Death on a Dirty Afternoon (The Terry Bell Mysteries Book 1)

by Colin Garrow

  I squared things with Ken and told my running mate I'd pick her up at six. That left me a couple of hours to check something out.

  Chapter 9

  Stanley 'Bummer' Harris leaned back against the counter and folded his arms. The years had not been kind to him but he still had the slim build I remembered from school sports days. He adopted the hand-on-hip pose usually reserved for his more familiar customers and trotted out his catchphrase: 'So ye've finally come ower to the dark side, have ye?' He grinned salaciously - an expression that always prompted me to clear my throat in a manly way.

  'You're not funny, mate.' I sidled across to the rack of fishing rods displayed against one wall and made like I was interested.

  'Yes I am, actually,' he cackled, 'and divvent start fingering the goods if ye're not buying.'

  'I am buying, but it isn't fish I'm after catchin.'

  The grin vanished and his mouth dropped open. He nodded slowly. 'This to do with those murders, is it?' He skipped over to the shop door and shut it firmly. 'I was tellin Mikey the other day - I says Terry Bell wouldn't hurt a fly but I bet he knows more than he's saying. An ye know what Mikey says?'

  'I can't imagine,' I said, with no hint of eagerness.

  'He says it's the quiet ones ye've got to watch for.' He nodded again.

  'Well ye can tell Mikey I haven't murdered anyone. Yet.'

  Harris flapped his hand and guffawed. 'Ooh, stop it!'

  I glanced at the window then back at Harris. 'Do ye still keep those...erm...ye know? From when we were kids?'

  His tongue slid over his lower lip. 'The er...' He pointed a finger at me and clicked his tongue, then jerking his head towards the back of the shop, said, 'The under-the-counter stuff?'

  I nodded.

  He put a hand on my shoulder and led me towards the back room. 'Obviously, I don't sell stuff like that, not officially, but if I can accommodate ye, I will. What exactly are ye lookin for?'

  When I'd picked out what I wanted, Harris faffed around for a couple of minutes wrapping it up in bin bag. While he was busy, I perused his selection of what he liked to call 'new psychoactive substances'.

  'Not wantin anythin else, are ye, bonny lad? Somethin for the weekend, maybe?' He half turned away and added, in a casual tone, 'I hear your lass walked out?'

  'Christ, is nothin sacred?'

  'If you're needin a pick-me-up, I know a few folk. Could put ye in touch with someone...suitable?'

  'Oh aye? A night of passion followed by a dose of somethin nasty? Not my cup of coffee, Stan.' Then I had another thought. 'Unless...ye don't know a guy called Sven Andersson, do ye?'

  He shrugged. 'Nah. Except that he's got big fuck-off car.' Qualifying this, he added, 'Mikey cuts his hair for im.'

  I looked at him with renewed interest. 'Really? What sort of big fuck-off car?'

  'White BMW.' He giggled. 'Well, not all white - apparently one of his ex-workers chucked paint stripper over the bonnet so it looks a bit of a mess just now.'

  'Noticeable, is it?'

  'Oh, aye. See it a bloody mile off. So Mikey says.' He gave me a sly wink. 'Why are you interested?'

  I handed over the cash and took my purchase. 'If I'm still alive at Christmas, I'll tell ye's all about it. Say hello to Mikey for me.'

  The back end of the Hexagon stuck out over the promenade, propped up on stilts like some kind of War of the Worlds tripody-type thing. Not having been down on this stretch of the beach for a few years, I hadn't seen the place from this angle before. Admittedly, it was only twenty feet above my head, but the supporting structure looked anything but safe, and I had no wish to be hanging around underneath if the whole thing decided to give in to gravity and hit the sand.

  I turned and walked down to the water's edge and pulled out my secret weapon. Not being a fan of bird watching, I'd had little need for a pair of binoculars during my youth, but this pair had turned up when me and Jess were going through our dad's things. I suspected he'd only used them for spying on the neighbours, but these bad boys were particularly high quality so would be perfect for what I wanted.

  When I was far enough away so's not to attract attention from diners in the restaurant, I fiddled with the focus until it offered a decent view of the floor-to-ceiling windows in what I assumed was the 'posh' bit of the Hex. Though I'd never eaten there myself, I'd been in the bar a few times and enjoyed a few sneaky peeks of the town's professed movers and shakers while they scoffed foie gras and other equally deplorable foodstuffs.

  The view was better than I'd hoped for and I could easily make out the faces of most of the diners in the prime seats. Course, it was only five-thirty so the only people in the place were the early-evening pre-theatre lot, who'd fill their faces before popping over to the cinema or into Newcastle for a northern version of one of the London shows. As expected, the bods I was looking for weren't around, but I'd found what I needed to know, so there was only more thing to do before picking Carol up.

  'I wish ye'd tell iz where we're goin, Terry.' Carol sighed for the umpteenth time.

  'See when we get there.'

  'Aye, so ye said, but I'm none the bloody wiser, am I?'

  It'd been cloudy and overcast all day and by the time we'd negotiated the city centre, I was pleased to see it was dark enough for what I had in mind. I just hoped my memory of the street matched up with the reality, or it'd be a waste of time.

  As we passed Central Station, the profusion of street lighting afforded me a glimpse of what might have been the Volvo with the tinted windows. It was two cars back and followed us for a couple of minutes before I lost sight of it, though as I negotiated the badly-lit areas of the West End, I'd've been hard pushed to say whether the car itself was black, blue or pea-green. In any case, it had gone when we turned into Nugent Crescent.

  Keeping an eye out for the green door, I slowed down as we drew level with the dwelling I was interested in. Pulling almost to a stop, I peered across at the buildings to my right. Sure enough, separating each pair of terraced houses, a narrow alley ran from front to back, like a sort of tunnel underneath the upper storeys.

  Continuing down to the bottom of the road, I turned the car around and scooted back out onto the main drag, parking up in the same place as last time.

  Carol had gone quiet, but it was obvious from the stern looks she was throwing my way she'd sussed what I was up to. Thankfully, she didn't say anything as we walked back down the street. I hoped she wouldn't be tempted to chuck a spanner in my plans.

  By chance, the streetlamp beside the alley I was aiming for wasn't working, giving the immediate area a nicely gloomy outlook. I took a quick look round then grabbed Carol's hand and yanked her down the passageway. It ran between the houses, down to a pair of high wooden gates at the end that joined at a forty-five degree angle. The gates led to the back yards of the houses on either side, though both were in darkness. I pulled Carol in close and made shushing noises.

  'Eeh Terry, if ye'd wanted a shag ye should've said - we could've gone to my place.' She gave me a look that confirmed this was a joke.

  I leaned against the wall and peered back towards the street. The house with the green door was almost directly opposite and I could see a bit of the front window as well, which was a bonus.

  'Stay here.' I walked back to the street and looked down the alley. If I concentrated, I could just about make out a human shape, but unless someone was specially looking for us, we'd be harder to see than a black cat in a coal cellar.

  'What'll we do if one of the owner's comes out?'

  I shrugged. 'I'll tell them we were looking for a place to have a knee-trembler.'

  'By God, ye're a romantic fucker, I'll say that.' She fastened her coat up and dug her hands into her pockets. 'I suppose I'm expected to hang around until ye've seen whatever it is ye're wantin to see?'

  'That's the plan.' I moved in beside her and slipped a hand around her shoulders. 'For appearances sake, ye understand.'

  'Aye, well, as long as ye
realise I'm not goin to be droppin me knickers for appearances sake.'

  We'd been stood there for almost an hour before anything happened. Several people walked past, but no-one showed any interest in our hiding place. Then a white car pulled up outside Mr Ahmed's front door. From the way the driver behaved, I assumed it was a private hire vehicle, but there was nothing to show which firm it was from.

  Two young women got out the back, giggling and tipsy. By the time they reached the front door, it had opened, and a familiar hairless bonce appeared silhouetted against the hall light.

  'Here,' whispered Carol. 'Is that whatsisname?'

  'Ralph, yes.' I narrowed my eyes as if that would somehow bring his features into focus. 'At least, I think it is.' I really needed to get closer but even my binoculars wouldn't allow me to see through doors.

  When the front door closed and the car had moved off, I turned to look at my companion. In the gloom, her face was almost invisible, but I could feel her warm breath on my neck. I suddenly realised I'd been dragging Carol round like we were joined at the hip, and apart from the occasional moan, she'd gone along with all my decisions, good or bad. Perhaps, for all her jokey denials, she was interested in me after all? However, I reckoned it was more likely she didn't want to be left to her own devices with a killer on the loose.

  I glanced back along to the house. I was starting to feel that my current plan was worthless - there we were, standing around in the cold as if we had nothing better to do. What had I expected to see from this spectacularly limited viewpoint? While I had to admit I enjoyed hanging around with Carol, even when I was freezing my nuts off, this was getting us nowhere. We had to make something happen.

  'Come on,' I said taking her hand. 'We're going in.'

  I started forward, but she pulled me back.

  'Going in where?'

  'In there.' I pointed to the green door.

  'We're bloody not,' she said. 'Not a bloody chance.'

  'Look, I just want to knock on the door, then we'll make out we're at the wrong house, or summat.'

  'And what if Ralph answers it?'

  'Ah, now...' I reached into my inside pocket. 'Luckily, I brought protection.'

  Two minutes later, we were standing outside the front door, Carol's fingernails digging into my hand. I could feel my heart banging away like a demented kettledrum in my chest. I prised her fingers away from mine and persuaded her to hang onto my coat. Pressing the bell, I told myself it'd be fine.

  The door swung open and a familiar, yet not so familiar, face hove into view.

  'Aye, what yer want?'

  'We're here for the party?' I said, trying out my upward inflection. My forced smile was almost sincere, but of course he couldn't see it because of the mask.

  'Think you got the wrong hoose, mate.' The big baldy bloke started to close the door, when a slim black woman in a blue dress appeared behind him.

  'C'mon Horse, I get you another drink, yes?' She glanced at me and then at Carol. 'Who are these people - they think perhaps it is Halloween?' She giggled and disappeared down the corridor.

  'Sorry,' I muttered. 'Must be the next street.' I turned Carol around and pushed her up the path.

  'Ang on. Ah've seen ye somewhere before, haven't Ah?'

  I glanced over my shoulder. 'No, don't think so. Sorry.' Behind the baldy bloke, I caught sight of another familiar face - waving his head around like he was listening to some muted reggae beat, my Jamaican friend didn't seem remotely concerned about his close proximity to the man called Horse. Another one to cross off my list of trusted pals.

  Grabbing Carol's hand, I dragged her along the street towards the main road and safety.

  Back in the car, I sat staring down at the face of Frankenstein's monster.

  'Still don't see why I had to be Ronald Reagan,' said Carol, waving the rubber mask in my face.

  'It was all I could get, alright? Anyway, it did the trick.'

  'So who was that bloke?'

  I shook my head. 'I dunno. Somebody who looks like Ralph.'

  'So if the man you saw on that first night, the one you thought was Ralph...' She paused, a crease running along her forehead. 'If that wasn't him, then it obviously never has been him, so we don't have any reason to think Ralph is involved, do we?'

  'No, we don't.'

  I was confused. All this time I'd been convinced big Ralphy must have feet planted in both camps. That he had to be the double agent, the traitor, the Tessio to my Michael Corleone. Except, obviously, he wasn't.

  'Terry, why did she call him Horse?'

  I looked at her. 'You don't want to know.'

  Our second stop of the evening was back at the beach. This time we didn't need the masks. I'd forgotten the tide would be in so we were a good deal nearer the overhanging lip of the Hexagon than I'd intended. But it didn't matter - I'd still be able to see what I wanted to see.

  'What are we looking for?' Carol's voice had begun to get a bit whiny, like a child who'd dropped her ice-cream on the sand.

  'The Anderssons.'

  'What makes you think they'll be here?' She waved a hand around dismissively. 'We might be stood here all bloody night for nowt.'

  I lifted the binoculars. 'They'll be here.' Adjusting the focus, I scanned along the crowd of diners in the window seats. There was nothing of interest at first, just the usual shmoozers, but then I noticed an empty table in what I took to be the prime spot in the corner of the restaurant. A waiter led two people to the table, taking a few minutes to seat and fawn over them until he was dismissed with a wave of a Swedish hand.

  Sven Andersson.

  Elise was wearing the same dress she'd worn the first night I saw her. Looking at her through the glasses gave her face a queer sort of flat, two-dimensional appearance, but even so, it was clear from her expression she wasn't happy. I should've asked Bummer Harris if he had any listening devices, though maybe that was going a bit too far.

  'Well?' Carol tugged at my sleeve. 'Is it them?'

  I handed her the binoculars. 'Have a look.'

  'Ah-ha,' she said. 'So what now?'

  'Now, we wait.'

  'What - again?'

  It was almost an hour and a half later that our Swedish friends decided to make a move. I'd given Carol my jacket to stop her moaning about the cold, so my nether regions were getting a bit close to the brass monkey department. Rubbing my hands, I took another look at the Hexagon and was glad to see that finally something was happening.

  'Right, that's them going.' I forced the binocs back into their case and grabbing my mobile, sent a text confirming the set-up I'd arranged a couple of hours earlier. I took Carol's hand. 'C'mon.'

  We'd left the car on the corner opposite the entrance to the Hex. Just as the engine thrummed into life, twenty yards away a white Beemer with a distinctively shitty-coloured bonnet, slid out onto the road, heading south towards Tynemouth. Quarter of a mile further along, a grey saloon pulled out of its parking space.

  'You're not going to follow them?' Whined Carol, her hands jammed into her armpits.

  'Course. What else would I be doin?'

  'An what happens when they get to where they're goin?' I didn't respond straight away so she slapped me on the shoulder. 'I said –'

  'I heard.' Glancing in my side mirror I noticed a car behind was flashing its lights. Easing my foot off the accelerator, I swerved nearer the kerb and watched as the blue Rover roared past.

  'Shite.'

  'What?'

  I nodded to the vehicle that was now in front. 'Charis Brown.'

  She leaned forward. 'What, in that car?'

  'Yes, in that car.' I dropped back just enough to keep the Beemer in sight, while allowing our law enforcement friends plenty of room.

  'D'ye think they're followin Andersson as well?'

  I shook my head. 'Who knows?'

  'D'ye think she saw us?'

  'She's a cop. Course she bloody saw us.'

  As if on cue, the Rover flashed its fog light
s and began to slow, indicating left. An arm appeared out of the passenger side window, making pointing motions. I did as I was told and pulled in behind them.

  Watching the Beemer sail off into the distance, I buzzed the window down.

  Charis sauntered up like she had all the time in the world. 'Well, well,' she said, crouching down next to the door. 'Out for a drive, eh?' She winked at Carol.

  'We were just heading home.'

  Her features transformed into an exaggerated frown. 'But surely you both live in the opposite direction?'

  'Well obviously we're not staying at our own places, are we? In case somebody tries to kill us. Again.'

  'So where are ye staying?' She said. 'Just in case somebody tries to kill ye.'

  I sighed. 'The Holiday Inn.'

  She sucked in her cheeks and tutted. 'That den of iniquity?' Inclining her head so she could eyeball Carol, she whispered, 'Double room, is it?'

  'Look,' I started, but she held up a hand and her range of comedy expressions vanished.

  'No, you look. I don't want you anywhere near Sven Andersson. We've checked him out, and her, and we've eliminated them from our enquiries, so I don't want you sticking your binoculars anywhere near, okay?'

  She walked back to the car and as she climbed into the driver's seat, the courtesy light lit up DC Ramshaw's face. He was grinning like the proverbial cat.

  Charis heaved a U-turn and sped off back the way she'd come. I waited til they were a blip on the horizon, then slipped into gear and set off after my quarry.

  'Cheeky cow,' said Carol. 'Makin insinuations.' She emitted a snorting noise. 'I've a good mind to jump your bones just to spite her.'

  'Don't let me stop you,' I muttered.

  She laughed. 'You'll be lucky.' She was quiet for a moment then, 'We're not really going to The Holiday Inn, are we?'

  'That shithole? Course not. But I still want to find out where Andersson lives.'