The Reluctant Samaritan

by Brian Peters

  “Oh but we have. And we’ve found a match!”

  She walked over to the printer and winked at Lambert who raised his eyebrows but didn’t dare smile. She extracted a sheet of paper and handed it to Currie. He studied it and looked up at Lambert. “Come on Lambert, we’ve got work to do.” He turned and blew a kiss to Monica Campbell and headed back to his office.

  A couple of hours later, Currie called Lambert into his office.

  “Eric Sandling. Ring any bells, Lambert?”

  “No sir, don’t think so. Should it?”

  “Oh yes. A nasty little thug. I’ve just been looking up his record. He’s done time twice before, in Northern Ireland. He was convicted of terrorist activities and was linked to a man named Arland Kennet at the time. After his release from his second spell in jail he came back over here. Kennet preceded him by a couple of years and set up a trucking business in Basildon. You and I are going to pay Mr Sandling a visit, Lambert. But we better get ourselves some lunch first. His last address was in Basildon. Coincidence? Come on!”

  “Basildon? That’s not on our patch, boss. It’s fifty miles away! Let Essex deal with it.”

  “The crime was committed here, Lambert, so it’s up to us to solve it, right? Now let’s get on with it. You can drive.”

  “But what about our trip to Germany, sir?”

  “It’ll have to wait until we clear up this Sandling business. It looks as if Lomax will be in hospital for a few more days yet.”

  He handed the sheet of paper with Sandlings record on to Lambert and they headed out to the car park.

  They stopped at a service station and grabbed a coffee and sandwiches and headed into Basildon, eating the sandwiches on the way. The address was on a rundown estate. The house looked unkempt, the front garden overgrown and dirty net curtains hung up at the windows. Lambert knocked on the door. Loud music was playing inside. No one came. He knocked louder and kept knocking. They heard a shrill woman’s voice shout: “Turn that bloody thing down, will ya!”

  The door opened a few inches; a woman in her thirties appeared, wearing a dirty apron and a frown to match.

  “Whadda ya want?”

  “Eric Sandling in, is he?” asked Lambert, both men showing their police badges.

  “Gawd, woss ‘e done nah?” A child of about three came to the door and clung to his mother’s leg.

  “Is he in, madam?”

  “In? ‘E’s never bleedin’ in. I dunno where ‘e is. ‘Ent bin ‘ome for day’s. Gone up the smoke, went last week on some business, ’e said. More likely got a bird up there.”

  “Has he got a mobile, Mrs Sandling? Can you give us a number where we could reach him?”

  “I ain’t ‘is bleedin’ wife, mate, I’m ‘is sister. And no, I ain’t got no number. Now I’ve got this kid to feed, so if yer don’t mind, I’d like to get on, OK?”

  She slammed the door. Lambert was about to knock hard when Currie stopped him.

  “We’re wasting our time, Lambert. Leave it. No telling when or if he’ll be back. We’ll give the local police a call.”

  Lambert wasn’t happy. He went round to the back of the house and peered through the kitchen window. The kitchen table was set for three. Currie had gone out to the car. Lambert got in beside him. “Table set for three, sir. He could be there. She did say ‘the kid’ not the kids, didn’t she?”

  “Yes she did, didn’t she. Well done, Lambert, you’re not as daft as you look. We’ll drive away. They’re probably watching.”

  Sandling came down from the landing where he had been listening to the conversation.

  “Well done, Josie! What did they want, did they say?”

  “Dunno, do I. What ‘ave you bin up to then, eh Eric?”

  “Nothing they could know about. They’ll be back, I know they will. Look, I better go over to Mikey’s and stay there for a bit just in case. I’ll give you a bell later.” He went up to his bedroom, collected an overnight bag, packed it, opened the front door a crack and peered up and down the road. Satisfied that the car had gone he left. He walked down to end of the road while phoning Mikey on his mobile. “Hi Mikey, Topper. Can you put me up for a couple’a nights mate? I got – “ Lambert took hold of one arm, Currie the other.

  “We want to talk to you, Mr. Sandling. Is that an overnight bag you’ve got there? How very clairvoyant of you. You’ll be needing that.”

  Lambert snatched the phone from him and they marched him to the car, handcuffing him on the way. Sandling’s mind was racing, going over his recent dealings and wondering what it was that these two had discovered, if anything.

  ”So where are you taking me then?”

  “To sunny Suffolk my son. We have something we’d like you to clear up for us. Shouldn’t take too long.”

  Sandling’s heart began to beat faster. The only thing he’d done in Suffolk was for Arland Kennet. Surely they couldn’t have discovered anything about that. He’d been meticulous. On the journey to Martlesham he went over every detail of that day in his mind over and over again and was still baffled.

  Currie left Sandling in an interview room to reflect on his situation while Lambert got to work gaining information from Sandling’s mobile phone.

  “Lots of numbers, none local though. I’ve got one of the lads going through them, could take a while though.”

  “Well done, Lambert. A warrant’s been issued and the Essex lot are going to search his sister’s house. She doesn’t know that we’ve got him yet, hopefully. Looks as if we’ll have to keep him overnight. Not much we can do until Essex gets back to us. Keep working on those mobile numbers.”

  It was around seven that evening when a voicemail was left on Sandling’s mobile. It was from Arland Kennet, asking where the hell he was, and if he wanted the rest of his money, he better ring back immediately. Lambert was lucky that he was still working late, but nobody else was, so there wasn’t much he could do until the next morning. He didn’t know whom the call was from, so he rang the number back. Kennet answered, recognising Sandling’s caller number. Before Lambert could speak, Kennet said irritably, “Where the hell have you been, Topper! I’ve got another job for you and if you want paying for the last one, you better get over here….Topper? Topper? Are you drunk again, you old soak?”

  Lambert didn’t answer but hung up and said to no one but himself: ‘Well, Mr. Whoever You Are, you might well be a promising lead. We’ll see tomorrow morning, shall we?’

  As soon as Currie got into the office the next day, Lambert was knocking on his door. “Morning, sir.” Lambert looked exaggeratedly at his watch and smiled at his boss. “Alright, Lambert. I had a late night worrying about this case. You’ve been here all night I suppose?”

  “No, just since six. I’ve identified a call to Sandlings mobile, received it last night just as I was leaving. I traced the call back to – guess who? - that man named Arland Kennet. He was asking why Sandling, or Topper as he called him, hadn’t phoned him and that he had another job for him. And that Sandling was owed a payment.”

  “Well well! And? Where is this leading to, Lambert?”

  “I’ve run Kennet’s name through the computer again. No convictions, but he was suspected of being a member of the IRA a few years ago, as you said. Maybe he’s involved somehow. Do you want me to follow it up, boss?”

  “I know all about Kennet, Lambert, we discussed it the other day, remember? You’ve got a memory like sieve. Anyway, do it, it might fetch up something new.”

  As Lambert was about to leave, Currie said: “Good work . Do we know where Kennet hangs out?”

  “Not yet, I’ve got someone working on it though. Should have some info in about an hour.”

  Currie tapped his pencil on the desk and looked hard at Lambert.

  “OK, away you go then.”

  When the information did come through it surprised them both. Arland Kennet was the managing director of a food distribution company based in Southend tha
t collected and delivered frozen poultry to supermarkets. He lived near Sudbury, a small village called Bulmer Tye.

  “So his business is not far from Sandlings place at Basildon then,” remarked Lambert. “Do we go and see him?”

  “Not yet Lambert. Let’s get to work on Sandling first. He’s had long enough to sweat I think.”

  Currie had Sandling brought from the cell to the interview room. Lambert entered with him. Sandling stood up and said: “What’s goin’ on guv’ner? You can’t keep me ‘ere without charging me. I want to phone my lawyer, now.”

  “Yes, sorry about that Mr. Sandling. We just want to ask you a few questions at the moment, and then perhaps we may let you go. That’s if you can give us the right answers, of course. Lambert?”

  “Do you know a man named Arland Kennet, Sandling?”

  Sandling hesitated before answering. ”Why should I?”

  “Because he phoned your mobile last night and seemed to know you. He called you Topper?”

  Sandling hesitated again, looking from one to the other as he gathered what little wits he possessed.

  “He must have got the wrong number then. Plain enough, ennit?”

  “Yes, that’s plausible I suppose. OK Mr. Sandling, I think we owe you an apology. I’m very sorry, but we’ve obviously been given false information.”

  Sandling stood up and glared at them, more confident now. “’Ow am I going to get ‘ome then? Are you goin’ to reimburse me for the trouble you’ve caused me?”

  “I’ll do better than that Mr. Sandling. I’ll have you chauffeur driven home, how’s that?” said Currie, smiling. “Come on, I’m sure you don’t want to be kept here longer than necessary.”

  Sandling remained silent in the back seat of Lambert’s car on the journey back to Essex. Currie had a folder of information that he read for most of the way. They passed the turning to Basildon on the A127 and headed on towards Southend. Sandling suddenly leaned forward and poked Lambert on the shoulder. “Hey, you should’ve turned off back there”. Lambert said: “We just have a call to make before we take you home Mr. Sandling. It won’t take long.” Sandling was really nervous now.

  The car pulled into the yard of Kennet’s business premises. Currie was out of the car almost before it stopped and opened the passenger door. “Come with us Mr. Sandling, I’d like you to meet someone.”

  Sandling was visibly frightened and bewildered. The receptionist buzzed Kennet and announced that a Mr. Sandling had arrived to see him. She had been briefed as to what to say by Currie after explaining that they were police officers.

  They heard Kennet say into the intercom “About bloody time. Send him up.”

  Ascending the stairs Sandling was becoming agitated and trying to hold back but Lambert had a firm hold on him. Kennet’s face was a picture of bafflement when the three men entered.

  “Friends of yours, Topper?” he asked.

  Currie showed his police badge.

  “Not exactly Mr. Kennet. We just wanted to confirm that you know this man and you obviously do. Now we want to know how you know him and for what do you owe him money?”

  Kennet hesitated, looking hard at Currie, then at Lambert, trying to weigh up the seriousness of the matter. He said: “Yes, of course I know Eric. He works for me occasionally. I have some wages for him. Is that a problem?”

  Before Currie could answer, Kennet left his desk and said: “Now gentlemen, can I get coffee for you while we sort this out?” He opened the door to an adjoining office and asked his secretary to come in.

  “Well Mr Currie? Milk and sugar? You Mr Lambert?”

  “That’s fine for both of us, thank you. Could you tell me what you were doing on the evening of the 22nd August Mr Kennet?”

  Kennet smiled and said: “I really have no idea. Let me look at my diary.” He opened the desk diary in front of him and turned to the relevant page. “Ah yes, I was entertaining a business colleague of mine at an Indian restaurant in town. We were there quite late I remember; at least until midnight. Then I went home. I have his number somewhere, would you like to confirm it with him?”

  “Yes I would, thank you.” Kennet wrote it down and handed it to Currie.

  “Now perhaps you would like to tell me where you were on the same evening, Mr Sandling.”

  Sandling moved uneasily on his chair. “I ‘ain’t no idea. I’d ‘ave to think about it.”

  “Come on Mr Sandling it’s only a few days ago. Think hard now.”

  Kennet got up again from his desk. “Now look here gentlemen, I’ve answered all your questions and I don’t really see why you should be using my office to interrogate this man. I’m very busy, so I’d be grateful if you would carry out whatever it is you’re investigating on your own premises, so I would.”

  He walked to the door and held it open for them. Lambert looked at Currie and Currie nodded. “Come on Sandling. And thank you for your cooperation Mr Kennet. We may want to talk to you again though.”

  Just then the secretary came in with a tray of coffee’s and some biscuits.

  “I don’t think our visitors will be staying after all, Miss Fisher. Goodbye, gentlemen.” He shut the door behind them, sighed, shook his head and sat down heavily on his chair. He picked up the phone and dialled Seifert’s number. Seifert’s secretary put him through. “Seifert, we may have a problem. The police have been here today with the man who carried out the Menken job. I think they may be on to something.”

  There was a long pause. “Kennet, I do hope for your sake that you are wrong. I do not suffer fools gladly. If there is the slightest chance that this is traced back to me…then it will be on your head. Deal with it. And quickly.” Seifert hung up, leaving Kennet holding the phone. He was beginning to feel ill.

  ****

  “Well Mr Sandling, have you thought about where you were on the 22nd?”

  “Ah yes, I was at ‘ome. I remember I fell asleep in front of the tele.”

  Currie didn’t speak but looked at Lambert and smiled. When they had driven some way Currie said: “By the way, Kennet still didn’t give you your wages Mr Sandling, did he? Oh well, too late to go back for them now. And we’re taking you to Martlesham now for more questioning.”

  Sandling sat bolt upright in the back of the car, “Now just ‘old on a minute! What about my sister, she’ll be worried where I am.”

  “You can ring your sister and tell her that you may not be home for some time.”

  They pulled into the police station in Martlesham, took Sandling into an interview room and left him there for half an hour. When Currie finally entered the room, Sandling was pacing up and down. “I want to know woss goin’ on,” he said.

  “Well I’ll tell you what’s going on, Sandling. Your fingerprints were found at the crime scene of a murder. The murder of a man found in a car in Monks Eleigh on the morning of the 23rd August. Now perhaps you can tell me how they got there?”

  Sandling sat down and turned white. He put his head in his hands.

  “I think you need to phone your lawyer now, if you have one. And your sister,” said Currie.

  When they had exited the interview room, Currie said to Lambert: “I’m going to phone Frumholz right now and tell him that we have a suspect for the murder of his man. I still think Lomax is involved somewhere along the line, though. We need to get to him and his wife even if it means flying to Germany to do it. We haven’t heard from this man Kohler so I want this case tied up tight, it’s taken up far too much of our time.”

  They charged Sandling and were on their way to the airport an hour or so later bound for Düsseldorf.

  CHAPTER 10

  Luke was gently shaken from his sleep. He had no idea what time it was, he had lost all track of time since he’d been in the hospital. He knew that he must have been in there for three or four days but he wasn’t certain. His head was aching and his body told him that he was overdue for some more painkillers. He didn’t recognise the m
ale nurse looking down at him.

  “We have to move you I’m afraid Herr Lomax. Can you get dressed? Do you want someone to help you?” Luke tried to gather his thoughts, wiping the sleep from his eyes and sitting up in the bed. “Am I being discharged?” he asked. “Yes, Herr Kohler has requested it and the doctor has approved it. There is a car waiting. No need to hurry, Herr Lomax, you are still a little weak.”

  Luke retrieved his clothes from the cabinet beside his bed and dressed very slowly with some help. Luke studied the nurse. He was nervous about being taken out of the hospital so unexpectedly. Kohler had warned that he was still in danger. The nurse helped him to stand up. He felt giddy immediately and he was surprised at how the strength seemed to have gone from his legs. The nurse fetched him a crutch to ease the strain of walking. The policeman who had been guarding the door to the private ward supported his free arm. They made their way slowly to the doors to the car park; every step jarred his broken ribs and caused him to wince. He was met by a pretty young woman who greeted him warmly once outside. Luke had no idea who she was. She smiled at him and took his arm. “It’s alright Herr Lomax. Sabine Szabo, I’m a friend of Herr Kohler. I’m taking you to see your wife, Asil. Come, we haven’t far to go.”

  The nurse and the policeman helped get him into the car. Once he was settled into the front passenger seat, Sabine patted him on the knee and said: ”Herr Kohler couldn’t come himself, he will be with us later tonight. Asil doesn’t know that I am bringing you to the house. It will be a big surprise for her to see you!” Luke was still suspicious.

  Sabine opened the door to the apartment and called: “Asil! Someone to see you!” Asil emerged from the kitchen wiping her hands on a towel. When she saw Luke she squealed, dropped the towel, ran to him and hugged him, tears of joy springing into her eyes. Luke cried out in pain. She pushed him gently away to arms length and only then realised how poorly he looked. Luke smiled wanly and said: “Sorry, my ribs….” Sabine helped him to an armchair and the two girls sat one on each arm while Luke, overcome, did his best to smile through the pain. Sabine disappeared into the kitchen to allow the two of them to have a cuddle and catch up with each other’s news.