Jason stops boxing, drapes a towel around his shoulders and bends down over a laptop set up on his bar. He looks straight into the laptop camera.
‘Hi, Tony, mate, it’s Jason Ritchie here. Happy birthday to you, Big Man, great fight. Your wife Gabby tells me you’re forty-five years young today, and says she loves you like crazy. So keep ducking and diving, brother, and when you get knocked down, you just get straight back up again. Gabby and the kids, Noah and Saskia, wanted me to wish you the very best, so have a great day, don’t eat too much cake, and back in the gym tomorrow. Have a knockout day, mate, peace and love from Jason.’
Jason gives his trademark cheeky wink, then presses stop on the screen, and turns his attention to his guests.
‘Who’s Tony Weir?’ asks Ron.
‘Some geezer,’ says Jason. ‘Don’t know.’
‘Nice of you to wish him happy birthday,’ says Ron. ‘Nice touch. Good lad.’
This last comment is directed at Chris and Donna. Ron knows Jason has connections that aren’t always above board, but, equally, he wants to remind Chris and Donna that he’s a decent kid. Decent fifty-year-old kid.
‘They pay me, Pops,’ says Jason. ‘It’s called “Cameo”. You get a celeb to send you a message. Happy birthday, whatever, happy wedding, I just did a divorce one for someone.’
‘They pay you?’ says Chris.
‘Forty-nine quid a message,’ says Jason. ‘All the celebs do it, and I can record them in my pants if I want to.’
‘Don’t let me stop you,’ says Donna.
Ron is shaking his head in bemusement. ‘How many do you get asked to do?’
‘Ten a day,’ says Jason. ‘Something like that. Lot of boxing fans out there.’
‘You’re getting five hundred quid a day for saying “Keep ducking and diving” and giving a little wink?’ asks Donna.
‘I used to get paid for being punched in the head,’ says Jason. ‘I think I’ve earned it.’
‘Does David Attenborough do them?’ Ron asks.
‘I don’t think he does, Dad, no,’ says Jason. ‘He’s probably got more money than me.’
‘You seem to be doing all right for yourself,’ says Chris, looking around at the bar and pool table in Jason’s basement. ‘Talking of which, there’s a couple of things you might be able to help us with.’
‘They keep saying you’re dodgy, Jase,’ says Ron. ‘With no evidence to back it up.’
‘We’re not saying he’s dodgy,’ says Donna. ‘We’re just saying that pretty much every single person he knows is dodgy.’
‘Things do get lively from time to time,’ agrees Jason. ‘What are you after?’
‘You heard anything about any heroin?’ asks Ron. ‘Recently like?’
‘How come?’ Jason asks.
‘Load of it gone missing,’ says Ron. ‘And it might lead us to someone who killed a friend of ours. You know a geezer called Dom Holt?’
‘Scouser?’ says Jason. ‘Got his head blown off after the Everton game?’
‘That’s him,’ says Donna.
‘I heard a couple of things,’ says Jason.
Jason’s partner Karen pokes her head around the door. ‘I’m getting beetroot and papaya, hello, Ron, hello, guys, do we need anything else?’
‘Hello, darling,’ says Ron. Chris and Donna raise a hand.
‘I used the last of the quinoa,’ says Jason.
‘All right, gorgeous,’ says Karen. ‘I’ll be back in twenty. Love you.’
‘Love you, babe,’ says Jason, as Karen disappears again.
‘She moved in?’ asks Ron.
‘Pretty much,’ says Jason.
‘Nice,’ says Ron. Then, again, to Chris and Donna, ‘Good lad. He’s a good lad.’
‘I think we were talking about heroin?’ says Chris. ‘What do you know?’
‘There’s one main gang down here,’ says Jason. ‘One main route in. Geezer called Maxwell. Word got out he was in trouble, and that’s got the sharks circling.’
‘Which sharks?’ Chris asks.
‘Your mate for one, Dad,’ says Jason. ‘Connie Johnson. She’s been sniffing around.’
‘How did Connie Johnson find out Maxwell was in trouble?’ asks Donna.
‘There’s some old guy visits her at the prison,’ says Jason. ‘He was there a few weeks ago, and after he went she was action stations. The whole of the South Coast’s gone mad. No one knows who the guy is though, so don’t ask.’
‘We know who the guy is,’ says Chris.
‘Ibrahim,’ says Ron.
‘Jesus, Dad,’ says Jason, laughing. ‘Of course it’d be Ibrahim. You and your mates are starting drug wars now. I used to prefer it when you wrote letters to the council complaining about the bins.’
‘It should be once a week, Jase,’ says Ron. ‘I pay my council tax.’
‘When you say “action stations”,’ says Chris, ‘what do you mean?’
‘Just she was making moves,’ says Jason. ‘Talking to Maxwell’s people, seeing if they wanted to jump ship and join her.’
‘Control the heroin trade as well as the cocaine trade?’ Chris asks.
‘Well, Amazon don’t just sell books, do they?’ says Jason.
‘Did she speak to Dom Holt?’ asks Donna.
‘No idea,’ says Jason. ‘This is all just pub gossip.’
‘Luca Buttaci?’ asks Chris. ‘She spoken to him?’
‘Don’t know the guy,’ says Jason. ‘I think I’ve probably done my bit now. I keep forgetting you two are police.’
‘I keep forgetting too,’ says Chris. ‘I blame your dad.’
‘If Connie wanted someone killed?’ Donna asks. ‘That’s something she’d be able to arrange from her cell?’
‘Easy,’ says Jason. ‘Simplest thing in the world.’
This is food for thought for everyone. Ibrahim is with Connie right now. But Ron has something else on his mind.
‘Can I ask you a question too?’
‘Course, Dad,’ says Jason.
Ron leans forward.
‘When did you and Karen open presents on Christmas Day?’
‘Straight after breakfast,’ says Jason. ‘When else would you open them?’
‘I bloody knew it,’ says Ron.
Ron looks at Chris, and looks at Donna. Vindicated. Chris waits a moment or two, then continues his previous conversation.
‘Who would Connie use, Jason?’ asks Chris. ‘If she wanted someone killed?’
‘Good question,’ says Jason, back on his feet, getting ready to record another video. ‘Ibrahim’s not been her only mystery visitor in the last couple of weeks. Woman in her forties, maybe late thirties, been a couple of times. No one knows her, but she’s got a dangerous air. And that’s coming from prisoners.’
‘No name?’ asks Chris.
‘Nothing,’ says Jason. ‘Suddenly started turning up a couple of weeks ago. Not long after your murder, eh?’
46
Ibrahim thought that Mondays in prison might feel a little different, but they seem identical to every other day. He supposes that’s the point of prison.
Although he is a psychiatrist, and he has a professional duty, Ibrahim needs something from Connie today. Elizabeth has given him a task, and he will endeavour to provide satisfaction.
Connie is leaning back in her chair. She is wearing an expensive new watch.
‘Have you ever heard of a man named Luca Buttaci, I wonder?’ he asks.
Connie considers this while she breaks off a finger of her KitKat and dunks it in her flat white. ‘Ibrahim, do you sometimes think you’re not a very good psychiatrist?’