Gillespie helped himself to another can. ‘You don’t think I was doing this out of choice, do you? He set me up, letting me use his girls in the pub, saying it was all alright, that it could go on the tab. No pressure, he said, but he gave me the choice in the end. I could either pay up what I owed or I could work the debt off.’
I’d heard all I needed to know. Gillespie wasn’t going to be able to help me, either. He was a mess, and it was only now I realised it, a lonely man. No wonder the extras Sutherland’s pub offered appeared tempting to him. As much as he’d brought it all on himself, Sutherland had taken advantage of him. I told him to look after himself.
He smiled and drank a mouthful of bitter. ‘You’re the one smuggling cigarettes into the country.’
I called Neil Farr from my car. He didn’t sound all that surprised to be hearing from me. I told him I needed a word. Urgently. He protested, but I told him he could help me. If he did that, I wouldn’t need to bother him again.
‘Do you know the driving range on National Avenue?’ he said.
I knew it. It was in another area which had once been the home to heavy industry, but was now a mixture of small businesses and leisure facilities. The place wasn’t busy. A small number of people were standing in separate booths, driving golf balls into the netting at the end of the field. Farr was working his way through a large bucket of balls. I watched him swing. The ball flew off to the side. ‘You’ve shanked that,’ I said.
Farr stared at me. ‘I’m still learning. Christmas present from my wife.’
‘Harder than it looks?’
‘Aren’t most things?’ He walked across to me. ‘You said your call was urgent.’
I didn’t have time to mess about. I got straight to the point of my visit. I told him what Roger Millfield had said to me about his daughter. I asked him if it was true.
Farr put his driver down. I got the impression he’d been waiting for this day to come. We watched as the man in the neighbouring booth took aim. The ball sailed perfectly into the netting. Farr glanced at me. ‘Not in here.’ He led us out of the building, back to his car. I sat in the passenger seat and waited for him to speak.
‘It was a mistake,’ he eventually said. ‘A one-off mistake Kath made. She told me about it one night when she was drunk, but Rebecca was always Roger’s daughter.’
‘Has Roger always known?’
‘I’m sure he’s always had his suspicions. It’s probably why he doesn’t like me all that much. Kath would rather talk to me than him.’
Farr was most likely right. How could Roger Millfield be happy about the closeness of his wife’s friendship with another man? Their marriage certainly wasn’t conventional. I asked Farr how Don had found out the truth.
‘She wasn’t so discreet in those days after having a drink. That’s why she stopped and threw herself into the charity work. I think it gave her some purpose, helped her sort things out.’
‘Who else knows?’ I’d already worked it out.
Farr confirmed it for me. ‘George Sutherland.’
I could see it now. ‘Sutherland is trying to blackmail Don.’ Farr fell silent. I pressed on. ‘The man’s unstable. You might want to wise Kath up.’ I thought back to seeing him argue with Kath in her office. ‘She knew this was coming, didn’t she?’
Farr nodded. ‘It was always going to come out some day.’
I’d got the confirmation I’d come for. Don was the father of Kath Millfield’s child. My options were narrowing. Sutherland was in a position of strength. I had nothing to throw back at him.
Farr spoke. ‘Don’s got another daughter, hasn’t he?’
‘Sarah.’
‘That’s right. How do you think she’ll take the news?’
Sarah was working when I walked into the bar, serving a group of customers. I was able to quickly move past her in the direction of the kitchen. I couldn’t tell her what I’d learned about Don. I couldn’t tell her I’d discovered she had a half-sister. It would tear her into pieces. I was being a coward, but so be it. Niall stopped what he was doing when I walked in.
I nodded. We stood there for a moment in awkward silence before we both went to speak. ‘You first,’ I said.
‘I just wanted to say I’m sorry for what I said. I was out of order. I know you’re not to blame for what happened to Connor.’ He put the knife down. ‘It was the shock of seeing him after the attack, I suppose. I flipped. I wanted someone to blame because I hadn’t been there for him.’
I knew my brother. He meant what he said. He wasn’t one for wasting words. It was the way we behaved, like when I’d been best man at his wedding, and how we’d come together to take care of our mum when we’d buried our dad. It went largely unspoken. I told him I was sorry, too.
I leaned against the table and turned to business. ‘We’re collecting a van from Sutherland’s pub before boarding the ferry. That’s the plan.’ He didn’t like it, but there wasn’t much either of us could do about it. I was running out of other options. I told him the same I’d told Peter Hill. ‘Can you send Ruth off to her sister’s for a bit, just as a precaution?’ He didn’t look he was going to enjoy trying to persuade her. ‘Just for one night. It’s important.’
I went back into the bar and called Coleman to tell him I had the wallet. He answered and said he was at his flat.
‘Bring food with you.’ I hadn’t eaten all day, so it sounded like a plan.
His flat looked like mine when I’d first moved in. The decoration was not only out of date, it was uncared for. Wallpaper was peeling off at the nearest corner. The carpet was worn, and if it had been described as furnished to Coleman, he was paying over the odds. The only personal touch was a framed photograph of his daughter on top of the television.
‘It’s home for now,’ he said, his eyes following mine around the room.
I put the pizzas down. ‘It took me a while to sort my place out, too.’
‘I’ve only signed a short-term lease.’
I hoped he was right for his own sake.
Coleman pointed to the food. ‘Shall we eat as we work?’
I agreed and passed over the jiffy bag which contained the wallet.
Coleman had started to tear into a slice of pizza. He stopped and wiped his hands on the settee. ‘Let’s have a look.’
I pointed at the jiffy bag.
Coleman wiped his hands before carefully tipping it out. He didn’t touch the wallet. ‘Do you think it’s genuine?’ he said.
I told him I’d spoken to Bancroft’s brother. I pointed to where Hull FC had been scratched into the leather. ‘Doesn’t prove anything, though, does it?’ I bit into my pizza as he examined the wallet. Like me, he decided to use latex gloves.
‘Looks convincing to me,’ he eventually said. ‘Not that we’ll get anything from it.’ He took the gloves off.
I waited until Coleman bit into another slice. ‘Why did you stop Gerard Branning talking to me?’
Coleman struggled to control a long string of cheese. He chewed his way through it before answering. ‘I needed you to work a bit harder.’
He could see I wasn’t impressed with his explanation.
‘Nothing personal, Joe. I needed you to buy into my theory.’ He tore into another slice. ‘Way of the world, that’s all.’
‘Like your promotion?’
He looked embarrassed. ‘I need something. I’ve got nothing else.’ He threw his half-eaten pizza slice back into the box. I did the same. He wanted to talk seriously.
‘What else do you know?’ he asked me.
I ignored the question. I wanted some answers myself. ‘What happened when Andrew Bancroft was reported missing? I assume there was a proper investigation?’
Coleman shook his head. ‘There wasn’t much of one. Holborn was assigned it, but what can you do if a grown man disappears?’
‘He didn’t do a thorough job?’
‘The file does the job. He asked the right people the right questions.’
&n
bsp; ‘Or he said he did?’
Coleman agreed. ‘That’s exactly the point, isn’t it? No way of knowing either way.’
‘What about Don’s involvement?’
‘He was never on the record with it.’
That made sense to me. Like with Branning and Salford, I knew people took cases personally if they didn’t think justice had been done.
We went back to our pizzas. It was Coleman who broke the silence. ‘I spoke to Johnson again.’
I was surprised. ‘Why?’
‘He asked for another meeting.’
‘Alone?’
‘He wanted to make sure he could trust you.’
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. ‘Is he taking the piss?’
‘Far from it. He’s deadly serious.’
I knew if I didn’t help him, he wouldn’t help me with George Sutherland. Catch-22. He was my only option.
Coleman tossed his empty pizza box on to the floor. ‘I know the wallet doesn’t prove anything on its own, so that’s why I went back to him. It was his test to see if you were serious. He gave me a date for the killing of Andrew Bancroft. And an alibi.’
‘And you want me to check it out?’
Coleman shook his head. ‘Reckons he was at a City match. Never missed one. He’s got his season pass collection at home and says there are people who can vouch for him.’
It wasn’t the best alibi I’d ever heard. I asked Coleman if the date fitted.
‘I Googled it. It ties in with the reporting of Bancroft’s disappearance.’
We both knew it was worthless, but it would be hard to provide a solid alibi for something that happened so long ago. I did know that Salford and all his men were into football, though.
‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ Coleman said.
I nodded. I was justifying it by not thinking of it as helping Johnson. I wanted to make sure he was telling the truth. If he was taking us for fools, he had to stay behind bars. I could help ensure that happened.
Coleman walked over to where he’d put his coat. He took out a manila envelope and passed it to me. ‘Johnson pointed me in the direction of these.’
I opened the envelope and let a handful of black and white photographs fall onto the table in front of me. The first one I picked up had been taken in a field at night. I could see a dirt track and some bushes and trees. There was nothing else in the scene. Coleman was staring at the wall, leaving me to take them in. I picked up the next photograph. I recognised Andrew Bancroft straight away. He was strapped to a chair in some sort of an outbuilding. He’d been beaten, his face covered in dry blood. ‘Fucking hell.’
‘Indeed.’
I put the photograph down. This had been where the trail was leading, but it was still a shock.
‘Look at the other photo,’ Coleman said, pointing to the last one left on the table. It had landed face down. Coleman stared at me as I turned it over. ‘Recognise him?’
I picked up the photograph and nodded. Thirty years younger, but I recognised the face staring back at me.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I knocked loudly on Don’s front door. The curtains were drawn in the living room, but I could see light shining out at the top of them. I knocked again before bending down to open the letterbox.
‘I know you’re in there,’ I shouted. I glanced down the hallway, but there was no movement. I shouted again. ‘I know, Don. I know about Rebecca Millfield. I know she’s your daughter.’
I took a step back and looked around. The neighbours’ cars were parked up for the night. A cat walked slowly across the road. It stopped halfway and turned back to stare at me. The spell was broken by Don opening his front door. I followed him into the house.
‘Wait in the living room,’ he said.
I did as I was told. He’d reframed the family photographs on the mantelpiece, but I couldn’t look at them. It was too much. Don walked into the room. He had a bottle of whiskey and two glasses with him. I told him I wasn’t here for a drink. He shrugged and poured himself a generous measure.
I waited. It had taken countless questions, beatings and his house being violated to get us to this point. It was as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.
‘Does Sarah have any idea?’ I asked him.
‘Of course not.’
‘Want to tell me about it?’
‘Seems like you already know.’
‘Only what Roger Millfield told me.’
‘There’s probably not much more to tell.’ He poured himself another drink. ‘It’s like I told you before. I had an affair with Kath. That was it. She had Rebecca and I didn’t think anything of it until she turned up drunk one night. Lucky I was home alone. She told me how she couldn’t live a lie any longer. She said I had a right to know I had a daughter. The next day, she changed her tune. I wasn’t to tell anyone. I wasn’t to mention it ever again. She didn’t need me or my money. Rebecca was Roger’s daughter and that was it. End of discussion.’
I let that sink in. I’d seen Rebecca Millfield’s photograph on her father’s desk. She was going to be following in his footsteps in the accountancy practice. ‘Did you have a test?’ I asked.
‘Never going to happen.’ He shrugged. ‘I didn’t need one to know the truth. I just knew I was her father.’
‘And you followed Kath’s demands?’
‘To the letter. I’ve never said a word about it. I decided to live with the situation and keep my distance. I’ve got Sarah. She’s all I need.’
‘Kath Millfield told Sutherland, though.’
‘I know she did.’
Rebecca was in her mid-twenties now, so Sutherland had held back the information for long enough, just waiting to use it. The time was now right for him. He was far more desperate than I imagined.
‘Sutherland’s getting nothing from me,’ Don said. ‘Not a penny.’
I was pleased he was facing up to the situation at long last. ‘Why didn’t you tell me he was blackmailing you? I had to get confirmation from Roger Millfield.’
‘You hardly drop it into conversation, do you?’
‘I would have helped.’
‘You can’t do anything for me.’
‘Sutherland isn’t going to let this go.’
‘I’m done lying.’
I stared at Don. ‘Do you want Rebecca to know about you?’
He shrugged. ‘I’m tired of lying, Joe. That’s the truth.’
‘You should speak to Sarah.’
He sighed. ‘A long time ago, I thought you two were made for each other.’
‘Times change.’
‘I was probably too hard on you.’
I smiled. ‘I kicked back too much.’
‘Hardly matters now. We’re more alike than we’d care to admit.’
‘How so?’
‘Deep down, you’re not a bad guy, Joe, I know that. I can even overlook the fact you played for the wrong club.’
Whether he meant it or not, I knew he was really asking me not to judge him for the things he’d done. I wasn’t sure if I was able to do that. Don swallowed the last of his whiskey and stood up, swaying a little. ‘You never could handle your drink,’ I said. I thought about mentioning Andrew Bancroft’s murder, but it could wait until he was sober. ‘I’m going over to Belgium tomorrow with Sutherland.’ I didn’t need to explain what we were doing. ‘It’s the only way I can pay the debt back.’
Don shook his head. ‘You should go to the police.’
‘You know me better than that.’ We both smiled. I walked to the door. ‘I need you to keep an eye on Sarah and Lauren until I’m back.’
Don started to say something, but I cut him off. He wasn’t stupid. He knew what the score was and he was in no position to dictate to me. I repeated the message of keeping an eye on them.
I wasn’t ready to go home yet. I knew Alan Palmer had more he wanted to say about Andrew Bancroft’s murder, that much was obvious. There were things I needed to know and I now had
more information. Palmer had told me he spent his evenings in the pubs of the Old Town. I started at one end of High Street and worked my way down, avoiding the louder pubs which catered for the younger market. I found him sitting in a quiet corner of Ye Olde Black Boy. True to his word, he was nursing half a pint of orange juice.
I stood in front of him and waited for him to notice me. When he did, I spoke. ‘I know Andrew Bancroft was killed. I’ve seen the photographs.’
He pushed his soft drink away. ‘Best get me a proper drink, then.’
I hadn’t expected it to be that easy. ‘Sure?’
He nodded. ‘Pint of lager.’
I headed for the bar.
‘And a whiskey chaser,’ he said to my back.
The barmaid poured our drinks, but not without suggesting I take Palmer somewhere else once we were done. She left the drinks on the bar and walked across to her stool, sat down and went back to her magazine.
I watched Palmer drink the whiskey, shaking as it went down. He then swallowed a mouthful of lager. I didn’t touch mine. I didn’t want it.
‘I was involved in Bancroft’s death,’ he said. ‘I was told to pick him up and drive him out to the pig farm.’
He wanted to talk. I had to ask the questions, even though I knew he was going to set something serious in motion with the answers. ‘Who told you to go and get him?’ I said.
‘Frank Salford.’
‘What happened?’
‘I went to Bancroft’s house and told him Frank wanted to give him a reward for the work he’d been doing. Like an idiot, he believed me. He swaggered into Frank’s office thinking he was the business. It was only when the door shut behind him that he started to get the picture. Frank floored him with a punch and he was tied up and held until it went dark. Then we threw him into a van and drove out to the countryside.’ He paused for a moment and composed himself. ‘Bancroft knew what was coming, that was for sure. I can still hear him begging us to let him go, but all Frank did was laugh and turn the radio up.’ Palmer picked up his lager before deciding he didn’t want to drink it. He put it down and pushed it away. ‘Frank hadn’t been feeding the pigs, so they were starving. You could see it in their eyes. They were jostling around their pen, making these horrible squealing noises. Bancroft was begging, screaming really, like an animal, but Frank didn’t care because no one would hear him. It was the middle of nowhere. I remember Frank pointing to the grave that’d been dug next to the pigs. He told Bancroft he could take his pick. He could either get in the pig pen or get in the grave. It was his choice.’
The Crooked Beat Page 18
