by P. F. Ford
Chapter Five
Miss Goodie was small, and at first glance she appeared fragile-looking, but the spark in her eyes told me not to be fooled by that. She had a sharp mind and could certainly be feisty enough when she needed to be. In her seventies now, she had chosen to live in the retirement home because she was on her own and wanted to be useful. She saw herself as one of the staff and made a point of looking out for many of the less able-bodied residents.
She was a bit suspicious of me at first, but once I had convinced her I wasn’t out to pin the blame on the unfortunate Mr Rooke she began to warm to me.
‘It was all very unpleasant,’ she told me. ‘But that policeman wouldn’t believe him. I knew David Rooke very well. There was no way in the world he could be guilty of such a crime. He was such a kind, sweet man.’
She had become more animated as she spoke, her hands making small fluttering movements rather like a pair of butterflies dancing in the air.
‘The policeman,’ I asked, just to make sure. ‘That was DI Nash?’
‘Oh yes.’ She pulled a face. ‘Ghastly man. And those terrible accusations. David wasn’t guilty, you know, but when you get labelled with suspicions like that...’ She paused as if lost for the right words. ‘It ruined his career. And he lived for teaching...’
The butterfly hands settled in her lap, and she became lost in her thoughts for a moment.
‘That’s what drove him to commit suicide, you know.’ Her voice wobbled as she said it. ‘And it could have been avoided so easily if it hadn’t been for his wife.’
This was something new.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘His wife? How do you mean?’
‘It was all a misunderstanding, you see. David and I were just good friends, but his wife thought it was something more. I could have proved where he was that afternoon, but he wouldn’t hear of it. He didn’t want his wife to know and he didn’t want to get me involved in a scandal. He made me promise, you see. Promise not to tell anyone.’
She was off on another silent reverie, but deep inside me, something was beginning to tingle. I tried to be patient and wait for her to tell me but it was no good. I was going to burst.
‘He made you promise not to tell what, Miss Goodie?’
She looked at me and made a decision. ‘Well, I suppose it can’t hurt now, can it? I mean she’s dead now anyway and there really was nothing wrong.’
The butterflies fluttered from her lap to her face, as she dabbed at her eyes with a tissue.
‘He was with me, you see. When the boy went missing. David was with me, at my house. I had been off sick that day and he came to my house after school to see if I was alright, if I needed anything. He was like that you see, very kind, a real gentleman.’
‘And the police were never told this? He had an alibi and you didn’t tell them?’
‘He wouldn’t let me. I wanted to, but he wouldn’t let me. He said it didn’t matter because he was innocent and that would see that when they caught the...’
Her voice trailed off and her butterfly hands settled to cover her face as the enormity of it all hit her. Then she continued, almost in a whisper.
‘And then, of course, they didn’t catch anyone else, and suddenly it was too late. The damage had been done and it couldn’t be undone.’
It took some time for Miss Goodie to regain her composure, but eventually she managed to get herself back together, apologising profusely for being upset.
She made me promise that I would do my utmost to make the world see that David Rooke had been a good man on a mercy of mission that day and not the bad man Tommy Nash had made him out to be.
I said I would, but I also understood that while the world would now have to remove him from suspicion of abducting Simon Younger, they were unlikely to believe his visit to Miss Goodie’s house had been entirely innocent.
In today’s cynical-thinking world, it was more likely people would point out the fact that the man’s wife had been suspicious, and if it was all so innocent, why not say so before?
‘There’s no smoke without fire,’ they’d say, despite having just accepted the ‘smoke’ of his guilt about abducting the child had been completely without a trace of fire.
By the time I had got back to Tinton, it was early evening. I had collected a protesting Positive Pete on the way into town and we were now on the way to the snooker club, home of would-be gangster Nugent the Nutter. Well, it wasn’t actually his home, but it was where he ran his business, and I knew it was where he and his cronies usually hung out.
Positive Pete detested people like Nugent, and with good reason. Nugent was the nice man who had arranged for me to be beaten up. He later admitted it had been a mistake, but that was as close as I had come to an apology. However, I knew that within his twisted moral code he felt he owed me, and right now I wanted to ask him a couple of questions.
I needed to know about Nasty Nash and how close Nugent and Nash really were.
Chapter Six
I had rather been hoping there wouldn’t be too many people around when we got to Nugent’s club as he does like to play to an audience, but unfortunately, it was not to be. As soon as we walked in, I could hear his voice. Imagine Boycie from Only Fools and Horses and you’ve got it in one. He looked a bit like him too.
‘Well, well, well. If it isn’t Batman and Robin,’ he announced loudly for the benefit of everyone present. ‘Or is it Laurel and Hardy?’
He laughed loudly, a sound not dissimilar to that of a braying donkey. His cronies obediently joined in the laughter.
‘Wanker,’ I heard Pete mutter quietly, as we walked towards the bar.
As usual, two heavies moved forward to block our path, but Nugent was obviously in a benevolent mood tonight.
‘Alright, alright,’ he warned. ‘Let them through. They’re friends of mine.’
This seemed to be news to everyone judging by the faces turned towards us, but who was going to argue? Certainly not us. In fact, it would suit our purposes just fine if he was feeling benevolent towards us.
Nugent met us at the bar. ‘Well, get a drink for my friends,’ he said impatiently to the barman. ‘We’ll be sat over here,’ he added, leading us over to a quiet corner table.
I was rather taken aback by this unexpected level of hospitality. Nugent had a reputation for being both unpredictable and violent – he wasn’t called ‘Nutter’ for nothing – but tonight it seemed he was in a good mood. I wondered how long it would last.
‘So,’ asked Nugent, once the barman had delivered the beers. ‘To what do I owe this pleasure?’ Turning to me he added, ‘Bruises all healed now? Arm okay?’
‘I’m okay, no thanks to you and your thugs,’ I muttered.
‘I was going to send flowers, but it’s not really my style, you know? I don’t want people to think I’m going soft.’
‘How touching. I’m sure you’ve been really beating yourself up about it.’
Nugent shifted uncomfortably. ‘Now look, I’ve told you it was a mistake, and I did apologise.’
‘I don’t actually remember you saying sorry.’
He thought about this for a moment. ‘If you’ve come here thinking I’m going to grovel for your forgiveness, you’ve had a wasted journey.’
‘Actually,’ I said, ‘I’ve come here looking for information.’
He laughed, tapped his nose and gave me a conspiratorial wink. ‘I’ve told you before. Client confidentiality. Data protection act. My lips are sealed. Know what I mean?’
I couldn’t help but smile. The idea of Nugent and the data protection act was laughable.
‘I thought your business was all word-of-mouth and cash up front.’
‘Well, yeah. Of course it is. But discretion is my middle name.’
All this time, Positive Pete hadn’t said a word. He hated this place and these people. He couldn’t understand the violent world they lived in – it made him nervous. And me arguing with Nugent made him even more nervous. Out of th
e corner of my eye, I could see he was getting a little twitchy as his nerves began to take hold.
Nugent had noticed it too. ‘Alright, Granddad,’ he boomed. ‘There’s no need to get nervous. You’re among friends here.’
He liked to poke fun at Pete just because he could. Underneath it all, he was just a bully, plain and simple.
Pete looked around. It was true no one was paying any attention to us, but it was also true that one word from Nugent would bring them all running.
‘Yeah, right,’ he mumbled. ‘That must be why I feel so safe and secure.’
Nugent’s braying laugh filled the room. ‘No, honestly.’ He clapped Pete on the shoulder. ‘You are among friends, especially now I know you and me have something in common.’
Pete looked horrified that Nugent should even consider they might be friends, but Nugent did have a point. He and Pete did have something in common. Pete had been married to Marie, who was my ex-wife’s sister. Recently, Marie had been Nugent’s ‘bit on the side’.
‘It wasn’t quite the same,’ Pete pointed out. ‘It was because of people like you who wanted a bit on the side that I wasted thirty years of my bloody life.’
‘I’ll admit she didn’t make as big a fool out of me as she did you,’ conceded Nugent. ‘But it was a close thing.’ He considered the situation for a few seconds. ‘She’s like a bad accident waiting to happen to someone, that woman. I had a near miss, but you had the head-on collision.’
He patted Pete on the shoulder again. ‘I feel for you, really I do.’
Wow! Was this compassion from the chief thug? Just in case we thought it might be, he added an afterthought.
‘But what a bloody idiot you were to marry her and stay with her for all those years.’
‘Yeah, right,’ said Pete, deflating slightly. ‘Thanks for that. I needed a reminder.’
Happy now he’d spoiled Pete’s day, Nugent turned back to me. ‘While we’re on the subject of the wonderful Marie, I’ve got a bone to pick with you.’
‘Me?’ I said, surprised. ‘Why me?’
‘Because you told me she wouldn’t have the guts to tell my missus about me and her.’
‘What? She really did?’ I was genuinely surprised.
‘She bloody tried.’ Nugent smacked his lips. ‘Fortunately my wife already knew what a scheming liar Marie was so she didn’t believe a word she said.’
‘You jammy bugger.’ It was all I could think of to say.
‘Yes, I can’t deny I was a tad fortunate.’ Nugent smiled. ‘Apparently, my missus heard about the bloke who got battered in error because Marie had dropped him in the shit by telling everyone he was a wife-beater.’
He laughed out loud, and then nudged me in the ribs. ‘Ring any bells? Eh? Eh?’
‘Arsehole,’ I grumbled. He was just rubbing my nose in it. The story he was telling was about me. His thugs had battered me with baseball bats on Marie’s say-so. That was why he had asked about my bruises.
Satisfied he’d now spoiled my day, as well as Pete’s, he sat back in his chair. ‘Well, that’s enough idle gossip about people who would be better off not existing.’ He gave me an enquiring look. ‘So what are you really doing here?’
‘What can you tell me about Detective Inspector Christopher Nash?’
Just for a moment, Nugent’s eyes narrowed. ‘Nasty Nash? What makes you think I can tell you anything about him?’
I sighed in exasperation. ‘Oh come on, Nugent, don’t mess around. It didn’t take a genius to work out. I get my head caved in by your guys and the police don’t think it’s worth following up. He’s your man on the inside, isn’t he?’
You could almost hear Nugent’s brain working as he thought about what I’d just said. Finally, he spoke.
‘It’s not quite like you think, but yes, I’ll admit we do communicate sometimes. What’s it to you anyway?’
‘I had a visit from him. It seems I’ve upset his dad.’
‘Did he threaten you?’ asked Nugent.
‘Does he make a habit of threatening people?’ I laughed.
‘I wouldn’t laugh if I were you,’ warned Nugent. ‘Nasty Nash is not someone you want coming after you. He’s been known to stitch up people in the past.’
‘So, he’s a mate of yours, is he?’
‘No, he bloody well isn’t! He is a two-faced arsehole. It’s just that in my business, where we bend rules sometimes-’ He was interrupted by Pete choking on his beer. He glared pointedly at Pete before carrying on. ‘Where we bend the rules sometimes, it’s worth having something we can use to smooth our path.’ He smiled. ‘Know what I mean?’
‘So you didn’t know he was after me?’
‘How would I have known that? We don’t speak that often. I don’t actually like the man. He’s just useful to know because he has a price.’
This was beginning to confirm my suspicions. When Nash had threatened me earlier, I didn’t think it was likely Nugent’s mob would want to press charges.
‘Remember the night your guys beat me up? He tells me he’s going to charge me with being drunk and disorderly, threatening behaviour, assault – he says he’s got three victims who are willing to press charges.’
‘That’s total bollocks,’ said Nugent, laughing. ‘He’s taking the piss if he thinks any of my lads would co-operate in something like that with him.’
He looked at me. ‘Besides, why would I want to stitch you up like that?’ He reached his arms out to Pete and me. ‘I like you two,’ he said. ‘Honestly, I do.’
Nugent might profess to like us, but he begrudged wasting too much time on us. He knew there was no way he could make any money from us so, in his eyes, he was doing us a big favour sparing us any of his precious time. Now he made it clear our time was up and he now had other, more important, business to attend to. He did invite us to continue enjoying the warm atmosphere of his club, but somehow that didn’t appeal to us so we made it clear we also had other business to attend to.
He left us with a warning. ‘Watch out for Nash. There’s a good reason he’s called ‘Nasty’. And don’t be fooled by his dad. Remember, there’s hell of a lot more of the iceberg hidden beneath the surface.’
Then he tapped the side of his nose and added what seemed to be something of a catch phrase. ‘Know what I mean?’
Pete was often a man of few words, so there wasn’t much conversation on the way back, but he did make me laugh just before he got out of my car.
‘Well, aren’t we the lucky pair?’ he said. ‘Nugent likes us. I’ll try not to get too excited about that.’ Then, as he shut the door, he added in a perfect Nugent voice, ‘Know what I mean?’
As I drove home, I smiled to myself. Yes, I knew exactly what he meant. But I was intrigued by what Nugent had said about Nash’s father, and I wondered just how much of that particular ‘iceberg’ was hidden beneath that particular surface.
Chapter Seven
I woke early next morning after a troubled sleep. Something had been nagging away at me all night but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Perhaps it was the warning Nugent had given us about Tommy Nash and his son.
I wondered if he had told us the truth about his relationship with Nasty Nash. Did Nugent know something about this case that we didn’t? What I wouldn’t give to get my hands on a copy of the police investigation. Even a list of the people they had interviewed would help.
I mulled over the idea of trying to work out the sequence of events for that day, but did we have enough information to make sense of it? Then I realised that sitting around asking myself questions wasn’t going to solve anything either.
Painstakingly, I went over all the material Dry Biro had given me once again. After two hours, I had worked out a ‘sort of’ timeline. I say a ‘sort of’ timeline because there were some gaping holes in it, but at least I felt as if I was getting somewhere.
It had been a quite normal school day. As usual, school had finished at three-thirty and the kids had headed for the bu
s stop to catch the school bus home. All, it seems, except for Simon Younger and the other members of the choir, who had stayed behind for choir practice.
Afterwards, Simon had headed into town on his own to catch the later, regular bus home. It was a journey he made every time they had choir practice, so he knew where he was going, but this time, he’d never made it to the bus station. In fact, there seemed to be no trace of him once he left school.
But at least now we could rule out Mr Rooke as a suspect. He had been with Miss Goodie from around three that afternoon, and, according to her, he hadn’t left her house until five-thirty.
All the other teachers had been accounted for, so it seemed obvious to me that whoever was responsible had been from outside the school. I wondered why Tommy Nash had been so adamant about Mr Rooke. Even without an alibi, he seemed an unlikely suspect.
Of course, it was possible this had been a completely random act and the boy had simply been snatched off the street, but if that was the case, we were never going to get to the bottom of what happened, so I didn’t want to think about that until I’d explored every other possibility.
I thought about who would be in a position to know the kids and perhaps be trusted enough to create an opportunity. Who would maybe see the kids every day? What about the bus driver? I knew DB had made some notes about the bus company. There was a single sheet of paper somewhere. Ah! Here we go.
Hmm. This didn’t look very promising. The bus driver’s movements were accounted for from before three o’clock until after five. Of course they were – he was driving the damned bus with forty kids on board! And anyway, Simon hadn’t caught that bus.
I was just about to throw the paper down in disgust when something caught my eye. The bus driver that day had been a relief driver. Apparently, the regular had been off sick. I wondered where he lived. Had he been at home? I searched through the notes again. That was strange. DB was always pretty thorough, yet he didn’t seem to have any information about the regular driver. Just a name. Brian Mallory.
