“Let alone stayed in with me? Well, thanks, Sceptre. You sure know how to make a bloke feel good. Couldn’t you have broke it to me more gently?”
“Like what? Write you a Dear John letter?” She smiled to show she was only teasing.
“Pete figured you were seriously pigged off with McKinley, yesterday,” Kevin ventured, “so how come you’re suddenly dating him again?”
“Everyone deserves a second chance.”
He sniffed disdainfully. “Except me and Pete. We don’t even get a first chance.”
Sceptre was about to argue further, but the bleep of Kevin’s mobile stopped her.
He took it from his pocket and checked the menu window. “Text message,” he muttered. “Wigjam again. By the way, Pete’s just asked me to get you to check with McKinley and see if he’s traced that mobile number yet.” He deleted the message. “What’s it supposed to mean?”
“I told you,” Sceptre said. “It’s the name of the man who killed Steven Bilks.”
“But it doesn’t make sense.” Kevin studied the message again. “Who has a name like wigjam?”
Sceptre picked up the phone and dialled. Moments later she was chatting with McKinley. Kevin expected her to be gooey and lovesick, but he was surprised to hear her businesslike, almost severe.
He did not understand women. Pete did. He had that happy knack of being totally at ease in female company, and making them feel at ease too. No woman, Kevin reflected sadly, ever felt like that when she was out with him. The secrets of technology were an open door to him, but the secrets of success with women were a complete mystery.
Sceptre put the phone down.
“Well?” he asked.
Sceptre was triumphant. “The mobile belonged to Steven Bilks.”
Kevin stared, blank faced with astonishment. “But... but... it can’t be. Bilko’s dead.”
“Yes he is, but his phone isn’t.”
“So someone else is using it?”
Sceptre shook her head and drew on her reserves of patience. “No, you don’t understand. The spirits are able to manipulate matter. I’ve seen Fishwick do it, you’ve seen other souls do it; the milk and sugar, the beads early this morning? Remember? As I understand it from Fishwick, it takes time to master the art, but any ghost can do it if he tries hard enough. Now, Steven Bilks knows where his mobile is. He can manipulate the keypad. If you recall, I said I’d got the impression of a keypad last night. That was it. Wherever the phone is, Steven is using it to send text messages to us and the message is the name of his killer.”
“So we’ve come full circle. No one has a name like wigjam,” Kevin repeated.
Sceptre picked up his mobile.
“Hey. Get your own phone,” he demanded.
“It’s in my bag, and I can’t be bothered looking for it.”
“Yes but those calls are expensive,” he protested.
“I’m not going to make a call. I’m going to show you something.” Sceptre pointed to the keypad. “When you put a text together, how do you do it?”
He shrugged. “You go into text mode and press the keys.”
“True,” she agreed, “but look at key number two. It has a, b and c on it. How do you get b? Or c for that matter?”
Kevin was still puzzled. “Easy. You press they key twice for b and three times for c. But you have to look sharp. Leave it too long and the phone assumes you want an a.”
“Correct.” Sceptre took a pen and blank sheet of A4 paper on which she wrote WGJAMW. “W is on key number nine. Suppose he doesn’t mean w, but x, y or z? He’s pressing the keys once, but in some cases, perhaps all cases, he should be pressing them two, three or four times? Remember, he’s a new spirit. He hasn’t yet familiarised himself with his abilities, his memory of life is clouded by anger at his murderer, and so he may have forgotten how to do it.”
Kevin took the phone, pen and paper from her. Looking from the mobile to the word WGJAMW, he wrote out the corresponding numbers from the mobile’s keypad and moments later he had 945269. He showed it her. “So all we have to do is work out what names we can get from that series of numbers?” he confirmed.
She nodded.
“Great,” he sneered. “There’s a haystack just down the road. Shall we go look for the needle hidden in it?”
“Don’t be so defeatist, Kevin. If we work at it, we’ll get there.” She retrieved pen and paper and after a moment’s work, studying the mobile keypad, she said, “See? I’ve already got Yikboy.”
“But that doesn’t make any more sense than wigjam,” he complained. “Whoever heard of someone called Yikboy?”
“Then help me, Kevin,” she urged. “Work with me on it. We’ll crack it.”
With an exasperated sigh, Kevin, too, took up pen and paper and lit a cigarette. Together, they began to work. They quickly dispensed with Zhlamx and Xljcoz, and Kevin’s idea that Whlbny sounded Russian was soon dismissed by Sceptre.
They worked on in silence, the time passing, no nearer a solution, Kevin constantly complaining that there were better things he could be doing (like sleeping, eating or drinking) Sceptre insisting that they carry on.
Many different combinations of letters appeared on their separate sheets of paper, but none of them made much sense.
“Madam.” Fishwick’s voice rang in her head.
“Yes, Fishwick?” she said, causing Kevin to look up and smirk.
“I should have mentioned this earlier, Madam, but Steven Bilks’ spirit left the manor early this morning and created havoc at the place you know as Flutter-Bys.”
“He did?” Sceptre was both surprised and interested.
“Yes, Madam. If he has no earthly ties there,” her butler speculated, “it might be an indication of where he met his death.”
“Thank you, Fishwick.”
With this fresh information in mind, Sceptre returned to her study of the telephone number pad. If Bilks had been at Flutter-Bys, could it be that the mysterious message spelled out... W... I... L...
Long before she finished, she knew she was right. She checked her watch and saw that it was 6:30. Then she checked her answer; and checked it again. “Oh, my God!”
Kevin looked up. “Huh?”
“I’ve got it! Kevin, ring Pete immediately. He’s in terrible danger.”
*****
Pete’s first port of call was the Tate brothers’ estate.
Pulling into the drive, he looked up at the dark, turbulent clouds threatening snow as the evening temperature dropped. He shivered as he walked to the door and rang the bell. The dark clouds pleased him. This was a dark business, and gloomy weather was ideal for bringing it out in the open.
Johnny let him in. Pete noticed that his left arm was bandaged. “Been hassling a Girl Guide, have you?”
Johnny scowled. “You know, if I slapped you, plod wouldn’t be there to help.”
Pete chuckled. “By the time you’re big enough, you’ll be too old. Now be a good boy and get me a beer while I talk to your brother.”
While Johnny disappeared into the kitchen, Pete moved through to the lounge where Nicky sat curled in a corner of the settee reading a magazine, and Jimmy snoozed in a recliner chair close to the fire.
“Pete Brennan,” said Nicky seductively. “Again. We really must see more of each other.”
“I’ve seen all of you, remember,” Pete riposted. “And it wasn’t worth it.” He grinned at Jimmy Tate’s sleeping mass. “Hey, tubby,” he called out, “you dropped a tenner.”
“Huh? What? Where?” Jimmy was instantly awake and alarmed, and it took him a second or two to realise that Pete was ragging him. His face fell. “Oh, it’s you, Brennan. What do you want?”
“I’m getting close, Jimmy. I’ve got enough leads on this business to wire it up to the national grid, but I need some gen from you.” Pete took a seat at the opposite end of the settee as Johnny brought a tray of beers in for them. Pete took a can and eyed the bandaged wrist again. “Broken?”
Johnny shook his head. “Sprained. Some idiot tried to run me off the road the other night.”
“Snap,” said Pete. “Maybe they’re getting worried that we’re close.”
“Never mind him and the nutter in the jam jar,” objected Jimmy. “What do you know and what do you want to know?”
Pete sucked down some beer. “Bilko overheard something and shot his mouth off. He was killed for it. The cops are onto that.”
“You told us this the other day,” Jimmy reminded him. “So what’s new?”
“Well, Locke’s so busy trying to railroad me as being involved that he’s missing he obvious.” Pete hoped his disdain for Locke showed through. It would help convince Tate that he was playing a straight game and not simply interested in the reward. “I know who did it,” he went on. “I’m hoping to bring him out into the open tonight, but I don’t think he triggered your robbery. He was in on it, certainly, but someone put him up to it. Someone he knows as Jay. Does that name mean anything to you?”
Jimmy shrugged and nodded at his brother. “Our Johnny used to call me Big J when we were kids, but other than that, nothing.”
Pete frowned. “In that case, we’re snookered.” He drank from his can again. “How many people knew about the shipment?”
Jimmy was about to answer when Pete’s mobile rang. With an annoyed, “tch,” Pete took it from his pocket and checked the menu window. Kevin. Pete switched it off and dropped the phone back into his pocket. “Sorry about that,” he excused himself. “You were going to tell me how many were aware of the shipment.”
Jimmy raised his eyes to the ceiling as he calculated the number. “Half a dozen, at the most. There’s me, Johnny and Nicky, natch, then there was the transport company. They were supposed to come to my lock-up with the container the day after the stuff was nicked. Naturally, I cancelled it. So who else?” Again he fell silent, think of the people who might have known.
Pete took the opportunity to redirect his enquiry. “Jimmy, you produce your gear here.” He waved a hand to indicate the front room where Tate produced his pirates. “So who shipped the cartons from here to your lock up?”
Jimmy nodded at his brother. “Me and Johnny. I own a 7-ton van.”
Pete stared again at Johnny’s injured arm. Suspicion clouded his mind. Could it be? He caught Johnny’s eye, but the younger Tate did not appear unduly worried or perturbed. Keeping his thoughts to himself, he asked, “If you own a van, how come you were waiting for a container lorry to pick them up?”
“That’s the way the system works,” Jimmy said. “You can’t just go trundling into Hull docks with these things. They have to be containerised, and I don’t own a container truck. So I produce them here and ship them to my lock-up, then the container comes for the shipment and takes it to the docks where it’s loaded onto the cargo ship... speaking of which, the shipping clerks at the docks would have known about the consignment too.”
His tones still guarded, Pete commented, “Yes, well, their idea of security is to put the door key under the mat.”
“Well obviously, the guys on the dock didn’t know what was in the cartons,” Jimmy pointed out. “As far as they were concerned, it was simply printed matter.”
“Kevin was right about you,” Pete commented. “You shouldn’t be left in charge of a fruit stall. But this time, I don’t think the guys in Hull had anything to do with it. This was someone closer to home.”
Jimmy leapt on the suggestion. “There was that Sherlock character. The security boss.”
Pete dismissed the idea. “No. It’s not Sherlock’s scene. He might turn a blind eye while someone rips you off, but he wouldn’t get involved in the actual robbery. Doesn’t have the bottle.” He toyed with one or two thoughts. “Tell me something, between me, you and the gatepost, where do you get the originals to make your copies from?”
“You’ve been told all you need to know, Brennan.”
“I’m not gonna bubble you, am I?” Pete protested. “I want the five grand you’re offering. Come on, Tate, Wilcox doesn’t have your DVDs, and if you want them back, you’ve gotta help me.”
Jimmy sighed and nodded at his shapely wife. “Nicky?”
“You know I used to be an actress,” she said to Pete. “I still have contacts in the business, and they’re happy to make a few bob supplying the originals. Strictly in the back pocket, mind. They could get worse than fired if anyone rumbled.”
“And this Jay wouldn’t be one of your contacts?” Pete asked.
Nicky doubted it. “What would he stand to gain? If we found out that he’d stolen from us, we’d bubble him to the owners of the movies — anonymously, natch — and he’d go down for handing the originals over in the first place.”
“But that would leave you with no contact,” Pete protested.
Nicky smiled seductively. “You think I couldn’t cut another one, Brennan?”
“I’m wasting my bloody time here.” Pete finished his beer and stood up. “Looks like I’ll have to beat it outta Wilcox and his boys.” He cast another glance at Johnny, but once more the younger Tate did not bat an eyelid.
“That’s twice you’ve used that name,” said Jimmy. “If Ronnie Wilcox is up to his eyes in it, I’ll come with you and sit on him.”
“No. Don’t do that. Leave it to me. If you get anywhere near him and the law turns up, they’ll twig everything, and if that happens, I’ll never see this reward you’re offering.” He grinned. “Not that I’m simply after your money, Jimmy.”
The fat man was not interested in Pete’s motives. “Whatever you want. What’s your master plan?”
Pete checked his watch. “I’m going from here to see Wilcox and tempt him out to Melmerby Manor.” For the third time, he glanced at Johnny. Too calm, was Pete’s private analysis. Inscrutable. Impossible to read. “I’ll have one or two surprises waiting for him when he gets there.” He turned to leave. “I’ll be in touch.”
He stepped out into the encroaching night, where the threatened snow had begun to fall. Here in Ashdale, under the hills, it would settle as a slippery, wet film on the pavements, and tyre friction would keep the roads clear, but up at Melmerby Manor, out on the moors, it would be centimetres deep before midnight, which did not help his cause. He would need the police out there before the night was through and the last thing he wanted was Locke whining that he couldn’t make it because of the weather.
As he drove down to Ashdale, he considered the things he had just learned.
Tate owned a large van, similar to the one owned by Wilcox. Wilcox had already admitted that he shipped the DVDs out to Melmerby Manor on the night of the robbery, but he denied having taken them away again. What price Tate junior had done it? But if he did, what would he stand to gain from ripping off his own brother? From all accounts, Jimmy looked after Johnny financially, so the younger brother would have little incentive to steal from his elder sibling.
“You’re missing something here, Brennan,” he told himself as he parked at the side entrance of Flutter-Bys, and checked the time. 7:00 p.m. Kevin and Sceptre should be on their way to Melmerby Manor. Once he had seen Wilcox, he would join them and wait for things to happen.
He rattled the door. Groom slid open a view slot and gave him the evil eye. “Not you again, Brennan? Why don’t you take a short walk off a long pier?”
Pete shook his head good-humouredly. “I always said you were an idiot, Groom, and now you’ve confirmed it. Short walk off a long pier.” He laughed. Beyond the door, Groom’s eyes narrowed in puzzlement. As quickly as it had materialised, Pete’s laughter died off and his irritation returned. “Open the door before I rip your head off and kick it up and down the street to see if I can get any sense out of it.”
“Wait there.”
Groom slammed the slot shut. There was a considerable delay before the bolts were slid back and it opened.
“Checking with your boss, were you?” Pete asked.
Groom said nothing but stood back to let hi
m pass.
The club was due to open at nine and preparations were in well in hand, but Pete was surprised to find no one but Wilcox, his brutal wife and his two minders there.
“Bar staff turn up at half eight,” said Wilcox, disinterestedly. “I thought we’d seen enough of you, Brennan. What do you want this time?”
Pete smiled. “Social call, Ronnie. Just called to say thanks.”
Wilcox frowned. “Thanks?”
“That name you gave me,” said Pete. “Jay. I found him. I’ve just come from Jimmy Tate’s drum and he fingered him right away. I’ll be nicking him when he turns up at Melmerby Manor later tonight.”
“Nicking him?” Wilcox sounded outraged. “You can’t do that. You’re not the law anymore.”
“No, but I can hold him until the filth get there, can’t I?” Pete dropped his tones to casual and friendly. “See Ronnie, I figure he topped Bilko, and even if he didn’t, he’ll tell me who did. You know what I’m like at getting information from bodies. Just thought I’d let you know. When I pick up the reward from Jimmy Tate, there’s a drink in it for you. See ya.”
With a cheerful wave, Pete ambled back out of the club and climbed into his car, certain that he had tempted Wilcox out of his complacency. Even if he was off base about the murder, Wilcox would not be able to take the chance that the non-existent contact might squeal.
As he fired the engine, two shapes appeared ahead of the car. Groom and Lawson. He killed the engine once more and got out of the car. “What do you two want?”
“Not us,” said Groom. “Ronnie. He wants a word.”
“You tell Ronnie I’m busy. I’ll get to him when I’ve a minute. Tomorrow maybe.”
Lawson cracked his knuckles. “He said if you didn’t come, we had to persuade you. Both of us this time.”
Pete relaxed. The day hadn’t come when he couldn’t take two goons like these. “So persuade me.”
In the background, Sylvie Wilcox turned the corner to join them. “If they can’t, I will.”
Pete laughed. “Why, what are you gonna do? Threaten to strip and turn me to stone?” Her frown suggested Sylvie was struggling to understand, so Pete explained, “I’m saying you remind me of a Gorgon.”
A Spookies Compendium Page 27
