Pete looked at her and winced. He had dragged corpses from wrecked cars that were better looking. “You know something,” he said, “my worst nightmare is getting drunk and waking up next to you or Kev. At a pinch, I’d say Kev would be is the lesser of two evils. And as for you and the Two Stooges here giving me a good kicking, dream on. Push me and I’ll hammer the three of you.” He ran his eyes over her face, which reminded him less of a horse than of a buffalo. “Normally, I don’t hit women, but I’d make an exception in your case because I’m not sure you are a woman.” He turned back to Wilcox. “Well?”
“I told you yesterday, I don’t know nothing. Now get outta here.”
Pete pointed a threatening finger. “You hear anything, you call me. If you don’t, I’ll come back, and the only way you’ll get away is to pre-book your ambulance. Come on, Kev. The smell in here is worse than your butt.”
*****
When Pete got up just after four that afternoon, it was to find Sceptre watching TV.
“Pete,” she called, “when do we get our computers and cameras and so on back from the police?”
He went to the kitchen to make tea. “I told you, later today or, looking at the time, probably tomorrow.” He returned to the living room, placed a beaker of weak tea before her, and a stronger mug for himself. “They need to check everything, especially the videos, to see whether we caught Bilko and his killers on them by chance. What’s the rush, anyway? They’re not gonna show anything.”
Sceptre promptly disagreed. “There’s the orb on the upper landing as you entered the attics, the rocking horse, and I’d like to get a look at the business with Kevin when he was making tea. The video camera in the cafeteria was set on wide angle and I’m sure we’ll have caught it.”
Pete grinned. “Which is more than Kev did with the spoon. Sceptre, I’ve told you what happened.”
“No,” she disagreed, “you’ve told us what you think happened.”
Not disposed to argue, Pete changed the subject. “Have you told Kev we have to go back there for another night?”
“I mentioned it in passing, if you remember, when we were at the café, but I haven’t pressed it. I didn’t want to scare him. We can work on him together when he gets back.”
Pete chuckled. “He was always the same. I’ve seen puppies with more bottle.” He sipped his tea and glanced around the room. “Where is he, by the way?”
Sceptre shrugged and drank her tea. “He went out about half an hour ago. Said he had to see some man about some money.”
Pete looked sharply at her. “Which man?”
“I dunno. Tate or someone.”
“Jimmy and Johnny Tate?” There was a sense of urgency about Pete’s words.
“Yes. That’s them.”
Pete’s face became worried. He reached for his jacket. “I’d better get over there.”
“What? Why?” Now Sceptre was worried.
“I’ve just saved him from one gangster, and he’s gone out to see another. Tate and his brother will kill Kev if he tries to take them for money.”
*****
Kevin had been brooding all afternoon.
The police may well have found the Mind Games III DVD he had nicked from the warehouse, although neither Locke nor Keynes mentioned it when they questioned him. He had left it on the table near their computer equipment. Well, if his copy was gone, Pete still had Bilko’s in the flat and he and Pete were best buddies. Pete wouldn’t mind him borrowing it for a few hours. Just long enough to prise a reward from the Tates.
Booting up his cell phone, he had found an unread text message. When he opened it, he read a single word, WGJAMW and puzzled over it for a moment. He checked the source number from which it had been sent and did not recognise it.
“Damned spammers,” he had cursed, and deleted it. “What the hell does it mean anyway? Wigjam? Doesn’t make sense.”
The instrument’s directory was filled with contact numbers, amongst which was Jimmy Tate’s. Kevin had made a quick call and a few minutes later hurried out the door, making his excuses to Sceptre.
The journey from the Cranley Estate to the more exclusive suburbs of West Ashdale would normally take about ten minutes, but a combination of Kevin’s aging van and rush hour traffic doubled that time, and it was quite dark by the time he pulled through the electrically operated, wrought iron gates.
The house was a large, rambling place at the top of a long tarmac drive, surrounded by well-tended lawns and shrubbery. Pulling up in front of the faded brown door, Kev noticed that, for all its location on the main road out of Ashdale, he could see and hear very little street sounds. It did not trouble him. He understood that for a man who had made himself a millionaire turning out pirate copies of blockbuster movies and computer games right here in this place, privacy was vital.
When he rang the doorbell, it was opened not by Jimmy but by his younger brother, Johnny, dressed in jeans, trainers and t-shirt. Johnny had a reputation for being fast with his temper and fists.
“Keeley?”
“The same.”
“Follow me.”
Johnny closed and locked the door after them, and as they passed along the narrow hall, it occurred to Kev that if Jimmy Tate really was a millionaire as he claimed to be, he certainly didn’t live like one. The walls were covered with cheap wallpaper, which had been painted pale green to match the outer door, the floorboards, which creaked as they walked along, were covered with a dirty, threadbare carpet, and the only lighting came from a naked, overhead, 60-watt bulb. Kevin glanced into the front room as he passed and saw it littered with computers, video and audio equipment, some still in the manufacturer’s boxes, while the walls were lined with CDs in racks. That was obviously where the pirate copies were produced 20 or 30 at a time.
They passed into a rear dining room … and Kevin promptly changed his mind about how Tate lived. It was as lavishly furnished as Melmerby Manor. A huge copy of Constable’s Salisbury Cathedral hung above an ornate fireplace; there was a polished mahogany occasional table which gleamed like a mirror and two, three-seater divans. Jimmy sat on one, and Kevin noticed that he took up almost all of it.
A big man in every sense of the word, he was dressed in a pair of blue shorts and a huge red t-shirt and had a three-day growth of beard. Even reclining, he had a waistline that called to mind the M25: slow moving, enclosing London and likely to take all day to get around. Men of such a size always left Kevin feeling comfortable with his own weight. He had promised himself that he would do something about his increasing waistline long before he got close to Jimmy Tate’s league.
“Decide whether you’re going to get our guest a beer, Johnny,” Jimmy invited, and the younger, slimmer brother moved behind Kevin. “Sit down, Keeley.”
Kevin took a seat on the armchair opposite. “I think you know a mate of mine. Pete Brennan.”
Jimmy gave a fat chuckle. “Detective Constable Brennan?”
Kevin’s eyes lit, and he smiled broadly. “That’s him. We go way back, me and Pete. In fact, we’re in business together. Ghost hunting.”
Kevin became aware that Johnny had never left the room, and that there was no sign of his beer.
“So Brennan’s involved in this rip-off too?” asked Jimmy.
Kevin began to worry. “Rip-off? I dunno what you mean.”
Abruptly, Jimmy brought up the subject of business. “You mentioned Mind Games III?”
Nervously, Kevin nodded. “Any danger of that beer?”
“Johnny hasn’t moved, so he hasn’t decided yet,” said Jimmy, “but we’ll get to it in good time; when we get thirsty. Now what about Mind Games III?” When Kevin did not answer, Tate strained to heave his giant frame forward in his seat. “See, Keeley, I didn’t get to be one of the biggest pirate producers in the country by being taken for a mug by cruds like you. In my book, even knowing about Mind Games III makes you guilty. There are only a select few people who know about it. You’re not one of that select few, so the
re’s only one way you coulda got to know about it. You stole my DVDs.”
Jimmy struggled to get to his feet. It would take time for that blubbery frame to bring itself erect, and when it did, Jimmy would give the order to pound him. Kevin calculated that he had only a minute or so before they began to beat him up. Before he could make a dash for it, Johnny, who was still standing behind him, placed his hands on Kevin’s shoulders, pressing him more deeply into his seat and effectively pinning him. Kevin began to sweat. Not for the first time in his life, he had got himself into a spot of bother, and this time there was no Pete Brennan to help him out of it.
But Jimmy held off on the order. “Two days ago,” he said, finally getting all the way out of his seat, “some thieving git nicked those DVDs from my warehouse. I want them back, and if you know where they are, you’re gonna tell me.”
Unable to get out of his seat, Kevin trembled with fear. “Well, there must be a reward out for finding them.”
“There is,” Jimmy agreed, blocking out the view behind him. “You tell me where they are and you get to stay in one piece.”
Kevin weighed his options. He was trapped, without his hero chum to help him, and he had no weapons. Correction. He had one weapon. Summoning up as much energy as he could, he broke wind.
“For God’s sake...” Johnny’s complaint trailed off. He released Kevin and turned away, his stomach heaving at the foul stench.
Jimmy Tate, too, backed off to avoid the smell, and Kevin launched himself, head-butting the elder Tate in the gut. He almost disappeared into the huge, bloated belly. Jimmy fell back onto his settee, and Kevin ran for it.
He did not get far. Johnny stuck out a foot, bringing Kevin crashing to the carpet, banging his head on the corner of the coffee table. The last thing he saw before he blacked out was Jimmy’s huge frame towering over him.
*****
Pete drove Sceptre’s Fiat Punto up to the closed gates of the Tates’ house, told Sceptre to get into the driver’s seat and to bring the car in when he opened up. Then he climbed the tall iron gates, dropped nimbly down the other side and yanked them open.
“Why didn’t you open them from the outside?” she asked.
“They’re electrically operated from the house,” he explained, getting into the passenger seat, “and Tate would never open them for me.” He let Sceptre drive up to the door and park behind Kevin’s van, and, with a nod, indicated that she should kill the engine.
“Jimmy has every way in and out of the house covered with CCTV,” he said, gesturing up at a camera above the door. “They’ll be watching us now, waiting to see which door I go for. I’ll ring the bell, and Johnny Tate will come to lock it. While he’s doing that, I’ll leg it round the back and catch them there. Give me a minute and follow me to the back.”
She nodded; he climbed out of the car, walked to the front door and rang the bell. A second later, he heard the chain being applied. He ran for the corner of the building, zipped round the side and arrived at the back door just as Johnny was trying to lock it.
Pete burst in, grabbed the younger Tate by the shirt and forced him back into the house. There was a momentary tussle while Tate tried to break Pete’s grip, but although they were of similar height, Johnny’s physique was lesser, Pete’s more powerful. He swung Johnny round and slammed him into the wall. “Where’s Kev Keeley?”
“I dunno …”
Pete silenced Johnny’s denial with two sharp slaps across the cheeks. “Listen to me, Tate, your rep as a hard man doesn’t cut any ice with me. Kevin’s van is outside the front door. It may be a piece of crap, but he loves it and wouldn’t even park it in a scrap yard unless he had business there. Now either tell me where he is, or I’ll tear you into strips and feed you to your own fish.” He nodded at a large fish tank on the side wall.
Behind them, Sceptre ambled in through the open door. Johnny cast a glance in her direction. Pete glanced, too, then realised it was a stupid thing to do when Johnny took advantage of the distraction to throw a punch.
Pete raised his left arm and stopped the blow. With a smile, he head-butted the younger Tate, sending him crashing to the floor.
Shaken, his aplomb gone, dragged back to his feet by Pete, Johnny conceded defeat and led the way through to the palatial living room where the obese Jimmy stood over the unconscious Kevin.
One look at his friend and Pete’s normally placid features became a mask of fury. The huge mass of fat and hair that was Jimmy Tate backed off, looking worried.
“You’re dead meat, Tate!” Pete screamed, removing his windjammer to bare his powerful arms and fists. “I’ll sell that blubber as cooking fat.”
“Cool it, Brennan,” said Jimmy. “It wasn’t us.”
“Honest,” Johnny seconded. “Your mate got worried, legged it and fell.”
“Why was he worried?” Pete demanded. “Because you threatened him, Johnny? Well now you can worry, because you’re dead.” Pete smacked one fist into his open palm.
Jimmy Tate forced calm onto his fat features. He smiled. “You watch it, Brennan. Remember, I still have that tape of you and Nicky.”
The air of false confidence did not fool Pete. Beneath it, he knew, both Tates were seriously worried for their safety.
“Won’t work, fat man. I got fired a year ago and Locke didn’t need your help to do it.” He was satisfied by the way in which Jimmy’s slobbery mouth fell open, like a man suddenly faced with the barrel of a loaded gun, confronted with the awful realisation of his own mortality. Pete flexed his biceps. “Now, say your prayers, Tubby, you’re about lose some weight.”
Jimmy succumbed to total panic. He looked to his younger brother, but Johnny was transfixed with fear, his eyes fastened on Pete’s furious features and larger frame. Jimmy turned and ran for it, but his huge body would not permit him to go at more than a fast waddle. In abject terror, he shuffled towards the door. Pete ran after him. Snapping out of his trance-like state, Johnny moved between them. Pete hurled him out of the way, carried on to catch Jimmy at the door and slammed the fat man up against the frame, which shook in protest. Pinned against the wall, Jimmy Tate could do nothing but tremble and sweat.
“Detective Constable Brennan,” came a new voice. “Long time since you and me have seen more of each other.” Pete turned to see Nicky Tate ambling down the stairs and flashing him a seductive smile.
Jimmy’s wife was many years younger than her husband. A pert and sexy former actress, she had a way of carrying herself that made every movement of her body, from the wiggle of her hips to the deliberate pout of her mouth, seem like an invitation to dalliance.
Pete wasn’t buying it. “Forget it, whore,” he snapped. “Say goodbye to your old man. I’m about to top him.”
Behind Pete, Sceptre sized up Tate’s wife and then ran her gaze over Pete, as if she were working out what had happened between the two in the past, especially in light of Jimmy’s reference to a tape, which he had made sound like an instrument of blackmail. She focused on her business partner. “Pete,” she suggested gently, “let’s calm down and listen to what Mr. Tate and his brother have to say.”
Looking disappointed, Pete did not immediately posture down. All day he had been seeking an outlet for his frustration at having been arrested and questioned by the police.
Sceptre smiled sweetly. “If you’re not happy, you can always beat them up afterwards.”
At that, her partner relaxed sufficiently that Jimmy was able to free himself from Pete’s grip. Relieved that the immediate heat had been taken out of the situation, he looked her up and down with an appreciative, eye, and licked his lips. “Well, hello, my honey,” he purred. “A heavenly bit of totty like you could be living with a millionaire this time next week.”
Sceptre took in his bloated frame and shuddered. “Thank you, but no.”
Nicky scowled. “You’re already married to me, Fatso, or had your forgotten?”
Jimmy chuckled. “Sorry, Nicky. Only joking.”
&n
bsp; On the floor, Kevin stirred. Sceptre knelt beside him. His eyes flickered open. He gazed into hers and smiled as if he were being confronted by an angelic vision.
“Am I in Heaven?” he asked dreamily.
“You’ll be in Hell when I get you out of here,” Pete warned. The smile faded quickly from Kevin’s lips as he realised more people than Sceptre were in the room.
“Now I remember.” He sat upright and glared at Jimmy, then at Johnny, then stared in surprise at his partners. “Pete, Sceptre, how did you get here?”
“We beamed down from the Starship Enterprise,” Pete grumbled. “How do you think we got here, you clod?”
Sceptre stroked Kevin’s brow with gentle fingers. “We were worried about you, Kevin. Pete thought you might have been walking into trouble.”
Kevin’s face wobbled indignantly. He glowered again at Jimmy. “You were gonna beat the crap out of me, Tubby.”
“Tubby?” said Johnny with an eye on Kevin’s expanding waistline. “That’s smart, coming from you. Talk about the kettle calling the pot.”
“Calm down,” Sceptre urged and turned to Jimmy. “Mr. Tate, Kevin came here to talk to you about a load of DVDs we found last night at …”
Kevin put a finger to her lips to shush her, and stared at Jimmy. “How much for me to keep my gob shut, Jimmy?”
Pete was on the point of losing his temper again. “Will someone tell me what’s going on before I wreck this place?”
Jimmy sat down again, the settee groaning under the load. Nicky sat next to him, almost invisible in his giant shadow. “You mean you genuinely don’t know?”
“I wouldn’t be asking, if I knew, would I?” Pete pointed out.
Jimmy eyed his younger brother. “Johnny, get some beers, will you?” To Pete he said, “Sit down, Brennan, and I’ll tell you a story.”
“I don’t wanna hear your stories, Tate.”
“Pete,” Sceptre soothed, “let’s hear Mr. Tate out.”
Pete conceded; Johnny returned, handed out cans of lager, and the fat man began.
A Spookies Compendium Page 15
