Skinner pulled a cigar from his drawer and rolled the No. 2 Montecristo between his thumb and index finger.
‘How’s the faggot in the cellar?’
‘Unconscious,’ Luke said. ‘We’ll gag him before we put him in the boot just to be on the safe side. Boat’s ready. Just waiting until the tide’s right.’
Skinner tilted his head and sent smoke rings towards the ceiling. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Never liked that fucker anyway.’
He puffed his cheeks, pursed his lips, and let his thoughts drift between his eldest son and Marge.
She would go ballistic when she found out what they had done to Geoff Mekins.
Luke read his father’s thoughts.
‘Mat will be in bits at first but then he’ll be raging,’ he said. ‘When he’s like that there’s no telling what he’ll do.’
Skinner pictured his eldest son, the cold fury that coursed through him like a black river below a wafer-thin surface.
‘You think he’ll come after me?’
Luke stared at his father. ‘That would be a big call, even for him. I don’t think so but…’
Skinner folded his elbows, placed them on the desk, and leaned towards his sons. ‘But what?’
‘That’s not to say he won’t send someone else,’ Luke told him.
Skinner leaned back, more smoke rings drifting gently apart on their way to the ceiling.
Who could Mat contract?
A million and one people, Skinner realised; wannabees looking to muscle in; hired help if the price was right; even one of his own would switch horses if Mat convinced them he could win.
Billy Skinner spun around in his chair and faced the wall, his back to his sons.
‘Mark,’ he said. ‘Give us a minute.’
Mark stood without a word and walked out, closing the door softly behind him.
Luke would be the boss and he had no problem with that. He knew his place and was happy there.
Skinner waited for the door to close, sucked long and slow on the cigar, and turned back to face Luke.
‘Mat’s a fucking loose cannon,’ Skinner spat out. ‘I should never have listened to your mother, never let him lose himself with that faggot Mekins.’
He rose, walked over to the oak unit against the wall, and picked up a photograph in a brushed chrome frame. He held it close to his eyes and studied it, him and his three sons, young teenagers then, stood on a riverbank fly-fishing. Marge had taken the picture.
‘God knows I tried hard enough, gave him some responsibility, even threw a couple of girls his way,’ Skinner said, his tone frosted with sadness. ‘What did I get back in return? A queer for a son with more than wild hair up his backside.’
Luke had listened to his father, judging the moment to step in and speak.
‘What do you want us to do?’ he asked now.
Skinner gave the order with a look not words.
‘Your mother can never find out,’ he said when Luke nodded once.
‘Sort the faggot downstairs first. Then find Mat.’
Don’t miss your lover-boy too much, son. You’ll soon be reunited.
Harry Pullman, beige sweatshirt and matching fleece bottoms, looked more like a gym rat than a pub licensee. He put the mobile in his sweat pants, walked to the end of the bar and sat on a wooden stool.
‘A strange day son,’ he said to Dean Silvers who was sipping on a Diet Coke.
‘What’s up?’
Harry looked around. No-one was close enough to overhear. ‘Just had Mat Skinner on the phone.’
‘You what?’ Silvers stiffened his back like a weightlifter ready to clean and jerk his personal best.
Harry leaned closer to Dean. ‘He wants to talk. Something’s happened. I don’t know what, but he was quiet, upset, not like him.’
Dean’s fingers had tightened around his glass, Harry worried it would shatter any second.
‘Calm down,’ he told him. ‘Let’s just see what he has to say. He wants to meet. He’s got a caravan up the Northumberland Coast.’
Dean stared into his glass, death grip relaxing. ‘Could be a set-up.’
Harry shrugged.
‘I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘Told me his dad and brothers don’t know about the caravan.’
Dean looked doubtfully at his uncle. ‘And you believe him?’
Harry didn’t pause, his mind already made up.
‘Enough that me and you are going to drive up there now,’ he told Dean. ‘Get a shift on and finish your drink. We’ll take my car.’
They were about to leave when the bar door opened.
John Elgin walked in, sober and clean-shaven and wearing a navy suit that had miles on the clock but was still pretty decent. The brown Paisley tie, though, was a fashion statement too far.
Harry Pullman turned towards him. ‘If you scrubbed up for Tara, she’s not here.’
‘That tie looks like something you’d shit after a kebab,’ Silvers said, grinning.
Elgin felt himself getting red. ‘I’m off to a planning meeting…’
‘On a Saturday teatime?’ Harry shot him a ‘like-fuck-you-are’ look.
Elgin moved a stool close to them and waited until the barmaid was at the other end of the bar.
‘I thought you might like to know Billy Skinner has bought the old abattoir.’
‘Where the two beasts were found!?’ Dean jumped in, his voice loud enough to have a few of the punters turning heads their way.
Harry hissed for him to either shut the fuck up or at least drop the volume.
Elgin got back to his news.
‘Buy’s only just happened by the sounds of it,’ he said. ‘He was straight onto the owners as soon as the bodies were found. Guessed they might be having doubts about converting a double murder site into top end apartments for professionals. He was right.’
When Elgin told them Skinner wanted to make the abattoir a bar called Angels as a tribute to the killers, Harry couldn’t stop a bark of laughter.
‘That’s Billy Skinner all over,’ Harry said. ‘Credit where it’s due John, you’re very well informed. So what do you want us to do?’
Elgin loosened his tie, told them what they did was their call, that he was just giving them the heads up.
Harry Pullman stood and glanced around again. ‘You still after that tape, John?’
Elgin nodded like a naughty toddler hoping his mother was about to forgive him.
‘Why not save yourself a load of chew and just tell that pig-ugly wife of yours that you’ve been shagging?’ Harry said. ‘What’s the worst that’ll happen? She’ll leave you and by Christ, that’s a win-win situation.’
Silvers laughed but Elgin ignored him.
‘It’s not that easy,’ Elgin told Harry. ‘Out of spite she’ll contact the council and the local rag. I’ll be ruined.’
Harry looked at Dean, then back at Elgin, serious now.
‘Better than taking on Billy Skinner,’ leaving it hanging there.
Elgin pushed himself off the stool and moved his head closer to them.
‘I’m not taking on the short arsed twat,’ he said quietly. ‘That’s your job if you want it. I have to get the planning applications through and that’s the same shit whether it’s for him or you.’
Harry thought losing your reputation but waving bye-bye to a wife like Elgin’s was the deal of the century, but then some people were strange.
‘What time’s your meeting?’ he said now.
‘Thirty minutes,’ Elgin backed away from them. ‘Why?’
Harry nodded. ‘Me and Deano need to pop out but we’ll be back by eight. Let’s have a chat then. You never know, Tara might call in later.’
Harry winked but Elgin didn’t notice. He was watching Dean Silvers smirk.
Chapter Twenty
‘Okay,’ Sam said. ‘Get the image of Julius’ mate enhanced but I don’t hold out much hope. He’s deliberately keeping his head down and his baseball cap’s pulled low. Who else know
s about this?’
‘Other than the guy looking after the speeding cameras, nobody,’ Ed told her.
‘Paul, go and tell him not to breathe a word,’ Sam said. ‘If he’s already told anyone else he’ll have to track them down as well and tell them to keep their mouths shut. If I hear of anybody discussing this after…’ Sam checked her watch, ‘twenty minutes as of now, I’ll have them doing career development in the worst poxy job I can find and as far from their home as I can manage.’
‘Okay boss.’ Paul stood up.
Ed followed Sam into her office and sat opposite her.
Sam opened her drawer, pulled out a couple of Mars bars.
‘Okay let’s think about it.’ She lobbed a bar to Ed. ‘There are a few new lines of inquiry springing up from that CCTV footage.’
‘Trace and interview three gorillas,’ Ed said, grinning as he ripped open the black wrapper.
Sam smiled back. ‘Apart from the bloody obvious. See if that van’s captured on any other cameras, speeding, CCTV, anything. How the hell have they got the number plate?’
Sam stood, bit into the Mars, and paced the room.
‘You can’t just walk into Halfords without any documentation and ask them to make a plate up, so how have they got them?’
She chewed the chocolate and kept pacing.
‘Next. Who was Julius with? Let’s make some inquiries at the football thing he runs. Maybe the kids have seen his mate there.’
She stared out of the window, took another bite.
‘Hans wasn’t there when Julius was snatched, so when and where do they get him?’
Sam sat, put the last of the bar in her mouth and dropped the wrapper into the waste bin.
Ed chewed, waiting for Sam to speak.
‘Let’s do door-to-door around Hans’ house. We now know when and where they got Julius so let’s set the time parameters two hours before and two hours after that. Establish if any of Hans’ neighbours saw anything suspicious in that four hour time window.’
Ed raised his eyebrows.
‘What?’ Sam asked.
‘Time window? Really?’ He leaned back into the chair. ‘I’ve told you before about speaking that management shite. Talk like the tossers and your credibility’s gone. We can just about cope with back-burner, but time window? What’s next? Take that off-line, park that, run that up the flagpole.’
‘Alright, alright,’ Sam grinned. ‘I apologise.’
‘Don’t get brainwashed, speak English,’ Ed said. ‘It’s why the rank and file can relate to you. You’re one of them.’
He leaned forward.
‘You know what I overheard the other day in the corridor? It’s my new favourite. Punch a puppy.’
‘What?’
‘Punch a puppy. Means do something that’s despicable but good for business. You couldn’t make it up.’
‘Jesus. Right, I want to sort out another press appeal …’
‘To launch the ‘punch a puppy’ campaign?’
Sam raised her hands and showed Ed her palms. ‘Okay you’ve had your fun at my expense.’
She dropped her hands.
‘I want to ask for witnesses who saw the gorillas. Maybe someone saw them without their masks getting out of the van, because let’s be right they won’t have walked far from that van. Why bother? They knew exactly what time their target was going to be there. All the ‘friend’ had to do was press send on a pre-typed text and the job’s done.’
‘Never mind walking like the military, this is military in the planning,’ Ed said.
Sam put her elbows on the desk, cupped her palms around her chin.
‘Would the driver draw attention to himself by driving around in a gorilla mask before the abduction?’
‘Possibly,’ Ed said. ‘They’ve got the balls to be driving around on plates from a police vehicle.’
Sam pushed her chair away from her desk.
‘Let’s check CCTV on the off-chance. I’m not sure they’d be looking to draw any attention to themselves before they had to. At least we’ve got an image of his so-called mate. That’s a start.’
Sam was cut short by her office phone ringing. Bev was on the other end of the line.
‘Uniform have just attended a shout to a burnt out Ford Transit up the Zinc Road, near the old sea coal depot.’
‘Bollocks,’ Sam said. ‘Notify SOCO. Get them up there to do their stuff.’
She put the handset down and told Ed about the van.
‘Suggests it’s served its purpose,’ Sam said. ‘Or they’ve got a replacement.’
Sam and Ed walked heads bowed through the downpour and ducked under the blue police tape, the water dropping onto their backs, their trousers already sodden, and the howling wind driving the rain into their faces.
The burnt out shell of a Ford Transit seemed to strangely fit the industrial wasteland where a decaying chemical plant and stubborn wildlife lived side-by-side, partners in some perverse eco pact.
The white foamed waves of the North Sea boiled against the black sky. Sam stared at the dark water and shivered as the wind chill ripped through her clothes. She always thought of the seas and oceans as timeless. That they were treacherous and without pity she knew all too well.
Julie Trescothick walked towards them, carrying something in her left hand.
‘Present for you.’ She handed Sam a polythene bag. ‘Left near the van.’
The bag, still sealed, contained what appeared to be a brand new, unworn gorilla mask, the mouth hole with the ridiculous rubber teeth a mocking grin.
‘Now they really are taking the piss,’ Sam said.
She looked along the wind-battered beach. In the distance a landscape photographer, huddled under a huge golfing umbrella, peered into a camera lens atop a tripod.
Sam thrust her hands into her overcoat pockets and wished all she had to worry about was a weather photograph for the local news, even if the light was fading fast.
She didn’t turn around when she spoke. ‘Do we know where it was stolen from?’
‘Yes, the VIN plate survived,’ Julie said. ‘Stolen from a boatyard in Hamble about four weeks ago. Not reported for a week as the owner was yacht racing in the Isle of Wight.’
Sam continued staring out to sea. She had sailed out of Hamble herself into The Solent and across to the Isle of Wight.
Her throat grew tight as she remembered berthing in Cowes Yacht Haven with its direct access onto the High Street; Tristram at the helm, her jumping onto the jetty with the mooring lines and tying bowline knots; the short walk to The Anchor Inn, standing at the bar her body still swaying, legs still at sea.
She breathed deep, rubbed her eyes and turned around.
Ed walked around the van and stopped at the bonnet: ‘Never imagined you yachties being white vans types.’
Sam moved closer to Ed, past caring about the rain. ‘I never expected ageing, bald detectives to drive old VW camper vans, but there you go, takes all sorts…So were the thieves just lucky, or did they know the owner was going to sea for a week?’
Ed bent down and examined the dented front of the Transit but Julie told him it would be impossible to even roughly estimate when the damage had been caused, the fire having burnt the paintwork to the metal.
Ed stared at the driver’s headlight then walked to the passenger headlight, looking at it closely.
Thank God the brigade saved the lights, he thought.
‘Julie, get somebody to remove the headlights before it’s towed away,’ he said. ‘Bag and tag them.’
‘Thanks Julie,’ Sam told her. ‘We’ll catch up later.’
Ed strode after Sam and the shelter of the car.
‘Could they have watched him load up his boat?’ Ed asked, turning the ignition, setting the heater to maximum.
‘If they were in the yard, marina, whatever, anyone could see him victualling the boat and…’
‘Vicking what?’
‘Victualling,’ Sam repeated. ‘Loading
the boat with food and supplies to you.’
‘Aye aye captain’
Sam punched his arm. ‘Less of the sarcasm, it doesn’t suit you. I can’t help it that I sailed.’
She rummaged in her handbag for a tissue and wiped her face.
‘Christ I’m wet through.’ She shivered and rubbed her thighs. ‘Is the blower on full blast?’
Ed turned the fan up. ‘It is now.’
Sam sat back into the seat, wishing like her Audi’s it was heated.
‘Why not just nick a van from up here?’ she said now. ‘It’s a hell of a trek down to Hamble. Six or seven-hour drive. I’ve done it.’
She couldn’t see the gang buying the van after it was stolen, too slick and switched on to involve someone else.
‘They’d never risk getting bubbled,’ Sam said, slipping into the police slang for being grassed or turned over by an informant.
She put her hands in front of the vent. What had her grandmother told her about putting cold hands on hot radiators? Something about chilblains? Sam would take her chances.
‘It just doesn’t add up,’ she said. ‘There’ll be thousands of Transits between here and Hamble.’
Ed turned on the wipers and watched the rain.
‘Least on a Saturday this weather’s good news for the house-to-house teams,’ he said as the blades and the zigzagging rivers of rain water did battle on the windscreen. ‘Loads of people at home. Only daft buggers like us are out in it.’
Sam hunted her mobile from her handbag, hit speed dial, and reached Bev for updates.
Ed switched on the headlights, turned the car through 180 degrees, and was silently relieved his fingers and cheeks had finally defrosted.
‘Cheers Bev,’ Sam was saying. ‘We’re on our way back.’
Ed tuned the radio to TalkSPORT and waited for Sam to bring him up to speed.
‘A neighbour saw two gorillas manhandling Hans down his path,’ she said. ‘They know he’s a university lecturer so just thought it was some student prank.’
Then Sam suddenly remembered the Transit’s headlights and asked Ed why they might be important.
‘When we watched the CCTV I never saw any damage to the front end of that vehicle, probably because we weren’t looking for it, but I distinctly remember both headlights being on.’
Angels and Apostles Page 13