by David Barry
Then, as soon as the dust settled, I planned to meet with Jack Dawe in Peterborough and find out who had warned him off Alice’s investigation.
Chapter 21
Tuesday 1 October 2013
Alice sat in the office with Nicky and me, and a heavy silence descended as we thought about Bill’s funeral at Mortlake crematorium scheduled for twelve noon on Thursday. Macabre thoughts taunted me as I pictured the coffin at the service, knowing I’d be wondering just how much of Bill had been pieced together inside it.
Because of his murder, Alice kept blaming herself for involving us. I didn’t doubt she was sincere, but I suspected she kept repeating it so that I could reassure her. So I told her what she wanted to hear.
‘Don’t be so hard on yourself, Alice. Bill was an old soldier. He knew the score. He took loads of risks in his lifetime, so maybe there comes a day of reckoning. You must have noticed him limping now and again. That was a souvenir from Angola, from the time his Jeep hit an IED.’
‘That was years ago, though,’ Nicky said. ‘When you and he were much younger.’
To lighten the situation, I said, ‘I’m not expecting my free bus pass for a while yet.’
Nicky smiled to humour me. Then Alice stood up, walked a few paces, and I saw she was thoughtful and restless, wanting action instead of the three of us sitting around feeling morbid and sorry for ourselves.
‘It’s obvious,’ she began as her thoughts took shape, ‘that with poor Bill gone, it would be difficult, if not impossible, for Freddie to work alone. So I’ve got a suggestion to make. Why don’t I take Bill’s place? Officially join the company as a partner?’
A gob-smacked pause from both Nicky and myself. Ignoring the way we stared at her with expressions of incredulity, Alice sat down again and looked at each of us in turn.
‘And why not? I regularly run half marathons, I’m proficient in martial arts, and I have personal reasons for bringing down the bastards behind these murders.’
I suppressed a smile as I shook my head. ‘Alice, we are not talking about martial arts in a sports hall where the competitors don’t have guns or knives or bombs; we are talking about a serious life-threatening conspiracy here.’
‘And I know, come hell or high water, I’ve got to do something about it. Put an end to whoever is responsible before it ruins anyone else’s life. So how about it, Freddie?’
I hesitated, and she leapt up again.
‘That’s settled then. Thank you for the gracious way you’ve invited me on board.’
A grin spread across my face as I rose to face her. ‘I warn you, Alice. It could be bloody dangerous.’
‘That’s choice coming from an old geezer like you. And what about you, Nicky? You still think we ought to involve the police?’
I could see Nicky wrestling with her conscience as she got slowly to her feet, frowning hard as she struggled to verbalise her doubts. ‘I just think... I think we need to consider what we’re getting into.’
‘We’ve already done that,’ I said. ‘We’ve talked ourselves hoarse. The car bomb that killed Bill...’
Nicky raised a hand. ‘I know. I know. We don’t need to go through that again.’
She was talking about the fact that none of the national papers reported anything about a car bomb or a person being killed. The only mention of the incident was in my local rag, a report of a car catching fire and exploding. Either the police wanted it kept quiet while they carried out their investigations or there was something far more sinister going on. And Bill’s life seemed to have been air-brushed out of existence.
‘Listen to me, Nicky,’ Alice said. ‘You’re our office manager. There’s no need for you to get involved in anything other than - well, organising the office and gathering information. If it comes to the crunch, you don’t know much about the investigation. Freddie and I will back you up. So how about it? Are you staying to see this through or not?’
A tentative smile from Nicky. ‘Well, I know I shouldn’t say this, Alice, seeing as this is all about you losing your family, but most of my other jobs have been dull compared to this one. Even the acting ones. This investigation is a lot more exciting, and if I’m honest, I’m starting to enjoy it.’
Alice hugged her briefly then checked her watch. ‘Great, Nicky. Thanks for your support. Right! We’ve wasted enough time in the office. We need to head for Peterborough, talk to this ex-detective and find out who scared him away. Shall we go in my Saab or your hired car, Freddie?’
‘Hired car. Less distinctive.’ I offered her my hand. ‘Welcome to the company, Weston and Bayne.’
‘Let’s stick to Weston and Turner, as a tribute to Bill.’
Chapter 22
We made Peterborough in just over two hours in the Renault Scenic rental car. Alice complained that we should have gone in her Saab seeing as she had a satnav which might have made finding Jack Dawe’s address easier. I protested that we had my computer map which I’d printed off Streetmap UK and confessed to her my fear of losing my map-reading skills.
‘I think you’ve already lost it,’ she said. ‘We just turned left there when we should have gone right.’
‘You were holding the map round the wrong way.’
She giggled. ‘And I think you’re talking bollocks.’
‘No change there then.’
I turned the car round in the narrow street, and we went back past the T-junction where I had gone left instead of right. We took the next right into a no-through street of cramped, brick, two-up two-down terrace houses and cruised slowly, Alice reading off the numbers until we came to the dead end right outside the house belonging to the ex-investigator.
‘That might be useful,’ I observed. ‘As it’s at the end of the terrace, it’s got a back entrance.’
‘Surely you wouldn’t consider breaking and entering, would you?’
She said it so sincerely I thought she was serious until I noticed the slight smile on her face.
‘First of all,’ I said as I parked the car, ‘let’s see if he’s home.’
When we knocked, the bang sounded alarmingly loud in the quiet street. We waited, staring at the drab and greying net curtain in the front room window. I bent over and peered through the letter box, but all I could see was a gloomy hallway, a door on the right near the stairs, and a door at the end, presumably leading to the kitchen. I knocked again, lightly this time, because there was no way he wouldn’t have heard my first knock, and I didn’t want to alert the street to our presence.
Alice shivered. ‘It doesn’t look like anyone’s home. And it’s ominously quiet.’
‘Ain’t nobody here but us chickens,’ I sang softly.
‘What?’
‘Heard it on The Muppet Show.’
‘I almost regret asking.’
‘With my daughter when she was nine or ten.’
I saw the wistful look in Alice’s eyes, and I knew the allusion to my harmonious family life had aroused in her a memory of her tragic circumstances, reminding her of what might have been.
‘Come on,’ I said. ‘Let’s take a look round the back.’
Halfway down the narrow side entrance was a tall gate. I tried the latch, expecting it to be bolted on the other side, but it opened, creaking on rusty hinges. We passed a back window which looked out onto the alley, which was also masked by a net curtain so dirty it was almost opaque. The back garden was mostly overgrown grass and there was a small shed at the end. As we came around the side, we saw there were two doors, one was the back entrance and the other looked like a door to an old outside privy. I rapped on the back door with my knuckles, just in case Dawe was home and asleep after a night of binge drinking. After all, his father had told me he was depressed. Depressed and scared, so who could blame him if he drank himself legless in the local pub.
Alice suggested we try the back door. I expected it to be locked but it opened, leading us into a small scullery-kitchen, containing a manky gas cooker next to an old fashioned white sink, piled high with dirty crockery, next to a wooden draining board. We had gone back in time. The house was circa 1930s and didn’t look as if it had been improved in any way since then. I wondered why the back door had been left unlocked, and saw there was an ordinary key in the lock, not a Yale type, so leaving via the back door would mean taking the key from the inside, and locking it from the outside before leaving. Either Jack Dawe was still here, or he had gone out the back door, leaving it open. Which was not what a frightened man would do.
We crept quietly up a step and into the next room, which had a hideous green-tiled fireplace with a two-bar electric fire in the grate, in front of which sat an old easy chair with wooden arms, the varnish faded, and the stuffing of the cushions frayed and torn. A hideously-patterned square Formica table stood by the window, and the matching chairs had tubular yellow metal frames and padded plastic seats, most of which were split.
‘Surely he can’t have lived here,’ Alice whispered. ‘I got the impression he was a bit of a high-flyer.’
‘Not any more.’
‘But this house, it’s - ’ She struggled to find the right words.
‘Maybe he inherited it from his granny or someone. And now he needs it as a safe house. Come on, let’s take a look around.’
There was hardly any room to move in the front room, it was crammed with junk like a second-hand shop, bursting at the seams with heavy oak furniture, ugly and cumbersome items, wartime utility mainly, with no sense of style. Stuff that had no value, except maybe if you were looking for properties for a wartime film set. It smelt damp and musty in there, and the threadbare carpet looked as if it was caked with dust.
I looked at Alice, pulled a face, then pointed upwards. Stairs creaking loudly, we climbed the short staircase to the landing. There was a bathroom just as you reached the top, the door was open revealing a chipped-enamel bath, with maroon-coloured stains, over which stood a monstrous gas heater. There were two rooms up there, and I chose the one at the front of the house, which was probably the master bedroom. As soon as I walked in and smelt the sickly odour of putrefying flesh, I knew what I would find.
His body was sprawled across the filthy bed, his head lolling at an angle, covered in a plastic bag tied tightly around the neck by a belt. I saw Alice falter and put a hand to her mouth as she gagged. The fetid room was dark, the heavy curtains closed, the only light coming from a six inch gap in the middle, throwing a sliver of light across the body. The face inside the bag was grim, bloated and hideous, a mask of horror. He wore a short sleeved shirt, and I forced myself to step closer to peer at the putrefying flesh of his arm. It didn’t look as if rigor mortis was long gone, and the decomposition was fairly recent, otherwise the stench would have been far worse. I’m no expert in these matters, but I knew enough to guess that he death occurred maybe two days ago. Bedclothes were strewn all over the floor and there was an upturned bedside table and lamp on the floor.
Alice looked as if she was about to pass out, so I opted to speak to her, forcing her to reply. ‘If you were a copper, what would you make of this?’
She swallowed hard before answering. ‘The belt around his neck looks very tight. The way the buckle’s been slotted neatly into a notch. I wouldn’t think that would have been easy to do - not as you find it harder to breathe. But then I can only guess. How can anyone know what it’s like?’
‘What else can you see?’
‘Why are the bedclothes strewn everywhere? If he killed himself he would have just laid down on the bed and done it, wouldn’t he?’
‘Of course. But it looks as if there was a struggle.’
‘But why wouldn’t... I mean, if it wasn’t suicide, why would the killer leave everything looking as if there was a struggle?’
I shrugged. ‘Maybe he wasn’t trying to make it look like a suicide. Perhaps he didn’t care what the crime scene looks like. The walls in these houses must be quite thin, so he decides to use what he thinks is a quiet method of killing.’
‘But Jack Dawe made it hard for him. Put up a fight.’
‘Yes, and from what you told me, he was ex-army, so he must have been reasonably tough, even if he was out of condition. But we can only guess about what happened. The only ones who’ll get nearer the truth will be crime scene officers and forensics.’ I took a deep breath and almost gagged on the pungent stink of decaying flesh. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here. There’s nothing we can do now.’
As we walked on to the landing I patted all my pockets. ‘Why is it you can never find a hankie or tissue when it’s needed.’
She took a packet of handy tissues out of her handbag and gave them to me. ‘Will these do?’
‘Thanks. It’s to wipe prints off the door handles.’
‘Yes, I think I could have worked that out for myself.’
Chapter 23
On the drive out of Peterborough I saw Alice shifting awkwardly in her seat, rolling her shoulders to ease the tension.
‘How d’you feel?’ I asked her.
‘Dirty. I need a good long soak in the bath. That smell seems to stay with you.’
I smiled grimly. ‘It’s hard to shake off.’
‘Not your first experience of corpses, I take it.’
‘No. Although it’s been a while.’
‘This murdering bastard’s got to be stopped, Freddie. He’s already tried to kill you with the car bomb. He couldn’t have known Bill was going to drive, and you were going to go back to collect the gun. In order to plant the bomb, he must have followed you both home. Either that, or he knows where you live. But how could he know you would try to find Jack Dawe? The only ones who knew about that were you, Bill, Nicky and me.’
‘Unless he happened to ring up Dawe’s father, same as we did, and found out someone phoned to get his son’s address. So, not taking any chances, and guessing we’d go up there to speak with Jack Dawe, he decides to stop us by planting the car bomb. Then, when he finds out I’m still alive, he goes up to Peterborough to silence Dawe. It looks now as if he’s getting careless and taking risks. Because he knows we’re on to him and getting closer.’
‘But how could he possibly know that?’
‘There is one person who thinks the sun shines out of his arse. And probably doesn’t have a clue about the sort of man he is.’
‘You mean that schoolteacher?’
‘That’s the one. Christine Bailey. When Bill and I went to visit her, there was something not quite right.’ Suddenly the thought hit me, and I thumped the steering wheel. ‘Shit! Why didn’t I think of it? She’s got my business card. OK, so it’s not got my home address on it, but it has the office website, email address and mobile. If he works for this Eclipse bastard, who can access our texts and calls - ’
‘But if she still sees her old boyfriend, why would she give him your details?’
‘If he was an undercover cop originally, and infiltrated the anarchist group, he’s probably brilliant at deception and a very convincing liar. Plus they’ve got a young son, and that can often create a strong bond, even though he may disappear for months on end.’
‘But he disappeared out of her life nearly fourteen years ago.’
‘Still, he may have been in touch with her during those years. He might even have provided money for the son.’
I noticed the tension in Alice’s hands as she squeezed them tightly in her lap.
‘A ruthless, cold blooded killer like that looking after his family. That doesn’t make any sense.’
‘Like a lot of bad guys, he leads a double-life. And don’t forget, Hitler was loved by millions of Germans, was kind to animals and a vegetarian.’
‘I take your point. But
his son would have been about three or four when he shot my little brother. You would have thought being a father himself, he’d have had some compassion, sense of decency and moral standards.’
‘Try telling that to the Taliban who shot a fifteen-year-old Pakistani girl.’
Alice sighed loudly. ‘What a shit-awful world we live in.’
‘It’s been like it for thousands of years. Nothing’s changed.’
Because I’d been used to the automatic transmission on my Jaguar, and I wasn’t concentrating as I changed gears coming on to the A1, there was a terrible grinding noise as I tried to slam the gear stick into third, forgetting to put my foot on the clutch.
‘Must change my underwear when I get home,’ I chuckled.
Ignoring my bad joke, Alice said, ‘So what happens now?’.
‘I need to have another word with this Christine Bailey.’
‘I think we need to have a word with her. Woman to woman might work better.’
‘I think you’re right,’ I agreed. ‘But the biggest problem’s going to be getting her on her own. She won’t talk to us in front of her son, and she teaches during the day. We’ll have to do a bit of surveillance. Find out when the son goes out on a regular basis. But that could take a bit of time.’
‘Meanwhile, there’s a killer still out there who...’
‘That may not be a problem,’ I interrupted to set her mind at ease. ‘With Jack Dawe dead, he knows we’ll find it tricky to get any more info. And I don’t think he’s going to want to take any more risks.’
‘I hope you’re right, Freddie.’
‘So do I.’
A long and thoughtful silence before she spoke. ‘About Jack Dawe’s murder: you don’t think we ought to - ’ She didn’t finish the sentence but I knew what she was driving at.
‘Inform the police, you mean?’
‘We could do it anonymously. At least then his father will find out what happened to his son. It’s better that he knows.’
