The Legal & the Illicit: Featuring Inspector Walter Darriteau (Inspector Walter Darriteau cases Book 5)

by David Carter

  Yet Arthur wasn’t interested in that. It was Tony’s prettiness that overwhelmed him. He was overcome at the sight of Tony’s bright blue eyes, his straight, floppy blonde hair, boyish slim figure, tight pants and perfect butt. Emboldened by drink, Arthur pushed Tony against the wall, forcing himself on him, kissing him passionately, sending his tongue squirting down the beautiful Tony’s throat.

  Tony was taken so much by surprise he never once thought to bite the tongue from Arthur’s face. He too had been drinking and had never been kissed by a man. He’d never been kissed by anyone with the fervour and passion that Arthur Harkin was sucking his face.

  Tony wasn’t certain it was so dreadful. Maybe it was the surprise and the drink, perhaps it was the curiosity of youth to experience and discover everything life had to offer, but reality bit. He went to push him off but Arthur was strong and persistent. In desperation Tony brought his knee up with a jerk, and caught Arthur full on, enough of a blow to make him stagger back, bend and grimace.

  For a second they stared into one another’s eyes. Tony saw his chance and scurried back to the office, and it wasn’t something he was going to keep to himself. He had been jealous of Arthur Harkin, of the praise heaped on him for his girly handwriting neatness, and his precious filing systems. He was sick of it. He, Tony, was the clever one, the man with the family name, the boss’s son, the one who would one day inherit the earth, not Arthur bloody Harkin.

  A month before, Tony stayed late at the office and sabotaged Arthur’s work by pulling documents at random from the files, and sticking them back, higgledy-piggledy, anywhere but in the correct place, and that was a recipe for disaster.

  Arthur detected his precious files had been interfered within seconds, and had a fair idea who’d done it. But he volunteered to work through the weekend to return his immaculate records to their former glory, and he did.

  Tony Dodgson seized his opportunity. He rushed into the general office and screamed, ‘Arthur Harkin is queer! He tried to rape me in the bogs! He’s a pervert!’

  For a moment silence reigned.

  Dead eyed clerks looked up from their half finished pools coupons, their curling brown bread egg and cress sandwiches, and Liverpool Echo spot-the-ball competitions, not quite believing what they had heard.

  All eyes stared at Tony, unblinking, as they absorbed the news, as Arthur sheepishly appeared behind him in the doorway, his eyes betraying the story Tony was blathering, a little drama-queen-esque, was at least partly true.

  Arthur was called before the board and advised his conduct was unacceptable. Sodomy, or any hint of it, was never permitted, at least not in public, and he was dismissed, and warned not to seek employment with any Liverpool commodity merchant again. When he tried to speak in his defence he was slapped down.

  ‘Silence! The Exchanges will not accept a queer!’

  Arthur requested a reference and they issued him one on Dodgson’s grand green raised letterhead. It read: Arthur Harkin’s work is good but unfortunately it is spoilt by his predilection of being a pervert. Tony swivelled the knife by signing the letter. Later that night, Arthur used it to wipe his backside, laughing as he did so.

  Afterwards, he was distraught and Vimy alone consoled him, for he hated Tony Dodgson too. It was as if they were rival suitors for the same beautiful woman, Vimy and Tony, not Arthur, the beautiful woman being the Goddess Ceres, the Goddess of grain traders. Vimy and Tony imagined they would be life long rivals, something that for a short period was true.

  Vimy Ridge was the only friend Arthur possessed, but even Vimy couldn’t land him another job. He implored his father to take him into the firm, but Norman would not consider it.

  ‘But dad, Arthur is the best admin clerk we could ever have!’

  It was to no avail, for Norman didn’t care for Nancy boys either. But more importantly, word swept round the markets that Arthur Harkin was persona non grata. Blackballed. To employ him would be perilous. Norman Ridge fought long and hard to become a fully paid-up member of the establishment club, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to jeopardize his acceptance and standing for a pallid poof from Prenton.

  He did however, at his son’s pleading, put in a word for him outside the trade, and Arthur landed a junior clerk’s job in a sleepy insurance company whose offices stared out over the mouth of the old Mersey tunnel in Manchester Street, Liverpool. From there, the tunnel entrance resembled the mouth of a basking shark, and it was there that Arthur’s talents would be put to good use, organising premium payments from thousands of clients across the north-west.

  He was good at that too, brilliant even, and did it well. But all the while he hankered after a return to the sexy world of commodities, and be with Vimy Ridge. They’d meet in secret and swap news and ideas on commodity matters, all the gossip and scandal and rumours, when in truth Arthur had precious little to contribute. He was an outcast, and it hurt like hell.

  YEARS LATER WHEN THE vacancy arose for the manager at Pegasus Trading there were no formal interviews, no advertisements in the press, and no discussion, other than one brief telephone call made by Vimy.

  ‘Do you want the job, big man?’

  ‘Of course I bloody do!’

  ‘It’s yours.’

  Arthur Harkin, a little portly and totally bald, was installed as general manager of Pegasus Trading. Collecting insurance premiums was consigned to history. There was no written contract of employment. Arthur was promised generous profit sharing terms, and from the outset the company’s administration was impeccable. The business prospered and so did Arthur. He bought a detached chalet bungalow in Boathouse Lane, Gayton, on a large and private plot, and he was lucky, for he bought it just before property prices exploded. From there, he could roar to work in his new purple Saab convertible sports in just under seven minutes.

  He set about turning the house into a miniature fortress. He ordered a high brick wall encircling the property that annoyed the neighbours, but he didn’t care. He installed close circuit television to monitor who came and went long before it was fashionable. He introduced sophisticated burglar alarms, and had all existing locks ripped from the building and replaced with the toughest modern dead locks that Harry Houdini would have struggled to break. Not for the first time, or the last, Arthur Harkin was way ahead of his time.

  And in case uninvited guests should inveigle themselves into Arthur’s private domain, he bought a Great Dane dog he christened Zulu, an animal that became his pride and joy. Zulu roamed the grounds as if they were the Serengeti, warning off would be invaders with a bellicose bark. In truth, he was a big softy, and would roll over and offer his belly for tickling to anyone who could produce a biscuit, though prospective robbers didn’t know that.

  Arthur installed the last critical piece in his personal jigsaw, the lovely Pete Lee, as companion, housekeeper, and lover. Pete worked behind the bar and on the tables at the superior Red Dragon Chinese restaurant down on the promenade at Parkgate. He was a cute Chinese kid who could barely speak English. He’d never been with a man before he met Arthur; and never looked at a woman afterwards. For the first time they both felt wanted, needed, and loved, which brought them happiness and contentment. Arthur Harkin doted on his boss, his house, his job, his car, his company, his dog, and Pete Lee, though not necessarily in that order, and it was all down to Vimy Ridge. Arthur would ride through hell for that man. He would kill, if necessary, if that’s what it took.

  VIMY’S ORIGINAL BUSINESS was kept entirely separate from the secret Pegasus. No one at Ridge Commodities knew of Pegasus’s existence, and they wouldn’t have believed it if they had. It was the way he liked it and the way he kept it. The whole concept thrilled him. It was as if he was leading two separate lives, and wouldn’t everyone choose to have a second life if the opportunity arose?

  ON THURSDAY, VIMY COLLECTED Andy Freeman and Derek Garner, his latest recruits, from outside the Dam. From there he drove them up the hill to the Ford dealership on Rowson Street, New Brighto
n. It was ten past six, and a pair of bright blue Ford Escort Estates were gleaming and waiting on the forecourt.

  ‘Frigging hell,’ grinned Derek, finding it hard to believe one was actually his.

  ‘When the missus sees this,’ grinned Andy, ‘she’ll make me more welcome than ever.’

  They drove in convoy the fifteen miles to the warehouse at Neston, with Vimy sitting in the back of Andy’s diesel Escort, as Derek grinned at them from the vehicle behind. Vimy introduced them to Arthur and the admin king showed them round the warehouse, and presented them with his critical forms, the same paperwork they would need to sign when taking supplies.

  They’d never seen so much booze and tobacco in one place, and were hugely be impressed with the brands on offer, and the sheer organisation of it all.

  They were issued with a secret list of pubs and clubs throughout Merseyside and North Wales they could target. Cardinal rule: you don’t sell to any outlet not on your list. If you did, you’d be standing on someone else’s toes. If you did that, you’d get a smack. If Andy and Derek were surprised at that, they didn’t show it. They began trading at eight o’clock one windy Thursday night. By the Sunday night they had made more money than their monthly pay cheque from the housing department. Their products began popping up everywhere, and much to Vimy’s amusement, their wines and mixers appeared behind Sheila Phelps in the Dam.

  She had no idea where they came from, but was delighted at the doubled margin she’d arranged. It was Derek who had persuaded her, she hadn’t been able to resist his competitive prices and youthful, silver tongue.

  At the end of the first month Andy and Derek’s sales were neck and neck. The Escorts kept returning to Neston to refill, the wagons came into the store and dropped their cargoes, and the operation worked like clockwork. Arthur strolled back and forth through the warehouse, his hands clasped behind his back like a tyrant, though even he would allow himself an occasional congratulatory smile, providing he was certain no one was watching.

  Within a year Pegasus was rivalling Vimy’s core business in terms of results, regardless of the spectacular gains he had enjoyed on the American Corn markets, and they needed additional staff. Arthur set about finding them. He took on relatives and friends he’d known for years, keen lads who’d fallen foul of authority and couldn’t obtain a decent job. Hard working kids who’d shift anything to fill their pockets with cash, kids who could be trusted, kids who knew what was what. Older lads too who’d come to realise that life was what you made of it. It wasn’t a rehearsal.

  The business exploded, and the money piled high. No one had ever seen anything like it. The Pegasus phenomenon was airborne and flying.

  ON THE FRIDAY NIGHT, Vimy jumped from the train at Euston Station long before it stopped. It was nine o’clock and as she’d promised, Laura was waiting. He watched her eyes flash as she spotted him, and the magical look on her face as he hustled through the ticket barrier. They reached out and hugged and kissed in the atrium of the busy station.

  ‘I’ve missed you,’ she whispered.

  ‘Same here.’

  ‘You better have.’

  ‘Have you still got the flat?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Shall we dump the bag and go for something to eat?’

  ‘Whatever you say, you’re the boss.’

  She clung to his arm as they headed down towards the taxi rank. In the cab he pulled her close and whispered in her ear, ‘Answer me one thing, when the flap was on, did you get into trouble?’

  ‘Not directly, what made you ask?’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about it. Just an idea I had.’

  ‘You’re full of crazy ideas,’ she teased, ‘but I don’t think we should talk about that.’

  And they didn’t, not again that day.

  At his suggestion, they jumped from the cab early and strolled across the river; his left arm around her back and waist, as if announcing to the world that this was his woman. She liked that too. Men had held her that way in public before, but she’d never felt comfortable with it. In Vimy’s case it was different, totally natural, and in future she’d want him to hold her that way whenever they walked out.

  They returned to Game On, despite Laura suggesting, ‘We can go somewhere else if you prefer.’

  ‘No, I like it there.’

  But things began to go awry. During the meal he was oddly quiet, as if he was thinking of someone else, as if he had precious things on his mind that didn’t concern her. When he did speak, it wasn’t in his usual confident manner, he even mumbled, something he had never done before.

  She grew tired of it and said, ‘Is everything all right?’

  He looked across the table. ‘Yeah, just busy at work, you know how it is,’ he muttered. ‘You?’

  ‘Yes,’ she smiled, ‘We are too.’

  He wondered if they were both busy for the same reason, but the longer the awkwardness remained, the more she began to think he was seeking a way to break off with her. They continued to go round in circles, saying the same meaningless things. Where was the passion?

  His heart rate increased, he could feel it stepping up a gear, while she was becoming more anxious, for it wasn’t how she’d envisaged the evening. He cursed himself for being an idiot, emptied the wine bottle, and ordered another in the vain hope it might help, but it didn’t.

  ‘Look, I know we haven’t known each other long, but...’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, newly optimistic, and hoping she knew what was coming next.

  ‘I want you to be my wife,’ he said, looking anywhere but into her eyes. ‘I want us to get married. I want us to have children. I will always look after you and provide for you. I love you, Laura. I’ve never felt like this about anyone. Will you marry me?’

  Her mouth fell open. She took his hand and stared at him. He seemed so uncomfortable, she had never seen him that way before, boyish even, as if he’d been caught scrumping, strangely uncertain but also relieved, as if he’d been practising his little speech all week. He hadn’t delivered the words as well as she’d hoped, but at least he had said them, and after the silly things she’d imagined, that came as some relief. But it wouldn’t stop her teasing him a while longer.

  ‘That was a pretty speech. I suppose you have said that many times before?’

  ‘I have not!’ he blurted. ‘Never come close.’ And then, ‘Well? What’s your answer?’

  ‘I think we should get married... if you want your child to bear your name.’

  His jaw dropped.

  ‘You mean? You can’t be! So soon? How can that be? No!’

  She nodded. ‘Not confirmed, but I’m late, and I just know I am.’

  ‘But we only...’

  ‘Slept together the once, that’s all it takes, apparently. We’ve always been good breeders, and I warn you, my father will expect us to marry in Winchester Cathedral.’

  ‘But we’re Catholics,’ protested Vimy, ‘albeit lapsed ones.’

  ‘I don’t care if you’re a Queens Park Ranger! It’s Winchester Cathedral or nothing. You decide.’

  He rummaged in his jacket pocket and pulled out the little red box housing the engagement ring he’d bought on a whim.

  ‘The Cathedral, it is,’ he smiled, setting it in front of her, as he leant across the table in the crowded restaurant and kissed her on the lips.

  It was a seminal moment.

  Things would never be the same again and that was what they wanted. They were sick and tired of sleeping in half empty beds, fed up of learning of friends’ weddings and romances, of seeing photographs of other people’s kids, of hearing tales of happy family life, of being alone with no one to care for. They were annoyed at looking at life from the outside, as if they were standing shivering in the snow on Christmas morning, peering in through other people’s frosty glass at the warmth and happiness within. Now other people would look at them with envy, and peer longingly into their life and their happiness. It was their turn to shower in the
sunlight and bask in the glory, and they were determined to enjoy every precious second.

  ‘This is our time,’ he said.

  ‘It is,’ she agreed, and she knew exactly what he meant.

  ‘Thank you,’ he whispered.

  ‘Don’t thank me, just love me.’

  ‘I will,’ said Vimy. ‘Always. You can bank on that.’

  ‘I hope so, Vimy Ridge, I hope so.’

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  MIDGE AND CORAL ARRIVED back at Misnomer just after six o’clock in the evening. They’d driven back from Cornwall in record time, not stopping once, and not caring too much about speed limits and patrolling police cars. They were taking chances, and they knew it, but after what they’d seen and what they’d done, they didn’t care.

  Midge found Lisa alone in the house. She was in bed and was as white as flour. She’d been crying. He sat on the edge of the bed, stroked her hair and forehead, and whispered comfortingly, just as his mother had for him after nightmares.

  ‘How are you, Liz?’

  ‘Not too bad,’ she moped

  ‘How did it go?’ he said. ‘Is it done?’

  ‘It’s over. I’m not pregnant anymore.’

  He nodded slowly. ‘It’s for the best, you’ll see.’

  She nodded unconvincingly. How could she live with herself? Would she ever have another chance of a child?

  ‘How did it go in Greece?’

  ‘It’s sorted. You don’t need to worry about him anymore. He’ll never abuse anyone again.’

  ‘Did you kill him?’ Disbelief in every word.

  ‘The less you know about that the better. Just be thankful.’

  ‘How’s Coral?’

  ‘She’s fine, she’ll be up to see you in a minute.’

  ‘Do you still want to marry me, Midge?’