The Missing And The Dead: A tense crime thriller with a shocking twist

by J. F. Burgess

  'You don't think Wilder will turn up with Albert Carmelo tonight, do you?'

  'I really hope not, but why get us all together like this? There's got to be a reason for this suspicious note. Is there anyone in the bar?' Bates said.

  Margot Matheson rose and peeped through the small hatch in the wall into the bar, 'A man sitting in the corner.’

  'What's he look like?' Bates asked.

  'I can't see his face. I need a fag to calm my nerves,’ Margot said. ‘I'll only be a few minutes, then we can decide what to do.'

  She left the snug and headed to the pub’s back yard.

  ****

  Fifteen minutes later, Margot still hadn't returned, so they decided to look for her. Outside, the old terraced yard was dark: the only light came from an inadequate frosted-glass lamp which cast a shaft of light through the fine drizzle, barely illuminated the wet cobbles of the long, narrow space.

  Rills was the first to speak, 'Where is she?'

  'Has she gone to the loo again?' Valletta said.

  Bates shook his head, 'We'd have seen her come back in.'

  It seemed she had disappeared without a trace and, even though they barely knew the woman, they were concerned for her well-being.

  They went back inside, and resumed their seats.

  'I'll call the police,' the landlord said.

  'I don't think that's necessary, yet,' Bates said, aware their impromptu reunion might be construed as some kind of illicit collaboration between witnesses linked to the Lenny Wilder murder case. The last thing any of them wanted was more probing questions.

  'Surely she wouldn't just leave like that without telling us?' Valletta said.

  'She looked scared to me. Maybe she’s run out on us?' Rills said, nervously.

  'We’re all scared, George. This is worrying,' Bates said.

  Valletta exclaimed, 'The man in the bar's gone! Did anyone see him leave?’

  They exchanged worried looks across the table.

  'I can't just sit here. I'm going to see if the landlord has a torch,’ Bates said.

  'No need. You can use the one on my phone. It's more than bright enough,' Valletta said, scrolling her mobile’s screen.

  'But we've already checked outside,' Rills said.

  'Only in the back yard, though; not beyond the gate. Where does that lead to? Wait here,’ Bates said, taking Valletta’s phone from her. The LED beam flitted around the floor, casting shadows on the carpet, as he moved toward the fire exit.

  'Do you want us to come with you for back-up?' Rills shouted as Clifford Bates opened the door.

  'I'll be OK.'

  'Take my stick for protection,' Rills shambled after Bates, and held it out.

  'Thanks,' Bates said, grabbing it with his free hand.

  Rills and Lombardi went over to the window that looked out onto the yard.

  ****

  Outside, Clifford Bates quickly made his way down the yard, aiming the torch waist height in front of him. He hooked the crank of the stick onto his belt, unlatched the six-foot tongue-and-groove gate, and swept the beam in a wide arc into the pitch-black behind the pub. It illuminated a horrible wasteland left by the demolition of slum clearance terraced houses. A shopping trolley lay on its side. There were dozens of crushed beer cans. And ripped-open, fly-tipped bin bags were scattered around its vicinity; evidence of a fox scavenging for food.

  There was no sign of Margot Matheson. Feeling uneasy in these dangerous surroundings, he turned back toward the yard gate. As he reached it, the torch beam shone on a small object on the ground. Bending, he picked up Margot’s clutch bag. A cold sensation crept over him as he made his way back to the snug.

  ****

  'That's the bag Margot arrived with,' Valletta Lombardi exclaimed.

  Clifford Bates nodded solemnly, 'It was left by the back gate.'

  'Oh God, what's happened to her?' Rills’ voice rose an octave.

  'I'm afraid I don't know. There's nothing out there except derelict land and rubbish,' Bates replied.

  'We need to check inside the bag. There could be a contact number.'

  'I've got Margot's landline number,’ Rills said.

  'But we don't want to panic her loved ones just yet. Maybe there's a simple explanation for her leaving so abruptly,' Bates said.

  'What, and leaving her bag by the back gate on some derelict land in the dark? I doubt it. Something's seriously wrong here.' Valletta took the bag from Bates and rummaged through it. Carefully, she placed its contents onto the table: red lipstick, a blusher compact, a half-empty pack of Benson and Hedges cigarettes, a cheap plastic lighter, and, more worryingly, her mobile phone.

  'There's no way any woman would just leave her personal belongings, like this. Especially her mobile: it’s a lifeline!' Valletta said.

  She picked up the Samsung J3 and pressed the button on the side to turn on the home screen. Surprisingly, the phone wasn't password protected, and a message flashed up:

  Play me.

  She tapped on the attached sound file. The three looked on nervously as an eerie, callous voice cut through the silence:

  You are responsible for the following:

  Valletta Lombardi, in September 1978, you knowingly led vulnerable, underage girls into the hands of paedophiles.

  Margot Matheson, in August 1978, in an act of revenge, you made false, damaging accusations of rape against Lenny and Johnny Wilder.

  George Rills, in 1978, you regularly stole money from your place of work, The Golden Nugget arcade, and conspired against your employers, the Wilder brothers.

  Clifford Bates, in September 1978, you benefited from a family’s tragic misfortune.

  You shall all be punished for your crimes!

  Petrified, the three pensioners sat in stunned silence.

  Little did they know the landlord had called the police, even when Clifford Bates warned against it. A patrol car from Hanley station arrived at the pub as they were about to leave.

  CHAPTER 42

  PC Emerson and burly PC Haynes pulled up outside the Old Sal pub as Valletta Lombardi, George Rills and Clifford Bates were approaching the front door in their coats.

  PC Emerson got out of the car and stopped them. 'Going somewhere, ladies and gents? We've received a call about a woman going missing under suspicious circumstances. We need you to go back inside and sit down, please, while we establish the facts.'

  As they re-entered the pub, Bates shot the landlord a resentful look.

  Emerson was about to take names when the penny dropped, 'Well, this is cosy?'

  'Not sure I follow, officer?' Bates said, acting innocent.

  'Mr Bates, we meet again.' She glanced at her watch: 10:30p.m. ‘Seems you’re in breach of your bail terms. You should have been at home over an hour ago. You do know I can arrest you for this?' she warned him.

  'Look, I was summoned by George here, to meet him at 7:30. I can assure you I had no intention of staying longer than half an hour, but then Margot went missing and we went to look for her,' he said, defensively.

  PC Haynes squared up close to Bates, 'And why would you be meeting three people who've been questioned in connection with the Lenny Wilder murder case?'

  Bates suddenly lost his voice.

  Valletta Lombardi stepped in to fill his silence, 'We were all tricked into thinking Georgie had invited us to the pub to speak with us individually. When I arrived Margot was already here. She was shocked to see me, but we discussed the notes and sat talking over drinks before Georgie arrived. I'm worried about her. What exactly are you doing to find her?'

  'We'll continue this down the station,' Haynes said.

  'Are we under arrest?' George Rills asked, leaning on his stick and cowering behind the other two.

  'That all depends on if you cooperate.'

  'But we haven't done anything wrong,' Rills continued, gaining a little courage.

  'You've nothing to worry about, then,' Haynes said.

  CHAPTER 43

&nb
sp; Blake had popped a Relax with Classical LP onto his Linn turntable, poured a chilled glass of Chardonnay, and was about to settle down to a cosy crime classic, when his evening was abruptly interrupted by PC Emerson’s call.

  ‘Sir, I think we’ve got a situation with the suspects connected to the Lenny Wilder case,’ she said, then relayed the evening’s events.

  He groaned, ‘For fuck’s sake!’ and downed the wine.

  He changed from joggers to jeans, slipped an ironed shirt on and headed to the front door.

  Isabel shouted down the stairs, ‘Dad, where are you going at this time?’

  ‘Work, Izzy, don’t wait up. I could be late.’

  ****

  ‘Mr Bates, do you have any idea what’s happened to Margot Matheson?’

  ‘No. She went out for a fag, and never returned to the pub. At first we thought she’d gone home in a taxi. After all, we were all summoned under false pretences to that bloody creepy place.’

  ‘Is someone threatening you, or your daughter, to keep quiet about Margot’s whereabouts? Johnny Wilder, for example? You do know he’s currently evading arrest, and wanted by us?’ PC Emerson said.

  Bates looked exasperated, ‘He’s not threatening us. I haven’t seen that nutter for the best part of fifteen years, and I had nothing to do with Margot’s disappearance, how could I?’

  Blake couldn’t tell if he was being honest, ‘OK. I have team of officers scouring the surrounding area for her as we speak. Let’s hope for your sake she turns up safe and sound.’

  Bates shook his head.

  ‘When did you receive this letter inviting you to the Old Sal pub at 7.30p.m.this evening?’ Blake asked, laying it on the interview table in front of him.

  ‘It came through my letterbox yesterday, early morning; must have been before I was awake. When I went downstairs it was on the hallway carpet.’

  ‘Was there a stamp and postage mark? Have you kept the envelope?’

  ‘No, I shredded it with some other junk mail.’

  ‘You shred envelopes? Why?’

  ‘I got ripped off by some mail scammers last year, so I’m a bit paranoid now.’

  ‘How much did you pay them?’

  ‘A thousand quid.’

  ‘Did you report it to us?’

  ‘Yes, but the perpetrators were from some offshore banana republic.’

  ‘Sorry to hear that. Anyway, back to your meeting with George Rills, Valletta Lombardi and Margot Matheson. Can you give me a credible explanation why you met up with suspects connected to the Lenny Wilder murder case? Because, from where I’m sitting, this situation looks like collusion. Interfering with a case, its witnesses or suspects, carries up to a maximum of thirty-six months in prison. Do you really want to add an extra three years on to your sentence for possession of child porn? Take him back to his cell to consider his future, or lack of it, PC Haynes,’ Blake said.

  ****

  The cold pock-marked magnolia walls of the twelve by eight cell hammered home the magnitude of Clifford Bates’ situation. The prospect of spending years in prison for being forced into storing those horrendous films for over forty years sent his mind spiralling into the past…

  Sitting in front of Lenny Wilder’s desk in the back office of The Golden Nugget, the gangster’s vile threats echoing in his head, “You’re taking the piss, and you don't want to do that, or I’ll have to give the Sentinel a call. I'm sure they'll be interested in your sick fucking obsession with young girls! Now, have you got my money?’ If it hadn’t been for the bus driver strikes in 1978, he’d have been able to pay him. But handing over less than half of what he owed set off the blackmailing bastard.

  He touched his nose. It still hurt in winter, even now. Rubbing it, he recalled the blood and pain after that maniac slammed his face into the hard mahogany desk, breaking his nose on impact, Margot screaming at him to stop.

  ****

  Across the hallway, in Interview Room Two, DS Brogan sat next to PC Emerson looking across the table at Valletta Lombardi.

  ‘Mrs Lombardi, how well do you know Margot Matheson?’

  ‘I don’t know her at all,’ she said, unsettled by the question.

  ‘You see this strikes us as odd. I know you were all summoned to the pub under false pretences by these notes, but PC Emerson here tells me she sensed you were overly concerned about Mrs Matheson’s disappearance. She got the distinct impression you knew her from way back.’

  Emerson interjected, ‘Mrs Lombardi, when we questioned you last week, you told DI Blake and me that, at one point in the 1978, you were seeing Lenny at the same time as Margot was?’

  ****

  In Interview Room Three, George Rills leaned his elbows on the table for support: his curved spine hunched him over. DS Murphy and DC Chris Longsdon almost felt guilty questioning a disabled man at this time of night. Blake had advised them to be kind, but remain focused.

  Murphy asked, ‘I would imagine you’re pretty worried about Margot Matheson? We have a team of officers out there looking for her. I’m sure she’ll turn up unharmed soon. But first, Mr Rills, in your own words, can you tell us what happened at the Old Sal pub this evening?’

  Rills lifted his head slightly to try and gain eye-level contact with the two detectives, but it was a strain, ‘I got this weird letter the other day, asking me to meet Margot at the pub tonight. I arrived late because my taxi didn’t turn up, so I had to call another. Margot, Valletta and Clifford Bates were already in the bar,’ he said anxiously.

  ‘I see. And at what point in the evening did Margot disappear?’ Murphy

  asked.

  ‘She nipped into the back yard for a smoke about half eight, but she never came back. We looked everywhere in the pub, and Clifford Bates even went out the back gate onto the derelict land.’

  ‘Derelict land?’

  ‘Yeah, sorry. Er… behind the pub there’s waste land full of litter and rubbish. Bates said it looked like slum clearance. It was so dark he could only see by torch light. On his way back, he found her bag by the gate post.’

  ‘The bag that was handed to the officers who attended the pub?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘What do you think happened to her, Mr Rills?’ DC Longsdon tried to coax him, even though he looked in fear of reprisal from someone.

  ‘Margot was a lovely woman. Personally, I think it’s got something to do with this murder case. Digging up the past never did any good.’

  Longsdon frowned, ‘Can you be more specific?’

  Lowering his voice to a whisper, Rills said, ‘People did things they’re ashamed of back in the old days. Everyone has skeletons in their cupboard. When you lot start asking questions, they get worried some of those skeletons might fall out.’

  ‘By that, I take it you mean people you know have committed crimes that have gone undetected for years?’ Longsdon said.

  ‘I didn’t say that. I just mean everyone's got secrets. Some worse than others. But Margot was a good person.’

  Murphy had had enough of his cloak-and-dagger, ‘Sounds like you had feelings for her, Mr Rills. If you know about any historical crimes and withhold evidence, you can be prosecuted for perverting the course of justice: that carries a hefty prison sentence. It wouldn’t be good for your health, would it?’

  Rills cleared his throat, ‘Margot was always kind to me. I loved her, but kept it secret. She’d never go out with a cripple like me. But, still, I know nothing.’

  Murphy tested him. ‘Unfortunately, I don’t believe you. Because you couldn’t have Margot, you couldn’t bear the thought of anyone else being with her. Where is she, George?’

  Rills became animated, ‘I would never hurt her. I don’t know where she is!’

  ‘Going back to this letter: was there a stamp or postmark on the envelope?’

  ‘No, it was just a blank brown envelope.’

  ‘Do you still have it?’

  ‘It might be in my letter rack. I don’t know without looking.’<
br />
  ‘OK, that’s helpful. We’ll need to get it checked by forensics for prints and DNA.’

  Rills looked genuinely puzzled, ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you’re all connected to the Lenny Wilder murder case. And the person who sent the letters is either trying to intimidate the witnesses or has an even more dangerous motive. Until we find out who it is, you need to be very vigilant.’

  A worried look appeared on Rills face, ‘Vigilant! I’m a sixty-eight-year-old disabled bloke. What should I do, whack em with my stick?’ he said, glancing at his trusty cane leaning in the corner.

  ‘If you’re concerned for your personal safety, we can put you into protective custody,’ DC Longsdon said.

  ‘I haven’t done anything wrong,’ Rills said, like a frightened mouse.

  To put his mind at rest, DS Murphy elaborated, ‘We have access to secure accommodation where witnesses and vulnerable people can be placed to protect them from harm. You wouldn’t be under arrest, but your movements would be restricted, until the threat was deemed to have passed.’

  Rills became upset.

  ‘Is there anyone we can call to support you, Mr Rills?’ Murphy asked.

  ‘I got no one.’

  Murphy genuinely felt sorry for him, ‘There are volunteers we can call to support you. Would you like me to arrange that after the interview?’

  ‘It’s too late for that. They already hurt me,’ Rills said, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his bobbled polyester jumper.

  ‘Who’s hurt you, Mr Rills?’ DC Longsdon asked.

  Rills thought for minute. They could see the fear in his eyes.

  ‘Carmelo. That bastard yanked four of my toenails out with pliers.’

  The two detectives were shocked by his admission.

  ‘Good God! Are you referring to Albert Carmelo?’ Murphy guessed it was that nasty bastard they’d arrested at Johnny Wilder’s house: the chainsaw madman.