Thicker Than Water

There were lights going on up above us now, and faces peering over the banisters on the upper levels. Only a natural impulse towards self-preservation had prevented anyone from coming down and seeing what all the noise was about, but it could only be a matter of moments. Better to have this conversation somewhere else, far from the madding crowd: especially considering how spectacularly madding they could get around here. We left Weston Block, our shoes crunching on broken glass.

‘Well, it’s good of you to take an interest,’ I said as I led the way between the towers, heading north across the estate. ‘But any place that’s good enough for you and your friend Gwillam is good enough for me.’ Considering he’d probably just saved my life, the satisfaction I took in his startled expression was a little ungenerous. But I was starting to see a pattern, and it was one I liked even less than red and green Paisley.

There was one final broad flight of steps that led down from the concrete plain towards the New Kent Road. I took it, limping slightly, and my rescuer followed me.

‘I thought you gave up the pastoral stuff,’ I muttered over my shoulder.

‘Where you’re concerned, Felix?’ Matt answered with a sorrowful inflection. ‘I think I’ll always be my brother’s keeper.’

9

‘You’ve got a visitor’ were the first words that Pen said when she opened the door to me. Then she noticed Matt, standing in the puddle of moonlight behind me. ‘Oh,’ she appended, without enthusiasm. She walked away, leaving the door open behind her.

We came out of the warm sticky night into the warm sticky hallway, and followed Pen downstairs into her chthonic domain. Tales From Topographic Oceans was playing softly from below us, the occasional crack and hiss making it clear that we were listening to vinyl being played on Pen’s old Dual 2.2 turntable. Gary Coldwood was sitting on the shapeless leather sofa with a glass of brandy in his hand. Edgar and Arthur perched on the sofa’s back on either side of him, clearly acting as chaperones. They needn’t have worried: Gary is in love with his job.

He set the glass down as we came into the room so that he could look more like a copper when he stood up and scowled at me.

‘Two reports came in at Uxbridge Road within ten minutes of each other, Fix,’ he said, as I crossed the room and uncorked the brandy bottle. ‘Both from the Salisbury Estate. A breaking and entering and an affray. Would you know anything about ^ork either of those?’

The brandy burned as it trickled down my throat - and since Pen hadn’t seen fit to put out the good stuff I let it trickle fairly liberally. Then I set the bottle down and belched, more for effect than anything. I noticed a smear of blood on the neck of the bottle where my hand had held it: I’d scraped my palms when I went down the second time, and they were raw and stinging. ‘Gary Coldwood,’ I said, hooking a thumb over my shoulder, ‘Matthew Castor. Father Matthew Castor. My big brother. I don’t think you’ve ever met. Gary’s a cop, Matty: you’d better get an alibi ready.’

Gary refused to be deflected, but he looked at Matt with unmistakable interest. ‘Two men fled the scene,’ he pursued grimly. ‘One was described as wearing a long coat of some kind - maybe a mac or a heavy overcoat. So, second time of asking: were you there? If you were, I need to know about it. I may be able to come between you and the shit-storm if I know what it is you’ve done.’

‘I may occasionally enter, but I never break,’ I said, slumping down on the sofa because standing up was feeling like a real effort. ‘And I’ve been with my brother all evening. He’s a man of the cloth, did I say? Sit down, Matt, you’re making the place look untidy. Pen, have you got any antiseptic salve or anything?’

‘I’ve got cider vinegar,’ Pen said, heading for the kitchen. ‘That’ll do just as well.’

‘And make me smell like a bag of chips,’ I said, glumly.

‘Fix—’ Coldwood was glaring down at me.

‘Gary.’ I stared back, deadpan. ‘I’ve been down in that neck of the woods tonight, I won’t deny it. I was there for quite a while, so you’ll find no shortage of people who can give you my description. But you know how peaceable a soul I am. I wouldn’t dream of getting involved in an affray, even if I was invited. I’m just sniffing around, trying to figure out what it was that Kenny was trying to tell me. How’s he doing, by the way? Dead or alive?’

Gary swore, coarsely and caustically. ‘Sniffing around,’ he repeated, with biting emphasis. ‘It was you, wasn’t it? You broke into the house of a man you might end up charged with murdering.’

‘I just told you I didn’t, and I’m sticking to that. So Kenny is—?’

‘No change. But the longer he stays in the coma, the less likely he is to recover. Did you at least wear gloves?’

‘For a quiet evening walk with my brother, the priest? Of course not. We’ve had our differences in the past, but it’s never come to blows. And if it ever does, I think it’s likely to be a bare-knuckle fight.’