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HEARTMAN
M.P. Wright
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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Typeset by Iolaire Typesetting, Newtonmore
Printed and bound by Grafica Veneta S.p.A.
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PROLO GUE
No ones as dear, as baby to me
wee little fingers, eyes wide and bright
now sound asleep, until morning light...
The muscular man who stank of three-day-old sweat and
stale booze led her by the hand, blindfolded and barefoot,
down the twelve cold, flaking sandstone steps, which she slowly
counted in her head one by one until she reached solid ground
again. Her head felt light, her limbs weak, and she struggled to
remain upright, fighting the overpowering drowsiness that had
enveloped her body. It was only when she felt the mans large
thumb lift her chin ever so slightly that she was brought back
from the drug-induced limbo that had subdued her. His touch
had reawakened her: back to the fear, a return to the terror.
It was earlier that evening when her introduction to the
heavyset white man had been made while she stood in the
crowded room amongst the many drunken party revellers.
Shortly afterwards she had been escorted outside and into
the back seat of a large, expensive-looking silver car. The man
had got in beside her and caressed the side of her cheek with
his pale, thick knuckles before tying a crimson silk scarf across
her eyes. This was when the fear had taken hold of her, deep
into the pit of her stomach. She had panicked and pushed
herself forward, her right hand reaching out towards the car
door handle, but her futile attempt to escape was suppressed
by the mans strength as his forearm slammed her back and a
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seatbelt was drawn tightly across her chest. This had been the
point that mind, body and spirit had given way to the narcotic
flowing through her body.
The car had pulled away slowly and she had begun to feel a
strange, serene sense of calmness enter her being; the drug that
had been slipped into her drink earlier that evening was now
beginning to take the edge off of the unknown horror she had
become immersed in and it had begun to dampen her ability
to think coherently. Slumped back and cushioned by the plush
leather upholstery, the man had rested her hand in the flat of his
palm and he rhythmically stroked the back of it with icy fingers,
which had increased the calmness inside her and her need to
sleep. As the effects of the drug took a greater hold upon her,
she had calmed, no longer able to resist, with no wish to fight.
It was then that the nightmare had receded from her
subconscious and a gentle feeling of being rocked to sleep
had falsely offered her the solace of safety and comfort as she
dreamt of gently swaying to and fro in her mothers arms, just
as she had done in the hospital after she had contracted rubella
as a child. The high fever and inflammation around her brain
had burnt through her tiny body and had ultimately taken her
hearing from her. But it was her subsequent muteness, which
developed during the months of distressing recovery, that had
caused her the greatest agony: unable to speak, to laugh, to...
A violent slap from her captor across her left cheek had
brought her from the warm, protective embrace of her mother
back into the land of the living again. Her brain felt as if it
was being knocked from side to side in her skull as bright
red, blue and green spots flashed and jumped in front of her
eyes behind the blindfold. Her knees began to buckle, but the
muscular man gripped at her upper arm. The pressure of the
tight hold he had applied to stop her falling to the floor sent a
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the silk scarf that was still tied around her eyes and in her
head she sang to herself. The same song that her mother had
sung to her as a toddler all those years before, when she was
frightened, when she needed to feel safe...
Rock-a-bye baby, on the treetop; when the wind blows, the
cradle will rock; when the bough breaks, the cradle will fall;
and down will come baby, cradle and all.
The big man turned and watched as a semicircle of men
walked silently out of the shadows of the cellar, all dressed
in crisp black dinner suits, their faces covered by Venetian
masquerade half-masks, their presence in the semi-darkness
picked out by the large cream church altar candles that were
housed in the small dug-out recesses of the white alabaster
walls. They began to move closer towards her semi-naked
body, some with arms already outstretched, their fingers eager
to explore her exotically coloured flesh.
The womans captor backed away into the shadows,
returning up the sandstone steps, leaving her to an unknown
fate. He tried not to think about her again, and when he got
to the top, he loosened his tie and took in a deep breath of the
icy night air to try to clear his head as he stood at the entrance
of the cellar. He reached for the huge brass handle of the old
oak door and closed it quietly, resting his forehead against one
of the panels as he did so. He turned around and looked up
at the clear, star-filled sky, then pulled a half-bottle of Scotch
from his jacket pocket, unscrewed the cap and knocked back
a hefty swig of the burning spirit before making his way across
the snowy lawn towards his car, the bottle hanging from his
shaking hand, which slapped against the side of his leg as he
walked. An unexpected, piercing scream from the depths of
the underground vault followed him and echoed out into the
bitter chill of the winter night.
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1
Theres only so much staring through the bottom of an
empty glass a man can do when hes got less than one and ten
in his back pocket. Not enough to get me another pint, that
was for damn sure. I tipped out the remaining copper coins
from my battered brown leather wallet on to the copy of the
Bristol Evening Post that I had spent the last hour trawling
through in a desperate attempt at finding myself a job. Id
bottomed out on that and was now looking to get drunk.
I was sat in the Star and Garter pub on the corner of Brook
Road, in the St Pauls area of Bristol. Id been in the bar for the
better part of three hours nursing my drink and was in need of
a refill. Id rented myself a place nearby shortly after arriving
in Britain and the Star had become my local, but I was hardly
a regular and the chances of me putting anything on the slate
werent happening. I was outta work and broke.
Outside, the snow was three inches deep on the pavement.
It was my first experience of an English winter and my
fascination with the stuff had soon worn off. Id no interest in
trudging back to my pokey terraced digs to sit and freeze my
ass off in front of a two-bar electric fire that I couldnt afford
to put on.
I had nothing in to eat, apart from three tins of Libbys
canned fruit in the larder and a half-bottle of milk that
was stinking my kitchen out. The place was as bare and
unwelcoming as when Id first moved in there.
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2
I lay staring from my bed at the brown envelope that Id left
on my dressing table after Id got in from the pub the night
before. There was more than enough money in there to pay the
arrears on my rent and put food inside of me, that was for sure.
It was Sunday morning, just after 6.30 a.m. Id slept very
little, and Earl Linneys proposition that I find the missing
girl had been rolling around in my head for most of the night.
I was still unsure if Id done the right thing in taking the
mans money. Was Stella Hopkins alive? If she was, she was
obviously lying low and didnt want to be found. If the police
were struggling to find her, what difference would it make if I
was chasing her tail?
Feeling the worse for lack of sleep, I knew I had to drag my
ass off of the mattress or Id not be getting up for the rest of
the day. I pulled on my pants and opened the small cupboard
door that was home to the immersion heater. I flicked the
switch on, hearing the tank fire up, then went into the kitchen.
Filling my old tin kettle with water, I lit the gas and put it on
the hob to boil. There was about half a teaspoon of Nescaf
Blend 37 in the almost empty jar, and I made a note in my
head to add it to the milk I needed to buy.
After making myself a drink, I sat on a high-legged stool at
the tatty breakfast bar and took a sip of the liquid masquerading
as black coffee. It was a world away from what I used to drink
back in Carrington Village, but so was I.
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Pearl walked back to the kitchen sink, shaking her head and
mumbling to herself bout how my uncle Gabe had hard
ears, that he didnt listen to her. I could see her point of view,
but Gabes sixty-three years had made him wise. He was a
thinker, calm, reflective. Everything his dead brother, my
papa, wasnt.
He wants me to ask around this area, but kinda on the sly,
Gabe, if you know what I mean?
Oh, I know what you mean. But you needs to be axing
yoself, whys the man need you to do his donkey work on the
sly, Joseph? Hes a big enough fella, he should be doing his
own sniffing around if you axe me. Someting stinks to high
heaven bout the whole story.
Gabe was on a roll, there was no way I was going to get him
off of his soapbox. I was regretting that Id ever opened my
big mouth.
An another ting. If Linney wants this Hopkins girl finding,
then you tell me why he not gone to the police?
My uncle Gabe was fishing for the truth. But I had none to
give him; I could only offer up what the shady councillor had
already told me. As I retold the aldermans tale to my uncle, I
felt his words were already making a liar out of me.
Linney said that hed been to the local law, Gabe, says
theyve come up with nothing. The man knew Id been on the
force back home on Barbados, thought I may be able to help.
Poke around without upsetting folk. He said he was prepared
to pay me well fo that kinda help.
Yeah, is that so ... You know thats the first ting Id be
worrying bout if I was you. When a man offers you big money
fo work he dont wanna touch himself, that either means hes
damn lazy or hes lying bout what kinda job youre gonna end
up doin fo him. Just remember: man needs money, but he
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also needs to be able to sleep at night once hes earned it. You
be sure you can do that, Joseph, just be sure.
It was the kind of good advice I knew was worth taking, but
sometimes, the advice from those who love us dearly is also
the most difficult to accept. And in not heeding their words
of warning and making those fateful mistakes, our fall from
grace in their eyes is so much harder to bear.
Today I was again about to ignore the words of the wise.
My own previous fall from grace, which until now had been
a well-kept secret, was to return to haunt me as I looked into
the eyes of my elderly relation. It was a darkly clandestine past
that my uncle and I never spoke of.
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3
I didnt speak of the missing girl or my involvement with
Earl Linney to Gabe and Pearl again while we sat finishing our
coffees. I felt Id disturbed the calm of their Sunday morning
with my talk of Stella Hopkins and the up-front easy money
Linney had paid me to find her.
Gabe saw the world and those who lived in it simply. You
were either good or bad, and I got the feeling he thought that
the Jamaican politician didnt fit into either of those categories.
Gabe had said his piece and in doing so had heightened my
distrust of Earl Linneys motives and made me question
whether hed been straight with me.
Id promised Pearl that Id drop by on Wednesday evening,
her invite to supper too good to miss. I thanked her for
breakfast, grabbed my coat and hat, and kissed her cheek
before turning to Gabe, who had returned to reading his
newspaper. Hed just lit up a cigar and was drawing on it
before blowing out plumes of grey smoke around the kitchen.
I could tell he wasnt happy about my involvement with the
alderman and the flash up-front cash hed handed over. He
sat with a face like an angry old goat that was ready to butt his
way out of a farmyard pen. I approached my curmudgeonly
relation cautiously before speaking.
Hey Gabe, you have any idea where Vic is?
That boy was up with the lark, said he was going to meet
Carnell Harris at Perrys gym down on Grosvenor Street, they
shifting someting or other down there.
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only black man I knew who could sweat like a pig in the ice
cold of winter.
You know, Cut Man, I never have understood why youre
always on edge when Im around you. I aint the law, you
know, brother.
No, no you aint. But I hear you used be. His reply to me
had the wary intonation as a condemned man on the gallows
being told he was free to go while he still had the noose tight
round his neck.
Hey, Cut Man, wheres my cousin? I aint got all day,
brother, I asked impatiently. I was getting queasy at the
cheesy pong coming off of Cut Mans hide and wanted out
of his rank office.
Hes in the locker room; bottom left as you head on down
the hall. Been real good seeing you, man.
He sneered back at me with an insincere gesture of farewell.
Thanks, Cut Man. Good to see you too, I lied. Say,
anybody tell you youre looking real sharp in that vest,
brother?
Fuck you, Ellington! Cut Man shouted as I began to
close his office door, sealing him into his smelly workplace
with his rancid personal-hygiene problem and grubby skin
publication.
I found Vic standing over around sixty boxes of stolen
imported Mount Gay rum, a pencil behind his ear. He was
pointing at each box while he counted them out loud. He
was shirtless, his powerfully built body covered in beads of
sweat from shifting the heavy cargo from Carnells van to Cut
Mans locker room. He was darker skinned than I, with shortcropped tightly curled hair, and he was well over six feet tall.
His voice was deep, and as smooth as the knock-off rum at
his feet.
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You send all that booze off to the Salvation Army, Vic?
My cousin turned quickly, surprised that I had crept up on
him.
Jesus, JT, you scared the shit outta me creeping up like
that. How the hell you know to find me here?
I just had breakfast with Gabe an Pearl.Your old man told
me youd be here. I think he was hoping that you might be
putting in some time on punching those bags out there, I
said, nodding towards the gym. I just left Cut Mans office. I
was getting real high from the scent of his foul perspiration. It
aint much better in here, brother. Damn!
Hey, thats pure hard work youre smelling there, my man,
and I keep it tight in the ring, you know that, JT. He laughed
as he clenched his enormous hands into fists and punched the
air with a series of skilled uppercuts and jabs.
So this is what Cut Man meant by some bidness? I said
as I slid my hand across the top of the dusty liquor boxes.
Mans gotta make a livin, JT. Im just working my way in
the world. You know how it is?
I sure do, a mans gonna be living pretty well after a couple
o bottles of this inside his belly.
Taste o home, JT, its a taste o home. Vic smiled as he
took a pearl-handled penknife from his back pocket, sliced
open the tape securing the box and pulled out a couple of
bottles of the amber-coloured spirit and passed them to me.
Here, these gonna keep you warm at night, my man. He
grinned at me as he handed them over. I thanked him and
stood the bottles on the table behind me.
Wheres Carnell, Vic?
I didnt want to start up a conversation about Stella Hopkins
and the councillors job offer only to have to cut it short if we
were interrupted. Carnell was a good guy, but I needed to
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keep a lid on what I was up to for now. Vic was a lot of things,
but a blabbermouth he was not.
He been gone around twenty minutes or so: that bitch
of a wife, Loretta, gonna want his ass on a church pew this
morning. I paid him his cut fo the use of his van and fo his
help to lug this lot up here.
Vic, you hear anyting on the street bout that missing girl
from round here, names Hopkins, Stella Hopkins?
The mute? Yeah, I heard shes missin, but Im only
hearing the same shit you probably have: that shes simple,
cant talk and shes gonna be found wanderin bout on the
pier at Clevedon. Either that or her ass gets washed up on the
beach. Why you bothered bout some piece of skirt like her
anyhow? Vic returned to box counting, irritated at having to
start over again.
Ive been asked to see if I can try to find her. Do a little
digging around in the neighbourhood, but nuttin heavy. My
answer was evasive. I was beginning to sound a lot like Cut
Man.
Tell me, whos been askin you to find some stupid-minded
skank, JT?
Vic looked up from tallying the rum cases. His distrustful
nature had started to kick in and I could tell he was already
dubious about the person who had requested I undertake
such dirty work on his behalf.
It dont matter whos asking me, Vic. Look, I need you to
keep this under your hat fo now, so dont be spreading the
word Im lookin fo her. It aint gonna help me none. I need
to take it easy fo now. I gotta be discreet.
Discreet? Thats cool, JT, its cool. I just got my cousins
best interests at heart. Now you know I got your back if any
shit goes down, brother?
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