by W. Soliman
“Evening, Reg,” I said cheerfully. “Refill?”
“Don’t mind if I do, Mr. Hunter. Just so long as it won’t cost me nothing.”
“There’s no such thing as a free lunch, Reg, or a free pint, come to that.” I ordered a pint for myself and another of whatever Reg was having.
“I heard you’d got out,” Reg said morosely. “So what do you want with me? Can’t somehow imagine that you hit upon this fine establishment by accident.”
“Nope, it was you I came to see.”
Reg sniffed, took his time rolling a paper-thin cigarette, tapped it several times on the bar and fired it up with a plastic lighter. “Oh yeah, what about then?” he asked warily.
This was where it got tricky. If he was still involved with the people behind Spelling’s murder then they’d get to hear of my interest before I even made it back to the boat. Even so, I had to take that chance.
“Your name cropped up in conversation the other day,” I said, taking a long pull on my pint. I wasn’t surprised to discover that it was excellent. Shabby décor meant nothing to the clientele of such establishments, but a poorly tapped barrel would likely cause a riot.
“Yeah, what about?” Reg’s attitude changed from guarded to hostile. “Don’t you lot ever let a body alone and mind your own bloody business?”
“Ah now, Reg, where’re your manners? It was a woman who spoke to me about you. Said you were tight with her dad.”
He scowled at me. “Why do I get the feeling that there’s more to this than a social call?”
“What, there’s somewhere else you need to be?” I feigned surprise. “What were you and Mike Kendall up to before he went down for Spelling’s murder?”
Reg slopped beer over his hand and dissolved into a bout of coughing.
“Ought to give up those cancer sticks, Reg.” I nodded toward his half-smoked fag. “They’ll kill you in the end.”
“Gotta die of something.”
“True enough but that won’t be a pleasant way to go.” I paused for a sup of beer. “Come on then, tell me about Kendall.”
“And I’d do that because—”
“Because I’m asking you nicely,” I said, steel in my voice. “Because you know me well enough not to want to make an enemy of me. Oh, and because I’ll make it worth your while.”
The offer of financial gain secured his attention but he wasn’t about to give anything up easily. “It was a long time ago,” he said.
“And you’ve got the memory of an elephant.”
He ground his cigarette out on the floor and sighed. “Look, it was a scam, all right?”
“What sort of scam?”
“Dog fixing. I was just a gofer and never knew who was behind it all.” That had to be a lie but I let it pass. “Mike Kendall was higher up the food chain but still a small cog.”
I nodded. “Go on.”
“It was money for old rope, weren’t it. Thousands of letters were sent out to known gamblers telling them that the person sending it had a score to settle with a particular bookie and was going to break him by betting big time on a specific race.” Reg paused to scratch vigorously at his scalp. I moved out of range to avoid the ensuing shower of flakes. “Dead simple it was, but then the best dodges usually are.”
“Don’t tell me. The recipient of the letter had to ring the number quoted and was given the name of the winning dog for free.”
“Got it in one, Mr. H.” Reg sniffed his contempt. “Course, three dogs were picked, with three different numbers to ring and one of them was almost sure to win the race. Well, put it this way, one of them always did win the race but don’t ask me how that could possibly have been arranged, dog racing being the upstanding, whiter-than-white sport what it’s always been. Anyway, out of the thousands of chancers who rang the numbers, a lot of ’em hit on the winner. Greed almost guaranteed that they’d phone again and this time pay for another tip.”
I nodded, having heard of such schemes before. “Simple and undetectable.”
“Yeah, pretty much, until that wanker Spelling went and got himself offed and spoiled it all.”
“He was the bookie who coordinated it?”
“Yeah, he supplied the names of the punters who were targeted but as far as I know, once he was killed and Mike went down for it, the scam was wound up.” He shrugged. “My services became surplus to requirements anyway and I never heard of it starting up again at another track.”
“Who’s Peter Garnet then and what was his part in it all?” I asked, hoping to catch him off guard with the abrupt change of subject.
“Dunno.” But he was lying. I could see it in his ferret-like eyes when he focused them everywhere except on my face.
“Don’t lie to me, Reg. Not when you were doing so well.”
“Look, I don’t know the man and what’s more I don’t want to.” But Reg was terrified. I could tell by his defensive body language and shuttered expression. “I’ve heard stories though and he ain’t the sort you’d want to cross.”
“So it’s coincidence that you happen to share the same brief as someone in Garnet’s league.”
This time his eyes did focus on me. “What do you mean?”
“You went to see Jason Miller, who charges three figures for a ten-minute consultation, a day or two before he was murdered. What am I supposed to think about that?”
Alarm flashed through his eyes. “Here, that was nothing to do with me. Don’t try sticking me with that one.”
“So why did you go to see Miller?”
Reg ground his teeth, clearly trying to decide how much to tell me. “It was personal.”
“Is that what you told my ex-colleagues when they came calling?”
He shrugged. “Haven’t had that pleasure yet.”
I wasn’t surprised to hear it. Looking at the people who’d been at Miller’s office on the day of his death would have been my priority too. But unlike Inspector Slater, I’d have also flipped back a few days to see if anyone of interest had been getting his attention before then. Turner’s name would have stuck out like a fox in a henhouse, and he’d have been one of the first people I spoke to. Jill obviously thought she had her man in yours truly and wasn’t bothering to look further afield.
I kept at Reg but he refused to say anything more. Whoever sent him to see Miller obviously frightened him a lot more than I did so I decided to call it a day. It would only be a matter of time before he remembered that I no longer had a right to be asking him questions.
“What can you tell me about Garnet, then?” I asked him instead.
“Like I said, he’s a hard sod. All smarm and good nature on the surface but he’d knife you as soon as look at you if you cross him.”
“Has he then?”
“Has he what?”
“Knifed anyone.”
“Fucked if I know. It’s just an expression. Word is that he’s gone all respectable nowadays.”
“But you don’t buy that?”
He shrugged. “People don’t change.”
“All right. What else can you tell me about him?”
“I did hear something interesting on the grapevine the other day, as a matter of fact.”
“And that would be?”
Reg said nothing more until I put my hand in my pocket and produced a tenner. I held it just out of his reach. “You have to earn it,” I reminded him.
“Rumour is that he’s on the verge of bankruptcy and is cooking something up to get himself out of the mire.”
It was the first thing Reg had told me that truly surprised me. “I’d heard that he was rolling in it.”
Reg took a long swallow of beer and passed his glass across the bar for a refill. “Yeah well, what with the recession, that fancy health club of his wasn’t doi
ng so well. So he decided on an expensive refit to attract more punters.”
“I’d have thought his nightclubs would keep the coffers full.”
“What can I say? Even the kids are feeling the pinch right now. Guess they don’t go clubbing quite as often as they used to. Or could be Garnet’s got competition in that field too, just like with his health club.”
“Somebody deliberately targeting his market, you mean?”
“Dunno, do I. Haven’t heard anything. It was just a suggestion.”
I thought about it. If Garnet had been behind the payments to Cleo’s mother’s clinic, his financial problems could explain why they’d stopped so abruptly. Could Reg have been in Miller’s office, acting as go-between for Garnet? It seemed tenuous, especially since Garnet’s wife had also been there, and presumably he’d be much more likely to trust her if he needed someone to act for him. None of it made sense. Yet. But my sixth sense told me I was on to something. Besides, I had bugger all else.
“Here, why are you asking about Kendall anyway?”
“He’s up for parole.”
Reg looked surprised. “Is he? I hadn’t heard.”
“But he won’t get it unless we can prove someone else killed Spelling.”
“Yeah, but why would you care? You were around when he was banged up and I don’t remember hearing that you had any doubts.”
“Mistakes are sometimes made.”
“Leave it alone, Mr. H. You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into. You always treated me fairly, not like some of your lot, and I wouldn’t like to see you lose your kneecaps.”
“Thanks. Warning duly noted.”
We drank for a moment or two in contemplative silence.
“What I can’t understand, Reg,” I said eventually, “is why Mike Kendall would have killed his mate.”
Reg chuckled. “There’s no honour amongst thieves. You of all people ought to know that.”
“Do you think he killed him then?”
He sniffed. “Doesn’t matter what I think, does it?”
“See what you can find out about Peter Garnet for me, Reg. There’ll be a decent drink in it for any information you come up with.”
He looked at me for a long time. “A woman.” He nodded vigorously. “It’s got to be a woman.”
“What has?”
“Whoever persuaded you to start asking dangerous questions. Kendall’s daughter, I shouldn’t wonder. Can’t say as I blame you. She’s a bit of all right but is she worth all the aggro?”
“So will you do it?” I asked him. “Get information on Garnet for me, I mean?”
He mulled the question over and took his time replying. “If that’s the only way to get you off my back. Not that it’ll do you much good, mind. I only see him occasionally at the dog track and he don’t talk to the likes of me. But I’ll keep my ear to the ground. Where can I reach you?”
I gave him the tenner and my number, whistled to Gil and I left the pub.
Chapter Seven
Gil and I had to wait a while for a bus to transport us back to civilisation. It didn’t particularly bother me. I had some thinking to do and was barely conscious of the passage of time. What or who was Reg so frightened of that he’d be prepared to turn down good money rather than ferret out the information I wanted? And he was frightened, which bothered me because it took a lot to frighten an old lag like Reg.
All right, so he’d said he’d help if he could but in all the years I’d known him, and used him as a snout, I couldn’t ever recall him backing away from a financial negotiation. Reg loved money and didn’t care too much what he had to do to earn it. Villain or snout, it was all the same to him. In his case it was true what he’d said to me in the pub. There was definitely no honour amongst thieves. But moral colatitudes aside, whatever information Reg had fed me over the years had always been good value. To the best of my knowledge, none of his partners in crime had ever discovered who’d grassed them up. If they had, he’d no longer be able to walk unaided. That was one advantage in being so far down the chain of command. Reg had a way of ingratiating himself and keeping a low profile. Suspicion never seemed to fall his way.
Perhaps I was imagining something that didn’t exist, and Reg was simply being cautious about helping me out because I no longer had the might of the police force behind me. But somehow I didn’t think so. Reg had landed himself in something out of his league. I didn’t need his visit to Miller’s office to tell me that. So what the bloody hell was going on?
Another bloke was waiting at the bus stop too, doing his best to avoid eye contact but that was nothing unusual in a city like Brighton. What did surprise me was Gil, usually the most compliant of dogs, taking an immediate dislike to him. A soft growl rumbled in his throat and his tail was rigid with tension. I tried to apologise to the guy but he seemed determined to act as though I didn’t exist. I thought nothing more of it until the bus finally trundled into sight. I stood back to let the other passengers board ahead of Gil and me but the chap who’d caught my attention didn’t do so.
Only then did I cotton on to the fact that something wasn’t quite right about him. He couldn’t be waiting for another bus. The vehicle belching out toxic fumes as passengers took their time getting on and off and whose driver took forever trying to decide whether or not Gil could come aboard was the only one serving this route. Perhaps he was meeting someone off the bus. It was odd but I was too preoccupied to think much more about it.
Only when the bus pulled away and I happened to glance back and see a car screech to a halt did the penny drop. The guy got into the passenger seat and the car fell into the bus lane, seemingly content to follow behind the slow-moving vehicle in spite of there being plenty of room to overtake.
The feeling of unease I’d experienced over Reg’s behaviour intensified. Was the guy following me or was I getting paranoid in my middle age? I tried to remember what he looked like, wishing now that I’d spared him a bit more attention. I could recall that he was tall and well built, as if he worked out or something. Mid-to late-thirties. A ball cap had prevented me from seeing his hair colour. A denim jacket and jeans. A description that would fit half the male population in Brighton. I briefly wondered if Slater had set him to watch me but dismissed that possibility. He hadn’t been in the pub whilst I was talking to Reg. I’d have spotted him even if he’d been in the other bar because it was visible through a large archway. Old habits die hard, and wherever I am, I always keep half an eye out for trouble.
Anyway, if he was watching me he was a joke. Unless he wanted me to know he was there, of course, in which case he’d done a pretty efficient job. I wondered about that as the bus slowly made its way into the more prosperous part of town. I hadn’t been followed to that pub, I’d bet a lot of money on that, so how did anyone know where I was?
Reg? Could he have tipped someone the wink? He’d gone to the bathroom midway through our little chat. I doubted whether he’d embraced the cell-phone age but there was a pay phone on the wall in the corridor leading to the gents.
By the time Gil and I got off the bus and set out to walk the rest of the way back to the boat, I was a fair way to believing that the guy had been watching me and had wanted me to know it. The car he was in had stayed behind the bus all the way into Brighton. I’d only lost sight of it when it got stuck at a red light.
We turned down the road to the marina, passing the casino where Cleo would be back on duty tomorrow, when I heard footsteps behind me. I had a feeling I’d know who it was as soon as I looked over my shoulder, which was presumably the point. And so I refrained from looking. I hated being predictable. The guy was walking at the same pace as me but I knew by now that he didn’t wish to harm me. Merely intimidate. Fortunately I didn’t scare easily.
I deliberately took the long route back to the boat, passing several
glass-fronted restaurants in the process and using them as mirrors. Sure enough, my denim-clad friend was a hundred feet behind me. Just for the hell of it, I carried on through the marina, toward the rocky beach where I often take Gil for a run. He was delighted to find himself there at this time of night. We had it to ourselves and he tore off to the water’s edge, keen to chase anything foolish enough to be loitering within his range.
That would include men he’d taken a dislike to. Men who were afraid of dogs. It was always possible to tell. Gil knew as well of course. He abandoned the pile of seaweed he’d been nosing through in the hope of finding something sufficiently rotted to appeal to his doggy palate, lifted his head and sniffed the air. His entire body stiffened. Then he let out a volley of barks and tore off in the direction of my shadow, growling and snarling like he meant business. Perhaps he did. I’d never seen him like this before so I couldn’t have said. I wasn’t surprised when I finally turned my head and found myself alone. With a grimace of satisfaction, I whistled to Gil and we headed back to the boat. My pursuer obviously knew where I lived so my detour had done nothing other than make me feel I’d come out on top of this particular skirmish.
“God, Charlie, you’ve been gone forever.” Cleo greeted me in the salon wearing nothing but a thin robe and a worried frown. “What kept you?”
I gave her a brief rundown of all that Reg had told me but didn’t mention anything about being followed. I was concerned about it and would give a lot to know who’d been after me, and why. I could take care of myself but what would happen if Cleo became their next target? She’d have no idea how to shake her pursuer off and if they wanted to know what I knew—which was bugger all—they could easily nab her. That meant keeping a close eye on her and being careful about how much I told her.
