Barry slammed the phone down.
He went to a cupboard and took out a shoebox. Inside was the gun. He put it inside his coat pocket. He should never have taken this thing from Craddick, he thought. He had to get rid of it.
But there wasn’t time to do anything. There was a knock at the door. A strong, purposeful knock delivered by the kind of person whose job entailed delivering strong, purposeful knocks.
‘Barry Stocker?’
‘Yeah?’
The man standing in the doorway was tall, well built, a man about Duncan’s age, his hair tinged with grey at the temples. He had icy-green eyes, like the colours he’d once seen in an iceberg on telly. He flashed ID. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Lavery, South Yorkshire Constabulary. Can I have a word, please?’
‘Can’t this wait? I’ve gotta go out to work.’
‘It’s important. Can I come in?’
Reluctantly Barry stepped aside and let the man through. They went into the living room. Lavery didn’t wait to be asked; he sat down and motioned for Barry to do the same.
‘What’s this about?’ Barry said, hardly able to keep the nerves out of his voice.
‘You’re a close friend of Duncan Winslade, right?’
He nodded quickly. ‘We go back years.’
‘And he’s your brother-in-law, of course.’
‘Yeah, that as well. What’s this about?’
‘Duncan is a close colleague of mine. We were due to meet up. He didn’t turn up. Nothing unusual in that, except he didn’t answer his calls, emails and the like, so I called round to his place hoping to see him. But his door was unlocked and the house was empty.’
‘He doesn’t always stay at home. He gets about a bit.’
‘And when he goes out he leaves the door unlocked?’
Barry gave a slight shrug. ‘That’s not like Duncan,’ he conceded, ‘him being an ex-copper.’
‘I contacted another of his friends, Alfie Parker; your friend, too, I understand.’
‘That’s right.’
‘He told me Duncan had just come back from hospital after being beaten up.’
‘Yeah.’
The police officer took out a notebook. Read from it. ‘Broken ribs, stitches to the head – whoever did it meant business. Do you know who did this to Duncan, Mr Stocker?’
He shook his head. ‘I didn’t know it had happened till Alfie told me. I went to the hospital to see if he was OK.’
‘Do you know where the beating took place?’
‘No.’
‘Did you see him after he got home from hospital?’
Barry swallowed. ‘No.’
‘No?’
‘That’s what I said.’
Lavery stared at him, his eyes boring into him. ‘You see, I’m getting concerned for Duncan’s safety. I found a bloodied shirt, presumably belonging to him, and a splash of blood on the sofa.’
Barry shuffled uneasily. ‘Maybe the shirt is from when he got beat up. And the blood on the sofa, too.’
‘So are you saying he got beat up at his home, not in the street someplace?’
‘Just saying, is all. Could be. I don’t know do I? I’m not the police.’
‘Is Donnie Craddick behind this?’
It took him by surprise. ‘Why’d you say that?’
‘A red Jaguar was seen parked in the street not far from Duncan’s house on the night he got beat up. There aren’t many red Jags in Overthorpe. You drive one for Craddick now, don’t you?’
‘Only took the job on recently.’
‘And you’re sure you can’t remember driving the Jag round to see your brother-in-law when he came out of hospital?’
He shook his head. ‘Is Duncan OK?’
Lavery cocked his head. ‘I hope so. He’s a good man. A good friend.’ He rose to his full height, looked down on Barry. ‘I shall have to pay Donnie Craddick a visit.’
‘You’re not saying he’s got something to do with Duncan being missing, are you?’
He smiled, put his notebook away. ‘There’s probably a very simple explanation. No need to get alarmed just yet.’ He frowned. ‘Are you feeling unwell, Mr Stocker? You seem to be sweating.’
‘I feel the heat. It’s my age. Hot flushes and all that.’
Her slender form cut through the water, hardly a splash, he thought. So elegant. Her white swimming costume made her look pure, a creature from another world unsullied by corporeal things. She broke the surface and he heard her draw in a breath. She touched the side of the swimming pool and twisted under the water, kicking off the blue tiles and spearing through the water as easily as if she’d been born to it.
That was the result of lots of pampered holidays abroad, thought Donnie Craddick; five-star hotels with rich daddy and mummy. Camellia’s enviously even tan gave this away too, as well as her ease in the pool, the confident way she walked, not quite a swagger but close; the way she talked, carried herself, like she was wrapped in an impregnable bubble of self-assurance that had been blown and formed through a hoop of iron-hard privilege.
Envy? You bet. He hadn’t spent any time with his own mother and father, bundled off to boarding school as soon as he was old enough, limited, fractured conversations and uneasy meetings, till in the end none of them wanted to meet up and see each other. His father provided money, an adequate amount, perfunctory amounts, made sure he didn’t starve, had a roof over his head as he grew older. But little else. None of the stuff that really matters. Time together. Talking with each other like fathers and sons are supposed to. But he guessed that was an illusion; how many fathers really talk to their sons anyhow? All they ever did was argue. Somehow, Donnie Craddick hadn’t come up to his father’s expectations. His expectations! There was no way he was ever going to hand over his hard-won empire to a weak-kneed, snivelling, ungrateful, spoilt little brat, he’d been told. He rather leave it to a dog’s home.
Well he’d done the next best thing. He’d not bothered to leave it to anyone and Donnie Craddick just knew the miserable old bastard, in whatever hell he was now wallowing, was having a bloody good laugh at his expense.
Camellia hauled herself gracefully out of the pool, wiped a hand over her eyes and then back through her wet hair. She smiled at him as she grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her. She padded over to him.
‘Why don’t you have a swim? It’ll ease the tension,’ she said.
‘I’m not tense,’ he said. ‘And I don’t swim,’ he added.
She came over to where he sat. He was twirling a glass of cognac in his hand, staring into it and watching the alcohol cling to the glass. ‘That won’t help,’ she said. ‘Talk to me. What’s wrong?’
His eyes narrowed, his jaw setting. ‘Nothing’s wrong.’
‘What shall we do today?’
He sighed heavily, took a swig. ‘I’ve got business to attend to,’ he said. ‘Can’t you find something to do?’
‘In Overthorpe? Donnie, it’s hardly London. I thought you were going to show me around, take me to the Dales, to Derbyshire.’
‘Well plans have changed.’ He realised it sounded curt and smiled thinly, took hold of her wet hand. ‘Bear with me. I promise we’ll spend some quality time together very soon.’
They heard a door opening and saw Barry Stocker enter the room, Steve Roche behind him.
Camellia covered herself with the towel. ‘Hello, Barry,’ she said.
Barry nodded to her as he came close.
‘Leave us alone a moment, will you, Camellia, dear?’ said Craddick.
She studied Roche’s stern face for a second. ‘I’ll see you later,’ she said to Craddick and passed Barry a glance as she brushed past him and left the room.
‘What’s wrong, Mr Craddick?’ said Barry dully.
Craddick cocked his head. ‘You tell me, Stocker.’
Barry looked at Roche, then back to Craddick. He flexed his shoulders. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
Craddick rose from his seat. He nodded at Ro
che and the man gave a whistle. Craddick’s two minders came into the room and marched determinedly up to Barry. They each took a place on either side of him, grabbing an arm. Barry struggled but their grip was unyielding.
‘Where’s my money, Stocker?’ said Craddick.
It was Barry’s turn to frown. ‘What money?’
Craddick punched Barry in the stomach and he doubled up in pain, gasping. The men lifted him to his feet, held him there.
‘Don’t play games with me, Barry. You’re the only idiot who would have told them about the counterfeit notes.’
Barry had his eyes squeezed closed. ‘I… I don’t know what you… mean…’’
Craddick punched him again. Barry crumpled. ‘You told them, they took my money, I want it back.’ He sent his fist crashing into Barry’s midriff again.
Tears of pain were forced from Barry’s lids, but he gritted his teeth, hissed through them, ‘I never told anyone anything!’
Craddick nodded for the men to release him, and Barry fell to his knees, clutching his stomach. He vomited on the tiles, narrowly missing Craddick’s foot. ‘I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt, Stocker. But if I find out you are in on this, I swear I will rip your scheming black heart out of you with my own fair hands.’ He motioned to the two men and they took a hold of Barry and carried him to the edge of the pool.
‘I can’t swim!’ cried Barry.
They threw him into the pool. Barry thrashed around wildly, screaming in fear till he realised it was the shallow end and his feet touched the bottom. He stood there, the water lapping at his waist, facing a barrage of cruel, mocking laughter.
Craddick’s mobile phone rang. He lifted it to his ear, chuckling.
Then his face fell morbidly serious. ‘Who is this?’ he said, walking away from the men to a large window that looked out onto the lawn. He listened intently, his cheeks beginning to flush red, his jaw hardening, his lips dash-straight. He put the phone away, breathing heavily through his nose.
‘What is it, Mr Craddick?’ asked Roche.
Barry was attempting to clamber out of the pool but the weight of his clothes kept dragging him back in. Craddick waved for the two cronies to leave them alone.
‘That was someone called Roberto Ginetta,’ he said.
‘Who is Roberto Ginetta?’ asked Roche.
‘The bastard who has his filthy paws on my money.’ Craddick went over to the side of the pool. Barry was just about out of the water, gasping. ‘Who is Roberto Ginetta, Stocker?’
He shook his wet head. ‘I… don’t know any… Ginetta…’ he said.
Craddick kicked him in the shoulder and Barry slipped into the pool again.
‘He wants to meet me tonight at seven,’ said Craddick. ‘The Silver Crucible nightclub in Doncaster. Ever heard of it?’
Roche nodded. ‘Yeah, fancy place. Likes to think it’s exclusive.’
‘He says he wants to do a deal with me.’
‘Are you going to go?’
Craddick thought about it. ‘I want my money back,’ he said. I may have almost lost the house, he thought, but I’m having that money whatever it takes. ‘I want you to take me.’
‘I’ll come inside with you.’
He shook his head. ‘I’ve got to go in alone, otherwise I’ll lose my money.’
‘Alone? Is that safe?’
He took a gun out of his pocket. ‘Very,’ he said. He pointed the gun down at Barry, who spat out a fountain of water and stared helplessly into the barrel. ‘If I find out there’s the slightest link between you and this guy Ginetta you’re a dead man.’ He put the gun away and marched to the door. ‘And clean the puke up, Stocker!’ he called over his shoulder.
* * * *
14
Wannabe Godfather
The gates to Red House swung open, but Steve Roche found the Jaguar’s path blocked by a dark-blue Ford Mondeo. He honked insistently on the horn but the driver didn’t budge.
‘Get the moron out of my way; I’m going to be late!’ said Donnie Craddick.
Roche left the Jag and marched up to the Mondeo. ‘Hey, arsehole!’ he called. ‘What do you think you’re doing? Get that heap of junk out of here – you’re blocking the driveway, you idiot.’
A tall man emerged slowly from the Ford, unfolding his limbs like an insect clambering out of its pupa. He spent a moment calmly knocking something off his shoulder before turning to face the irate Roche. ‘Going out?’
‘Didn’t you hear me?’ said Roche. ‘I said move the car. We’ve got a meeting to attend.’
‘I just managed to catch you, then.’
‘Move it!’ said Roche.
‘Steve Roche…’ said the man.
‘How’d you know my name?’
The man smiled. ‘I know you, Roche,’ he said. ‘Is that Donnie Craddick with you?’
‘Who the hell are you?’
The man reached into his coat pocket, whipped ID quickly in front of Roche. ‘Detective Inspector Lavery. I need to speak with your master, see if he’s got a license to own you – Dangerous Dogs Act and all that.’ He brushed by Roche, who turned to the Jag and gave a shrug to Craddick.
Craddick got out, his face wreathed in angry lines. ‘Who are you? What the hell do you want?’
‘Inspector Lavery,’ said Roche.
‘Thanks, but I can do that for myself,’ said Lavery. ‘Donnie Craddick. I’d have known you anywhere. You’re the image of your father, when he was young, of course. He grew up to be dog-ugly. So make the most of the good looks while you’ve got them, eh, Mr Craddick? Me, I’ve never had those kinds of things to worry about – I was an ugly duckling, and I grew up to be an ugly duck.’
‘What do you want? I’m in a hurry. Got things to do.’
‘Just like your old man,’ he said. ‘Impatient to the point of recklessness. I need to have a few words with you.’
‘Can’t this wait?’
‘I’d rather not,’ he returned. ‘Now is fine.’
‘Don’t you guys have a life? It’s late.’
‘The law never sleeps, Mr Craddick,’ he said smiling broadly. Then his smile faded. ‘Do you know a Mr Duncan Winslade?’
Donnie Craddick stared him in the eyes. ‘Maybe.’
‘Is that a yes or a no?’
‘My father knew him, I believe.’
‘That much I am fully aware of, Mr Craddick. Their relationship was a long and often fractious one.’
‘What about him?’ Craddick said impatiently, glancing down at his watch.
‘I think you know him better than you’re letting on.’
‘Can we just get on with this? Look, I’ve heard of him, that’s all. I hear of many people.’
‘Same as I hear that it was you, or one of your pets, that beat him up recently, put him in hospital.’
‘Have you got evidence?’
‘Busted ribs, cracked skull…’
‘I didn’t beat up this guy Winslade if that’s what you’re here for. Can I go now?’
‘Can you explain why your car was seen in the vicinity of his house on the night he sustained his injuries?’
‘Fish and chips,’ said Roche quickly.
Lavery cocked an eyebrow. ‘Fish and chips?’
‘There’s a good chippy nearby. I was fetching fish and chips for Mr Craddick.’
Lavery’s lips stretched into a thin, knowing smile. ‘Nice to see you’re still in touch with your working-class roots, Mr Craddick. And your posh girlfriend, Miss Lucas, does she like a bag of chips too? Tomato ketchup bottles on the table, that kind of thing?’
‘How’d you know about her?’ said Craddick.
Lavery ignored the question. ‘Duncan Winslade is missing.’
Roche and Craddick glanced at each other. ‘Missing?’
‘There’s an echo,’ said Lavery, putting a hand to his ear. ‘That’s what I said. Missing. Would you know anything about that?’
Craddick shrugged. ‘So an ex-copper goes missing, w
hat do I care?’
‘I care, Mr Craddick. He’s my friend as well as a close colleague. And I suspect that somehow he’s mixed up in something with you. What exactly, I don’t know, but I’m going to get to the bottom of it. He’s missing, and I have a bloodied shirt of his, his blood on his sofa, all of which gives me cause for concern. If anything bad has happened to him, if you’ve got anything to do with it, then you have my promise I’ll be after your arse and won’t rest till you’re banged up. I’m going to be keeping a close eye on you, watching everything you do.’ With that he smiled. ‘Anyhow, thank you for your time. You obviously have to dash.’ He turned to walk away, then turned back, as if suddenly remembering something. ‘A little dickybird tells me Roberto Ginetta has set his sights on you.’
‘Who is this Ginetta?’ asked Craddick, his eyes narrowing.
He chuckled. ‘Come, come, Mr Craddick; I can’t believe for one moment you don’t know about Roberto Ginetta. Let’s say your father and he shared a stormy marriage of interests.’
‘I don’t know of anyone called Ginetta,’ he said.
He raised a brow. ‘Then you’d better learn fast, young man. He’s in town only because he’s obviously involved in something big and dirty. Possibly trying to fill the void left by your father if I know him. Take over his operations. They always had this tug-of-war here in Overthorpe. Bet he was rubbing his hands when he found out your father had died. They both thought they were something big and important, your father and him, but there’s no escaping it, they were dirt. Two big piles of shit Duncan Winslade and I were determined to clean off these streets. Your father died before we got the satisfaction, but Ginetta… I might get some satisfaction yet.’ He straightened his coat, jangled his car keys. ‘If you want my advice, don’t get involved with Ginetta. He’ll chew you up and spit you out for breakfast. That’s a ball game kids like you don’t want to play.’
‘I’m not scared of anyone,’ said Craddick, pushing back his shoulders.
‘Sure you’re not,’ he said. ‘But be that as it may, I want you to be afraid of me, Craddick. I’m watching you. And remember, if you’ve done anything to harm Duncan…’ He sauntered back to his car.
THE DOMINO BOYS (a psychological thriller) Page 11
