Desolate Sands Crime Book 5 (Detective Alec Ramsay Crime Mystery Suspense Series)

by Conrad Jones

  “My colleague has gone to inform our investigators to change their focus to the rear of the house.” Alec nodded and studied Kraznic’s bruises. “Did you know that your boss, Kolorov, was hit last night?” Alec watched his response with interest. It was the first time that Kraznic looked him in the eyes. His legs twitched with nervous energy. He was shocked by the news. “You didn’t know did you?”

  “No.”

  “He was shot through the head.”

  “I hadn’t heard.”

  “John Ryder was murdered too, throat slashed.”

  “Messy.”

  “I should think so. Not a coincidence though, do you think?”

  “How would I know?”

  Alec let the news sink in for a minute. He took a pack of Lamberts from his pocket and slid them across the table. “You look like you might need a few of them. The warden said it was okay to bring one pack in.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Did the Ryders ever go to Breck Road?”

  “John?” he shrugged. “Once or twice maybe, but I never saw him there.”

  “What about the others?”

  “I wouldn’t know.” Alec saw a flicker at the corner of his lips. His hand came up to his face. He was lying.

  “Tibbs said that he saw Brendon Ryder there a few times.”

  “Tibbs is a liar. I never saw Brendon there.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Positive.”

  “You know that we found some evidence to connect Tibbs to other murders,” Alec said. “He’s in big trouble.”

  “Good,” Kraznic muttered. He looked rattled. “I hope that the freak rots in hell.”

  “He may have had an accomplice.”

  Silence.

  “You know, someone to help him capture victims; someone with a van and a stun gun. Would you know anything about that?”

  “I’m not saying anything else without my lawyer.”

  “That is sensible.”

  “I wasn’t in the country when these terrible things happened.”

  “So you’ve said,” Alec agreed. “I can count on you giving evidence in court?” Kraznic looked down at the floor and nodded his head. Alec stood up and gestured to the guard. “Thanks for your help. Try not to fall over again, eh?” Kraznic nodded and held his cigarettes tightly. “One more thing,” Alec thought out loud. “Did he ever mention his grand-kids?”

  “Yes,” Kraznic shrugged. “He said that they lived in the city but that he couldn’t see them.”

  Alec turned and walked away. He wasn’t sure if he had more questions than he had before he arrived. There were some answers but they certainly were not clear and he wasn’t convinced that they were true either.

  Chapter 37

  “Can you tell me where the Dorset is from here?” DC Lewis asked a traffic warden who was stalking a blue Nissan. The parking meter was about to run out, just seconds left on the clock. Traffic heading downhill towards the pier, on his left, was slow. He wondered if they would have time to walk along it before their flight back.

  “What?” The warden turned irritated by his presence. Lewis flashed his warrant card and grinned.

  “How do I get to the Dorset?”

  “You’re a long way from home,” the warden commented on his identification. Lewis watched the driver of the Nissan tottering as fast as she could, on heels which were far too high for her. She was marooned in the middle of the road, as the traffic wouldn’t let up long enough for her to cross.

  “I’m on a case down here and I need to find the Dorset.”

  “I see. It’s in the heart of the North Laines, situated on the corner of Gardner Street and North Road. Walk though this lane here,” he pointed as he spoke. Lewis could see a narrow entrance between two buildings, “keep going straight on for a few hundred yards and you can’t miss it.”

  “Thanks,” Lewis said walking away. He smiled as the woman opened her door and climbed into her Nissan. The traffic warden turned around and his face visibly showed his disappointment as she started the engine and drove away.

  Entering the Laines, Lewis could see the attraction of Brighton as a resort. The narrow streets were buzzing and packed with tourists. Ten minutes on, DC Lewis spotted the green canopies which shade the outside seating areas of the Dorset and headed through the busy narrow lanes towards it. It had a welcoming appeal to it; the ideal place to sit and watch Brighton life going by. The resort is a melting pot of students, wealthy commuters, tourists from across the world and a large gay community which creates a busy, exciting and socially tolerant society next to the sea. The Dorset is a huge Victorian building, which was once a traditional pub. It has reinvented itself many times, but has always been a popular landmark and meeting place for groups of all ages and demographics.

  The afternoon sun was dipping but he noted the remarkable difference in temperature between Brighton and the banks of the Mersey. The tables outside of the Dorset were full, business suits drinking martinis and continental lagers mingled with art students and day trippers alike. The atmosphere was alive. He felt like buying a beer and sitting amongst them, watching the world walk past, but socialising wasn’t on the menu on this trip. The Laines were lined with curiosity shops, vintage clothing shops and antique stores which resembled museums. If one was easily distracted, then progress could be slow. Lewis focused on reaching the steps that led up from the cobbles to the main entrance.

  Inside, the wooden floorboards were stripped and bleached and chalk covered blackboards were updated daily with the specials. Compared to the packed tables outside, it was quiet. He approached the bar and looked for an employee who appeared to be old enough to be the manager. The four members of staff visible to him looked barely out of school. One of them spotted him waiting and rushed over. He was young and camp, his shirt sleeves were rolled up and a white canvas apron protected his clothing and projected an image of hostelry.

  “Hi! Can I help you?” he smiled. His fringe was caked in gravity defying gel giving him what Lewis called the ‘I’ve just seen a ghost’ look.

  “I’m looking for the manager,” Lewis said showing his warrant card. “Are they around?”

  “Liverpool?” he frowned. “You’re a long way from home, handsome!”

  “Yes,” Lewis said seriously. “The manager?”

  “Josie!” the young man shouted, almost singing her name. “The police want to know if you’re here. What have you been doing showing your arse in the tavern window again?” he skipped off to the other side of the bar to serve, leaving Lewis with a smile and a cheeky wink. “I’m Jac, if Josie can’t help, I finish at six!”

  Lewis blushed and looked around nervously to see if anyone had noticed his discomfort. No one had because no one cared. Brighton was akin to a human zoo, interesting and varied species of every description on view. In comparison to most, Lewis had little to attract the eye of a bystander. “Thanks, Jac,” he mumbled.

  “Can I help?” Josie asked disturbing his thoughts. She was mixed race with a ring through her left nostril and a million dollar smile. Her left arm was a tattooed sleeve of religious iconology. She could see that Jac had been interacting with him. He had a knack of making straight men blush. “Have we done something wrong? Jac overcharging again?”

  “Not that I know of,” Lewis joked, regaining his composure. “I am looking for some information about a young girl who I believe worked here.” He showed her a photograph of Tina Peters. “It was a few years ago, do you know her?”

  “No, I’m sorry. When did you say she work here?” Josie shrugged.

  “Two years ago, we think.”

  “I’ve only been here six months, sorry.”

  “Would anybody else remember her possibly?”

  Josie put a painted nail to her full lips and thought about it. “I know someone who might do, but he doesn’t actually work for us although he does work here.” She frowned. “Does that make sense?”

  “Not really,” Lewis laughed.

>   “Pink Pete has been the DJ here since the early eighteen hundreds, according to him anyway,” she laughed, and pointed to a poster on the wall, “he gets on with all the staff. If anyone might know her, it will be Pete.”

  “That’s great,” Lewis said looking at the poster. Pink Pete was featured wearing heavy makeup and a pink wig cut into a sharp bob. His false lashes more akin to those of a camel than a human. “How can I get hold of him?”

  “You can’t until next week.”

  “Why not?” Lewis was confused.

  “He’s gone to work at a music festival in Ibiza,” she shook her head. “I think he’s back on Friday, sorry I can’t be of more help.”

  “I don’t suppose you have a mobile number for him do you?” Lewis leaned closer so that the customers nearby couldn’t hear him. “I wouldn’t ask but Tina Peters is one of the victims recovered from Crosby Beach. I’m sure you’ve seen it on the television?”

  “Oh my God, the place with the iron statues; what are the papers calling it, the Butcher killings?” she covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh that’s terrible! The poor girl and she worked here?”

  “We think so,” Lewis explained. “I spoke to her old landlady and she remembered that she worked here up until she left Brighton.”

  Josie touched his arm. “I’m not supposed to give out his mobile. He’s very fussy about it but under the circumstances. I’ll go and get it. Give me five minutes.” She disappeared through a paneled wooden door into the backup areas leaving Lewis to take in the surroundings. The aromas of garlic and bacon drifted from the kitchen and a waitress walked by with a sizzling skillet of spiced meat of some description. His stomach rumbled reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since they had left Liverpool. The bar was lined with real ale pumps and mulled cider taps. He checked his watch. They had five hours until their return flight. If Josie came up with a number which gave them some valuable information, they may have time to sample some of the Dorset’s wares. His partner was checking a lead across town at a secondary school where one of Tina’s housemates had become an English teacher. Between them, he was sure that they would find something concrete to take back to the MIT.

  “Here it is.” Josie reappeared through a different door. She held out a business card which had the caption, ‘Pink Pete, getting wed? Think pink, think Pete’. Lewis raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “He hosts a lot of gay weddings and the like,” Josie explained, “that’s what he’s doing in Ibiza. Someone is getting married over there.”

  “This is very useful, thank you.” Lewis took it from her and held it up. “I’m going to try one of your ales and ring him straightaway. I’ll take that table by the window and I’ll have some food too if you could send me a menu over?”

  “Take a pew. Try the Blue Bird bitter; it’s our bestseller at the moment.” Josie said as she went back through the hatch, leaving a whiff of Calvin Klein behind her. “I’ll bring it over.”

  Lewis slid along a high-backed church pew and put his mobile onto a heavily marked pine table. The deep scratches and cracks in the wood added character to the furniture, despite the fact that none of it matched. A window looked out over the outside seating area. He put the business card next to his phone and waited for his ale to arrive. Josie placed a pint of dark beer on the table and handed him an oversized laminated menu. He scanned both sides quickly. “I’ll have the gammon and eggs please,” he pointed. “Can I have chips with it and the yolk runny?”

  “Of course,” she said taking the menu from him. “I hope that Pete can help you. He knows the staff better than anyone.”

  “I’ll give him a try now.” Lewis picked up the mobile and punched in the numbers on the card. There was a pause of static noise and then the unfamiliar sound of ringing abroad. It rang without being answered for long moments. Three men wearing suits were seated at a long table outside his window. They thought that they were being discreet as they snorted white powder from a compact mirror. Lewis resisted the urge to bang on the window and wave his warrant card. It would be mildly amusing if nothing else, but all he would achieve was losing the custom of three of Josie’s wealthy customers. He knew that cocaine in Brighton was like Guinness in Dublin; for sale everywhere and enjoyed by the locals and visitors in equal quantities. One of the men made eye contact with him and said something to his friends. They put the compact away quickly and laughed amongst themselves. Lewis was about to hang up when a voice answered.

  “Hello.”

  “Is this Pete?”

  “Who is asking?”

  “I’m DC Lewis of the Merseyside Major Investigation Team, but I’m calling from Brighton,” Lewis explained. “I’m sorry to bother you while you’re on holiday, but I’m in urgent need of some information and I think that you may be able to help.”

  “Merseyside?” Pete’s voice wasn’t as camp as he had expected. “You’re a long way from home, Detective. What is this about?”

  “Tina Peters,” Lewis said. “Do you remember her?”

  “Yes. I was friends with her.”

  “I’m afraid that she was murdered.”

  “I saw her face on the news. Shocking stuff. Have you caught the bastard yet?”

  “We might have. We’re making progress.”

  “How on earth can I help?”

  “We need to know why Tina went to Liverpool, so we’re tracking down anyone who might have been friends with her before she left.”

  “Tina was a lovely girl, Detective but she was a sucker for a handsome guy. She was always falling head over heels for someone and then a week later, she would get bored and move on. I used to call her the butterfly.”

  “Can you remember any of her boyfriends?”

  “No,” Pete paused to think. “There were so many.”

  “You can’t remember anyone with a link to Liverpool?”

  “Oh yes,” Pete sighed.

  “You can?”

  “Her friend from Liverpool?” he chuckled. “I remember him well. His name was Charlie. She was crazy about him.”

  “Charlie who?” Lewis asked excitedly. “Do you remember his last name?”

  “Have you got a pen there?”

  Lewis reached into his jacket and rummaged for his pen. Opening his notepad, he poised expectantly, “Go ahead.”

  “C for Charlie. O for Oscar. C for Charlie. A for Alpha. I for India. N for Nero. E for Echo,” Pete paused. “She met Charlie every night, Detective and Charlie was usually from Liverpool in those days. Most of it was back then, if you get my meaning?”

  “I see,” Lewis dropped the pen on the table. “She had a habit?”

  “A bad one, Detective.” Pete sounded sad. “I was really shocked to hear that she was one of your victims but not completely surprised. I’m sorry that I can’t be more help.”

  “Thanks, Pete,” Lewis sighed, deflated, “if you think of anyone who she might have been hanging around with before she left, you could call me on this number?”

  “Look, I have hundreds of photographs on memory sticks from my theme nights at the Dorset. I’ll look through them and see if there are any of Tina. I can’t do it until I get home though.”

  Josie arrived with a large oval plate piled with a thick gammon steak and homemade fries. Two runny eggs sat on the meat, the yellow too yellow and the whites, too white. “Thanks. That would be really useful,” Lewis murmured as he ended the call and stared at his food. It looked tasty but his appetite had disappeared with his enthusiasm.

  Josie left him with a smile and stepped outside to clear empty glasses. She chatted to some of the regulars and then placed the empties near the hatch. After emptying the glass washer ready for a new load, she walked behind the bar to the other side of the pub and cleared glasses from a raised seating area.

  “Who is the guy asking all the questions, Josie?” a sharply dressed man in a dark blue suit asked.

  “He’s a detective from Liverpool. Would you believe it?” Josie said, leaning closer so her customers couldn�
�t hear her. “That’s your neck of the woods. You must have heard about the serial killer up there?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Well one of the women that he killed used to work here when she was at university!”

  “Really,” Geoff Ryder said feigning surprise. “What a small world it is. What did you tell him?”

  “Nothing, Geoff,” Josie said smiling. “I never met her but I put him onto Pete. If anyone will remember the staff, it’s Pete.”

  “Good work, Josie. Thanks. Tell him that his lunch is on the house. Don’t make a fuss, but it’s the least we can do under the circumstances.”

  Chapter 38

  Alec approached the rear of the house where the dig was well underway. The top layer of garden had been taken away and the cellars to the rear of the house had been excavated by huge yellow plant machines. The smell of burnt wood lingered stubbornly in the air. “Morning, Alec,” Kathy waved from behind a digger. “I hope you have brought coffee?”

  Alec held up a cardboard tray which held two large cups of McDonald’s latte. “Of course. Would I dare to approach in the morning without caffeine?”

  “Not if you know what’s good for you.” Kathy smiled from behind her long fringe. Her hair masked scars left from a vicious assault that she had suffered years before. Alec could barely see them anymore but Kathy was convinced that she was deformed. He cringed inside when he thought how Annie would deal with her injuries in the long term, if she survived them. Facial scarring was a terrible legacy for anyone, but for a female? Alec thought they must struggle far more. “How is Annie?”

  “Still in ICU, no change,” he shrugged. “Tell me we can lock Tibbs away for good?” He handed her a coffee and looked around. “Anything in the garden?”