Risky Business

by W. Soliman

  “Oh, why not?”

  “Think about it. If these people want to remain anonymous, their names won’t appear anywhere. My guess is that the corporation will be fronted by their accountants. Or solicitors. Or someone with a fake identity.”

  We arrived back at the boat and received a rapturous welcome from Gil. I phoned my old mate Detective Sergeant Jimmy Taylor and caught him at home. He’d be able to access Companies House records from the nick and get me the information I needed. I could do it myself but I’d have to register and leave a trail for anyone paranoid enough to check. If Jimmy did it from the nick, it might raise a flag or two but no one would know why he was looking if I asked him to keep stum about it. Jimmy was about to go on duty and said he’d get back to me later that day.

  Cleo and I passed the time by taking Gil for a run and stopping for a bite of lunch at one of the restaurants attached to the marina.

  I felt Cleo’s eyes assessing me and wondered what she was thinking. I was a good judge of character—you had to be in my previous line of work—but this girl had me puzzled. It was almost as though she’d become accustomed to expecting the worst from life and so was seldom disappointed. Given that she had a career criminal for a father and my ex-colleagues regularly knocking on the door was probably something she’d learned to take in her stride, I couldn’t say as I blamed her. But she’d done what she could to rise above it all and make a decent life for herself, only to have her savings whipped away from her and no way of knowing why that should have happened. In her position I’d have kept people at arm’s length too.

  And that was what she’d been doing with me. With everyone. She’d built a shell round her emotions and seldom let them out for air, afraid of being disappointed. She wasn’t dishonest herself but trusting the police still had to go against the grain. She’d obviously expected me to turn her down flat, and when I didn’t her kiss was a rare, spontaneous reaction. One which she obviously regretted. I really must be losing my touch.

  Now that we were in a social setting, with no pressing engagements, I waited for the inevitable questions. The ones people always asked. Why had I left the police so young? Why had I joined in the first place? Why was I divorced? But she said nothing and the silence between us was in danger of becoming embarrassing. But I was good at silences and waited it out, determined that she’d be the first one to talk.

  “How was Yorkshire?” she eventually asked.

  I toyed with my pasta, not surprised that she’s chosen such a safe subject. “Cold,” I said succinctly.

  “Well, what else can you expect at this time of the year?”

  “How long have you worked at the casino?” I asked on impulse.

  “Two years.”

  Two years. That was all she said. Nothing about whether she liked it, if she planned to make a career out of it or was just marking time. Nada. I’d never met a woman so disinclined to talk about herself.

  “Was your father hanging out with anyone in particular at the time of Spelling’s murder?”

  Surprise registered on her features at the abrupt change of subject but it got her complete attention. “I’m not sure. Why?”

  I said nothing, thinking the question ought to be self-explanatory, and it didn’t take her long to catch on.

  “He was tight with Reg Turner,” she said eventually, “but no other names stand out.”

  I nodded. In my former life Turner had been well-known to me as a small-time criminal and regular face on the dog-racing scene. I couldn’t imagine him having anything to do with murder but there could well be a link here. Reg was involved with the dogs, and so had Cleo’s father been, and Spelling was a bookie. Before I could push Cleo for more information, my phone rang. It was Jimmy with the information I needed.

  “An accountant is the company secretary,” he said, reeling off a name and address which I dutifully made a note of. “And a solicitor’s down as director.”

  “Figures,” I said. “Who is he?”

  Jimmy told me but my pen stalled when he gave me his address. I knew Jason Miller by reputation. He represented some of the wealthier cons in the area. What I hadn’t known was that he lived and worked from a flat in the same block as my stepbrother Paul Flint. The very person I was putting off visiting.

  I felt the adrenaline kick in along with my suspicions. Coincidences like this just didn’t happen in real life. There had to be something more in it. Hell if I knew what, but I fully intended to find out. It seemed that I was destined to be involved in this thing with Cleo whether I liked it or not. And not just to get a man who might or might not be innocent released from prison.

  Chapter Four

  Cleo’s immediate suggestion was that she pay Miller a visit.

  “Not a good idea,” I told her.

  “Why not?”

  “Because he’ll know who you are and won’t tell you a thing. Solicitors are a cautious breed at the best of times. They have to be. Client confidentiality and all that.” I leaned back and stretched my arms above my head. “If their clients are, as in this case, adamant about remaining anonymous then you’ll be showing your hand for no good reason and that could rebound on your dad.”

  She glowered at me, as though it was my fault. “I suppose so but it’s frustrating to have got this far and not do anything about it.”

  “Who said we weren’t going to do anything?” I drained my beer, wondering if I’d live to regret my next words. “There’s nothing stopping me popping in to see Miller.”

  She visibly brightened. “I suppose not. But on what pretext?”

  “Well, it’s fairly common knowledge that I was disillusioned with the police force, which is why I left before my time. I might suggest that I have some business to transact that’s on the dodgy side of legal.”

  She looked sceptical, with good reason. It wasn’t much of a plan. “The moment you mention my father’s name he’s bound to smell a rat.”

  “Credit me with a little intelligence,” I said, pulling a wounded face. “Your father’s name won’t pass my lips. I’ll tell him I’ve been contacted by Spelling’s wife. She’s come across some papers to do with Spelling’s activities immediately before his murder and wasn’t sure what to do with them.”

  “Papers that are incriminating to certain people,” she suggested, looking a bit more enthusiastic about my brilliant master plan.

  “Precisely.”

  “But why would she come to you and why would you pass that information to Miller?”

  “She came to me for the same reason you did. I’m the caring face of modern policing,” I said. Her expression clearly conveyed her thoughts about that piece of self-aggrandisement. “And I’ve gone to Miller because the papers name one of his clients.”

  She frowned. “But won’t he ask who that client is?”

  “Yes, I’m sure he will, which is why I’ll have to do a spot of digging before I make the appointment. We know your dad was hanging out with Reg Turner. If I can get my old colleagues to find out who Turner was working for at the time—”

  “Will they know?” She seemed surprised by the suggestion.

  “They’ll have a pretty good idea. I’ll ask Jimmy to see what he can unearth and then take a punt on it. The worst it can be is a massive waste of time.”

  “But won’t it put Spelling’s wife in danger?”

  “Well, obviously, I’ll have to run it past her first, if I can find her. But it’s true what I said earlier. She never could understand why her husband was hit.”

  “She attended Dad’s trial every day looking very tragic.”

  “Hardly surprising given that her husband was murdered and the man accused of bumping him off had been a regular guest in her home. It would be enough to upset anyone.”

  “I was so stunned by Dad being charged that I didn’t giv
e her situation much thought.” She dropped her head. “I ought to have done. She was always nice to us girls.”

  “She probably wouldn’t have appreciated anything you had to say back then.”

  “Probably not but I still should have tried.” She briefly covered one of my hands with her own. “But thanks for trying to make me feel better.”

  “All part of the service, ma’am.”

  “Going back to Miller,” she said reflectively. “Even if you hit on his right client’s name, he won’t admit to knowing anything about it. So short of tapping his phone to see who he contacts after you leave, I don’t see how your dangling carrots under his nose will help.”

  “Even if we could tap his phone it wouldn’t get us anywhere.”

  She looked surprise. “Why not?”

  “Because he might phone the person to say I’ve been sniffing around but he won’t talk business over the phone. Someone with stuff to hide would never risk it.”

  She plucked at her lower lip, looking deflated. “It always works in the movies.”

  “This is the real world and Miller’s type doesn’t get to survive without being super-cautious.”

  “So they’d meet in person.”

  “That’s my guess. Hopefully, if I’m convincing enough, they’ll do it soon after I meet with Miller, and we’ll be able to—”

  “But won’t that mean watching him all the time?”

  “I’ve got people who’ll do that for me.”

  “Charlie, are you sure?” She leaned across the table, her intense expression wary but full of gratitude. It brought that bloody kiss to mind and I wondered if she would express her gratitude in a similar fashion again. “It all seems a bit tenuous.”

  “Catching crooks isn’t an exact science.”

  “I guess you know what you’re doing.”

  I was glad one of us thought so. She finished her drink and signalled for the bill, but when it arrived I wouldn’t let her pay. She’d already told me she was broke. Perhaps that was why she didn’t put up much of a fight when I reached for my wallet.

  “Thanks,” she said, smiling. “What can I do whilst you’re playing cat and mouse with Miller?”

  “Keep well away from me.” I glanced at a man I’d seen lingering for ages over one drink a few tables away from us. A man who was pretending to read the paper but kept glancing at us over the top of it. I had a nasty feeling about him.

  “Oh, why?”

  “Because we’re unlikely bedfellows, unfortunately. If I stir up this hornet’s nest, it won’t do for us to be seen together for a while.”

  “I suppose.” She seemed disappointed but not, presumably, because her thoughts were veering in the same direction as mine.

  “I’ll call you as soon as I have any news.”

  “Thanks.” She kissed me on the cheek as though it was a chore to be got out of the way as quickly as possible. After ruffling Gil’s ears she strode off toward the car park without a backward glance.

  The man at the nearby table left as well, following Cleo but keeping a good distance behind her.

  Jimmy drew a blank on Reg Turner’s amigos from ten years back. In view of that I couldn’t decide whether to go through with my plan or admit defeat. In the end I figured it wasn’t my call to make. Spelling’s wife would have the final say. There would be a degree of risk for her, and she needed to be made aware of that. I recalled a bemused woman with a whole load of questions that none of us could fully answer at the time. I was the only one who tried, even though I wasn’t directly involved in the case, and was relying on that to work in my favour now. I found her address in the local phone book. She remembered who I was and agreed to see me at once.

  Her flat was a shrine to her late husband, and as soon as I stepped over the threshold I knew she would agree to help. Pictures of him littered every available surface and half the walls too. The less-than-lily-white bookie had been elevated to saintlike status by his grieving widow. Any space in the spotless flat not dedicated to his memory was full of soft toys, dolls in frilly dresses, pictures of children. It spoke of a lonely woman living an empty life.

  “Your kids?” I asked her.

  “No,” she said, a cloud passing across her eyes. “We weren’t blessed. I hadn’t given up hope though and nor had Jeff. We were still young enough.” That was stretching it a bit but I let it pass. “Now it will never be,” she said with a heavy sigh.

  Anxious to get off the subject, I spun her a yarn about Cleo’s dad taking the fall for the people who’d been using her beloved.

  “I always knew Mike didn’t do it,” she said, taking everything I said as gospel. “I tried to tell that woman inspector but she wouldn’t listen.”

  “Well, obviously it’s too late to bring Jeff back but perhaps we can do something to clear Mike’s name and find the real killer.”

  Her eyes came alight and I felt bad about raising her hopes.

  “He wouldn’t have left me, Mr. Hunter,” she said for the tenth time as we sipped stewed tea out of bone china mugs. “I never believed that. We were blissfully happy together but his work…” She stared at the opposite wall, overcome with emotion. I carried on forcing the tea down, waiting for her to regain control. “I hated him being a bookie,” she eventually said. “Someone was always out to get him. If their horse didn’t win they blamed it on him.”

  In that case someone must have bet a small fortune the day he died. But perhaps it would be better to keep that thought to myself. “This might come to nothing. You must be prepared for disappointment,” I told her.

  “Well, it doesn’t seem right for Mike Kendall to be in prison. He and Jeff were the best of mates. He would never hurt him.”

  “Even so.”

  “Do what you have to do, Mr. Hunter. Don’t worry about me. I might go and stay with my sister for a while. Just until this all dies down.”

  “That might be best.”

  “Just one more question and I’ll leave you in peace. Do you know who Reg Turner hung out with back then?”

  She shook her head. “No, not really. Jeff kept his business world separate from our private life. Sorry. Is it important?”

  “No, don’t worry about it. I just thought you might know.”

  She wrinkled her brow. “Well, if I think of any names, I’ll let you know.”

  “Thanks.”

  I gave her a card with my number on it and left her flat, ready to rattle Miller’s cage with her blessing. I’d always enjoyed stirring it with smug bastards like Miller. Even though I didn’t have much, I reckoned I could still wind him up enough to send him running to his client. I rang his number and made an appointment to see him the following day. Then I rang someone else who owed me a favour and got him to stand sentry outside Miller’s building with my zoom-lens camera. I gave Bill instructions to stay well hidden and get pictures of everyone who went in and out for the rest of the day. I promised to relieve Bill myself when darkness fell. It felt a bit like old times.

  Miller’s flat was opulent. If Paul could afford to live in the same building, it probably explained where Marianne’s money had gone. Miller answered the door himself, dressed in an immaculate three-piece suit that obviously hadn’t come from a High Street chain store. He eyed my uniform of jeans and biker’s jacket with distaste, just as he was supposed to.

  “Inspector Hunter,” he said, opening the door wide enough to let me in.

  “It’s just Mr. Hunter now.” I followed him along a panelled hallway and caught a glimpse of a large lounge to the left that was obviously his private domain. He led me into a room at the back of the apartment with a full-length bow window overlooking the street. A log fire was burning in the grate, and a large mahogany desk dominated the room, flanked by rows of leather law tomes that looked as though they’d never been opened.r />
  Miller ignored the cosy arrangement of sofas facing one another in front of the fire, which were clearly reserved for his wealthier clients. He seated himself behind his desk, indicating the visitor’s chair on the opposite side. I took my time sitting, keeping him waiting for a few seconds out of sheer devilment.

  “Ah yes,” he said, steepling his fingers and regarding me with something akin to amusement. “I did hear something about you taking early retirement, now you mention it.”

  “I was surprised when you asked me to call here,” I said. “I thought you were a partner with a firm in town.”

  “I am but in this day and age it’s possible to work from just about anywhere. I enjoy the comforts of my own home and only go to the office for board meetings.”

  “I see. But don’t you need a secretary or some sort of backup staff?” I looked round but couldn’t see another desk in the adjoining rooms.

  “The joys of the internet age. Everything’s done electronically and I can enjoy my privacy here. A lot of my clients prefer it that way.”

  I’ll just bet they do.

  “I must confess that your request for an appointment surprised me. What can I possibly do for a renowned ex-policeman?”

  You could offer him refreshments, like you would any other client. But I clearly didn’t rate that common courtesy.

  “I received a visit the other day from the last person I expected to see again,” I said.

  “Someone known to me presumably or you wouldn’t be here.”

  “Hmm, I expect so.” I crossed one foot over my opposite thigh and leaned one elbow on the arm of my chair, striving for relaxed body language. “She was married to someone who met an untimely end. Does the name Anne Spelling mean anything to you?”

  Miller’s expression froze momentarily but he recovered quickly. “Spelling,” he said, frowning. “Not sure I recognise the name.”

  “You don’t remember the case? It was about ten years back but you couldn’t pick up a paper at the time without reading something sensational about it. Her husband was the bookie who got murdered.”