So Steven became part of the house and they got used to him wandering around. He had a favourite hat a knitted Manchester United bobble hat that he wore pulled down over his forehead: "Bobah', he called it, no one knew why. If he was separated from Bobah he would cry so when she was feeling spiteful Tracey hid it from him until she had managed to get him curled up on the kitchen floor in tears. Afterwards he never seemed to bear any resentment towards her, he seemed to forget about it almost as quickly as it had happened. In fact, Tracey realized that he didn't have much of a memory for anything that had happened since he came to Norfolk. He craved chocolate and got fat on Caramel bars; over the years he had crushes on Madonna, Kylie Minogue and Britney Spears. When Carl wasn't around Tracey tormented Steven. She made him clean the house, and would sit on the sofa painting her toes, listening to him in the hallway, ringing out each task he did: "Duh-ddinnn, now," he'd warble. That meant dusting. "Hooooberiinnnn' (Hoovering) or simply: "Kerneaninnn, now' (cleaning).
"What do you put up with him for? He's a fucking mong. Why you hanging on to him?"
"Tracey, it's none of your fucking business."
But she thought it was her business she was savvy enough to know that Carl wasn't telling her something about the boy. She felt sure that there was something else about Steven. Maybe Steven meant something to someone important and if she knew anything about Carl there was probably money involved somewhere along the line.
And so it went. When Carl died Tracey was left to deal with 'her brother'. She'd entertained some ideas about approaching Penderecki she turned the idea around for hours as she sat watching Ricki Lake and marching through her supply of Silk Cut. But then DI Caffery had knocked on the door and everything had fallen into place. Now she saw why Carl had clung to the boy there was money involved. Just what she'd always thought. She wasn't the slow-thinking mule Carl said she was, after all.
The first thing she decided to do was find somewhere to put Steven she didn't want Caffery coming back and finding him pottering around the house clutching a duster and grinning idiotically. So yesterday she had put him in the Datsun "Look, you can bring Bobah too," and taken him out to the caravan at the top of the quarry. "Later I'll bring Britney."
"Bwidney '
"I'll bring her over too. I promise."
And she did. She brought all of his Britney posters and his one Britney tape and the Walkman Carl had given him four Christmases ago, and settled him down with some Caramel bars and Cokes, padlocked the caravan and stood outside in the rain, smoking a cigarette and watching the cars go by on the road with their headlights on, thinking that she was very brave and very clever. And today, back at the caravan, on the day that Caffery was due to come up the A12 with the money, she was feeling even braver. It was sunny and clear. She paused briefly outside the caravan to spit on the ground. She had to find a way of establishing that "Steven' was indeed the same boy Caffery wanted. Inside he was warbling along to a song 'ooopsh, ah did id ug-ed." Britney fucking Spears. The only tape he had and he never seemed to tire of listening to it. Over and over again, and still he didn't know the words. She unlocked the padlock and went in. The curtains were wet with condensation and the caravan stank of mildew.
"Listen, Steven." She put down the bucket and sat on the bunk next to him, lifting one of his earphones. "Steven
He grinned at her, flopping his head back and forward. "Traith '
She smiled, trying to look patient. "Look." She took the headphones off and rested them on the bed, switching the Sony to the off position. "I've got something I want to ask you. OK?"
He paused for a moment thinking about this, his eyes skittering around, his hands moving one over the other.
"I said OK?"
He seemed to focus. He nodded hard, so hard that his heels knocked against the floor. "Kay."
"Good. Now listen. Do you remember the name of the bloke in London?"
Steven stopped nodding. He made a little choking sound and his eyes wandered away and came to rest on Britney Spears, pasted up on the back of the door: Britney lying back on a yellow pickup truck in a red and white cheerleader outfit.
"Steven?"
He bobbed his head up and down and now she saw he was mouthing something. She bent closer.
"What's that? What you saying?" He put his finger up his nose. "No, come on, don't do that." She snatched his hand away. "Now, come on, you used to know it, you little shit come on, the man what broke your head?"
He frowned suddenly and his eyes glazed over. He tipped his chin back and flapped his face towards the windows as if he was laughing. But he wasn't laughing. He was nodding.
"You remember?"
"Uuuungh."
"What's his name?"
"AahhhBaaan…"
"Ivan? Is that what you said? Ivan?"
"Ungh." He jerked his head up and down, eager to please.
"Good. Now if someone asks you, "Who did this to you?" you say, "Ivan, Ivan Penderecki." '
"Aaaahh-Baannn Bemmb-bbbemmb He looked as if he was going to weep with the effort of getting the words out. "Aaah-Bann. Bember – Ahhbann Bemmberedddih!"
It was good enough. Tracey sat back, satisfied, and lit a cigarette. She felt confident now very confident. Britney Spears, in jeans and a pale blue T-shirt, smiled sideways at them out of a hot day in Times Square.
From the Jaguar parked outside the bank in Lewisham Caffery called Souness: "I'm not going to make it this morning. I'm sorry, I'm – I don't know, food poisoning from last night or something."
"Oh, Jesus, Jack." The two DCs she'd assigned to him were waiting in the office. "They're sitting here like a pair of wee hairns waiting for their daddy to come and tell them what to do."
"OK, OK put them on." He spoke for ten minutes to one of the DCs, giving him the door-to-door parameters he wanted them to cover Logan had already done the west of the park and he wanted the two DCs to start on the east side. Afterwards he spoke to Kryotos, asking her to contact Champaluang Keoduangdy and arrange a late lunch meeting. "I thought you were dying?" "Marilyn, please, I just need a little rest." "OK, I'm with you, I won't say a dickie bird." "The phone'll be off the hook so if you need me use my mobile."
"Will do. Oh, and Jack?"
"What?"
"The dentist. From Kings. Remember?" She paused. "He called again, Jack. Can you please?"
"Yeah, yeah. OK. Leave it with me."
After the call he took off his tie and put it into his pocket. He had felt like a catalogue plate sitting there with the bank manager. But he'd got the money it was in a brown banker's envelope in his breast pocket he had his bargaining tool. Pathetic, so obsessed that you'll pay more than a month's salary for the ramblings of a washed-up old con and then lie about it to everyone. After this, he made a promise to himself: after today he was going to put it all behind him. He pointed the Jaguar towards Norfolk, opening the window, keeping the radio off. If nothing happened today it was going to end: he was going to hand it all over to the paedo unit and tell Rebecca she'd got what she wanted and that the Ewan story was over. But as he drove he couldn't help catching sight of his eyes in the rear-view mirror and all he could see in them was hope as if he really expected to pull the car up at Lamb's and see Ewan saunter around the corner of the house, out into the sunlight, still wearing his shorts and little mustard T-shirt.
And now think what you're really going to see.
An old child's shoe, or a fragment of bone probably. Three thousand pounds and the prize would be delivered with a saintly relic's ceremony. I hold in my hand a genuine piece of the True Cross. Or another animal carcass, green with burial. He knew he was going to be screwed around with he just wished he could get rid of that bubble of hope in his chest.