by Mick Moran
“I’m sorry.” Alan shuffled himself round to face Joe. “You deserve an explanation.” Alan paused while he tried to make himself more comfortable.
“Why don’t you come back in the front seat? We can have a proper talk then.” Alan looked slightly dubious, but didn’t dismiss the idea. “Don’t worry,” continued Joe. “There’s no one about. I’ll open a back door. It’s easier that way.” Joe jumped out and had the door open before Alan could disagree.
Alan didn’t disagree. He even seemed relieved to be back in the front seat. “Would you like a drink?” Joe handed him the large bottle of coke that he’d bought in the petrol station.
“Thank you.” Alan eagerly drank from the bottle. Joe wasn’t rushing him. Alan handed the bottle back and cleared his throat. “It’s bad, what I’ve got to say.”
“Go on. Let’s hear it.” Joe wasn’t expecting it to be very bad.
“I was involved in a murder; maybe two murders.”
The revelation caused Joe’s eyebrows to rise. Maybe it is bad after all, he thought, still finding it hard to believe.
“What I thought would be no more than a bit of an adventure has turned into a nightmare.” Alan told of what happened in Broadfield, ending with, “I should never have done it. I was so stupid.”
“Yes, you were. We all do stupid things. But, it’s so unlike you. What came over you?”
“I don’t know.” Alan just shook his head.
“It’s that bastard Dave Campbell. He got you and Tommy to do his dirty work while he kept well out of it. He’s in the clear while the Police are after you. I take it that’s what’s frightening you?”
“No. Not the police. Not yet, I don’t think.” Alan hesitated. “I haven’t told you the worst yet.”
“Go on.” The gravity of Alan’s situation was at last dawning on Joe. Alan told of the events of the previous evening and night. About the man telling them that he knew what they’d done and that they’d got the wrong man. He told how Dave had killed the man with the starting handle and how they’d left the body on the road.
“You’re sure he was dead?”
“Yes. There was certainly no sign of life. Dave wanted to make it look like a road accident. He was going to run the van over the body. But he changed his mind when he saw a car coming.”
“Yes,” Joe agreed. “It’s bad all right. Dave; he’s a ruthless bastard. But I don’t understand. What is it you’re running away from? You say it’s not the police?”
“It’s Dave. I think he wants to kill me.”
“Why?”
“He thinks I will tell the police about what he did.”
“Is that what you plan to do?”
“Maybe... I don’t know.... I might.”
“What did you say to him?”
“I told him I might tell the police.”
“Oh! Jesus. That was suicidal. You are stupid.” It was as bad as Joe imagined it could be. He knew Dave. He knew what he capable of. Alan was not exaggerating. Dave would be desperate. He would stop at nothing, including murder –another murder- to prevent Alan going to the police. Why was Alan so stupid? If he was going to report Dave to the police, surely Dave was the one person that shouldn’t be told about it.
“Let me get my head round this,” said Joe. “You’ve just been talking to Dave?”
“I was trying to get away from him. He followed me up that street.”
“And when he caught you, you told him that you were going to report him to the police?”
“Yes. Sort of. We were arguing. He dared me to go to the police and I said I might.”
“I just saw Dave heading for Acocks Green just before I saw you.”
“He was going for his van. He warned not to move until he came back for me.”
“At least you did the right thing then: not waiting for him. You’re lucky you got the chance. What are we going to do with you? Where do you live?
“I have a flat, just off the Warwick road. But, I can’t go there. Dave knows where I live.”
Joe shook his head. “I don’t know how you’ll get out of this,” he said. He thought for a minute. Then he made a decision. “Right,” he said. “For now, you’re coming with me. I have a flat. It’s about half an hour’s drive away, in Smethwick. Dave won’t find you there.”
“I’m very grateful,” was Alan’s only reply.
The journey was mostly in silence. After a while, glancing at Alan, Joe noticed that his eyes were closed. “You seem very tired. I don’t suppose you got much sleep last night.”
“No. None at all.” Alan closed his eyes again.
Although Joe had many more questions to ask, like, who was the man in the petrol station that Alan seemed so scared of, he decided to leave it,
and let Alan rest. The constant rattling of the back doors and the hard suspension in any case, made the conditions far from conducive for conversation: or for sleeping. Nevertheless every time Joe glanced, Alan had his eyes closed.
Parking was some distance from Joe’s flat, which was on the first floor. “Did you actually sleep with all that noise?” asked Joe as they climbed the stairs.
“No. I just needed to close my eyes.” Alan seemed barely awake even then.
“It’s nice and warm,” remarked Alan as they entered the living room, which was also a dinning room and kitchen.
“Yes. I left the heat on. It costs no more.”
A large settee in the living room left room for little else. The little table in front of it was obviously Joe’s dinning table. On it was the unwashed plate and eating utensils from the last meal. Tidiness was clearly not Joe’s strong point. Socks, underpants, and other items of clothing were strewn on the floor.
“I wasn’t expecting visitors. I’ll be taking a trip to the launderette soon, said Joe, picking some clothes of the floor and tossing then towards a corner of the room where there was a bag full of dirty clothes.
.
Joe showed Alan the bathroom the small bedroom. The flat was clearly designed for just one person. “I think you need sleep more than anything,” he said. “You can use that bed.”
“No. I couldn’t take your only bed.”
“You must.” Joe had given the matter some thought. If anyone came to the door, he didn’t wish him to see Alan. “Believe it or not, I changed the sheets this morning. That’s what’s in that bag, waiting to go to the launderette.”
“I didn’t mean about the sheets. I just can’t take your only bed.”
“It’s not my only bed. That settee makes a comfortable bed. But, first lets have something to eat. When did you last eat?”
“Not today, but I’m not hungry.”
“Well, I’m making a bacon sanni for myself. I’m sure you’ll manage one too.”
Joe decided that he was going to look after Alan. On the journey back to the flat he had given much thought to the situation. He concluded that he (Joe) was at least partially responsib
le for Alan’s plight. It would never have happened if he hadn’t, with his idle chat, drawn the Angry Whites attention to his family’s predicament.
He hadn’t asked them to do anything. He just wanted to impress the gang that he so wanted to be part of. They hated the IRA and the IRA had murdered his uncle. Joe thought that by revealing his own good reason for hating that organisation would make him more acceptable to the gang. How stupid he was.
He did become part of the gang. But not for long he soon became disillusioned; so disillusioned that he no longer felt he could work for Dave.
It was on his last day that, as a parting gift, Dave informed him that they, the gang, had “sorted his family’s problem.”
“What do you mean, “sorted?” Joe asked.
“We ran the man out of town. He won’t bother your family any more.”
“How did you do it?”
“Don’t worry. We have our ways. We can’t tell you. You’re not one of us any more.”
“No. I’m not, and I never asked you to do whatever it was that you did.”
“I bet your family is glad that we did.”
Joe said no more. He hadn’t told the family that he’d mentioned their problem to anyone else. He had left home then and contact with his family was minimal.
Joe hardly gave the matter another thought, until months later when he met his brother Paddy and the subject was raised.
“The man seems to have disappeared,” Paddy told him.
“Oh! That’s good. Isn’t it? Joe felt slightly uneasy, knowing what he did.
“I’m not sure if it is,” replied Paddy. “The old man is now thinking that he might have got it all wrong, And Teresa has got very interested in what happened. She’s writing letters to everyone that might know anything.”
“Don’t mention this to anyone.” Paddy added, giving Joe a stern look. “Lets keep it in the family for now.”
It was too late for that. Nevertheless Joe nodded. He regretted his blabbing. But there was nothing he could do about it then. Telling Paddy would only cause more upset, or so he justified not doing so.
Again Joe put the subject to the back of his mind, until weeks later when he met his brother Paddy again. Paddy told him that, thanks to Teresa and her letter writing, it was then thought likely that the man they thought guilty of murdering their uncle had nothing to do with that crime.
“Oh!” Joe was taken aback. What had he done to an innocent man? “Do you know where he lives now?” he asked
“Yes. We discovered that too. He is, apparently, living happily in the north of England, where he used to live previously.”
“Do you know why he left here? Was it because his true identity was discovered?”
“Well, I talked to Brendan, in the Antelope, about that. Brendan knows everything. He thinks it was because his Job had finished. A man comes in to Brendan’s pub occasionally that seems to know all about Martin. His landlady is Martin’s landlady’s sister or something like that. He says Martin just moved back to where he had lived previously. He has lots of friends there. Although he's a secretive man and tells no one his business, Brendan thinks that his moving there had little or nothing to do with his identity being discovered. He moved to where he’s happiest: to where most of his friends are.”
Joe was glad to hear it. Instead of being “run out of town” as Dave had put it, the man had left of own free will. His leaving was not a consequence of Joe’s blabbing. Joe could sleep easy.
He should have learned from that. But, no, I never learn, thought Joe.
A few weeks later he met Brian King. It was on a building site where Joe worked. Joe was painting the outside of a window when he felt the tap on his shoulder.
“Joe Casey. Remember me?”
Joe turned to face the smartly dressed man. He remembered him all right, but what his business on the site was Joe didn’t know. He was too well dressed to be a building worker of any kind. Probably some kind of sales rep, Joe thought. Joe never did know what he did for a living. He just remembered that, along with Dave Campbell, he organised the “Angry Whites”.
Joe was not pleased to see him. He had grown to intensely dislike the man. Also he reminded Joe of a time of his life that he would prefer to forget. “Yes, I remember you,” he said coldly.
“You never told us why you left us.” There was no mistaking the hostility in the comment.
“Did I have to?”
“Yes. I think you owed us that courtesy.”
Joe had moved on. No longer in awe of Brian, he looked him in the eye.
“I didn’t owe you anything.”
“What about the big favour we did for you?”
“Favour?”
“Yes. Remember, the man who murdered your uncle: the man we drove out of town for you.”
“I never asked you to do that.”
“Come on. You came crying to us. You and your brothers were too frightened to do anything. The man that killed your uncle was there laughing at you and there was nothing you could do about it.”
Joe was riled. He was especially angered by the way his brothers were being put down.
“You’re talking shite as usual,” he retorted. “It wasn’t like that and you know it.”
“Oh! Wasn’t it? How was it then?”
“For one thing, you didn’t drive him away. He was going anyway. His job had finished.”
“You know that do you?” Brian smirked
“Yes. I do.”
“So. Where is he now then?”
“He’s back in the north of England, in a place called Broadfield, where he lived before, where he’s got lots of friends. But his going there had nothing at all to do with you, or your stupid friends.”
Joe was full of anger, but Brian was not rattled. “What’s come over you?” he asked calmly. “There was a time when you wanted nothing more than to be one of us.”
“What’s come over me? I grew up. That’s what’s come over me. Now piss off. I’ve got work to do.”
Brian turned and walked away without another word, or a backward glance. Joe resumed his painting feeling that he’d got the better of the exchanges. Although he regretted loosing his temper, he was pleased that he’d got off his chest what he’d longed to say for some time.
He had no regrets, not until that Saturday, when the consequences of words hit him for the first time. Joe then realised that it might well have been his outburst that prompted the “Angry Whites” to reassess how they’d dealt with Martin. Up to then, they had apparently believed it to be a job well done, and had drawn a line under the episode. Also, in his angry outburst, he’d given Martin’s location to Brian King.
Joe, in his quarrel with Brian King, had only been interested in point scoring, with no thought for the long-term consequences of his words. On reflection, what he said that day might well have set in motion the terrible chain of events that followed. Enough, however of dwelling in the past.
After eating. Joe persuaded Alan to have a sleep. “You’re t
oo tired now,” he said. “Have a sleep and we’ll talk later, or maybe we’ll leave it ‘til tomorrow.” Alan didn’t take much persuading.
Joe sat down and thought about Alan’s predicament: their predicament. Joe had made it his problem too.
Alan, clearly, had no idea what to do next. If he wished to go to the police there was nothing stopping him. But, he was in too deep. He was looking at a lengthy prison sentence: probably, not a good idea.
Also, grassing on Dave didn’t bear thinking about. Dave would get his revenge. Joe had no doubt about that. Dave’s connections with the criminal world would ensure it. Joe knew how hated grasses were. Even if Dave was locked up and Alan wasn’t, Dave would have friends that would get to Alan. Even in prison Alan wouldn’t be safe from Dave. Dave would have friends there too. Dave was certainly not one to get on the wrong side of.
Joe was feeling restless. He went to the corner of the room and switched on the little television, turning the volume down so as not to distract Alan. It would take his mind off other things, he thought. He wondered how “Villa” had got on. But, it was five thirty then. He wasn’t thinking straight. The football results were over. He turned the television off and decided, instead, to have a walk for an evening paper. He’d get the results from the paper.
Walking to the paper-shop, however, much as he was interested in football, he found it impossible to concentrate on anything other than what Alan had told him. Then, a thought occurred to him. Would there be something in the paper about a body being found on the road?
Back in his flat, after thoroughly searching through the whole paper, an item at the bottom of page five caught Joe’s eye.
Unconscious man found on country road.
A man found unconscious on Spencer’s Lane near
Beckinswell in the early hours of Saturday, was taken
to Coventry University Hospital. On going to press,
no more information was available.
Could this be it? Could Martin still be alive? Joe got out his A to Z of Birmingham. Beckinswell was outside the area covered by the map. But, it was still shown, and on the Coventry side. Martin was still alive.
***
It was about one O clock on Sunday after noon when Teresa decided to ring Father Downey.
“Yes. Father Downey here.”
“Father. It’s Teresa.”
“Teresa. How are you? I was worried about you.”
“ I’m fine now Father. Thank you. I want to apologise for my behaviour yesterday. I was very rude to you. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, that’s all right. Just, you didn’t seem at all well, and you had a long drive ahead of you. You got home all right then?”
