‘Do you know what you were witnessing?’
‘No, unfortunately my batteries were running low so I had to pack up. My drone should fly for thirty minutes but the batteries are getting long in the tooth and they don’t hold the same charge they once did.’
Steve looked at Skeeter. She could see from his expression this man was not the killer. The poor sod had found himself at a murder scene twice by pure coincidence.
I never believed in that, not until today. Let’s hope these things don’t come in threes, she thought as she watched Steve pack away the equipment.
‘Hope you enjoyed that, Trevor. Maybe I could organise for you to see it fly one of these days. It’s as easy to operate as that one of yours. Don’t forget to try the camera settings I’ve suggested, you just never know.’
Steve closed the lid of the case and they both moved to the door.
‘Thank you. As my mother always used to say a promise is really a debt. That was so kind of you to remember me. It was very informative and enjoyable. Anytime you’re passing you’d be most welcome. I don’t get many visitors so your surprise call has made my week, thank you.’ He waved and turned to go back inside. As he closed the door, a smile crossed his lips.
Skeeter rang April. ‘Good plan of yours to have a social chat with Trevor rather than come in with the cavalry all guns blazing. Neither of us thinks he’s our man. Just in the wrong place and the wrong time – twice!’
Carlos waved as he left the salon for lunch. It was just after one thirty, later than usual. Nicola watched him leave. He seemed such a sad man. Gone was the bounce in his step he had always shown when Carla was around. However, she knew it would return – time would heal the wound.
The Atkinson Gallery was busy, and a party of school children loitered around the shop, their sharp, excited voices echoing in the cavernous void. An old red car was parked further into the building and he read posters linking it to some speed record held way back in time. He had never been interested in cars, even as a child, and this one was no exception. As a matter of curiosity, he did walk around it the once. He could smell the oil, obviously leaking from the old motor. On looking beneath, he saw the metal catch tray and the small puddle of shiny black. Turning to his right he entered the café. It would be his usual order: a one-shot latte and a toasted teacake with extra butter.
The waitress recognised him immediately and she gave a warm, welcoming wave. ‘Where you sitting today, Brian? I’ll bring them over. I know you like your coffee piping hot. You’re looking a bit better.’ Her smile was immediate but it was tinged with sadness.
Carlos checked the empty seats before choosing a table by the far wall. He pointed.
‘That’s number eight. You should know them by now. Won’t be a tick.’
As he sat, two more people entered. The room, once a large part of the building’s grand entrance, had recently been divided into more functional spaces. The height of the ceilings had been maintained and the large windows reflected the building’s grandeur. The heating pipes and the electrical conduit had been left exposed, giving the space a more industrial yet modern feel. There was always a buzz about the place, what with the theatre, the library, the art gallery and museum situated on the same site. It was all things to the citizens and visitors to the town, particularly on wet and windy days.
He watched as the customers both paused on entry, as if searching for someone. Initially Carlos thought they were together, but he was wrong. The man, in his late twenties, went to the counter and an elderly woman had, after a moment of searching, spotted her companion. She waved before moving towards their table. The man, now at the counter, turned and looked directly at Carlos before collecting his drink. He waited for his change and then moved to sit at the next table, number seven. He nodded as he sat. He said nothing but stirred his coffee. Within a minute the waitress brought Carlos his order, the butter melting and forming golden pools on the plate.
‘Brought you extra napkins too, Brian.’ She briefly placed a hand on his shoulder and left.
‘Preferential treatment, I see. You must be a regular, or is she a friend?’ The man’s face remained focused on the spoon as he slowly rotated it in the cup.
‘I call in most days when I can. This is where I usually get butter down my shirt.’ He raised his eyebrows as he brought up the napkin and tucked it beneath his chin. ‘Not very elegant but effective. Come here often did you ask? As I said, yes, but I’ve been a bit busy lately as we’re—’ He was going to say a member of staff down but stopped himself.
‘She a friend?’
‘No, she does most days and we’ve got to know each other.’ Brian felt himself blush a little but could not understand why. ‘Visiting Southport?’
‘No, I live here.’ He looked up for the first time. ‘Well, can you believe, I live with my mother. I’m between apartments at present, relationship trouble, I’m afraid. I’m in car sales. Popped in to look at the beauty in the entrance. You probably know it belonged to Sir Henry Segrave.’
Carlos, with a mouth full of toasted teacake, shook his head. He, too, still lived at home. It seemed to be the malaise of his generation. What with job insecurity, house prices and, he had to admit, his inability to save. As Carla said, life is for living, and that meant spending and having a bloody good time.
‘It’s a Sunbeam Tiger and he drove that 152.33 miles per hour along the sands here. You have to admire his bravery. Ninety-four years ago, that is, according to the posters. Imagine travelling at that speed on sand with tyres like that. You’re probably here for the same reason.’
Carlos could sense the enthusiasm as he spoke but his ears pricked up on hearing the words ‘relationship’ and ‘trouble’.
‘No, just lunch. You know all of the figures and fine details. Who’d remember the point three-three in the story after so long?
‘Been fascinated since I was a kid. My father was into design so cars like this featured heavily in my childhood. My brother was a designer at Jaguar too. Not cars, but the interiors. The subtle bits that make the difference, he used to say. I just flog them. It’s my afternoon off so I thought I should come and pay homage to Sir Henry.’
‘So that’s why there’s a pub and eatery called the Sir Henry Segrave? Do you know I never saw the connection until now and I’ve lived in Southport all my life too. Thought Sir Henry was some sort of politician!’
Carlos ate the remaining half of teacake and sipped his coffee. ‘I’m sure I know you from somewhere.’ He looked across, an inquisitive expression on his face.
‘You ever bought a car?’
Brian shook his head screwing his eyes up. ‘I haven’t, but where have I seen you?’
‘It’s amazing how many people say that. They spend an hour with me in the showroom and I meet them six months later and they say “I know you.”’ He laughed and finished his coffee. ‘Working in retail’s like that. The girl who served you will tell you the same. You might possibly have seen me in the Sir Henry. I drink there often, more so now that I’m living at home. I’m sure we’d come to blows, mother and me, if I didn’t get out of the house.’ He laughed and raised his eyebrows. ‘Must get a move on. I’ll have another look around that beautiful old car and then home. I’ll be popping along to the pub tonight for a meal, I think. The name’s Lloyd.’ He stood and came over proffering his hand.
‘Brian, but people call me Carlos. Nice to meet you. And thanks for the history lesson. I’ll know where to come when I need a car.’
‘Indeed. If you fancy a drink and something to eat, I’ll be in Sir Henry at about seven thirty.’ The wink forced home the not-so-subtle inuendo.
Carlos blushed slightly when he said it. The fact that Lloyd’s eyes lingered just a moment too long on his caused a shiver of excitement and brought a tingle. He had just been chatted up and he liked it. On leaving the table he went towards the girl behind the counter. He had a slight spring to his step. Smiling at the waitress he asked the question. ‘Do people who
come in here sometimes bump into you on the street and stop you, suggesting that they’ve seen you somewhere before?’
‘All the time, Brian. They’re not used to seeing me away from here and out of this outfit. One old dear thought I was her niece! Comes with the job.’
On leaving The Atkinson, the wind was driving the light rain in translucent sheets down Lord Street. He pulled up his hood and headed back to work.
Nicola greeted him. ‘You seem to have had a good break?’
He smiled. ‘Bloody weather! You might say that, it just might possibly have been profitable and that’s all I’m saying.’ His facial expression said it all. ‘I’m all tongue tied!’
‘Jim told me you found something you’d been looking for when you moved the furniture in the treatment room. Wasn’t the twenty pound note I lost at Christmas was it?’ She chuckled.
Carlos shook his head. ‘No, just something and nothing, my notebook.’
Nicola’s remark reminded him he needed to contact DI Decent as that would be the right thing to do. Although to him at the moment the majority of the contents of the book meant nothing, to the police they might prove to be vital. He took his phone and went to the treatment room. As he checked for the number, he heard the door and realised he had a client. It would have to wait until later.
Chapter 22
Tico’s ears twitched as the key turned in the lock. Stretching his legs, he pulled himself up before arching his back. His tail, tucked and curled between his back legs, moved frantically, his usual excited greeting before launching himself at April as she walked into the hall.
‘Missed me, Tico? Walk?’
There was no greater sign of enthusiasm but he headed immediately for the door. Grabbing his lead, she pulled on some wellington boots, an old coat and they left. The beach beckoned and the breeze and fresh sea air would blow away the confusion that had accumulated throughout the working day. Tico immediately relieved himself against a post, his post, as he did on most trips from the house. Soon he pulled out the lead to its fullest extent. Like April, he was glad to stretch his long legs.
Before leaving work, she had jotted down evidence from the case for Michael to chase up, attached to a note requesting miracles be done during the hours of darkness. The photographs, the friends’ lists and the latest intelligence were his on which to work his magic.
Noting there had been no response from the public concerning the appeal for details on the person seen in the background of the photographs, Michael turned to search the work carried out by Lynda’s facial recognition unit. The approximate age of the individual had been established, alongside hair and skin colour. His task would be to dig further into the images of the party which had now been released.
Carlos had not given the notepad much consideration on leaving work. The idea of contacting the police had evaporated the more he thought about Lloyd and the possibility of a surprise meeting at the Sir Henry. He wondered if Lloyd suspected he would accept his invitation. He had showered and dressed before inspecting his appearance in the mirror. He checked his nails; as always, they were immaculate. ‘152.33 miles per hour for Sir Henry but our Lloyd’s a fast worker too,’ he addressed his reflection. For some reason the words ‘decimal point’ came to mind and along with it an extended flush of excitement.
The evening air and the darkening sky brought with it a chill once the heat of the day had left the streets. A light mist had crept in from the sea to take its place. It gave a magical, blurred look to the lights of the darkened town. Turning down Lord Street, there was still a red blush to part of the western sky; there were still gulls too, their nocturnal flight aided by the town’s lights. It amazed him how the birds’ moving shadows could startle when flying within the coloured spotlights, often placed to illuminate the various buildings. Southport had a beauty of its own, even though the residents were experiencing the recent, dark times. He thought of his mother who still checked to see if he had a clean handkerchief when he went out. ‘You’re still my little boy’, she would always say, closely followed by, ‘Do you have your key?’ Although living at home had its drawbacks, it also had its advantages. He did very little, his food was bought and prepared, his washing and ironing done and even his bed made. To many he was spoiled but to Carlos he was cherished.
The pub stood out from the rest of the buildings in the row. Housed in a detached Victorian stone building, bedecked with central tower crowned with wrought iron, it had a certain regal presence. The blue surrounding iron and glass veranda that faced two sides was welcoming. The flower baskets hanging from the intricate iron work, trailing variegated ivy, were silhouetted against the pub’s lights, making them look larger than life. Some seating was optimistically placed outside, and the wall heaters had attracted smokers and the hardy who congregated in groups.
Carlos paused, contemplating the significance of his chance conversation with Lloyd. It seemed an age since he had been drawn to someone after such a brief encounter. He had experienced carefree flings, spontaneous couplings he had called them, in a way to justify the feeling of disgust that often followed. He had promised himself, after a conversation with Carla, that those liaisons were to be a thing of the past. He promised her that he would respect himself more and from that moment he had. He recalled her words: ‘You’re worth more than that. Look after you. Look after number one as no bugger else will!’ Her advice seemed to suggest that this was the guidance she had forced upon herself. She had faced toils and tribulations so often, brought about by Smith’s frequent dalliances and disloyalty. These salutary experiences had changed her life. He felt himself growing maudlin. Crossing the road, he entered the building and directly approached the bar. The warmth, the music and the chatter were heady.
Campari and soda in a tall glass always looked inviting, and as the slice of orange floated to the surface to mix with the crushed ice, he stirred his drink. Lifting it up to the light he admired the colour, it was a rich and deep red. It was part of the drink’s attraction, that and its bitter, herbal taste. He felt as though it cleansed his palate but that brought the words ‘pretentious pomposity’ to mind, and he giggled. When he had first ordered one in her company, Carla had made that comment to him. The words had stayed with him. Turning, he scanned the room before slipping the straw between his lips again. His eyes searched amongst the seated customers for Lloyd. On a table by the last window was the man for whom he searched. He smiled before waggling his fingers in recognition and moved over negotiating a number of customers and tables.
Lloyd stood and held out his hand. ‘I didn’t think you’d come, Carlos, or do you prefer Brian?’
‘Carlos, I’d prefer. It brings a great friend and mentor to mind.’ He sat looking at the dregs within his new found friend’s glass. ‘Another?’
‘No, I need food. You okay with that?’
Carlos sipped from his straw and nodded as a menu was placed in front of him.
The pistol grip glass cutter followed the pattern clearly visible through the blue-green glass. April’s steady hand pushed the wheel along a curved route drawn on the paper beneath the glass positioned on the light box. The fine cutting edge made a satisfying crunch as it scored the glass surface whilst leaving a light snail trail of fine oil in its wake. The distinctive sound told her that the pressure applied was accurate. On reaching the end she lifted the glass, rotating the cutter to bring the brass screw fitting on the chamber that held the cutting oil. She held it underneath before tapping it gently along the scored line. Obediently the glass broke perfectly. There was always something reassuring when a complex series of curving cut lines appeared from the full glass sheet. She had been taught well. Placing it onto the cartoon, the drawn black lined pattern of the design for the leaded window, she appreciated the richness of the colours she had chosen. She would cut one more before opening the wine. Checking her watch, her mind turned to Michael. He would just be getting to grips with the files she had left him.
Whether it was through exc
itement or a touch of nerves, Carlos did not finish his scampi and chips. He mauled his meal like a cat with a mouse. The conversation flowed; it was both easy and relaxed, as if they had known each other for longer. Within the matter of an hour, he had told most of his life story. There were, however, gaps deliberately left. Carla was never alluded to, even though at one point the conversation turned to discuss the three recent murders. It was Lloyd who had joked, somewhat tongue in cheek, that you waited years for a juicy murder to happen in your town and then three come along together. It had fallen flat, and that was the only time there was an uncomfortable pause in the conversation. However, on draining his third Campari soda, Carlos relaxed, enjoying the mood. The barriers began to be withdrawn and the mutual laughter was restored.
Looking out of the window, they saw that far more people had congregated around the tables and heaters. It was Lloyd who suggested they take a walk. ‘I fancy a flutter on the penny slots!’ His face beamed as he said it. ‘Silcock’s Funland down by the pier, I need a bit of light relief in my life! Some gambling! Let’s go wild and be free!’
Carlos laughed out loud. ‘Penny, Lloyd? When did you last put anything less than ten pence in one of the slots at Silcock’s?’
It brought a strange reaction from Lloyd who moved away, his expression changing immediately as he scowled.
Carlos, realising his words sounded rude and crude, tried to swallow them back as soon as he had uttered them. ‘Sorry, that didn’t come out like I meant it to, but you know what I mean.’ He laughed hoping to bring the smile back to his new friend’s face.
Syn (The Merseyside Crime Series Book 2) Page 16
