The Dirty Game

by Solomon Carter

  Eva nodded.

  “What time?”

  “It’s gone midnight at this point, more like 1am.”

  Jim Greer stiffened up as the figure’s face appeared. Greer peered closer at the laptop screen as if more detail would be revealed, and then pulled away. “Play that again, please.”

  Eva took the laptop and set it to play at the right time once more and gave it back to the old man.

  This time Jim Greer reclined and watched it serenely. He pinched his thumb and forefinger over his wise-looking grey moustache. When it was done, he looked at Eva. His face was inscrutable.

  “I can’t believe this, Miss Roberts,” said the old man. He put out a slow and dismissive hand.

  Something in Eva’s chest began to cry out in anticipation. The feeling was unpleasant and growing.

  “What do you mean, Mr Greer?”

  “There’s been a mistake here. Someone has made a mistake.”

  “And how exactly has there been a mistake? I was here. This is the evidence of that. It can be corroborated by an independent person if you like, but surely you don’t believe I would have tampered with this footage.”

  “Hold on, Miss Roberts. I never accused you of anything –that’s not what I meant. I meant this young man…”

  “You know him, don’t you?”

  Jim Greer’s eyes widened and he nodded slowly.

  “I’m afraid so. Which is why I think there has been some kind of misunderstanding, which I will now need to attend to. Without fuss. Without causing problems to anyone either within this firm or beyond it.”

  Eva’s eyes stayed impassive but she didn’t like what she was hearing. “I see,” she said, not seeing at all.

  “This boy, Nathan Fielding, is my nephew, Miss Roberts.”

  “Does that exonerate him from this crime, Mr Greer?”

  Greer coughed and leaned forward and putting his elbows on the polished veneer he steepled his hands. “Miss Roberts… I don’t believe in cover-ups and that sort of thing… but Nathan suffers from Autism. His mother has tried for a long time to get him the help he’s needed, but Nathan is stubborn and won’t accept it. This, I am sure, is a cry for help. Now I don’t know how he’s arranged access into this office… and I don’t know how he’s arranged for payments to be taken from our accounts but…”

  “That’s just the thing, Mr Greer. This young man is no boy. He’s what, in his early or mid-twenties? He is visiting this firm’s office by night and at least assisting in company fraud. You should not let that go. You have an obligation and I have an obligation,” said Eva, but the old man interrupted.

  “Hang on, Miss Roberts. I’m the one who hired you, so I’ll be making those kind of decisions. There’s not yet any crime and no incident number. If I repay the missing sum from my own personal finances, the company is not even out of pocket, and Nathan and his family get another chance at a normal life before it’s taken away from him. That’s what they deserve, Miss Roberts and nothing less. I can fix this and make good with Alabaster on their behalf.”

  No. There were too many unanswered questions for that, too many rogue elements. Maybe it was because she was so tired that she had argued and risked her fee, and then again, maybe it was because her own instincts told her something here was very wrong, even if Mr Greer didn’t see it yet.

  “Mr Greer. I understand your concerns for your family, but this is bigger than family. You hired me not as Jim Greer, but under the authority of Alabaster Properties. There must have been a corporate decision behind it. You may have even minuted it. In which case, you need to follow proper procedures to cover your back.”

  The old man used his dismissive hand again, like a Jedi trying to silence her with the dark side of the force. It was irritating.

  “Hang on. Just what is in this for you? Surely you don’t give two hoots about our administrative procedures. I mean you don’t work for us, do you? You work for yourself. Your worry is your fee, and I’ll see to it that you are fully paid. More than that, you’ve worked well and did what was asked. I’d recommend your services for any difficult matters like this.”

  “Thank you, Mr Greer.”

  “Jim, remember.”

  “Yes. I remember. Now, true, I don’t care about your policies and procedures. The thing is Mr Greer, are you thinking emotionally. Wait a while, because there are problems here. Your nephew had an accomplice, I’m sure of it.”

  “What? How can you be sure?”

  “He needed help to get access. To acquire the codes. He tried to avoid cameras planted by me, which is the whole reason he is wearing the hood. He was expecting us. Why? Because he’d been informed of our work. Now I don’t believe you were involved in that…”

  “Of course I wasn’t bloody involved, or we wouldn’t be sitting here, would we?”

  “Absolutely. But it’s very likely that one of the three people in your office aided and abetted your nephew.”

  “Aided and abetted. There you go again with the legal terminology. This matter is not going to go to court, Miss Roberts. I have my family to think of. Alabaster’s debt will be repaid and you will get your fee and recommendation and my nephew will stay untouched. I will take him in hand, don’t you worry about that.”

  “No, Mr Greer. I can’t do that.”

  “But I must.”

  “There is more going on here than meets the eye. Your nephew is being manipulated and I want to stop it.”

  Greer’s eyes turned frosty. “And you insist on that, do you?”

  “I do, Mr Greer. And ultimately, I think you may thank me for it.”

  “That remains to be seen. If you cost my nephew his freedom and the boy’s mother her sanity for some moral crusade or fanciful notion, mark my words, I won’t be thanking you. I’ll find a way to show you what I think of your stubbornness.”

  There was a moment’s silence.

  “That wasn’t a threat now, was it, Mr Greer?”

  “No, no. I’m not the kind to make threats. I just look out for my own. Maybe you should have been a police woman instead of a private detective.”

  Her thoughts went back to an unwanted place. She saw Gary Rowntree in her mind’s eye, invading her personal space.

  “No. I never wanted to be like them at all.”

  “That gives me some small comfort, Miss Roberts. Now, remember what I said. Whatever your motives, my family remains my priority. I hope you can prove what you said. But if you can’t there’ll be no recrimination, just admit your mistake and close the case. You’ll get your fee. You’ve done what was asked already.”

  “But don’t you want to find the one causing your nephew to stray?”

  Jim Greer stood up to close the meeting. “You know what I want, Miss Roberts. I’ve already told you. Have a good day.”

  He opened the door and waited as Eva closed her laptop. She was tired, unhappy and irritated, but she hadn’t blown the fee which was something. But ‘no recrimination’ was a theme of Mr Greer’s today. She wondered how far the theme applied. If she managed to catch the staff using his nephew in the fraud, would they be due any justice. That was the funny thing about being a private detective. Sometimes there was only detection, with no satisfaction. The fee helped salve the conscience at least. Eva made the thinnest of polite smiles. “I’ll see myself out,” she said.

  “Of course, Miss Roberts. Let me know when you wish to close the matter and I’ll send you the fee immediately.”

  “Oh, don’t worry, Mr Greer. I’ll let you know,” she said with a smile before adding, “all in due course.”

  She walked away with a gentle and challenging swagger. She wasn’t going to request her fee until she knew the true motive and the name of the accomplice assisting Greer’s young nephew. Easy payment was one thing. But satisfaction was becoming all the more important to Eva, especially after Rowntree’s insistence that she’d become as dirty as him…

  Fifteen

  Thoughts of Eva kept Dan’s brain churning as he
went about his work that morning. They were thoughts of two kinds. The memory of her body, the softness of her skin, her supple hips in his hands, and her kisses that melted him and set him afire at the same time… Then there was the curious silence which had suddenly crept up between them. Maybe silence wasn’t the right word, because they had been anything but quiet in the intimate moments they’d shared of late. But there was something, and he couldn’t put his finger on it. Yep, the old gut feeling again. Something was on Eva’s mind, unseen, unspoken. It bothered him but he had to wait a while before he’d risk challenging her on it. Things were so good between them right now, he didn’t want to blow it by making a mistake.

  Being an independent private detective made work very enjoyable sometimes. Yes, there was the Laura case. But Dan was enjoying a silver lining morning. Recalling late night fun while sipping on a Grande medium roast, Dan reclined in Starbucks looking all the world like a dilettante. Only the tiny scars across his face, the scab on his head from the Russian hit girl, and his missing pinky finger spoilt the effect. Dan wasn’t self-aware. He thought nothing of his blemishes, while to most people who noticed him Dan could have been a cage fighter from the local Mixed Martial Arts fight club, or a boxer fresh from a bout. The coffee tasted good, and the iPad gave him updates on the crime war in London which was all set to explode in between forays of research into John Balfour. He learned another detective, DCI Walton had been assigned the John Balfour case. Walton was someone he’d not met, and Dan had no plans to do so. One rotten copper was enough for now. He kept digging. He wasn’t giving up until he had something new on John Balfour, something which worked and led him somewhere else. But it wasn’t coming quickly.

  It was pretty standard stuff about a man from a broken home with a tortured soul who went on to brutally torture and kill the prostitute Rhiannon Calderwood in the late nineties as a way to salve his own wounds. Utter tosh. It was the psychobabble the national dailies and the local rag printed in the nineties just to sell more papers. It did nothing to help anyone. Balfour had been an archetypal scumbag no matter which way you cut it, and he had done what scumbags do – hurt people. Dan skirted the rest of the media melodrama about the killer’s life, and then started drilling down to the simple facts. The facts always led you somewhere. Gut feelings were helpful - they’d helped Dan fix cases more often than he could remember, but gut feelings were always built on solid foundations.

  There weren’t many facts to find. The date of the murder. Check. The method of killing. Horrible. Check. The court case. Prison sentence. Release date. Check. Dan needed more detail. He needed to zoom in, just as with his iPad Dan could view a photograph, grab a detail with his fingers and zoom in, Dan needed to do the same with this simple story. But he didn’t know what to grab. What were the access points for getting to know John Balfour? Who were his associates…? What else motivated him apart from sex with prostitutes…? Dan went back a step on his search and located the name of John Balfour’s solicitor, mentioned in the news article on Balfour’s first court appearance for the murder of Rhiannon Calderwood. The solicitor was Edward Dewsey, from the firm Dewsey Mountfort Cromwell, long since shortened to DMC with a swish new corporate logo. Time to find Mr D to see if he could shed any more light on John Balfour than the press could. Dan downed the dregs of his coffee when his phone buzzed with a text. “On way back now. Where are you?” Eva’s text reminded him of pleasant sensations and he smiled about his hopes for the evening. It was like the early phase of their love all over again. Man, was he glad Jess was gone. Thinking about Eva, he put on his jacket and slowly walked to the coffee shop door, texting all the while.

  “Meet me at DMC solicitors. Need to talk to Balfour’s old solicitor.”

  Dan parked his creaking old Jag down the street from DMC in the public car park near DMC Chambers. Dan knew he was vain, and had no problem with it. He didn’t want snooty old lawyers looking down their nose at his old car. They would once have owned the same kind of thing themselves, back when the model was new, when the engine didn’t rattle and when there were no dents in the doors. As soon as Eva arrived and parked they made their way towards Clarion Street. Dan looked at Eva. “You look tired,” he said.

  “I am. You’re wearing me out,” she said, with a hint of a smile.

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” said Dan.

  DMC were based in what had once been a vast period terrace house. Now all the period housing in the neat streets pouring off the pedestrianised town centre were either offices, retail, or bars. DMC’s door opened and led through to a plush reception. The interior made the plain exterior a kind of deceit. Money had been poured into the place. All over it! From the reception desk to the telephones and the office equipment – everything was top of the range. This outfit was doing well.

  “Good afternoon,” said the receptionist in a welcoming voice full of syrup.

  “Yeah,” said Dan. “Can we see Mr Edward Dewsey?”

  “Do you have an appointment, Mr…?”

  “Bradley, as in Bradley and Roberts, private detectives.”

  Eva winced. “Roberts and Bradley, Dan. And we haven’t changed the name back yet. Technically it’s still The Roberts Agency.”

  “Just a minor issue,” said Dan. “Tell Mr Dewsey this is important.”

  “Mr Dewsey won’t see you without an appointment, sorry Mr Bradley.”

  “Mr Dewsey sounds like an important man, so I’ll cut to the chase, Miss…er?”

  “Brown.”

  “Right, Miss Brown. Tell him this is about murder. Two murders in fact – local murders which happened in the last few weeks. Now is that important enough for you?”

  The woman looked suddenly uncomfortable and pushed away from the desk, her smile worn away. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Very kind,” said Dan, without a hint of gratitude. When the woman was gone Eva fixed him with the look. “You don’t need to be rude to everyone. And if you’re going to start using the agency name, Dan, get it right.”

  “Unprofessional? Sorry if I bruised your ego, Miss Roberts.”

  She saw he was trying to bait her, like he always did, and she raised an eyebrow. “Don’t push it Dan. Sleep deprivation and sarcasm are a dangerous mix in a woman.”

  Miss Brown returned with a man who had thin grey hair and overly-trendy glasses perched on his face. They looked like workman’s goggles. Dan did a double take. The man’s suit was very expensive too, the black material thick, dark and velvety.

  “Edward Dewsey?”

  “Yes? What is this about, Mr Bradley?”

  “In your office, please. We won’t take up much of your time, but you may know some things we don’t.”

  Dewsey sighed and nodded at Miss Brown. The receptionist lifted a gate in the desk and invited them through. They walked to a big glass box office at the back of the ground floor. The room overlooked a well-tended garden. Dewsey pointed them to their seats, and waited for the receptionist to shut the door.

  “Now, we are very, very busy, so what can I do for you?”

  “John Balfour.”

  “Yes, I know the name. He was murdered recently, wasn’t he? Terrible business.”

  “Just the other night.”

  “So, how can I help you with the matter?”

  “You were his solicitor back in the nineties, right? Can you answer some questions about his friends, family, the people he knew…? I think it’s likely the people he was involved with back then will have some knowledge about the motive for committing this murder.”

  “That’s a shot in the dark, Mr Bradley.”

  “I’m not asking for your opinion, Mr Dewsey, just some help with the facts.”

  The man shifted in his chair, and made no attempt to conceal a lengthy glance at the clock. They both caught the look and its meaning.

  “In 1999, DMC was a very different practice. We were based at the Parkita Building in Victoria Avenue, before it went to pot, but the rents were cheap even th
en. We were a low order firm, and took all kinds of cases. That kind of case, that kind of client, I would never consider these days. It was a blessing that the arrangement fell through when I look back. I didn’t want to represent him. I believed he killed the woman as soon as I interviewed him, but we are solicitors, and everyone deserves proper representation, so sayeth the law.”

  Dan looked at Eva. “What do you mean, the arrangement fell through, Mr Dewsey?”

  “Oh dear. You didn’t look at those reports very thoroughly, did you? I was Mr Balfour’s brief for all of six weeks. I was the first solicitor, but evidently he didn’t like my style or believed he had a better chance with another man at the helm, because within a week of the first hearing he dropped me like a stone. I wasn’t the least bit upset about it. In fact, it was quite a relief as I recall.”

  “I don’t get it. You weren’t his legal aid solicitor? Surely people in his situation can’t be picky…”

  “You would think so, wouldn’t you? But Balfour had some resources back then, and wanted to plead not guilty. I couldn’t see the any value in that plea but he wanted a solicitor who did. He terminated our relationship, but we got paid all the same.”

  “What else can you tell me, Mr Dewsey?”

  “Six weeks of irregular and infrequent meetings with one man out of many hundreds, sixteen years ago for a case DMC didn’t even take to court… I can’t tell you much at all I’m afraid. But I’ll try to save you wasting any more time, Mr Bradley. The person you need to speak with is Joss Chauncey. Joss Chauncey was appointed solicitor after he dropped me all those years ago. Joss saw him through to sentencing and will know the case inside out. But don’t tell him I sent you, because he will clam up for certain. Dear old Joss hates my guts.”

  “Why is that, Mr Dewsey?”

  “Oh, no reason. Just professional rivalry. It never bothered me any. I hated his guts too.”

  “The way you put it sounds almost reasonable. Before we look at Mr Chauncey have you got any other helpful tips on him…?”