Chapter Three
Rhyllann Jones walked away from the Police Station with a vague sense of injustice at having been kept waiting so long, just to confirm his name had been spelt correctly in statements.
Street lights were beginning to flicker on; although the sun lingered unseen behind high rise tower blocks, the bright blue sky was beginning to smudge: It would be dark within half an hour, it must be nearly eight. He hadn’t eaten for twenty-four hours. No wonder his stomach grumbled, and he could kill for even a mouthful of coke, but first he needed to talk to Wren. If he hurried he might just make visiting hours.
Rhyllann barely took a dozen steps when a hand clamped on his shoulder, spinning him round. Squinting upwards, he found himself being scrutinised by the fat shouty bastard from the station. He recognised the jacket first, it looked like one of Lurch’s castoff’s draped over plank like shoulders to droop unevenly to mid thigh, parts of the black leather worn to green and faded completely in some places. What had that other guy called him? Rhyllann shrugged in a vain attempt to dislodge the shovel like hand as he tried to remember.
‘What now?’
A row of jumbled teeth appeared in a smile, Crombie’s eyes glistened with amusement. China blue in colour, they seemed much younger than the rest of his face.
‘Can’t have you roaming the streets of London looking like that son. You’ll frighten the horses. Come on – I’ll give you a lift home.’
Jeez. The last thing he needed: A copper poking around his house.
‘I gotta get back to the hospital. Apparently my cousin’s awake.’ He protested. Crombie tightened his grip, steering him over to a tired looking green estate.
‘I’ll give you a lift.’ He repeated. Rhyllann groaned again, this wasn’t just a copper, it was a Detective Inspector or some such stuff. He tried a smile, which usually worked on adults who didn’t know him too well.
‘Thank you. Erm .. thank you Sir.’
The flattery seemed to work, the pincher like grip disappeared, although his feet almost left the ground as the copper’s hand slapped his shoulder, and in gravely tones introduced himself as Detective Inspector Crombie.
The car reeked of wet dogs and stale smoke, crisp packets littered the floor and paperwork covered the passenger seat. Rhyllann waited while the detective chucked it into the rear before climbing in. Crombie made him buckle up before starting the engine, then nodded at a bulging brown paper bag.
‘Thought you might be hungry.’
The hamburger was still warm. Removing the detested gherkin, Rhyllann tore into the meat pattie, pausing only to swig down coke. Without looking at him Crombie said.
‘There’s some tissues in the glove box – wipe your face. Sorry son, I’ve mislaid my comb.’
Crombie had dense dark hair, cropped in a failed attempt at neatness. At present it stuck out at all angles. If he ever wore a red and black striped jumper, he’d look like Dennis the Menace grown up.
Rhyllann grinned then burped. ‘’S’cuse me. Thanks.’
‘Well, can’t have you screaming police brutality.’ Crombie drove like an old woman, slowing down for amber lights.
‘Nice car.’ Rhyllann lied, trying to make conversation. Metal grinded against metal as Crombie climbed gears. To break the embarrassing silence he asked.
‘Has my cousin given a description of the two men who attacked him?’
Checking his rear view mirror for the hundredth time, Crombie shook his head.
‘I haven’t spoken to him yet. We've reports of another incident involving an unfamiliar BMW in your Gran’s neighbourhood.’ His eyes flickered from the mirror, to the road, before glancing sideways at Rhyllann.
‘Lucky for your Gran you returned just when you did.’
Rhyllann grunted through a mouthful of chips, savouring their saltiness. Lucky was the word. For the past two weeks, everything had run like clockwork, he’d managed to stay out of trouble, just as he promised mum before she took off for Eastern Europe on one of her missions. Late last night though, he’d discovered that a textbook he needed to complete homework already overdue was missing.
He knew who to blame too. Wren; Everything that went wrong in Rhyllann’s life could be traced to Wren. Eventually, unable to sleep, he’d jogged round to Gran’s house and found himself starring in a B movie. To draw the intruders from Gran’s front room, where they were apparently torturing Wren for some reason, he’d vandalised their car. His half arsed plan succeeded even better than he’d hoped. The car alarm bleeped urgently, and while the men rushed into the street to inspect the car's damage, he’d managed to sprint back to Gran’s house with his heart in his mouth and slam the door on their faces. Not before one managed to clutch a hand around his throat. Rhyllann had simply sprinted faster, tearing away from the deathly grip. He just knew he would have nightmares about their murderous expressions for months to come.
Somehow he also knew Crombie already knew all this. Rhyllann’s statement had been taken at Wren’s hospital bedside, with only one small lie. Desperate not to land up with a social worker, he’d pretended to be staying with Gran, giving the excuse that he’d crept out late at night to visit his own house to retrieve a maths text book, returning just in time to avert disaster.
Rhyllann’s deepening suspicion that Crombie knew the whole truth was confirmed when he spoke again.
‘Funny thing son. I went through your Gran’s house myself. I found two identical maths books in your cousin’s room. How do you suppose that happened?’
Rhyllann thought about explaining that weird stuff happened around Wren, but settled for a shrug. He loved his younger cousin, but just wished he lived further away. Like Australia or somewhere.
Crombie changed tactics. ‘Anything unusual happen yesterday?’
Rhyllann looked at his profile in disbelief.
‘Apart from your Gran’s intruders I mean. Has she been threatened recently? Upset anyone?’
‘Yeah. My Gran. The Drug Baron.’ Rhyllann drawled.
‘Look son, I’m trying to help. This is all off the record. Just you and me. An informal chat.’
Rhyllann wanted to sneer again, but Crombie sounded sincere. And he had sprung for a McDonald’s. Plus anyone who drove a clapped out wreck like this had to be straight. Instead he wracked his brains, yesterday only seemed a lifetime ago. He began thinking out loud.
‘Nothing really. Apart from a fight earlier.’ He hadn’t been in a fight for months but … ‘I was walking this girl home see, we heard all this noise – cheering and that. Some kids, well … one of the bigger kids had Wren’s bag, chucking his stuff around.’ Rhyllann paused. That was unusual. Coleman fancied himself a hard man, but even he didn’t usually pick on Wren.
‘So of course, I got stuck in. Saw them off.’ Saw Becky Roberts off too. Rhyllann groaned at the memory of Becky stalking off nose in the air. Leaving him and Wren scrabbling around on the pavement for books and pencils. That’s when it happened.
‘The Devil’s Stagecoach.’ Rhyllann murmured.
‘What?’
Rhyllann shook himself mentally, feeling foolish as he explained.
‘Devil’s Stagecoach Beetle. Wren said “Look – haven’t seen one of those for years”.’ He grinned at Crombie’s incomprehension.
‘An insect. If you touch it, it waves its little tail around like a sword or something. And Wren’s like “Have you got a matchbox or pencil case or anything?’” He frowned at the sudden image of Wren, rooting around in his bag.
‘And I’m like worried someone might see me playing with bugs.’
Losing patience Rhyllann had shovelled books and sports kits back carelessly.
‘The bus came then, so I just grabbed him and threw him on.’ Rhyllann realised he was prattling, but didn’t seem to be able to stop as waves of fatigue swept through him.
‘Huh huh,’ said Crombie, looking puzzled. ‘But you didn’t get on yourself?’
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br /> They drove on in silence, Rhyllann kept his lips clamped.
‘I’ve been round your house too.’ Crombie gave another sideways glance. ‘I’ve got your story now son. I’ll tell you what happened.’
Rhyllann clamped his lips tighter, biting down in an effort to stay alert, wondering what the old so-and-so had managed to dig up, wishing he’d never climbed into this junk heap, Crombie’s driving was beginning to make him car sick.
‘Your mum’s away, that part’s true. You couldn’t bear the thought of staying with Granny, you’ve been home alone – am I right?’
Rhyllann stared straight ahead. Then nodded.
‘Does she often leave you?’ Crombie used his gentle voice again.
Rhyllann spoke quickly. ‘She didn’t leave me. I promised I’d stay round Gran’s. Mum wanted me to go with her and David. Her husband.’ He swivelled to face Crombie – maybe if he tried to be honest. Taking a deep breath, he surprised himself as it all spilled out:
‘I do try at school. I’m not clever, not with schoolwork. But I’m in the air cadets, and I can fly. It’s like breathing for me. There’s nothing like it. And I want to join the RAF. To fly. And I need my GCSEs.’ Rhyllann shredded the tissue in his hands. It felt like a confession; admitting this dream out loud for the first time. Everyone assumed he attended air cadets to chat up girls and boss younger kids around. Only Wren knew; somehow.
‘I would have fallen behind, and once I fall behind, I’ll never catch up.’ He sounded a complete dork, the chances of a kid like him getting into the RAF were zero. Crombie raised his eyebrows but didn’t comment. After a moment or two he said.
‘Quite a pair, your mum and her sister aren’t they?’ He spoke as though he knew them both, he probably did, by reputation anyway. Rhyllann guessed what was coming next and twisted away, determined not to reveal any more. Crombie was even more dangerous than he’d thought.
‘You and your cousin; you’re very close aren’t you?’
Rhyllann shifted in his seat. No-one else at school really got Wren, if it weren’t for him, he wouldn’t have any friends.
‘Does he ever talk about his mum?’
No. Wren never spoke of her, never cried over her. The tissue was confetti now. Rhyllann dropped it.
Facing Crombie he sneered. ‘You wanna know if she told him where she hid the money? Mister Big-shot Detective? And me thinking you were the soft cuddly type – McDonald’s and free rides. You went round their house. Why didn’t you look under the mattress while you were there? That’s where she stashed it.’
‘No need for sarcasm son, I’m trying to help.’
But he’d heard that before, and didn’t bother replying. Anyway they were at the hospital now, Crombie had to park up or drive round the one way system again. With relief, Rhyllann heard the indicator blinking as Crombie pulled into a space intended for ambulances.
‘Thanks for the lift.’ He muttered, tugging at the door catch, which refused to give. As Crombie leaned across to help, his jacket fell open, giving a glimpse of a stapled lining.
‘Have to jiggle it a bit, it's temperamental.’ The door swung open scraping against the kerb causing them both to grimace and a few heads to turn.
‘Thanks again.’ Rhyllann said wondering if he should take the empty McDonald’s bag to bin or leave it with the rest of this rubbish car.
Crombie inclined his head. ‘What’s gonna happen to you now?’
For a moment, Rhyllann felt confused. Then he brightened.
‘Oh, don’t worry, mum rings every night. She’ll get the next train back to London.’ He lied fluently. A thought struck him. ‘My auntie: Aunt Sarah. Will they give her compassionate leave or something?’ He squirmed under Crombie’s stare.
‘I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news about your aunt,’ He said.
Rhyllann kept his face blank. He was used to bad news. Anyway he’d already given too much away to the shambling hulk.