Between Two Thieves

by Solomon Carter

  “The markets?” said the PC.

  “Yeah. Southend, Basildon, Romford, Wembley. We’ve been everywhere as market traders.”

  “Does that include your tall friend here too?” said Dan.

  The shorter, stockier man shot Dan a look and didn’t answer. But Orton nodded, signalling for him to answer the question.

  “Yes. I do,” said the tall man in a gruff voice. “I help out on the stalls. Norman had his own stall. I worked mostly with Tommy here.”

  “And his name was Norman, you say?”

  “Norman Peters,” said the stockier man.

  “Norman Peters,” said Orton. This time the cop took out a notepad and pen from his pocket to write it down, but then seemed to think better of it. Instead he called over his shoulder. “PCSO Kaplan. Come here please!”.

  The young woman with the olive skin appeared beside Orton.

  “I’ll need you to make some notes, Kaplan,” said the constable. “The name of the deceased is Norman Peters.”

  The girl recited the name as she hurriedly took out her pad and pen and started to scrawl as fast as she could.

  “What can you tell us about Mr Peters?” said the policeman.

  “What do you want to know?” said the stocky man, Tommy. “He dealt in clothes. Fashion at discount prices. He wasn’t exactly the brightest spark you’d ever meet in your life, but he was a decent bloke. He was one of us.”

  “How old was he?”

  “Forty-eight, forty-nine. I can’t remember,” said the taller man. Tommy shrugged.

  Dan shot the taller man a look. The man met his eye for a moment before he looked at the sand. “He was a good friend,” he said, but his voice was flat, and disingenuous.

  “Bloody right. Poor Norm didn’t deserve that...” said Tommy.

  “I’ll need both your names, of course,” said the PC.

  “Of course. Thomas Pink. People call me Tommy.”

  PCSO Kaplan started scribbling for all her worth.

  “Clive Grace,” said the taller man.

  “Kaplan,” said the PC. “You take down these men’s details and anything else they can tell us about Norman Peters. I’ll deal with CID when they arrive. Gentlemen, please be sure to tell PCSO Kaplan here all you can.”

  The men nodded and the PC started to move back towards the boat and the body still under PCSO Penner’s care. Dan looked at Eva, irritation etched over his face. They followed the PC.

  “You did hear what I said, didn’t you, constable?” said Dan. “I saw the taller man – Clive Grace – I saw him pursuing Norman Peters through Leigh. Next thing he ends up dead here on the beach.”

  The PC stopped walking. He turned slowly and looked into Dan’s eyes.

  “I heard what you said, Mr...?”

  “Bradley.”

  “Mr Bradley, yes, yes, that’s right. I heard it alright. But as I told you before, several times as I recall, this really isn’t your case. You’ve done your part.. You’ve reported the matter, and now we’ll be dealing with it from here.”

  “But that man could be—”

  “He could be a witness. A suspect. Or nobody at all. And all of that will be determined in due course as a matter for the police. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got a job to do even if you haven’t.”

  The PC turned away and forced himself through the last wall of people surrounding the upturned dinghy, giving them a loud reprimand as he passed by.

  “Will you all now please back away! I said back away!”

  “Can you believe that pig-headed idiot?” said Dan.

  “Unfortunately, yes,” said Eva.

  “So then, you tell me. What the hell is going on here?” said Dan. “So far we’ve got one dead market trader, his body half buried under a wooden boat, a missing vigilante Christian, and a stack of missing gold treasures.”

  “And on top of that you’ve given us a new problem to deal with.”

  “You mean the silver tin?” said Dan, reading Eva’s eyes. He took the tin from his pocket. “That was supposed to help us, Eva. I had to see what it was. It was there right beside him on the sand.”

  “It had fallen out of his pocket, at best. It’s evidence,” said Eva.

  “Yeah. And one of those kids might have nicked it just as easily if I’d left it there.”

  “By then the body was already in police hands.”

  “Hey. If I didn’t grab it, we wouldn’t have the clue. It’s something, Eva. We have it now.”

  “But what does it tell us?” said Eva. “Apart from that dead market trader liked to dabble in Ubers?”

  “Exactly the thing that Carl Renton wanted to stop. That’s how this could be linked,” said Dan. “Ubers.”

  “But Ubers are everywhere at the moment,” said Eva. “This man Norman Peters had a silver tin and an Uber or two. It doesn’t prove anything?”

  “Three Ubers actually,” said Dan.

  “Okay, three. And for all Carl Renton’s efforts, he was failing. It was Mission Impossible. Ubers are everywhere, killing people just like the papers are saying, For all we know it could be Ubers that killed this guy too,” said Eva.

  “You saw the marks on that guy’s face. Norman Peters didn’t die from taking any kind of Ecstasy. Not unless these Ubers beat you up as well as make you high.”

  “It doesn’t matter. The link is superficial, Dan. It doesn’t take us nearer to finding Clancy’s missing treasures and it doesn’t explain what happened to Renton either. For all we know, this death could be a completely separate crime. In many ways, that’d be easier to believe than the alternative.”

  “You said they could be linked.”

  “It’s tempting to believe it. But I don’t want to follow the wrong path. We’ve got to find Clancy’s collection before it gets sold off and that could happen any time at all.”

  “Face it, Eva, it could have already happened. If not, finding that stuff is going to be a big ask. Aaron Clancy is dreaming if he thinks we’re going to find his loot easily. It could be anywhere by now. The last place it’d be is on this damn beach.”

  “But the Celtic torq band was found here,” said Eva. “His missing items were here.”

  “One dropped gold band is careless. But dropping the whole treasure chest? That was never going to happen. We have to look somewhere else.”

  “But look what we found instead...” said Eva, her voice trailing off as they both looked at the old boat guarded by the police.

  Eva sighed. “We need something, alright. Okay, maybe DI Hogarth was wrong on this one. We didn’t find the thief or the treasures.”

  “He wasted our time so he didn’t have to waste his. But maybe we should take a closer look at this tin. A guy like that, who sells cheapo trendy fashions on a market stall – this tin doesn’t fit a man like that. The tin is telling us something, Eva.”

  “It tells me we’re going to have problems with Hogarth when he finds out.”

  “I found it on the sand.”

  “Yeah. You can try that on him if you like,” said Eva.

  As the sirens drew closer, Eva headed for the sea wall to clean the mud off her feet. Dan tried to get one last look at the body, but PC Orton faced him down with a hard-eyed stare. Dan took a final glance back at the two market men being interviewed by the young PCSO before he gave it up. He followed Eva over the sea wall to find a new crowd gathering on the pavement to watch the fuss on the beach.

  Eight

  Dan laid the silver tin on Eva’s desk and the four of them gathered around it, inspecting the intricate detail of the patterned engraving. The tin lid was decorated with a patterned border, and within the border were flowers and laurel wreaths, then another internal border, and inside that was a detailed central design. Some of it had faded and been smoothed away by use and time.

  “It looks like an antique,” said Eva. “Certainly a period piece and almost certainly a snuff box.”

  “Which would make it at least mid-twentieth century, right?” sa
id Dan.

  “From that design, I’d say it’s a lot older. There’s too much detail for the austere fifties. And it looks like real silver to me. I’d say its Victorian, at least turn of the century.”

  “So maybe it could be part of Clancy’s collection?”

  “It’s not in his catalogue, and he didn’t mention anything like it,” she replied. Eva teased the lid open with a fingernail. Dan had certainly left fingerprints all over it, but she had no intention of joining him.

  “It’s been well looked after,” she said. “But no, this isn’t from any special high value collection. This is purely a domestic piece. A curiosity.”

  “So how does it fit into the scheme of things?” said Dan.

  “Well, it could simply belong to the dead man, Norman Peters. A collector’s item. A keepsake.”

  Dan’s face stayed blank. He didn’t feel it. Eva was clutching at straws.

  Eva shrugged. “Yes, I know. The guy we saw running in Leigh wouldn’t own a piece like this. Though he might have if he owned it to sell it. Market traders are traders first and foremost. They buy and sell all kinds of things. Maybe he bought it as an investment,” said Eva.

  “Wait a minute,” said Mark. He leaned over the tin and squinted at the design. “What’s that in the central pattern – right on the front.”

  “Where?” said Dan.

  “There,” said Mark.

  Joanne leaned in close and stared hard at the centre of the tin lid.

  “I see it,” she said. Eva strained her eye at the central emblem. There in the middle of a wreath was a simple cross. A crucifix central to the whole design, part smoothed away by time. Eva blinked, and looked at Dan.

  “It’s almost worn away, but it’s still just there.”

  Dan flipped the tin in the light until it was clear. The faint lines showed clear and fine as silk thread.

  “It’s a cross,” said Dan.

  “A crucifix,” said Eva. “A coincidence, you think?”

  “Because of Renton’s Christian background. You know what I think about coincidences,” said Dan. “It’s possible. Though the cross isn’t exactly a rare symbol.”

  “We could check with Joe,” said Mark, looking excited. “He might know whether this box belonged to Carl or not.”

  “As a last resort, yes. But he’s not exactly the most stable of people is he?” said Eva.

  Mark gave her a questioning look.

  “If we give him reason to think that Carl Renton has been harmed in any way, I’m worried he might do something stupid.”

  “You mean he might try to kill himself?” said Mark.

  Joanne seemed to agree. “He does seem fragile.”

  Mark chewed his lip. “But if Renton is alive, then asking might help you find him.”

  Eva nodded. “We need to be sure.”

  “Then, we’ve got another link,” said Dan. “A tenuous one maybe. You decide,” said Dan. He plucked the half-unwrapped Uber tablets from the desk. Mark and Joanne leaned in out of fascination. Joanne’s eyes gleamed.

  “So these are the killer Es which are doing the rounds...” said Joanne.

  Dan folded his arms. “Looks like it. Norman Peters had a silver tin with a crucifix on it, and three deadly Uber pills all wrapped up in clingfilm. It looks to me like he’d stored those pills inside the tin. There’s a hint of clingfilm snagged inside the rim of the tin. The pills might have fallen out of the tin when he died and fallen on the beach.”

  “Or when he was dragged underneath that boat,” said Eva.

  “I didn’t see any sign of dragging left on the sand. I’d say the boat was lifted and dumped over him,” said Dan.

  “Though any trail might have been hard to spot, what with all those treasure hunters out and about.”

  “True,” said Dan. He shrugged. “With all those people on the beach we’re bound to have missed something. Maybe we should go back.”

  Eva shook her head. “Not yet. First we need to look at what we have. So far we have the tin with the cross, and the Ubers. Both found on the dead man, Norman Peters. What does that tell us?”

  Dan scratched his chin and tried to read the spark in Eva’s eyes.

  “Peters liked keeping his drugs in a fancy tin? What does it tell you?”

  “Those links could be tenuous if there was only one of them. But there isn’t. We have the tin and the Ubers. Both of those cross over into Carl Renton’s work. The cross is the man’s mission. The key part of that mission was to stop the drugs coming into Southend, specifically the Ubers, just like these. And both of these things, the cross and the Ubers, turn up in Norman Peter’s pocket.”

  “A dead market trader in bad clothes,” said Dan.

  “The chances of coincidence aren’t likely,” said Eva.

  “Not when you look closely,” said Dan.

  “You know the police will need these for their investigation,” said Eva.

  “I know. But I’m glad we got our hands on them first. And before we hand it over, we still need to find out whether this tin belonged to Carl Renton.”

  “Fine,” said Eva. “But let me deal with it. Joe Clancy is on the edge. We need to handle him with tact and caution.”

  Eva opened her handbag and pulled out the folded contract signed by Aaron Clancy. She read the paperwork, looking for Clancy’s contact details.

  “What?” said Dan. “You think I have no tact or diplomacy?”

  “I’m saying they’re not your best skills.”

  “Now that was diplomatic,” said Joanne.

  Eva picked up her phone and dialled. She put the phone to her ear and walked to the kitchen. As she waited for the call to connect she pulled the coffee and filter papers from the cupboard and flicked on the filter machine.

  The call was connected and a strangely hesitant female voice came on the line.

  “He-hello?” said the voice.

  “Georgie?” said Eva.

  “Yes. Who is this?”

  “Eva Roberts, the private investigator. We met earlier.”

  “Of course,” said the girl, the relief audible in her voice.

  “Listen. I need to speak with Mr Clancy. Is he in?”

  “Aaron you mean? No. He’s out at the council, still talking about his Celtic band.”

  “Aaron Clancy didn’t know Carl Renton all that well, did he?”

  “No. Carl was mostly here when Aaron wasn’t around. That’s how it worked.”

  “Hmmm,” said Eva, struggling. She didn’t see another way around it. Despite the risks she was going to have to talk to Joe about what they’d found.

  “Can I speak to Joe, Georgie. I need to ask him something.”

  “No, you can’t, Miss Roberts. I’m sorry.”

  “Why not?”

  “Hmmm. We argued and he’s not really talking right now.”

  “What did you argue about?”

  “He won’t eat again. He needs to eat, I told him over and over, but he won’t – he told me to stop interfering.”

  “Georgie, if you don’t mind me saying this, what exactly is his problem? Sometimes he seems argumentative and unpleasant, sometimes he seems frail and sick. What’s going on with him?”

  The girl paused before she spoke.

  “The truth? I think that Joe may be just a little bit spoiled...” Her words sounded like a grand understatement. But Georgie wasn’t finished. “But these days, it’s not just that. Something’s wrong with him, Miss Roberts. He shuts me out. I think he’s more ill than he lets on, but he won’t talk to me about it.”

  “That’s not good at all,” said Eva.

  “Why? What is it?” said Georgie.

  “We think we found something which might belong to Carl Renton. I wanted to confirm whether Joe recognised it or not.”

  Eva held back on the how and where aspect of the discovery.

  The girl’s tone brightened. “That’s good news, isn’t it? Maybe I could help you? I knew Carl pretty well, not as close as Joe,
of course, but we met plenty of times.”

  “Okay, let’s see,” said Eva. “Do you know if Carl Renton used to own a small silver tin. Not much bigger than a matchbox?”

  “Silver? A silver tin?” said Georgie. Eva pinched the phone between her ear and shoulder as she scooped several great heaps of ground coffee into the paper cone in the machine.

  “Yes. I know it. He used to keep these little tiny scraps of paper in that tin. He’d written Bible passages on each one. He told me that he used to give them out to people in the street. People who looked like they were having a bad day. They were all handwritten things. Just a couple of lines a piece, all folded in half. I thought that was sweet of him. Like he had a little box full of good wishes for people in need. I know Mr Renton thought it was a bit deeper than that.”

  Eva stopped scooping coffee and slammed the lid down on the machine.

  “That tin... it’s not very big,” said Eva. “It has a detailed floral design, laurel wreaths set inside an engraved border.”

  “And in the middle was a tiny cross,” said Georgie. “Yeah that’s it. That’s Mr Renton’s box of Bible quotes.”

  Eva’s mouth flickered. The discovery was an advance, and yet she instinctively knew it wasn’t good news either. Eva waited a moment too long and Georgie asked a question.

  “Where did you find it, Miss Roberts?”

  “On the beach,” said Eva, flatly. “I’ll tell you more when I can, okay?”

  “I’ll tell Joe. That should cheer him up.”

  “I hope so,” said Eva. “We’ll keep on looking.”

  She ended the call as a cold wall of apprehension hit her chest. It seemed they had the scale of the matter at hand all wrong. The investigation seemed to be widening, taking them elsewhere. But Eva didn’t know where they were headed, and she didn’t like it one bit.

  Now they knew the origin of the tin, there was no further need to keep hold of it. It was best put back to use in the police investigation, forming the body of evidence towards an eventual prosecution. Dan took a breath and made the call. He was put through to DS Simmons instead of Hogarth, no doubt because the DI wanted to avoid dealing with him. But as soon as Dan revealed what they had, Simmons covered the phone with his hand and shared the news around his office. DI Hogarth couldn’t have been more than ten feet away, because Dan heard the explosion in full Dolby surround sound.