The Missing Man: An Inspector Walter Darriteau Novella (Inspector Walter Darriteau cases Book 9)

by David Carter

‘And how the hell do we do that?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I’ll come up with a plan.’

  Paul Fratelli stopped his story and said, ‘There was a long pause, as if they were thinking things through. A minute later, Eddie opened the door, almost caught me listening, but I pretended to be walking by. He demanded another two large whiskies and I obliged. They grabbed the booze, shut the door in my face, and began talking again.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Walter, keen to keep things moving.

  ‘I heard Eddie say: If we kill him, Susan Woodhams might want to know how we disposed of the body.’

  ‘Trevor said: I’ve thought about that. I know someone who works at the Highways Department. He mentioned, jokingly, that it was an ideal place to bury someone. No one’s ever going to dig up a flyover, not in a hundred years.’

  ‘But you just said you don’t want to kill him, so we wouldn’t need to bury him anywhere.’

  ‘I know that, Ed, but Mrs Woodhams doesn’t. We tell her that’s where he is. No one can prove otherwise. She’ll be satisfied with that. All we have to do is get him to move away. It will look like he’s dead. We get paid, she gets rid of a crap husband, no one gets hurt, and the coppers can’t come after us for a crime that was never committed. It’s perfect.’

  ‘After another delay Eddie said: The problem is making him vanish, turning him into a missing man.’

  ‘Spain!’ said Trevor. ‘The Costa del Sol. We know he’s a womaniser. He’ll see the merits in that, hundreds of babes swanning around in skimpy bikinis. We also know he’s a wealthy guy, it’s not as if he’ll be starting from scratch.’

  ‘Maybe there’s something in that, and I agree, it would be better if we weren’t wanted for murder. We’d have to make him an offer to sod off to Spain he can’t refuse.’

  ‘Yes, but what?’

  ‘There’s something that might work,’ said Eddie, ‘I’ve the germ of an idea.’

  ‘Are you going to share it? I am your partner, remember.’

  ‘Give me three days. We’ll meet back here at the same time. One way or the other, we’ll finalise it then.’

  Paul sat back in his chair and stared at the silent officers.

  Karen said, ‘Did they come back?’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  ‘And you listened again?’

  ‘I did. It was as if they hadn’t been away. Double whiskies all round, door firmly closed, me banned from the room, but listening. How could I not? Would you have left them to it? I don’t think so. I had to hear what their idea was.’

  ‘And you found out?’ said Walter.

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Karen. ‘You can’t stop now.’

  ‘The pair of them hatched a plan to intercept him as he came out of work on the Monday night.’

  ‘Intercept him, what does that mean?’ said Walter.

  ‘They knew where he parked his car, they had been watching.’

  ‘Where was this?’ said Karen.

  ‘City centre underground car park.’

  ‘And?’ said Walter.

  ‘They took the space next to his. They had a big white Jag at the time, they were forever changing cars. They sat in the vehicle, waiting for Jack Woodhams to show, and when they saw him approaching they slipped out. When he was close by they opened the back door, grabbed the guy, probably gave him a slap, though I am guessing about that. Woodhams must have panicked, as they threw a hood over his head, handcuffed him, bundled him into the back of the Jag, and drove away.’

  ‘You heard all that detail from listening at the door?’ said Walter.

  ‘Pretty much, some of it I discovered later.’

  Karen said, ‘Where did they take him?’

  ‘I don’t know for sure, but I guess back to the garage. It seemed the ideal place, quiet and deserted, especially out of hours.’

  Walter said, ‘And they made him an offer he couldn’t refuse?’

  ‘I imagine they did.’

  ‘And you don’t know what that was?’ said Karen.

  ‘I didn’t at the time.’

  ‘But you do now,’ said Walter.

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘Come on, Mr Fratelli,’ said Karen, ‘we’re almost there.’

  ‘I know it may sound crazy but it seems they confessed everything to Woodhams. Told him they’d taken on a contract to murder him, and they would kill him too if he didn’t do as they wanted. He must disappear to the Costa and never return.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound watertight,’ said Walter. ‘After a month or two of babe watching he’d be back in Chester to ask his wife what she knew about it.’

  ‘No,’ said Paul. ‘There was more to it than that.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  Paul took a moment out before continuing.

  ‘To convince him to go and never return, they planned to retain in England, part of his body. If he came back they’d slice off additional pieces until he got the message.’

  Karen and Walter glanced at one another, and back at Paul.

  Walter said, ‘And that happened?’

  ‘Apparently so.’

  Karen smirked and said, ‘Which part?’

  Paul scrunched his face and wondered if he was crossing the line into criminality.

  ‘Which part, Mr Fratelli? We need to know.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  Back at the Station, things were getting interesting. The car Walter spotted in the lay-by was flagged up entering the city centre, picked up on ANPR. Darren was in continuous communication with Hippo-Joe.

  ‘What have you got for me today, Mr Brinkley?’ said Darren.

  ‘Three men, they’ve entered the main shopping precinct, all wearing jeans and casual jackets. They’re moving pretty quick but not running. Do you want the live feed?’

  ‘No, just tell me where they go.’

  ‘They’re crossing the centre now, it’s quite busy, but it’s easy to monitor. Do you want me to send one of my men to watch from a distance?’

  ‘Can’t do any harm. But make sure he’s not spotted.’

  ‘On it,’ said Joe, and Darren heard him order a guy down there.

  Darren said, ‘Where did they park the car?’

  ‘In the overhead car park. I have another guy standing close by. He’ll monitor any vehicle activity.’

  ‘Sweet, Joe, sweet. Where are they now?’

  ‘Approaching the coffee house, they’re looking in the window, maybe checking if there’s anyone in there they know.’

  ‘Which coffee shop?’

  ‘Richter’s.’

  ‘I hate their coffee.’

  ‘Do you? I prefer it, bit stronger than usual, and I like that. Eh up, they’ve gone inside.’

  ‘I suppose they’re out of reach of your eyes in the sky.’

  ‘Behave yourself! Richter is an international organisation. They probably put cameras in their premises before they put in coffee. Good cameras too,’ and Joe switched to their in-house technology where three guys were visible at the counter. ‘They’re ordering. Three lattes and three chocolate muffins, if my lip-reading skills are up to scratch.’

  ‘Geez, Joe, you’ll be putting us out of a job.’

  ‘We aim to serve. Yes, they’ve grabbed their stuff and are heading towards the far corner, furthest away from the door.’

  ‘They’ll be there for twenty minutes, you reckon?’

  ‘At least, maybe longer. I’ll keep a close eye on them. If they move, you’ll know about it.’

  ‘Thanks, Joe, I’ll take some advice here, but don’t be surprised if our team turn up and disturb their little party.’

  ‘That’s what I like to hear. Bit of interesting action always makes the day pass quicker. Speak later,’ and they both cut off.

  In the general excitement of a busy day it went almost unnoticed that the Woodhams case had surfaced in the press, and on the internet. As so often happened, no one knew how they had picked it up. But everyone knew Walter wouldn’t
be happy about it.

  ACROSS THE RIVER IN Handbridge, Walter said, ‘Come on Paul, which part?’

  ‘I don’t wish to get into any trouble.’

  ‘You won’t, not unless you have committed a crime.’

  ‘That’s the problem. I don’t believe I have, but you people are expert at twisting stuff and making things look bad.’

  ‘Look, we’ll give you as much leeway as we can. If you say you have done nothing wrong, that’s fine. But if you withhold vital information we may be forced to take you back to the Station for an official interrogation, and none of us want that, do we?’

  ‘I certainly don’t!’

  Karen persisted, ‘Which part, Paul?’

  He sucked in his lips, moved the laptop off the desk, and set it to one side on the floor. Went to the top right desk drawer. Eased it open. Swirled some papers around and took out a large matchbox, maybe ten centimetres long, set it in the centre of the desk and sat back, issuing a heavy sigh.

  Walter said, ‘It’s in there?’

  ‘It is.’

  Karen’s mind ran into overdrive. If he were telling the truth, and if the box contained a body part, it couldn’t be a big piece.

  She glanced at Walter and said, ‘Shall I open it, Guv?’

  ‘Why not? Bring it close so we can see.’

  She reached across, picked up the box as if it might contain nuclear fuel, brought it between where they were sitting, and glanced at Walter.

  He nodded her on, mumbling, ‘Slowly does it.’

  She held the box in her left hand and eased it open with her right thumb. A wodge of cotton wool came into view, becoming increasingly stained. At three-quarters open, they’d seen enough.

  Walter said, ‘Little finger, left hand, probably male, though small.’

  Paul said, ‘Maybe it’s shrivelled. As I understand it, Woodhams was a big man.’

  Karen said, ‘That’s correct.’

  The finger was black with the nail intact. The cotton wool had once stained red, but that redness had turned brown, then darkened, until it too had turned black. It had once stunk like a filthy ferret, but over time the odour had faded and dispersed.

  ‘At least it’s only a finger,’ said Karen, ‘for a moment there...’

  ‘Thank you, Sergeant Greenwood,’ said Walter, ‘I don’t think we need explore that.’

  Karen said, ‘You’re certain this is Jack Woodham’s finger?’

  ‘No, I’m not. I’m assuming it is. You could check with DNA or fingerprints, I think you’d still get a decent dab off that.’

  Walter said, ‘There’s his son, Gerald, and two grandsons he has never seen. No trouble in matching DNA.’

  ‘Have you seen enough?’ said Karen.

  Walter nodded, and Karen closed the box.

  He said, ‘Where did you get this, and why keep it?’

  Paul sighed aloud and said, ‘I thought you might ask that. Years later, after Eddie died I was his only living relative. It fell to me to clear out his house. I found that, as you see it, in his bedside table.’

  ‘Funny thing to sleep with,’ said Karen.

  ‘Eddie was a funny man.’

  ‘Why didn’t you report it at the time?’ said Walter. ‘If you’d brought it in and told us, that would have been the end of the matter.’

  ‘I thought of doing so, but honestly, I didn’t need the hassle. Eddie and Trevor were known criminals, however inept, and it didn’t seem a huge step for you guys to rope me into their cranky world. I’d done nothing wrong. I just wanted a quiet life, and I was doing okay. I’d sold my first couple of books and things were looking up. I didn’t need the distraction of being involved in a court case.’

  ‘Why didn’t you dispose of it?’ said Karen.

  Paul grinned and said, ‘I know it sounds daft, but I thought it might bring me luck. Kept it as a charm, if you like, and it seems to have worked, for nothing bad has happened since.’

  ‘Bit like a rabbit’s foot?’ suggested Karen.

  ‘Yeah, something like that.’

  Walter mumbled, ‘Takes all sorts.’

  Karen said, ‘Did he leave you the house? Left you well off, did he?’

  Paul guffawed.

  ‘You must be kidding! That pair were always on the bones of their backside, struggling to make ends meet. They lived way beyond their means. Even asked me for loans, which I refused. The house was rented. Credit cards maxed out, final demands peppering the place. I even had bailiffs coming after me, trying to frighten me into settling up. I said his affairs were nothing to do with me, and told them straight: either take me to court, or forget it. They never returned.’

  Walter bobbed his head and said, ‘Did you find anything else interesting in the house, aside from the finger?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, I did.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Some old notes.’

  ‘What kind of notes? A diary, what?’

  ‘Not a diary, exactly, just some scribbled notes on the blank backs of maybe ten final demand notices. He was a dreadful writer, almost childlike.’

  ‘Do you still have them?’

  Paul shook his head and muttered, ‘No, sorry, I didn’t like the content. I tore them into tiny pieces and threw it in the bin.’

  Karen said, ‘Do you remember what they said?’

  He nodded and started again, ‘Oh yes, I told you. I have a good memory, and this kind of stuff one doesn’t forget.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Walter. ‘Let’s have it.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  In Richter’s coffee house, six uniformed officers approached the corner table. A short conversation followed. The men were arrested, cautioned, handcuffed and led away, much to the interest of other punters sitting close by.

  Hippo-Joe had been pre-warned it was about to happen. He was glued to his screens with even more stickiness than usual.

  ‘All done, Darren,’ he reported back. ‘I presume they are on their way back to you. What about the car?’

  ‘Two of our guys will get the car keys and search the vehicle. You can stand your chaps down.’

  ‘Lovely jubbly, thanks for that, glad to be of assistance, a successful day, and on to the next one. I have a high profile shoplifter just arrived on the premises, and I’m hoping to make a double hit by apprehending her.’

  ‘Good luck with that, Joe, thanks.’

  ON THE OTHER SIDE OF the river, Paul Fratelli thought hard on his words, sniffed, and began talking again.

  ‘Eddie always thought he was more of a criminal than he actually was. He wallowed in it. Wanted to join the big league, needed to make a name for himself.’

  ‘We know that much,’ said Karen.

  ‘Somehow, and I have no idea how, he wangled a meeting with Sullivan Senior.’

  ‘One of the Liverpool crime bosses,’ clarified Karen.

  ‘The same.’

  ‘Eddie was real excited about it, tried to get Tapscott to go with him, but he wasn’t interested. They’d grown apart. Trevor knew what the Sullivans were capable of, and wanted nothing to do with them.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Walter.

  ‘Eddie’s notes said: “I’m taking the finger – should put the shits up them. They’re not likely to forget that!” And as far as I know, he did.’

  Walter clarified, ‘He fixed an appointment to see Sullivan in Liverpool, and to prove his worth and thuggery he thought producing a human finger would get him in?’

  ‘Correct, and it worked. He was hired straight away, and after that there was no stopping him. He was worse than ever, marching round as if he was Stalin or Hitler. Adopted a don’t mess with me attitude. Even tried it on here. I told him he was changing, and not in a good way. But he didn’t like that and ignored me, and didn’t come here again.’

  Karen said, ‘Was there anything in the notes about who cut the finger off?’

  ‘There was. Eddie noted he bought a small axe from the garden centre. He and Trevor held him down ov
er a workbench. Told him if he didn’t stop struggling they’d hack his bloody arm off. Maybe it worked because Eddie wrote: “It came off sweet, one blow, and the sucker sure screamed the place down, so exciting!!!” - something like that.’

  ‘Hardly surprising he screamed,’ said Karen.

  ‘Even worse when they sealed the wound with a blowtorch, so the notes said.’

  Walter asked, ‘Did they always harbour a sadistic streak?’

  ‘No evidence of it, but with those two nothing would have surprised me.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Karen.

  Paul nodded and continued for he was eager to end the interview.

  ‘A few years later, a ferocious war broke out between the Sullivans and the Kemps. From what I read in the Liverpool papers, one of the Sullivan foot-soldiers was killed in a drive-by shooting. Sullivan was livid and demanded reprisals. Prior to the funeral at Ford cemetery in Litherland, death notices were published in the Liverpool Echo. Sullivan was making a statement.

  ‘They sent people round to everyone they knew, publicans, loan sharks, club owners, dance studios, even the local newsagents and hairdressers. All of them were told to put a notice in the paper in the deaths section. I guess people were frightened not to, because ninety-two separate death notices appeared on the same day, taking up almost six columns.’

  ‘Sullivan would never take the death of one of his own people lying down,’ said Walter.

  ‘You’re right. Within days, a Kemp cohort was run down in retaliation on Queen’s Drive after a night out. Police said it was an accident, but Eddie’s notes said different. He wrote: “Got one of theirs back, smashed them! So exciting. Love my work. Looking forward to the next one.” Something like that. I don’t know if Eddie was involved, but I wouldn’t be surprised, and guess what? The Kemps visited their contacts and customers and foot-soldiers and anyone they could think of, ordering them to place a heartfelt message in the newspaper about the much missed dead guy, whether they knew him or not. Ninety-six announcements appeared, just enough to top the opposition’s, and get up Sullivan Senior’s nose.’

  ‘It’s all about saving face with these people,’ said Walter. ‘I came across it in London. The tiniest slight can be blown up out of all proportion.’