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

by Colin Garrow

Ralph glanced at me, then gave Donny the nod.

  Donny opened the door and stepped inside.

  Somehow, I'd expected to recognise the men in the kitchen, but the three faces that turned towards us were all new to me.

  The two youngest guys, both Asian, were furthest away. One was stirring what smelled like curry in a big saucepan on the stove. The other was in the midst of pouring wine into three mugs.

  The man nearest the door looked about my age. He was perched on a chair the wrong way round, arms folded across its back. He grinned at Donny then jumped up on realising their doorman wasn't alone.

  'Fuck!' He grabbed something from the kitchen table and I saw his arm swing back. But Ralph was quicker and shot forward, bringing his cosh down across the man's head. The wine bottle fell to the ground, spilling its contents across the linoleum.

  The two guys behind were slower to react and I was past Ralph and pointing the gun at them before they had actually moved a muscle.

  With the first man on the ground, cradling his injured bonce, his friends seemed less keen to try their mettle, and simply stood there, hands at their sides.

  'Step away from the curry,' I said to the one by the cooker. His mate put the bottle down and moved back.

  'See?' said Ralph, 'This is what happens when ye drink on duty.'

  I waved the gun. 'That's right. Backs against the wall.' They did as I asked, glancing at each other. 'And don't even think about tryin anythin.'

  Ralph planted a foot on the older guy's neck. 'Where are the others?'

  The man on the floor muttered something about them being out of town.

  'Oh well,' said Ralph. 'Just means you lot'll have to take the rap, eh?'

  It took us a few minutes to tie them up with the ropes from the cellar. I paid special attention to Donny, whose face was now whiter than a shade of pale. When we were certain there was no chance of any of them escaping, I used the house phone to call the police.

  David, Carol and the other two women were in the Volvo. As the three of us crossed to the car, I could see flashing lights in the distance. When the boys and girls in blue were close enough, I stepped into the road and waved them down.

  It was something o'clock in the morning and I was back at the police station sitting on the same plastic chair I'd occupied the previous day. Ralph sat next to me, having decided it was probably less hassle to contribute what he knew to the tale, than it would be if he simply waited for the cops to come to him.

  I was onto my third cup of powdered machine-issue coffee when Charis reappeared. She jerked her head at me and I followed her through to the same room I'd been in before. With any luck, the result this time round would be more satisfactory.

  Ramshaw was sitting at the table. He nodded and gave me one of those smiles he'd been working on.

  'So,' said Charis, when she'd settled herself again. 'Turns out ye were right all along. Mostly.'

  'I won't say I told ye so.'

  'That's good, because there's still a heap of stuff that doesn't add up.'

  I listened while she explained about the two Polish women and how they'd been employed initially at the Hexagon before being invited to 'help out' at one of Mr Ahmed's parties. Apparently, they were only a small part of the resources Ahmed laid on for his business associates. A means of keeping the wheels of industry running smoothly, or some such shit like that.

  'We caught up with Ahmed and his wife at a business dinner in Gateshead. They and their cronies are in custody in Newcastle, but none of them are admitting much.'

  'And Councillor White?'

  Charis sighed. 'Waiting for his solicitor, but I expect he'll only admit to a few backhanders and a bit of hanky panky on the side.'

  'What about Andersson?'

  'That's one of the things they're not admitting. Without a confession, we've nothing to tie Sven or Elise Andersson to anything connected to Ahmed.'

  'You're joking? What about David? It was the Anderssons who told him to stop me interfering.'

  She shook her head. 'Apparently not. We've spoken to David Seaton at length and according to him the order was given over the phone by a man. But even if we could trace the call to Sven, we'd be hard pushed to prove he actually made the call.'

  'Oh for God's sake. There must be something you can do?' I looked at Ramshaw, who so far hadn't contributed to the discussion. 'Ye still haven't found Frank's car, have ye?'

  The DC shrugged. 'It could be anywhere.'

  'Well what about the Polish women? Did either of them know Frank?'

  'Again, no. Or if they did, they're not saying. And given what they went through, it's hardly surprising.' He paused. 'I know it doesn't sound like it, but...' He glanced at Charis. 'We are grateful for your intervention. If you hadn't got into the house when you did, Christ knows what might have happened.'

  Charis nodded. 'You'll be able to see Carol shortly - she's just going over her formal statement.'

  I dropped my head. The whole thing was ridiculous. We were no closer to finding out what happened to Frank or learning who killed Ronnie than we'd been a week ago.

  We sat for a few minutes in silence, then Charis said, 'Why don't you go and wait for Carol? She won't be long.'

  DC Ramshaw took me back through to reception where I sat down next to Ralph. He'd succumbed to the powdered coffee.

  'Alright?' he said.

  'Suppose.'

  'Anything ye don't want me to tell them?'

  I shook my head.

  'Presume ye didn't mention the you-know-what?'

  In the excitement, I'd forgotten about the gun. 'It's under the passenger seat in your car.'

  'No bother.'

  Leaning forward, I rested my elbows on my knees, my head in my hands. It felt as though the whole thing was over and done, like I could just forget about it all and go home. But I couldn't. Not without finding the last few pieces of the puzzle.

  'By the way,' Ralph leaned over and handed me a mobile phone. 'Meant to give ye that earlier. Complements of Mrs C.'

  'Thanks. I'll treasure it.'

  Carol emerged a few minutes later, looking miraculously undishevelled considering her ordeal. She sank down next to me and leaned her head on my shoulder.

  'Don't have to go home, do I?'

  'Don't have to,' I said. 'Come to mine if ye like?'

  She nodded. 'Aye. I like.'

  We left Ralph waiting for his turn with Charis and headed for home. If there'd been anything open, we'd have collected a takeaway and a bottle of wine on the way, but there wasn't.

  The flat looked just how I'd left it, or rather, just how someone else had left it the last time I was there. I deposited Carol in the living room, found a packet of Custard Creams and a bottle of Pinot Grigio I'd forgotten I had. The wine was poured and the biscuits were shared but the effort of eating and drinking was a little too much and we shuffled off to bed shortly after seven o'clock in the morning.

  I hadn't thought to ask Carol if she wanted to sleep alone, but as neither of us had the strength to get undressed, it hardly mattered. I switched off the light and turned onto my side, watching Carol's eyelids fluttering. I gazed at her for as long as I could, striving to keep my eyes open for just another few minutes, but the effort was too much and I could do nothing more than give in to fatigue and join my companion in sleep.

  Chapter 17

  I awoke to the smell of pizza.

  At some point during the night, I must have cast off some of my clothes, since I was now only wearing socks and trousers. I stripped off, pulled on my dressing gown and followed the smell through to the kitchen.

  'I was just goin to call yer.' Carol gave me a wide smile and shared the pizza between two plates.

  'Pepperoni? For breakfast?'

  'I'd have made porridge but there's no milk. I've got the coffee on. Black, of course.'

  'Of course.'

  She was wearing one of my old T-shirts and a pair of socks. Picking up the plates, she took them through to the living ro
om and put them on the coffee table.

  I sat on the sofa and tucked in. According to the clock, it was almost four in the afternoon. I felt like I should be doing something, but couldn't think what that something might be.

  We didn't speak much, each of us concentrating on eating. Eventually, Carol patted her tummy and declared breakfast over.

  'So what now?'

  I shook my head. 'No idea.'

  'Well, I think we should have a shower first.'

  I blinked. 'Together?'

  She rolled her eyes. 'No, Terry, not together. Just cos we've slept in the same bed doesn't mean I want ter get naked with you.' She looked away, then giving me a coy sideways glance, added, 'Not yet, anyway.'

  It wasn't much of a plan. In fact it wasn't a plan at all. Sitting in the car round the corner from the taxi rank waiting for a certain someone to come along, seemed like a bit of a George Formby long shot, but it was all we had.

  Carol leaned over the back seat and patted my shoulder. 'What'll we do if nothing happens?'

  'Go back to bed.'

  'Tell ye what - if we catch them, we'll go back to bed. Alright?'

  I would've laughed but a familiar face caught my attention first. 'There.' I hunched down and pointed along the line of waiting taxis to the woman climbing into Fat Barry's car.

  'That's her!' Carol shook the back of my seat. 'Come on Terry, get after her.'

  I pulled away from the kerb at the same time as Peado Pete, so we had the advantage that Barry wouldn't have a clear view of us in his rear mirror. Although, with Elise Andersson in the back of his cab, I guessed his eyes wouldn't be on the road.

  We followed at a steady pace as they turned onto the Esplanade and headed towards Tynemouth. They could be going to the Hexagon, but I was hoping it'd be somewhere more significant.

  I realised we weren't going to the restaurant when Barry took a right past the swimming pool. For a minute, I wondered if he was going round in a circle. Maybe he'd sussed we were following, though why he should be concerned about that was anyone's guess.

  'Where's she going?' said Carol, her chin on the back of the seat.

  'I'll tell you when we get there.'

  We were heading out of town. Maybe Elise just wanted a nice drive in the country, but I doubted it.

  I dropped back a little as we hit the quieter roads - it didn't seem likely Elise would be watching out the back window, but I didn't want to get too cocky. A couple of miles further on, a familiar house came into view and I was more than a little surprised when Barry's car turned left onto what I knew was a narrow winding road that led past several houses and a farm.

  'Shite.'

  'What?'

  'I know where they're going.' I pulled up a little way past the turn off, just far enough so I could still see Barry's car through the trees. There was no way I could follow him without being seen.

  'What's along there?' said Carol.

  'It's a house Ralph went to.'

  She frowned. 'Ralph? You don't think..?'

  'Don't know what to think, to be honest.' Whatever I might be thinking about it, I couldn't stay where I was, so I chucked the car into gear and set off up the road. A hundred yards further on, I pulled into a farm track and turned the car around. Edging forward, we could just about see the other turn-off. I reached into the glove compartment and took out the binoculars. The view wasn't bad, but I'd only have a couple of seconds to check who was in the car, and that was supposing Barry came back the way he'd come. And if he came out and turned left, he'd see us for sure.

  As it happens, my fat friend did appear two minutes later and pulled up at the junction. I could see him easily through the binocs. Somewhat unsurprisingly, he'd stopped to stuff his face with chocolate. Once his gob was full, he pulled forward, allowing me a good look into the back of the car, and unless Elise Andersson was crouching down or lying dead on the back seat, she was no longer his passenger.

  I gave it a few minutes for Barry to quit the scene, then hoofed it down to the turn off and hammered up to the lay-by. I slowed down as we sailed past and noted the BMW was parked at the front of the house.

  There were no signs of life, but I didn't want to risk anyone seeing us, so I continued along the road for a minute, looking for somewhere to hide. About half a mile on, the surrounding woodland opened out into a space where piles of logs had been stacked up. I stopped the car and reversed in.

  We got out and looked back down the lane.

  'There, ye can still see the house.'

  Carol took my hand. 'Ye sure about this, Terry? Maybe we should wait til it's dark?'

  I looked up at the sky. It had clouded over again and would probably be dark enough for what we wanted in an hour or so. 'Yeah, you're probably right. Don't want to push our luck, do we?'

  We hung around for a while, watching what little we could see of the house. As the rain started again, I reasoned it'd give us enough cover to approach unseen. Besides, there were plenty of trees around. So long as we were careful, we'd be fine.

  Keeping well over to the side, we made our way along the lane. As we got closer, it seemed sensible to get in among the trees, just in case anyone came past.

  We pushed into the woods. There were no paths, so it was slow progress stomping through the wet undergrowth towards our target. Within ten minutes, we were almost at the edge of the woods where they backed onto the house. A hundred or so yards more and we'd have an unobstructed view.

  'Terry, what we goin to do when we get there?' Carol was clinging to my hand like she was scared to let go.

  'I don't know. Maybe we'll be able to see something. You know - something that'll give us a clue, or summat.'

  'Ye'd make a great detective,' she said, grinning.

  It was quite gloomy now and I was glad to see several lights coming on inside the house. At least we wouldn't be floundering around in the dark.

  'I want to get further round, so we can see the back of the place properly.' We pushed on, moving deeper into the woods, keeping enough trees between us and the house to avoid being seen if anyone came out.

  Forging ahead, and concentrating on the task in hand, I hadn't looked up for a few minutes, so when we reached the area I'd been heading for, it came as a shock to be awarded an unencumbered view of the rear of the house.

  There was no garage or garden shed, only a heaped-up mound at the far side of the garden. A sheet of blue tarpaulin covered most of it, so I couldn't be sure, but it seemed unlikely anyone would have a car-sized pile of rubbish behind their house with a sheet over it, unless they were trying to hide something.

  'Is that what I think it is?' Carol's hand went to her mouth. 'Bloody hell, Terry.'

  I held up a finger. 'Hang on, we need to be sure.' Pushing my way through to where the woods stopped, I stepped onto the grass. Nothing happened. No alarms went off, no-one leaped out at me brandishing a shotgun. I carried on towards the car. The lights from the house cast their glow over the course I was now on, but all I could do was hope no-one looked out the window.

  Reaching the edge of the lawn, I stepped onto the gravel. The crunch was loud, but there was nothing I could do about that. Taking my time, I continued towards my objective, striving to keep the crunchiness to a minimum. Just as I reached it and had leaned forward to lift the edge of the tarpaulin, I heard another sound. Whirling round, I saw Carol poised with one foot in the air.

  'I'm not staying there by myself,' she hissed. And in a sudden rush, she sprinted across to where I stood, kicking gravel everywhere. If there'd been anyone near the windows, they'd have heard the noise for sure.

  Wasting no more time, I whipped the tarpaulin off the car. And there it was, the all-too familiar number plate attached to a red Nissan Crappy.

  A sharp creak came from somewhere behind us. I looked at Carol. She looked at me. We turned around slowly.

  'Well,' said Elise Andersson, 'It took you long enough.' She stepped back from the door and waved a hand. 'Come in for a moment. My hus
band would like to meet you.' She gave Carol a hard, impenetrable stare. 'You too, Ms Hutchinson.'

  'Your husband?' I couldn't hide the apprehension in my voice. Maybe I'd been right all along about getting blown away, and this was when it was going to happen.

  She must have read my thoughts. 'Don't worry, Terry, he won't kill you.' She laughed and walked back into the house.

  I followed her in, having taken the precaution of picking up a handful of gravel and stuffing it into my coat pocket. I didn't imagine it'd be much use against an actual gun, but at least I'd feel there was still the possibility, however small, of defending myself and perhaps even staying alive.

  The outside of the house was pretty shabby - the ancient sash windows looked as if they needed chucking out and replacing, and the back door was similarly disadvantaged. Inside, however, I was pleasantly surprised. The dark Victorian hovel I'd expected had been completely gutted, or at least was in the process of attaining guttedness. The stripped floorboards in the wide hallway that ran the length of the house to the front door, were varnished to a high standard and it looked like the staircase was in the process of getting the same treatment.

  Elise was standing in the hall. She waited until Carol had closed the back door then she opened another door into what I guessed would be the kitchen. While the space beyond was definitely a place where food could be prepared, it had the look of one of those fancy open-plan restaurants that're all the rage these days. There was an Aga against one wall with a modern oven next to it. A massive traditional kitchen table commanded centre stage with a rack of pots and pans hanging overhead that the likes of Jamie Oliver wouldn't turn his nose up at.

  A tall hunk of a man stood at the table, hunched over a silver machine. He appeared to be feeding raw meat into one end of it and disgorging lengths of condomed cock at the other end. He looked up as we entered and smiled at Elise.

  'Guests? What a lovely surprise.' His voice was as unlike hers as a silk purse is to a pig's arse, but I had to admit even the Swedish accent couldn't disguise the rich tones of his vowels. I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd treated us to some traditional Swedish poetry, holding us enraptured with the beauty and majesty of his voice alone.