by Bud Craig
SALFORD MURDERS
Bud Craig
Published by
THE BOOK FOLKS
London, 2016
©Bud Craig
Polite note to the reader
This book is written in British English except where fidelity to other languages or accents is appropriate, so words and phrases may differ from North American usage.
SALFORD MURDERS is also published in three separate volumes, also on Kindle.
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We hope you enjoy the book.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
BOOK 1: TACKLING DEATH
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
BOOK II: DEAD CERTAINTY
PART ONE: 2012
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
PART TWO: 1974
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
PART THREE: 2012
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
BOOK III: FALLING FOUL
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
WHY DO WE WRITE? Interview with the author
OTHER TITLES OF INTEREST
BOOK 1: TACKLING DEATH
Imagine if your boss is killed and you fall under suspicion...
Social worker Gus Keane is about to retire when his boss gets murdered and he falls under suspicion for the crime. Being an ex-rugby footballer Gus is no stranger to tackling difficult situations. But it will take all his skills and more to turn detective and track down the killer himself.
CHAPTER ONE
I dashed across the road and began to follow the girl along the street. My long strides kept up with her easily. One of the few advantages of being six foot four, I thought. I peered into the murk through smeary glasses. The sky glowered, the wind blew rain into my face, down my broken nose and, somehow, under the hood of my waterproof jacket. A late March morning in Salford. Pissing down. Who’d have thought it?
I kept her in my eye line as she wheeled a pushchair through the puddles. We splashed past a 1970s one-storey concrete building with ‘Ordsall Tanning’ written in orange over a glass panel in the front door. The smell of gone off food wafted from fast food wrappers. Empty packets blew along the pavement. The rumble of the morning traffic from the dual carriageway on Regent Road behind me accompanied the slap of my trainers on the pavement. I swerved past a man with a suitcase on wheels coughing his way into McDonalds.
I turned right on the corner, still within sight of the girl. The railings of Ordsall Park on the other side of Ordsall Lane stood to attention, showing off their fresh coat of green paint. I passed an Edwardian pub with ‘Hardy’s Crown Ales’ chiselled in brown cement two thirds of the way up the wall. ‘The Park Hotel’ was etched in the frosted glass of the windows. On the corner of West Park Street, a wooden sign advertised town houses for £149,500. Here the girl turned right and then right again, seeming to double back on herself until she arrived at Princess Street. Her bare matchstick legs turned down the garden path of a pale brick council house. I made out a number twenty-seven on the front door. Walking towards her, I stopped and hesitated.
“Er, Tanya, is it?”
I looked at the pushchair where I could just see a sleeping toddler through the plastic cover. Tanya turned to stare at me, her sad face scarred with experience and spots. Her close-cropped hair, dyed jet black, was sculpted to her head by the downpour. She looked nineteen going on forty-five. The skirt and white sleeveless T-shirt covered perhaps fifty per cent of her body. A necklace of assorted love bites adorned her neck.
“Yeah, I’m Tanya,” she said in a rasping, ‘are you talking to me or chewing a brick’ voice. “What do you want?”
“It’s, er,” I said, lowering my voice and looking from side to side as two bulky men went by, “it’s confidential.”
“I won’t be a minute.”
She banged on the open door of the adjoining house and unceremoniously pushed the chair into the hall, unhooking her handbag from the handle.
“Shannon! Can you mind Madison for a bit?”
A girl of about Tanya’s age waddled down the hallway to take the child in. Tanya began to open the door of her own house.
“Come in,” she said, turning her head towards me.
I followed her in. Pulling back my hood, I ran my fingers through my hair then shook drops of water from my hands.
“You’ve never gone out with wet hair,” I could almost hear my mam say from beyond the grave.
We went into the living room, where I sat down on the shabby sofa. I unzipped my waterproof, sending a sheen of rainwater onto the suede jacket underneath. Tanya kicked off her shoes and put her bag on an armchair. She picked up a child’s vest from a chair and dried her hair and face, before standing over me.
“Well love,” she said, chucking the vest back on the chair, “we may as well get on with it eh? I haven’t got much time. Twenty quid and you have to use a Noddy.”
She immediately turned to draw the curtains and, turning back to face me, removed her T-shirt, revealing pointed breasts. She began to unhook her skirt. I put my hand to my chest and felt my heart pumping. Nausea bubbled up from my stomach to my mouth.
“I think…” I stammered, “I think there must have been some mistake.”
“You’d better get your kecks off, we’ve not got all day.”
Allowing her skirt to fall to the floor she stepped out of her shoes and walked towards me. By now she was wearing only a pair of tight red knickers. She smiled again and pouted, licking her lips. I froze as she sat on my lap and threw her arms round my neck. I caught a whiff of unwashed flesh.
“Don’t be nervous love. It’ll be all right, you’ll see.”
Stop reacting like a shy teenager, Gus, I tol
d myself. You’re all grown up now; on the verge of early retirement for God’s sake. Yeah, but I’ve led a sheltered life.
“No, no, this isn’t what I’ve come for at all.”
Pulling a face, Tanya got up. My eyes struggled to focus as I took my glasses off and wiped them on my T-shirt. She looked down at me.
“You mean you’re not business then?”
I shook my head, putting my glasses back on. Sulking like a schoolgirl, she got dressed again.
“Shit!”
“Sorry,” I shrugged.
“Thought you was a bit posh for round here.”
“Posh! I’ve never been accused of that before,” I said. “I was born and bred in West Park Street.”
“Never.”
“It’s unrecognisable from when I was a kid,” I said.
She put her hands on her hips and rolled her eyes.
“What the fuck do you want?”
“I’m Gus Keane, from Children’s Services at Ordsall Tower.”
I pulled my wallet from my jeans and showed my ID.
“What?”
“It used to be Social Services’ I said, putting my wallet away. “I’m looking for Michael Askey. Mick.”
There was no visible response to this.
“Who’s he when he’s at home?”
“I think you know who he is,” I said, resisting the temptation to say ‘the same as he is on holiday’. “He lives with you, doesn’t he?”
She shrugged and looked down, a little shamefaced.
“Come on, Tanya, there’s no point in lying. You’re not in any trouble. I just need to get in touch with Mick.”
She took a packet of Lambert and Butler and a gas lighter from the bag. I shook my head as she offered the packet to me before taking a cigarette and lighting up. Blowing out smoke she refused to meet my eye.
“It’s urgent,” I went on. “I’ve been trying all week to see him. I came yesterday as you were going out. I just missed you.”
She shrugged and looked at the ceiling.
“Then this morning I saw you walk past the office and followed you here. Just tell me when and where I can get hold of Mick and I’ll be out of your way.”
She sighed and blew a smoke ring with remarkable skill.
“Yeah, he moved in about a week ago. I’ve been trying to get rid of him ever since.”
“Is he still living here?”
“Yeah, but he’s out at the moment. What do you want him for?”
“It’s confidential, I can’t tell you.”
She tutted at the standard answer.
“Do you know when he’ll be back?”
Silence. I glanced at my watch. Tanya looked at me, folding her arms.
“He could be back later on,” she said. “Hard to say.”
I thought for a moment. I was on office duty that afternoon. I could come back anytime before lunch, leave a note if he wasn’t in.
“If he gets back before I call again, can you ring me?”
She shrugged.
“Here’s my number,” I said, taking a card from my jacket pocket and handing it to her. “Just in case.”
“I might do,” she said, glancing down at the card.
“Right. I’ll be off.”
“Don’t tell him you’ve been talking to me,” she said, as I got up to go.
I nodded.
“I won’t.”
“And you want to watch yourself and all. He can’t stand fucking social workers.”
“I’ll be careful,” I said.
As I got out of the house, I let out a bellow of laughter. Why do things keep happening to me, I wondered. And tomorrow was April Fools’ Day.
CHAPTER TWO
Half an hour later I sat typing at my desk, wanting to make sure I got the letter done before I forgot. The strip lights in the low ceilings cast a gloomy light over the open plan office. Twenty years in this place, I thought, no wonder my eyesight’s so bad. I watched the screen as the words appeared:
Dear Mick
I called today to talk to you on behalf of a young woman who thinks she may be your daughter. She would like to get in touch with you. Please ring me at Ordsall Tower (number at the top of the letter) or call in this afternoon. If you can’t manage to get in touch today, please contact the duty officer any time during working hours – unfortunately I will not be available from next week.
I look forward to hearing from you.
Yours sincerely
Gus Keane
I’m retiring today and won’t have to bother about toe rags like you anymore, I was tempted to add. I printed the letter, signed it and put it in an envelope. I could have left it for someone else to sort out but I had promised Charlotte. Just time for a cup of tea before I go out again, I thought, as I wrote the address on the envelope.
As I got up, I took in the partitions that divided the room into team sections. Most desks were unoccupied. What was it that woman had said to me a few years ago?
“Every time I try to get in touch with you, you’re on holiday, in a meeting or on the sick.”
She’d omitted to mention ‘out on visits’ and ‘not at his desk’ (in the bog). As I went over to the kettle, the usual posters were stuck on the wall seemingly at random: Casual Clothes day for Cancer research – it made no difference to me, I was in my normal gear – a Unison quiz, a meeting about the Department’s new structure.
Back at my desk with my mug I picked up the staff magazine, idly flicking through the pages and sipping tea. On page seven I saw a photograph of a man with greying brown hair, blue eyes and glasses grinning stupidly. He held a rugby ball in his hand. It took a few seconds to realise it was me. I read the accompanying article:
“Social worker, Gus Keane is retiring after more than twenty years with the Council. Gus, who played Rugby League for Salford in the glory days of the nineteen seventies, will devote some of his time to TRYS, a rugby charity.”
Makes me sound a right do-gooder, I thought.
“He is also looking forward to the birth of his first grandchild in May.”
I looked up to see a slightly built, thirty something woman rushing in and cursing the rain as she hung her coat on a hook. The phone on the desk next to mine rang.
“Hiya, Karen,” I said, as she dashed over to answer it.
I read on:
“‘I’ve had an eventful few months,’ says Gus, ‘so it will be nice to have time to relax.’”
‘An eventful few months’ was a euphemism if ever there was one, but I hadn’t particularly wanted to tell all the council’s employees my wife had left me in September. Or that I’d had a stroke the following week. I saved all that soul baring for my counsellor. I turned my attention from the magazine to Karen.
“Gary, all I’m asking you to do is pick me up after work,” she was saying.
She covered the mouthpiece, turning towards me and shaking her head.
“I’ve told you, my car won’t be ready until Monday.”
She fell silent for a minute or so.
“It’s not my fault if some silly bugger smashed into me in the car park.”
She tapped her fingers on the desk.
“For God’s sake, we’ll survive a weekend with one car,” she said, forcing the words out between gritted teeth.
Another pause followed before she spoke again.
“So we’ll say 4.30, shall we? I’ll see you then.”
She slammed the phone down, sighed and grinned at me. In her white blouse and navy blue skirt she looked like the secretary she used to be. ‘I could never bring myself to wear jeans to work,’ she had said when she heard about Casual Clothes Day. Her dark hair shone with health in contrast with the harassed look on her face. And to think a few months ago her brown eyes had showed the enthusiasm of a newly qualified social worker. Her frightening efficiency made her a force to be reckoned with though. Give her a few years and she’d be running the bloody place.
“Sorry about that,” she said.
/>
I shrugged as she picked up an envelope on her desk and ripped it open. She took out the document inside and began to read.
“A letter from the new director,” she said. “She starts on Monday. What a shame. You’ll miss her.”
“Yeah.”
Karen looked over to me.
“Didn’t you say you know her?”
“Yeah, we were on the same social work course.”
“Don will ask you to put a word in for him.”
A man’s voice was heard in the office on our left.
“You bastard.”
“Talk of the devil,” she said.
“That was never Don swearing,” I said. “I thought he was very religious.”
Karen took a chocolate digestive from the packet on her desk. “In theory,” she said.
“How do you mean?”
She sipped more tea and looked at me. “Did I never tell you Don tried to get off with me?”
I nearly choked on my cuppa.
“What?”
“Oh, yes. I think it was when you were off after your stroke.”
“The bloody hypocrite. What did you say?”
She looked askance at me.
“Gus! Do you even have to ask? I mean, who’d fancy Don?”
We turned towards the room where the voice had come from to see a door open. A man of about Karen’s age, taller than me, emerged. Looking towards us briefly, he attempted a smile of greeting, which was more of a grimace. His flushed cheeks contrasted with his unruffled exterior. The striped, open neck shirt and neatly cut fair hair gave him the appearance of a City whiz kid. What had been going on in there? Best not to ask, I decided.
“Boss and deputy fall out,” said Karen with satisfaction, jerking her head towards Don as he moved rapidly away.
“Not for the first time,” I said.
“You’re well out of it,” said Karen.
“Yeah.”
“We’ll all miss you when you go,” she smiled, as her phone rang again. “We’ll have nobody to confide in.”
I wouldn’t really miss hearing about Karen’s difficulty conceiving, I thought guiltily, her husband’s low sperm count and the way it had virtually destroyed their marriage. All my life people had told me their troubles. Maybe that’s why I had gone into social work, I thought. May as well get paid for it. I said the words ‘early retirement’ to myself and looked at my watch. Not long to go.
