Between Two Thieves

by Solomon Carter

  “If there’s any time left I was planning to take a quick look at the pawnbrokers, first. Just in case anything from Clancy’s catalogue has ended up there. It’s worth a look..”

  “That’s an idea. Can I come with you?”

  “To the pawnbrokers? I don’t see why not. But I’ll need to do the meeting on my own.”

  “That’s okay. I’ll could try the cheque cashing shops while you’re busy.”

  “Okay, fine,” said Eva.

  “I’ll call the head office for Renton’s rehab charity to see if they’ve heard from him. Then I’ll head down to Warrior Square, maybe to the tower blocks too,” said Dan.

  “Old habits, eh?” said Eva.

  “One of the crowd must have heard something,” said Dan. “Do-gooders like Carl Renton are like minor celebrities on the down-and-out circuit. Every street drinker and crackhead in a ten mile radius will know who Carl Renton is.”

  “And you think they’d tell you if they knew anything?”

  “We’ll see,” said Dan with a shrug. Eva turned for the front door but Dan called her back. “Eva?”

  Eva turned back.

  “Look on the bright side,” said Dan.

  “Which is”

  “At least she’s not ignoring you anymore.”

  Eva frowned, shook her head and turned away without another word. Joanne grinned at Dan before she followed Eva out into the street.

  Ten

  The pawnbrokers on Alexander Street was one of the most notable in town. Eva and Joanne perused the abandoned heirlooms and jewellery in the shop window, Eva flicking through the entries of Aaron Clancy’s homemade catalogue as she ruled them out. Truly special pieces like Clancy’s were few and far between. They went into the shop to double-check but the woman behind the security glass shook her head at each of the catalogue entries. The next most notable pawnbroker happened to be on Clifton Road, not far from the entrance to Southend Central station. The place, a narrow black shop front, sandwiched between a betting shop and a Chinese restaurant. The immense hulk of the Last Post pub was part of the same block – and stretching from one side of the block to the other, it housed almost all of the town’s low-budget drinkers throughout the day. Eva made a mental note – the pub was certainly another place they could question people.

  The second pawnbroker seemed to be the man who owned the shop. He was grey haired and sharp eyed, wearing a pair of spectacles perched up his head like a man who needed to check for the smallest details on a regular basis. Eva took her catalogue to the counter and asked the same question, page by page. The man glanced at each item, before he looked at Eva with his silver-grey eyes.

  “Is this about the museum robbery?” he said.

  “No, but why do you ask?” said Eva.

  “Because all of those are one-off pieces. Some of them look very, very old and therefore hard to value.”

  “That would be true,” said Eva. “You say you haven’t seen them, but what about anybody else? Has anyone come in asking you about pieces like this?”

  “No way. Not in here. Pieces like that stand out a country mile. It’d set the alarm bells ringing in my brain before I ever shelled out a penny. Look around, love. All you’ll see in here are the same old family heirlooms, jewellery and watches. I deal in that kind of family stuff.”

  “You don’t move any big ticket items?”

  “Oh, we do. Cars, yes. Porsches, Ferraris, that kind of thing. It comes through the same business but gets dealt with at my home office.”

  “But where would stuff like this go?”

  “That stuff?” The man scratched his nose in thought. “In this town?” The man thought hard. “Well, you’ve got two avenues. Black market and export, and I mean immediate export to somewhere with no connect to our legal system. That’s the only way to get rid of stuff like that, and you’d be taking a serious hit on the real value. Russia’s an obvious choice. China too. Big, ostentatious buyers and money, with no qualms. But there’s a worse option. They disappear altogether. They get scrapped and smelted for reuse like a cheap old motorcar.”

  “Then you don’t think these could have come through a pawn shop.”

  “Certainly not a reputable one. Not owned by anyone who wants to stay in business for very long.”

  “Interesting,” said Eva, glancing at Joanne. “And are there any businesses like that around?”

  The man hesitated. “Not mine, that’s all that I can tell you. You’re Old Bill, are you?”

  “No,” said Eva. “But it’s a common question.”

  “Doesn’t matter either way, love. My answer’s still the same. Any established pawnbroker wouldn’t touch anything like that. Not unless he’s the one with the foreign connections.”

  “You said established?” said Joanne. “What does that mean?”

  “It means that those who need to make cash quickly might take the risk. But I don’t associate with that kind. We’re a regulated firm and proud of it. The kind you’re looking for probably wouldn’t even have a shopfront. It would all be sleight of hand and word of mouth.”

  Eva nodded. The message was clear enough. There were rogues around who would shift stolen items, maybe even loan money against them. But they wouldn’t be found in a town centre shop.

  “Oh well. It was worth a shot though, eh?” said Eva.

  “Course it was. But missing pieces like that need to be found fast. How long have they been missing?” said the man.

  “About two days.”

  “Then you’d better get your skates on, or they’ll be on a slow boat to China before you know it. Or smelted. Give it a few weeks, and the idiots will be wearing it as a recycled bog chain necklace.”

  Eva didn’t need reminding. “Thanks,” she said. She gave him a thin smile and turned away for her meeting with Lauren Jaeger.

  “Do you think he was right?” said Joanne, as soon as they closed the door behind them. Eva hadn’t noticed before, but taking in Joanne’s outfit, she saw the girl had come to work dressed as Eva junior. She wore a smart suit but with a youthful cut, and the skirt cut higher than Eva would have liked for herself. Tweed was nowhere to be seen. But black suited Joanne just fine.

  “He obviously knows the pawnbroking business better than we do,” said Eva. “And unless he’s the man with the foreign contacts – then you’d have to assume he’s right. Which means we’re running out of time on both fronts. Tomorrow Carl Renton will have been missing forty-eight hours, which makes him police business. But as Missing Persons are ten a penny, whether they’ll act on it is another story. Though the press attention from The Record might help. Hogarth must see the connection by now.”

  Eva glanced at Joanne and saw she’d lost her. The nuances of their relationship with Hogarth and the technicalities of police procedure were above her paygrade. Mostly because her paygrade didn’t exist. Joanne was still no more than a tenacious volunteer with a boring day job working for the council at Civic Centre. She’d stumbled into their lives because of her relationship with Mark, and they’d been unable to shake her since. Not even when they wanted to, which happened from time to time.

  “What happens when it goes official?” she asked.

  “Officially? The police will take over the hunt, but hope rests mostly on Hogarth and his team, and only if he takes it seriously. Which means they might fare about as well as we will. But we’ve shown we’re willing to cooperate, hopefully he’ll do the same.”

  “And Clancy’s missing items?”

  “For the police, it’s a simple theft case, one man’s missing loot, versus the council museum’s prestigious missing items from the Saxon King’s tomb. He’s got an incident number, who knows if he’ll get anything more. Clancy can shout all he likes, but one man versus the council? The police will focus on the council theft every time. They’ve lost some ancient artefacts which have been on national news before, which makes it a PR case with lots of profile. They have to be seen to come out on top. They’ll make Clancy w
ait as long as they like. Which means we’re still Mr Clancy’s best hope of finding the rest of his collection before they get smuggled out or smelted.”

  “But it’s not been easy so far, has it?” said Joanne.

  “No. Especially not when I have to deal with sudden demands, like Lauren’s request for a meeting...”

  Eva realised Joanne was still with her. They had climbed the station’s wide entrance steps, heading for the ticket booth windows and the steel ticket barriers. “Sorry, Joanne. I’ll have to take it from here.”

  “But she’s not here, is she?” said Joanne. “When’s the train due?”

  Eva checked the blue screen and saw they had almost ten minutes to wait before the next London train was due in. Looking around, Eva saw there was nowhere good to wait. Getting through to the platform seats required a ticket, and she certainly wasn’t going to waste money just to meet Lauren. Nor was she inclined to stand around in a busy ticket hall with no space and no comfort. Joanne read her mind. “There’s a bar next door. We could wait in there. You can see out across the platforms from there, and I could keep you company with a drink.”

  “It’s a little early for drinking.”

  “They serve coffee too,” said Joanne.

  Eva relented. Some company to kill time wouldn’t hurt and Joanne’s enthusiasm for learning the arts of the PI always made for a little entertainment. They walked into a dark-walled pub, with a wide window which overlooked the brightly coloured interior of the station, providing a decent view across several platforms. There was also an exit door leading directly to the platforms, but Eva didn’t even bother trying it. The rail company wouldn’t have let the pub keep it open. It would be an invitation for fare bunking.

  She ordered the drinks, and they took two seats overlooking the platform-facing window. Six minutes to go.

  “Where’s next in the hunt for the loot?” said Joanne.

  The pub was dark and empty but for a young, fidgety looking guy with cropped brown hair. He was idly flicking through a copy of The Sun newspaper as he bounced his knee and picked at a beermat with a fingernail. Occasionally he looked up and Eva saw his eyes flick to Joanne. Having been caught looking, he turned back to his newspaper and his half finished morning beer. Eva guessed he was waiting for someone. In a train station bar everybody was playing the waiting game.

  “Well, we’ve tried the main pawn shops. We could try the less scrupulous ones next, so now we have to go the next rung down the ladder. The cheque cashing firms is a good idea. If the thief doesn’t know how to trade, he might even start with those outlets. It’s a bad move to make money, but in this town anything is possible. If we draw a blank there then the next rung down is the pub trade. But by the time we get that low, I’m guessing the slow boat would have sailed. By that point we may as well start walking around with metal detectors ourselves.”

  “Not your style,” said Joanne. “But if you need one, Mark has one in his shed.”

  “He has?”

  “He said it was his dad’s.”

  “Thanks for the tip, but it’s definitely not my style. Norman Peters, the body we found on the beach, that’s our way in... I still think our best bet might not be to chase Clancy’s treasure directly, but to look at the murder itself. It has to be related.”

  “Why?”

  “The beach location. It’s come up a few times now.”

  “Since when?”

  “Clancy’s torq was found there. Then Norman Peters’ body was found there, under the hull of a boat. And he had the silver tin which belonged to Carl Renton.”

  “That’s certainly a link.”

  “Yes, and we knew about that link. But then we learned that Mr Renton went out on his regular night time vigils, including at the beach. Now, what if that beach was the very same one where Clancy’s torq was found – where Norman Peters’ battered body turned up hidden under a wooden boat...”

  “But that’s just a what if... isn’t it?”

  “Yes, but look at it logically... Renton’s drug traffickers could land at any beach if they were coming in by boat. Southend has at least six miles of coastline. That’s a lot of opportunity.”

  “I suppose Southchurch narrows it down,” said Joanne. “But only if Carl Renton was at the right spot.”

  “Carl Renton had been doing this a long time,” said Eva. “We have to assume he knew the right place to be. But here’s the thing. We can probably pinpoint the kind of beach he would have gone to. A row boat can land on any beach. But it’s unlikely the traffickers would use a wooden dinghy to row ashore. It would be far too slow for an operation like that. Too much risk. They’d have no chance of evading the authorities if they were caught.”

  “So they must have a motor boat of some kind.” Joanne nodded, but her bright eyes betrayed her confusion. She couldn’t see where Eva was leading her.

  “Much better. But a decent high-powered motorboat simply can’t land on the beach. It would damage the motor, the propeller at the back, and probably the hull itself. A speedboat would have to find a safe place to load and unload from the water. And that means finding an access point where a boat can tie up.”

  “You mean like at the Marine Activity Centre?” said Joanne.

  “Exactly. I walked along by the end of the jetty there, and I found the metal hooks where a small vessel could tie up and get down to business. I don’t think there’s any other safe places to tie off a boat along the whole of that area.”

  “What about the yacht clubs? Or the Marbella Club?”

  “They’re in the wrong area, and far too visible from the road.”

  They heard the squeal of train wheels grinding to a halt as a long blue train slid into the station. Eva lifted her cup to finish the dregs. This had to be Lauren’s train.

  “That’s three times. It’s connected, Joanne. It has to be. We’re not going to find Aaron Clancy’s treasures by hunting for them directly. We’ll only find them by solving the whole case. Including Norman Peters’ murder.. Time for me to go. What will you do now?” said Eva, as she stood up and grabbed her handbag.

  “I don’t mind doing a little more legwork yet. Maybe I’ll try those other pawnbrokers, just in case.”

  “Fine. But don’t push too hard and don’t put yourself at risk again.”

  “Of course not,” said Joanne. She raised her glass. “I think I may as well finish this before I leave.”

  Outside the train doors beeped and slid open to let loose a rush of new arrivals who pushed and hurried en masse towards the ticket gates. Eva gave a final goodbye smile and rushed out towards the street, determined to meet Lauren before she got lost and wasted more of her time. Joanne watched Eva go. Out of sheer curiosity, she stood up and took her glass with her to the opposite window. The young man reading The Sun watched Joanne walk across the pub until she reached another window seat, this time overlooking the station car park and the busy street beyond. Joanne sat down, sipped and watched. The young man took a moment to admire her profile, then checked his phone for the time. As Joanne watched the crowds pour out of the station, she saw Eva and another woman of roughly the same age and build slowly walking down the railway station steps. Eva’s visitor had pale brown hair with streaks of blonde, and she wore a nervous smile on her pretty face. While Eva’s body language was the same as ever, friendly, open, and impersonal, the other woman seemed to be the touchy-feely type. Joanne watched her reach for Eva’s arm, claiming her attention as they talked. There was something about her body language... about her eyes... The woman looked needy. As she watched Eva and her visitor walking away, another man scooted up the station steps, passing through Joanne’s line of sight. Joanne’s eyes instantly gravitated towards his narrow face and they stayed there. For a second she couldn’t fathom why, but she felt she recognised him. His face jolted her. For a moment she thought he was the awful man from the rehab house, but that wasn’t it. Instead, taking the train station entrance, the thin man turned along by Joanne’s window,
passing her again. He was coming into the pub. The door opened and the man walked in. Tall, dark eyed, and slightly stoop shouldered, the man looked around and his eyes met hers. Joanne’s chest turned cold, but the man looked away, dismissing her immediately. It was then that she truly recognised him. He was the man from the Leigh Broadway. The man who had chased Norman Peters in the hours before his death. Joanne tensed up, aware the young man with the newspaper had been watching her on and off for some time. She swallowed, hoping he hadn’t been listening to her conversation with Eva. Joanne kept her body facing the bright window, her eyes front as if she was purely people-watching. To prove she wasn’t listening in, she picked up her mobile phone, opened the web browser and started to read whatever she could find. But her ears were fully tuned to the men as they greeted one another.

  “Watcha,” said the older man.

  “Alright?” said the younger one.

  She watched from the corners of her eyes as the older man slid a rucksack from his shoulder. He laid it on the table with quiet purpose, as if the bag was significant. Then there was a silence before the fidgety young man coughed and started to stand up.

  “You want a drink before you go?”

  The man turned his head towards Joanne. She kept still and felt the thin man’s gaze on her shoulder. She worked to keep her expression blank and calm and sipped her drink.

  “No, best not,” said the man gruffly. “Things to do and all that. How about we have a little word outside, instead, eh?”

  “Suit yourself,” said the younger man. The tall man stood up and passed the bar. Joanne almost turned her head as he stopped and greeted the barman. She noted the slightest informal gesture between them, nothing more than quick handshake between two friends and

  a quiet word. Something about the barman ‘getting himself a drink’. The barman nodded back and gave the thin man a wink. And then the tall man and his younger contact left the pub, leaving an unfinished pint and The Sun newspaper on the table. Joanne kept her eyes down on her phone as they passed by her window. But as soon as they reached the main steps, Joanne looked around at the barman. He eyed her as he dried a pint glass and set it on a rack beneath the bar, then turned away, uninterested, and picked up another glass. Joanne moved as close to the front window as she could, until she finally caught a tight-angled glimpse of the two very different men, the young man and the taller, sinewy figure, now standing on the steps. By now the older man was doing all the talking while the younger man nodded his head as he listened dutifully. The guy handed him the rucksack, a cheap unbranded black bag which looked a little more than half full. The younger man strapped it on his back and they shook hands. And like that, they were done. The taller man turned away down the steps to the street and made off briskly for the high street, while the younger man disappeared back into the station. Joanne moved back to the opposite pub window, and gazing over the train platforms, she saw the young man rushing towards a London train whose doors were already beeping and about to close. He leapt on board the train just in time. There was a click and a hum as the train began to pull away., Joanne watched the young man settle into his seat, fastidiously clutching the rucksack to his body.