DIRTY

by Robert White

  Where was he?

  He hadn’t been seen since the murders. His office had been told no more than he had taken leave. Was he responsible? Which of his dismal secrets could McCauley have uncovered? Were they worth killing for?

  The four started to go over old ground and Marshall had little time. “What about our boy Stewart? What does he really know?

  Wallace came to Dave’s defence, “I think David has been through enough. He doesn’t know anything.”

  Marshall was dubious. He knew that McCauley had Anne over a barrel. Stewart could know why.

  “Then you won’t mind if I have a quick chat with him?”

  Wallace shrugged. “He’s in the next suite.”

  Marshall and Wallace stepped into the richly carpeted corridor and gave a courteous knock on the suite door which swung open with ease. Dave Stewart had gone.

  He had his own plans for Raymond Holmes.

  Dave walked from the hotel to a cash point on New Hall Lane. It was a rather run down area of town and his smart dress drew passing attention from the local youths. A street prostitute smiled at him, her young face pale, with dark circles under her eyes, signaling her drug abuse. Dave ignored her, quickly drew five hundred pounds from a cash point using the card Ross had provided and took a taxi to the railway station. The driver had a good look at him. That was fine. He had probably seen Dave’s picture in the evening paper. Once at the station, he bought a ticket to Blackpool and sat drinking foul coffee from a Styrofoam cup.

  He knew that the conditions of his bail required him to sign on at the Police station each night; he also knew that wasn’t going to happen. This was business.

  The train to Blackpool was dirty, noisy and late. Once again several surly characters eyed him. Dave stared back and they quickly lost interest.

  After a short walk from the station Dave stood in Talbot Square, Blackpool. He shivered as the cold wind blew off the Irish Sea.

  The seaside town was deserted of holidaymakers. The annual illuminations over, Blackpool looked every inch a sad and dismal place. Dave found a late store and purchased a map of the town from a bored spotty youth.

  Walker place, the address Ross had found for him, was on the south side of the resort. Dave decided to walk, a good way of orientating himself.

  Blackpool South appeared to be made up of streets of small bed and breakfast houses and holiday flats. Many of the flats had been let to lower income families and unemployed. This was the Councils answer to its housing problem. It offered only temporary accommodation and was a major irritation to long-term residents. Dave would just be one of many short-term inhabitants who had no wish to be found.

  10, Walker Place sat next door to a small sex shop. It boasted ‘Hard Core Vids’ in orange Day-Glo letters across its frontage; an under inflated blow-up doll dressed in tacky red underwear lolled in the front window. She was surrounded by a collection of marital aids and pornographic magazines. The shop and the house both belonged to Ross. Another string to his bow; Dave allowed himself a few seconds to gaze into the window of the shop whilst waiting for the short street to clear of pedestrians.

  Once alone on the footpath he quickly opened the door to the house and stepped inside. Warmth washed over Dave’s chilled features. The central heating had been switched on prior to his arrival. Ross had looked after him again.

  The house was a small ‘two up two down’ affair, sparsely furnished, but clean and tidy. It had a large back yard with a garage that Dave presumed, would contain the Volvo.

  On entering the kitchen he opened the fridge to find basic groceries. Tea and coffee sat on the work surface, ready for use.

  He unlocked the back door and walked into the yard. On opening the door to the garage, a very clean red Volvo 340 awaited his use.

  The model may be boring, but it was also inconspicuous.

  The inside of the vehicle had been valeted. Dave checked the glove compartment. It contained a Driving Licence, Registration Document and Insurance Certificate, in the name of James Jackson, together with a current MOT Certificate for the car. Dave popped the boot. The hydraulic supports hissed as it opened to reveal two suitcases.

  He lifted them both from the car and walked back inside the house. Warm again, Dave made himself some tea and sandwiches. He hadn’t realised how hungry he was. The heat of the house made him drowsy.

  He sat, staring at the two cases for a while and then set about opening them. The first contained clothes.

  Coveralls, boots, gloves and a balaclava; Dave allowed himself a smile; this was standard Ross employee equipment.

  The second case was Aladdin’s Cave. It was split into two layers. The first held an array of tools, not dissimilar to his own collection back home. The sight of them brought back memories of the fateful night at McCauley’s. His mind wandered to Anne and he was overcome with black memories, suddenly transported to her death scene by his tortured mind. He pinched the bridge of his nose and fought to regain his concentration. Check the tools he told himself. Yes. All basic entry stuff, a small Maglight torch completed the set.

  Dave lifted out a foam template to reveal the second layer. It contained a Remington pump action shotgun. The barrel and stock had been shortened for ease of concealment and the magazine extended to hold five cartridges.

  Dave donned the gloves from the first case and picked up the weapon. First, he racked the mechanism to check the weapon was clear. It made a satisfying, yet terrifying sound. All identifying marks had been removed with what appeared to be acid.

  Two types of cartridge sat in the case; 00 buck, which contained nine pellets, all about the size of a 9mm pistol round and rifled slug, which holds one single ball of lead weighing about an ounce.

  Dave raised an eyebrow at this. It was standard police issue kit. The 00-buck was a real man-stopper cartridge, but the rifled slug was normally used to kill large animals. It would drop a one-ton bull at fifty yards.

  What did Ross think Dave was up against, a heard of elephants?

  Dave replaced all the items into their cases and carried them to the landing. There he found the loft access. Tall enough to open the hatch by standing on tiptoe, he pushed the cases through the opening and secured the hatch. From there, it was directly to bed. Tomorrow the real work would begin.

  Marshall sat with Marie Baker in The Bull. He drained the last of his beer with a grimace and waved his empty glass at Lucy. Marie nursed a gin and tonic. She put her hand over the top of her glass and shook her head at the barmaid.

  “Not in the mood Marie?” Marshall asked.

  “I’m driving over to Blackpool tonight. A friend of mine has been there for the weekend and has decided to stay a few more days,” she sipped her drink thoughtfully, “so I thought I’d pay the seaside a visit.”

  Marshall smiled at the young woman. “Who’s the lucky man? Anyone I know?”

  Marie looked up at her boss. Her dark eyes sparkled and a broad grin revealed a perfect set of teeth. Marshall had always thought Marie attractive, but tonight she’d made herself up a little. The effect was quite stunning.

  “No,” she said. “No one you know.”

  “Well,” said Marshall, raising his second pint, “as long as you‘re back by the morning. It’s none of my business.”

  Marie changed the subject, “Where do you think Dave Stewart will go?”

  Marshall swallowed and wiped fresh froth from his lip. “I think our boy has his own agenda. I just hope he doesn’t do anything stupid. Personally, I think that wherever Holmes is, Dave Stewart won’t be far behind.”

  Wallace and Davits sped along the motorway toward London. The comfort of the Rolls gave little solace to the occupants. The atmosphere was anything but comfortable.

  “I can’t believe the David would just take off like that Peter.” Wallace was disappointed.

  “I can,” replied the doctor attempting to read ‘The Times’, outwardly irritated by the whole business. “Just think back to when you were his age. Imagine ha
ving lost everything you hold dear. Then be wrongly accused and imprisoned. What would you do if you knew who was responsible?”

  “Yes, but does he know? He’s still a Police Officer.”

  Sir Peter mellowed at Wallace’s’ remark. He put his hand on the arm of his friend. “So was Anne. What would she have done?”

  Wallace nodded. “My God, heaven and earth won’t stop her.”

  Wallace realised he had used the present tense regarding his daughter and felt a strong pang of sorrow. “Let’s get the funeral over with. I need to put Anne at rest before I can think clearly now.”

  Harry dutifully steered the car on its journey to the Capital. It’s saddened and tired occupants silent.

  A far smaller and less luxurious car, made its way along the M55, headed for the seaside town of Blackpool.

  Marie Baker did her best to concentrate on her driving, but her mind was in turmoil. It wasn’t the murder case. It was her private life.

  Marie’s problem was her sexuality. She’d had a few boyfriends. Two of them had lasted. Had she been unhappy?

  No, she had been very happy, especially with Steve. That had been a good time in her life. She was still attracted to men. In fact, she thought Dave Stewart was a real hunk. So what was she doing, driving to Blackpool to see Zoë?

  They had met when Marie’s cat was sick. Zoë was Marie’s local vet, a tall, very pretty blonde, with large expressive hazel eyes and long legs.

  She and Marie had always got on well. They had shared a few laughs. Then, on one visit, Zoë suggested they went for a drink. Marie had thought nothing of it, but it turned her life upside down.

  On their night out, they had both had far too much to drink. The ‘quick one’ in the pub, turned into several and a visit to a night club. Whilst they shared a taxi, Zoë invited Marie in for a nightcap.

  Marie was still unaware of any other motive than friendship. They had sat on the sofa in Zoë’s lounge, drinking far too many gin and tonics. Marie talked of just having split from Steve. The conversation became a little bawdy and the two women laughed over some early sexual secrets.

  There was a lull in the conversation. Zoë stared into Marie’s eyes and it happened.

  Zoë kissed her. Not a friendly peck, but full on the mouth. If you had put the scenario to Marie prior to that night, Marie would have said she would have run a mile.

  She didn’t. They had slept together and it had been good. Marie, far from being a shrinking violet, had found herself taking a very active part in their lovemaking. Marie had felt a warmth and tenderness she had never experienced before.

  The ‘morning after’ was a different matter, and the days that followed were hell for Marie. She couldn’t understand her actions. One moment she felt excitement, the next she felt sick. Was she gay?

  The motorway became ‘A’ road and brought Marie back to the present. She now had to find ‘Lucy’s’, a gay bar in the centre of Blackpool. Marie had told Zoë that she wanted to meet in her hotel, but Zoë was having none of it. Marie felt like she was being pushed too far too soon.

  So, why in the hell was she going?

  Marie had no way of answering and within minutes she was parking.

  ‘Lucy’s’ was a renowned haunt for gay men and women. A basement club, it nestled under another bar, where a live rock band blasted out their music to a young appreciative audience. Marie pushed her way through the crowd until she found her way to the stairs leading to Lucy’s.

  The lighting was very subdued forcing her to stand at the bottom of the well for a few moments until her eyes became accustomed to the darkness.

  She scanned the bar for Zoë and found her sitting in a corner of the room with three other women. All looked very butch, with crew-cut hair and nose jewellery. The sight of the other girls made Marie even more uncomfortable in her strange surroundings. The bar was bad enough. She needed anonymity right now.

  If the job were to find out, it would all be over for her.

  Zoë stood and walked over to Marie. Her hair fell over one shoulder. She looked beautiful. As she reached Marie she smiled and kissed her on the mouth. “Hi, baby, I thought you weren’t going to make it.”

  Marie could feel herself blush. “I nearly didn’t.”

  Zoë smiled and recognised the look in Marie’s eyes. “If you feel that uncomfortable, we can go straight to the hotel.”

  Marie glanced over to the others and then back to Zoë. “I think that would be best.”

  Zoë didn’t look disappointed. She stroked Marie’s cheek gently and smiled. “I’ll say goodbye, just a sec.”

  Marie was left standing in the centre of the room. She played with the clasp on her handbag whilst Zoë kissed cheeks in the corner. Then she saw a young man standing at the bar, far too young for Lucy’s over 21 policy. He could have been no more than sixteen.

  The boy was having his long blonde hair stroked by a middle-aged man who wore a smart business suit.

  The suit was Raymond Holmes.

  Marie was mortified. All her morals told her to walk over to Holmes and arrest him.

  “Do it,” she told herself, “lock the sleazebag up.”

  How could she? How would she explain her presence in a gay bar?

  “I could have simply followed him here,” she thought. Just then, Holmes turned and looked straight at Marie. She froze. Would he recognise her? His face failed to reveal his thoughts.

  Zoë ended the dilemma.

  In full view of Holmes, she took hold of Marie from behind, squeezed both her breasts and whispered, “Let’s go.”

  Marie was horrified. She broke free of Zoë’s embrace and fled the bar. Rain lashed her as she exited onto the street. A near gale blew in from the promenade. She ran to her car, head down thinking of nothing but her anonymity. She felt the criminal, the pervert, pursued. With each splashing step she felt tears closer. How did she get here?

  Once in the vehicle, she sat breathing hard, started the engine and punched the heater on. Marie started to organise her mind. She had to remind herself who she was. The promises she had made; she had to do something.

  She owed it to herself and the team. She had made a mistake. Maybe she could put it right.

  From her position she saw Zoë leaving the bar. The woman was looking up and down the street. Marie sank down in her seat. Zoë walked right by the car. No, she couldn’t do it. Coming out was not an option. She could lose everything. Everything she had ever worked for. As soon as Zoë was out of sight, Marie headed home.

  twenty three

  Dave rose at 6 am. He showered but didn’t shave. The beard would help change his general appearance.

  Dressed casually in jeans and a sweater, he ate a breakfast of cereal and toast. Once the cases had been removed from the loft Dave selected the items he required for his trip to see Clarke. He knew where the school was and Mr. Clarke was in for a very rude awakening.

  Next he needed to contact Ross. The telephone rang only once. “Ross.”

  “Sorry about the early hour Mr. Ross.”

  Ross was wide-awake and had been since 5 am. He was obviously delighted with the Court result.

  “Davey boy! Welcome to the land of the free. How’s the pad?”

  “Fine, thanks Mr. Ross.”

  “Good, good. Now what else can I do for you son?”

  “Well, I need you to look at that package you collected for me.”

  “Just a minute.”

  Dave heard some activity in the background. He presumed it was the sound of a safe being opened. Footsteps came closer.

  “OK, it’s here in front of me.”

  “Is there a file there on a Raymond Holmes?”

  There was a shuffling of paper whilst Dave said a little prayer to himself.

  “Bingo,” said Ross with the thickest of Yorkshire dialect.

  Dave’s heart skipped a little at the news. “Great, what about a man called Clarke?”

  “Alan Clarke?”

  “Could be.”
>
  “There’s one here on him n’all.”

  There was a pause from Ross. “You don’t want to see what’s in here though mate.”

  Dave had every idea, after Jimmy’s tale. “I need those two files Mr. Ross and I need them today. The rest can stay there for now.”

  Dave heard Ross speaking on another line. He barked a few orders at whoever it was. When he resumed his conversation with Dave his tone changed completely.

  “OK Davey. Drive to the motorway services at Charnock Richard. They’re on the M6. Drive on the south side. Look for a blue Merc with a private plate. My man will be there in two hours.”

  “Thanks for everything Mr. Ross.”

  “If you get in shit, give me a call.”

  The phone went dead.

  Dave was amazed. Ross didn’t ask any questions. He presumed that Ross felt that the less knowledge he had, the better. Considering the kit Ross had left him, he probably knew exactly what Dave had in mind.

  The back yard of the small terrace was still cobbled and they glistened with rain in the early dark. Dave stood with his kitbag and took several deep breaths of morning sea air. He loaded the kit and sat behind the wheel of the Volvo. His mind once again flashed to the night of his last job at McCauley’s house. This was an altogether different scenario. Just the thought of his task raised his adrenaline level and he felt the muscles in his shoulders twitch in preparation. His body was readying for fight or flight.

  He shrugged to loosen the offending muscles and hit the accelerator. He was on his way to the meeting point.

  The Mercedes bubbled away on the car park of the services. Dave pulled up alongside. A very large man sat in the driver’s seat. He looked over at Dave, pressed the electric window and threw the package through the open window of the Volvo. Within seconds the car had joined the motorway and was out of sight.

  Dave opened the package. He checked the contents of the files. Yes! These were the men Dave wanted to speak to.