by Tana Collins
Within a year they had moved the length of England from the tiny village of Welton in East Yorkshire to the South East Coast of Sussex. For a long time, she had felt like a displaced person. She’d later found out that her mother’s brother had moved South and her grandmother, not wanting the family to be so far away, had persuaded her mother that they should all move too. She thought of her mother now. How on earth was she going to tell her parents about her pregnancy? She rubbed her tired eyes. Drew some deep breaths. She was so worried about finding herself pregnant she wasn’t sleeping properly. That and Dougie’s appallingly erratic driving was making her feel travelsick. Or was it her morning sickness kicking in? She sighed.
As if on cue Harris suddenly braked, as a large hairy mongrel came running out into the street, bringing Fletcher out of her reverie.
‘Christ alive,’ said Harris.
Fletcher drew in a sharp intake of breath at this sudden jolt. ‘Right. Where we heading? Callum Russell’s flat first?’ asked Fletcher, as she unwrapped the seat belt from its precarious position round her neck.
‘I thought we’d kill two birds with one stone,’ answered Harris smugly. ‘It’s nearly lunchtime and knowing those two, they’ll be off somewhere for a liquid lunch.’
Fletcher raised her eyebrows. ‘So where we going?’
‘The Saltire. Does a great pint of Belhaven Best. And their steak pie is better than a poke of chips.’
‘I hope you’re not suggesting we have a drink. We’re on duty. Anyway, you know Jim wants us to interview them separately, so they can’t corroborate each other’s story.’
Harris snorted. ‘They’re both as thick as mince so the interview will be a piece of piss. Whether we interview them separately or together, it willnae make a difference. I’ll get the truth out of those two wee scrotes, even if I have to flush their heids down the shitter. If they’re responsible for killing that Taff, I’ll find out. Anyway, I’ve been looking for an excuse to have a pop at Russell for ages. Ever since I found out he’s been banging my sister’s kid.’ Harris rubbed his hands in glee as he pulled into a car parking space.
‘I think you should rein yourself in, Dougie. Just follow my lead.’
‘No’ on your wee English nelly. I’m looking forward to this. Dinnae tell me he doesnae have it coming to him.’
‘Well, just bear in mind there’s such a thing as enjoying your job too much. And just to be clear, if you step out of line and get reported I’m not risking my career by covering your fat arse.’
‘At least I get results,’ scoffed Harris.
‘At what cost?’
Harris fell silent.
The Saltire was Castletown’s roughest pub. It was also one of the oldest. Most self-respecting locals drank in the New Inn. Those down on their luck, and looking for a cheap drink, ran the gauntlet and drank in the Saltire.
In order to gain entry Harris and Fletcher had to step over a large chained-up mastiff bulldog. It was snoozing, its face in a pool of its own drool.
‘Ya beauty. We’re in luck. They’re inside. That’s Adamson’s dug.’ Harris opened the door and strode straight over to the bar. ‘Pint of Belhaven Best,’ he said to the gangly, ginger haired publican who was busy cleaning the top of the bar.
‘We don’t want any trouble,’ said the publican.
Fletcher thought the man looked as if he could smell the police a mile off. She watched him nervously pick at his rather angry acne. Might be worth running a check on him.
‘Well, don’t cause any then,’ replied Harris, turning to Fletcher and giving her a wink. ‘What you having, doll?’
‘Look, don’t call me doll. I’ll have an orange juice.’
‘Christ. You’re so uptight. Live dangerously. Put a vodka in it.’
Ignoring Harris, Fletcher spoke directly to the barman. ‘Just an orange juice, thanks.’
‘Right,’ said Harris, ‘look after the drinks. I’m away for a pish.’
‘That will be four-forty,’ said the publican to Harris’ fast retreating back.
‘I’ll get these, shall I?’ said Fletcher with a sigh and shake of the head, as she took her shiny black handbag off her shoulder and unzipped it. Not only would she be paying for the drinks, she would also be driving.
A pimply-faced youth with big cauliflower ears thrust two empty glasses on to the bar. ‘Gizza another couple of pints, and some water for the dug outside?’
Fletcher looked at him with curiosity. ‘Lewis Adamson?’
‘Who’s asking?’ Adamson looked around him.
‘Detective Sergeant Andrea Fletcher.’ She showed him her warrant card. ‘I’ve got a few questions for you.’
‘About?’
‘It’s about your involvement in a recent fight. Won’t take long. Shall we sit down? Where’s your mate?’
‘Having a piss.’
‘That might turn out to be a very unfortunate decision,’ said Fletcher, nervously wondering how long to give Dougie Harris in the gents’ before going in, all guns blazing, to rescue Callum Russell.
***
‘Well, well, well, what do we have here?’
‘What the?’ Callum Russell was urinating and still in mid flow when Harris walked into the gents’. Russell swung round so quickly some of the urine went over his trainers.
‘Shite. What you doing here? What do you want? Me and Shirl split up. I already told ye that,’ he replied, rapidly tucking himself in and zipping up his jeans.
In a flash Harris had grabbed hold of the boy’s neck, yanked his head back. Russell started to struggle. Manoeuvring out of the policeman’s grip, Russell managed to turn round and lashed out at Harris with a fist. Harris, seeing it coming, side-stepped leaving Russell to overbalance and fall on to a wash basin. Blood spurted from his nose.
‘Aw fuck, look what you’ve done. You’ve broken my nose. Yer aff yer heid.’
Harris shook his head. ‘That’s no way to speak to the polis, is it? Mind yer manners, ya wee prick. Anyway, ye fuckin’ fell.’
Harris grabbed hold of Russell’s left arm and hauled him into one of the cubicles. He slammed the door shut with his foot, and forced the man’s head down the toilet. Dunked him a couple of times. Blood stained water fast disappeared down the hole.
‘You’ll be sorry for doing this. I’m wearing a Ralph Lauren shirt and you’ve fuckin’ ruined it. I’m going to report you,’ Russell spat when Harris pulled him back up by his hair. Water was streaming down his light blue T-shirt soaking it, turning it dark blue.
‘The way I see it, I’ve only been defending myself. After all, you came at me first.’
‘I never.’
‘Ye tried to punch me, remember?’
Still gripping the youth’s hair Harris forced his head back with one hand, and got him in a half nelson with the other. Russell nodded dumbly.
‘Right. Let’s get down to business,’ said Harris with an arm up the back and still gripping Russell by the hair. ‘Where were you yesterday afternoon?’
‘At my Gran’s funeral.’
‘Pull the other one. Do you think I was born yesterday?’
‘I swear I’m telling the truth! Ask anybody. What am I supposed to have done?’
‘Remember the fight with the Riff-Raf? One of their boys has turned up dead, that’s all.’
‘I had nothing tae do with it.’
‘What time was the funeral?’ demanded Harris.
‘I bet you’ll find they turned on each other. One of them was a real psycho.’
‘What time was?’
‘Three at the crem. Then we went on tae the wake. I was with my family until ten that evening. Ask anyone. Le’ go of me. You’re hurtin’.’
Harris made a swift calculation. Russell couldn’t have killed Evans if his story was true. Evans had been seen at the RAF base, still alive, late afternoon, to be found dead at around 9pm.
Harris loosened his grip on the boy. ‘What was the fight about?’
‘Just some cow.
The Welsh boys were flashing the cash. The birds were all over them. It was enough to make you sick.’
‘That’s no way to talk about your ex-girlfriend, is it? So you thought you’d teach them a lesson?’
‘She’s no’ my girlfriend, any more. Like I said, she’s just some wee cow. We just wanted a piece of the action. It’s no’ fair. Us local boys don’t get a look in with the RAF so close.’
Harris yanked Russell out of the cubicle and kneed him in the balls. The boy bent double and sank to his knees.
‘Well, it might help if you got a job and did something about your acne.’
***
‘Where were you between 5pm and 9pm Friday evening?’ Andie Fletcher was perched, knees crossed, on a faded tartan chair. She sipped her orange juice as she watched Adamson. He was sitting on the edge of his seat and his right leg was shaking uncontrollably.
‘Over in Dundee. Darts tournament. I was playing for the Saltire. Ask anyone.’
‘Was Russell with you?’
‘Naw, his gran died. He was at her funeral.’
‘We’ll be checking your alibis so you’d better be telling the truth. What are you doing for work nowadays?’
He leered at her. ‘A bit of this and a bit of that. Ye ken how it is.’
‘No, I don’t know how it is. And you’re wearing an expensive shirt. I’m wondering where you got the money to buy it, that’s all.’
‘We both do odd jobs.’
‘What sort?’
‘All sorts. Gardening. Labouring. Whatever’s going. Times are hard. Especially if ye havenae got a qualification.’
‘Well, maybe you should have stayed on at school.’
‘I never liked school.’
There was a sudden noise from the gents’, as if someone very drunk had had a collision with the door that he had forgotten to open.
‘What’s going on in there?’ the landlord shouted over. ‘If it’s one of your lot beating up one of my customers, there’ll be trouble.’
Suddenly the door opened. Out came Harris looking very pleased with himself.
‘Where’s Russell?’ asked Fletcher, her heart sinking.
‘Just touching up his make up,’ smirked Harris. ‘Won’t be long. He’s got an alibi, by the way.’
A few seconds later, the door opened for a second time and Callum Russell appeared. He was soaking wet, and was dabbing a very blood stained wad of tissues to a still bleeding nose.
‘What the–’ exclaimed Adamson. ‘What have ye done to him? Looks like you’ve broken his fuckin’ nose.’
‘It’s police brutality. He’s an animal, that one. I’m away home.’ With that, Russell made a dash for the door.
Adamson wriggled out of his seat and was off after Russell like a shot, leaving their drinks on the scarred wooden table.
‘Christ. What have you done?’ said Fletcher. ‘We’d both better be going too.’ Dougie picked up his glass.
‘Leave it,’ said Fletcher. ‘We need to get back to the station. Let Jim know they both claim to have alibis. If their alibis do check out we’ll have to look further afield.’
‘I know who my money’s on,’ answered Harris with a knowing look. ‘By the way, I’m no’ going anywhere. It’s lunchtime and I’ve worked up an appetite.’
Harris took a slug of drink.
Fletcher rounded on him. ‘Answer my question first. What happened back there? Looks like you’ve broken his nose.’
Harris shook his head. ‘He tripped.’
‘Tripped? Really? You’ll have to do better than that. So why’s he soaking wet?’
Harris was silent. He carried on drinking.
‘What you going to do if he makes a complaint?’ asked Fletcher.
Finally Harris put his glass down. ‘I’m telling you he tripped. Now you gonna leave a man in peace to finish his pint?’
‘What about Jim and the statements?’
‘Screw Carruthers. We’ll phone him. That’s what these are for,’ he said, brandishing his mobile in her face. He took another swig of his pint and wiped the back of his hand over his frothy moustache. He settled resolutely back into his chair, lifted a bum cheek and promptly broke wind.
Fletcher glanced down at her half-drunk orange juice wishing, despite her pregnancy, that the publican had indeed put vodka in it.
FIVE
‘How was your day?’ asked Carruthers.
Fletcher looked up from her report to see Carruthers standing at her desk. She saw his careworn face and knew that he would have had a bitch of a morning at the mortuary. The jacket in his hand made her wonder if he was coming in or going out.
‘Better than yours by the looks of it,’ she said. ‘How was it?’
Carruthers shrugged. ‘As expected. How did the interviews go?’
Fletcher knew that she should say something about Harris’ altercation in the gents’ toilet, but she wasn’t one to grass up a colleague. And she believed him when he said Russell had tripped – although how he’d got wet through was another matter. But still, Harris might be old school but she just couldn’t see him physically beat up a suspect. Even he wouldn’t be that stupid. She felt a pang, but as long as it wasn’t reported by Russell, Carruthers would be none the wiser. Anyway, both boys had been scared. She thought it unlikely either would report it. However, she couldn’t help but wonder how many more secrets she was going to have to keep from Jim.
Instead she said, ‘Yeah, they went OK. Both claim alibis. Russell swears he was at his gran’s funeral. Adamson insists he was playing in a darts match in Dundee. Both swear blind they never left their venues. They claim at least a dozen people can vouch to their whereabouts.’
Carruthers rubbed a hand over his short hair. ‘Well, in Russell’s case, it’s all family members. Knowing that bunch of outlaws, they’ll be more than happy to close ranks. OK, can you chase the alibis up?’
Fletcher nodded. ‘Leave it with me.’
‘Anything else?’
Fletcher tapped her black ballpoint pen against her front teeth. ‘The really interesting thing is that Russell’s ex, Charlene Todd, is now going out with Dave Roberts.’
Carruthers’ brows rose indicating his interest in this idea. ‘Well, well, well. Is she now? She certainly gets around. So that’s what the fight was about. I don’t remember reading she was seeing Roberts in her original statement. Don’t tell me, Russell’s jealous and wants her back?’ He picked up a file and started leafing through.
‘I don’t get the feeling he wants her back, but I do think it’s a case of jealousy. The RAF boys have more success with the women. And a lot more money. Adamson linked the two and I’ve no reason to doubt him on that point. That’s not the most interesting thing though. During the course of the fight, according to Charlene Todd, Dave Roberts was pretty free and easy with his fists. Not only did he punch Russell, he also punched Evans.’
Carruthers looked up from the file. ‘Roberts punched Evans? Now, that’s interesting. Do we know why?’
Fletcher shook her head slowly. ‘I’m not entirely sure. Roberts is obviously quick to anger. Didn’t like Evans trying to break up the fight. Thought he was interfering. Wonder if it’s more than that, though. Is it possible Evans made a pass at Charlene and Roberts found out?’
Carruthers rubbed his eyes. ‘Well, he was already seeing Siobhan Mathews. If he was into her as much as she was into him, then I would say it was unlikely.’
‘It’s a possibility though, isn’t it?’
‘Anything’s possible,’ said Carruthers. ‘I learnt from Siobhan Mathews that Evans had put in for a transfer. The question is why? Mathews didn’t seem to know. Evans was really tight-lipped about it. So it begs the question, does his transfer request have anything to do with Roberts? And does Roberts have anything to do with his death?’ Carruthers started to pull on his jacket. ‘I’m going over to the base now. Hopefully we’ll get some answers. Perhaps Roberts was bullying Evans. That’s why Evans had put in for a transfer.�
�
Fletcher pushed a lock of dark hair out of her face. ‘Do you want me to come with you?’
Carruthers paused, considering it but only for a moment. ‘It’s OK. You stay and write up your interviews.’
Fletcher saluted. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Andie,’ he paused before heading out, ‘I was meaning to ask. Do you still go hill walking?’
‘Not for a while. Living in Fife isn’t the easiest for getting away to the hills, but every so often I go out with the Perth Mountaineering Club. Why do you ask?’
‘No reason.’
‘Oh boss, I was meaning to…’
But he had already left. She heard his desk phone start ringing in the next office. After about six rings it stopped. No rest for the wicked. She wondered when she would have a chance to have a proper chat with him. She needed to talk to him about the pregnancy. She sighed. Damn, another opportunity gone.
She made herself a cup of tea and then sat and re-read the statements. She was feeling tired so grabbed a sugar lump from the communal sugar jar, thinking it might pep her up. Absentmindedly she stirred her mug with a spoon. Back at her desk once more she flipped open her notebook. Fifteen minutes later she had picked up the phone.
‘Good afternoon. This is Detective Sergeant Andrea Fletcher from Castletown Police Station. I believe you had a pub darts team playing in a tournament in Dundee yesterday. I need to find out where the tournament was being held. I also need to know the names of the members of your darts team. There’s one individual in particular I’m interested in. His name’s–’
From her peripheral vision she could see Harris striding up to her desk. ‘What have you said to Carruthers, ya wee clype?’
‘What do you want?’ Fletcher said, covering up the mouthpiece as she answered Harris. ‘Can’t you see that I’m on the phone?’ She heard a voice down the phone. Put the phone back to her ear. She tried to shoo Harris away.
‘Oh yes, that’s right. I need to know which pub in Dundee the tournament was taking place. No. It’s urgent. I need it today. It’s in relation to an ongoing investigation. I also need to know if a Lewis Adamson played for the Saltire.’
Harris grabbed the phone out of Fletcher’s hand. ‘You told Carruthers I assaulted Russell, didn’t you? I know it was you, so dinnae try to deny it.’
