A Long Way Down

by Ken McCoy

  Unfortunately, this was the roof.

  THREE

  Black Horse Hotel, Leeds, July 2015

  ‘Mr Black?’

  Sandra Boswell had been directed there by Winnie O’Toole, Sep’s lady friend. He was sitting outside, enjoying a pint and reading his paper. He was a big man, ex-special forces with both a Military Medal and an MA in English Language and Literature. A rare combination in any man.

  ‘Who’s asking?’

  He said it with a polite smile as she was pretty enough to distract his attention away from his newspaper. Her long dark hair was blowing in the breeze and the wind did the casual style of it no harm at all. It was a style seemingly designed for such weather. She held it away from her face as she looked at him.

  ‘I’m thinking you’re Mr Septimus Black.’

  ‘That’s good thinking.’

  ‘Winnie O’Toole told me I’d find you here. Not many men would fit the description she gave me of you.’

  ‘Did she now?’

  ‘Yes. I’m hoping you can help me.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘I’m told you do private detective work.’

  ‘I’m actually Detective Inspector Black. I’ve been back on the police force quite some time now.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘Is this something a proper copper couldn’t handle?’

  ‘It’s something a proper copper failed to handle.’

  ‘What sort of case is it?’

  ‘It’s a murder case. I’m told you do murder cases.’

  ‘Murder? Well, yes. It’s usually us police who deal with murders.’

  ‘The police gave up on it almost before they started.’

  ‘Are we talking about the local police? By local I mean around here.’

  ‘It happened about a mile from here. The Grimshawe Hotel.’

  ‘That wouldn’t be a Detective Chief Inspector Wood by any chance?’

  ‘It would, yes.’

  ‘In that case, sit down,’ he said, then he got to his feet. ‘What can I get you?’

  ‘Just a glass of orange juice, please.’

  Sep returned with the orange juice and sat down opposite his visitor. ‘OK, tell me what you’ve heard about me.’

  ‘Well, I know you’re ex-army and you’re as tough as you look.’

  ‘Winnie told you all that, did she?’

  ‘Not all of it, you were in the papers a lot last year with that child abduction case which you solved while under suspension from the police.’

  ‘I wasn’t suspended. I was sacked.’

  ‘But you proved to the police that you were better than the lot of them, which is what I’m looking for.’

  ‘Tell me who you are and all about this murder.’

  ‘My name is Sandra Boswell and it’s not just the murder, it’s the circumstances I need to clear up.’

  ‘Who was murdered?’

  ‘My husband, James Boswell.’

  ‘Right … Oh, sorry to hear that. Hang on, James Boswell? I read about that. A few months ago wasn’t it?’

  ‘Four months ago. March the twelfth to be exact. And if you heard about it, I imagine you heard he’d been meeting a prostitute in a sleazy hotel – a knocking shop to put it crudely.’

  ‘The name rings a bell – James Boswell.’

  ‘The famous James Boswell was a writer.’

  ‘Of course. He wrote a book about Samuel Johnson.’

  ‘Hmm, Winnie mentioned you were a man of letters.’

  ‘That’s not how I’d describe myself. I had to read Boswell’s book about Johnson for my degree.’

  ‘Anyway,’ said Sandra, ‘what I was saying about the prostitute is what bothers me. That just wasn’t my James. He’d never go with a prostitute, especially in a horrible dive like where he was found. He was a good man.’

  ‘I’m sure he was,’ said Sep, who now felt he knew enough about this woman to know she would never settle for anything less than a good man.

  ‘He was a freelance journalist,’ said Sandra ‘although he did a lot of work for just one or two newspapers. He was working on a story when he was killed.’

  ‘And you think the story was why he was killed?’

  ‘I can’t think of any other reason why he’d be in such a place as where he was murdered. Apparently a woman was in the room with him, but she was never found.’ She looked at Sep to determine whether he believed James to be such an innocent man. ‘I need you to believe James was not meeting a prostitute.’

  ‘As it happens, Mrs Boswell I happen to be working in the cold case unit right now. What we take on isn’t entirely up to me, but the DCI Wood connection might swing it with my boss. Anyway, I need to believe everything you tell me. So, go on.’

  ‘There’s not much to tell. He didn’t come home that evening, but he told me he was working on a story so I didn’t panic, but when he stayed out all night without phoning me I rang the police to report him missing. Even then I was worried that he’d go mad with me for doing that when I knew he was working on a story, but there are limits to how much worry I can take. I gave the police his name and description and half an hour later they were knocking on my door. They told me that a man fitting James’s description had been found killed in a hotel.’

  There were tears in her eyes now.

  ‘It was James,’ suggested Sep, knowing her speech had dried up. She nodded and took a deep breath.

  ‘He’d been battered about the head. I had to identify him – it was awful to see him like that.’

  ‘I imagine it was,’ said Sep, mustering up genuine sympathy. ‘And the police got nowhere?’

  She shook her head. ‘No.’

  ‘I can check all that myself. How’s the orange juice?’

  It was small talk designed to give him time to think of what to say next. Sandra sipped her drink and smiled.

  ‘It’s actually very nice thank you. I’ve read about you in the papers, Mr Black, which is what brought me to you. I gather you’ve had problems with the police.’

  ‘That’s all in the past I hope.’

  ‘I understand you got a colleague of yours locked up for trying to frame you for something you didn’t do.’

  ‘My word, you have been talking to Winnie.’

  ‘I call into her shop now and again. She sells some interesting clothes. Second-hand of course but really good stuff all the same.’

  ‘Well, she does get new stuff in now and again. She opened the shop about a year ago. Winnie has a lot of good contacts.’ He omitted to mention that Winnie’s contacts were somewhat shady to say the least, but she herself was an excellent informant at times. A service she provided in exchange for immunity from police prosecution for her shady dealings.

  ‘It would help if you didn’t make it known that Winnie had any ties to me,’ he said.

  ‘Oh yes, she’s already sworn me to secrecy about that.’

  ‘She shouldn’t have told you about me in the first place. I never go into her shop in case anyone recognizes me.’

  ‘Normally, she wouldn’t have told me about you, only she’s aware of my problem and mentioned you as the only person who might be able to help me … and like I said, I’m sworn to secrecy.’

  ‘It’s important that you mean it.’

  She leaned over the wooden table and spoke confidentially as if to prove her trustworthiness. ‘I’m told you’re a good man, Mr Black, and in case you’re wondering if I can pay you for this, James had his life insured for a quarter of a million pounds. I’m willing to pay fifty thousand to get to the bottom of what happened and clear his name. It will also do no harm for me to finish his story for him, which might recoup some of the money.’

  ‘If I took money from you I’d be drummed back out of the force. They’ve been looking for an excuse ever since I proved them wrong the last time they sacked me.’

  ‘In that case I’ll give it to Winnie and she can give it to you … if she wants.’

  ‘You know about the sto
ry James was working on, do you?’

  ‘Only some notes on his computer. It should be enough to give you a start. By the way, I’m also a journalist, or I was before I became a mum. We have—’ she paused for thought – ‘I have a three-year-old daughter.’

  ‘I see. Did you show this information to the police?’

  ‘Yes. I printed it all out and gave it to Detective Chief Inspector Wood. You obviously know him.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘What do you think of him?’

  ‘Not a lot. He got where he is through a lot of sideways promotions from people trying to get rid of him.’

  ‘Yeah, that pretty much describes him.’

  ‘He’s a rank above me and he’s got no flair for detective work. He should have stayed in uniform, helping old ladies across the road.’

  ‘And you’ve got this flair, have you?’

  ‘I have my moments.’

  ‘So I’ve heard.’

  ‘What else have you heard?’

  ‘Mr Black, I read the papers. Your reputation precedes you.’

  ‘The papers have always made up stories about me. I’m a real handy target. None of it’s true of course.’

  ‘I’m here simply because of your reputation as a crime solver. So, are you taking the job?’

  ‘I need to check with my superintendent. I think that case is already on file, but with it being one of Wood’s many failures it’s not being treated with any urgency. We have a whole filing cabinet of Wood’s failures.’

  ‘That explains a lot.’

  ‘Don’t mention that to the papers, or my opinion of Wood. They’ll know where you got it from.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘My boss’ll probably let me look into it for a week or so and if I come up with anything at all concrete I imagine we’ll make it an official case.’

  ‘Is it something you might go undercover for?’

  ‘Bloody hell! What has Winnie been telling you?’

  ‘Like I said. I read about you in the papers last year. Down-and-out Glaswegian, weren’t you?’

  ‘Well, if I do go undercover it won’t be as Scottish ne’er-do-well Jimmy Lennon again.’

  ‘Do I call you Sep or Mr Black?’

  ‘Sep.’

  ‘If you call round to my house, Sep, I can show you everything James had.’

  FOUR

  Sep paused at the gate and looked up at the house. It was a good, solid, pre-war house on a small development just north of Leeds.

  ‘Hello, Sep, bang on time. Come in.’

  He followed Sandra through to a living room that needed a good tidy, a bit like his own living room, apart from the absence of dust.

  ‘Excuse the mess … I … actually I haven’t got an excuse except that I’m so messy nowadays.’

  ‘If you think this is messy you should see my place.’

  ‘Sit down.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  She had no make-up on and she hadn’t brushed her hair. ‘I’m having a really bad morning, I’m afraid. I still get them from time to time.’

  ‘Yeah, I know what it’s like to lose a loved one.’

  ‘You mean you lost your wife?’

  ‘My wife left me for another man. In fact, she didn’t have the decency to leave me, she just moved him in and me out.’

  ‘That must have been awful, Sep – and have you got over it?’

  ‘Completely. Should never have married her in the first place. It’s actually my daughter I miss. Anyway, I’ve got Winnie now.’

  ‘Right. The computer’s through here.’

  In James’s office, Sandra had turned the computer on. ‘Let me open the file. It hasn’t got a proper title. The file’s just labelled NEW JOB.’ She stood to one side as he sat down in front of the monitor.

  ‘OK,’ he said, checking the page count, ‘is it just this page?’

  ‘That’s it she said. ‘It’s all on this page. Like I said, there’s nothing much, but there are a few names you can conjure with.’

  ‘And a date,’ said Sep. ‘Date of death 12 March 2014. Here we go … Circumstances of death … fall from high building … cause of death … unknown, probable murder.’ He looked at Sandra. ‘Does he tell us who’s dead?’

  ‘Further down.’

  Sep scrolled down further and read out loud, ‘Charles Francis Santiago, more commonly known as Charlie. Born 15 November 1962, died 12 March 2014. Managing Director and majority shareholder in Santiago TechSys Ltd. Turnover 2012–2013, £6.8 million net profit … £1.7 million – that’s a lot of net profit. I’m guessing he didn’t top himself because he was broke.’

  ‘The police don’t think he topped himself at all. As coincidence would have it, DCI Wood was working on that case as well.’

  ‘Santiago TechSys? Sounds like it’s something to do with computers. Could that be what we’re looking at? Was he bumped off by some rival computer company who stole his rights to some system or other?’

  ‘Do you know anything about computers, Sep?’

  ‘Well, about enough to fill out paperwork, but I know someone who does and if this case is why James died we might just unravel what happened to James and who did it – two birds with one stone as it were. Do you know if Wood was working along those lines?’

  ‘I’ve no idea what lines he was working on,’ said Sandra. ‘The last I heard he said something about it being a cold case, just like my James. What exactly does that mean?’

  ‘It means they’ve run out of ideas and it’s been put on ice until something new turns up. It’s the very unit I work for right now.’

  ‘But you’ve never heard of it.’

  ‘I haven’t. It could be that we haven’t made a start on it yet, but if the James Boswell case is one we’re working on, it’s high time we made a start on Mr Santiago.’

  ‘I wonder what their line of enquiry was.’

  ‘Well,’ said Sep, ‘that’s something I can possibly find out. Knowing Wood I’m guessing it was just one line of enquiry. There may be several other lines of enquiry I need to follow. What about Santiago’s family, will they be cooperative?’

  ‘Once again I don’t know.’

  ‘Right, let’s see what else James uncovered … Olivia Hardacre,’ said Sep. ‘She’s been given very special attention, but I wouldn’t have thought throwing a man out of a window was a woman’s style of thing, unless she’s huge and he was tiny.’

  ‘Once again, I wouldn’t know. All I know is what’s in this file. I know I’m a journalist but I wouldn’t know how to start investigating it all – that’s a detective’s job.’

  ‘Did James say anything at all to you about this story he was following up … I mean, anything or anyone?’

  ‘To tell you the truth, Sep, when he died I was so grief-stricken my brain seemed to switch itself off and I’m not quite right even now. I loved James very much.’

  ‘Yes, I can see that and now you want to do his memory justice.’

  ‘Something like that. I don’t want this thing to be left hanging in the air with no proper resolution. James would have hated that, especially this horrible prostitute connection.’

  ‘Yes, you need to tell me all about that as well, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I think it might be more helpful if I showed you where he died.’

  ‘Can you manage that?’

  ‘I can show you the grotty hotel, but I don’t want to go inside.’

  ‘That’s fine. Going inside is my job.’

  ‘Are you allowed to go in without a warrant or something?’

  ‘I’m allowed into the public area. For me to enter the crime scene I would need a warrant or its equivalent.’

  ‘What’s the equivalent of a warrant?’

  ‘A twenty pound note usually does it – or a fifty if they’re reluctant. This is where I start to run up my expenses bill.’

  ‘I’ll give you five hundred in advance if it helps.’

  ‘Hmm, it probably would, providing my work never
finds out about it. Tell you what, give it to Winnie. She’s the one I’ll have to account to with all my expense claims and she’s very strict – on the client’s behalf.’

  ‘I’m impressed.’ said Sandra. ‘So, do I take it there’s a reasonable chance of success?’

  ‘I can’t guarantee that at this stage. In fact, I might not be able to guarantee anything at any stage but it seems there’s quite a lot to go on that the police have missed. I’ll follow it up as much as I can.’

  The ancient receptionist stared up at Sep with rheumy eyes and Sep accurately guessed that she wasn’t able to see him too well.

  ‘What name did yer say?’

  ‘Boswell, James Boswell.’

  ‘Is that your name?’

  ‘No, my name’s Sep Black.’

  ‘What? Are you that foreign bugger what got kicked out of his football job fer bein’ a crook?’

  ‘No, Sep Black, as in … black and white.’

  ‘Why didn’t yer say so first time? And who’s this James Boswell?’

  ‘He’s the man who was murdered here recently.’

  ‘Murdered? In here? Oh aye, I remember now.’

  ‘I was actually wondering about a woman he had in his room. Did you see her?’

  ‘Nay, I can’t see bugger all wivout me specs.’ She put her glasses on. ‘I can see you all right now but I couldn’t see her. She wasn’t booking, see. She only wanted ter go to a room what had been booked and paid for. Prozzie most like. Not a bad looker for a prozzie – as far as I could tell.’