The Silent Pool Read online

  Stephen watched a patent leather brogue crush the phone, twisting and turning until the wires and circuitry spilled out like guts.

  The barrel of the gun was withdrawn from his head. Stephen was beginning to feel cold. He looked up at the man and into the face of the Ringo Starr mask. Ringo pulled out a twisted length of black leather from inside his jacket. He swung it slowly from side to side for a moment and then, almost gently, placed a loop around Stephen's neck before pulling it tight.

  Stephen felt no pain: endorphins were flooding his brain, the shock blanking the pain out, systems were shutting down.

  In the distance Stephen thought he could hear the sound of sirens, but it could have been the screams producing a Doppler effect as the blood pounded in his skull.

  Ringo raised his gun.

  ‘Answer my question.’

  Stephen struggled for breath. He shook his head.

  The man took the end of the gun and inserted it into the place where Stephen's kneecap had been. He twisted the gun back and forth in the fleshy void. Stephen's scream merged with the screaming joy of a thousand teenagers.

  Ringo took the gun out of the wound.

  ‘Answer my question. Answer it truthfully and correctly and you live.’ The man's voice betrayed no accent, no passion and, to Stephen's horror, no mercy.

  Stephen started to cry. He didn't know the right answer, the answer that would save him. He gave the only answer he could: the truth.

  The man took off his mask.

  ‘Wrong answer, Stephen. Turns out you need more than love.’

  He began to pull the leather cord tight.

  Stephen screamed.

  CHAPTER 1

  Erasmus looked over at the two men in the corner and knew that things were going to end badly. He had agreed to meet Dan here. Now that was looking like a big mistake. He sighed and waited for the inevitable.

  The Mosquito Lounge was one of Erasmus Jones’ least favourite places in the world. It was also the bar where his friend, and main source of work, Dan Trent, liked to conduct business meetings. A relatively new bar that had looked hip four years previously, it now had the settled, tired, post-crash air of resigned desperation. A neon blue mosquito with a red tongue occasionally flashing and giving off a hiss that spoke of an unhealthy combination of poorly wired electrics and water, hung over the stairs that led down to the basement bar.

  The bar was one of the many that had sprung up as Liverpool embarked on its year as European Capital of Culture. Europe had poured millions into the city, mixing with the ever available drug money and government funds to form an intoxicating cocktail of new developments, bars, restaurants and call centres, transforming, on the surface at least, the face of the city.

  Glass and steel had replaced red brick and Victoriana. Manhattan style lofts had replaced flats, stakeholders replaced citizens and, most obvious of all, bars and a hoped for coffee culture replaced the pubs and clubs.

  Now the focus was off, attention and the money switched elsewhere, the city seemed to be breathing a sigh of relief, taking off its glad rags and reverting to a more comfortable, familiar type.

  Before entering the bar, Erasmus had been through a familiar routine of patting his jacket pockets, searching for a packet of cigarettes that he knew wasn't there. The smell of stale beer and cheap perfume emanating from the stairwell seemed to trigger the receptors in his brain responsible for his nicotine addiction. Finding no cigarettes, he had given a shrug and popped a piece of gum into his mouth before descending into the bowels of the Mosquito Lounge.

  It was dark inside. Ronnie, the septuagenarian owner of the place, thought that daylight polluted a good bar. Hence the heavy velvet curtains over the tiny street-level windows. It took Erasmus a few moments for his eyes to adjust from the gloomy, slate grey light outside to the subterranean murk of the Mosquito Lounge.

  The room's walls were lined in purple faux velvet that had been ripped and stained within weeks of opening. The laminated dancefloor that Erasmus crossed to reach the bar was sticky with the residue of a thousand pints of spilled lager. Each step required a conscious effort to lift his foot and move forward. It felt like you could get trapped down here. The bar, like a Venus flytrap, never letting you leave.

  Erasmus spotted Dan. He was sitting in his usual place at the end of the bar and pretending to watch a TV screen that was mutely showing highlights from the day's general election coverage. Erasmus looked around to find the real source of Dan's attention.

  In one corner of the room, sat at a small table, were two women, a blonde and a brunette. In this light they could be anything from twenty to fifty years old. By the amount of waxy looking cosmetics that they had slapped on, Erasmus guessed that they probably pitched somewhere towards the higher end of that particular scale.

  The Mosquito Lounge ticked all the boxes that Dan Trent needed in a bar. These were, in order of importance: firstly, his wife would never ever be seen dead in such a place, neither would her friends or any of his colleagues other than those he invited, and finally it attracted a certain type of woman, usually divorced and with low expectations of life, namely the type of women that Dan Trent, loving husband and father of two young boys, liked.

  Erasmus planted himself on a stool next to Dan. Dan didn't even look round.

  ‘OK, Erasmus. Here's the deal. You push me off my stool and then I get up off the floor and hit you hard, Jackie Chan style. You hit the deck and beg me to stop.’

  Erasmus signalled the bored looking bar man who rolled his eyes but nevertheless wandered over to take his order.

  ‘Mineral water,’ said Erasmus.

  Dan turned his head and gave him a look of contempt.

  ‘Then, the girls come over to check I'm OK and I'll explain we are long lost brothers fighting in a Legends of the Fall type way over our massive inheritance. They get all emotional over the display of testosterone and wealth and we take them back to the Shangri La for some Schezuan then onto the Malmaison for an afternoon of Heat magazine type debauchery. If it's good enough for celebrities, it's good enough for us. What do you say?’

  ‘How's Grace?’

  Grace was Dan's long-suffering wife. Dan groaned.

  ‘Ahh you've gone and dumped icy water all over my fantasy man. It's not fair, especially given the gift I'm about to give you. And just because you're on the wagon, though you know I think sex addiction is just a made up Hollywood thing?’

  Erasmus noticed that the blonde sitting at the corner table was sneaking looks at him that were lasting a couple of moments too long. He pondered the possibilities for a second and then discounted them. He decided to ignore Dan's comments about his sex addiction. It had been a mistake to tell him about it when trying to talk Dan into getting help for tackling his own demons

  ‘Gift?’

  ‘Yeah, what does every PI in this city want?’

  ‘To get a job anywhere else?’ said Erasmus.

  ‘You need to be careful. We can be a proud bunch here. Especially when southern jessies like you start slagging us off.’ He gave Erasmus a mock punch to the head.

  ‘You know I love this place. What did you tell me Carl Jung said? “Liverpool is the pool of life”,’ said Erasmus.

  ‘That's right. And don't you forget it. I am about to do you a massive favour. I know you used to do that secret squirrel stuff when you were in Afghanistan.’

  Erasmus groaned. ‘I told you last month, I'm through with it all, I'm studying to be one of you lot. Going over to the dark side.’

  Dan mimicked the plucking of an arrow from his chest. ‘I'm wounded, truly I am, but hey, you'll be in need of funds?’

  Erasmus didn't reply.

  ‘I have a client. A very beautiful and potentially very rich client.’

  Dan took a sip of his drink and paused for a moment. He smiled as Erasmus took the bait.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘She has an unusual problem.’

  ‘Tell her to go to the clinic,’ said Erasmus.


  ‘You wouldn't say that if you saw her, Raz. She's stunning.’

  ‘Your judgement on such matter is suspect.’

  Dan turned and waved at the women sitting in the corner booth. They giggled and one of them, the elder one, by Erasmus’ reckoning, raised her drink in response. Reluctantly, Dan turned back to Erasmus.

  ‘I see the inner beauty. Look, it's straightforward. My client's husband is missing. She needs you to find him.’

  ‘Tell her to go to the police.’

  ‘She has already. He's been gone two weeks. You know what they do, add him to the Missing Persons Register and that's it. You know how many people are on that list? Thousands. Even I was on it once. Grace called the cops when I got stranded at a conference in London.’

  Erasmus rolled his eyes. He knew what that meant.

  ‘He's been suffering from stress, work problems, the usual drill, so he's gone walkabout. If we can help track him down, she will be very grateful.’

  ‘Other woman, gay, breakdown or dead,’ said Erasmus.

  Dan smiled at Erasmus. ‘And you're just the man to find out. I told her I knew the best, someone who was trained in these matters, who had fought in Afghanistan. Come on, you just need to help find a missing person. You tracked al-Qaeda, didn't you? This should be a doddle.’

  Dan eyed up the two women for a moment just to let them know he was still interested, and then sipped his drink.

  ‘I told your boss after the last case that was the end of it.’

  ‘What was that?’ asked Dan.

  ‘An assault case.’

  ‘An assault on what?’

  Erasmus knew then that Dan must have heard.

  His last case had been digging for dirt on an attendant at the local Blue Planet Aquarium. He'd witnessed Eramus’ client's son, high on meth, stabbing a stingray. But Erasmus had found someone who had sold the witness some marijuana the day before and the case had gone away. Not his proudest moment.

  ‘I am giving you a beautiful woman who will pay a proper billing rate.’

  ‘So she's beautiful and rich. Have you tried to bed her? Is your firm going to be facing a harassment suit? Is this what this is all about?’

  ‘Not at all. If I wasn't married then I may have been tempted but you know me, faithful to the bone.’

  ‘She turned you down, didn't she?’

  Dan laughed.

  ‘Oh and the part about her being rich, that's not strictly true either. It's her uncle-in-law, he's the rich guy. He has lots and lots of lovely money. He was a direct beneficiary of the war on terror. Before 9/11 he was running a wholesale business for medical supplies. Doing OK, but no Donald Trump. Post 9/11 he found himself with warehouses full of surgical masks, gloves and other stuff that he suddenly realised he could sell online to the public. Throw in a few flu pandemic scares and you have a very successful businessman.’

  Erasmus’ drink arrived. He took a sip. Dan shifted in his chair.

  ‘So she comes to see me last week. Tells me that the day he disappeared he just never showed up for work. He works as a bean counter for the council. She got a call from him early in the morning. Seems he pulled a pervo – calls and then breathes heavily down the line – and she still wants to find him.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘That's it. He's been missing ever since. His mobile phone company say his phone is switched off or broken. No trace of him at any of the hospitals or any contact with relatives or friends. The police think he's probably had a breakdown and done a runner. Apparently, he was under a lot of pressure. He worked for the council in the education department and his boss thinks things were getting him down. He was a strike breaker.’

  Before he could help it, an ugly word popped into Erasmus’ mind: scab. That's what his father would call a strike breaker. Inherited prejudices were often the hardest to break. He shook his head and tired to dismiss the thought.

  Dan cast a glance over to the corner table. The girls had been joined by two men. He groaned.

  ‘I don't want the case. I saw this happen in the Army: once a shit-kicker, always a shit-kicker. I'm going to have to say no to this one,’ said Erasmus.

  Dan had started to slur his words. Not a good sign at midday on a Friday afternoon, thought Erasmus.

  ‘Did I tell you I mentioned it to the Bean? You know how hard it is to get a training contract these days? Especially for a man of your, ahem, advancing years. Do this favour and you will be looked upon favourably. Does that help your decision?’

  Erasmus’ hand went to the empty cigarette pocket. He had sent off nearly fifty letters already trying to get a training contract at a law firm. Without one, the money he had borrowed, the exams he had passed, all of it would have been wasted. And more importantly, one of the final building blocks in the bridge to a new life wouldn't be in place. He thought of Abby and sighed.

  ‘Why do I feel I have no choice?’

  ‘Because you haven't, my friend. We never do.’

  Out of the corner of his eye Erasmus noticed that the two men were looking over in their direction and one of them was pointing at Dan. The man was in his late thirties, had a huge balding head and was wearing a tight T-shirt that stretched over bulging muscles. Erasmus sighed and out of habit scanned the room quickly for weapons and exits. Dan was oblivious to the mounting danger.

  ‘I tell you what, I'll meet her, but that's it. I'm not giving up my life on this one.’

  ‘Excellent. The Bean will be delighted. He really wants the uncle's account. The firm will be grateful for this, you know that.’

  Dan pulled out a white card from his suit jacket pocket and handed it to Erasmus.

  ‘That's her number. Most men would pay good money to get hold of those digits. Trust me on this one, Erasmus, I've just done you the biggest favour of your life.’

  He handed the card to Erasmus.

  Dan raised his glass in mock toast.

  ‘Salut!’

  He downed his drink in one gulp.

  ‘You sticking around? Going to help me save those damsels in distress?’

  Dan turned and winked elaborately at the women.

  ‘Shit,’ said Erasmus under his breath. He turned and faced the bar, taking hold of his glass of water, and hoped that he was wrong about was about to happen.

  It was a forlorn hope.

  The two men left their seats and walked right up to Dan, standing deep within his personal space.

  The older man stood slightly ahead of the other, younger man. He was clearly the leader. Erasmus noticed both were wearing builders’ boots and had hands like shovels: Dan wouldn't stand a chance.

  It was the bigger one who spoke, spittle landing on Dan's face.

  ‘And what fucking damsels are they, eh? Do you mean my fiancée? Twat.’

  Dan, invulnerable with booze, made a mistake.

  ‘Fuck, those big ears aren't just for balance then?’ He placed his hand on the man's shoulder. ‘Let me buy you a drink.’

  The man knocked Dan's arm away making Dan lose his balance and fall from his stool.

  In an instant, Erasmus was up and had shoved his glass bottom first into the man's sternum, causing him to double up. Erasmus brought his knee up, cracking the man's nose and then used his right arm to gently lower the unconscious man to the floor.

  Erasmus’ eyes never left the second, younger man who now took a step back and began to raise his arms.

  ‘Help your friend. We're leaving. This is just a misunderstanding yeah.’

  ‘Yeah, a misunderstanding,’ mumbled the second man. He moved forward and began to help up his friend who had come round and was making whimpering noises.

  Erasmus held out his hand to Dan. He took it and let Erasmus pull him up from the floor where he had contentedly watched the action.

  ‘Are you OK?’ asked Erasmus.

  Dan hugged him and started to laugh almost hysterically.

  ‘Brilliant, that was fantastic. I knew you were the man for the job.’
>
  ‘Come on, let's get you in a taxi.’ He slipped out of Dan's embrace and led them away from the bar and up the stairs that crawled up out of the bowels of the Mosquito Lounge.

  It was a relief to be in the cool air. Inside the Mosquito Lounge it had been heavy with humidity. Erasmus put it down to the years of sweat, beer and tears that seemed to be ingrained into the place.

  He hailed a passing cab and shoved Dan inside. Dan sat back in the cab's rear seat and then sprang forward and rolled down the rear window.

  ‘Why did your client stab the fish? Was it a revenge attack for Steve Irwin?’

  ‘No, he told the police it was because he had just found out, and this is a direct quote, “That his bird was preggo”.’

  Dan considered this for a second and then nodded in understanding.

  ‘You gotta love this city. By the way, Jenna Francis is expecting to meet you in Starbucks on Bold Street, in – ’ he checked his wristwatch ‘ – twenty minutes. She looks like Nicole Kidman, you can't miss her!’ And then he banged the driver's seat with his hand and the cab pulled away.

  Erasmus instinctively searched for his cigarettes and then, for the thousandth time in the last four weeks, found himself remembering his promised Abby he'd quit. He had broken many promises over the last couple of years but there was no way he would break a promise to a six-year-old girl who also happened to be the most precious thing in his life.

  CHAPTER 2

  Mayor Lynch reached for the plastic pillbox in his jacket pocket. For a second he panicked as his hand failed to locate the box but then he remembered that he had left the dispenser in his desk drawer.

  He opened the drawer and was rewarded with the sight of the opaque, light green pillbox. He eagerly popped a pill from the container, swallowing it before he realised he had no water to wash it down with.

  The Mayor's aide, Anthony Torpenhow, watched the familiar scene. His face betrayed no emotion as he passed the Mayor the half empty can of Diet Coke he had been drinking.

  The Mayor greedily accepted the can and flushed the pill down his throat, visibly relaxing long before the pill could dissolve and have any effect.