Between Two Thieves

by Solomon Carter

  “Back again, I see,” said Clancy Senior, when he made it through the door.

  “Yes,” said Eva. “There are always more questions – and more developments to throw into the mix.”

  “Developments, yes,” said Clancy. He cast the merest of looks at his son without seeming to notice his tear-filled eyes. “And here’s a development for you. Councillor Audley, the man who first suggested that my Celtic torq was a part of the Saxon King’s hoard, has finally intervened to make the police release it back to me. I’ll finally get it back in a day or two. And I’ve got it in writing, so they can’t wriggle out of it. So the question is, how are you getting on with finding the rest?”

  Clancy’s face dropped as soon as he’d spent a moment reading their faces.

  “The trail’s gone cold, I’m afraid,” said Eva.

  “Stone cold,” said Dan. “The pawnbrokers and cheque cashing stores don’t have it and the local black market is quiet about it.”

  “Of course they’re quiet about it! We’re talking about stolen goods for heaven’s sake!”

  Dan shook his head. “It’s too quiet. My sources haven’t heard any rumours, let alone seen anything. It’s as if they vanished as soon as they were stolen.”

  “What? What good is that to me? That stuff is worth an absolute fortune, but to me it’s priceless. I could never risk losing it under any circumstances. Surely if you work harder, speak to different people, you’ll be able to find it? You can’t just give up now, can you? What was the point in me hiring you?”

  “Oh, we never give up, Mr Clancy. That’s not our way,” said Eva. “But we might have to take a more unconventional route to find it, than up to now.”

  “Unconventional?” said Clancy Senior. “I don’t follow you at all.”

  “Carl Renton, Mr Clancy. Sadly, his body was found on the beach today. It had washed up on the tide.”

  Clancy shook his head. “What? That’s terrible!”

  “He was murdered, Mr Clancy. And that comes after Norman Peters was murdered in similar fashion just the other day.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand. Not any of it.”

  “Neither do we,” said Eva. “But we think it’s possible that your stolen property could be related to these recent deaths.”

  “I don’t see how. Can you explain?” said Clancy, looking perplexed.

  Joe ran out of the room and flew up the stairs.

  “And I think you’re going to need to keep a closer eye on your son from now on, Mr Clancy,” said Eva. “He needs you.”

  Clancy grimaced. “You can spare me any moralising lectures. I look after my son alright. You’d better just concentrate on finding my collection. I hired you because of a solid reputation. I’m a success in business because I can’t abide failure. If you think you can’t help me, you should quit the case now so I can find someone who can.”

  “I told you,” said Eva, calmly. “We never give up. That’s how we earned that solid reputation you mentioned.”

  Clancy shook his head and marched out of the room in disgust. Georgie offered Eva and Dan a meek look of apology and escorted them to the door. They said their goodbyes quietly and left.

  “It’s beginning to look like awkward cases are the new norm,” said Eva.

  “Never mind awkward, it’s the unsolvable ones I don’t like. You heard what that man said just now. He’s already trying to wriggle out of paying the fee. That’s what he means by us quitting. He doesn’t want to pay.”

  “And like I said, we’re not giving up,” said Eva. “You saw Joe Clancy in there. You couldn’t fake that reaction. When it comes to Carl Renton’s death Joe Clancy is on the level. He had nothing to do with killing Renton or Norman Peters. And after that, I think we owe it to him to find out who did.”

  “We owe it to ourselves to get paid,” said Dan.

  “Don’t worry. We’re going to do that too. This case isn’t getting away from us.”

  From the look in Eva’s eyes, Dan could see that she meant every word.

  Twenty

  Sunday evening drinks usually sounded like a good idea after another day’s work. And the day had certainly been hard enough. The night before had left them exhausted, and then there was Carl Renton’s body on the beach. From there the day had become a barrage of frustration, from Hogarth to the Clancys. A drink in those circumstances would have always been wise, but tonight it was absolutely essential. The pub at Southend Central station had been used as a handover point for either stolen gold or illegal drugs. And with Hogarth refusing to act without any evidence, and Clancy putting them under more pressure than ever, Eva wanted to be sure about every aspect of the case. Joanne still believed the witnessed handover was about stolen gold. Dan was more inclined to think the handover was a part of a traditional drugs deal. The truth was either could have been right. By asking the landlord a few subtle questions, Eva hoped she would be able to decide which. But with Dan as a drinking partner, subtle was never guaranteed to last too long.

  Dan ordered the drinks, and they sat at a table near the bar. A table just right for striking up a casual conversation with the bar staff. Five minutes after their first sip, the street entrance doors opened again, and another happy couple came in for an early evening drink. Mark and Joanne, as planned. They took another table nearer the door. The two couples dutifully ignored one another. When Joanne placed her order, Eva noticed the landlord gave her a lingering look. The big haggard man seemed to recognise her. Which probably wasn’t hard because the pub was mostly empty.

  “Not busy tonight then?” said Dan.

  “See for yourself,” said the barman curtly.

  Dan raised an eyebrow. This guy was going to be hard work. He glanced towards Joanne at the other side of the pub, but she was busy talking to Mark. Putting on her act. Eva decided she was best for making the approach.

  “It must be hard with the Last Post pub being so close,” said Eva, nodding across the street in the general direction of the hangar-sized pub which stretched through an entire block, one street to another.

  The man shrugged.

  “It’s not really competition though, is it? That’s the cheap pub for the masses on giro day. This here is a train station pub. A watering hole for people on the move or nabbing a drink on the way home.” The man looked at them like he didn’t think they were either.

  “I suppose,” said Eva. “Which means you must see a lot of characters through here. All kinds of people.”

  The man nodded and put on a thin grin as he polished a pint pot.

  “That’s true. All kinds. Though I can’t work out what some of ‘em are about.” He glanced towards Joanne just as she pretended to laugh at one of Mark’s lame jokes.

  “Keeps it interesting though,” said Eva. “You must get a snapshot of people’s lives in a train station. You see them as they are, what they’re doing, what they’re going through. Like that old black and white movie, Strangers on a Train.”

  “What?” said the barman. The man wasn’t getting any easier.

  “It’s an old movie,” said Eva, struggling. “About a love affair conducted on a train platform, in a station a bit like this.”

  The man snorted. “Yeah. I’ve seen a few affairs going on in my time. Not here mind. In my last boozer, up in Grays—”

  Eva interrupted carefully, aiming to keep the man to the intended topic.

  “In Grays? But come on. You must see some funny things here too. This is Southend, after all. Anything goes around here.”

  Dan gave her a look, like she was pushing too hard. Thankfully the guy seemed oblivious.

  “A few things, maybe.”

  “Like what?”

  “The oddballs. Nutters talking to themselves. And the gangs fresh off the train from London. Tooled-up teenagers looking for trouble with the locals. Oh, and the football hooligans too.”

  “Gangs?” said Dan.

  “Yeah. Teen gangs coming to hit up the seaside for kicks.”

&
nbsp; Dan looked back at his beer. They weren’t the type of gangs he was interested in.

  “I bet you’ve seen it all happen,” said Eva, “like a real-life thriller right in front of your face.”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Because people do all kinds of things in pubs, don’t they? They arrange things. Make deals. Sell cars. Sell drugs, even...”

  The man stopped towel-drying the glass in his hands. He froze and his eyes narrowed.

  “And here...” Eva ploughed on, her heartbeat picking up. “...right next to the station too...”

  She felt Dan freeze as the man looked her in the eye.

  “What do you mean?” said the guy.

  “Nothing,” said Eva. “I only meant that your pub is right by the station. Some people must try some sort of dodgy dealing.”

  Eva tried to look neutral and natural, but she knew she’d pushed too hard and overplayed her hand. So she did what she could to rebalance the situation. She tried to look innocent, and when she felt embarrassed, she went with it.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend, or imply—”

  She kept her eyes on his.

  “Yes, sorry, mister, no offence,” said Dan. “This one’s always being nosey, putting her foot in her mouth.”

  “Yeah?” said the man, looking unconvinced. “Well, just for the record – just in case anyone else tells you different... this pub is one hundred per cent clean. Because I’m clean. I don’t tolerate drugs here. And I don’t let any deals or anything go on in my pub. You know how? Because I can always tell if a punter is kosher or not. Always.”

  Dan nodded. “Good for you.” He raised his glass and took a long sip.

  “I think it’s best if I leave you to enjoy your drinks, what do you say?”

  “Sure,” said Dan. He forced a smile, and Eva met the landlord’s eyes a final time. And something passed between them. A hint of anger, and something else. Eva knew it was the truth the man didn’t want them to know. It wasn’t in his body language, only in the eyes, but Eva knew for sure. The barman was guilty. He knew every deal that went on under his roof, his jurisdiction, and in all likelihood he profited from every one of them. Five minutes later, they downed their drinks and left. Joanne and Mark were not long after them.

  “Think he worked us out, don’t you?” said Mark.

  “It doesn’t matter either way,” said Eva. “What matters is that we’ve worked him out. He was in on that deal.”

  “Absolutely,” said Joanne. “The tall, skinny man gave him what he called ‘a drink’.”

  “A bung. A payoff for hosting the transaction,” Dan explained.

  “So, what was it? Drugs or the gold?” said Joanne.

  “It was drugs,” said Eva. “That man’s face changed the moment I mentioned drugs.”

  “Then where has Clancy’s gold gone?” said Joanne.

  Eva shook her head. “That’s not in our hands. All we can do is keep plugging away. If we can just unwind this grisly little mess, maybe we’ll find the gold to boot.”

  “And if we don’t?” said Dan.

  “Then we’ll still have done the right thing. Clancy’s gold is mere vanity. This Uber business is killing people.”

  “But Clancy’s vanity is paying our bills, Eva. We can plug away all we like but have to find that gold too.”

  They walked on together a way.

  “Now we know the Ubers are at the heart of this,” said Eva, “I think we should use that knowledge to force a mistake from our friends Pink and Grace.”

  “A mistake? How do you mean?” said Dan.

  “They must think they’re in the clear. DI Hogarth took them at their word. Hopefully that means they’re feeling nice and safe and complacent. I think it’s time to rattle their cages to see what falls out.”

  “Rattling cages is fine with me. How do you want to play it?” said Dan.

  “What if each man thought the other had sold him out?”

  “Sold him out how?” said Dan.

  “We can work on that,” said Eva.

  Dan thought about it before a thin smile appeared on his face. “Sounds like a plan.”

  “I’ll go and see Clive Grace,” said Eva. “That man’s so slippery I think he’s good and ripe for tripping himself up.”

  “Watch yourself. You know he’s armed.”

  “I think I know how to play him,” said Eva.

  “If you’re sure, fine. Then I’ll see if I can make Tommy Pink squirm.”

  Twenty-one

  Monday. 8am. Basildon.

  The market was busy with the noise and banter of the traders gearing up for another day’s trade. The jokes were coarse, and the smell of cheap coffee and bacon butties filled the air along with the rumble of the buses departing the Eastgate shopping centre. Eva and Dan headed across the street towards the market, a fresh buzz of adrenaline fast-flowing through their veins. Sleep had repaired most of the previous day’s damage. Hogarth’s intransigence was still a sore point, and the issue of the Lauren case was a worry for another day.

  “You see them?” said Dan. They waited for the traffic lights to turn to red allowing them to cross the street. The market was already serving the first keen shoppers. But most of the traders were out of sight, busy setting up their stalls.

  “Not yet. We’ll have to track around the stalls, find them, and pick our moment,” said Eva.

  “Then we’d better stay unseen until we start. They won’t forget your face too easy,” said Dan.

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

  They walked the lines of metal-framed market stalls side by side. Stalls selling mobile phone cases, stalls selling magazines ranging from The Lady and People’s Friend all the way to the top shelf material. They glanced at the clothing stalls as they passed.

  “Norman Peters would have been here a week or two back,” said Eva.

  “But now we know clothing sales was probably only his official means of income.”

  As they looked around they recognised the lithe figure of Clive Grace crossing between the lanes, dead ahead. The man whistled as he walked, pushing an empty sack trolley ahead of him. He disappeared from view.

  “He’s headed for the car park,” said Eva.

  “That should buy you some time. I’ll see if I can find Pink.”

  “Good luck,” said Eva. “Just make sure he believes you.”

  Dan nodded. They gave each other looks of encouragement and set off on their separate ways. Eva moved down a line of street food sellers and sweet stalls until she stepped out into a parking area reserved for deliveries and drop-offs. There were cars, vans and lorries of all kinds parked around, their doors open, and hazard lights on. The vehicles were still being unloaded, but most of the unloading was done, and the majority of traders were back at their stalls. Dead ahead, leaning on his sack trolley, was Clive Grace. The man wasn’t wasting any energy. He was rolling a cigarette. He put the roll-up in his mouth and lit up before he noticed Eva approaching.

  “Mr Grace,” said Eva.

  Grace looked at her. He looked groggy and slow and it took him a moment to recognise her.

  “You? You were at the beach,” he said.

  “Yes, That’s right. That awful business when Mr Renton’s body got washed up on the beach. So tragic, really. From what I’ve heard, he was a very good man. There are so few of those around.”

  Clive Grace sucked on his cigarette and narrowed his eyes.

  “What do you want, lady? I’m busy.”

  “I want to talk to you about your little sideline.”

  “Sideline?” said Grace, his eyes flashing.

  “Yes. You know the one. It’s at risk, Mr Grace.”

  Grace’s eyes flickered with something bright and unreadable. He tried to put on a smile, but it didn’t wash, and he seemed to know it. So he dropped it and gripped the handle of his sack trolley pushing it towards Eva so she was forced to step aside. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I th
ought Tommy put you in your place back on Southend seafront.”

  “Tommy Pink put on a front for prying eyes, yes,” said Eva. “But what he says in public – for show – and what he says in private are two very different things”

  “Said in private? What are you on about?” said Grace. He turned and shot her a vindictive look.

  Eva nodded slowly. “I spoke to you on the beach just after Renton’s body washed in. But you were also interviewed by the police.”

  “You’re having a laugh. Tommy said that interview wasn’t a problem. Said it went sweet as a nut.”

  “Again, what Tommy Pink says to you and says to police are two different things. Makes you wonder why, doesn’t it?”

  “Why would I believe a single word you say? I don’t even know who you are. A busy body. A dumb troublemaker, like Carl Renton, no doubt. Just like him, you should mind your own bloody business.”

  “And is that the same warning you gave to Carl Renton when he got close to disturbing your little sideline?”

  Grace’s face twisted with hate and defiance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Really? Because Tommy does. He knew enough to tell my police colleagues all about it.”

  “Bullshit,” said Grace, spittle flying from his thin mouth. He took an aggressive step into Eva’s space. Eva held her ground.

  “I wouldn’t try anything if I were you. I work closely with Detective Inspector Hogarth. If you threaten me, or get violent, your situation just gets worse and worse.”

  She saw Grace had to work hard to hold himself back. “Who are you?”

  “Don’t you remember? My, my, Mr Grace. It must be all that night work schedule addling your brain. Tommy told us about that too. Maybe you should stop the moonlighting and get some sleep, Mr Grace. My name is Eva Roberts and I’m a private detective.”

  Grace’s face tensed. “You better spit it out. It’s all lies, but I may as well hear it anyway.”

  “Yes, you should,” said Eva. “Tommy’s the one with the brains, isn’t he? He’s the organ grinder, and you’re just the monkey. Which is why Tommy agreed to do a deal as soon as he saw the way the wind was blowing. This Uber business has to end soon, Mr Grace. The press are all over it. Which means the police have to be all over it too. Things are about to come to a head, Mr Grace. And that means you boys would be the first to go down. The police will make examples of you, because their backs will be to the wall. Tommy was the smart one. He knew that. Which is why he was prepared to agree terms. Damage limitation and all that. I’m sorry to say you were a part of that damage limitation, Mr Grace. You’re going to be the fall guy for the whole rotten thing.”