by Robert White
Too many people who came into contact with Frankie Verdi had ended up dead.
I too was blessed with that natural inquisitiveness, that suspicion, distrust, scepticism even, especially when it had anything to do with The Three Dogs.
Gerry was none too happy with Laurie’s “accident” either.
Firstly, just as any good detective would, he looked at what we were meant to believe to be true.
Allegedly, Frankie Verdi had organised for Laurie Holland to be driven home in her car, by Tony Thompson as she had been drinking heavily after receiving some “bad news”. Thompson had been followed in another vehicle, driven by Eddie Williams who had brought Thompson back to the club a short time later.
Once Laurie Holland was safely at her home address, we were asked to believe that for reasons unknown, she then re-entered her car, with four times the legal limit of alcohol in her bloodstream, and drove it to a secluded beauty spot on the West Pennine Moors.
It is then supposed, that she lost control of her vehicle, which plunged over a precipice. As a result, Laurie suffered catastrophic and, subsequently, fatal injuries.
Armed with this information, Gerry then examined the scene of the crash and Laurie’s VW Golf Cabriolet.
He found that the car was well maintained and had no mechanical issues at the time of the accident.
There were no brake or steering faults.
There were no skid marks at the scene, either on the road or the layby where the car had exited.
The car had fallen within feet of the cliff face.
The car was in first gear when it crashed.
There was damage to the underside of the VW, consistent with the vehicle being stuck on the ledge at the top of the cliff prior to it falling.
Gerry had only two possible conclusions.
Laurie Holland had slowly and deliberately driven off the cliff and, with the car stuck, rocking on the edge, somehow managed to pivot her VW over so she could end it all. That, or foul play was at work.
That afternoon, I sent two of my detectives to recover the CCTV footage for the night in question from both Toast nightclub, and Frankie Verdi’s home address.
Both tapes had been wiped.
By the time I was leaving my office for the day, Lancashire’s Fingerprint Department had confirmed that the palm-prints of Tony Thompson and Eddie Williams were present on the rear of the VW and were consistent with the owners having pushed the vehicle with both hands.
Foul play indeed.
But Eddie had sold the car to Frankie, and Tony had driven the car that night, so both had reasons to have their prints all over the car, no matter how suspicious the placings.
Once again, despite the mountain of circumstantial evidence, we were stymied.
Out of sheer frustration, I made a call that I knew I really should not.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Harry Strange shook as he read and re-read the evening newspaper. A picture of Laurie Holland’s mangled car, lying on its roof at the bottom of a ravine, sat alongside a shot of the girl herself, looking beautiful, the picture of health.
Harry had bought the paper after receiving a call from Jim Hacker. He shook his head and threw it to the floor.
Laurie may have been many things, but she didn’t deserve to die.
It had been years since Harry had felt so angry.
Angry with himself as much as anything else.
He had berated Laurie Holland, not given her a second chance. He, a Christian man, should have done the right thing. Everyone makes mistakes, and she had admitted hers to him and to Jamie. She had taken a beating to keep him safe from the clutches of Frankie Verdi. Now, she had lost her life, and Jamie, his chance of love.
Adrenaline coursed through him, his fury threatening to bubble up to the surface at any moment. His mind worked overtime.
* * *
After seeing Laurie Holland in The Railway pub, Harry had walked all the way home. He’d needed to clear his mind, take in what Laurie had told him.
He’d strolled past Toast, the club still locked and bolted, awaiting its first revellers. Awaiting Frankie Verdi.
Harry had known Frankie’s parents well. He and Rose had visited the couple’s small eatery every Friday night for years. Frankie had been a gangly teenager then, waiting tables and washing up for pocket money. The friendship between Harry and the Verdi family had ensured the Verdi’s presence at Rose’s funeral and wake. And that, in turn, had introduced Laurie to Frankie.
The rest, as they say, is history.
Verdi had become obsessed with Jamie, even before he’d found out Laurie had visited him in jail. Harry had no idea why, but he knew what men like Frankie, Eddie and Tony were capable of. He’d heard all the gossip about the so-called Three Dogs gang; read the press reports of drug dealing, money laundering and murder.
It hadn’t been enough that Frankie had taken Laurie from his son. For some reason, known only to Verdi himself, he wanted to go to war with Jamie.
Harry mused that, once Jamie found out about Laurie’s death, Verdi may have achieved his goal.
Harry truly believed The Three Dogs had killed Laurie Holland.
His good friend Jim Hacker had phoned him and said as much.
Yet he’d also intimated that, once again, the police didn’t have enough evidence to arrest Verdi, Williams or Thompson, let alone obtain a conviction.
Jim Hacker was a good family man, and a good friend. So now, for Laurie, for Jamie, and for Jim, it was time to restore the balance. To restore order.
* * *
Durham jail nestled inside the city walls. Walking distance from the station. Harry Strange sat in a pub not a hundred yards from the prison gate.
Checking his watch, Harry downed his pint, found his visiting order in his jacket, and set off to see Richard Valance.
Durham is an ancient jail, yet Harry considered it smelled and sounded the same as Walton. He figured that probably every jail in the country held the same aromas and atmosphere. He also hoped, that he didn’t end up on the other side of the gates any time soon.
Valance strode to Harry’s table and looked like he’d been eating the same diet as Jamie and lifting the same weights in the gym. The man was built like a wall. Yet whereas Jamie had kept his boyish good looks, Valance had suffered damage to his facial features during his obvious love of hand-to-hand combat. Indeed, Harry noticed recent pink scar tissue over Richard’s left eye as he sat.
He nodded toward it. “Forget to duck Bird?” he said, holding out a hand.
The Aussie took it and shook firmly. “I walked into a door Harry.”
“How’s the door?”
“In the medical wing, I believe.”
Harry smiled. “You look good… bit pale, same as Jamie, but still good.”
Bird dropped the niceties. “Fuck me Harry, I’m so glad you came mate. I thought you’d never speak to me again after everything. You know, after what I did.”
“You made an error of judgement in combat Richard, no more. Your mistake was not slotting the boy before he reached the corner of the alley.”
Valance managed a half smile, but it soon disappeared and he shook his head ruefully.
“I lost the plot Harry. I’d never been shot at before. I was so fucking wired mate, the red mist was on me, I just wanted to kill the little bastard. I admit it. Thing was, the unforgivable thing, I dropped Jamie in it big style. I should’ve just taken the rap and had done with it.”
Harry held up a hand. “We are where we are Bird. You will be out in a couple of days, and so will my boy. Both of you are alive, fit and well. You’ve both lost the careers you loved and you’ve both spent time in jail. As far as I’m concerned, the slate is clean. You’ve paid your dues. If I were the Irishman’s father, I’d not be so kind, but I’m not. I’m Jamie’s, and t
hat’s that.”
“Well I can’t say how much I appreciate that coming from you Harry. I just hope Jamie feels the same.”
“I reckon he does. He owed you a great debt I believe. Maybe you should just consider that debt repaid.”
Bird leaned back in his seat. “That’s as maybe, but you ain’t come all the way to Durham to tell me you love me Harry. I ain’t that daft… So come on, why are you here?”
Harry considered his next words carefully.
“Laurie Holland,” he said.
Valance shrugged. “Jamie’s ex-bird? The blonde, the one from the club?”
“One and the same.”
“What about her?”
“She’s dead… murdered by Frankie Verdi and friends.”
“Fuck me Harry, yeah… Verdi, he’s the one who tried to get me and Jamie followed that night when we was home on leave.”
Harry nodded. “Well the coppers know it was them that killed her. They tried to make it look like an accident, but it wasn’t. I have a good friend in the force, he tells me it was them, but there’s not enough proof.”
“Jeez, does Jamie know? He’ll be gutted.”
Harry shook his head.
“Not yet. I have that job to do tomorrow. See, to make matters worse, Laurie went to see him a week or two back. They’d made up, were going to give it a go again. Seems Frankie found out and gave Laurie a beating. Then she came to me, tried to warn me that Frank was out gunning for Jamie and me. That night, something else must have happened and Frank had her killed.”
Bird looked about him and lowered his voice. “You know you ain’t going to be able to stop Jamie from topping this Verdi bloke eh?”
Harry locked eyes with Richard Valance.
“We need to take all three Bird.”
The big Aussie stretched out a huge hand. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world Harry.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Frankie sat on a stool in his kitchen drinking black coffee. Sitting opposite, was his long-time ally and legal representative Trevor Dundonald.
Trevor rarely gave Frank bad news, but on this particular morning, he had no choice.
“What do you mean I can’t get my fucking cash back?” spat Verdi.
“Exactly that, Frank. That money forms part of Laurie’s estate, and in her last will and testament, made just days before her death, she left any money in her accounts to Jamie Strange.”
Frankie almost exploded, just at the sound of Jamie’s name.
“Come on Trevor, what do I fuckin’ pay you for eh? I mean, she was obviously stealing from me. Not to mention, mentally unstable. Even the coroner said that she topped herself ’cos she had depression.”
Dundonald had first sat opposite Frankie in a police cell back in 1976. Back then, he’d been a scruffy urchin, his school blazer covered in the blood of another schoolboy. He hadn’t been able to help Verdi that day either. However, since then, there had been nothing but a string of victories. Frankie’s exploits had ensured Trevor and his partners had become rather wealthy over the years. The bottom line was he knew Frankie about as well as Frank knew himself.
Frank, just like many wealthy men, didn’t like being told “no”.
Dundonald corrected his client.
“The coroner’s verdict was accidental death, Frank. If you’d bothered to attend, you would have known that. His presumption, was that Laurie had let the car roll forward by accident. And although, he did comment that she may have been depressed prior to the accident, that doesn’t mean she was mentally unstable at the time she made her will. Indeed, I would suggest that her solicitor, who witnessed the document, would argue fervently against that.”
“Well what about the fact that the money was nicked then? What about that?”
Trevor took a sip of coffee and raised his eyebrows. “Do you really want to release your books to the police Frank? I mean, they are already crawling all over the fact that you had thirty grand in the safe when they searched Toast the last time. I’m sorry, but there is just no way of recovering your money.”
Frankie slammed down his cup, causing Trevor to jump.
“Well I expect you to fucking find a way Trevor. That’s why you are on such a fucking big retainer isn’t it?”
The solicitor quietly put down his own cup. “The only way to get your money Frank, is to get it back from Jamie Strange once he collects it.”
A wry smile came over Frankie’s face. He pointed a finger. “Now that’s what I pay you for Trev my old son. That is what I pay you for.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
It had been three weeks. Three weeks since Tony Thompson and Eddie Williams had left Laurie to die slowly in her car.
Jamie Strange had attended the coroner’s hearing, listened to all the testimonies, and armed with evidence of his own, had come to his own conclusion.
Laurie had been murdered, and today, he would attend her funeral. Today, he would look her murderers in the eye.
* * *
Jamie had been in a dark place ever since Harry had broken the news of Laurie’s death to him. He had taken in the information in silence before indicating to the guards that he wished to return to his cell. Harry knew his son’s heart was broken all over again. He also knew what was to come on his release.
Harry and Bird were already dressed in their best suits. Jamie sat on the sofa and polished his shoes.
His father looked down at his son. “You’ll rub the leather off them if you carry on,” he said, doing his best to lighten the mood.
Jamie gave a thin smile and pulled the now immaculate brogues onto his feet. He then found his jacket, slipped his arms into it and turned to Bird.
“No matter what those Dogs do today, we keep our heads Bird, okay? I don’t want Laurie’s service ruined.”
Harry strode to the door.
“We have our plan lads, and we stick to it. Come on, let’s pay our respects.”
* * *
It didn’t seem right to Jamie that the sun shone. It didn’t seem right that the birds sang. Even though it was the height of summer, it still didn’t seem appropriate.
Jamie walked the gravel path of the graveyard toward the assembled mourners, listening to the stones crunch under his feet. For a moment, he was back at his mother’s burial, and remembered how he’d trod the same path, only to find Laurie flirting with Frankie Verdi.
Richard Valance strode to his left, his father to his right, their jackets flapping open in the gentle breeze. The words of the priest carrying on it.
Jamie could see Frankie.
Dressed in his black suit, white shirt, black tie, his trademark, funeral or not. Thompson stood to his left, Williams and Joe Madden to his right. All had their heads bowed, playing the part of the bereaved.
Jamie wanted to tear them apart with his bare hands, but this was not the time or the place for violence.
They reached the graveside just in time for the last prayers. As the priest threw a handful of soil down into the grave, Frankie looked up.
There was a hint of shock, before his eyes burned into Jamie’s. Jamie didn’t show any fear, because he didn’t feel any. He held Frank’s gaze, the two men, like a pair of boxers eyeing each other up before the first bell, the priest’s final words lost in a haze of viciousness, an atmosphere of mutual hatred.
Jamie heard the mourners mutter the word “Amen”, breaking the spell. He stepped forward and dropped a single red rose onto Laurie’s coffin.
“Goodbye my love,” he whispered.
Then, turning to his father, he said, “Did you get a good look at all three?”
Harry glared at Verdi, Williams and Thompson, and nodded. “Oh yes,” he said. “I’ve seen enough scum for one day.”
As Harry, Jamie and Bird turned to leave, there was the sound of a scuffle behind them
. Eddie and Tony were holding onto Frank for grim death, his face contorted in rage.
Unable to prise himself from the grip of his two fellow gang members, Frankie began to shout out in frustration.
“You’re fuckin’ dead soldier boy. You hear me? Dead. I’ll fucking kill you myself, and your old man, you hear? Are you listening you fucker?”
Jamie, Harry and Bird strolled along the gravel toward their car. Harry smiled and turned to his son. “Perfect,” he said. “Just perfect.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Frankie was inconsolable.
He sat alone in the VIP area of Toast, drinking straight scotch and snorting cocaine. Not even Tony and Eddie wanted to be close to him.
The club had been especially opened for Laurie’s wake, and dozens of so-called mourners and well-wishers took advantage of the free food and booze, milling around the main bar, believing Frankie’s exile and temper to be born out of grief rather than anger.
Of course, none of the mourners knew Laurie too well. Frank had seen to that. Laurie hadn’t been allowed friends. There was the odd old school chum, a couple of folk from Laurie’s first job at the hairdressers on Ribbleton Lane, but no one of consequence. No one from outside the circle.
Finally, Frank staggered from his private den, bumping into guests too scared to say anything about their spilled drinks or stained clothes.
Finding Eddie and Joe Madden leaning against the DJ booth, he clinked his glass with both men.
“Good fucking riddance to the thieving bitch, I say.”
Eddie furrowed his brow. “Come on Frank, I know you’re pissed off, but keep it down a bit eh? Just play the game for an hour or two and it will all be over.”
Frankie bared his teeth, the drugs and whiskey talking. “Don’t tell me what to do, you fuckin’ queer.”
Eddie went instantly pale. “What you call me Frank?”
