Beck le Street

by Tony McHale

  Barbara settled down at the table and Charlie sat opposite her. She ran her fingers through her hair in a natural way to loosen it after the removal of the baseball cap and Charlie knew she’d done the gesture many times before. It was sexy and provocative. She clearly liked to tease.

  “So what can I do for you?” was the rather double-edged question. Charlie thought for a moment about starting to flirt back, then decided against it. He was pretty sure this was all a game to Barbara and even if she wanted to take the game to the next level, he didn’t want to play.

  “My mother’s Will - you witnessed it,” Charlie said in a tone that was decidedly not flirtatious.

  “That’s right.” Barbara was still flirting.

  “Didn’t you think it was a bit odd?” he asked.

  “Yes. But there’ve been odder things in my life.”

  “Did you read the Will?”

  “No. I just had to witness your mother signing it. You know, I was wondering when you’d come and ask me about it. The police haven’t been to see me yet, so I assume they don’t know about me, either that or they’re slow off the mark.

  Charlie thought there might be another reason, which was they couldn’t be bothered. They’d done the initial investigation, made an arrest, had been seen to be active, now it was over. Beck le Street was being allowed to continue as before. It had to sort out its own problems. That’s what the inhabitants had wanted, almost demanded, but when those demands were being made, nobody had considered that one day they could have a murderer in their midst.

  “Was it my mother or the lawyer who asked if you’d witness it?” Charlie continued.

  “Your mother.”

  “Didn’t you think that was a bit odd. She could have asked Farrah or a number of other people. Why did she ask you?”

  “That I didn’t think odd. She wanted someone who didn’t know her too well. Someone who she wasn’t close to. But what I did think was odd, was her asking me into the loo to do it. You know people might get the wrong idea, the three of us in there together. Then I saw the lawyer’s shoes. Jimmy Choos. And I thought no problem. I know for a fact lesbians don’t wear Jimmy Choos.”

  Barbara waited for his reaction, which is why she’d made the totally irrational statement about lesbians and shoes, but to her disappointment there was none forthcoming.

  “And all you did was witness the signature?” Charlie was determined to keep on track. “They didn’t ask you do anything else?”

  “No. That’s all. There was no - ‘Let’s do a line of coke.’ There was no ‘I’ll show you mine if you’ll show me yours.’ I just signed the will.” Barbara topped up both their glasses finishing the bottle.

  “Can you remember anything they said to each other?”

  “They didn’t really say a lot. It was just about where to sign and how many copies …”

  “How many copies were there?” jumped in Charlie.

  “Three … three copies.” As she spoke Barbara stood up and went to the fridge, opened it and took out another bottle of Sauvignon, which hadn’t been opened. “You witnessed all three copies?” Charlie asked not letting the wine talk distract him.

  “Yes.”

  “You just signed the three copies and then left.”

  “Yes.”

  “Nothing more was said?”

  “Like what?”

  Barbara seemed to be enjoying herself.

  “I don’t know. But I was hoping there might be something else,” Charlie postulated.

  “Like a letter!” Barbara announced as she unscrewed the top on the new bottle of wine.

  Charlie looked up from his glass of wine; this was the first mention of any letter. Elaine O’Hara had not mentioned any letter. As these thoughts preoccupied Charlie’s mind Barbara took the opportunity to top up his glass.

  “What letter?” He looked at her hoping to see in her eyes whether this was just another Barbara Bergin statement aimed at provoking a reaction or there was in fact a letter. It was impossible for him to tell, so he pressed on. “Was there a letter?”

  “Yeah – there was a letter,” explained Barbara calmly then, taking another sip of wine.

  “Where … when?” Charlie needed her to cut to the chase.

  “As I left the loo that night …”

  “In the pub … “ Charlie clarified. He wanted to know the precise details.

  “Yeah … in The Black Dog … Has your father ever thought of modernising the place? I mean I don’t mind quaint, but run down doesn’t do it for me.”

  “Can we stick to the letter,” Charlie said with just an edge of impatience.

  “Okay … I just think the loos in The Black Dog need some attention. I can live with the shitty wall paper, but smelly loos … and one of the doors … wouldn’t even open.”

  “What?”

  “There’s two loos in there … but you can only get in one. What’s the point of having two if one you can’t use.”

  “The letter … please.” Charlie was fighting the need to scream.

  “As I was leaving the loos … ”

  “After signing the Will …?” Again Charlie needed the clarification.

  “Yeah … as I was leaving … they’d both thanked me … and I heard your mum turn to the shoe lady lawyer and say ‘Here’s the letter I mentioned.’”

  “The letter she mentioned,” reiterated Charlie.

  “Yes.”

  “She definitely said that?”

  “Definitely.”

  Charlie was as certain as he could be that she was telling the truth.

  “Did you see it at all?”

  “I glimpsed it. As I was closing the main door into the loo … which by the way needs some attention. Why doesn’t your dad put one of those self-closing things on it? If you don’t push it too fully, it swings open and every low-life yokel can have a free look at your fanny. I don’t think they cost much …”

  “You saw the letter as you were closing the door …” Charlie was forcing her back to where he wanted her.

  “Yeah,” she continued. “Caroline was just handing it over and the lawyer put it in her briefcase as the door closed.”

  “The lawyer never said anything to us about a letter.”

  “Well there was definitely a letter.”

  Charlie was wondering how to proceed. Should he ring the lawyer? Ask about this mysterious letter. Whatever - he needed to do something.

  “I better be making a move,” said Charlie placing his half finished glass of wine on the table.

  “I think you owe me,” Barbara said as she looked at him seductively.

  Charlie wasn’t sure what she meant.

  “For the information.”

  “Of course.” Charlie couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  “Have you got a camera with you?”

  “Yeah – never leave home without one.”

  “Take my photograph. Having a photo done by Charlie Ashton is quite a coup.”

  “You mean now … this minute?”

  “Yeah. Consider it payment for the information. I think that’s a fair deal.”“Okay … okay.”

  Charlie picked up his glass of wine again, took a sip and headed to get his camera from his car.

  When Charlie returned with his Nikon the first thing he noticed was a pile of clothes, jeans, vest, bra and a thong scattered over the floor. He guessed whom they belonged to. He looked round the kitchen and straddled naked across one of her kitchen chairs was the owner of Foxwood Farm.

  “I thought this would make it more interesting.”

  Charlie couldn’t disagree. He’d always preferred taking model shots, so here was a chance to do what he wanted to do. He wasn’t going to object.

  Durin
g the next hour, Charlie took nearly two hundred shots, Barbara did nearly fifty different poses, some more lewd than the others and between them they drank three bottles of wine. At the end of the session, Barbara asked him what he wanted to do next. Charlie looked at her and for a moment, a long moment, he was very tempted to supply the answer he believed Barbara wanted to hear, but then his alcohol fuelled brain told him this was a can of worms he didn’t need and also shouldn’t open.

  Charlie moved slowly to her, she was once again sitting on a chair, still naked. He bent forward and kissed her lightly on her lips. Quietly, almost in a whisper he said, “Maybe some other time.”

  Barbara didn’t seem the least bit disappointed. She just gave a little smile and took another swig of wine before replying, “Okay – that sounds good.”

  Charlie, camera in hand, headed for the door, “I’ll let you have a look at the best ones when I’ve had a chance to check them out.”

  “Thanks,” she said genuinely. “Oh and by the way the night when I was witness to your mother’s will, I did hear one other thing.”

  Charlie stopped in his tracks.

  “It was about the envelope,” continued Barbara. “ The loo door swung open again, as it does and I heard Caroline ask the shoe lawyer to keep the envelope safe until her husband died. She said she didn’t want to hurt him.”

  For Charlie it had been one hell of an afternoon. Any other time the photos of an attractive nude middle aged woman would have been the most important thing on his mind, as it was, a letter handed to a lawyer for safe keeping was taking pride of place.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “Do you know anything about an envelope mum gave to her lawyer?” Charlie asked Jed.

  Jed was pulling a pint of bitter for Old Atkinson who was seated in his normal place at the table under the window. Old Atkinson was the only customer who had his beer brought to him by the landlord.

  “I didn’t even know she had a lawyer, so I’m hardly likely to have known about some envelope. What was in it?” inquired Jed.

  “I don’t know, that’s why I was asking you.”

  Farrah was at the end of the bar on her laptop, Charlie glanced across at her as Jed moved round the bar to take Old Atkinson his drink. He could see what Charlie was thinking. As Charlie approached Farrah she looked up, “Do you want to send Aaron a message?” she asked cheerfully.

  “He wouldn’t know who I was. What was he when I left …?” replied Charlie.

  “He’d been three … yeah three. But he knows who you are. He used to tell the kids in his class you were his godfather. Just say something to him.”

  Charlie hesitated for a moment then quickly typed a message:

  Hi Aaron … your surrogate godfather here. Hope all’s going good …

  “Is he still in Bangkok?” Charlie broke off typing to ask.

  “Yeah … he loves it there.”

  “I bet.” He continued typing.

  … and those girly bars are not getting too boring. Watch out for the lady boys you could end up with your hand on something you don’t want to be holding.“Charlie …” admonished Farrah playfully.

  Have a great time and take some photos for me. Charlie.

  “Now he can show off to his mates about you. That message will up his street cred no end.”

  Farrah typed a few more words declaring her love for her son, then she added a few kisses before pressing the send button.

  “Who’s he out there with?”

  “He went on his own. Didn’t even tell me he was going. He met up with a couple of lads from Leeds. They sound right enough. He’s certainly grown up while he’s been out there. Different boy to what went away.”

  “Then is he headed for Uni?”

  “I guess so … we’ve not really talked about it. I just think … it’s not really his thing.”

  Farrah closed down the laptop and went to serve a middle-aged couple who had just come into the bar. Charlie took the opportunity to ask her about the envelope, but Farrah knew nothing about it and showed no signs that she was trying to hide anything.

  Charlie was about to press her further, even though he thought it was a waste time, when his mobile started to ring. The readout said: ‘Number withheld.’ Could be important, could be a job.

  “Charlie Ashton …” he announced to the caller.

  Then a voice, strangely muffled, slightly unreal.

  “Tomorrow night Marine Hotel Whitby 9pm. Make yourself known at reception.” Then the phone went dead. Charlie looked round The Black Dog. The normal faces. Did any of them know who his mystery caller was?

  * * * * *

  The following day Charlie parked his car in the Pavilion Drive car park on the North Terrace. It was quite a walk from there to Wellington Road where Shaw and Sherman Solicitors were situated. He just fancied taking the long route, which meant him cutting down through the alleyways and narrow streets to Pier Road and walking along the quayside, which was busy with tourists. Eventually he passed the swing bridge and followed the road round until he reached Wellington Road. Shaw and Sherman’s was situated above an opticians and had its own entrance up some narrow stairs.

  Earlier he’d rung and made an appointment, so Elaine O’Hara was expecting him. The office was far too small for the number of people it housed. Charlie counted three legal secretaries, a receptionist and a couple of others who were gofers. They were all crammed into an open planned reception area. The receptionist, a plump girl with a skirt that was far too short for the size of her thighs, explained they had to go up another flight of stairs to where Elaine O’Hara conducted her business.

  As he was ushered into Elaine’s office, the plump receptionist asked if he fancied a drink. The last time somebody had made that offer, Charlie had ended up photographing her naked, so he declined the offer. As the plump receptionist waddled away, Elaine indicated for Charlie to sit across the desk from her.

  The room was stacked with files and law books. Elaine’s desk piled high with folders, which was the antipathy to her personal dress - a smart trouser suit, a neat blouse and expensive high-heeled shoes.

  “I presume this is about the Will,” she started off saying.

  “No. It’s about an envelope,” Charlie thought he would dive straight in and try and gauge the solicitor’s reaction.

  Elaine paused for a moment. Then collected herself and continued.

  “Which envelope?”

  “The one my mother asked you to keep safe until my father died.”

  Elaine was unfazed. “What about it?”

  “What can you tell me about it?”

  “Nothing.”

  Charlie appreciated her directness, at least there was going to be no pretending there was no envelope. He continued, “I thought it might be, in some way, relevant to her death.”

  “I wouldn’t know about that.”

  “She didn’t say why she wanted you to keep it?”

  “I’m not at liberty to tell you what she said to me.”

  “But it could be important.”

  “Yes it could be. But I don’t know.”

  “Do the police know about it?”

  “You’ll have to ask them.”

  “If it does have anything to do with my mother’s murder, then you could be hampering the investigation.”

  “But I don’t know if it does have anything to do with it.”

  “I’d like to see it.” Charlie thought it was at least worth a try.

  “You know that’s not going to happen.”

  “At least tell me who it’s addressed to.”

  Charlie couldn’t be sure, but he thought Elaine hesitated momentarily before answering.

  “Sorry, I can’t,” replied Elaine politely.

  “You’re not going to bu
dge on this,” Charlie knew he was stating the obvious.

  “No … I’m not.”

  “Then I’ll have to go to the police.”

  “Do so by all means,” Elaine didn’t seem at all perturbed by Charlie’s threat. “If they produce a warrant, then they can have the envelope with pleasure. I’m just carrying out my client’s instructions. Believe me I’m not trying to be awkward and I would like as much as you to see whoever killed your mother caught and convicted. I just can’t go against a client’s instructions.”

  After his recent experience with the police, Charlie knew that to ask them to discover what was in the envelope was a waste of time. The more he thought about how they’d handled the case, the more he realised they just wanted it to go away. He’d also realised why. The police couldn’t allow too much attention to be directed at Beck le Street. It was clear to Charlie they’d had very little to do with the policing of the village for years. If this became general knowledge, then other communities would more than certainly follow suit and British law and order would turn into anarchy. If the police could pass off what happened to his mother and Kyle as some kind of domestic incident, hence them arresting Jed, then society would be satisfied. They needed to reassure the public at large that there wasn’t some crazy killer on the loose and everyone was still safe to walk the streets and the moors.

  But all this didn’t help Charlie. He still needed to get his hands on that envelope and the question still remained – how?

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The sun was just starting to go to sleep as Charlie made his way to the Marine Hotel. He wasn’t sure what was going to happen when he got there. Was he meeting someone, or was there going to be a message? The Marine Hotel had recently been refurbished, he could tell that as he approached. It was an old building with a modern flavour. He went straight into the public bar and asked for reception. The barmaid directed him through to the hotel section where a middle-aged woman with a warm smile greeted him. Before he said who he was, she spoke: “Mr Ashton. It’s just up the stairs … the Gothic Room. You’re expected.”

  As he climbed the narrow stairs Charlie was beginning to wish he’d brought some sort of weapon with him. Common sense told him to turn round and forget this. But he kept climbing, the stair treads creaking under the pressure of every step.