as irritating as it was ridiculous.
‘Right, but she doesn’t know that yet.’
‘And does she know that she didn’t actually kill the man responsible? The man she thinks is responsible?’
‘She soon will,’ Miller said. ‘Because I’m going to tell her.’
‘You think that’s a good idea?’
‘I won’t know until I’ve done it, but either way it’s going to be a hoot.’
Cheshire took a few moments to process what Miller was telling him, and finally, there was a glimmer of concern.
‘Right … so, is this not going to put me in danger? She thinks I killed one of her dealers, so she puts a hit out on me. Then, thanks to you, she finds out her hitman killed the wrong bloke and that I’m still alive and well.
Is there not even the smallest chance she might decide to have another crack? ’
Miller waved the concern away. ‘No chance at all. Once I’ve been to see her, she’ll know we’re on to her, so she’d be very stupid to try anything like that. She’s lots of things, but she’s not stupid.’
‘OK, well, if you’re sure.’
‘Having said all that, you might be best off in a safe house. Just for a week or so. We can arrange to have you moved later today.’
Cheshire looked confused again. ‘Hang about, what happened to her not trying anything?’
‘Oh, I stand by that,’ Miller said. ‘A hundred per cent. But people can sometimes surprise you, can’t they?’
‘What happened to me being back in my own bed?’
‘It’s just about not taking chances, Barry. That’s all. They should actually call it a “better to be safe than sorry” house.’
‘No thank you.’ Cheshire folded his arms and sat back. ‘I’m going nowhere.’
‘It’s your call, but at the very least let us put a squad car outside.’ He saw Cheshire start to shake his head. ‘Or just make sure a car drives past a couple of times a night.’
Cheshire told Miller it was time to walk Ruby and stood up to show him out.
On the doorstep, Miller said, ‘I’ve been giving a bit more thought to our discussion last night. Well, first thing this morning, really.’
Cheshire looked blank.
‘Biscuits.’ When Miller closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, he caught a gorgeous whiff of something warm and sweet with a hint of ginger. ‘I’ve been thinking a bit more about the smell of those biscuits.’
‘Listen, I hardly know you, Detective Sergeant,’ Cheshire said. ‘You seem like a decent sort, so I hope you won’t think I’m talking out of turn, but it does strike me that you’re thinking about this biscuit business a little too much.’
‘You might be right,’ Miller said. ‘I do have a tendency to dwell on things that few people would deem particularly important. Or of any importance at all, come to that. The fact remains, however, that we have a constant smell of freshly baked biscuits and we never even considered the urge it must provoke in most people to eat them. To immediately reach for the biscuit tin, you know? So chances are that what you’ve got around here, what with everybody smelling the biscuits then scoffing them like they’re going out of fashion, is a higher-than-average obesity problem.
’ He smiled, knowingly. ‘Or so you would have thought.’
‘I honestly wouldn’t,’ Cheshire said. ‘I wouldn’t have thought any such thing.’
‘Until you factor in this area’s other notable feature, and that is the extremely high rates of addiction to Class-A drugs.
’ Miller turned to stare across the rooftops towards the Burton’s factory and took in another whiff of freshly baked gorgeousness.
‘Essentially, what you’re looking at is an unusual example of a delicate social equilibrium.
On the one hand, you’ve got your inevitable over-indulgence in biscuits, which is bound to make some people a bit …
porky. But you’ve also got a fair number of locals putting away shedloads of smack and crack and all the other Class-As which, if nothing else, tend to be super handy when it comes to losing weight.
It’s swings and roundabouts, when you think about it.
It’s yin and yang, with crystal meth and Maryland Cookies. ’
Highly chuffed with his analysis of the situation, Miller turned back round, only to discover that Barry Cheshire had already closed his front door and gone back inside.