Dead End

by Shirley Wells

  Dylan couldn’t believe his good fortune.

  He waited. Each minute seemed to last an hour, but according to the dashboard’s clock, King was only inside the house for thirty-two minutes. He came out, alone, and strode down the street.

  Dylan jumped out of his car and followed. He was damned if he’d lose King this time.

  King walked at a brisk pace and Dylan had to half jog to catch up. Finally he drew level. “Leonard King?”

  King stopped in his tracks, looked behind him and looked back at Dylan. “Who wants to know?”

  Dylan knew a moment’s relief. King might want him dead but he didn’t recognise him. A wig and a pair of glasses wasn’t much of a disguise but, thankfully, it was doing its job.

  “Bill Williams.” He put out his hand. It was ignored. “I’ve been looking for you for a while now.”

  “Why?” King stepped forward—Dylan would put him at six feet two, the same height as his anonymous postman—and glared at Dylan. “Who the fuck are you?”

  “Bill Williams. I’m writing a book—”

  King laughed at that, and seemed to relax a little. “Go and write the fucker then.”

  “It’s about people wrongly convicted. Rumour has it that I can include you in that category.”

  “Does it?” King carried on walking.

  Dylan fell into step with him. “There’s money in it for you.”

  King stopped. “How much?”

  “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On how good your story is, on whether I’m convinced you were wrongly convicted, if you can toss out the odd name.”

  “Oh, I’ve got a good story. Talk money. You must have a figure in mind.”

  “It’ll run to several thousand.”

  King seemed slightly more interested. But nervous. He kept looking behind him. Maybe he was expecting Weller to leap out of the bushes. “How many thousand?”

  “Like I said, it depends.”

  “What would I have to do to get the money?”

  “Tell me your story.”

  “How long till the money came through?”

  “A month maybe.”

  King shook his head. “So I might get some cash, yeah? And I might get it in a month, yeah? Fuck off.”

  “I might be able to get it to you sooner. As I said, it depends on how good your story is. I’ve heard things about you. And about Rickman.”

  “Like what?” King’s eyes had narrowed to small black slits.

  “I’d rather hear your side of things.”

  “Okay. Let’s do it. Not here though.”

  Dylan couldn’t believe this. King was either desperate for money or desperate to hear the things Dylan had heard. He’d be disappointed on both counts. “Where are you living?”

  “Like I’m going to tell you that.” King’s lips curled into a sneer. “Out in the open. The park.”

  London was full of parks. “Which park?”

  “Follow me.”

  King must be the only bloke on the planet who could call the small patch of green, not much bigger than Dylan’s front lawn and with four benches provided, a park. It was a circle of grass almost hidden from the road by a few trees.

  King chose a bench that offered a good view of the four exits. Dylan sat beside him and took out his phone.

  “How do I know I’ll get the cash?” King asked, somewhat belatedly Dylan thought. “For all I know, I’ll give you your story and you’ll fuck off.”

  “You’ll get the cash. I’ll give you small amounts—” Dylan took out his wallet and counted the contents. He kept a tenner back for himself and gave the rest to King. He must be mad. “There’s a hundred and sixty there.”

  King took it, counted it and laughed. “That’s it?”

  “It’ll have to be enough for now. And if you don’t tell me more than I already know, you won’t get a penny more.” He switched on his phone’s voice recorder and hope it lasted. Not that it mattered. It was only for show. “I’ll be recording this, okay?”

  “Suit yourself.”

  “Off you go then,” Dylan said. “Start at the beginning. Tell me why you were at Rickman’s drug factory the night you were arrested. And what about the coppers who turned up? How come they were detectives? I heard the police got a tipoff about a domestic dispute so why didn’t a couple of uniformed officers investigate it?”

  “Bloody hell, you expect me to tell you all that for a piddling hundred and sixty quid? You’ve got to be kidding.”

  Dylan shrugged. “Tell me something else then. Anything. But make it good or there won’t be any more cash.”

  King traced a pattern on the grass with his shoe. “Rickman wanted a driver and I wanted some quick cash. That’s why I went to his place. I knew he was dealing, and I guessed what he wanted me to deliver, but I didn’t know the scale of the operation. I’d been there about ten minutes, hearing about the job. It wasn’t as easy as I’d thought—it meant making big deliveries—but the money was good. Then these two fucking coppers showed up.” He spat on the ground, narrowly missing Dylan’s shoe. “Bastards. The cocky fuckers thought Christmas had come early. I’ll get ’em, you have my word on that.”

  Don’t count on it, sunshine. “Can you remember their names?”

  “Oh, I can remember all right. Detective Sergeant Pike and Detective Sergeant Scott. Pike was a big ugly bastard but it was other who nearly fucking killed me. Thanks to him, I had two busted ribs and I nearly lost an eye.”

  Hell hath no fury like a crook wronged. “Police brutality? Why didn’t that come out in court?”

  “Because my lawyer knew we’d get nowhere. The law looks out for its own.”

  That was a laugh. Dylan had served time for so-called police brutality. King did get a couple of broken ribs for his trouble and, yes, he had a bit of a shiner too. When you’re expecting to find a husband and wife having a tiff and instead, stumble across a big bloke wielding a samurai sword, manners tend to be forgotten.

  King was lying, though. The story of how he came to be at Rickman’s drug factory was too neat. It was the same story he’d told over and over again. Word for word.

  “So you’re going after those coppers?” Dylan asked.

  “Too right.”

  “Isn’t that a bit tricky with John Weller after you?”

  “Who says he’s after me?”

  “I do. What does he want with you?”

  “No idea.” Another lie.

  “Maybe he’s after the cash that everyone believes you stole from Rickman. The quarter million.”

  “Yeah. Maybe.”

  “But that was his stepfather’s cash and they don’t get along, do they?”

  “No.”

  “How did the cash end up in your flat?”

  “It was stolen from Rickman, along with a stash of heroin. Stolen and then planted. I was framed.”

  “But who’d steal from Rickman?”

  King’s lips curved into an evil sneer. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  “Yes, I would.” He’d prefer to know what King was doing to get revenge on the two detectives who’d arrested him that night, but he was curious.

  King got to his feet. “I’ll meet you here Tuesday night. Maybe. Bring some cash and I’ll tell you more.”

  “Hey, come on, give me a name. So far, you’ve told me nothing I don’t already know.”

  “You want to know who stole that cash? Then I’ll tell you. The same person who tipped off the coppers to go to Rickman’s place that night.”

  “And that was?”

  “As I said, bring some cash on Tuesday and I’ll tell you.”

  “Aw, come on.”

  “Seven o’clock Tuesday night.”
King checked all entrances to the park, got to his feet and strode off without a backward glance.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Hey, Carol, do you remember the last time I was in here and I was telling you I hadn’t seen your Jimmy since he’d come out of the army? Well, you’ll never believe this, but I saw him the very next day. What a coincidence.”

  “Did you?” Carol was rushed off her feet this morning. Her new assistant hadn’t turned up so she was having to cope on her own and, worse, she’d made a complete cockup and was overbooked. The salon was usually busy before Easter and quiet after but this year had proved the exception. She could do without Violet’s constant chatter this morning but, as one of her best customers, Violet always received service with a smile, even if that smile was delivered through gritted teeth. “Are you having the same colour, Violet?”

  “Please. Maybe with a bit of ash blond thrown in. It looked good last time, didn’t it?”

  “I’m glad you liked it.”

  Carol mixed the colour and gave a new customer an apologetic smile. She’d already forgotten the girl’s name. “I’ll put Violet’s colour on and then I’ll be with you. Sorry about the wait.”

  The young girl smiled. “It’s okay. There’s no rush.”

  It was just as well because Carol was running very late and, with the double booking, she’d struggle to catch up.

  “I didn’t see him to speak to,” Violet said. “Your Jimmy, I mean. He was coming out of the fish-and-chip shop and I was on the other side of the road. Funny that, though, wasn’t it? Just when I said I hadn’t seen him.”

  Carol idly wondered what he’d been doing eating fish and chips. He was always home for his meals and he didn’t have much of an appetite these days.

  Then she thought back to Violet’s last visit to the salon and knew the woman was mistaken.

  “You’re wrong, Violet. The last time you came in, Jimmy was away in Somerset.”

  “It was him, all right. I might not have seen him for a while, but I’d recognise him anywhere.”

  Carol laughed and slapped the colour on Violet’s hair as fast as she could. “I’m telling you, he was in Somerset.”

  “And I’m telling you he was coming out of the fish-and-chip shop on Russell Street. My sister lives there and I was on my way to visit her at the time.”

  Carol was aware of the silence in the salon. Only the hum of the dryer was audible.

  “Perhaps he has a double,” Carol said. “Whoever you saw, it wasn’t Jimmy. Put your head forward. That’s it.”

  Thankfully, the new customer was only booked in for a cut and blow dry so that shouldn’t take long. The girl’s hair was long and naturally blond, and looked to be in good condition.

  “Here,” Violet said, “I hope I haven’t put the cat among the pigeons.”

  Violet was an incorrigible gossip and would love nothing more than a juicy story.

  “Not at all. Perhaps I’m muddling the dates.” She knew she wasn’t, but it wasn’t worth arguing with Violet. The woman would never admit to being mistaken. “Right, let’s get you under the dryer.”

  “You hear such stories these days, don’t you?” Violet wouldn’t shut up. “I was reading about a man who had a whole other family. Really, he used to leave one family, saying he was going away on business, and then visit his other one. Five kids he had, two with one wife and three with the other, and both women were completely ignorant. Fifteen years it had been going on. Honestly, you can’t credit it, can you?”

  “Amazing,” Carol murmured.

  “Not that I’m saying your Jimmy’s up to anything,” Violet added.

  “That’s a relief.” Carol laughed, though it took great effort. Some clients she loved to see. They chatted about everything under the sun so that it felt more like a social occasion than a job. Violet, though, had always been difficult, a gossip who loved to stir up trouble and pretend that she was a good, caring soul who wouldn’t say a bad word about anyone.

  Carol switched on the dryer, hoped it boiled Violet’s brain, and checked her appointments diary for her new customer’s name.

  “Now then, Mandy, if you’d like to come over here, I’ll get you shampooed. Just a trim and a blow dry is it?”

  “Please.” Mandy put down her magazine and sat by the basin. “I only want about an inch off. Just to tidy it up really.”

  Carol turned on the water, waited until it was the correct temperature and began to wash Mandy’s hair. It was a job her assistant should have done. The girl had only been working with her for a fortnight and already she’d phoned in sick twice. Carol hated any sort of confrontation, but she’d have stern words with her. It wasn’t good enough.

  “Men usually have it easier, don’t they?” Violet said.

  “How do you mean?” Carol asked.

  “Like that chap I was telling you about who had two families on the go. It’s easier for men to leave the wife and kids behind and go somewhere else. The wife’s the one who keeps everything ticking over. Men can walk out the door, say they’re working late or going away on business, and have affairs or do whatever else takes their fancy.”

  “I suppose it is.” Carol had given up smoking three years ago but she still kept an emergency supply upstairs. She might just light up in way of celebration when Violet walked out the door.

  “Not that I’m saying your Jimmy’s having an affair,” she said. “It makes you wonder though, doesn’t it?”

  “It doesn’t make me wonder, Violet. He was in Somerset when you thought you saw him. Jimmy’s only obsession is helping with the reservists’ training. You’re not too hot under there, are you?”

  “No, I’m fine. Well, if that’s what he’s told you, I can’t argue, can I?”

  She could and probably would. Carol ignored her and towel dried Mandy’s hair before showing her to the chair farthest away from Violet.

  Carol chatted to Mandy as she trimmed her hair and dried it. She was a nice girl and Carol hoped she’d come back.

  It was time to wash Violet’s colour out, trim her hair and dry it. The end was in sight.

  Carol chatted about everything from shoes to holidays as she worked, anything to shut Violet up. It seemed to work. Violet told her about the holiday she’d had in Egypt last year, a subject that kept her busy until Carol held a mirror behind her so that she could see the back of her head.

  “How’s that?” she asked.

  “Perfect. That’s lovely. Thank you, Carol.”

  Violet had paid and was putting on her coat. “You should ask your Jimmy where he really was when you thought he was in Somerset. Sounds to me like someone has been telling the odd lie or two. Right, I’ll be off then. Thanks, Carol. See you next time.”

  Carol was too nonplussed to think of a cutting reply before the door closed behind Violet. The damn woman was the absolute limit. She’d go to her grave believing she’d seen Jimmy coming out of that fish-and-chip shop and no one would convince her otherwise. Certainly not the wife who went to bed with him every night and woke up with him every morning. Oh no, the woman who admitted herself that she hadn’t seen Jimmy for years wouldn’t be convinced.

  The stupid, meaningless exchange left Carol in a bad mood for the rest of the morning. In a way, it was fortunate that she was busy, but even chatting to her clients didn’t take her mind off Violet’s stupid comments.

  She tried to think of practical things, like what she’d cook for dinner, but then wondered if Jimmy would eat anything or if he’d call at that fish-and-chip shop again. Not that he had. No. Violet must have been mistaken.

  She wondered how she’d feel if he was having another affair. Relief was the first thought that sprang to mind and, feeling guilty, she pushed it aside. She wouldn’t be relieved. She’d be as hurt and as distraught as the last time.

&
nbsp; She supposed she couldn’t blame Violet entirely. After all, the thought that he might be having another affair had crossed her mind the night she’d woken and found him absent. Had he really been out running? Or was he seeing someone else?

  The sex thing crept into her mind. There was a time they’d made love three times in the same day but, like all married couples, she supposed—not that she’d done a survey on the matter—the sex had dropped off to once a week, then once a month. It had to be two months, probably closer to three, since they’d last made love. If she made advances, he’d claim to be too tired.

  Damn it. Jimmy was her husband, the father of her children, and Violet was nothing but an old gossip.

  So why was she doubting her husband and beginning to believe the old gossip?

  Perhaps Violet had seen him coming out of that fish-and-chip shop, but on a different day. It was possible. Not only possible, it was a far more likely explanation. Most of the time, Carol had no idea how he spent his time so he could easily have been there. She didn’t have a clue where he was right now or how he was spending his morning.

  She vowed to keep a closer eye on him in future...

  Chapter Sixteen

  The tables outside the café gave Jimmy a clear view of Gerry Lowell’s office. More people than usual were sitting outside to enjoy the warm April sunshine with a tea or a coffee, but he wouldn’t miss anyone who entered or left Lowell’s building.

  Jimmy nursed a cup of sweet coffee. It was weaker than he liked, but it was okay. He was only passing time anyway. His table was in the shade but he didn’t mind.

  Though he sat with his legs crossed at the ankles, looking relaxed, his mind was busy. He’d memorised every inch of Scotland Yard and he had the bomb. Well, almost. It was nearly there. One day soon, he’d blow the place to smithereens. He couldn’t wait.

  The downside was that the building was packed with civil service staff. Unbelievably, they now outnumbered the police by two to one. The victims would be unknown to him. That was unfortunate, but there was nothing he could do about it. It would make the whole world sit up and take notice, and that was the important thing.