by David Barry
‘Whether he finds out now or in weeks or months is still going to be a shock. I don’t think we ought to risk it. We were never in Peterborough and we never found his body. It’s better that way. So let’s drop it, shall we?’
‘If you say so. Changing the subject: how are things at home now?’
‘Lousy. I get the silent moody from Michelle. She knows I’m caught up in something dodgy and wants me to drop it.’
‘What did you tell her about the investigation?’
‘Not much. I didn’t lie as such. I said you wanted me to find out what happened to your father, which in a way is true.’
‘What about the explosion?’
‘She thinks the car bomb was something to do with that villain’s mob I took revenge on last year.’
‘The one who was responsible for your father’s suicide?’
I nodded, and went on to tell her the full story. When I finished, she was silent for a while.
‘Well?’ I prompted.
‘Sounds to me like you got lucky, what with him having a stroke followed by senile dementia. It could so easily have gone the other way, and Michelle will know that.’
‘Which is why I’m getting the passive-aggressive treatment. It could be worse. If I hadn’t sorted out this internet freak that attacked my daughter, I think my marriage would be over by now. As it is, I’m on two yellow cards.’
Chapter 24
Thursday 3 October 2013
The only close family of Bill’s was an older brother living in Aberdeen, who he had never really got along with. When I phoned and told him of his younger brother’s death, he grumbled about how difficult the journey would be to attend the funeral, so would I understand if he gave it a miss. It was no skin off my nose, I told him, and as Bill was dead he wouldn’t be aware of his brother’s absence. It was a short conversation, lasting less than two minutes.
But I did get in touch with some of our old ex-army pals, and they showed up for the funeral, as did Bill’s ex-wife from a childless marriage of twenty years ago. Her name was Diana and she made the effort to come down from Sunderland where she lived with her second husband and two children. Although I had never met her until this day, I remembered Bill telling me how much she loved him, would always love him, but said she couldn’t possibly stay with him when she discovered he was a mercenary. He said it was something to do with her socialist-pacifist upbringing, and she regretted their parting but it was inevitable considering he made his living from someone else’s death.
While we hung around in the reception area outside the chapel of rest, waiting to be ushered inside for the short and ill-attended funeral, the polite conversation was strained. Michelle was watchful and suspicious, her eyes sweeping over Nicky and Alice, as if she was assessing their candidacy for attending the funeral of someone they had only known for such a short time. When I introduced her to Alice, she nodded curtly.
‘You can’t have known Bill for very long. Less than a week, was it?’
‘That’s right. But I liked him and thought I would come and pay my respects.’
Michelle nodded. A throat clearing strained silence in the waiting room as everyone was stuck for something to say. I was glad Michelle and I had persuaded Jackie and Olivia not to miss another day at college and school instead of travelling across London to attend Bill’s funeral, a service that would be over in a flash.
A short, slim, attractive woman sidled into our group. She wore a tight black dress, black high-heel shoes, a black fedora worn at a jaunty angle, and a red ribbon around her slender neck, with a medallion of some sort attached to it. The shade of the ribbon matched her lipstick. She looked stylish, as if she might once have been a model. She introduced herself.
‘I’m Diana. You must be Freddie. When Bill and I were married, he talked about you a lot.’
‘We go back a long way,’ I replied, wondering if anyone noticed my use of the present tense. ‘You’ve come all the way from Sunderland, I believe. That’s quite a journey.’
‘Well, I know we were married for only three years but we parted as friends. There were no recriminations.’
She spoke with a curiously attractive Geordie dialect, her statements sounding like questions.
‘As you’ve come all that way, no doubt you’ll join us in the pub afterwards.’
She shook her head emphatically. ‘No, I’m sorry, but I think I’ll have to catch the train back before the rush hour.’
‘It’s a long way to come for a very short service,’ I persisted. ‘The proper send off for someone like Bill would be in the boozer.’
‘Reminiscing about your days in the army?’ She glanced at the huddle of old ex-soldiers and spoke with a trace of bitterness. ‘If you don’t mind, I’ll give that one a miss.’
I didn’t know what to say and was relieved when an usher asked us to enter the chapel for the service. I’d arranged for the Dire Straits recording of ‘Brothers in Arms’ to play softly while we waited for the service to begin. It’s quite a lengthy song, so I arranged for a fade out just before the chaplain was due to speak. As the song played I caught the eye of Bill’s ex-wife and she shook her head slightly, probably disapproving of the music choice.
As I was the closest friend of Bill, I had given the chaplain a few details about his background and what little I knew about his childhood for the eulogy, but kept off the subject of his mercenary exploits, although I let it be known that he was a good soldier in the 9th Para Engineers. The chaplain read from the outline I’d given him, talking about the diversity of Bill’s skills, and spoke about how he was also a trained and brilliant paramedic. Then he went on to read about Bill’s love of Shakespeare. I don’t think my old pal ever went to the theatre; he just enjoyed reading Shakespeare, mainly the histories, dipping into passages and memorising quotes, especially relevant passages to do with soldiering, Henry V being one of his favourites. The chaplain paused prior to his conclusion, looking around at the middle-aged ex-military men, before ending the tribute with the quotation ‘we few, we happy few, we band of brothers.’ We all bowed our heads for ‘The Lord’s Prayer’, followed by a mumbled ‘Amen’, and then the coffin began its journey to the furnace as my appropriately chosen ‘Brothers in Arms’ faded up.
In spite of Michelle’s disapproval of the way I had brought Bill’s misfortune to our doorstep, as we watched the coffin disappearing through the gap in the curtains, she took my hand and squeezed it. The sympathy and understanding was brief and of the moment, and I knew it wouldn’t last.
There were a few sniffles, especially from Bill’s ex-wife, and I noticed one of Bill’s old comrades wiping a tear from his eye. It was over in a trice and we shuffled out into the warm autumn sun.
I saw Diana taking a mobile and a business card out of her handbag and I guessed she was about to ring for a taxi. ‘How are you getting to Kew Gardens station?’ I asked her.
‘The same way as I got here. By cab.’
‘I’ll give you a lift, Diana.’
‘That’s OK. I don’t want to keep you from your booze-up.’
I wanted to tell her that according to the online details of the crematorium it was only a ten minute walk to the station, but her high heels looked precarious and weren’t designed for anything more distant than crossing a wine bar.
Michelle placed a hand on Diana’s to stop her dialling. ‘I’ll run you Diana. Freddie can get a lift with one of his old comrades. Kew Gardens station’s not far.’ Michelle saw Diana about to protest, and added, ‘I insist. It’s no trouble at all.’
‘Thank you.’
I shook hands with her, thanked he for coming, and watched as Michelle walked her to the car, thinking how sad it was that she had made the hefty journey for such a brief farewell. I wondered if it was closure and she could now get on with life and no longer indulge in thoughts o
f how things might have been had Bill not been a mercenary. I also wondered what her husband and children had been told was the reason for this trip. Then I freed it from my mind. What did it matter? I was never going to know.
Alice gave Nicky and me a lift to the pub, The Botanist Brewery on Kew Green. I had reserved an area for us, and put in an order for a the first round of drinks. I decided to put off ordering any food until Michelle turned up, but when my mobile bleeped, I saw that it was a text message from her, saying she didn’t feel like drinking, had gone home, and would I mind using public transport to get back.
Bad enough that I felt guilty and responsible for Bill’s death, without Michelle rubbing my nose in it. And as if to compound the way I was being swallowed up by the insatiable monster of death and gloom, Jeremy Wallbank, an old comrade from the 9th Para regiment, cornered me, demanding to know the truth about how Bill died. He clearly didn’t believe my story about the faulty vehicle catching fire.
‘Knowing Bill,’ he said, ‘he’d have been out of the driving seat in a flash. The car wouldn’t have exploded immediately. That was a fucking car bomb, Freddie, and don’t try to tell me any different. What the fuck’s going on?’
His voice had risen, and I noticed one of the bar staff staring at us, a worried look on his face. He knew we would spend lavishly, but equally he didn’t want customers in attendance who might lower the tone of the place.
‘Please, Jem, keep your voice down. I can’t tell you at this stage. It’s too dangerous. I don’t want it to get out.’
‘Don’t want what to get out? That’s not good enough, Freddie. I want to know what really happened to Bill. And what the police are doing about it? Don’t give me any more of your bullshit, Freddie. I’m not fucking stupid. I want t know what happened to our old mate.’
Jimmy Gresham, a corporal from our time in Northern Ireland in the mid-seventies, attracted by the intensity of his harangue, stood at his side, nodding fervently. He was soon joined by the four others: Clive ‘Squirrel’ Nutkin, Jack Bradley, Ken ‘Gunner’ Thomson and Dick Russell. Their eyes bored into me as I was forced into the focus of their enclosing circle. Surrounded. Clearing my throat nervously, I racked my brains for something I could tell them that wouldn’t compromise our investigation, upsetting my client.
But it was Alice who came to my rescue.
‘I’ll tell you what’s going on,’ she said, as she pushed her way into the circle and stood next to me.
Some of them exchanged puzzled looks as she paused, and I could see her working out just how much of the story to give them.
‘Before I married, my name was Alice Bayne. If some of you cast your minds back, you might remember me from the media.’ She stared at them, waiting for one of them to recognise her.
Dick Russell was the first. ‘Jesus!’ he gasped. ‘You’re the young girl whose family was wiped out in Scotland.’
Some of them exchanged looks and muttered that they remembered the dreadful incident.
‘Well,’ Alice went on, ‘for eleven years the police got nowhere. So I came to meet Freddie and Bill to see if they were prepared to take the case on. Then, when they agreed to represent me, they did something the police were unable to do: they discovered the false identity of the killer, who it turns out is or was an undercover cop.’ She paused, looking at each of them in turn, waiting for a response. It was Jem who provided it.
‘Is that why the police have kept the car bomb incident quiet?’
She shrugged. ‘It could be. But we don’t really know.’
‘So what happens now?’ Jimmy Gresham asked.
‘The killer’s been getting careless,’ I said. ‘I think he’s running scared. So we think we have a plan to flush him out.’
The circle of six ex-soldiers stared at me with mixed expressions of admiration and envy. They had all settled for a safe but humdrum existence and clearly missed the danger and excitement of their younger days.
I smiled at Alice, grateful for her assistance in getting me off the hook with my old army pals and giving them as much information as she dared.
‘Is there anything we can do to assist in tracking down this bastard?’ Jem said.
I stifled a smile as I looked at the old soldier, who was now at least six stone overweight, and hadn’t aged well, looking more like a man of seventy than someone in his mid-fifties.
‘Thanks, Jem, but all we ask is total silence. And I promise I’ll give you the full story after it’s all over.’
An uncomfortable silence. I could tell they were all thinking that we might end up the same way as Bill, and often it’s the bad guys who triumph.
It was Nicky who broke the spell of doom. ‘Shall we order some food now?’
Chapter 25
Saturday 5 October 2013
Alice and I sat in her car. We’d been there for half an hour, parked diagonally opposite Christine Bailey’s house. I checked up on the QPR fixture for today, and discovered they were playing at home against Barnsley. Our only hope was that Bailey’s son was an avid and regular supporter. If he was, at his young age, and probably with money being tight, he was more likely to attend a home game.
At 11:45 a young lad wearing a QPR strip arrived at the house and we watched him knock. Presently, as if he’d been expected at that time, Bailey’s son came lumbering out of the house, slamming the door, and the two lads hurried along the street towards the main road.
‘Let’s give it fifteen minutes,’ I suggested to Alice, ‘just in case he might have forgotten something and comes back for it.’
We waited ten minutes and then decided to tackle Christine Bailey, just in case she left to go shopping now her son had left the house. We crossed the street and I rapped on the door, standing to one side to let Alice be the first to confront Bailey. I intended leaving most of the talking to my new partner as I knew she would appeal to the woman’s sense of justice; although I realised it still might be tricky, seeing as Chapmays was the father of her son, and she might flinch at the idea of betraying him, even though he had betrayed her political group to the police.
The door opened cautiously, as if she’d been anticipating trouble since Bill and I paid her a visit just over a week ago. Her mouth opened in confusion when she saw Alice, and when her eyes flitted to me she began to shut the door. So I put one foot in and flung my shoulder against it. The frame flew out of her hand and slammed into the wall.
‘Hey!’ she yelled. ‘What the hell’s going on?’
‘We just want to talk to you,’ Alice said.
‘Get out! I’ve got nothing to say to you.’
‘That’s too bad. Because we’re going to talk to you whether you like it or not. We can do it out here on the doorstep, in front of all the neighbours, or you can invite us in and we can sit down and have a civilized discussion.’
Her eyes widened and radiated fear.
‘What about?’
‘I think you know bloody well why we’ve come here. It’s about your boyfriend.’
She shrank into herself as she stared at me. ‘I’ve already told this man here, I don’t know where he is.’
‘You lied to him,’ Alice hissed. ‘And you lied to his partner, who is now dead. Killed in a car bomb. So you’d better start talking to us. Do I make myself clear?’
I thought the woman was about to start bawling, but in a moment she composed herself and stood aside. ‘You’d better come in then. But I don’t see what else I can tell you.’
She closed the front door and took us through to the back room. We sat at the table and she remained standing, her arms folded across her chest.
‘I’m not going to offer you anything to drink,’ she said, ‘because you won’t be staying long enough. I’ve got nothing else to say. I haven’t seen Peter for years.’
Alice raised her eyebrows in mock su
rprise. ‘No? Then how is it he knew of the whereabouts of Freddie Weston here and his partner?’
‘I really have no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘I’m talking about Peter Chapmays killing this man’s partner.’
Bailey snorted scornfully. ‘I don’t believe you. And I don’t believe Peter would do such a thing.’
‘No? He’s the only one right now who has a motive for killing Bill Turner, this man’s partner, in a car bomb that was intended for both of them.’
‘This is... this is absurd. Why would Peter want to kill this man’s partner? What possible reason would he have? It’s so ridiculous...’
Alice raised a hand to stop her. ‘It’s not so ridiculous, and you damn well know it. Your boyfriend was an undercover cop who betrayed you then disappeared for years on end. And since then he’s become a cold-blooded hired killer.’
‘Hired killer!’ Bailey shrieked. ‘What fucking planet are you living on?’
Alice shook her head in desperation, knowing this was going to be difficult persuading this woman that her boyfriend was a hitman.
I decided it was time to step in and give her the full details of the Bayne family massacre. ‘Let me introduce you to Alice Bayne. You might remember her from headline stories eleven years ago when her family was murdered up in Scotland. Her mother, father and little brother were shot, and the gunman showed no mercy whatsoever.’
I paused, giving her time to digest the information as she stared at Alice. Then I went on to explain about the way we had stumbled on the name of Peter Chapmays, pinpointing him as the man who purchased the car tracker; and the newspaper picture from the anarchists’ court acquittal confirming his false identity as Chapmays. I ended the account by telling her of the way he had stolen a dead toddler’s identity. After I finished her face was ashen and I could see she was deeply affected.
‘There m-must be s-some mistake,’ she stammered. ‘Peter would never harm anyone. He was against capitalism and all that it stood for. And now you’re trying to tell me he killed people for money. I don’t believe you.’
