Jaded

by Rob Ashman

  ‘Mr Blue,’ the voice echoed around the club.

  ‘Mr Green – five.’ The customer held up his tag.

  ‘That’s more like it. Who will give me seven?’

  ‘Mr Red.’

  ‘And now nine, who wants to own this for nine?’

  ‘Mr Blue.’

  ‘That’s the ticket. What do you say, Mr Red? Do you fancy eleven?’

  ‘Ten.’ Mr Black held up his token and supped on his drink.

  ‘That’s what I like to see. Mr Black holds the bid at ten. Anyone for eleven? Get a load of what you’re going to take away, gents. You won’t find this quality anywhere else. Who’s up for eleven?’

  ‘Mr Blue.’ The floating voice had an edge of frustration.

  ‘Twelve, will anyone give me twelve?’

  The room was quiet.

  ‘Mr Black, do you fancy twelve?’ He shook his head and poured himself more champagne. ‘I’m calling it, gentlemen. Going… going…’

  ‘Twelve, Mr Black.’

  ‘Whoa! Just in the nick of time. Any advance on twelve? I have twelve from Mr Black, do I hear thirteen? Mr Blue are you in?’ The speakers in the room remained silent. ‘Going once… going twice… sold to Mr Black for twelve thousand pounds.’

  And so, the afternoon rolled on, the champagne flowed and all the lots were sold. All, that is, except for lot number two.

  Chapter 15

  Bagley intercepted Kray on her way to the incident room.

  ‘How did you get on with the Drug Squad?’ he said, stopping her in her tracks.

  Good afternoon to you too, tosser!

  ‘We’ve been pursuing other lines of enquiry first. I wanted more information before I got them on board.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Other lines of enquiry, like what?’

  ‘We obtained a search warrant to the garage and recovered a computer and a bunch of financial records. We also interviewed the guy who runs the yacht club and tried to speak to Miriam Ellwood, but she was having none of it.’

  ‘So, nothing about the drug connection, then?’

  ‘The garage is part of the drug connection, you said it yourself. That’s where he could be laundering the cash.’

  ‘I asked you to get the Drug Squad involved and that’s what I expect to happen. Is that clear?’

  Kray cast her eyes to the ceiling. ‘Yes, sir. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to conduct the initial briefing on the stab victim.’ Kray skirted around Bagley and walked down the corridor.

  ‘I’ve had a look at that case,’ Bagley called after her.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I want you to handle it.’

  ‘But sir, I know I was the attending officer but I thought, given that I have the Ellwood investigation, you would give it to Brownlow. I’m happy to kick things off, but I was expecting to hand this over.’

  ‘I’ve examined the loadings and you have headroom to take this on as well. Colin has enough on his plate at the moment.’

  ‘But…’

  Bagley turned and walked away. Kray gritted her teeth.

  Wanker!

  She shoved open the door to the incident room, trying to hold her emotions in check. She had a briefing to conduct and couldn’t betray the fact that all she wanted to do was dash after Bagley to kick him in the nuts.

  ‘Good afternoon, sorry I’m a little late – I got nabbed by the DCI.’

  In the room were three CID officers, including Tavener, who had been busy constructing evidence boards and briefing notes.

  ‘Afternoon, Roz,’ they said in unison, all of them aware that ma’am was not the term to use.

  ‘This…’ she pointed to a head and shoulders photograph on the board, ‘is Thomas Weir. He was found by two passers-by in the early hours of this morning with his throat slashed. He died at the scene. Weir had been in trouble with the police in 2009 for causing an affray so we had his prints on file which enabled an early identification. It’s our only piece of luck because the rest of the circumstances surrounding his death don’t add up.’

  ‘Roz,’ piped up DC Louise Chapman, a woman in her late twenties wearing a tailored suit with her long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. ‘I know this guy, he works the door at the Paragon.’

  ‘That’s right, he does, or rather he did. I’ll head over to the club when we’re done to start asking questions. He lived with his girlfriend. She’s been informed and will identify the body later today. I want one of you to be with her when she does and someone to examine his social media and phone records.’

  ‘I’ll pick both those up,’ said DS Tejinder Gill, a dishevelled man in his early thirties with Brillo-pad hair.

  ‘Okay. First priority: I want to know what Weir was doing in the alleyway.’

  ‘Roz, reading the briefing notes, isn’t this a street-mugging gone wrong?’ asked Chapman. ‘I mean, we found no possessions on him. Whoever killed Weir robbed him. Muggings tend to go one of two ways: either the assailant threatens the victim with violence unless he or she hands over their belongings, or, the mugger attacks the victim and robs them. And judging by the pictures and the initial forensics there was no struggle, so we must be looking at the second MO.’

  ‘Yeah, I agree, but let’s step through this,’ Roz replied, standing next to the board. ‘The first thing to consider is Thomas Weir was six feet one inches tall and weighed over fourteen stones, hardly mugging material. Also, he worked security at a nightclub, so we can assume he could handle himself and wouldn’t be easily intimidated. So, I agree with the theory that he probably didn’t see it coming. The assailant slashes his throat and allows him to die.’ Kray pointed to the photograph of Weir sitting upright with his back against the wall and his legs out in front of him. ‘He’s attacked and slides down into this position. We can assume that at this stage the killer does not have Weir’s valuables. So here is the first question: what is the easiest way to take the belongings from his pockets?’

  ‘Roll him over,’ said Tavener.

  ‘That’s right, but the killer leaves him in a sitting position and takes his wallet and mobile phone.’

  ‘Perhaps they were in his jacket pockets so whoever killed him had no need to check the other pockets?’ said Gill.

  ‘But if you were going to rob someone you wouldn’t check two pockets and call it a day. You’d check them all.’ A murmuring went around the room. ‘Also, Weir’s legs are soaked in blood from his hips to his knees.’ Kray pointed to another photo. ‘The next question is: the blood flowing from his neck would run down his chest, so how did it end up on his thighs? I think he had his knees up under his chin when he bled out. Someone straightened his legs, maybe to check the front pockets of his jeans.’

  ‘The blood patterns are consistent with the victim sitting in one place when he died,’ said Tavener.

  ‘Exactly. Now onto the third question: how the hell did he get there?’

  ‘Maybe the killer swiped his keys and stole his car as well.’ Gill was on a roll.

  ‘Maybe. It’s fifteen miles from his place of work to where he was found.’

  ‘He could have taken a taxi?’ asked Tavener.

  ‘I want one of you to contact every taxi firm to see if they took a fare anywhere near Spencer Street,’ said Kray. Gill raised his hand to accept the task.

  ‘Someone could have dropped him off?’ said Chapman.

  ‘Yes, that’s a possibility.’

  ‘Perhaps he was killed for a different reason and it was staged to look like a mugging?’ said Tavener.

  ‘That’s what I think,’ said Kray. ‘There are too many things that don’t add up. I’ll talk to the Paragon. Check out if he was working that night. They might be able to shed some light on why he was there.’

  ‘I’ll make a start on the house-to-house and check out the CCTV in the town, see if we get a hit,’ said Chapman.

  ‘I’ll check out who owns the Paragon club and whether or not they have any
other business interests,’ said Tavener.

  ‘Is there anything else?’ Kray asked. A general shaking of heads followed. ‘Okay, guys, we have a lot of ground to cover.’

  Kray was eager to bring the briefing to a swift conclusion. She gathered up her things, bolted for the door and ran down the corridor to the ladies’ toilet. She made the cubicle just as vomit burst from her mouth and slapped against the back of the porcelain.

  Across the city Marshall was feeling sick for a different reason. Standing in front of Bernard Cross and being asked to account for yourself was a daunting enough task. But being asked to account for the loss of fifty-six thousand pounds was a suicide mission.

  ‘Just run that past me again,’ whispered Cross.

  ‘The guy picked up the cash from Torville Road and was attacked. He had his throat slashed and died at the scene. When we found his body, the cash was gone.’ Marshall’s voice was croakier than normal.

  ‘I thought that’s what you said.’ Cross was a small weasel of a man with grey hair and an immaculate taste in tailored suits. His cufflinks sparkled under the lamp which hung above the table. The restaurant was empty, except for the two of them, plus the nerve-wracking addition of two gorillas wearing suits, who were standing either side of Marshall. ‘Was it a hired hit?’

  ‘We don’t know. Our men are all over the streets, but as yet, we’ve got nothing.’

  ‘That’s strange, someone generally knows something.’

  ‘They do, but this time we’re drawing a blank.’

  ‘Fifty-six thousand pounds,’ Cross mused to himself. ‘Whoever did this deserves a spanking.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Cross.’

  ‘Do you think it’s a retaliatory strike? We took out one of their guys a few weeks ago, is this tit for tat?’

  ‘Until we find someone who knows, I can’t tell.’

  ‘Maybe, but it doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together. We had intelligence suggesting they might muscle in on our shipment – we sent them a warning – they decide to retaliate. While relieving us of our money in the process.’

  ‘I’m not sure, Mr Cross.’

  ‘What are you doing to get my cash back?’

  ‘We’re out there shaking trees. Sooner or later we’ll get a lead.’

  ‘When you find out who did this I want to be present at the spanking, is that clear?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Cross. I figured you would.’

  ‘How is everything else going?’

  ‘Good. We had a successful auction and moved all the merchandise, except one.’

  ‘What are your plans?’

  ‘The last one will go, we just didn’t have the right clientele.’

  ‘Okay, keep me posted.’ Cross got up from the table and left via the back entrance with the two bodyguards in tow. Marshall took the opportunity to sit down and breathe, but his phone buzzed in his pocket just as he had gotten comfortable.

  ‘Hey, boss, I think we might have a problem.’ It was Dave Williams, one of the heavies from the club.

  ‘I know we have a problem, Dave, we have fifty-six thousand of them.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I think we’ve got another.’

  ‘Go on, I’m loving all this bad news at the moment.’

  ‘I can’t tell you over the phone.’

  ‘Don’t fuck about, I’m not in the mood.’

  ‘No, boss, I’m serious. Not over the phone.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘I’m outside, I drove straight over.’

  Marshall rose from the table and plodded to the front door. He went out into the street and could see Williams sat in his car. He opened the passenger door and slid in beside him.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I just saw Trevor Huxley…’ Marshall stared at him and said nothing. ‘Boss, I said–’

  ‘You must be mistaken.’

  ‘No, boss, I followed him to make sure. It was Huxley all right.’

  ‘You must have that wrong.’

  ‘I wish I did. But it was him, I swear to it.’

  ‘That’s impossible. We killed Trevor Huxley and dumped his body in the sea.’

  Chapter 16

  Kray opened the glass door of the Paragon and stepped into the foyer. To the left was a small booth used to take entrance money and to the right was a half-moon desk to hand in coats. She walked through another set of glass doors into the club. The place was in semi-darkness.

  ‘Hello!’ she called. ‘Anyone at home?’ Her stomach rumbled from being empty, but at least she no longer felt sick.

  A head popped up from behind the bar.

  ‘Bloody hell, love, you’re a bit keen aren’t you? We’re shut. Doors open at eight,’ said a young black guy with cropped hair.

  Kray opened up her warrant card. ‘I’m DI Kray. I want to ask a few questions about a man who works here, his name is Thomas Weir.’

  ‘Tommy, what the hell has he done now?’

  ‘Was he working last night?’

  ‘Erm, yeah, I think he was. I was on a rest day so didn’t see him. But I think he was on.’

  ‘Is there anyone here who can confirm he was at work?’

  ‘Shit, he’s done something, hasn’t he?’

  ‘Do you know him well?’

  ‘Just work colleagues, really. He’s a solid guy, good with the punters but he doesn’t take shit from nobody. If you know what I mean?’

  Kray nodded. ‘Has he worked here long?’

  ‘He was already here when I arrived and I’ve been here almost two years. Is he in trouble?’

  ‘Is there someone else–’

  ‘It’s okay, Josh, I’ve got this.’ It was Marshall. He strode across the dance floor, the clack-clack of his heavy shoes echoing off the walls.

  ‘I’m DI Roz Kray.’

  ‘My name is Eddie Marshall. I run the place. How can we help?’

  ‘Was Thomas Weir working last night?’

  ‘He was, or at least he was here for most of the night.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Marshall invited Kray to sit at a table.

  ‘He started his shift and then disappeared about ten o’clock. Left us short-handed so I’m not best pleased.’

  ‘Does he have a habit of doing that?’

  ‘No, he’s a reliable guy. Not sure what happened, but he just took off without a word to anyone.’

  ‘Did he have an argument with a customer?’

  ‘Not as far as I know. He’s a big hit with our clientele. Don’t get me wrong, he can handle himself, but when there’s trouble he’s always able to talk people down. Can I ask what this is about?’

  ‘Tommy was found dead in the early hours of this morning.’

  ‘Shit, that’s dreadful. How did it happen?’

  ‘At this stage I’m not at liberty to say. Was there anyone who held a grudge against him or who might have got into a fight with him in the recent past?’

  ‘No, no one. As I said, he was well liked.’

  ‘Does he have a locker here?’

  ‘No, but we have a place where the guys get ready for their shift. I can show you if you like?’

  ‘That would be helpful.’

  Marshall led Kray out of the main hall and up a flight of stairs. At the top was a small room with three rows of benches; a kitbag lay on a table in the corner.

  ‘I think that’s Tommy’s,’ said Marshall, nodding at the table.

  Kray donned a pair of gloves and unzipped the bag. It contained a white shirt, a pair of black trousers and a black bomber jacket. ‘Is this his stuff?’

  Marshall glanced inside. ‘Looks like it.’

  ‘Don’t touch this, one of our forensics team will be along to pick it up.’

  ‘That’s fine.’

  ‘How did he get to work?’

  ‘By car, I think.’

  ‘Do you know the make and model?’

  ‘No, sorry, I don’t.’

  Kray unzipped a pocket at the end of the bag and pulled out a set of keys. ‘
Do you have CCTV outside?’

  ‘We have two cameras trained on the back, but nothing out front.’

  ‘Can you let me have a download of the footage from both cameras for last night?’ Kray handed him a flash drive.

  ‘Yes, I can get that organised. Anything else I can help with?’

  ‘I’m going to take a wander outside, I will be back shortly. Can you lock this door until the CSI team arrive to collect the bag?’

  ‘Yes, that’s no problem, tell them to ask for me when they get here.’

  Kray nodded and made her way downstairs and out of the back of the club into the yard. There were several vehicles parked up and a row of bottle banks and rubbish skips against the wall. She looked up and could see the cameras keeping watch. Kray pointed the key fob at the vehicles and pressed the unlock button. Nothing happened. Outside, was a line of parked cars stretching the length of the road. She walked up the street, holding the fob above her head, repeating the process. After fifty yards the orange indicators of a blue Golf informed her she had found Weir’s car.

  Kray peered through the windows at the spotless interior. She clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth in appreciation.

  Mr Weir was a tidy boy.

  Then she retraced her steps to the club with her phone pressed to her ear and requested a vehicle recovery along with a CSI to pick up the bag. Marshall was waiting for her with the memory stick in his hand.

  ‘Here you go.’ He handed it over. ‘Did you find his car?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s parked outside. Any idea why he would have left without taking his vehicle? Someone give him a lift?’

  ‘I’m sorry, I have no idea. As I said, we were not best pleased because he left us short-handed.’

  ‘I’ll be in touch, thank you for this.’ Kray held up the stick and made her way across the dance floor to the front entrance.

  ‘If you think of anything else, DI Kray, don’t hesitate to get in touch.’ Kray waved her hand in thanks. ‘Oh, and by the way, we’ve been having some problems with the CCTV in the past few weeks. I hope it’s downloaded okay.’