Weekend in Weighton Final Amazon version 12-12-12

by Weekend in Weighton (mobi)

  ‘She told you, then?’

  ‘Yes. I begged her not to do it.’

  His eyes darted to the side as he spoke. A giveaway, even for a politician.

  I sat back and softened my tone. ‘She hired me anyway. And at the moment I’m the only guy you can trust. I know that’s like a major bummer for you. Karma’s not all sweet, yeah? But you want to know why you should trust me?’

  He nodded, resigned.

  ‘Because we’re the only chumps in the frame for this. And we both know we didn’t do it.’

  Clegg’s eyes seemed to regain focus. ‘You mentioned Jimmy Cartwright before. How’s he involved?’

  The Mayor showed himself to be a good switch hitter.

  I bit my lip. ‘I can’t tell you that.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Well, truth to tell, I haven’t figured that part out yet. But trust me, he don’t just got one log floating in this sewer. It’s a whole rotting raft.’

  Clegg closed his eyes and stayed motionless for several seconds while I waited. Then he slowly opened them.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Greene, I can’t help you.’ He tried a benevolent smile, as close to an apology as he might get. ‘I think we should both let the police handle it.’

  ‘The police? You mean Jimmy’s reserve team?’

  What sounded almost like a laugh popped out from Clegg. ‘Give me some credit. You don’t think I know?’

  ‘Sure you do, Mayor. But I don’t see you doing much about it.’

  ‘Please. Go home and let my police deal with it. You talk about trust … why don’t you trust me. There’s nothing you can do. This is out of your league.’ Clegg picked up the phoney calling card and handed it back to me. ‘Take this. You never know when you might need it.’

  I re-pocketed Mike’s card and stood to go. Then I took out one of my own and flicked it onto his desk.

  ‘When you need a plan “B”,’ I said, ‘call me.’

  ~

  I left the Town Hall by the side entrance and gave the near and far horizons a good once over. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary, and everybody appeared to be going about their business as usual. I doubled back to the rear of the building, heading for the steps down to the river by the Old Bridge. On the top step I sat and made the call.

  She answered on the third ring. ‘Hello. Kate Connolly.’ The buttery tones simply oozed through the phone.

  ‘Is that Moss, Campbell, Schiffer and McPherson?’

  She paused. I could hear the smile. ‘Maybe. Is that “Nice-Guy-But-No-Show” Eddie?’

  ‘Yeah. Get over it.’

  ‘Like you did, hey.’

  Ouch! From the recoil I lifted my head and did a quick three sixty; all quiet on the Weighton front.

  I tried to picture Kate sat in the café on her own. ‘How long did you wait?’

  ‘Long enough, hot shot.’

  ‘Doesn’t mean we’re even.’

  ‘Really? What will that take?’

  ‘Dunno. I’ll think of something.’

  She made a puffing noise like she didn’t believe me.

  I took another long look around. I’m not saying I was paranoid or anything, but you can’t be too careful.

  ‘Ed?’

  ‘Yup?’

  ‘Remember cherry blossoms in the market square?’

  ‘You thought it was confetti in my hair.’

  I heard her laugh and almost forgot about everything else.

  ‘Listen,’ I said, my voice quieter. ‘I’m sorry about yesterday. Would you believe me if I said I was abducted by hoodlums?’

  ‘Not aliens, then?’

  ‘Hard to tell.’ Friend Tommy was clearly from Planet Zarg.

  ‘I’m inclined to believe you,’ she said. ‘I’m hearing all sorts. Weighton’s overnight star-attraction, dontcha know?’

  ‘Told you I’d be big time.’

  ‘And you weren’t wrong. So this a social call? Or are you looking for representation.’ Her tone changed on the last word.

  ‘I love it when you talk legal.’

  ‘I’m billed at ninety pounds an hour, in case you’re wondering.’

  ‘Ohhhh yeah, right there baby, don’t stop …’

  ‘If it isn’t social, I have to turn on the meter.’

  I gave a low whistle. ‘Who’s big time now?’

  A noise from behind made me glance over my shoulder, but it was only Clegg’s PA coming through the Town Hall doors. I wondered if she’d been sent to find me, but she sauntered by without looking.

  ‘It would be a coup to get you as a client,’ Kate was saying. ‘You are quite the zeitgeist. Weighton’s first big murder trial and all that.’

  ‘We not making a plea, then?’

  ‘We could run an insanity defence. Lots of scope there.’

  I let a deliberate pause play out. ‘Are you playing with your hair?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Just curious.’

  ‘Yes, seeing as you ask. Big fees are always a turn-on.’

  I’d been in one place too long. It was time to wrap. I stood and took in another panoramic view.

  ‘What time you finish work, Kate?’

  ‘Six. Is this to discuss your case?’

  ‘No. I thought we could look at shooting stars in the park.’

  ‘Wonderful. And then we talk about the case, yes?’

  I started down the steps; thirty eight to go.

  ‘Do you remember, Kate?’

  ‘I remember. Is it too late to say I’m sorry?’

  I felt a terrible, stinging pain. ‘Not for me.’

  ‘I’ll be in the Punchbowl.’

  ‘Likewise.’

  I put my phone away and was about to head for Bolton Street, off the Old Bridge, when all my Cherokee sensors went off at once. I had barely enough time to assume the crash position before a huge hammer fist struck my ribcage. Two lungs worth of air said a hasty goodbye, and I dropped to one knee, severely winded. Mini shooting stars flickered in front of my eyes, and the stark outline of the Town Hall seemed to waver over me, yo-yoing on the horizon. I tried to keep my balance. What I wouldn’t have forsaken, right then, for a whiff of fresh air. I gasped desperately through the pain, blackness soiling my eyes.

  When I looked up, the light began to win through, but I wish I hadn’t bothered. Only Tommy’s snarling gnashers were there to greet me. I preferred the darkness.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Friday – 14:55

  Huddled in the front seat of the rep’s silver Mondeo, myriad pains began aggregating to a warm throb. I still had the shakes from my Forley Forest excursion.

  To drag my mind off its beaten track, I thought about the case. Jimmy had gone ballistic about my communion with Mayor Clegg, but he’d shown no trace of surprise that I’d gone to see him. More like pique in case I’d found something out. Going through a mock-shock execution in the forest was one hell of a “warning off”. Then again, judging by the side-splitting laughs, maybe that bit had just been for kicks.

  Jimmy’s lack of surprise about my visit to the Mayor did prove one thing: he knew about the dalliance between Clegg and Porson. All the same, I couldn’t see Cartwright behind the extortion gig. That was minor league stuff, and Jimmy Kingpin was strictly big time. So where did Jimmy fit in?

  The only angle I could figure was that Jimmy needed to play Clegg. He was using the blackmail scam as a cover story. So come the great day he’d have Clegg right where he wanted him: on the payroll along with the rest of Weighton plc.

  If the original case was now marked “solved”, thanks to the mercurial insights of the amazing Eddie G, it left a bigger intrigue wide open. Who did kill Mrs P? If my analysis was correct, it kinda took Jimmy C out of frame. She was far more useful alive and adulterating than unbecoming and dead. Unless, that is, Jimmy had been trying to frame Clegg? In which case it didn’t look like such a great job. Getting his boys at “Police Academy” assigned to the case and planting fabbed evidence all over the sho
w would have been easy. Clegg would have been in the penthouse custody suite by Thursday lunchtime. Plus, motive wasn’t in it. The Post, meantime, would be in headline heaven, ditching its “Ian Starr Ate My Ham Toastie” by-line for an altogether more lucrative, “Mayor Kills Lover in Blackmail Scandal”. You have to admit there’s a ring to it.

  Yet Detective Chief Inspector Hobbs clearly didn’t have a lead on the case – other than yours truly – and the flatfoots weren’t exactly all over Town Hall Central. Even the pigeons were only marking time.

  There didn’t seem much point in Jimmy letting Hobbs build a case blind against Clegg, however skilful the sting. Even for someone like Jimmy it was risky. Clegg would get a barbwire brief, and juries didn’t pucker up so easy these days.

  But why was Jimmy coming down so hard on me? From the moment Officer “Dibble” had shown an interest in all things Eddie, he’d been all over me like an undersized gimp suit. What did Jimmy have to hide? Besides controlling ninety per cent of crime enterprise within the Weighton County line, of course. It seemed like the case could hurt him, but I couldn’t see how. If he hadn’t killed Porson, he was in the clear. If Clegg had done it, well, that couldn’t touch him either. Maybe the guy was just paranoid. A murder he hadn’t sanctioned taking place in the Kingpin’s Kingdom. His ego affronted by the very notion. Plain as?

  One thing was for sure. “Good-Guy Eddie” was on the case, and one day, smart-boy Jimmy might regret he hadn’t totalled me in the forest. For fight fans everywhere, ain’t that the good news.

  ~

  Overall it had been a cluster-shit of a day. And it was far from over. I could have done with roping down the remainder. It would have gone something like: go to Blue Café, order all-day breakfast special with extra toast and brown sauce, no questions asked. Meet Kate at six, hear that voice, see that smile, no questions asked. Go home to Mum, receive soothing balm inside and out, no questions asked. See Debbie, be overwhelmed with affection, no dopey questions asked.

  What I hadn’t bargained for was the day getting worse. But it did.

  The sales rep dropped me in the middle of town, a short walk from the café. So close, I could almost smell the bacon. It was a powerful incentive as I set off, but as soon as I began to walk my body stiffened up. It hurt even to limp. Then the “whah whah” started.

  After suffering two telling blows to my head within the hour, I thought at first I was hearing an internal ringing noise. But as Weighton shoppers stared with curiosity behind me, I began to ken it was not an altogether ethereal sound.

  I listened to the wailing sirens for a few hundred yards. They got louder by the second, stopping just before they deafened me. The orangy, greeny, yellowy “Maria” parked right behind me. I turned slowly to watch Hobbs getting out. Eyeing the gathering onlookers, I waited to see who would lead the “Weighton One” campaign. Hmm, no takers.

  I folded my arms, hands gripping my sides. Hobbs greeted me with a grim smile. I raised my voice as loud as a crushed chest would allow.

  ‘Do you have to humiliate me like this?’

  He made no reply, only held the car door open. Even a mumbled “evenin’ all” would have helped.

  ~

  Hobbs came charging into the interview room, his sonic boom rocking my chair backwards. His face pulsed with anger.

  ‘Why’d you see Clegg?’

  Jeez, if only I had a pound for every time that had been mentioned. I’d have more than one anyway.

  ‘The way I see it, I’m down as the prime murder suspect.’ I stuck out my elbows. ‘And as I ain’t all that loaded with confidence in our gallant police force, I decided to carry out some investigations of my own. My QC might need a second opinion.’

  ‘You’ve caused me a shitload of aggro you little … shit.’ His finger jabbed at my head. ‘You couldn’t leave it alone, could you?’

  I figured that was as close as the guy might get to ranting.

  ‘No,’ I said. It hurt to talk, so I opted for a minimalist approach.

  ‘Thanks to you, the Mayor’s bringing the rain down on us. Now I’m coming down on you. Understand?’

  ‘Yes.’

  His voice rose again. ‘From now on you stay out of it.’

  ‘Gotcha.’

  It would have been nice if just once I heard someone say, “Go on, Eddie, get stuck in there”.

  ‘You better had,’ he gnashed, pressing his knuckles hard into the table.

  After a long, purposeful stare, he pushed his weight off the desk and trekked around the room, hands in pockets. As he paced a circle of eight, the tension seemed to lapse. Suddenly his voice changed, becoming mellow.

  ‘I knew your father,’ he said. Hobbs didn’t look at me at first, then he leaned heavily on the table and tried to impart a visual ceasefire. ‘He was “old school”. One of the good guys.’

  I stared at the off-grey walls of the interview room, grateful at least that Bugg wasn’t present. Besides the drone from Hobbs, all I could hear was the thud of dodgy plumbing.

  ‘Yes, he was.’

  Hobbs gave a slow nod.

  ‘How come you didn’t mention you knew him before?’ I asked.

  ‘I was trying to figure you out. Didn’t want you thinking you’d get any favours.’

  ‘He wouldn’t have done me any.’

  ‘No, you’re right. Like I said, he was a good policeman. Played everything by the book.’ Hobbs sat down and pulled his chair closer. ‘He was a straight shooter, and so am I.’ He cocked his head to one side. ‘Despite all the front, Eddie, you’re a lot like him. How about being straight with me?’

  ‘Is this a Cracker rerun?’

  ‘Skip the talky-talk and answer the question.’

  ‘I’ll do you a deal,’ I said, smiling. ‘Keep that lunatic Bugg off my back, and I’ll be straight with you.’

  ‘I’ll keep him in line. Best I can offer.’ Hobbs pointed at my face with his index finger. ‘What happened by the way? I take it you fell over?’

  ‘Yeah, onto some big twat’s elbow.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘He didn’t give me his card.’

  ‘What’d he look like?’

  ‘I told you, a big twat.’

  There was a large sigh from Hobbs. ‘You’re not being very straight.’

  ‘Best I can offer.’

  He looked up at the ceiling and spoke, his voice trailing. ‘You really don’t get it.’

  ‘Enlighten me.’

  Hobbs got up and went on his travels around the room again. He was no doubt in deep deductive thought, but the perpetual motion was making me nauseous. He sat back down and arranged a pile of papers in front of him.

  I ached all over. I wanted to sleep in cotton wool for two days. If co-operation would bring the prospect any closer, then co-operation was looking favourable. I glanced at the clock; I might still make the Punchbowl by six.

  ‘Let me bring you up to date,’ said Hobbs, looking up from the papers. ‘Tony Porson has identified his mother’s body. That’s item one. Item two, the initial forensic report is in. Cause of death: strangulation. Particles from the ligature found on the victim’s neck are unidentified. A cotton mix, some type of cord. Difficult to trace. Her larynx was crushed. Restriction of oxygen caused brain damage to an unusual degree. There was little sign of any struggle on the body, which suggests she knew the killer. Time of death put at approximately three hours before discovery. That’s two and three quarter hours before the alleged phone call to you. Your guess was remarkably accurate, don’t you think?’

  ‘I’d say so. Sign of a kick-ass detective.’

  In my head I wind-whirled through the facts. The key to the case had to be the phone call. Porson was already dead when the call had been made. How was it done, and why? The killer wanted me to find the body, yet it wasn’t much of a set-up if that was the purpose. Nothing else tied me in. Nothing made sense.

  ‘I think you’re holding out on me,’ said Hobbs. ‘There’s something you’re
not telling. Just look at you. You’re a mess. It’s got to be connected.’

  ‘If I really thought I could help, I would. Believe me. But I can’t.’

  ‘You mean won’t.’

  ‘Izzzz the wrong answer.’

  Hobbs put his hands to his chin and stared at me like he was trying to read my mind. ‘Shall I tell you what I think?’

  ‘Take to the field.’

  ‘I don’t think you had anything to do with the murder. But you know more than you’re telling. Someone out there’s applying an awful lot of pressure to keep it that way. We’re under maximum pressure to get a result, and presently you’re all we’ve got. If we have to, we’ll make it stick. All we have to do is assert a motive. Believe me, it won’t be a stretch. Your only chance is to level with me. I’ll help you. We’ll protect you.’

  I let out a low wheeze. ‘You couldn’t protect the Terminator.’

  ‘Eddie, face facts. You’re way, way out of bounds on this. Let us handle it. On your dad’s life, I promise I’ll look after you. Trust me.’ His eyes worked at mine.

  I stood and scuffled over to the door. ‘This is the bit where you let me go.’

  He spoke, but didn’t turn around. ‘You’re out of your depth.’

  ‘Let me out, and we’ll soon see who’s swimming and who’s sinking.’

  CHAPTER TEN

  Friday – 18:35

  I walked into the Punchbowl just after six thirty. It was busy, full of important-looking, professional types. Even without a messed-up face my entrance wouldn’t have gone unnoticed. My eyes surfed the happy-hour crowd as they pulsed around the bar, my shifting gaze set on “Kate-watch” in earnest. But I couldn’t see her. How long would she wait this time? I was about to terminate the recce when I felt a tug on my arm. A beautiful tug. Out of the corner of my eye I could see it was Kate. She pointed towards an oak-panelled booth just behind the main bar and gently pulled me in the same direction. Surrounded by noise and clamour, the small alcove seemed an oasis of tranquillity. On the booth’s glass-topped table I could see a wine bottle and two glasses nicely arranged. I nodded in approval and sang to myself: I hope it’s red, it’s red, I hope it’s red, it’s red.