Dead End

by Shirley Wells

  “Think about it,” she slurred. “Lenny’s marriage was on the rocks and Wendy wanted him out of her life. She knew he was seeing Max that night. She knew that if she called the cops, they’d both go down.”

  “Wait a minute. You mean Wendy King knew what Max was doing while you didn’t.”

  She flushed at that. “Oh, I had a vague idea. The same as she did. We knew each other, you know. In fact, it was me who introduced her to Lenny and Max in the first place. We used to be quite good friends. She wouldn’t have known the scale of it, the same way as I didn’t, but she’d still have known that they’d get sent down.”

  “It seems a bit extreme. Why didn’t she just divorce him?”

  “Because she was a weakling.”

  “So as soon as he was behind bars, she divorced him?”

  “She was free to do as she pleased then, wasn’t she? Wendy had no intention of standing by her man.”

  “So she made the call to the police? She stole the money from Max?”

  “Along with someone else, yes.”

  “Who was that?”

  She leaned in close to whisper. “A copper. He stole the money, she hid it at her place, and the next thing is that Max and Lenny are arrested. Wendy’s copper friend was first at the scene.”

  She leaned back in her seat, delighted with her work of fiction.

  “That’s some story. How did you find out? About Wendy and the copper, I mean.”

  She tapped the side of her nose. “I’ve already said too much.”

  “What was the copper’s name?” he asked.

  “What?” She frowned at him. “I don’t know. One of those who turned up at Max’s so-called factory that night, that’s all I know.”

  “I bet Max is pretty angry about that. Why hasn’t he appealed? If there’s a bent copper involved—”

  “God, you’re naive. What would be the point of that? The law looks out for its own. They’re all on the take—from the coppers pounding the beat to the high court judges.”

  “What’s he going to do, then? Presumably he wants his money back.”

  “I’m sure he’ll sort it when he gets out.” She sighed dramatically. “There’s still a while to go before that happens, though. Still, we have to keep cheerful. Me and John manage. We get by. I visit Max as often as I can but it’s not the same, is it?”

  “No.”

  Her phone alerted her to a text message. She took it from her small handbag and checked the screen. The font was large enough for Dylan to read it—just. See you later?

  “Excuse me, I’ll just—” She tapped in three letters, pressed the Send button and returned the phone to her bag. “Now then, I think I’ve probably said too much. Let’s talk of other things. Tell me about you, Bill. Are you married?”

  “Yes.”

  They talked of a family that Dylan invented while they drank their coffee and he was soon helping her into a taxi. Not that she needed much help because she was an expert with her wheelchair.

  He was pleased to hear her ask the driver to take her to her home. He soon found another taxi and headed in the same direction. He was curious as to who she might be seeing later.

  He let the taxi go and hung around outside her house watching lights go on and off in different rooms. Less than thirty minutes later, another taxi pulled up. A man climbed out, handed the driver a couple of notes, and trotted up the drive to Sarah’s impressive home.

  Dylan recognised him immediately. It was every crook’s favourite lawyer, Phil Browne.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Get me another brandy, will you, Phil? You’ll have one with me, won’t you?”

  Sarah’s first job on arriving home had been to pour herself a glass of brandy. She’d had quite a bit to drink at the restaurant, but she still felt in need of something to soothe her nerves.

  “How’s Lenny?” she asked. “Have you heard?”

  “He’s fine.” Phil handed her a glass. “Never mind him, how did your chat with Bill Williams go?”

  “I don’t know.” She wheeled her chair into the lounge and stopped it close to the radiator. The room felt chilly this evening. “He knew how much cash was found at Lenny’s place, he knew John’s car was involved in Lenny’s accident and yet—one thing struck me as odd.”

  “Oh?”

  “He didn’t know about this.” She slapped her wheelchair. “You’d think any writer worth his salt would have known, wouldn’t you?”

  “That’s interesting.”

  “I told him about Wendy and those coppers being involved—” She took a sip of brandy and paused to enjoy the warmth running down her throat. “I don’t think he was convinced. And he seemed too interested in John for my liking. I told him John had nothing to do with Lenny’s shooting, but I don’t think he believed me.”

  “Few people would.” Phil sighed heavily and sat back on the sofa. “You need to have a good talk with John. I mean it, Sarah.”

  “I will. Truly, I will.”

  “You keep saying that and nothing happens.”

  “It’s difficult. If I say anything to him, he thinks I’m criticising him. He’s always been too sensitive, you know he has.”

  Phil rolled his eyes. “For Christ’s sake, Sarah, this is serious. He’s not twelve anymore. The way things are going, he’ll be glad to get thrown in prison because it’ll be the only way he’ll have a roof over his head. Apart from everything else, he’s got about as much business sense as a Labrador puppy—”

  “Phil!”

  “It’s true, Sarah. Open your eyes. If it was his money, fine. It’s not, though. He’s taking you down with him. And you’re sitting back and letting him.”

  Sarah had heard it all before. “I’ll speak to him.”

  “Make sure you do.”

  Sarah had been friends with Phil for more years than she cared to remember, but she knew he’d never understood John. She doubted he ever would. John was a good boy, a good son, and if he did have problems, it was only because life had dealt him such a rough deal. He’d idolised his father, as had she, and he’d never recovered from seeing him gunned down in front of his own home. Nor had he recovered from the shock of seeing her with someone else. He’d hated Max from the moment he first saw him.

  Phil stood and paced the width of the room. “So did this Williams bloke seem genuine to you?”

  She was glad of the change of subject. “Of course he did.”

  “It just seems bloody odd to me. No sooner do you tell Max that Wendy and those arresting officers were responsible for setting him up than this writer appears out of the blue.”

  She smiled at that. “You’ve got such a suspicious mind, Phil.”

  “Too right, I have. And it’s stood me in good stead all these years.” He swallowed some brandy and returned to the sofa. “Max is being too bloody quiet for my liking too. And he swears he had nothing to do with Wendy’s murder.”

  “Maybe he didn’t.”

  “Get real, Sarah.”

  She’d hoped Phil would soothe her frayed nerves, but, as was so often the case, she was going to have to find words to calm him down.

  “Maybe he didn’t,” she said again. “Max knows the end’s in sight. Three months and he’ll possibly be out. He’s behaved himself while he’s been inside and they always take pity on prisoners who are sick. If he’d wanted revenge on Wendy, which I’m sure he did, he’d have wanted to dish it out himself. It’s the same with those coppers. When he gets out, they’ll need to watch their backs.”

  “And what if, like Wendy, they’re mysteriously killed before he gets out?”

  “It’s not Max’s style. He hates people doing his dirty work for him.”

  “What a fucking mess!”

  Sarah heard the distant
echo of her grandmother’s voice. “All men are trouble, Sarah, love. You mark my words.” How Sarah had laughed. She’d been fifteen or sixteen years old at the time and boys had fascinated her. She’d liked them big and strong, brave and daring. Handsome, too, of course. Trouble? Yes, they’d been trouble. Without exception, the men in her life had brought her nothing but problems.

  Except John. When the midwife had put her beautiful boy in her arms for the first time, Sarah had thought it impossible to feel so much love. She would have died for that little scrap of humanity. Willingly. And nothing had changed.

  Phil drained his glass. “I need to go. It’s late and I still have a load of work to do. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

  “Yes. And I will speak to John. Promise.”

  “Make sure you do.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead, sighed heavily, and left.

  The silence of the house settled around her. She hated it. As a child, she’d been used to a house full of noise and laughter. Laughter or fights. She still hated a quiet house.

  She switched on some music and Janis Joplin’s voice soothed her for a few moments. It didn’t really help, though, so she turned the volume low, grabbed her phone and hit the button.

  John answered almost immediately with a slurred “Hi, Mum.”

  “Hi, darling. Sorry it’s so late, but I needed a chat. You okay?”

  “Sure. You?”

  “Better now.” No matter what problems life decided to throw at her, the sound of John’s voice always made her feel better. She would always have John, no matter what. She’d make sure of that.

  “Anything wrong?”

  “No, nothing’s wrong. I’ve had a busy evening. First, I had dinner with the writer, Bill Williams. That was okay, I suppose, but he seemed a little too interested in you for my liking. Well, interested in your car.”

  “I told you.”

  “I know, darling. I know. It’s fine. Then Phil called round and—”

  “Oh, here we go. Money, money, money.”

  “He’s a bit worried about the business, darling, that’s all. We need to sit down and talk about it, don’t you think? We’re losing too much. We can’t afford it.”

  “I know what I’m doing. This is just short-term. I told you that. We’ll soon be raking it in.”

  “I tried to explain that to him.”

  “I know he means well, and I know he’s been a good friend to us, but his ideas are outdated. Look, I’m shattered. Why don’t I call round in the morning? We’ll have breakfast together, shall we? We can talk then.”

  Sarah felt all the tension leave her. “I can’t think of anything I’d like more.”

  “I’ll do that then. Love you, Mum.”

  “Love you, too. And don’t worry about Phil. Or Max or Lenny. Everything will be fine, darling. I’ll make sure of it.”

  “I’m not worrying. And there’s no need for you to make sure of anything. I told you, I’m sorting it. Leave it to me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Jimmy didn’t take risks so he was never sure what made him follow Lowell into the bar. It was crowded for a Thursday evening, and noisy, so it was unlikely anyone would notice him. He bought himself a drink and sat on a stool at the end of the bar.

  There were two women at a table in the corner. At least, Jimmy believed they were women. Their hands were small and there was no sign of an Adam’s apple on either of them, so he assumed they must be as they appeared. Other than that, the bar was packed with men aged anywhere between twenty and sixty.

  Lowell was at the bar laughing with two men who were ten years younger than him. His companions were dressed casually, but Lowell didn’t look out of place in his business suit.

  Minutes passed and then Jimmy noticed that Lowell was no longer laughing. His two friends wore expressions that were a little menacing. The taller one was leaning in to Lowell’s face as he spoke. Lowell was leaning back, trying to placate them.

  Freddie Mercury’s voice was belting out of the speakers so Jimmy had no idea what was being said. Hell, he couldn’t even hear the conversation between the two men standing next to him.

  He felt uncomfortable in gay bars and usually did his best to avoid them, but Carol and her friends often had a night out in this area. She said women could enjoy themselves without men trying to chat them up. She claimed they could drink, dance and generally have a good time without feeling threatened. Loads of her friends were gay—well, they would be as most of them were in the hairdressing trade.

  Lowell and his two chums walked away from the bar and out toward the back of the building. Jimmy had no idea what was there. Another bar maybe? The toilets?

  He was finishing his drink, thinking maybe they’d left and that it was time he went home, when Lowell’s two companions returned. There was no sign of Lowell.

  The taller of the two was laughing and rubbing his knuckles. They bought more drinks. The shorter man had his hand round the other chap’s waist, his hand wandering lower, as they chatted over their drinks.

  Curious, Jimmy drank up and left the bar as if he were heading to the toilets. Another door was marked Fire Escape. He pushed it open and saw that it led into a narrow alley where crates of empty bottles were stacked.

  At the end of the alley, struggling to his feet, was Lowell.

  Jimmy hesitated. He didn’t like taking risks and this wasn’t part of the plan.

  He chewed on his bottom lip. Plans were made to be changed. Think on your feet, that was what had been drummed into him.

  He wandered over to Lowell. “You okay, mate?”

  Lowell looked up, fear in his eyes and blood dripping from a nasty cut on his face. There was no hint of recognition. Jimmy hadn’t expected any.

  Lowell nodded and managed to get to his feet before slumping back against the wall.

  “I’ve got a van outside,” Jimmy said, proud of how he could think so quickly. “There’s a first aid kit inside. We’ll get you cleaned up, shall we? That’s a nasty cut.”

  “Thank you.” Lowell’s voice was shaky. He looked as if he were about to burst into tears.

  “Come on, put your arm around my shoulders. It’s only round the corner.” He nodded back at the bar. “It would be quicker that way, but I’m guessing you don’t want to meet up with those two again.”

  “Thanks. They thought—I wasn’t—” He tried to walk, but couldn’t put any weight on his left leg. “My ankle. I think it might be broken.”

  Of course it wasn’t broken, for Christ’s sake.

  “Lean on me,” Jimmy said. “We’ll get you to the van, clean you up and give you a minute to get your breath.”

  It took ten minutes to get Lowell to the van. Ten bloody minutes to walk a couple of hundred yards.

  Thankfully, there were few people around and those rushing along the street where Jimmy’s van was parked kept their faces averted. They probably assumed Jimmy was escorting a drunk to safety. They didn’t want to get involved and that suited Jimmy just fine.

  Jimmy unlocked the van and opened the back doors. “Get in here.” He gave Lowell a gentle shove. “No one will see you. We can get that blood off your face and get you a taxi home. Or to the hospital to get that ankle checked out.”

  Unlike Jimmy, Lowell wasn’t thinking on his feet. He wasn’t thinking at all as far as Jimmy could tell. He lunged himself into the back of the van and half sat, half lay against the side of the vehicle.

  “Here’s the first aid kit. See?” Jimmy unhooked the red metal box. It was empty, but he smashed it against the side of Lowell’s head. Again. And again.

  Lowell was out cold. Jimmy tied his wrists behind his back, tied his ankles and covered his mouth with tape. He couldn’t take any chances so he wrapped him in an oily blanket that had been lying in the back of the van when
Jimmy bought it, and tied that around him.

  Deciding Lowell was as safe as was possible, Jimmy climbed out of the back of the van and into the driver’s seat. Going home was an inconvenience but it had to be done. He had no gear with him and he needed to make his excuses to Carol.

  Traffic was stop-start because of endless roadworks and when he eventually got home, he couldn’t get on his driveway. “Shit.”

  His father’s car was parked right in front of the house, leaving no room for Jimmy’s van.

  He’d bet his father had turned up out of the blue. It wouldn’t have crossed his mind to check that a visit would be convenient. He’d know better. He’d know that Jimmy would never find a visit from his father welcome.

  Still cursing, he parked the van on the road and strode into the house.

  His father was sitting with his feet under the kitchen table as if he’d moved in. “Jimmy.”

  Jimmy nodded, but didn’t bother speaking.

  Carol was leaning back against the dishwasher, a cup of tea in her hand.

  “Something’s come up,” he told her. “I’ll be away for the night. The training—Ed’s sick so they’ve asked me to stand in. I couldn’t really say no, could I?”

  “Again?” Carol let out her breath on a long-suffering sigh. “The kids have got sleepovers and I wanted us to go out.”

  “Tomorrow night,” he said. “I’ll be back as soon as I can tomorrow. It looks like you’ve got company anyway.”

  She flashed Jimmy a warning look before turning a sweet smile on his father. “What about it, Dad? Do you fancy a couple of beers down the local? I could do with getting out for an hour.”

  “I’d be delighted, love.”

  “There you are then,” Jimmy said, struggling to keep the temper from his voice. “You’ve got an old man for company. He’ll be able to tell you tales of life on the beat.”

  “Less of the old,” his father tried to joke, but Jimmy ignored him.

  “I’ll throw a change of clothes in a bag.” He raced up the stairs and grabbed a few essentials.

  When he returned to the kitchen, it was obvious from the way the conversation suddenly stopped that they’d been talking about him.