Making a Killing

by Bud Craig

  “Have you any idea where he is?” I asked.

  I wasn’t expecting anything to come from this question, but I had to start somewhere.

  “Not a clue. Well, it’s kind of never happened before. I mean, where do people go when they, like, disappear?”

  A rhetorical question, I assumed.

  “When did you first hear about your dad being missing?”

  “Well, on the day it all happened I’d been out for a run. When I got back, Mum said she was worried about Dad. By then she hadn’t seen him for about three hours.”

  “What did you think at the time?”

  “Well, it wasn’t like Dad at all, he is always very precise, reliable, you know?”

  “Can you tell me any more about what he is like?”

  “As a father?”

  “As a father and as a bloke.”

  He sighed.

  “As a father he’s… how can I put this? He’s, like, distant, you know? We’re not close.”

  I nodded.

  “He has a stereotyped view of life. Mum was responsible for bringing me up. I’ve thought about this a lot since I got ill. You know about that?”

  I nodded.

  “Mum, she, like, spoils me, whereas Dad’s strict. He’s never hit me or anything but it was best not to step out of line. He only intervened in my life if I didn’t do what was expected of me.”

  If I wasn’t careful this would become a therapy session. It sounded as if part of Jake’s treatment was to learn how to talk about his feelings.

  “I worked in a bookshop for a couple of years before uni. I really enjoyed it but I convinced myself I was only doing it to save some money.”

  “But you weren’t?”

  He shook his head.

  “I felt obliged to go to university – it was the next step on the treadmill. And I had to go to Durham cos it was so prestigious, you know. And I did a management degree because my dad said it would be good for my career prospects.”

  A lot of pressure for a young man, I couldn’t help but think.

  “Anyway, I came to the conclusion that one reason I got ill was because I couldn’t be myself. So, I’ve packed in my course and I’m going back to Waterstones. They are willing to send me on a management course – earn while you learn kind of thing.”

  “Did your dad know about your plans?”

  Another shake of the head.

  “No way. I only made my mind up after he’d gone. I haven’t even told Mum, so keep it to yourself.”

  I didn’t mind Jake taking the opportunity to get something off his chest, but it wasn’t a lot of help to me. It was time to get back on track.

  “Your mum said Keith was more cheerful than usual in the couple of weeks before he went missing. Would you agree with that?”

  For a moment his face was pinched with concentration.

  “Yeah, I would, now you mention it. He was kind of different. For one thing he gave me fifty quid, which was totally unheard of.”

  “It wasn’t a Christmas present?”

  “No, it was a couple of days before he went missing. He just thrust five tenners into my hand and told me to treat myself.”

  “Why do you think he did it?”

  He shrugged.

  “Maybe he’d come into money.”

  Or knew he was going away, I thought.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The next morning my train pulled into Darlington station at about half eleven. As I went through the ticket barrier, I saw Louise standing by the coffee kiosk, waving at me and smiling. Even in jeans and red anorak she looked effortlessly glamorous and years younger than her age. When I reached her, she kissed me and took my hand just as she did in the old days when we were first going out together. A warm feeling of well-being wrapped itself around me just as it did then. An ideal greeting for a chilly day, I thought.

  Soon we were in her terraced house in the west end of the town – the posh part. She had bought it after a year or so staying with her parents, who lived a couple of streets away. We sat in the living room on her new settee, having tea. I brought her up to date on the Keith Witton case.

  “It all sounds a bit weird,” she said. “Helen always was a bit buttoned-up, I used to wonder what was behind the façade.”

  “She didn’t give too much away, just made a few general comments about Keith. She made it all sound unremarkable. Life was OK, nothing very exciting ever happened but they were happy. They were just ordinary.”

  Louise shook her head.

  “Is there any such thing as an ordinary person? Anyway, how ordinary can they be when one of them has disappeared from the face of the earth?”

  “Good point. Although, unless he’s dead, he hasn’t disappeared, has he? He’s somewhere. He could be talking to someone right now.”

  “Abroad, do you mean?”

  I shrugged.

  “Not necessarily. He could be in this country. Suppose he’s gone to, say, Walsall.”

  “Walsall?”

  “It’s as likely as anywhere else, isn’t it? Well, assuming nobody knows him there, he wouldn’t be recognised, would he? It’s not as if there’s a nationwide manhunt for him.”

  “Suppose not. You’ll find him, won’t you?”

  Again, I shrugged. Louise took my hand.

  “I’m glad you haven’t disappeared,” she said. “I’m glad you’re here now.”

  “I’m glad I’m here too.”

  “I’m so relieved we’ve made it up, reconciled or whatever. Mum and Dad are really chuffed we’re friends again. They always liked you.”

  “I like them too.”

  “I said we’d go and see them tomorrow, by the way.”

  “Good. It’ll be nice to see them again. How are they?”

  “Fine.”

  This was leading up to something, I could always tell with Louise.

  “Gus, you know when I left? Well, I think I was going through a mid-life crisis or something.”

  It became a bit of a crisis for me, I could have said, but thought it best to say nothing and let Louise tell me what was on her mind.

  “I know it’s a bit of a cliché, but I can’t think of a better way to describe it. I mean, there I was, fifty something and I was just like everybody else. I wanted, oh, I don’t know, I wanted life to be more exciting, different. And I thought if I wasn’t married, it would be…”

  Her words petered out. I knew what she meant. Everybody felt like that from time to time, or so I assumed.

  “And when I realised I was to become a grandmother, well, I’m ashamed to admit it, but I took it very badly. I’m too young, that was my immediate reaction.”

  I’d often thought Louise was constantly seeking dissatisfaction. It was as if being happy with things made you inferior. First, she wanted to be at home with the kids, then she wanted a career, then she wasn’t sure about that. When she left me, her problem was being married and needing her own space – she’d actually said those words without a trace of embarrassment. The next thing I knew, she had remarried. What did it matter now? Louise and I have been bloody lucky, maybe it was time we realised it.

  * * *

  At eight o’clock, the day after, I went to Timperley to meet Keith’s friend, Brendan, in The Antelope. It was an old-fashioned rather than olde world kind of pub. The back bar was shabby and almost empty of customers. Brendan looked very much at home there. He had the same sort of Irish colouring as me, dark hair – turning grey – and blue eyes. Only to be expected from someone with a name like O’Toole, or Keane for that matter. He had three darts on the table in front of him next to a pint glass with about half an inch of Guinness in it.

  “I’ll get you another of those, shall I?” I said, having introduced myself.

  “Yeah, cheers.”

  “I see you’ve got your arrows with you,” I said when I got back with his Guinness and mine.

  “Yeah, I keep hoping Keith will walk through that door, ready for a game.”

  �
��Do you have any idea what might have happened to him?”

  He drank deep, licking foam off his lips.

  “No. It’s very unlike Keith is this.”

  He had a strong Manchester accent, so different from Helen Witton.

  “Is it?”

  He scratched his head in bewilderment.

  “It certainly is. Nobody has a clue what’s behind it.”

  Brendan went quiet and looked at his darts with longing.

  “I don’t suppose you fancy a game while we’re chatting, do you?”

  “That’s fine by me,” I said. “I’ve not played for a while though.”

  Walking to the board in the far corner of the room took me back to when I was eighteen, just after my mam died. My dad got into the habit of taking me to the local, now closed, for a pint and a game of darts. Male bonding, I suppose. The Antelope, like the Weaste Hotel in Salford, even had a blackboard and chalk to mark the score, counting down from 301 in the time-honoured fashion.

  “Helen’s very worried about Keith,” I said as he threw his first three darts.

  “Course she is, we all are – seventy-five. I wish I could help you, mate, but…”

  As he chalked up his score, I took my throw and fluked a treble twenty but was less fortunate with the other two darts.

  “When did you last see him?” I said. “Eighty-two.”

  Brendan hit form with his next three darts.

  “Hundred and twenty. The Saturday before he went missing. I bumped into him in the street. We just said hello, had a bit of a chat.”

  “What did you talk about?”

  “I mentioned a golfing weekend in Cardiff in May, we thought we might go.”

  So, Keith had been making plans, had he?

  “Did he ever say anything about being depressed or anxious?”

  “No, nothing like that. You couldn’t meet a more normal bloke than Keith.”

  Social workers are trained not to believe in normal, but there was no point in telling Brendan that. I picked up the arrows and threw inaccurately at the board.

  “Thirty-five. It sounds like Keith is a fairly steady kind of bloke, so it doesn’t seem likely he would go out and disappear for days on end without letting his wife know.”

  Brendan shrugged and scored ninety, leaving sixteen to win. Double eight.

  “That’s true, but there’s a first time for everything.”

  “Yeah?”

  I had my throw and got sixty, quite respectable for me.

  “Yeah, sometimes people get fed up with things staying the same, know what I mean?”

  This from a man who got withdrawal symptoms if he missed his weekly game of darts. Was he hinting at something? In the time it took me to have those thoughts, Brendan hit the double he needed with his second dart. One-nil to him. It was a good job we weren’t playing for money. We got ready for another game.

  “Sometimes people who are missing don’t want to be found,” I said.

  “I’ve heard that.”

  “Brendan, I’ve been hired to find Keith. If I do find him and he doesn’t want me to tell his wife where he is, that’s fine by me.”

  “Right.”

  “As long as I can tell her he’s safe and well, I’ve done my job. But at present she’s bound to think the worst.”

  “Understandable.”

  The atmosphere was now so tense we stopped throwing darts.

  “Did Keith say or do anything that gave even a hint about, you know, going away somewhere?”

  “No, although…”

  I waited in vain for him to say more, then pressed him a bit.

  “Although what?”

  “The last time we were in here together he went on about, you know, making a change, branching out a bit.”

  “Yeah?”

  “He said something like ‘all I’ve done all my life is selling. I’ve been married to the same woman forever. I want something to happen, for God’s sake.’”

  Maybe that was what was going through Louise’s mind a few years ago. Brendan averted his eyes for a moment.

  “Ah, it was probably just the drink talking,” he said.

  “If Keith were to get in touch with anybody, I reckon it would be you – a good friend, someone he was close to.”

  “Maybe.”

  “So, if he does contact you, tell him I’d be willing to meet him on neutral ground to confirm he’s OK.”

  He nodded and hit a treble nineteen.

  * * *

  The next day I pulled on a thick, woolly jumper over a t-shirt and grabbed my waterproof as I left the flat. I then took another tram ride. My destination was Addison Crabtree’s HQ in Altrincham, a pale brick, squat building. I had an appointment with Keith’s secretary, Isabella Norton. She was about thirty odd, formally dressed with short, red hair and an air of crisp efficiency. She led me into her office, where we sat at her light oak desk. Framed railway posters adorned the walls. I declined her offer of tea or coffee.

  “What are your thoughts about Keith’s disappearance?” I asked.

  “We’re all really worried about him, obviously, which is why I’m glad you’re involved. Everyone at AC will do all they can to help.”

  “Right. Let’s get started. When did you last see Keith?”

  She tapped at her phone. Only old codgers like me used a diary.

  “It was Monday 4th January. He was officially on leave to do some decorating, but he popped in mid-afternoon. We went through any outstanding stuff that might need attention while he was off.”

  “What time was this?”

  Again, she consulted her mobile.

  “We started at quarter to three and we were done by, what, fourish.”

  “And did he leave straight after your meeting?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you see him leave?”

  “I saw him go out the door.”

  “As far as you know, did he go straight home?”

  “To be honest, I don’t know. I suppose he did.”

  “Was there anything on his mind, do you know, Isabella?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Well, did he seem distracted? Was he worried about anything?”

  “You mean work wise?”

  “Yes.”

  She shook her head.

  “No, don’t think so. No more than usual. He has a lot of responsibility so it’s bound to get a bit stressful, you know, constant pressure to sell more, cut costs etc.”

  “Of course. Did he ever confide in you about anything personal? I mean, feeling depressed or anything. Some bosses do.”

  “He didn’t even open up when his son, Jake, was ill a few months back. I’d never have known about it if Helen hadn’t told me.”

  “So, there was nothing bothering him either professionally or personally at the time he went missing?”

  “Not as far as I know.”

  “What did you and the other staff think of him?”

  She averted her eyes for a moment.

  “He was OK, you know.”

  Damning with faint praise.

  “So, you weren’t close…”

  “We weren’t close in any way. Our relationship was purely professional.”

  “I only meant…”

  “I know what you meant. Secretary and boss have an affair, it’s such a cliché, but there was nothing like that between us.”

  That was me told.

  “Was anyone else interested in him romantically?”

  A look of wariness crept across her face.

  “Rosie Yardley was always sniffing round him. You know the type, all teeth and tits.”

  “Would I be able to talk to her?”

  “Afraid not. She left the company to go travelling. On the day Keith disappeared, as it happened.”

  This sounded like a none too subtle hint that there was something going on between Keith and this Rosie.

  “Does Helen know about Rosie?”

  “Well, I certainly haven’t s
aid anything to her. There’s no point in upsetting her about a vague impression.”

  I nodded, deciding to move on.

  “What about everyone else in the office? What was the general opinion of Keith?”

  “He has no close friends at work, he’s good at compartmentalising his life, I think. As a boss, he’s hard but fair. Everyone will tell you that…”

  She hesitated. I let the silence build.

  “He can be tough at times,” she added. “He doesn’t suffer fools gladly, you know? Not a guy to cross. If he considers that anyone isn’t up to the job, he can be quite nasty at times. His attitude is, ‘I pulled myself up by my bootstraps so don’t come whingeing to me.’”

  “So, he wasn’t from a privileged background?”

  “No way. A real working-class hero, was Keith.”

  I could almost taste the sarcasm.

  “Did anyone have a grudge against him? You know the sort of thing: did anyone get the sack or not get the promotion they’d set their heart on?”

  She nodded her head slowly as if a sudden realisation had hit her.

  “There was someone we had to let go about six months ago. He was given three months’ pay in lieu of notice to cushion the blow.”

  I kept quiet, a tactic that worked as it had so many times before.

  “This guy had a drink problem. He kept not turning up for meetings with clients, not meeting targets.”

  “And?”

  “Keith did all the right things, followed the rules, you know. He gave him time off, referred him for treatment, counselling, you name it. He even said he could have his job back if he proved he’d pulled his life round. He wasn’t that sympathetic in private.”

  “Who was this guy?”

  “Lance Thorpe.”

  “Anything you can tell me about Mr Thorpe?”

  She sighed as if wondering what she’d got herself into.

  “He came to the office completely hammered a few days after he’d left. He rushed in before anybody could stop him.”

  “What happened?”

  She shrugged.

  “He had to get past me before he could see Keith. That’s easier said than done, I can assure you. He shouted in my face, ‘Where is he? Where’s Witton? Get him out here now.’”

  “What did you do?”

  “Well, I don’t take that kind of shit from anyone. I said, ‘Lance, you’re drunk. I’ll have to ask you to leave.’”