“I’m reiterating the situation, and I haven’t finished yet,” Vaughan argued. After another short pause, he continued, “The new building on the industrial estate is already in place, and—”
“The new portakabin on the industrial estate is already in place,” Joe interrupted.
Vaughan compromised. “Your new premises are already in place, and they’ll be fitted out to your requirements, and all that will not cost you one penny. In short, Murray, all you have to do is pay the rent on that portakabin, which your takings will more than cover. The money you receive from the CPO is yours.”
“You’re stating the obvious.”
“Then here’s the unobvious.” Again Vaughan paused, this time for emphasis. “I’m willing to pay you fifty thousand pounds. You can have it in cash. The tax man and Sanford Borough Council needn’t know about it. It’s yours. Put it in your back pocket. Send your two girlfriends and your nephew and his family on a world cruise. Go on one yourself with that union woman from Ballantynes. All you have to do is drop your appeal. And if it makes the deal any sweeter, I’ll pay whatever legal expenses you’ve incurred in setting up the appeal.” He sat back. “I can have the money for you first thing tomorrow morning.”
The mention of Amy, and the cash offer was too coincidental for it to be a coincidence and Joe found his anger rising. But the object of his fury was not there.
Taking a deep breath, letting it out as a long, slow sigh, he forced himself to relax and searched his innermost feelings. Fifty thousand pounds was tempting, and there was so much he could do with that kind of cash. Move to Blackpool as had been suggested… he preferred not to think about Amy for the moment. She had sold him out. Move to another country, then? Spain, for example. His ex-wife had done it and she had never come back. But it would mean capitulating and mere thought of giving in to Vaughan ignited the anger again.
He controlled the impulse to lash out. Apart from anything else, Appleby and McNeill, the two minders, would probably kick him all round Blackpool. Outspoken he may be, but he had never been built for fighting. Even in the schoolyard, people like Brenda, George and Owen had had to fight his battles for him.
“Fifty grand, eh?” he shook his head and chuckled softly. “You know your trouble, Vaughan? You believe everything has a price tag—”
“Everything does have a price, Murray.”
“Yes, but not everything has a cash price. I’m not stupid. Somewhere along the line you and Sanford Borough Council are gonna get what you want. I’m determined to make that journey as uncomfortable as possible for you. You can offer me fifty thousand, five hundred thousand, five million, if you want, and the answer will be the same. Stick it. I intend showing the rest of the world, or at least the rest of West Yorkshire, the kind of man you are. You and that crooked little tosspot, Queenan. Keep your filthy money.” He threw Vaughan’s suggestion back at him. “Take your wife or your mistress, or both on a world cruise, but don’t you bother me again, or next time, I really will call the cops.”
He got to his feet and marched off to join his friends at the bar.
***
Vaughan looked ready to spit. “That bloody man.”
Appleby kept his voice low and neutral. “A couple of phone calls, sir, and I can ensure he never troubles you again.”
“Easy enough, to arrange,” agreed McNeill.
Vaughan, for all his history of wheeling, dealing persuasion and outright coercion, was appalled. “Are you two out of your minds?”
“No, sir. I just think—”
“I don’t pay you to think, Appleby. I pay you to do. And the one thing you don’t do is fix it so Murray has an accident. You may think the police are dumb, but they’re not. If anything happens to Murray they’ll soon put it all together and come knocking on my door. No. Murray, his two whores and his gormless nephew are bulletproof, and he knows it.” Vaughan’s anger began to boil over. “But there’s more than one way to deal with the little snot.” He drained his glass and stood. “Come on. Let’s get back to the hotel. I need to speak to some people.”
***
Across the room Joe, Sheila and Brenda watched them leave.
“So what did he offer, Joe?” Brenda asked. “The stick or the carrot?”
Joe swallowed a mouthful of lager. “Carrot. Fifty thousand in cash, tax free and all I have to do is drop my appeal.”
Brenda gaped but Sheila was more piteous. “Oh, Joe, why didn’t you take it?”
Coming from her, it was the kind of statement which would usually cause Joe’s eyebrows to shoot up, but he had an idea where she was going. He merely waited until she carried on.
“You said yesterday that you’re going to lose eventually. You could have taken the money and really profited from it.”
“The way you didn’t take the ten thou’ he offered you?”
“The Lazy Luncheonette is not our business, Joe,” Brenda said, obviously picking up on Sheila’s track. “And we have no more power to persuade you than anyone else.”
“Fifty grand is peanuts to him. He’s probably lost twice that this last week. And I have you to think about you two, and Lee. And even if it’s not exactly peanuts to me, I don’t need the money.”
“First, you don’t have to worry about Brenda and me,” Sheila said, “and second, even if you don’t need the money, you could have used it to set Lee up in his own business.”
“He has his own business,” Joe pointed out. “The Lazy Luncheonette. It’s his when I shuffle off. Besides, if I wanted to set the lad up, I’d rather do it with clean money. My money.” Emptying his glass, he signalled the barman for refills. “Interesting offer, though. It told me just what a mug I’ve been again.”
“Mug?” Brenda asked.
“Amy. She set me up.” He went on to tell them of the exchange in the Coffee House earlier in the day.
“Oh, Joe, I’m so sorry,” Brenda sympathised.
“Yeah, me too. I really liked her, you know. Still, what else am I good for if not for some woman to take advantage of?” He picked up his beer. “Come on. There’s another disco in here shortly. Let’s boogie the night away, eh?”
Chapter Thirteen
Despite the Monday morning sunshine and the promise of another hot day, a great depression had settled on Joe. He had had precious little sleep, thanks to the twin problems of Ballantyne Distribution’s killings and Amy’s treason churning over and over in his head. Eventually, things reached a point where his frustration turned to anger, and that only exacerbated his insomnia.
At breakfast, while Brenda and Sheila chattered garrulously, reflecting on how they had enjoyed their weekend, he was sleepy, surly and uncommunicative, brooding over his cereal and bacon and eggs.
“We’re sorry about Amy,” Sheila told him when they eventually broached the matter. “And we’re sorry about the work you’ve done on those murders, but it’s the police’s problem not yours.”
“Theirs and Dave Kane’s,” Brenda agreed. “And if you’re right, if he really is innocent, they’ll get there. You’ve always said the police are good at what they do, but they’re just not as quick as you.”
“Forget Amy,” Joe growled. “She’s history, but Dave Kane … what am I supposed to do? Leave him to rot in a cell for a crime I’m sure he didn’t commit? I’ve had some of that, remember. Valentine’s last year. It’s not pleasant. In fact, it’s all wrong, and I can prove it. I know I can.” He fell silent again. “I just don’t know how.”
As if sensing the time was right to cut in on the argument, Keith came over to them. “I’ve had the call from Ballantynes, Joe. I’m getting a taxi over there now. I’ve the bus to check and sign for, and I should be back here for about half ten. So if you can have your people out of here and ready for loading.”
“Yeah, right, Keith. Spread the word as you leave, eh?”
“Will do.”
Joe and his companions stood and made their way from the dining room.
“Have you
much packing to do, Joe?”
“Only the netbook,” he promised. “I’ll be five minutes.”
While they waited for the lift, Sheila asked, “Getting back to Dave Kane, what makes you so sure he’s innocent? Is it because Amy said so?”
“I told you to forget Amy, didn’t I?” Joe retorted. “All right, she does know him better than me, but after what she did to me, do I really care what she has to say? It’s just… I dunno… He’s not the murdering type.”
“That’s opinion, not evidence,” Brenda said. “And you always say opinion doesn’t count.”
“It doesn’t.”
“Good,” Brenda said. “Because, if you want my opinion, Kane looks like Humpty Dumpty.”
Sheila tittered as the lift doors opened. “Except that he isn’t tall enough to get on the wall.”
Joe tutted and pressed the button for the first floor. “Get personal, why don’t you? As if the poor bugger hasn’t enough to put up with, now you’re insinuating he’s a dwarf.”
“And you know what that feels like, don’t you, Joe?”
The lift rose quickly, came to a stop and the doors soughed open, Brenda delivered a cheeky grin and followed Sheila out.
“I’ll see you in a few minutes,” Joe said and cut into his room.
Once there, he tossed his netbook into the case, zipped it up, then stood for a few moments at the window, looking out on the North Pier and the War Memorial, The Exchequer across the square, and the early holidaymakers out enjoying the spring sunshine. He had had just one afternoon of such enjoyment, and now he regretted it. He should have refused to help Ballantynes, and spent the weekend with his friends. If nothing else, it would have saved him the hurt and anger he felt at Amy’s betrayal.
It was too late now. First thing tomorrow morning, he would be back behind the counter of The Lazy Luncheonette, doubling up in the kitchen, helping Lee get the meals out, feeding the ever-hungry stomachs of the draymen and factory hands, or stretching over hot gas rings to reach the top pie racks, and…
His thoughts came to a tumbling halt.
He looks like Humpty Dumpty.
Except that he isn’t tall enough to get on the wall.
Why don’t they position these shelves for someone who’s only five foot three?
Joe’s heart began to pound. It was so obvious when he thought about it, but like everyone else, he hadn’t thought about it. It may not point the finger at the real culprit, but it would surely save Kane’s hide.
He dug into the suitcase, took out his netbook again, removed it from its case, opened it up and switched on, silently willing it to hurry through its boot routine. While he waited, he made a last check of the room, ensuring that he had not left anything behind. By the time he was happy that he had all his belongings, the netbook was running and waiting for his input. He opened up the photograph album and checked the pictures he had taken. Yes. There it was. No doubt about it.
His phone rang. He checked the menu. Lee. He made the connection.
“Uncle Joe—”
“Not now, Lee. I’m up to me neck in it. I’ll call you later.”
Closing off the phone, shutting down the machine again, he tucked the netbook in its own case and, dragging his small suitcase behind him, left the room and hurried along the corridor to Sheila and Brenda’s door where he knocked and waited, his foot tapping impatiently on the carpet.
Brenda opened the door.
“Listen, I’ve just got it. I can prove that Dave Kane is innocent. Can you look after my luggage while I get over there? Tell Keith to pick me up at the police…” Joe trailed off, his attention taken by the view of the sea from their window. “I thought you said you had a cracking view from here.”
“We do,” Brenda said as he walked in. “We can see the sea.”
“What use is that? You’ve seen water before, haven’t you? You told me you could see the Central Pier and the Pleasure Beach.”
“You can,” Sheila pointed to the right hand side of the windows. “If you stand there and press your face to the window, you can just make out The Big One, and you can see Central Pier sticking out in the water.”
Joe did as she said and was rewarded with the tiny glimpse of both landmarks.
“You need to be in the right place to see it, Joe,” Brenda told him.
Once more his heart began to palpate. “Oh my God. That’s it.”
They had seen this kind of performance so often that the glances passing between Sheila and Brenda were anything but surprised.
“What’s it, Joe?” Sheila asked, softly.
“The answer. It’s so simple I can’t believe I’ve wasted all weekend trying to crack it.”
“Yes, you’ve already said you can prove Dave Kane innocent,” Brenda reminded him.
“I can do more than that,” he told them as he dug into his gilet, searching for his phone. “I can tell Burrows who did it.” With the chief inspector’s business card in front of him, he tapped out the numbers with shaking fingers and put the phone to his ear. “Do me a favour,” he said while he waited to be connected. “Load my case onto the bus and get Keith to pick me up—”
“At the police station. We know.”
“No. Not at the police station. I’ll be at Ballantyne Distribution.”
“What?”
“Where?”
“Chief Inspector Burrows.”
At the announcement, Joe ignored his friends and concentrated on the phone call. “Burrows, it’s Joe Murray. Listen to me. If you still have Dave Kane in custody, you have the wrong man, and I can prove it. Better than that, I can tell you who really did it. I’m on my way to Ballantynes now. Bring Dave and enough people to make the arrest.”
“Now listen, Murray—”
“I mean it. Dave Kane is not guilty, but I know who is.”
***
By the time Joe got to Ballantynes, he had already spoken to Amy. He had been curt with her, but insistent that she get in touch with Megan and ask her to be there too.
“Why Megan?” Amy had asked.
“Because she knows more than she’s ever let on,” Joe replied.
At the gatehouse, he was signed in by Terry Dodd. “Listen, Terry, can you spare a few minutes to be in the Dispatch office?” Joe asked as he slipped on the borrowed hi-vis vest.
“Why?”
“Because I need to show the cops something, and you’re the only one I know who’s tall enough.” Joe smiled encouragingly. “Plus, I have a feeling the killer may try to do a runner when he’s confronted.”
“You know who it is?” Dodd still did not sound interested.
“I think I do, but I may need your help.”
Dodd sniffed disinterestedly. “I’ll be there.”
The next obstacle was Sandra Hamilton who refused to even show him Friday’s security log, let alone print off a copy for him.
“It can prove one way or another who’s guilty,” Joe insisted.
“I don’t care if it can prove the Earth is flat,” she retorted. “I caved in on Saturday, but not again.”
“We’ll have to see what Burrows says about it,” Joe said as Terry Dodd joined them.
“He can say what he likes. Without a warrant, he gets nothing,” Sandra snapped, and then glowered at Dodd. “And what do you want?”
“He’s helping me,” Joe explained. “Thanks, Terry. I’ll see you in Dispatch in a few minutes.”
Amy and Megan were next to arrive while Joe continued to press Sandra for the security log. He was surprised to see Amy there, and said so.
“Megan is one of my members. I want to know what’s going on,” she explained.
He asked them to go to Dispatch and wait for him, then returned to his negotiations.
“I said no, I meant no,” Sandra replied.
“Are you always this difficult?”
“You should see me on a blind date,” she said.
It was only when Chief Inspector Burrows and two of his CID officers sho
wed up that she finally capitulated.
Kane was with them. A night in police custody had done him no favours. He was red-eyed, unshaven, unkempt, and he had a haunted, troubled look about him which spoke of worries more serious than running a logistics operation.
Directing the two officers and Kane to the Dispatch office, Joe explained the situation to Burrows, who turned on Sandra and insisted on seeing the security log.
“It’s more than my job is worth,” she told the chief inspector.
“It’ll be more than your freedom is worth, lass,” Burrows told her. “Now either do it, or I run you in for obstructing a police officer in the course of his duties.”
She continued to carp, but Joe could see her resolve crumbling, and eventually, she gave way.
When the log appeared on screen, Joe checked it, and his face broke into a broad grin. “See.” He pointed out the two key entries to Burrows. “There’s your answer: the real killer.”
Burrows checked the screen and was satisfied. “All right, Murray. It’s your show. Print that out for us, please,” he said to Sandra.
“But—”
“Now listen, this is a murder investigation, not a search for a missing box of paperclips. Just get it printed out.”
A few minutes later, armed with the printouts, Joe and Burrows made their way through the noisy Sort Centre, and into Dispatch. The two policemen had stationed themselves by the counter to move inquisitive drivers on. Dodd was by the main door, while Amy, Megan and Kane stood by the back wall, chatting quietly.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Joe apologised as he plugged in his netbook and switched it on. “One of the problems with this investigation has been the nitpicking of your security people… no offence, Terry.”
“No worries. It gets on my wick, too.”
“We’ve just come up against it again, but, it’s all sorted and we have everything we need now.” Joe paused a moment, marshalling his thoughts. “You know, I have two very good friends: Sheila Riley and Brenda Jump. Whenever I’m stuck on an investigation, I can almost guarantee that they’ll say something which will tip the scales, and they did exactly that this morning.” Looking around, he crossed to a desk and picked up a twelve-inch ruler. “A couple of days ago, I took photographs of the injuries of both men. Other people thought it was weird, but that kind of thing can often help in a case like this. It’s the very reason the police take photographs at crime scenes. Now, although I didn’t realise it at the time, those pictures actually told me something about the killer, and this morning, after a remark from Sheila, they told me that Dave Kane could not have killed either man. He’s not tall enough.”
Death in Distribution Page 16
