A Shot In The Night (John Harper Series Book 2)

by Edward Holmes

  The restaurant she had chosen was small and cosy which provided a very romantic setting. I felt slightly awkward at that but it didn’t surprise me that she would pick such a place. The tables were small and separated from one another to allow for some privacy and the lighting was low and only marginally helped by the flickering candle stuck in an old wine bottle. Strange for myself I arrived early and took a seat at the bar looking around the clientele as I was trained to do. Most people sat in couples and were enjoying the Italian cuisine which I was perusing on the menu when my date arrived.

  Camille was dressed very provocatively in a flowing dark green dress. The cut in the side showed considerable leg and there was a very noticeable plunging neckline. The restaurant wasn’t busy but I caught the envious looks of most of the male patrons as I greeted her and sat down.

  “I appreciate you dressing up for me Camille but you may have gone overboard on that outfit,” I said with a smile.

  “I’ve got a party I have to attend later.”

  I rolled my eyes and shook my head, “And I thought that you were trying to impress me. All business I see.”

  “John if I was dressing up for you it would be something a lot more comfortable,” she replied in a tone that had me struggling to decipher her intent. That is why I struggle with attractive women especially when they flirt; I’m just not used to it.

  “So then what’s good here?” I threw her off with that one as she expected me to get straight to business and we ordered or respective meals and a bottle of wine to share. We chatted amiably about her job which she was still a little sore over and she asked how Harris was and if I was still employing him. I knew he would be flattered that she had remembered him so endeavoured to remember to tell him later. It was only as we were finishing our main courses did the case come back to the fore.

  “So John what are you really doing here?”

  “Trying to enjoy a good meal with an attractive woman.”

  “You know what I mean. I know that you have an office in Manchester and work private investigations. Most of them have been following cheating spouses and the like. I doubt very much that you were just passing through and I doubt very much that an infidelity case is connected to the recent shootings.”

  I had to hand it to her then that the information was good. One of the reasons I liked Camille was that she for her faults was a good journalist. In an era when bloggers and quick response social media meant stories broke within seconds of happening she looked past the usual paper thin topping and found the real interesting pieces. Yes sometimes she went too far and it became stuff that conspiracy theorists would love but on occasion she did find interesting information, “I’m here on a case yes. Unfortunately I can’t tell you what it is due to client privilege but it does involve the recent shootings here.”

  “Might it have to do with the fact that Joey Boulton wasn’t shot and killed by Tommy Harrison?” she said before delicately placing some pasta in her mouth.

  I raised my glass to my lips and sipped, delaying my response. I had to stop myself showing any signs that she was right but I could tell from the look in her eyes she already knew, “How do you figure that then?”

  Camille smiled at that, “Keeping your cards close to your chest doesn’t make you a good poker player, John. Tommy Harrison is taking the fall for someone in his organisation or so he thinks. If he gains the credibility that he killed someone all the better in his eyes but the Boulton shooting and the more recent ones are the sign of something else.”

  “And you think serial killer?”

  “I think it maybe the work of a trained assassin.”

  Luckily I wasn’t drinking or eating at the time or it may have ruined the ambience if I had spluttered all over her, “Really? We’re going down that route?”

  “It makes sense.”

  “And I think you’ve gone off your rocker again. Why would anyone be paying for a killer to shoot street level gang members?”

  “Ah that’s where it gets interesting; I think it is all related to Big Saul.”

  I raised my eyebrows hoping to just lift the left one since it was something I had been practising but I failed, “And who pray tell is this Big Saul?”

  Camille flashed that heartstopping smile of hers, “See this is what I like having such an intelligent man guessing. You should read my blog more often. Big Saul is the new drug kingpin of Liverpool and he is expanding his operation around the country.”

  “Sounds like some sort of urban legend. You don’t get that sort of organised distributor anymore.”

  “Well this guy is turning back the clock. As far as I have been able to find out he has routes in from all over the world for all different types of drugs. He’s supplying most of the gangs now even if they don’t directly know it,” she delivered the information with such confidence it was hard not to believe her.

  “Ok say I believe there is this drug kingpin who is raking the dosh in. Why would he want to disrupt his own money making empire and increase the threat of the police cracking down on him by bumping off his own men?”

  That question stopped her midflow, “That’s where I get stumped by all of this. My only thought is that maybe it is to create a fiercer competition between the gangs so they increase their output for him. You know like they do with technology companies.”

  “Really, you are actually creating this delusional conspiracy? It doesn’t make sense to me. Also that sounds like a really bad novel idea.”

  “But you agree that there is something wrong with the Boulton shooting.”

  “Yes I do but I don’t think it was some murky assassin waiting in the shadows for his target. There’s more to it than that but your Saul story has crossed that fine line towards unbelievability,” I said shaking my head at the thought. It was a bit of a show considering it wasn’t the first time I had heard that name now but it did seem farfetched to me.

  Nodding ever so slightly she replied, “Why do you think he didn’t do it then?”

  “Why do you think this Saul fella is involved in this?”

  “I’ve got a source that knows the area and the people. He alluded to the fact that a lot of the local youth had fallen under the influence of Saul. He also suggested that he knew that the Boulton shooting wasn’t carried out by Morrison at all.”

  That was the best thing I had heard all day. Someone else confirming my suspicions and if he had some sort of proof I could solve the case and tell Sheila the good news, “And I don’t suppose you would be willing to tell me who this source is?”

  “I’ve shown you mine you show me yours, so to speak. You said that you knew it wasn’t Morrison or is that just because it is the best thing for you in relation to your case?”

  She caught me again and it was infuriating, “I’ll admit that I know for sure that it wasn’t committed by Morrison in the way he has confessed.”

  “You’ll need to give me more than that if you want my source.”

  “Ok I’ll tell you what I know, if you promise me that you keep this off the blog for the time being.”

  The choice was difficult for her to make, I could see that in her eyes, but she made the right decision, “I’ll give you two days before I post it, unless I hear it from another source. When I do release the information I’ll be saying a security expert told me since that is what you are. Is that fair?”

  “It’s the best I’m going to get for the source isn’t it?”

  Nodding she answered, “See, you are learning.”

  “The shot that killed him was from, in my expert opinion as someone in the security business, a rifle not a pistol. To hit someone’s head from that range it would be utter fluke to think anyone with a pistol could do it.”

  “Maybe it just was a fluke.”

  Shaking my head I told her, “No, that round penetrated with enough force to suggest it was a higher calibre than found in that gun they have Morrison on. I’ve also been to the crime scene and found that someone has been there and re
moved the bullet that killed Boulton.”

  “How do you know it wasn’t the scene of crime officers?”

  “I don’t for sure but I can find out. There has also been no information released about it either which suggests that the police didn’t find it because it was removed before they got there or it was overlooked,” I said leaning back in my chair and finishing my glass. Camille had already told me that she didn’t want a dessert and I rarely ordered one myself so signalled for the cheque.

  The journalist sat there and bit her lower lip, “Are you sure about this rifle thing? Because if you are then it gives my assassin theory more weight doesn’t it?”

  “I still think you are barking up the wrong tree with that one, but a rifle does suggest that there was some thought and some skill in this killing. At the moment I don’t have any reason to suspect that the double shooting the other night is anything but a revenge hit. You said there had been other shootings recently but a trained killer wouldn’t miss would he?”

  She nodded once and still biting her lip Camille closed her eyes before saying, “His name is Max Fraser. That’s the guy who told me about Saul. He runs a gym on the border of the warring gangs. He’s an old school bruiser but he has true affection for the area and the youth there. I said there were shootings before this because there had been an attempt on his life and some of boys leaving his gym.”

  “I don’t suppose they reported it to the police.”

  “Let’s put it this way, Fraser isn’t exactly the biggest fan of the police and you could say they aren’t the biggest fan of him.”

  “Guess it will be fun speaking to him then,” I said standing up as she picked up the bill.

  “John be careful going in there. You might not be on the force anymore but that will mean little to them,” she said with real concern in her voice.

  I smiled and put on my jacket, “I’ll be on my best behaviour.”

  “Oh and John I cannot believe you are making me pay for dinner.”

  “We’re even for now sweetheart. If you want me to pay you’ll have to ask me out on a date.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  I woke with a thumping headache at seven in the morning the next day. Red wine tended to do that to me but it was a price I took when going for a nice meal with an attractive woman without paying. I decided against wearing a suit instead picking out a blue polo shirt and durable fleece to go with my blue jeans and thin boots. My outfit from the night before hung on hanger by the door next to the full length mirror. It smelt faintly of Camille’s perfume which was another reason not to be wearing it when I went to a gym.

  It didn’t take long to search for the Fraser’s Gym and it was only a short drive since I was going away from the rush hour traffic. The gym itself was part of a small row of shops, which reminded me of Hollingswood; however these shops were for the majority in a bad state of repair compared to that village. Graffiti covered shutters and faded signs indicated which of the stores had fallen on hard times and yet there where shops open which retained the metal barriers for protection. A convenience store, two takeaways, one a fish and chip shop the other a Chinese, stood next to a bookmakers that was tiny and had a door more reinforced than a bank vault. That bookmaker by pure chance was part of the same independent firm that I had made my small fortune with during the summer. Considering how much they had messed me around over payment I was going to enjoy taking them to the cleaners later in the week.

  The gym had no large windows in need of shutters but had small open rectangular ones that were self contained in metal cages. The double doors were painted black and one was open allowing the cool winter air inside. The closer I got the more prominent the smell of liniment oil wafted out. The walls were painted a white that had yellowed in the sun with a black lining. Once I got close I could see at least five holes that had been filled and then painted with a much brighter white paint or black when they got closer to the door. It was the evidence of the failed attack Camille told me about.

  I pushed open the door and was greeted to the sounds of a proper boxing gym but it wasn’t just confined to the pugilist sport with mats and padding for other martial arts. Walking in I saw people practicing kicks and punches as part of a class. Others worked bags or did pad work together, the loner skipping rope or shadow boxing in front of the wall length mirrors in the left hand corner. In the right corner a full sized ring which was not in use. It reminded me of when I grew up watching my dad in the gym, one of the few memories I did have of him.

  My observations were fast but as soon as I walked in everyone noticed me. Some stopped what they were doing, the majority just moved so I was in their line of sight and two of the fighters walked away and out of the room. It was going to be a tough sell to get anything out of anyone in there but I had to try, since a witness would be the best thing for Tommy Morrison.

  Considering I stuck out like a sore thumb it wasn’t long till someone came over and from the faded poster on the wall and the fact he was flanked by the two meatheads that had gone out of the room it was Max Fraser himself. He was not even close to six foot with short grey hair and not an ounce of fat on his body; I could smell the stale tobacco on him over the other aromas in the gym as he approached me. Grey eyes that bordered on a pale blue studied me quickly as if picking my weaknesses and judging my strengths. It was strange to be on the other end of a frank assessment like that since it was usually me delivering it but I’d been in this sort of situation before.

  “Who are you and what the hell doing in my gym?” Fraser said in an accent that contained some Scottish and some Scouse but was still rather intelligible.

  “I’m John Harper and I’m here to see if I could have a moment of your time Mr Fraser,” I said offering my hand.

  Fraser didn’t shake it but stood there with his arms folded in his faded blue jogging top that was so old the lettering of the brand had fallen off and now just showed its presence in the form of darker material, “I don’t know you and you ain’t from round here so I have no time for you. How about you just turn around and leave and you won’t get hurt.”

  “I wish I could sir but this is important.”

  “Are you a copper?”

  “No,” it was technically true.

  He took a step closer to me within my personal space and looked up at me, “You smell like a pig to me.”

  “I should buy better deodorant then.”

  “Funny man. You’re also brave coming in here or maybe it is just stupidity. Maybe you don’t know who I am. I built this gym from the ground up. When riots happened all I had to do was stand outside here and not a man came close, you got more sanctuary in here then you would have if you had gone to church. So I don’t speak to anyone I don’t want to and you’re lucky I have kids in here at the moment or I’d be tearing you a new one,” he said in a low tone that was extremely intimidating.

  Now aware that I should watch my language more than ever I smiled and tried to act more confident than I felt, “Unfortunately this is in regards to a young man’s life so I kind of need to talk to you.”

  Fraser stared at me with narrowed eyes, “Tell me what you want to know and then I’ll decide what the price will be.”

  “I want to know what you know about the Boulton shooting. Directly I want to help make sure that Tommy Morrison doesn’t go to prison for a murder he didn’t commit.”

  He rubbed his jaw line for a moment, “You last three rounds in the ring and I’ll answer your questions. When you lose I’ll ring you an ambulance and you don’t come back. That sound fair?”

  “Guess that is how we are going to sort this,” I said my confidence returning as I looked at the smaller man. I could tell the years of fighting had taken their toll on him the way he held his hands suggested pretty severe arthritis and I had range, speed and relative youth on my side, “So when do we start?”

  “You start when my boy Micky gets back from his run. Ha ha ha you didn’t think our deal was to fight an old man like me
was it copper. No, you get to fight the pride of Fraser’s Gym.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The glee in Fraser’s voice as he said those words did little to prepare me for the sight of his champion. The lad was only a couple of inches taller than his trainer but was barely in his twenties. His shoulders looked pure muscle and when he stripped off his sweat soaked shirt I was astounded at the definition. I’d never seen someone that fit in real life and I’d been in the police, served with the army and met a number of security agents in my time. He was tanned with a darkness of skin that showed some of the melting pot of cultures and diversity that Liverpool was famous for. His hair was mere stubble and his eyes had the same searching look that Fraser had but keener and in brown.

  I expected him to question who this old fella wearing jeans and boots was considering he was supposed to fight me but he merely nodded when Fraser told him to get ready. I on the other hand did have something to say, “Mr Fraser I don’t have any gear with me surely you don’t want me going in your ring wearing this gear.”

  “No, you’re right, I’ll get you a pair of our fighting shorts; you can wear them, that’s all you need,” he said not even bothering to hide the delight in his voice at the prospect of me getting battered to a bloody pulp.

  “What, you want me to wear my boots in there?” I asked pointing at the ring with my thumb.

  “Oh no I don’t you won’t be wearing any boots of any kind, Micky is a Muay Thai kickboxer and he needs the practice,” Fraser said again laughing afterwards.

  I’m not too keen on surprises and the thought of getting in the ring with Micky was petrifying. At a loss I was escorted to one side by one of the trainers and a wizened old man took me to one side as I stripped down to my boxer shorts. He was hunched over and his face was lined with age and scars from a fight career, “You’re a brave man getting in the ring with our boy.”