by Keith Nixon
“Angry? Apoplectic?”
“No.”
It was pretty obvious what Quigley really thought. “You didn’t like Regan much, then?”
“He’s the boss’s son.”
The phrase was like a mantra. “Does that mean you can’t have an opinion?”
“It means, he’s the boss’s son.”
“What about Cameron?”
“He’s the boss’s son too?” Quigley opened him arms in a question mark, rolled his eyes.
Gray got more specific. “Do you ever see him here?”
“Cameron? Once or twice. Clubs don’t really seem to be his sort of thing.”
“You said Seagram’s is clean.”
“Yes.” Quigley frowned. “As a whistle.” The same phrase that Jake had used.
“You’ve never seen any drugs here?”
Quigley stared straight at Gray. “No. Look, I’ve got to get back to work.”
Gray raised an eyebrow at Fowler to see if he had any questions. Fowler shook his head. Gray let Quigley go, and he didn’t hang about.
“He’s got more to say,” said Gray.
“Definitely,” agreed Fowler, “but not here and not now.”
The thump of music was coming up the stairs, clear through the door which Quigley had left standing open.
“How much CCTV footage did you get?”
“From here? All of it. From opening to closing.”
“Did you see the blue-haired woman going in?”
Fowler thought about it. “I don’t think so.”
“Okay, we’ll need to look again. Blue hair, it might be a wig.”
“A disguise?”
“It would make her stand out, that’s for sure. We need to find her. See who sells wigs locally, maybe they’ll remember somebody buying a blue one.” Fowler recorded the action in his notebook. “And we can make an educated guess at what Regan was up to before he arrived at the club.”
“Trawling for women,” agreed Fowler.
There was a knock at the door, Jake was leaning in. He said, “Feels strange, asking permission to come into my own office.”
Gray wondered how much Jake had overheard.
“Do you want to see anyone else? We’re open, and we’ll be getting busy soon.”
Gray glanced at his watch. It had been an hour. “We’re done for now, I think.”
“Want a drink before you go? If you’re off-duty, of course.”
“Sounds good to me,” said Fowler.
“I’ll pass. Got an early start tomorrow.” Gray was feeling unwell again, a pressure and burning behind his breastbone.
“Your loss,” said Jake. He led them downstairs and across the dance floor. It was lit now, as was the bar. Quigley was behind the counter, restocking.
Jake got Quigley’s attention. “Give Sergeant Fowler whatever he wants,” he said before shaking both their hands and leaving.
“I’ll have a beer,” said Fowler.
“We’ve got some Estrella Reserva going spare,” said Quigley.
“That’ll do me fine.”
“Do you have CCTV behind the bar, Ray?” asked Gray.
Quigley pointed to a tiny camera mounted on the wall above the tills. “That’s how I know if the staff is fiddling.”
“Nowhere else?”
“No.” There wouldn’t be a view of the bar or dance floor from the lens.
“Are you sure you won’t stay?” asked Fowler.
“I’ve got to go.”
Fowler raised the bottle in a salute. Gray left him to it. He had a date in The English Flag.
Chapter 28
Then
It was very early in the morning when Regan Armitage reached his home. Inside he could clearly hear his father talking to someone; maybe shouting was more accurate. Regan had hoped to creep in unnoticed and slip into bed while everyone was asleep. His foot was on the bottom step of the stairs when he caught the words “fire” and “deaths”. A shudder ran through him.
He opened the door to his father’s office. A lamp spilled out a circle of light. His father, in dressing gown and pyjamas, was standing behind his desk, head down, revealing a developing bald patch, talking on his phone. His free hand was curled into a fist, the knuckles pressing into the wood.
“Okay, see that you do,” said Jake. “This is going to cause a whole load of shit for me.” He finished the call, dropped the mobile onto the desk. Regan stared at his father until the older man realised he wasn’t alone. He glanced at Regan before his eyes returned to the telephone.
“What the hell are you doing?” Jake asked; no strength in his words. “You should be in bed.” He sagged into a chair. His face was drawn and pale.
“It was me,” Regan said.
Jake leant over and grabbed a glass and a bottle. He poured himself a drink, took a mouthful, and swallowed. “What was?”
“The fire. I did it.”
“This is no joke, son.”
“I’m telling the truth.” Regan shrugged the backpack off and unzipped it. He pulled out the petrol can and held it towards his father.
Jake slowly put the glass down and rose, as if seeing Regan clearly now. Jake walked over, took the can, sniffed it. A little petrol sloshed around in the bottom. Jake dropped the can and grabbed Regan by the shoulders, his fingers digging in. “Tell me everything,” he said.
“I heard you saying you wanted rid of the old bat so you could start work on a new project. I thought I’d help things along.”
“By setting fire to her house?”
Regan nodded. “It was the best I could do.”
“Oh my God.” Jake let go of Regan, turned away, and tugged at his hair as if he were going to rip it out. He swung back to Regan. “Do you know what you’ve done? There were people still inside the building!”
“I tried to ring the fire brigade, but the phone was broken.”
“A family burned to death!”
“Nobody saw me.”
“If this comes out, I’ll be ruined. You’ll end up in prison, Regan!”
“I’ve got away with it.”
“Not yet, you haven’t. There’ll be an investigation.” Jake returned to his desk, poured himself another drink, and swallowed it in one. “Are you sure you weren’t seen?”
Regan nodded. “There was a girl, but I stayed in the shadows until she’d gone.”
“Okay, maybe this can be dealt with.” Jake picked up his mobile again and made a call.
***
Jake was still drinking when Jeff Carslake arrived. Regan could smell the smoke from the fire on Carslake’s clothes. He shuddered again. With the office door closed, Carslake asked Regan to repeat his story, word for word.
When Regan was done, Carslake said, “Yes, we can fix this.” Carslake took the backpack, said he’d dispose of it. “One of the firemen at the scene said he suspected it was arson. There’s no chance of hiding that aspect.”
“What are you suggesting then?” asked Jake.
“I’ll probably just fit someone else up for it. There’s a couple of fire starters that I could point the finger at, though an accident would be better.”
“Whatever it takes, whatever it costs to keep Regan out of jail, just do it.”
Chapter 29
Now
The English Flag was a pub in Margate’s Old Town. To call the establishment down-at-heel would be a kindness. It was down-at-sticky-carpet. The pub was resisting the area’s gentrification with a two-finger salute to the London set and immigrants in equal measure. As the immediate area grew more respectable, so the Flag seemed to dip further.
Inside, a huge George Cross flag hung behind the bar, held up by nails at each corner. Otherwise it was tacky floors, worn furniture, and an appalling attitude to customer service. It served beer, a limited range of spirits, and monkey nuts, delivered with derision by the surly landlord, all day. This was where the dregs of Margate came to drown their sorrows.
However, there was a camarader
ie between the clientele. A one-for-all attitude. Certainly not friendship but a kinship at least. Newcomers were viewed with suspicion until they were trusted. The regulars knew exactly who Gray was and, like a cat about to strike, shrank into themselves. Gray, though, wasn’t here for a fight. He was here for answers.
Noble was seated at the bar, leaning on the stained wood as if supporting himself. Within the crook of his forearms stood a pint. A bandage was wound around his head, tufts of hair poking out.
“You got out quickly,” said Gray. He sat down. He still wasn’t feeling great; the fresh air hadn’t done anything to relieve his feeling of wanting to be sick.
“I discharged myself,” said Noble. “Bloody doctors. They haven’t a clue.”
“Brain surgery, was it?”
Noble ignored Gray’s flippancy. “Want one?”
“From here? You’ve got to be joking.”
Noble shrugged and sank a good portion of his pint. “When you’ve had a near-death experience like I have, best to make every moment count.”
“It’s lucky you possess such a thick skull, Will.”
“Very funny.” Noble turned, held out a hand to Gray. “Thanks for looking out for me, though.”
“It’s my job.” Gray shook Noble’s hand. “And I’m sure you’d do the same.”
Noble betrayed a doubtful look.
“What happened?” asked Gray.
“Not here.” Noble jinked his thumb, indicating a table as far from the bar as possible. “Walls have ears.” The landlord was standing nearby, slowly splitting monkey nuts and chewing on the contents and taking in everything. He was known to sell anything for cash.
When they were seated Noble said, “Speaking of which, all of this stays between us, right?”
“That depends on what you tell me.”
“I’ve always liked you, Sol. But the company you keep, it bothers me.”
“What do you mean?”
“Carslake’s not a straight shooter.”
“What makes you say that?” Gray
Noble shook his head. “I don’t trust him and neither should you.”
“Why not? I’ve known Jeff for years.”
“That’s your problem.” Noble stared at Gray for a long moment. “Some stuff I’ve heard over the years. I think he has some associations a cop just shouldn’t have. Like with Regan Armitage.”
“Do you have any proof?”
“Beyond seeing them at social events together over the years? No, just whispers from contacts. Carslake’s clever.”
“If you’re going to throw accusations like that around you’d better be sure you have the evidence, Will.”
“We’re just talking, Sol.”
Gray let it pass. “What happened at your offices yesterday?”
“I was minding my own business when two men came in. They said I had something they wanted.”
“What?”
“That was just the problem, they didn’t say at first. You know how I am, kindly soul and all that, I’ll do anything for anyone.” Gray managed to keep his face restrained. It wasn’t more than a minute since Noble had failed to commit to helping Gray. “When I said I hadn’t a clue what they wanted they locked me in the cupboard and began turning the place over. I’m thinking they’re going to kill me. Anyway, after they’d busted the place up good and proper they let me out into fresh air. I nearly died in there, I tell you.”
“Poisoned by your own atmosphere?”
“Now you’re just being rude.”
“And?” prompted Gray.
“I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was like a hurricane had torn through the office, turned everything upside down. Bastards. I told them so too. They asked me again if I had it. And when I said, again, that I had no idea what they were talking about, this time they told me. Millstone.”
“Millstone?”
Noble nodded. “The property developers. We talked about them the other day.”
“We did?”
“Jesus, Sol! Outside the Lighthouse. They’re the ones trying to tear the town down.”
Gray remembered now. He had the protest leaflet still in his desk drawer at the station. “Oh, yeah.”
“I had a bit of a search around the office, pretending to look and that was when it all went a bit pear-shaped.”
“Why?”
“Because I went for them. Managed to get a couple of knuckles on a chin. I was doing all right until his mate hit me. I went down like a sack of spuds, Sol.” Noble put a hand to the back of his head, touched the bandage gently. “One made a call while I was on the floor. Told someone they couldn’t find it and asked if they should finish me off. I nearly shit myself. I thought, this is the end of me. The person on the other end must have said no cause they left, and I got in touch with you.” Noble eyed Gray balefully. “Eventually.”
“Who did they call?”
“No names were used.”
“Tell me about Millstone.”
“Not much to say really,” said Noble with a shrug, “as there’s not much to find. Believe me, I’ve tried. They’re newly formed, no apparent trading history, no accounts yet. The company address is in Jersey. Offshore, invisible. All this talk of increasing transparency.” Noble shook his head. “Really, it’s a sham. Big businesses paying little to no tax. Evasion versus avoidance? They’re one and the same as far as I’m concerned. We should all pay what we can, Sol.”
“No argument from me.”
“One thing I do know, Millstone have got Jake Armitage in their sights. They want him out. Margate’s becoming big business, and it seems Millstone, whoever they are, are after a major share of it.”
“Did you recognise who attacked you?”
Noble nodded. “Larry Lost and some guy with dreadlocks.”
“They keep turning up.”
“Frank McGavin wants in on the act as well. He’s moved into property. The new fish restaurant on the Broadstairs seafront? It’s McGavin’s.”
Gray raised an eyebrow, McGavin was changing his tactics. Property and restaurants. Very upmarket.
“Jake is being squeezed, Sol. Between Millstone and McGavin. I’d bet it’s not a pleasant place to find yourself.”
“Is this the story you said you were working on? The big one?”
“I’m saying nothing.” Noble grabbed hold of Gray’s forearm. “I owe you one.”
“Think of me as your guardian angel, Will.”
“There was one other thing which stuck in my mind. When they were on the phone Larry mentioned Sunset.”
“What does that mean, Will?”
“I think he was referring to the guest house fire.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Me neither. I thought I’d mention it. Just watch yourself with all this, all right? Remember what I said about Carslake. It’s for you only.” Gray wondered what Noble meant about Carslake and the part all this played in an increasingly complex puzzle.
“I’d better be going, Will. Thanks for the information.” Gray stood up. He felt dizzy. Outside, the pub door swinging shut behind him, Gray’s stomach began to lurch. He ran for the rear of the pub, a car park, and threw up against the wall, heaving until there was no more.
Gray stood, bent at the waist, hands on thighs, trying to get his breath back. He hoped he’d be well enough to catch the train tomorrow morning. At least when he rang Hamson to complain of an illness he wouldn’t be lying.
Chapter 30
Khoury jolted awake when the car door closed. He sat up; blinked the sleep out of his eyes. It was dark outside. A streetlight nearby cast a weak yellow hue which barely illuminated the pavement beneath.
There was a man sitting in the passenger seat next to him. A big man, wearing a sharp suit. His head was shaven to the skin. Which puzzled Khoury as he’d locked the doors before he drifted off. The man grinned at him, though there was no humour, just brilliant-white teeth. Through the windscreen Khoury saw a second man, with familiar dreadlocks, sitt
ing on a bollard staring directly at him. He was one of the men who’d been searching for him at the Lighthouse. Dave.
“I hear you’ve been trying to find an associate of mine,” said the man in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead, not bothering to look in Khoury’s direction. Khoury wondered if he could get to his knife quickly. The man’s hands rested on his thighs. He wore gloves. The sight of them turned Khoury’s guts to ice. No fingerprints. “You’re looking for Larry? Is that right?”
Khoury nodded.
“I’m Frank, by the way,” he finally turned to face Khoury. “Frank McGavin.”
Khoury saw no one else outside besides Dave. The harbour master’s office, which had a seagull’s-eye view of the immediate area, was dark. He was alone with these two.
“It’s just us,” said McGavin, seemingly reading Khoury’s mind. “But Larry’ll be joining us shortly. He’s on his way over now. To meet us on his boat.”
“Why?”
“Thought I’d help a fellow human being.” McGavin smiled. He opened the passenger door and got out. Dave stood and began to walk over, his dreadlocks swinging. When Khoury didn’t move, McGavin leant back inside and said, “Come on, then.”
Dave opened Khoury’s door. The only sound he could hear was of the waves beating against the outer wall, and the slap of ropes against masts in the wind. With a sense of foreboding, Khoury exited.
“Arms out,” said Dave. He was wearing gloves too. When Khoury didn’t comply, Dave lifted Khoury’s arms so he was standing like a scarecrow. Dave patted him down, found the knife in an inside pocket, and removed it.
McGavin headed towards the harbour. Dave closed the car door and gave Khoury a shove so he followed McGavin, falling into step a few feet behind. McGavin stopped at the security gate in the fence. He tapped four numbers into the keypad. The gate unlocked with a metallic clunk, and they were inside the inner marina.
McGavin walked along the pontoon with purpose, like he belonged here. The boat was three sections along, at the end of a spur off the jetty. McGavin paused beside the boat for a moment, took in the lines. Khoury didn’t need to read the name on the rear to know what it said. The Etna, Ramsgate.
