Bad Sons (Booker & Cash Book 1)

by Oliver Tidy

  ‘How are your ribs?’

  ‘Sore.’

  She didn’t seem embarrassed by our situation. ‘This is where you heard and saw them from?’

  I agreed.

  ‘I’ll leave you to get dressed, then. They’ll be here soon.’

  ‘I’m coming down with you, right?’

  ‘Wrong. You’ll stay here. You have no business over there and the DI would have a chicken-fit if he saw you contaminating the place.’

  ‘Contaminating the place? That’s not a nice thing to say.’

  She allowed herself a little smile. ‘Don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean. I’ll let you know what happens.’

  I stood back to let her leave me to get dressed. She walked past me without a second glance and went downstairs.

  I dabbed the cuts on my feet with Savlon. In the absence of bandaging I Sellotaped some toilet roll over the worst of them, put on two pairs of socks and gingerly stepped into some trainers. I couldn’t tie the laces. The pressure of my weight on my feet was going to hurt for a while. Like the pain in my side, I would just have to get used to it; just keep taking the painkillers and believing in them.

  I asked Jo if she’d mind getting me a breakfast baguette from the baker’s. I was bordering on starvation and the time it would take me to get there and back with my foot I didn’t have to waste. She gave me a theatrical sigh but did it.

  *

  We were in my kitchen. She was standing, I was sitting. We both had hot drinks and my stomach had quietened down. We’d spent fifteen forgettable minutes waiting for the cavalry. She said that when the search warrant had been served she’d go looking for Flashman junior.

  I was getting to like Detective Cash more and more and decided I’d try her again on a drink before long. As we were talking, her phone rang – they’d arrived.

  She gave me a final warning: ‘Stay here. You come down, you’ll be making trouble for both of us.’

  I wanted to ask her how that could make trouble for her but she’d gone.

  I had to content myself with looking out of the window – one of my specialities. At least I had a ringside seat.

  As I stood watching the police get through the chain around the gates with bolt-croppers, I reflected grimly on what Flashman’s reaction would be when he realised I’d escaped and brought the law to his door. I wished I could be there when that happened.

  The police had a dog with them. It was making a lot of noise. It looked more like the kind of dog you’d want to pet than run from. It looked like the kind of dog I’d seen on police TV documentaries sniffing for drugs through airport luggage.

  They were at the container. Sprake and Jo stood back to let the brawn do its job. The boiler-suited officer restraining the dog had his work cut out. Two other uniformed constables stood in attendance.

  It took them about thirty seconds to get the lock off. Looks were exchanged and I saw Sprake nod they should get on with it. One of the PCs stepped forward. I heard the big handles clumsily worked and then the door was opened wide.

  I could not see into the container from where I was. But I could see from the reactions of those present that there was something in there to interest them mightily. Good. I was afraid it might have been emptied as a precaution, although with me taken care of they probably thought they had nothing to worry about. It gave me a certain satisfaction.

  The uniforms stood back to let Sprake and Jo go first. They were in there less than a minute. Sprake came out and I saw him shake his head once then speak to one of the officers. He got on his communications device.

  Jo looked up at me. She knew I’d be there. Her face seemed a little paler than before. What I could make out of her expression gave her an earnestness. No change there. Even over the distance between us I could make out her eyes. They were locked on to mine. She shook her head briefly and then went about her business.

  What did that mean? Nothing in there? No one else had gone in. Was there nothing to investigate after all? I was suddenly concerned. If they found nothing they might not be out making arrests and if they weren’t out making arrests then the people who had abducted me the previous night would remain at liberty to finish what they’d started if that’s how they felt.

  I limped downstairs. I was going to go to the concrete panel fence and call over to Jo. She wouldn’t be able to ignore me and, so long as I stayed my side of the boundary divide, Sprake couldn’t object. If he did, he could kiss my arse.

  I was slowly making my way down the back stairs when I heard the familiar crunch of shoes on gravel. Someone was coming my way. I got to the door the same time as Jo arrived.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘A smoke. You know I don’t smoke in the house.’

  She gave me her look.

  ‘Well?’

  She took a deep breath. ‘There’s a body in there.’

  The smile that had formed at my quick and clever evasion froze and then thawed to curdle.

  ‘Describe it?’

  ‘Tall, slim, fit looking, young, dark hair, male. Cowboy boots.’

  ‘Flashman. You’re saying he’s dead?’

  ‘Very.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Difficult to say.’

  ‘Take a guess.’ I was suddenly angry.

  ‘No – and calm down.’

  ‘Calm down? He was my link.’

  ‘You need to focus on suppressing some of your emotions, Mr Booker.’

  We were back to formality and for a couple of reasons I didn’t like it. We were spared further negative exchanges by the figure of DI Sprake traipsing across the gravel.

  He gave me a good hard look. ‘DC Cash has told me all about your little adventure last night. And if I’m honest I’m having a job believing what I’m hearing.’

  It wasn’t said in incredulous sympathetic wonderment, rather with a large dollop of doubt.

  ‘Well that’s your problem.’ I caught Jo rolling her eyes.

  ‘No, it’s yours, actually. I want some answers and I want them now.’

  I had nothing to add.

  He made to push past me into the building and I did a stupid thing. I blocked him off. He studied me with rising anger. ‘You’re not letting me in?’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘I want to look at the scene of your alleged abduction.’

  ‘Then get a warrant. I’m done with cooperation.’

  He turned his big cod head towards Jo. Something passed between them.

  ‘I’ll give you two minutes to talk some sense into him.’ He walked heavily away.

  She speared me with an angry look. ‘What the hell are you thinking?’

  ‘I’m thinking I don’t like his attitude or his thinly-veiled suspicions of me.’

  ‘He is doing his job and you are stopping him. Think about that and how it looks.’

  She was right, of course, but that didn’t mean I would just cave in.

  ‘David?’ That was a cheap shot.

  ‘All right. I’m doing it for you, not for him, though.’

  ‘You need to start thinking about helping yourself.’

  I didn’t answer her. I moved a couple of paces off, took out a smoke and lit up. Flashman was dead. Where did that leave me? He was the only name I could put to a face. His was the only face. There was still the van registration number to chase up. On the bright side, the police now had a tangible lead to pursue that didn’t involve me.

  Sprake came back across the yard with Jo. He stopped in front of me.

  ‘You’re inviting us in for a look around?’

  ‘Tell me why, first; why do you want to look around in here?’

  ‘There is a dead man over the fence. You claim that only last night he was part of a gang to kidnap you. How could he have done that if he was locked up in his container and dead?’

  He was trying to confuse me. ‘I have no idea how he ended up in there. Perhaps it was the two men who he was here with last night. Don’t forget I’ve spent
the night tied up in some remote agricultural building and I’ve obviously been injured, again.’

  He almost sneered. ‘You have made some wild and unsubstantiated claims about last night. Conveniently, there are no witnesses.’

  ‘What? Are you saying you don’t believe me?’ I was incredulous. I looked from one to the other of them but got nothing out of it. ‘That would make me insane then, to have imagined all that and then physically injured myself. We’re not disputing the fact that Detective Cash came and collected me from Appledore this morning, are we?’

  ‘No. But we only have your word for how you came to be there. It wouldn’t have been a difficult thing to manufacture.’

  ‘What about the van I was taken in?’ I said.

  They shared a look. Jo said, ‘There is no record of that number on file for any vehicle. Could you have got it wrong?’

  ‘No. That was it. Positive. The old boy that cut me free this morning then?’

  Sprake sniffed. ‘We’ll try and find him, if he exists.’

  I changed my mind. ‘You’re not coming in. And I won’t be speaking to you again without a lawyer present.’

  He smiled nastily then. ‘I’m the police, Mr Booker. If I want to enter your property I’m going to.’

  I stood numbed by his logic and where it had taken him. He walked past me and into the building. Jo treated me to one last frustrated look and followed him in. A police constable whose approach I hadn’t registered came to stand by me. If he’d seen the state of my feet he wouldn’t have looked like he expected me to do a runner.

  Things were going from bad to worse.

  ***

  29

  I didn’t go back in, preferring the pungent mild air of spring to the foul oppressive atmosphere of having CID once again snooping around making me feel guilty.

  They were back out quickly. Too quickly. Sprake was holding a little plastic bag up in front of him like a child who’s won a goldfish at the fair. I think he wanted me to take an interest. I obliged him. There was a key on a short length of electrical earth sleeve – I recognised the combination of green and yellow striping from a past life.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘You tell me, Mr Booker.’

  ‘Never seen it before.’ I wasn’t lying.

  ‘It looks like a padlock key to me.’

  I waited. I was getting hotter by the second and my heartbeat had picked up.

  ‘It looks like a key to a padlock just like the one we took off that container door. They’re a bit different from the normal, you understand.’

  We stood facing each other.

  Sprake told the constable to go and get the padlock. He trotted off.

  ‘I’ve never seen it before. Where was it?’

  ‘I heard you the first time. In the shop.’ He kept his accusing cod eyes on me.

  I looked past him to where Jo was standing, arms folded across her chest. Her brow was furrowed where her eyebrows were being pulled downwards. The look she had for me was devoid of any encouragement.

  The constable returned. The padlock was in a bag too. Sprake handed the bag with the key to Jo and pulled out a pair of plastic gloves from his pocket. When he slapped them on he did what we’d all being waiting for. The key fitted and turned smoothly. Just to make sure, Sprake did it twice more. They all looked at me. Sprake’s cod face twisted into something resembling a victorious grin exposing not very nice teeth. And then I made my second stupid mistake of the morning – I went for him.

  I will always be grateful to Jo that she was the sort of officer who had a sixth sense for trouble. She got quickly between us, snuffing out my lunge. For good measure she gave me the heel of her hand sharply into my injured ribs. And that was it. Game over. I was incapacitated, turned, restrained, handcuffed in seconds.

  When I next made eye contact with Sprake he looked disappointed. I think he was hoping I would lose control and, like an idiot, I’d played right into his hands. But Jo’s reactions had deprived him of what he really wanted: me to assault him.

  I snarled, over Jo’s shoulder at him. ‘You put that in there.’

  ‘Don’t make it worse for yourself, sonny.’

  ‘I’ve never seen it before. You bent bastard.’

  Sprake cut off my protestations: ‘David Booker, I’m arresting you on suspicion of murder. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’ He waited a long moment. ‘Well? Anything?’

  ‘Fuck you.’

  Sprake tutted. ‘Potty mouth. Get him in the car.’

  *

  Next time I saw either Sprake or Jo was across a grubby, scarred little table in a police interview room. It wasn’t the same interview room I’d been in twice before. This one was devoid of any natural light. It was a floor lower and made the previous room I’d seen the inside of seem positively five star accommodation in comparison.

  My solicitor sat alongside me. Mr Chapman had assured me he would be sending the best they had. She certainly carried an air of confidence. She and Sprake clearly knew each other. Their greeting was more healthily adversarial than friendly. I got the distinct impression they had crossed swords before. I hoped that wouldn’t work against me.

  For the benefit of the recording, I was asked to give my name and address and say if I understood the charge. I provided the information and acknowledged that I did. I was asked about my movements for the previous evening. I detailed them as I had for Jo earlier. I left nothing out and did not exaggerate. I didn’t have to. Sprake asked what I could tell them about the find of the key that fit the container’s padlock – a container in which a dead man had been found. It had been confirmed that the dead man was Flashman the younger. Mrs Hunt told me that was something I didn’t need to answer. I said I couldn’t but I’d like to hazard a guess. I wanted alternatives to my involvement recorded and I didn’t trust the police to voice them on my behalf.

  ‘There are only two ways it could have turned up there: either the men who Flashman was working with killed him and left the key in the shop to incriminate me in his death – they had access after they had assaulted me and taken me away – or you put it there for your own distorted reasons.’ I’d been addressing Sprake. It felt a childish thing to say.

  ‘And where would I have got it from?’

  ‘You tell me.’

  He didn’t. He ignored it.

  During my waiting, I had been thinking more constructively about the probable events from the previous night and the reasons behind them. ‘It had to be them. They dumped me in the middle of nowhere. I’m quite sure that they intend or intended to return, get what information they could out of me and then disappear me. With me missing and the key to the container found on my property they might have expected the police to take the easy option.’

  ‘Assuming you’re telling the truth about last night, why would they have driven you off and just dumped you in the middle of nowhere?’

  ‘My client can’t answer that, Detective Inspector.’

  ‘Why would I kill him?’ I said, getting back to what was of most importance to me.

  ‘Maybe he saw something involving you and the so far unexplained deaths of your relatives. His yard is just over the back of your property. He comes and goes.’

  He was back pushing my buttons. But I wasn’t about to go for him again, not with the memory of Jo’s jab still throbbing beneath my shirt. And I was past it. I knew his game now and I was going to refuse to play. Better late than never.

  ‘The only reason their deaths remain unexplained is because the police aren’t doing enough to find out who killed them.’ I risked a glance at Jo. She remained an impassive observer. ‘How would I have managed to get all the way out to Appledore with no transport and tied myself up in a barn? And why? Why would I have done that?’

  ‘Off hand I can think of four ways you could get yourself out there under cover
of darkness with a window of several hours. Why is obvious. Our problem is that we still only have your word for events. No witnesses.’

  ‘Find the old man.’

  ‘First, we have to find the barn. That’s proving a little difficult from your directions.’

  ‘Maybe I invented that too?’

  Mrs Hunt gently laid her hand on my arm. I shut up.

  ‘Inspector, other than the rather convenient key, do you have any other grounds for detaining my client?’

  ‘We’re working on it, Mrs Hunt.’ He wasn’t sounding so full of himself. ‘We’ll do a few tests, take a few samples, fingerprints, and then see where we are.’

  ‘May I suggest you do those quickly then. It seems perfectly probable to me that my client’s record of events would suggest that, as the men who assaulted him had free entry to his property, they almost certainly left the key to incriminate him in Mr Flashman’s murder.’

  And that was about it. I was removed, fingerprinted and given my own cell.

  *

  Jo was with the uniformed officer who unlocked my door some hours later. How many, I had no idea. I had been semi-dozing on the rigid plastic surface that passed for a bed – ironically clearly designed not to encourage sleep. She looked tired and less than happy. I signed for my things and was led away to the front lobby feeling awkward about earlier.

  ‘Does this mean the police know I didn’t kill him?’ I said.

  ‘No. It means the police haven’t found any evidence to suggest you did.’

  ‘You found the barn?’

  She nodded.

  ‘What about the old boy?’

  She shook her head. That was strange.

  ‘Did he report me being there?’

  ‘No reports anywhere.’

  We stood in silence for a pregnant pause.

  She said, ‘The barn is owned by Flashman.’

  ‘That explains why I was taken there then. But I don’t understand why the old boy didn’t report it.’

  She shrugged. ‘Maybe he wasn’t supposed to be there either.’

  Maybe he wasn’t. I’d experienced similar thoughts.