by Oliver Tidy
Dirty Business
The First Acer Sansom Novel
Oliver Tidy
Copyright 2013 Oliver Tidy
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This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please download an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any persons without the permission of the author.
Oliver Tidy has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
This is a work of fiction. All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead is purely coincidental.
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Dirty Business: a practice that is morally and/or ethically bankrupt – an unsavoury means to an end.
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The Acer Sansom novels now number four. They don’t have to be read in order; they do all work as stand-alone novels. However, to get the most out of each it is recommended that they are read in the order in which they were written
#1 Dirty Business
#2 Loose Ends
#3 Smoke and Mirrors
#4 Deep State
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Epilogue
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1
‘Detective Inspector Tallis?’
‘You must be the Army.’
‘Captain Harris.’
The men shook hands.
‘So, who is he?’ said Harris.
‘Was he.’
‘He’s dead?’
‘Yes…and no…and then again, probably.’
The British Army Captain frowned. With an exaggerated weariness, he said, ‘Detective Inspector, if you don’t mind, I’m exhausted and I haven’t just driven nearly two hundred miles on my Sunday off for fun.’
DI Tallis managed a half smile and inclined his head, conceding his point. He knew what it was to be tired. ‘Why don’t you come with me, Captain Harris? Take a look for yourself.’
They walked without speaking along a brightly-lit corridor. The noise and bustle of the hospital entrance receded quickly behind them. Arriving at a door marked ISOLATION in large, red capital letters, Tallis led them in.
Inside, a cosy reception area looked out over the small ward. In contrast to the artificial brightness of the corridor, this area was deliberately darkened, the windows along the far wall covered with tight-fitting blinds. A nurse sat at her station. A puddle of yellow illuminated her paperwork. Recognising the policeman, she smiled, receiving a wink in reply. A young police constable scrambled to his feet to stand outside the double doors that led into the ward.
‘Anything?’ said the Inspector.
‘No, sir. No change.’
The officers moved to the reinforced glass partition that kept visitors and patients safe from whatever each other might have. Of the six beds within, only one was occupied. As they appraised the unconscious man in it, he twisted against his restraints and, grimacing, called out something incoherent.
‘I thought you said he was dead,’ said Harris.
‘Mmm, sorry to be less than clear on that. Public Records Office says he is; the evidence indicates that he isn’t; however, the doctor reckons he probably will be soon.’
Harris nodded. ‘All right, Detective Inspector, I suppose that the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question is what do you believe he has to do with the British Army?’
‘You weren’t briefed?’
‘Afraid not. Chap who was supposed to come was struck down with some mystery bug. I am his ill-informed, last-minute replacement.’
‘I see,’ said the policeman. ‘According to available records, when this man was declared dead six months ago, he was a serving officer in the Grenadier Guards.’
‘Was he really?’ said Harris, unable to keep the note of surprise out of his reply.
With genuine interest, he studied the figure in the bed. He was bare-chested, the hospital sheet pulled up only to the cage that covered his midriff. He was exceptionally tanned, which was accentuated by his shoulder-length, sun-bleached-blond hair. His face and torso showed him to be lean, bordering on gaunt, although his arms and chest indicated strength. A good-sized tattoo covered much of his right bicep. He looked as though he would be very fit if it weren’t for all the tubes and leads attached to him.
‘Was he really?’ he repeated. ‘So, what’s his story?’
‘Brought in unconscious and with a gunshot wound two days ago. Look, he’s not likely to wake up any time soon, so why don’t we pay a visit to the canteen here? You can buy me a cup of tea and a bun on your expenses and I can tell you all about how our friend came to be here.’
Captain Harris smiled at the policeman for the first time. ‘Sounds good to me, but if you think the Army will pay for it you’re sadly mistaken. Those days are long gone.’
‘All right, you buy the teas, I’ll get the cakes.’
Beyond the glass, the man in the bed, seized by the torment of a memory, twisted and moaned hopelessly.
*
The two men sat in a corner of the almost empty hospital cafeteria. The sound of metallic crashing echoed through from the kitchen.
‘It’s hardly surprising that expenses no longer cover this sort of thing, is it?’ said DI Tallis. ‘At these prices the service would be bankrupt in a year.’
Captain Harris took a sip of his stewed tea. Tallis tried his instant coffee. Neither appeared impressed.
‘So, Detective Inspector, your captive audience awaits.’
‘Stan, if you like.’
‘Simon. Look, you know everything I’m going to need to know, so you could just make it easier on us both and rattle it off.’
Tallis smiled back. ‘And I can count on the Army being crystal clear and cooperative in return, I’m sure.’ Harris nodded in reply as he sipped his tea. ‘And I can tidy up another murder statistic and you can go back to doing whatever it is that you do.’
‘Murder? Jumping the gun a little aren’t we, Stan? He’s not dead yet.’
‘I’m referring to the man he shot in the face,’ said Tallis.
The Army man barely hesitated as he brought a forkful of strawberry cheesecake to his mouth. ‘Mmm,’ he said, in appreciation of the dessert, or the information, the policeman couldn’t be sure. ‘Sounds intriguing.’
Tallis read from his notebook: ‘We’ve identified him as one Acer Sansom, age thirty-two...’
‘Acer Sansom?’ interrupted Harris. This time his loaded fork was held halfway between plate and mouth. He put it down. ‘Forgive me, but are you quite sure?’
‘Fingerprints don’t lie, Simon. Don’t tell me you know him?’
‘I know of an Acer Sansom. Went missing a year or so ago, if memory serves – cruising the Pacific. They all disappeared without a trace. You must remember it. Made quite a stink. A Minister’s son on board. Actually, it was Bishop’s, come to think of it. He was in charge of defence procurement then.’
DI Tallis’s appetit
e for his pudding deserted him. The few mouthfuls that he had managed threatened to embarrass him with a swift reappearance as the watertight door that held back the memory of a surname was cracked open. He was suddenly very hot, stiflingly so. He felt his head begin to swim and the blood pound in his ears as the information was assimilated by his brain and his body reacted. He lost some of his colour and was grateful that he was sitting down. How could he have missed that connection? It was there now, trickling out of its confinement with the rest of the horrors. A surname. Unusual enough for him to have noted it, considered it. Fighting to control his emotions and pushing his plate away, he managed through a dry throat, ‘I do remember. Very well.’ He helped himself to water from the jug on the table.
Seemingly oblivious to the effect of his revelation, Harris said, ‘Look, sorry, but there can’t be any doubt?’
The DI made a show of scrutinising some detail of his notebook, buying himself some time, delaying his response, getting his breathing and digestive system under control. He could do little about the haunted look that had settled on his weary features.
‘Stan?’
Tallis forced a weak smile. ‘Sorry, miles away. His prints are on record. A youthful indiscretion. Of course, you’ll check for yourself,’ he said, something of his business-like manner returning.
‘Of course. There could be two, I suppose,’ said Harris, doubtfully. He resumed picking at his dessert. ‘Please, continue.’
Tallis took a deep breath: ‘Two days ago the police were called to a shooting incident at the home of a local businessman – a gentleman not unknown to me. When we show up, your man is unconscious, bleeding to death all over the sheepskin rug. A Mr Harper, the deceased, is slumped a few yards away minus most of his head, and a hysterical Mrs Harper, now the widow Harper, is cowering in an adjacent room.’
‘Curiouser and curiouser,’ said Harris, finally putting his fork down. ‘And he hasn’t said anything lucid since being brought in?’
‘Nothing coherent. Certainly hasn’t regained consciousness, and according to the surgeon who removed a nine millimetre bullet from his stomach, it’s in the lap of the gods whether he ever does again.’
Harris nodded. ‘Any idea of the whys and wherefores?’
‘None at all. Doesn’t appear to have been anyone else involved. I’m going to pay a visit to the widow when I leave here. You’re welcome to tag along.’
‘Thank you. Mind if I make a couple of quick calls first?’
‘I was hoping that you would. To be honest, we’re at a bit of a dead end. The man appears to have come out of nowhere. Anything you have to share would be welcome.’
‘I’ll see what I can do. Give me a few minutes.’
They rose together.
‘I’ll be in the car park having a smoke,’ said Tallis.
*
As Tallis made his way through the hospital corridors to his nicotine fix, Captain Harris navigated his way back to the patient. The nurse was no longer at her post. Nodding to the PC, he pushed through the double doors and walked up to the occupied bed. Ignoring the signs forbidding the use of mobile phones, he removed his from his pocket and took several photographs of the man’s face and tattoo.
‘So what is your story, matey?’ he said. He tapped the phone thoughtfully against his chin for a few moments before slipping it back into his pocket and leaving.
Clear of the building, Harris put a call through to his office. He explained the situation and forwarded the best of the pictures. It was agreed with his superior officer that, as he was there, he should accompany the policeman on his visit to the crime scene and call in later with any information and for further instructions.
*
Harris found Tallis leaning against his car, smoking. There were, he noticed, already two cigarette butts at his feet.
‘They’ll kill you, you know?’
‘What doesn’t in the end?’ said Tallis, grinding out the cigarette under his heel. ‘Ride with me if you like. I can drop you off here afterwards; I’ve got to come back this way.’
They left the hospital car park, negotiated the roundabout at the top of the road and joined the busy A road.
‘Anything to share?’ said Tallis
‘Sorry, nothing yet. Chap I spoke to is going to do some checking. They’re going to send me Army Records’ mugshot of Acer Sansom. That should tell us for sure if he’s who you think he is.’
‘Well, whoever he is, he hasn’t been living round these parts for some time, not with a tan like that – unless he’s got a thing for sun-beds, of course.’
‘Your people found nothing on him, I suppose, to support the idea that he is Sansom?’
‘Nothing. No ID. Not even a wallet.’
‘And the firearms involved?’
‘Two pistols. The dead man’s was licensed to him. He belonged to a gun club but doesn’t seem to have been a regular visitor. Forensics is looking at Sansom’s.’
‘If it is Sansom, any ideas what he was doing there?’
‘Apart from murder, none. No sign that he broke in. I am inclined to believe that they knew each other.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Statistics: you don’t often get two people in the same room shooting each other when they’ve only just met, especially around here.’
‘Fascinating,’ said Harris, visibly warming to the mystery.
*
The dead man’s home was an imposing, if slightly ostentatious, Victorian red brick affair with enough land on each side for a couple of good-sized building plots. A sign at the end of the gravel drive announced that it had once been a rectory.
The officers were let into the house by a WPC. After a brief conversation with Tallis, she led them past a police-sealed room and through to a sitting room that could have been a Laura Ashley dream realised.
Mrs Harper was sitting on a gaudy floral couch, her feet pulled up under her, both hands clamped around a steaming mug. Another woman perched on its twin opposite her; she was composed, relaxed and clearly no stranger to money. Neither woman made to stand, nor smile, as the men entered the room.
Tallis broke the awkward silence. ‘Mrs Harper, you remember me, I hope, Detective Inspector Tallis?’ She nodded but she was staring at Harris. ‘This is a colleague of mine, Mr Harris. I appreciate that this is a difficult time for you, but we really need to get this mess sorted out as soon as possible. Best for everyone in the long run.’
‘Couldn’t agree more,’ said the clearly not-very-grieving widow.
Tallis brightened to match the enthusiasm of the dead man’s wife, privately relieved that he wasn’t going to have to confront and coax information from a distraught, wailing widow. ‘Very good,’ he said. ‘May we sit down?’
‘Help yourself.’
The men removed their coats. The WPC stood off to the side. The woman sitting across from Mrs Harper stood.
‘I’ll make some tea, shall I?’
Tallis said, ‘Thank you, Mrs...?’
‘Watts, Mrs Shirley Watts – friend of the family. I live close by. Judy?’
Mrs Harper smiled up at her. ‘I’m fine thanks, Shirl.’
Mrs Watts departed for the kitchen. The two men settled themselves into the vacated sofa.
‘How are you bearing up, Mrs Harper?’ said Tallis.
She snorted. ‘Don’t worry about me. That crazy man did me a favour, if you want the truth.’
‘Really? How do you mean?’ he said, unable to keep a hint of what he thought of that callous remark out of his voice.
‘It’s no secret that we didn’t get on, so I won’t pretend that he’ll be missed – not by me, anyway. But don’t think that what happened was anything to do with me,’ she added, in response to Tallis’s raised eyebrows.
‘Do you have any idea why someone might have wanted to harm your husband, Mrs Harper?’ Tallis asked.
‘Probably another of his bloody useless business deals going tits up and someone had enough of hi
m. He’s had trouble before. Look, I don’t know,’ she said, checking herself. ‘I wasn’t here, was I?’
‘What can you tell us about Thursday night, then?’
‘Not much. I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed. Thursday nights I always go out. Bingo at the old cinema.’
Tallis nodded and tried to hide his feelings. She was right; he was disappointed that she was probably going to be of little help if she was telling the truth. ‘The man who shot your husband, had you ever seen him before?’
‘It was a rule that none of his business associates ever came to the house. And I didn’t get much of a look at him the other night. Well, I wasn’t going to hang around, was I?’
Mrs Watts came back into the room with a tray. The conversation stopped while teas were organised.
‘What time would you say you returned home on Thursday evening, Mrs Harper?’ said Tallis.
‘I probably came in the door around ten o’clock. That’s my usual time and there was nothing unusual about Thursday night. Not till I got home, anyway. Then it got bloody unusual.’
The Inspector gave the woman a sharp look. A man was dead, after all – murdered quite unpleasantly. It was a serious business, whoever they were and however she felt about them.
‘Tell us about it,’ he said.
‘Why aren’t you writing anything down?’ said Mrs Harper.
‘Oh, this isn’t a formal witness statement,’ said Tallis. ‘We’re really just trying to find out what happened, while things are still fresh in your mind.’
‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘I won’t be forgetting it quickly, I can tell you.’
