Hell's Gate: A gripping, edge-of-your-seat crime thriller

by Malcolm Hollingdrake

  “You shouldn’t.”

  Peter smiled, happy that she had not protested too much.

  He picked up his small brief case and left.

  Once alone, she opened the envelope. There was £500 in crisp, new notes. She smiled to herself.

  Within twenty minutes Peter’s car passed the two dogs of Foo that stood guarding the Chinese gate to the Cash and Carry. He parked by the door and climbed out. The aroma of smoked bacon drifted from the transport café opposite, swamping his sense of smell and reminding him that he had not eaten. He was too nervous. The door was answered, opened with an electronic click and he pushed it ajar. He knew both of the people facing him. They bowed slightly before shaking his hand.

  “It’s good to see you Peter, come and sit.”

  Considering the circumstances under which they met, Peter was always touched by the hospitality and welcome he received, but then, as in all business life, holding on to a degree of scepticism was never a disadvantage. It was a wonderful feeling to sit with these people, respected, liked and no longer in their debt. To have weathered that storm and come through safely had not been easy. The one key factor in his mind for this transition had been leaving Stella, but then a firm understanding of the dire, physical consequences that the downward spiral of gambling had brought inculcated in him a sharp lesson and a return to his senses. He felt as though he were now respected.

  Peter removed the package from the brief case and placed it on the table.

  “It’s come full circle,” he smiled. “But with it there’s a bonus.”

  He passed a second package.

  “We’ve taken only our handling fee. Sadly, that avenue of work has been closed but others are waiting on the side-line. However, first we must wait to see if there are repercussions. Our Scottish friends may yet prove troublesome.”

  The two men looked at the packages and then back at Peter.

  “All is as it should be, you can trust me!” he emphasised.

  ***

  A steaming latte sat in front of Joan, a brown heart formed in the white froth of milk. She had smiled at the barista who had looked her up and down as he handed her the drink. The coffee gave her the impetus to ring home.

  “It’s me, how are you? And how are the kids? Behaving themselves I hope.”

  She listened and smiled as her father complimented her on their upbringing. She put her finger in the froth of the coffee going for the centre of the heart and then licked it.

  “Love you too, Dad.”

  She waited, as instructed for her mother to come to the phone.

  “What have I done or is it the kids?”

  Joan listened and the smile fell from her lips.

  “Are you sure? You’re not just making this up to spoil the one good thing I have going in my miserable life are you? Why can’t you be more like dad?”

  She immediately regretted the last sentence and apologised.

  The coffee was cold by the time she had eventually brought her mental confusion under some control. She decided that it would be easier to simply confront him. She checked her watch. He would be back in under the hour.

  ***

  The Royal Victoria Hospital was experiencing the usual busy Saturday in the Accident and Emergency Department but in the High Dependency Unit all was calm apart from the plethora of electronic sounds playing discordantly, constantly signalling that things were either as they should be or were going catastrophically wrong. The dedicated nurses seemed to blank out the former whilst listening constantly for the latter, in some patients’ cases with a degree more expectation.

  At 14:26 the alarm sounded as Jim’s vital body functions started to close down, the specialist had been correct in his initial, pessimistic diagnosis. There was no panic, just an intensity of movement and attention as different personnel focussed on the small man who was being kept alive by cables, tubes and wires. At 15:00 he was no longer a concern. His monitors were blank and the space he had occupied for the last few days was now empty.

  ***

  Joan was nursing a large glass of red wine when Peter returned. He smiled and moved towards her before kissing her forehead. He checked his watch and looked at the glass but decided to say nothing. He noticed the bags stacked carefully by the bed and smiled.

  “It looks as though you had a successful day.”

  He poured himself a wine, walked over and touched her glass.

  She remained silent.

  “Have I done something? Not done something?”

  Joan turned looking directly at him. She had a great deal of practice in dealing with the vagaries of the human male in all its underhand, cheating and malevolent forms.

  “When you gave me the invitation for the restaurant and told me to invite mum, you said you couldn’t go, you were, in your very words, ‘Busy that evening’.

  Peter frowned. “That’s true. I was, believe me, I was.”

  “You know we left early that night and it was embarrassing because my mother didn’t give a reason, she just said it was important that we leave. So, to keep the peace, we did.”

  Peter said nothing but his expression demanded an explanation.

  “I thought today was the first time that you’d met but she’s told me that she’s seen you before; she couldn’t recall at first where but then it came to her. Now where might she have seen you, Peter Anton?”

  Peter smiled and moved his hand on hers.

  “She obviously saw me at the restaurant if she had cause to leave. I was there about nine. Am I correct? I’ve never set eyes on her in my life, I still don’t recall seeing her there. So how come I upset her?”

  “I don’t know. She just said that she saw you there, nothing else. Probably the fact that I’d told her that you couldn’t get there and then surprise, surprise! She now knows that you were there. I don’t know what’s going on so why were you there?”

  “Did you pay for your meal when you left?”

  “No, it was free, on the house, it was an invitation to the restaurant to try the food.”

  “That’s correct. Did you pay for your drinks apart from the complimentary Champagne?”

  “No, the owner’s son said that it had been taken care of and so we left.”

  “I was there to leave money behind the bar to ‘take care’ of your drinks’ bill. I wanted the evening to be on me. I simply popped in, paid some money and went straight out.”

  He could see Joan beginning to blush. She put her head down and he noticed her shoulders lift as if she were sobbing. He leaned over and wrapped a protective arm around her.

  “Had I recognised your mother today, from seeing her that night, I would have said, but I didn’t see her.”

  “I’m sorry, Peter. Will I ever be able to trust a man again?”

  “’Course you will. It’ll take time, but that’s all it takes to heal the invisible wounds, time. And Joan, the one thing we do have is time.”

  ***

  Cezar had tidied up. The concrete cover was back over the old septic tank and he was now preparing to collect the necessary takings from Hai Yau’s various business interests and ensure that the staff was behaving. He enjoyed this part of the work, particularly visiting the working girls. Strangely, he never saw himself as their pimp just their intimate friend. They saw him as neither, just a necessary evil to get out of their lives as quickly and as painlessly as possible. It would take him until the early hours.

  Follifoot was quiet, it always was and at five on a Sunday it would have been like the grave apart from the enthusiastic chorus of singing birds trying to drag in the new day. Cezar had parked the van with other vehicles on the narrow main street, opposite The Harewood Arms pub. It would take him only a few minutes to reach his destination. He walked up the empty drive and made his way along the side of the house. He did not need a torch. Getting in the house was easy; he simply pulled a key from his pocket, found the lock, turned the key and entered. The warning beep of the alarm made him move swiftly to the b
ox on the wall and enter the numbers. The sound stopped. For some reason, that process always made him panic a little. He went to the kettle, shook it gently and switched it on. He had a long wait there that day but he had been out most of the night. He would have a coffee, some breakfast and then sleep.

  It was late in the afternoon when Cezar heard the car pull onto the drive. He remained seated facing the door. He heard the key in the lock and the door open.

  “I might have bloody guessed,” said Peter, realising he had a guest. The alarm’s warning call had not registered his entry.

  “Surely you knew and are thrilled to see me! How was she?”

  Cezar put his tongue out and waggled it salaciously.

  Peter walked into the lounge. It was like a tip, two plates had been left out, the paper was spread on the floor, two beer bottles and a wine bottle were still where they had been dropped.

  “Why the hell don’t you clear up?”

  “Woman’s work, fucking woman’s work, that’s why!”

  “I suppose the bedroom is the same.”

  “Same shit, just a different room.”

  In front of Cezar on the cluttered coffee table were three piles of cash comprising bundles of notes bound with elastic bands. Peter walked over and picked them up.

  “Another good week. Angel will be thrilled, what with the restaurant’s success, Rares out of the way and now to finish the week, this!”

  He held a bundle pressing the end of the notes against his thumb, allowing them to run through whilst trapped by the elastic band, as if they were a deck of cards.

  Cezar grinned. “It’s all from my good girls, welfare and other benefits payments, rents, it all adds up. The news of Rares has already spread to Leeds. I got the distinct impression that these employees don’t fucking like me. Strange that.” He grinned whilst removing some dirt from under a fingernail with his knife.

  Peter opened the brief case and tossed the package across the table; it was half of the money received from James Nolan.

  “I take it this will not be going back to the family?”

  “What they don’t know won’t hurt them, besides they’ve got enough and I do more than enough. The time I wasn’t in the tunnel they killed the wrong bloody guy and who was it who cleaned up after them?”

  “This time you screwed it up completely, it was a shambles, ” said Peter. “Fun to watch though.”

  “Don’t be too sure, my friend, that it was a cock-up. God moves in mysterious ways.”

  “If Angel finds out that you are dealing behind his back, what then?”

  “It’s been going on fucking ages. He’ll not be strong forever, believe me.”

  Peter could see by his eyes that his words were sincere.

  “Did you know that your girl’s mother nearly shit herself when she spotted me at the restaurant talking to you? Fucking battle-axe. Never thought she’d pay up Sadler’s debt. Probably could have taken her for more. Yes, she did a runner straight after seeing me, never had her pudding. If she goes to the fucking coppers I’ll have her grandkids whether I swing for it or not.”

  Cezar looked at Peter’s face. “Don’t you come on all innocent with me, you sold the stuff or let’s say you tempted him to buy.”

  Peter just looked at him. “Say all that again and say it slowly.” He listened. A penny fell somewhere in his head. “Oh shit!”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Cyril drank an espresso whilst staring at the Theodore Major painting. Each time he looked at it, he found another element in the detail, either in the colour used or in the way the paint had been applied. Somehow it looked different at varying times of the day, maybe the changes in his daily moods had something to do with the way he interpreted what he observed. The sound of the duo Fingersnap singing ‘Blackbirds’ on the iPod seemed to fill the room with warmth. Cyril closed his eyes as he inhaled the menthol vapour from his e cigarette and smiled. His mind turned to Julie and he wondered whether she would like to try the Zingaro Restaurant again later in the week. He washed and dried the cup and saucer before putting it away. He checked the room, as always, it was immaculate.

  Once at his office, Cyril’s start to the day was a ritual. Coat on a hanger and then on to the coat-stand by the door, jacket draped behind the chair. He would then glance at the files and assess any notes marked for his urgent attention in order to prioritise his schedule. Finally, it came to the necessary evil, the computer. The first note he saw informed him of James Nolan death. He wrote a memo to contact the officer in charge to determine whether Jim had regained consciousness before he died. He needed to find out if they had discovered more footage of the victim or the vehicle.

  Owen tapped on the door.

  “Morning, Sir. Trust your weekend went well?”

  “Great, thanks and yours?” He didn’t give him time to answer. “Did Liz ask you to check the CCTV of the man with Jim Nolan at the bus station? He’s died by the way. Was it the chap you saw at Negrescu’s trailer?”

  Owen stood back as if bowled over by the flood of questions, miming that he was holding a cricket bat and driving away Cyril’s requests for information. Cyril frowned.

  “Weekend was great, yes, I have, yes.” He swung round as if driving an imaginary ball for six. “I think it is, yes.” He put both hands in the air. “Three boundaries, all before nine and a coffee; comes of being a Yorkshire lad.”

  Owen could see that Cyril was losing patience so he pretended to stand his imaginary bat against Cyril’s desk.

  “The technical lads are trying to improve the images but they can’t get rid of the man’s bloody cap no matter what they do!”

  Owen smiled cautiously but realised that Cyril had taken him seriously believing that the latest technology could do the impossible like extract facial features that were hidden from view. He did not enlighten him as it appeared that his boss had climbed out of the wrong side of the bed that morning, so he gave him some information that Cyril was not expecting.

  “I’ve had a look at the footage taken from the taxi’s in-car camera again, too. In fact, I sat and watched the whole sixty-four gigs worth on Sunday. Firstly, I’m sure our driver is the same guy I saw at the trailer, remember, Sir, the one with the skeleton bandana. If you compare his height with the size of the truck, it’s about right. Earlier in the evening the footage shows that Ms Hutler overtakes a similar truck near the Grammar School on Arthurs Avenue. On close inspection I can’t see or make out a registration plate. I’ve added the make and model of what I think to be the vehicle to the ANPR National Data Centre and there aren’t as many vehicles matching that description in the North East as you might think. I have a list of owners and registration numbers but as the one we saw on Pannal Road didn’t show a number, it’s going to take some poor Investigating Officer quite a while to track down, but you just never know.”

  “Good work. Where’s Liz?”

  Owen just shrugged his shoulders. “There was a call from Mr Baines. Wanted to speak with me A.S.A.P. about something his wife has said. He wants to call here, on his own. Maybe she’s told him she that loves him and now he believes she’s putting powdered glass in his tea.” Owen grinned.

  “Good theory, my learned friend, but there’s one thing wrong with that.”

  “What?”

  “She doesn’t make the tea, he does!”

  Owen pulled a face. “He’s coming in at ten.”

  ***

  Sanda was the first in the kitchen. Every Monday the restaurant was closed and so there would be a full clean and some preparation of staff meals. Hai Yau would not be in until later. Angel was there early in what was known as the office, but in reality it was where he sat for most of the time drinking coffee, following up orders and holding meetings with different associates. She noticed him watching her and she felt uneasy. Her mind went back to the barn and then to Rares and she contemplated what might have happened to him, she had not seen him for a while. The last time she had seen him was at the farm a
s she left. She remembered the conversation between Angel and his father, she recalled the word dogs and the word Darkie; that was enough, she felt the pangs of unease again. She looked across at the block containing various kitchen knives and vowed she would use one if he came over and tried to fondle her again.

  Various vehicles arrived in the car park that morning, usually making deliveries. Staff went out to collect them before they were itemised, audited and the dates checked before storing. A system was beginning to develop and there was a more relaxed atmosphere in the kitchen. More and more of the staff looked to Sanda for guidance, as she seemed to be in favour with Hai Yau.

  A green van pulled into the car park. Cezar and Karl climbed out. Sanda stared from the kitchen and could see the anxiety etched on the boy’s face. It made her nervous. She had seen the same look in Rares’ eyes when she had seen him in the barn.

  When Karl came into the kitchen, Sanda went to him. She smiled, her face full of concern.

  “Where’s Rares? Have you seen him?”

  The youth turned to her and burst into tears.

  ***

  Mr Baines refused tea. “I’m sorry to take your time, Sergeant, but I feel I had to come and say something, even though she said it would be of no use. It was something my wife said. We had a bit of …let us say, a to-do on Saturday. Let me try to explain. Last week my wife and daughter were invited to the opening of the new restaurant on Otley Road, you know the one, the Italian place that used to be The Beehive? Well your Inspector was there. Mrs Baines went to the toilet during the meal and saw a man in the passageway talking, the very same man who had come to our home demanding money that was owed to him by Drew. It was three thousand pounds he was demanding. We were both shocked, as you can imagine. He told us that nothing would happen to us if it were not paid but then he assured us that he would make Drew pay by harming the children. He also said that if we were to report his visit to the police, then irrespective of payment, the children would be the first to suffer.”