Midnight's Door

by Robert F Barker

  As I came in, Mike was already at his desk, working on spreadsheets. He’s another who likes his early starts. Apart from the depths of winter, it means he can finish in time to get some holes in without feeling too guilty.

  He swivelled his chair round towards me. ‘Heavy night?’

  ‘Not the way you’re thinking.’

  From the adjoining office, Julia’s singsong echoed through. ‘Morning Danny. Coffee?’ Julia’s our admin clerk. Actually she’s more than an admin clerk. She runs things.

  ‘Yes please Jules. 'Morning.’

  As I flopped down into my chair Mike said, ‘So tell me what’s doing.’

  I hesitated. Where to start?

  I decided on what he already knew. Agnes. I finished that bit with Carver mentioning about the police coming into the club again on Tuesday.

  ‘Frank won’t like that. Footfalls are down in all the clubs since these girls started getting themselves killed. This is the second one from Midnight’s. It’s going to hit him hard. And if it hits him hard, it hits us as well.’

  I heaved a sigh. Mike’s mind only works one way, and that’s business. I said, ‘So we better hope the police catch the bastard sooner rather than later.’

  ‘You know lots of people,’ Mike said. ‘Don’t any of them have an idea about who would do this sort of thing?’

  As Jules set my mug down on the cardboard coaster on my desk we exchanged glances. The way her eyebrows went up I knew what she was thinking. Mike doesn’t always live in the real world.

  ‘We’re not talking about someone dealing drugs or doing-over post offices here, Mike. This is a psycho who’s pulling girls off the street and doing God knows what to them. If I knew anyone who might know something, don’t you think I’d have told the police by now?’

  ‘What about that weirdo who used to do the rounds of the clubs? What was his name, Wer… Worse-something?’

  ‘Colin Worsley’

  ‘That’s him. Didn’t you once tell me he likes to rough women up?’

  ‘He’s already inside. That business with the Chinese girl last year, remember?’

  ‘Oh yeah. The champagne bottle thing.’

  As Julia returned to her office she gave a loud, ‘Tch.’

  ‘So what’s this bloke into then? I hear he cuts them up quite badly. Is that right?’

  ‘Jesus, Mike, how the hell do I know?’

  ‘I thought you and the cop in charge are best mates?’

  ‘We’re not mates. We know each other, that’s all. He doesn't confide in me or anything.’

  Mike must have sensed my growing frustration as he dropped the subject. ‘So what else?’

  ‘Get ready. You’ll love this.’

  I told him about our run-in with the Russians. Charnley’s visit. The stuff found in Winston’s locker and me taking him off the door. As I laid it all out, Julia wandered back in and perched on the end of my desk, listening. When I outlined my suspicions about Charnley being snug with Yashin and trying to set us up so Frank would have to take the contract off us, Mike’s face grew dark. When I’d finished he was quiet for a while before he said, ‘The Midnight’s contract is the biggest we’ve got.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘If we lose it, we could be in trouble.’

  ‘I know.’

  Julia switched a wary look between us. With two lads at university and her girl due to start in September, her interest in the business was at least as great as ours.

  ‘What about the Russian? Will there be trouble between you?’

  ‘Probably.’

  Mike shook his head. ‘So what are you going to do?’

  I almost laughed. Mike’s got a gift for seeing certain problems as mine as opposed to ours. ‘I’m going to fight fire with fire.’

  'I don't like the sound of that. What're you planning?'

  I tapped the side of my nose. 'You'll have to wait and see.'

  'Nothing stupid, I hope?'

  As I rose to leave I said, 'Would I?'

  His answer was a worried look.

  Outside I took out my phone, brought up 'Jasper' in my contacts, and hit dial.

  It rang out long enough for me to think about hanging up when a voice said, 'D?'

  'Hi Jasper. Can you talk?'

  'Always time for you buddy. And I'm not driving.'

  'Who's doing pick-ups this morning?'

  'Chaz, I think. Why?'

  A picture of Charlie Knight in his usual builder's labourer attire formed. Heavily built and with hands like spades, he's the most unlikely drug squad officer I've ever met. 'I've got a slight problem.'

  'Fuck. I knew it.' His tone changed as I imagined him turning to his partner, Gary. 'It's that Norton twat. Didn't I say that he'd be onto us after that Liverpool lot?' He was referring to a bust they'd made on the car park behind the club the month previous. My part only involved a phone call. He came back. 'Go on, I'm listening.'

  'There's a package in our safe.'

  'What's in it?'

  'I'm assuming it's C.

  'And?'

  'I could do with borrowing it back.'

  'For how long?'

  'Until this afternoon.'

  'When do you need it?'

  I checked my watch. 'Noon?'

  'Okay. Next question. Why?'

  I smiled to myself. 'Funny you should ask.'

  CHAPTER 14

  The Abbeywood Development on the outskirts of Winwick is one of those housing estates that might have been designed to confuse postmen and delivery drivers. The houses are arranged in angular closes and crescents with names like ‘Cedar’ and ‘Laurel’, all running off a ring road that circles the whole estate. Behind the houses are parking areas where there’s usually at least one jacked-up car with its bonnet off waiting for a new engine. Hedge-lined walkways meander through the estate in all directions. If you didn’t know the layout and set out to walk to the shops in the centre, you could walk in circles for hours.

  As it happened, I’d called in at Winston’s a few months before and remembered he lived in the first turning left after you came onto the estate. Cypress, it was called. I parked outside his back gate which was tall and solid-looking. I recalled he had a German Shepherd – ‘King’ - which he keeps in the yard, so I followed the path round to the front. I’d barely rung the bell when, through the frosted glass panels in the front door, I saw Abigail approaching up the hall. When she opened the door and saw me she put her head on one side and gave me a look that said, ‘You’ve got a nerve.’

  Abigail is the most striking African woman I’ve ever met. Glossy black skin, almond-shaped eyes, high cheekbones. When I first met her – the night she turned up at the club not long after she and Winston got together - I totally believed it when someone told me she was the daughter of some African tribal king. My Dad would say she has, ‘Regal bearing,’

  Right now she was carrying little Jasmine on her hip and hefted her round into a more comfortable position before hitting me with, ‘What yo’ wantin’ yo’ come here fo’?’

  ‘I need to see Winston, Abi.’

  ‘Why? He don’ work fo’ yo’ no mo’.’

  ‘Yes he does. I haven’t sacked him.’

  ‘He says you took him off the door.’

  ‘I did, but only Midnight’s. That’s why I need to see him.’

  Her hesitation showed the first chink in her defiance. If there was still a chance their income wasn’t going to be as affected as she'd imagined, she needed to be careful about abusing me as much as she’d been about to. Not that it would change anything if she did.

  Eventually she said, ‘He’s in back,’ and stepped aside. As I passed her to make my way down the hall, it was like walking past an open fridge.

  As I neared the back room I could hear voices, deep and low, like rumbling thunder. Someone was saying, '-just enough so he won’t fuck wit you like dat again.’

  As I came through into the living area, Winston turned, saw me and shot out of the leat
her armchair that, like the matching sofa, was way too big for the room but had to be to accommodate him. In less than a second his face changed through surprise, to guilt, to the same defiant suspicion I'd seen in Abigail. Opposite him, nestled in the sofa like twin Jabba The Hutts, were Gabriel and Anthony, two of his brothers. As they recognised me a wary look passed between them. Though there were only four of us in the room, it was way crowded.

  Overcoming his surprise, Winston squared up to me. ‘What you doin’ here Danny?’

  ‘We need to speak,’ I said.

  He shot a look at his brothers. ‘You should have rung first.’

  ‘I did. Several times. You aren’t answering.’

  He shrugged it off. ‘So, what is it?’

  ‘I know you’re pissed about last night but I want you to know this isn’t over yet. You’re still on the books and I’m going to get you back at Midnight’s as soon as I can.’

  ‘How you goin’ to do that?’

  ‘I’m not sure yet, but let’s just say there are things going on that need to be sorted out.’

  ‘What things?’

  ‘Things like Charnley, the Russians, whatever it is they’re trying to do with Frank.’

  At mention of Charnley, Winston’s face twisted into a snarl.

  ‘That fuckin’ mother set me up. You know I don’t do that drugs shit.’ He shot an apologetic look at his brothers.

  ‘Which is why I’m here to tell you not to do whatever you and your brothers-’ I turned to give them an acknowledging nod. ‘-were just talking about doing, and give me some time to work things out.’ I was in no doubt they’d been talking about ‘sorting’ Charnley in a way that, for the brothers at least, would be no more than what they did, day in, day out, anyway.

  Winston turned to them. They were sat forward on the edge of the sofa, almost on their haunches, listening carefully to my pitch. The way they were looking at me, eyes no more than slits in puffy faces, they could have been trying to work out whether I’d be best grilled, roasted or fried.

  It would be wrong to say that the relationship between me and Winston’s brothers is based on mutual respect. I don’t respect anyone who makes a living fucking up other people’s lives – not even those who deserve to have their lives fucked up. But I know enough about the several businesses they are involved in – none the remotest way legal – to respect that they stick to their turf and have never tried to take advantage of the fact that their baby brother works the door at the biggest night-club in the North West. For their part, I guess they know enough about the way I run things that, on the few occasions we’ve met, they’ve always adopted a weird formality, calling me, ‘Mr Norton’ rather than Danny, like everyone else does. It was as if they were grateful for me giving Winston a job and vouching for him for his Security Licence, so that at least one member of the clan was living a life that was, for the most part, clean. That said, they also knew that if they ever tried anything at Midnight’s, there'd be trouble between us.

  Turning his gaze from me, Gabriel, the oldest of the pair, gave Winston a look that read, ‘Do you believe him?’

  Winston looked between us, weighing things.

  ‘Listen to him, big man.’ Abigail’s voice sounded behind us.

  I turned to see her leaning on the door jamb, still cradling baby Jasmine. She’d obviously been listening and right now the look she was giving her ‘big man’ wasn’t a million miles from the one she’d given me when she opened the door. She continued.

  ‘I don’t want you doin’ no shit that might end up wit’ you inside and me havin’ to bring this one up on my own.’ She nodded at the package she was carrying before turning, pointedly, to her brothers-in-law and adding, ‘No disrespec’’.

  The brothers-in-laws nodded, slowly. They didn’t seek to argue against her. I wouldn’t argue with Abi either, if I knew her mind was set.

  She and Winston exchanged a long look. For all the closeness with his blood-family, I knew that as far as Winston was concerned, Abigail and Jasmine took precedence. It was why he was still managing to live a life free from the sort of trouble his brothers’ business brings from time to time. And he didn’t bother looking for their permission when he put a big hand out to me and said, ‘I’m relying on you, Danny. Don’t let me down.’

  ‘I won’t,’ I said.

  CHAPTER 15

  I'd arranged to meet Vicki at her friend’s house in Winwick around one-ish. On the way there, I stopped off in a lay-by on the A49 for the meet I'd arranged during my little chat with Jasper that morning. It went well.

  After loading Vicki's stuff into my truck – there wasn’t that much – I took her to Sankey where we met Harry. He handed her the keys to the flat and showed her round. It was a first-floor, straight-up-the-stairs-through-the-front-door affair. Clean, modern, comfortable, two bedrooms, well appointed kitchen. Though she played it cool like she does at work, I could tell she was made up. After helping her carry her stuff up, Harry and I came away and left her to settle in. On the car park I offered him a fifty for his trouble.

  ‘No need for that Danny. Thanks to you I’m pulling rent I wouldn’t have got if I’d had to wait for the agency to find a tenant.’

  ‘Even so,’ I said, pushing the note into his shirt pocket. ‘I’m grateful and I wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea about you doing me a favour.’

  ‘What’s that mean?’

  ‘Never mind. You and Diane go out and have a Chinese on me.’

  ‘If you insist. By the way…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You and her.' He thumped up at the flat. 'Are you…’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Not even-?’

  ‘No.’

  Returning to my truck I made a point of not looking back to see Harry’s leery smirk. And as I drove off I knew that by the time I called in at The Brigadoon later for my Monday-night pint, the word would be out about me and some ‘posh bird.’

  It was still a couple of hours before my next planned call-in, so I attended to some business. We had a couple of prospective new contracts in the pipeline - pubs and clubs around the Warrington area – and I made some PR visits to keep them sweet. If Midnight’s contract did go tits up, we’d need any new business that was going.

  I was between sites when Carver rang and we talked about what he had on Agnes’s murder, which was basically nothing. They'd worked out she’d been driven to where her body was found, but so far they couldn’t even say if she was killed there or somewhere else and her body dumped. It was an isolated spot and there were no witnesses – just like the other killings. He was interested in my ‘dancer’ theory.

  ‘Run it past me again. This thing about them all being good dancers.’

  I went over it again, telling him about the girls I’d spoken to and how they'd all described how the victims weren’t just good dancers, but exceptional, as in Pop Video standard. Naomi and Sonia had even auditioned for some TV talent show and got through to the first round of judging before managing to get chucked off after Sonia got pissed one night and was caught slagging off one of the female judges.

  ‘You think it might be something?’ I said.

  'Every serial killer uses some means to select their victims. It’s never random, even if it looks that way. This guy's thing could be dancers.’

  I thought about it. ‘If it’s right, then he'd have picked them out after seeing them dancing in the clubs.’

  ‘Most likely.’

  ‘How often would he have watched them do you reckon?’

  ‘Impossible to say. So far the killings have been weeks apart. All the victims frequented clubs two or three nights a week. If he’s a regular as well then he may have watched them several times, working himself up, planning it.’

  ‘Jesus. We've probably seen him, and not realised it.’

  ‘Very possible.’

  ‘So what line are you taking?’

  ‘We need to speak to other girls who are known to be exceptional
dancers. They might have some ideas. They may even have spotted someone in the crowd taking more than normal interest.’

  ‘Am I okay to pass that around?’

  ‘By all means.’

  I didn't mention the stuff with the Drug Squad. I didn't think he'd want to know.

  Dave Charnley operates from a pair of bolted-together portacabins next to a plumber's merchant's on a small industrial site in Padgate. Like our offices, they’re nothing to brag about but they do the job. One of the cabins serves as Charnley’s office, with a small toilet-cum-kitchen off. The other is his ‘Control’ and staff office where his number two, a local lad by the name of Ian, works along with a couple of girls. Between them, they do about half of what Julie does for us on her own. I parked up next to Charnley’s Range Rover and went inside. As I came in, Charnley was just finishing up with a couple of shady-looking but smartly-dressed guys. They didn't look to me like the normal sort who run pubs and clubs around our area. Their gruff farewells as Charnely ushered them out – he made a point of not introducing them to me - marked them as foreign, possibly east European. It sometimes seems like they're the only people interested in investing in the sort of places that need door supervisors these days. As they left, I caught their suspicious glances and shifty gazes enough that I would remember them if I came across them again.