Falling into Crime

by Penny Grubb

  ‘OK, no sweat. Tell me what you found. What is it they’ve got up there?’

  Annie breathed out a sigh. Somehow she and Pat were on the same wavelength when it came to what really mattered and what could just be left.

  She told Pat what she’d found, how she’d identified the familiarity of the faces she’d seen.

  ‘Pirate radio?’ Pat said. ‘I see.’

  Annie looked up sharply. Pat’s tone seemed to find logic in what she was hearing, but when she didn’t elaborate, Annie went on, ‘Then Vince turned up.’

  ‘Shit! Did he see you?’

  ‘See me!’ Annie felt the emotion rise once again. ‘Hell, he tried to push me off the roof.’

  ‘Vince tried to push you off the roof?’ Pat looked horror-struck.

  ‘Well, no, but … but he would have if he’d found me. I’m certain he would.’

  ‘But he knows you were there?’

  ‘No, he didn’t see me in the flat. He doesn’t know I’ve been in there.’

  ‘Thank God for that. Vince might have been mad at you, Annie, but he isn’t an animal. He wouldn’t have pushed you off a roof. You leap to some dramatic conclusions.’

  ‘But where does Vince fit in?’

  It seemed a long time before Pat replied. ‘There was some paperwork Vince sent me a while ago. I don’t want to go into the detail. Suffice to say things had been a bit fraught between us all. It looks like the agency owns that flat. By the look of it, Vince has set up his nephew there.’

  Annie struggled to piece together what Pat was saying. Was this about misuse of company funds or something more? ‘You told me someone from the agency tipped off whoever ambushed you. Are you saying it was Vince?’

  ‘Oh no. That was just by the way. I doubt if Vince has a clue about the drug dealing.’

  Annie opened her mouth, then shut it again. Pat didn’t know she’d talked to Vince after her adventure on the roof. She hadn’t meant not to tell her, but with all the turmoil in her mind, it had happened that way.

  ‘One of the others is involved,’ Pat went on. ‘And probably knows about the dealing, too. He’s likely the supplier. Vince’d kill him if he found out.’

  ‘So should we tell Vince?’ Annie eased the question in wanting to confess to the car-park discussion on the back of a ‘yes’ from Pat.

  ‘Hell, no. Let’s keep this under wraps. Pirate radio? I wonder if that’s what it is.’

  So much for that. ‘What do you mean? It is a pirate radio. I saw the setup. And those guys they take up there, one of them’s been on the local TV, and I think I know the other from the music press. Whatever their sins, they’ve made a name for themselves. You don’t get names like that on air without a good audience.’

  Pat shrugged agreement as though Annie had missed the point. ‘I don’t want to go into it any further, Annie. Whatever Vince is up to I don’t want to know. I’d lay odds he doesn’t know that the little twats are dealing drugs though, putting his setup at risk.’

  ‘It is a pirate radio,’ Annie persisted. ‘Even if it’s something else, too.’

  ‘Oh yeah, I’m not saying it isn’t. One of the guys you clocked, the ones doing the dealing, I can’t swear to it but I’ll lay money it’s Vince’s nephew, favourite nephew I should add. Vince took him under his wing when his brother died. It all adds up. The lad always had ambitions in the music business. It’s the sort of thing Vince would do for him, but there’ll be a payoff for Vince in it and like I say, I don’t want to know what that is.’

  ‘But what if the agency’s involved?’

  A troubled look crossed Pat’s features. ‘Not your problem,’ she murmured.

  ‘I’ll help if I can.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’ Pat made an effort to shake off a cloud of gloom, and smiled across at Annie. ‘You’re a good kid. Vince hadn’t a clue what he’d got when he hired you.’

  Vince had waltzed into that flat as though he owned the place, ordering Maz about; Maz who was clearly terrified of him. A classy pirate radio setup for the son of his dead brother? It half added up and half didn’t. Vince’s cold eyes. All that equipment. Pat was right. At this early stage in her career, she didn’t want to tangle with a pro like Vince. This was a boundary she didn’t need to cross.

  ‘We need to back off the Earle case, don’t we?’

  ‘It’s a shame really given how far you got. We won’t be able to bill her now. She’ll be pleased about that at any rate.’

  ‘I’ll drop her keys back sometime and let her know.’

  It was an unsatisfactory end to her very first case, but she’d try and see it as a useful lesson in how things panned out. Expect the unexpected, someone had told her, probably the guy in Birmingham. He was right.

  Late that night, she and Pat slumped in front of a film. Annie had no interest in the drama that unfolded on the screen, but was glad of the distraction that meant she could sit in silence with her own thoughts. She lay in the chair, closing her eyes then opening them again, practising for sleep although it felt foolish and irrational. The dizzying swirl of a miniature landscape far below lay in wait for her at the edge of slumber. Conscious, she could push it away, but as she floated into sleep would she spin back into the nausea of hanging over that drop?

  Stand up … head for bed … get undressed … lie down … sleep.

  The longer she sat, the more tiredness seeped into her and the more enticing the prospect of a night in the chair became.

  A click from somewhere behind jerked her to full awareness. A key turning in a lock. Footsteps in the lobby. A heavy tread in the hallway. Vince!

  She shot to her feet, gabbled out, ‘I’m off to bed. Good night,’ and bolted for the sanctuary of her room.

  Once safe in the tiny space, she sat on the bed, door ajar so as to hear what went on. Muffled voices … the film playing out behind them. Vince’s growl … Pat’s snappish responses.

  The events of the day raced up from behind and swept over her. Leaden tiredness laid itself across every fibre of her being. But she couldn’t think about sleep. Any minute, one of them would shout her name, call her through. When they did, she’d obey because the alternative was having Vince come to get her. She lay back on the pillows. Not to sleep, just to rest her body while she awaited the summons.

  Chapter 22

  As Annie woke, bright morning sunlight streamed through her window driving the demon of Vince away. She felt buoyant and refreshed.

  On Orchard Park, two young guys hid behind the overindulgent uncle of one of them; a pirate radio hid behind the façade of an ordinary flat; those huge aerials masqueraded as necessary accoutrements to illegal music broadcasts. So much hidden …

  Case closed.

  This was the opportunity to put all her efforts into finding where Terry Martin had been. He had to have left his footprints somewhere in those two days. Tremlow, too. Where had he been since Friday?

  If she followed Tremlow’s footsteps, she might get a handle on Terry’s missing hours. Tremlow was surely a creature of habit and the person to know his habits was his old friend, Colonel Ludgrove. As soon as morning reached a reasonable hour, she picked up her phone to make the colonel a concerned call to express her condolences about his friend.

  The voice that said hello wasn’t the one she expected, or wanted.

  ‘Oh … Hi Mally. It’s Annie. Can I speak to your grandad?’

  ‘Grandad isn’t well. I’m not to disturb him. Can you ring later?’

  No surprise there. The old man was worn out with caring for his granddaughter in amongst all the chaos of first Terry Martin and now Tremlow’s death.

  ‘That’s OK. It wasn’t important.’ It was on the tip of her tongue to quiz Mally on Terry Martin and the money that had changed hands, but she held back. If she was to question them, it must be casually, informally and appear to be unplanned, because they were minors and could get her into real trouble.

  And it might be possible. Not even the fallout from the cheating wo
uld keep them out of the saddle. She and Pat had seen Laura and Kay out riding on Saturday. The stables were an ideal place to hang about unchallenged. All she needed was a reason to talk to Tina Hain again. And now would be a good time to catch her. She reached for the phone.

  ‘I wondered if I could pop out and run through things with you again. All that business at Milesthorpe Show.’

  ‘Those blasted girls. Yes, no problem. I’ve the three of them in for a lesson this afternoon, but I’m free afterwards.’

  ‘Laura, Kay and Mally?’ Annie felt her fist clench in triumph. She’d have some answers by this evening.

  When Pat clumped through from her bedroom later, Annie was ready with the coffee pot, alert for any sign that Vince had let slip the extent of her meddling on Orchard Park. Pat’s grumpiness seemed no worse than usual. After a while, she outlined her plan to go to Milesthorpe, to quiz the three girls.

  ‘Be very careful. Have you got a legitimate excuse to talk to the Hain woman?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll ask her about the cheating. Not that there’s anything more I need to know, but it’s part of what Terry Martin was doing.’

  ‘OK, but remember. Delicate handling. These things can backfire.’

  ‘I’ll call and give Mrs Earle her keys back on the way.’

  Pat sighed. ‘Vince had a point. There was never a cat in hell’s chance of getting anything out of her. Jobs like those should be invoiced up front.’

  Annie didn’t like the note of defeat in Pat’s voice. It was all tied up with Vince and family feuds.

  ‘So then I’ll just have the Martins’ case,’ she said eventually. ‘Unless anything else has come in?’

  ‘No, sorry. I’ve had enough of going out on a limb. No more adverts. I know what you’re thinking. This suicide thing. It wraps up the Martin case, too, but don’t worry. Vince said he wanted you for six weeks and I’ll hold him to it. There’s an outside chance–’

  ‘What? Chance of what?’

  ‘Look, I don’t want to get your hopes up. Vince dropped in last night after you’d gone to bed. He half hinted he might find you something. But I probably shouldn’t even mention it. He won’t do anything about it, but he wouldn’t have said it if you hadn’t impressed him. I assumed he thought you were sitting round here playing general factotum, but he must have been keeping a closer eye on you than I realized.’

  This must have sprung from their friction-laden conversation in the car on Orchard Park. So Vince had told Pat he was impressed with her. It was the last thing she expected. ‘What did he say?’

  ‘He said he’d like to have seen you in action a bit more. That if he’d seen you through three meaty cases with a good result on each, then he’d have offered you a job with the agency.’

  ‘Why three?’

  ‘Because he knows there’s no chance of you doing it, so he’ll never have to deliver.’

  ‘I suppose we could advertise again. See if we can bring anything in.’

  Pat laughed and Annie knew she hadn’t taken the suggestion seriously.

  ‘Before I go, I need to show you this key.’

  Annie told Pat how Maz had had the key made. ‘The Milesthorpe girls, thank heavens, got cold feet about taking it off him.’

  Pat took it from her and turned it in her hand letting the light glint from its different faces. ‘It’s a nice job,’ she said.

  ‘Should it go to the police?’

  ‘Yeah, I think so, but keep it with you for when you have a go at those kids. Spring that on them and they might blurt out all sorts. Oh, is that Babs already?’

  Footsteps sounded, and Barbara’s bulk filled the doorway.

  ‘Hi,’ Annie greeted her, receiving a glare and a grunt in return.

  ‘You’re early,’ was Pat’s greeting.

  ‘I have to be early to get you out of your pit, or we’d never get anywhere. We’ve things to talk about.’

  ‘I’m ready. I’ve been waiting for you.’

  ‘You were complaining I was early a minute ago.’

  ‘Well, that’s no …’

  Annie eased herself out of the room and slipped into her bedroom to get Mrs Earle’s keys. She had no illusions that she’d get anything approaching gratitude for her efforts, but handing over the keys would be a kind of closure to what had, after all, been her first proper case.

  She tossed Maz’s key in her hand. There would be a betrayal of trust in giving it to the police, but what other option was open? She’d have liked to hand it to someone she could talk to informally. Twenty-four hours ago that would have been Scott. Now, she didn’t even know if Jennifer trusted her.

  While she waited in her room, half aware of the sisters arguing their way out of the flat, Annie pulled together the clothes she’d ruined in her foray on to the roof. She wondered if the tarry substance would come out. She pulled off the loose bits and checked through the pockets. Screwed up paper tissues and an envelope.

  An envelope? Of course, Maz had handed it over just before they’d talked about the key. Then Vince arrived and events snowballed. What had Maz said? Some crap letter she wrote you. One of the girls, obviously, but which one?

  She slit it open and stared at it, puzzled. A torn page … except it was whole. The paper was flimsy. It was old-fashioned fax paper. One of them had fed a torn and partly scorched page through an old fax machine and sent her the result. The only nonfax-copy elements were the words ‘see email’ written in a round childish hand in the top corner.

  A few part-words remained undamaged either by fire or the rip in the copied sheet. They were hard to decipher. Annie squinted at them as she walked through to Pat’s room where she switched on the PC.

  Mally. She would put her money on the letter being from Mally. But there was no email from Mally, or from any of them.

  She turned off the machine and looked again at the murky fax. Pat’s reading glasses lay on the desk. Annie used them as a magnifying glass. The page had been torn through the middle of a line but some of the half-letters became decipherable as the lens enlarged them. She made out z-a-b. Then a smudge and t-h. Then the word ‘at’.

  Zabath at? Zabeth at? At where? There was something earlier that might be an E.

  A shiver prickled her skin as she realized what she was looking at.

  E—zabeth At. Before the page had been torn and then burnt, it had said Elizabeth Atkins. The woman Doris Kitson told her about; the woman Terry Martin had asked about although he hadn’t known her.

  What one of the girls had fed through the fax machine was the missing half page from Terry Martin’s last notebook.

  Chapter 23

  Annie stared at the page. Here was her handle on Terry’s missing days. Elizabeth Atkins. Who had ripped the page out and tried to burn it? When? How and where had the girls found it?

  She itched to get on the road at once, but knew her meeting with Mally, Laura and Kay must seem accidental. This afternoon at the stables she’d have a captive audience. It was all tied in with the church connection. Doris had mentioned it. Maz, too.

  If she had to spend all night at those stables interrogating the three girls, she’d do it. She wouldn’t end the day without answers.

  As she drove to Orchard Park, theories spun in her head, but nothing made sense. It wasn’t until she left the car and saw the bulk of the tower in front of her that she was caught by a sudden constriction in her throat as though the structure itself was watching her, ready to draw her in and force her up to its highest point. She looked up and up until she faced out the height of the building … waited for the flashback of panic, but the memory was a panoramic view over a city that couldn’t see her. Unexpectedly, the feeling inside was power, not fear.

  She walked into the lobby and jabbed the lift call button. It was automatic to pull in a breath as the lift jolted to a halt on the sixth floor, to give herself a lungful of air to avoid breathing in the stench of the landing.

  Noise banged into her as she stepped out, expelling the held brea
th as she skipped to avoid an open paint pot. Instinctively her hands rose to meet a threat, then she realized there was no menace here just the overpowering thump of music and nostrilstinging tang of fresh paint. People everywhere. A thin youth in baggy overalls swung a wide paintbrush at the wall from the top of a stepladder; another balanced on a contraption that gave him access to the patchwork of glass and hardboard that separated the landing from the stairwell. Repairs and refurbishment. Was this a special refit for the sixth floor, or part of some maintenance juggernaut that rolled through the building across the seasons?

  None of the half dozen gangly figures in overalls took any notice so she picked her way round their ladders and knocked at the door of Mrs Earle’s flat. The key was in her hand but she was reluctant to use it knowing Mrs Earle would be comatose on a bed inside. Letting herself in to spy on the men in the van was different. She knocked again louder.

  The door opened a crack. It wasn’t Mrs Earle who peered out, but her brother. His expression was surly, his face unshaved. He looked her up and down and said, ‘She ain’t here,’ just the way he’d greeted her the first time.

  She made her decision on the spot. She’d come to see the woman, to try to explain things face to face. She’d tried. That was enough.

  ‘I’ve come to return her keys,’ she told the man, thrusting them at him.

  He took them from her with a grunt and shut the door. She stood there for a moment. It was a disappointing way to end the case, but she shrugged and turned away.

  Mrs Earle had gone from her thoughts before she was back in the car. Her mind teemed with the implications of the page one of the girls had sent her via Maz. She was early for her appointment with Tina, but no one would notice in the busy stable yard. She pulled the car in between a gleaming Shogun and a battered Trooper and stepped out into a patch of mud. The storm that had threatened since yesterday evening, hadn’t broken yet. Someone had been busy with a hosepipe. The ground at her feet sparkled with scraps of tinsel. The air was heavy with the smell of horses and cut grass.