‘OK, I only know him from the Stores, but that’s it. He’s just another pisshead.’
‘We’ll leave it at that for now, but may want to speak to you again at some point.’
Dukes looked worried. ‘Why?’
‘Standard police procedure, Mr Dukes. And you are?’ Blake quizzed the other doorman.
‘Dave Millburn.’
‘Did you know the deceased?’
‘Seen him around town from a distance, but that’s all.’
‘Just refresh my memory. Which of you, apart from the landlord, entered the gents?’
‘Just Nath,’ Millburn blurted, attempting to absolve himself of any blame. Dukes shot him a disapproving glare.
‘OK. Mr Connor, how many regulars are still in the pub?’
The landlord glanced around and spotted Arthur Cumberbatch’s familiar trilby. He was perched in his usual spot in the front window, with his son. The regulars nicknamed his son Wazza because he pissed his trousers last Christmas.
‘If you three could wait here? One of our SOCO team will take your prints, footprints and DNA for elimination,’ Blake said, leaving them to accompany PC Haynes in interviewing the old man.
‘Mr Cumberbatch, I’m Detective Inspector Blake and this is PC Haynes. He’ll be making a few notes whilst we talk.’ He flashed his warrant card to a small greasy-looking bloke in tweed, whose gaunt face and eye bags gave him the demeanour of a heavy drinker. Judging by his unkempt scruffy appearance Wazza was also a pub waster.
‘We anna done nowt, have we, son?’
‘Been here all night, Pops, supping, minding our own business. Darryl will tell you,’ he said, clearing his conscience.
‘What time did you enter the pub this evening?’ Blake asked.
‘What’s this, the pissing third-degree?’ The old man glanced at his son and sniggered, flashing nicotine-stained teeth.
‘Mr Cumberbatch, I’ll remind you this is an informal witness interview, but we’re dealing with a very serious incident. That could easily turn into an arrest, so we’d appreciate your full cooperation.’
‘What bloody incident?’
‘I can’t give you full details yet, but a body’s been found in the gents.’
‘Sodding hell! Who’s been murdered?’
Blake gave him a suspicious look. ‘I didn’t mention anyone being murdered. The victim is a forty-nine-year-old skinhead with heavily tattooed forearms. Does that description fit anyone you know?’
‘Oh, bollocks, it’s big Gibbo. What happened?’
‘We’re not sure yet but it’s possible he got into a fight. The forensics team are still processing the scene so we’ll know more later.’
The old guy sat up soldier-straight, his anti-law enforcement resolve in tatters. ‘Knock us a roll-up out, Wazza, would ya? I need a tab to calm me nerves.’
‘You can have a smoke when we’re finished.’
‘We’ve known big Gibbo for a few years,’ Cumberbatch spilled. ‘He normally drinks in the Stores; he’s a bit of a lad.’
‘In what way?’ Blake asked, probing the old man for details.
‘He’s calmed down a bit since we first met him. Likes a bloody good row, that one. Nice as pie until he’s had a skinful, then you had to be on your guard. He could turn real nasty.’
‘What, physical violence?’
‘I’ve never seen him in a scrap. Most shit a brick when Gibbo reared up. He offered plenty of ’em outside, but they usually backed down.’
‘Why’s that then?’
‘People thought he was a nutter… didn’t want the mither, I suppose.’
‘Looks like he met his match this time.’
‘Thinking about it, he had words with a big youth earlier on. I stepped in to calm him down.’
‘Why didn’t you mention this sooner?’
‘Forgot. I’m in bloody shock.’
‘Look, around the room, Mr Cumberbatch? Can you see him now? It’s very important.’
The old man scanned the pub. ‘Can’t see him.’
‘Are you sure?’ Blake said, rising to his feet. ‘Come with me; we’ll take a tour to be certain.’
Stiff as a cane, he eased out of his seat and shuffled around the room, nervously glancing at the witnesses. ‘No. He’s not in here.’
‘Positive?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Was he with anyone?’
‘Ar, there was loads of ’em. But it was packed so I couldn’t see faces.’
‘How many would you say?’
‘Dunno, more than a handful.’
‘What did he look like?’ Blake asked, glancing at PC Haynes who was still taking notes as they sat back down.
‘Oh, I can’t remember. Me memory’s no good these days.’
Not surprising, Blake thought. ‘Did you see him, Raymond?’
Raymond glanced at his empty glass. ‘A top-up would jog me mind?’
Blake glared at him. ‘Should we arrest him for wasting police time, PC Haynes?’
‘I reckon so, boss,’ he replied, retrieving handcuffs from his belt.
‘Hang on a bit, it’s coming back to me. Broad youth about five ten-ish, short greying hair, wearing a top and trousers,’ Raymond spluttered.
‘Don’t mess me about! Understand?’
‘Loud and clear, boss!’ he said, fidgeting nervously.
‘What time was this incident?’
‘At a guess I’d say around nine.’
‘Can you describe what happened between Mr Gibson and this bloke?’
‘He knocked into Gibbo, spilt his beer on his top.’
‘How did he respond?’
‘Oh! He was fuming. Started mouthing off, but he was a big lad, broad like. Gave as good as he got. The landlord told ’em to pack it in, or they’d be out.’
‘What happened then?’
‘The youth ordered a load of pints, passed them over to his mates, and sat over there,’ he said pointing to empty seats opposite the bar.
‘So, it was just the beer talking, nothing physical.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Thank you for your cooperation. PC Haynes has your details. We’ll be in touch if we need to speak to you again.’
Blake and PC Haynes moved over to the table across the room set up as a makeshift police desk. DS Murphy was sitting discussing witness statements with DS Roger Jamieson.
‘Anything, boss?’
‘According to that greasy old alco, Mr Cumberbatch and his witless son over there, the victim was involved in a minor altercation in the pub around nine o’clock. He says the landlord threatened to have Barry Gibson and the bloke he was arguing with thrown out, which is strange because he never mentioned it when we first spoke to him.’
‘You’d have thought he’d remember something like that?’ DS Jamieson said.
‘Exactly. We’ll speak to him again in a minute. Either he’s drinking too much of his own ale or, he’s hiding something. That bouncer Nathan Dukes was also vague when I asked him about the victim. He couldn’t wait to leave.’
CHAPTER 18
When Ibrahim mentioned to the group they were soon to be joined by two beautiful ladies Malcolm’s eyes lit up. The accountant had a thing for good-looking women and Ibrahim exploited this weakness by indulging him with the occasional call girl. The downside being he knew the Turk had taken voyeuristic pictures of him satisfying his deviant fantasies, and was fearful he’d e-mail them to his wife Susan, who was a librarian.
‘No perving, Malc; play nice. These two are hot with big tits, but their asses aren’t for sale.’ Ibrahim gave Charlie and Leonard a mischievous wink as Malcolm’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
Piss-taking bastard, the spectacled number cruncher thought to himself. If only the wife’d oblige him with more than the missionary position, he wouldn’t have to stray. Blow jobs, bondage or anything resembling kink to get his rocks off was definitely off the menu. He’d married an intellectual stiff!
Ibrahim glan
ced at his Rolex; it was 11.35 p.m. He left the three of them perched on high stools focusing their expectations on the bright red roulette table.
Yusuf drummed on the leathered edge of the table. ‘Get in, twenty quid, first spin.’
‘Lucky bastard!’ Charlie said as the dealer placed a marker on the winning chips, cleared up the losing ones, then slid Yusuf his winnings.
‘Who are these birds, Yusuf?’ Charlie asked.
‘God knows, he’s said nothing to me.’
‘I get the impression he’s pissed off with you.’
Yusuf ordered another round of drinks from the waitress. ‘A few more wines will chill him.’ Their relationship had been strained recently. Ibrahim was old school in his approach towards both family and business, something their father had ingrained into their core values from an early age. He could almost hear him now: ‘Your word is your honour boys.’ So what he was late, hardly a big deal, he thought.
Ibrahim greeted the girls at reception with kisses on the cheeks, signed them in, then ushered them onto the casino floor, like an overlord’s concubines, with the palms of his outstretched hands resting above their bums. Heads turned as they entered.
Kat winked at Luna feeling a rush of excitement. The glow of slot machines filled the room. As they moved toward the roulette table, the sounds of gambling rushed around their heads.
Luna giggled. ‘These places always remind me of a Bond movie.’
‘I know what you mean, glamorous and sexy.’
‘Yeah, but without the good-looking men in tuxedos,’ she said, eyeing the clientele.
‘Oh, I don’t know, what’s-his-name is gorgeous.’
Kat winked. ‘Ibrahim, you mean?’
‘Yeah, he floats my boat, babe.’
With a confident swagger, Ibrahim asked. ‘What are you ladies drinking? The Lanson Rosé Champagne is nice.’
‘It’s out of our price range,’ Luna said, embarrassing the pair of them.
‘You don’t have to buy any drinks,’ he said catching the eye of a passing waitress. ‘Can you send a bottle of the Lanson Rosé, a pint of Guinness and a pint of Stella over to roulette table number three, please?’
‘How many champagne flutes would you like, sir?’
He dropped a gold casino membership card onto her tray full of empties. ‘Four, thank you. Stick it on this.’
Kat and Luna exchanged a glance.
‘Come on, let me introduce you both to my associates.’
Malcolm had already spotted them, and his eyes nearly popped out as he cast a pervy glance at Luna’s revealing dress.
Yusuf continued playing roulette, but was now sixty quid adrift and trying not to show his displeasure at losing. But the glare he gave the dealer wasn’t fooling anyone.
Surprisingly, Leonard seemed more interested in roulette and the fact he was thirty quid up pissed Yusuf off even more.
‘Fellas, meet Katrina and Luna, friends of mine,’ Ibrahim interrupted with a self-assured look. This drew Yusuf’s attention away from the roulette wheel. Although Ibrahim could tell by the scowl on his face he was losing again.
‘Hi, I’m Yusuf,’ he said, jumping off his stool, frivolously kissing Luna’s hand like a medieval muppet.
Laughing, she wobbled and feigned a curtsy. ‘So, you’re his brother?’ she asked, thinking he was good looking.
‘Where did you meet Ibrahim?’
‘Earlier in the Slipware Tankard.’
Glancing between the two of them he asked, ‘Was he a gentleman?’
‘Definitely, he bought us champagne.’
‘Shit, he is being generous tonight. Rounds of drinks and bottles of champagne,’ he scoffed, realising how jealous and insecure he sounded.
‘Let’s see if we can win Yusuf his money back,’ Ibrahim interrupted, ushering the girls onto vacant high stools at the roulette table. He could do without the hassle of falling out with him, considering they would be working on the heist together. For all his faults Ibrahim knew his brother was the only person he could really trust. ‘Let’s have some fun, girls, you can play roulette for me.’
They gave each other a worried look. ‘What if we lose your money?’ Kat said, flicking her hair from her face.
‘Don’t worry, they’re only tenner chips. Besides, unlike my brother, I always play to a stop loss. If we’re not up after a few bets we’ll walk away,’ he reassured them. He could well afford to waste a few quid indulging his male ego in front of them.
Charlie and Leonard looked at the croupier watching with anticipation as the girls hesitated, then chose red numbers between 13 and 24.
‘Good first bet,’ Ibrahim praised. ‘Safe and simple, paying out at even money.’ The croupier dropped the ball into the spinning wheel. Kat clasped her hands together whilst Luna clutched the edge of the table as the wheel ground to a halt and the ball dropped into red 17.
‘We’ve won, babe!’ Kat screeched with excitement, offering her right hand up for a high five from her friend. Ibrahim congratulated them with a group hug, and he felt Kat’s breasts rub against his chest. God, she smelled edible, he thought.
Noticing Ibrahim seemed to have developed chemistry with Kat, Yusuf made his move, sidling up within touching distance of Luna to see if she would respond. She stayed put and at that moment the champagne and pints arrived.
Leonard moved round the table staking his claim to his second free pint of Stella.
Charlie removed his pint of Guinness and took a slurp whilst eyeing up Kat’s bum perched on the black leather high stool. It had been almost six months since his last oil change and the sexy pair made him realise how much he needed a good servicing.
Positioning the iced champagne bucket on the table’s drinks Caddie, the waitress, poured out four flutes of Lanson Ros.
Ibrahim offered the first two glasses to the girls, passing a third to Yusuf. He raised his glass and proposed a toast to the group.
‘To beautiful girls, winning and antik altin, ’ he resounded, then gave Yusuf a conspiratorial wink, the only one of the group who could translate the last few words – ancient gold.
‘Cheers, cheers!’
Chinking glasses Kat gazed into Ibrahim’s brown eyes giving him the signal to make a move on her. She felt herself electrified and turned on by their chance meeting. Champagne bubbles tickled her nose as she drained the flute in one shot.
‘More roulette!’ he said.
This time they opted to go for black numbers. Bets placed, the wheel spun, but the ball dropped into red 34. The dealer cleared the losing chips from the table. After allowing the girls to place five more bets, Ibrahim was sixty quid down. He could see the girls felt dejected.
Pulling Kat seductively closer towards him, Ibrahim whispered, ‘One last spin, stick fifty quid down on the white line between two and five. It’s a split bet.’
The croupier gave them a bewildered look. ‘Any more bets? Place your bets now?’
With Ibrahim’s guidance, Kat slid the teetering pile of £5 and £10 chips onto the white line. The dealer gave them a wry smile.
Although this was harmless fun to Ibrahim, he loved the childlike way in which Katrina and Luna were so excited by the game. Holding hands, their faces lit up in anticipation as the dealer released the ball with velocity. The girls stared, hypnotised by the white dot as it raced around the wheel, before descending then bobbling between 10 and 0, eventually landing in the black 6 slot.
‘We’ve won!’ Kat screamed, grabbing the sides of her head. Luna jumped around. Yusuf punched the air with a clenched fist.
Like three monkeys, Leonard, Malcolm and Charlie stood gawping in amazement across the roulette table at the lucky win.
Malcolm moaned. ‘You could spend all night betting in this bloody neon palace, and still go home shirtless, yet the eye candy landed a 17/1 win within forty minutes. Bloody unbelievable!’
‘How much have we won?’ Kat asked?
‘Nine hundred quid,’ Ibrahim replied, smiling.
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‘Bloody hell,’ she said in amazement. ‘I’ve never won before.’
‘Technically you’ve won nothing. My brother told you where to place the bet,’ Yusuf butted in with a hint of sarcasm.
‘Come on, bro, we wouldn’t have won at all without this gorgeous pair helping us. They brought lady luck with them tonight.’ Ibrahim heaped praise onto them. ‘Just because you’ve spunked your mullah, there’s no need to give them grief. How much are you down?’
‘Sixty quid.’
Ibrahim tapped his palm onto Yusuf’s face to show they were mates again, then counted out a hundred quid and slipped it his brother’s suit pocket.
‘Sweet, bro, OK?’
‘OK.’
‘Excuse me, ladies, I’m off to get these chips weighed in, back in five. Yusuf take Kat and Luna over to the booths by the sound stage, get more champagne in?’
‘Are we in?’ Yusuf blurted in front of them, like a Neanderthal.
‘Manners!’ Ibrahim shouted.
Luna looked back at him as they skirted through the upmarket Restaurant.
Understanding they were surplus to requirements. Leonard, Malcolm and Charlie bid their goodbyes and left the brothers to the enviable task of seducing the eye candy, as Malcolm put it.
‘I’ll call you both tomorrow,’ Ibrahim said, addressing Charlie and Leonard. ‘I’ll see you Monday, Malc. Remember what I said, not a word?’ He glanced at them placing a silent finger on his lips.
CHAPTER 19
Ibrahim returned from the cash desk and nudged in next to Kat in the booth, which, by design, gave its occupants privacy due to its high back curved shape. Judging by the brazen position of Luna’s hand on Yusuf’s thigh, they appeared to have wasted no time getting acquainted, which didn’t surprise Ibrahim in the least. Yusuf wasn’t big on small talk, more a man of action.
Leaning seductively closer to Kat, he said, ‘Now we can talk without interruptions?’
‘Who were those other blokes with you?’ she asked.
The Killer Shadow Thieves (DI Tom Blake, #1) Page 7
