Dead Wrong - [50]

I recalled Mrs Deason, the fleeting gesture she’d made with her hands, on the brink of telling me what they’d done to Joey’s fingers.

‘Did you go to hospital?’

‘No. My gran, she strapped them up.’

I watched the bowlers for a while. The gentle banter as one player missed her stroke. Joey ground the roach out underfoot. Coughed some more.

‘And Luke? When the ambulance arrived they found Luke with Ahktar. Unconscious.’

He shook his head. ‘They set him up.’

I wondered how. Had Luke come looking for Ahktar and been given a timely blow to the head, or had they found him by chance, passed out perhaps. A suspect of convenience. They must have wrapped his hand around the knife to get the prints.

I asked Joey to describe the men. He did, and I quickly recognised the picture that he drew of the larger man, the one who had used the knife. Rashid Siddiq. Killer turned witness.

Chapter Twenty-Three

‘I got to go.’ He made a move.

‘Hang on, I’ve a few more questions.’

‘Christ,’ he rocked with impatience. The dope didn’t seem to have settled him any. He sniffed again. Summer cold or cocaine eating away his nostrils? Joey D was a mess.

‘Why do you think they killed Ahktar?’

‘It was an accident,’ he said simply. ‘They were meant to give him a warning about something, that was all. The guy just went ballistic when Ahktar kicked him.’

And if he hadn’t had your knife, I thought, the blow wouldn’t have been fatal.

‘If you talked to the police,’ I began.

‘No way.’ He went rigid. ‘I already said, no police, no lawyers, nothing.’

‘You could get protection,’ I said.

‘Oh yeah?’ he said sarcastically. ‘Twenty-four-hour guard, safe house, you reckon? All that for me? No way.’

‘What would they want to warn Ahktar about?’

‘Search me.’ He twitched again, an involuntary movement as though his skin were alive. ‘Look, I got to go.’

‘I’ve nearly finished. You hadn’t heard anything about Ahktar getting involved in anything?’

‘Dodgy? No. Bit of a nerd really, Ahktar. Nice guy but he wanted to be a lawyer, lot of studying. He partied at weekends, getting happy with the rest of us but that’s all.’

Secretly, I agreed. His recreational drug use was not reason enough for the heavies to come along and threaten him.

‘Do you remember Zeb having a go at you that night, in the club?’

‘Yeah.’ He was puzzled by my interest.

‘What was that about?’

‘He wanted a loan – he owed a lot of money. He was trying it on, promised to pay me ten per cent interest. I have this trust fund,’ he explained. ‘I told him no way, might as well flush it down the bog, never see it again. So he tries getting all heavy, threatening me, says he’ll put me out of business. I laughed at him. I’m only getting stuff for friends, I’m not a dealer, for chrissakes.’

‘Did you ever get stuff from Zeb?’

‘Once, maybe twice. And a couple of times he gets some from me. Dunno why, he could get more than I ever saw. Reckon he’d been helping himself, got a bit greedy, needed to top the bag up. He’d be paying over the odds getting it from me – last in the chain you get the highest mark-up. No head for business.’ Joey was serious. We could have been talking about building society flotations.

‘I’ve heard he was involved in bringing drugs into the country. Did you know about that?’

He shrugged. ‘You hear stuff; I didn’t want to know. That’s way out of my league. I never got into all that, I’m strictly small time.’ He grinned and for a fleeting moment he was a teenager having fun walking on the wild side. He coughed again.

‘Did you ever meet Rashid Siddiq? He worked with Zeb and his brother Jay?’

He shook his head.

‘How did you get the knife into the club?’

‘Gerry, one of the bouncers, he’s a customer of mine. I slip him a bit of something to help him relax at the end of the night, we had an understanding.’ He bit on his fingers again, tearing slowly at the skin around his nails.

‘How are you?’ I asked him. ‘Your grandmother’s worr-’

‘Sound,’ he cut me off. Sniffed.

‘You doing a lot of drugs?’

‘You a social worker in your spare time?’

‘You look rough, Joey. You look ill.’

‘Fuck off.’ But he didn’t move.

I watched the next couple of strokes.

‘It’s hard to get hold of stuff sometimes, that’s all. I get a bit shaky. Start crashing, you know. Stressed out, start to see things that aren’t there.’ He twitched. ‘Think people are following you. Does my head in. I just need a steady supply, that’s all. Get that sorted, no problem. I can handle it.’ He was all bravado now. ‘Tell her I’m OK.’

‘You still in business?’

He burst out laughing. ‘Yeah. You think I’m gonna start working at McDonald’s or something? Go on some pissy training scheme?’

A bee, heavy with pollen, careered towards us and bumped into Joey’s cheek. He swatted at it with his hand and knocked his shades off. The sunlight made him wince and he shielded his eyes with one hand while he searched for his glasses with the other. I got them first and handed them to him. His eyes were bloodshot, streaked with red capillaries, watering in the sudden light. Was that drugs too? Or illness or lack of sleep?