Crooked Street

by Priscilla Masters

  She tried again and spoke pleasantly. ‘For instance,’ she said conversationally, ‘do you think Jadon’s absconded without his car, without using his mobile phone or using his credit cards? Not a word to the wife he’s so devoted to?’ Worryingly she caught the faintest huff of mockery from Armitage so she pursued the point. ‘When they’ve only been married for two years and appear so happy?’

  They all looked shifty then. Tried to bluster. Jeff spoke up, talking steadily, but there was no mistaking the confrontation. ‘It’s your job to find him, Inspector,’ he said, tight-lipped, holding his thin shoulders rigid. ‘Not ours.’

  ‘OK,’ she said. ‘Is there something else you’re not telling us? Anything about …’ she fished in the deep, ‘… perhaps one of the clients he visited on a Wednesday?’

  There was not even a hint that she might have hit on something.

  Behind her, she felt Mike take a step forward. She tried again before he exploded on to the scene. ‘Look, you might help us out here. It’s your mate, your colleague, who’s missing. We’re doing our best to find him. This is taking up a lot of police time and money that could be better deployed.’

  All three stifled sniggers. She could read their mind. Doing what? Handing out traffic offences, helping old ladies cross the road, issuing parking tickets?

  She tried one more time. ‘Please?’

  ‘He’ll turn up.’ Jeff Armitage this time.

  Joanna made no response but looked from one to the other. ‘Well, perhaps you’ll get back in touch with us if you hear anything?’

  All three responded to this with fake enthusiasm until she added, ‘We already have some uniformed officers interviewing the clients that Jadon visited regularly on Wednesday nights.’ She handed them a card. ‘If you think of anything else either phone, text or email it through as soon as you can, please.’

  Scott Dooley grabbed the card, glanced at it then tossed it down on to the desk. It was an act of rebellion. So she hadn’t exactly won them over.

  She and Mike left then. They would get nothing here.

  As soon as the door was closed behind them the three cracked into action, Leroy kicking off. ‘OK, so now we’ve got the police interested in our business. Fucking great.’

  ‘It’s legal,’ Jeff responded.

  Scott intervened. ‘Yeah, but you know what they’re like. Once they’ve got their eyes on you they’ll find something that isn’t. We need to take this seriously. Find him.’ His chin jutted out with absolute determination. ‘Find out what he’s bloody well playing at. Still, at least we’ve learned something. He hasn’t used his mobile or taken money out of the bank. So where is the little bugger?’ He searched his two mates suspiciously. ‘Do either of you two know anything?’

  Their response was quick. ‘No.’

  ‘’Course not.’

  And because Jeff Armitage’s mother had drummed into him that attack was the best form of defence, he bounced the same question back to Scott. ‘Do you?’

  ‘Don’t be daft.’

  After a lengthy pause, during which they could almost feel the static of fury rip through Leroy, he continued, ‘How much money exactly is missing, Jeff? You’re the numbers man. Has he been sneaking bits and pieces for a while? Where exactly was he going on Wednesday night?’

  ‘Just the usual,’ Jeff mumbled. ‘He just had some money to collect from round the town. Same as every other bloody Wednesday.’

  ‘Except it wasn’t.’ This from Scott, whose eyes were now watchful. ‘I’m going to be doing some checking.’ He was thoughtful. ‘So if it was the same as any other old night why’s he gone missing then?’

  Leroy shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Maybe he upset someone?’

  Dooley’s response was scathing. ‘Upset someone? One of those saddoes who owes us money for ever, one of the little bleeders who’s mortgaged their souls? What do you think those fucking victims would do? Listen …’ he jabbed his finger on the desk, ‘… they was born poor. They was born bloody unlucky and they was born careless. It’s only us that lifts them out of their miserable lives and abject poverty.’ He wasn’t sure what abject meant but it seemed to go well with poverty.

  Jeff Armitage looked at him. ‘You think?’

  ‘Yeah.’ But his response was less sure.

  Jeff continued, ‘You really think they’re grateful?’ He was incredulous.

  ‘Well, they ought to be.’ Dooley’s voice was less sure.

  Leroy took over. ‘Listen, you two. Get sensible. Get reasonable. Nobody, nobody,’ he emphasized, ‘would be so stupid as to take us on. Those wimps? They wouldn’t fucking well dare.’

  Scott and Jeff simply looked at each other, doubts crawling into their minds, sucking out confidence like hungry leeches.

  ‘Perhaps,’ Leroy continued, leaning forward, ‘one of us should do the Wednesday round, find out who he saw and who he never got to see.’

  ‘I can do that.’ Jeff Armitage had already stood up, ready for action. Anything but inactivity.

  It was Scott who stopped him. ‘Hang on a minute, Jeff. That’s what the police are doing.’

  Leroy chipped in. ‘We can see what they turn up.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Scott contributed. ‘Wait to see if they come up with anything.’

  But Jeff’s worry wouldn’t go away. ‘If they come round here again sniffing around for trouble, looking into our books and such, what shall we say?’

  Scott Dooley laughed and slapped his hands flat on the desk. ‘We’re doing nothing illegal,’ he said. ‘In fact, we’re doing society a service, helping the poor and needy. They should be giving us a medal. Just think of the misery we’re preventing. Children going hungry, cars being repossessed, jobs lost, homes being taken back by the mortgage company. All of them gagging for money. Money no one else will give them.’

  ‘Not spent on fags or wine or drugs,’ Leroy put in, laughing now, feet up on the desk and hands behind his head.

  Jeff joined in. ‘Yeah. We’re the ones what produce the goods. We should be gettin’ the OBE or something.’

  Even Scott was laughing now. ‘Services to humanity.’

  ‘Yeah, well, exactly.’ For once Jeff had summoned up a smile without rancour.

  And then Scott brought them right back to basics. ‘Well, somebody ain’t giving us a medal. Or at least not Jadon. You think he’s with the queen now having it pinned on his chest? You think that’s where he is? Not bloody likely.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Jeff would be the first to crack. He was the weakest link.

  Scott looked at him pityingly. ‘Use what little brain you’ve got, Armitage. If Jadon hasn’t done a runner why would he go missing? We know Eve meant everything to him.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Jeff put in spitefully, ‘but was he everything to her?’

  Leroy was astonished. His feet slammed back on the floor. ‘Now where’s your twisted little mind going off to?’

  ‘You think she just sits at home and waits for her beloved to come home?’

  His two mates looked at him. ‘You what?’ Scott said. ‘Eve? She bloody adores him.’

  Jeff Armitage backed down grumpily. ‘Just saying. That’s all.’

  But the other two weren’t letting him go. ‘What are you saying exactly?’

  ‘Just that I don’t think she’s everything she seems. That’s all. I think there’s something …’ he paused, ‘… funny about her.’ The other two were tempted to ignore him. Bitter and twisted. That’s what he was. Suspicious of everyone.

  Now the three of them eyed each other suspiciously. Trust? Among thieves? But of course they weren’t thieves. They were … philanthropists.

  Leroy reined them in. ‘How much money exactly’s gone with him?’

  ‘Near enough a grand,’ Jeff said. ‘Wednesday was always a busy day but it’s not enough to make it worth his while walking out on us, the business, the wife, his house, car, everything. It doesn’t make any sense. Something must have happened to him.’

 
‘Like what?’

  They were all three silent then Scott said very slowly, ‘You don’t think one of our clients has got a bit miffed with our “not very competitive” interest rates and gone for him, do you?’

  The other two shook their heads but doubt was beginning to creep in like mustard gas seeping beneath a door.

  Scott Dooley sat and tried to work it out. He was a tousle-headed guy with some Arabic writing tattooed up his arm. He didn’t know what it said – he’d just liked the look of it so he’d had it done. When the tattooist had asked him if he wanted a translation, he’d said, ‘Nah. Don’t bother. It’s OK.’

  ‘But what if,’ the others had joked, when they’d seen it, ‘it says something really rude or offensive?’

  He’d looked a bit anxious then. ‘I did say when he was doing it that I didn’t want nothing that would make trouble.’

  ‘Yeah, right. They’ll only behead you.’

  For weeks afterwards he’d had nightmares about this. He’d be walking down the street, someone walking towards him. They’d read the writing on his arm and then whoosh. Big sword.

  But now the nightmares had faded. And he didn’t want them replaced with any more. He didn’t want to think about what had happened to Jadon. Jadon was slick, smart, clever. He’d been the one to dream up the idea. He and Scott had worked it all out, employed Leroy because he was a thug and Jeff Armitage because he was wary, suspicious and good with numbers. Jeff was their bookkeeper. For three years now they’d made money. Real money. Their clients were completely cowed, terrified of being evicted, terrified of starving or not being able to keep up the payments on their cars, not being able to get to work. Between them they’d heard every single sob story in the world: death, disease, destruction. But most of all bad luck. The people who borrowed, digging themselves into a bottomless grave, blamed everything on bad luck. That was the way it went.

  They’d lent money for weddings and funerals, divorces and engagements, parties and wakes, houses, rentals, deposits. Everything, they sometimes reflected when they went to the pub after work. Everything in life and death needed one vital ingredient – money.

  And they could supply it.

  Only once had someone tried to pull a fast one. Leroy had dealt with it and since then they’d had no more trouble except … Scott shoved it out of his mind.

  Scott was not only the most twitchy of the three, he was also the most aware. Leroy might take the lead in threats but he acted first and thought later and Jeff was so sour and suspicious of everybody that he couldn’t sort out facts from products of his warped and paranoid mind. But Scott was smart. The business had been his idea: the name, with its double entendre, the subtle advertising, the exorbitant interest rates, the weekly rounds. When he’d worked for Johnston and Pickles he had learned about money, or rather, something more important – the need for money. The love of money. The desperation for money. He knew exactly how desperate people were when they were really skint and had no access to credit. He knew where the pressure points were and he knew how to apply exactly the right amount of persuasion. Come on, missus, you wouldn’t want your daughter to be evicted, would you?

  And without a car how do you think you’ll get into work?

  You deserve a holiday, love. You’ve earned it. You owe it to yourself.

  He was a good bloke. He should have a good send-off.

  You’ll want to say goodbye properly.

  Then there were the little levers:

  You’ll soon pay it off.

  And last of all the little lies:

  It isn’t that much interest once you’ve started to nibble away at the capital.

  And you could always use terms to confuse them:

  Yeah, well, it’s compound interest, you see.

  The APR works out at a very advantageous rate.

  And the beauty was he’d learned it all from Johnston and Pickles. Legit.

  And his meeting with Jadon? Pure, beautiful, designed chance. Robertson had asked him to cancel an appointment one day with his beautician and Jadon had answered. He’d immediately recognized the oily suspicion in the man’s voice and followed it up.

  Bob’s your uncle.

  Scott Dooley knew precisely where they’d crossed the line once or twice. Maybe more than once or twice – coerced people who hadn’t really needed to borrow, at least not from them at their ‘advantageous’ interest rates. And when people couldn’t or wouldn’t pay up they had two options: either extend the loan so their clients were locked in even tighter or take something to cover costs. Tellies, cars, jewellery. Anything really. And when that didn’t work it was a matter of bringing on the heavies. Always a last resort but the sight of Leroy was usually enough to sort out any problems. He terrified them. So now, when Scott started pacing around, his own mind was beginning to work things out. Whatever had happened to Jadon he had been a good, steady worker – reliable. It was out of character for him to have gone missing. And Scott didn’t believe for a minute that Jadon had done a runner with under a grand in his pocket. More likely, someone had gone for him. This was dangerous territory. He had a sort of premonition of them being picked off one by one.

  Shove it, he said to himself.

  But in this he was a step ahead of the police. He knew Jadon Glover and he knew Eve as well. He also knew that the police would be sniffing around them for a bit longer yet. He just hoped it wouldn’t have too much of an impact on the business.

  ‘We need to delete some files,’ he said. ‘Take them off our computers.’ Then when the other two raised objections about losing money and what they called leverage he qualified with a, ‘We’ll keep a copy of who owes what. We won’t lose out but we need to take this seriously.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Jeff was already pressing keys.

  ‘We’ll go round and see Eve,’ Leroy suggested. ‘She’s bound to know something.’

  Jeff was scornful. ‘All three of us? We’ll frighten her.’

  Scott took over. ‘Not you, Leroy, Just me,’ he said.

  His two colleagues were used to leaving most of the thinking to Scott. They were happy.

  ‘No time like the present,’ he said with a false jauntiness, heaving himself out of his seat.

  Coincidentally, this was exactly where Joanna and Mike were. Even as they turned into Disraeli Place they sensed a sombre, quiet feel to number eight. There was no sign of anyone in the road, even peering from behind curtains. The entire place was deserted. Although the day was dull and cool there was no light on. Joanna looked at Mike. ‘Think she’s gone out?’

  ‘Whatever,’ Korpanski said unhelpfully.

  Eve didn’t come to the door straight away and as they waited on the doorstep they looked around at the ghost estate. Did anyone actually live here? There were no cars in the drives, no lights on, no noise. It was eerie.

  Then a white face appeared in the downstairs window and quickly disappeared. They heard a security chain rattling. So Eve was nervous?

  When she finally opened the door they had a shock, wondering for a moment whether they had the right house. She was barefoot, wearing a baggy grey bloke’s sweater and pink jogging pants. Her face was nude which made her look anaemic, younger and vulnerable. She looked frightened and very, very tired. Pointless to ask her whether she was all right. They did anyway.

  Her eyes asked the desperate question and Joanna shook her head. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

  They needed to tread carefully now. This wasn’t a simple case of a misper, a husband going AWOL. It was a something else. Something deeper and more sinister. On the way over she and Mike had discussed the case. Plenty of people would have had reason to dislike Jadon. Hate him even for locking them into the trap of poverty, never paid off debt because of interest rates high enough to make your eyes water. As soon as the reports started coming through from the uniformed house-to-house interviews they would be asking questions.

  But not her.

  They followed her into the soulless sitting room. Wha
t did she do all day? There were no books, no magazines. The television was switched off. There was no radio on. Did she simply sit around and look at four beige walls? There was no clue as to the real Eve.

  Joanna opened the questioning, feeling awkward. She was going to have to share with Jadon’s wife the fact that he had lied about his career. And what else? She must dig deeper.

  ‘Mrs Glover, Eve,’ she said cautiously, ‘you said that your husband worked for Johnston and Pickles. Well, we’ve been there.’

  Had Eve Glover had bristles they would have quivered.

  ‘Mr Robertson, Karl Robertson, the CEO, says Jadon doesn’t work there.’

  The blue eyes were confused now. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘We’ve spoken to Jadon’s colleagues, Leroy, Jeff and Scott,’ Joanna continued. ‘Their office is, in fact, just round the corner from Johnston and Pickles.’

  ‘Oh?’ She was frowning.

  ‘Do you know Mr Robertson?’

  She thought for a moment then smiled. ‘I used to know a Mr Robertson a few years ago before I was married. He used to come to my salon. Is it the same man?’

  ‘It would appear so,’ Joanna said cautiously, only too aware that the connection between Jadon, his wife, Karl Robertson and his happy comrades was tenuous. They still knew so little about Jadon Glover. ‘You didn’t realize that this Mr Robertson is the CEO of the firm your husband said he worked for?’

  ‘Well, no. I mean, I’d have thought he would have said.’ She was picking at the grey sweater, worrying at it. Plucking at the wool. ‘Might have mentioned it.’ She thought for a moment before looking at them.

  ‘So if Jadon wasn’t an accountant working for Johnston and Pickles, who did he work for and what did he do?’

  Joanna exhaled. The first question was easy to answer. ‘He worked for himself. He, Scott Dooley, Leroy and Jeff ran their own business.’

  ‘Doing what?’

  Joanna glanced very briefly at Korpanski then took the plunge. ‘Have you ever heard of doorstep lending?’