Angels and Apostles

by Tony Hutchinson

  ‘She was entertaining Councillor John Elgin,’ Ed said, playing up a rasping cough Sam chose to ignore.

  ‘Entertaining as in entertaining?’

  Ed grinned: ‘Unless the short skirt and high heels are her scrabble uniform.’

  ‘Jesus.’ Sam considered another cigarette but thought she better wait a while.

  ‘Looks like there’d been an argument,’ Ed went on. ‘Nice looking shepherd’s pie on the bench but a broken wine glass on the floor and looking at the splatter pattern on the wall unit and floor, it hadn’t been dropped.’

  Sam pictured the scene. ‘So all set with food, wine and shagging kit before something happens?’

  ‘Yeah and probably not long before I went in,’ Ed said. ‘The place is spotless so she’s not going to leave broken glass lying around long.’

  Sam said she would never have put them together. Ed slid the car into gear, glanced in the rear-view mirror, and pulled away.

  ‘If Curtis knows who his mother’s entertaining it might explain how he knows which councillor the Skinners have in their pocket,’ Ed said. ‘The man’s on more committees than enough.’

  He closed the windows, reached forward, and turned the fan onto full as Sam tried to take a cigarette discreetly from her pack.

  ‘We know Elgin’s grandson’s been abused,’ Sam said, the cigarette still half-way out of the packet. ‘Curtis just happens to be at the garage when the man who abused him is delivered for execution. Curtis’ mum and Elgin…it’s the first link we have to all three deaths.’

  Ed was about to say the link wasn’t the strongest when Sam’s mobile rang and she answered with a ‘Hi Bev.’

  Ed glanced at her when she’d finished.

  ‘All the parts shops close at lunchtime on a Saturday so we’re stalled on the headlight,’ Sam told him. ‘But a Ford Transit’s been stolen from Hartlepool and that girder you spotted at the abattoir…newly fitted.’

  John Elgin sidestepped the punters in Scaramangers and ordered a large whisky on ice. His early evening plans had been ruined by Ed Whelan’s unexpected house call.

  Jill had got changed into a sweatshirt and jeans as soon as Whelan left, confirmation absolute that sex was off the agenda. He had made his excuses, apologised again for not telling her about Curtis, and told her he’d call around in the next few days.

  His relationship with Jill had been going on for years. He enjoyed spending time with her but he was shackled to his wife; his professional reputation and the spoils that went with it more important to him than his personal life. Besides, there were always younger outlets if you were prepared to pay.

  Harry Pullman passed him the drink.

  ‘On the house,’ he smiled. ‘Give me two minutes and I’ll come round your side of the bar.’

  Elgin raised the glass and looked around at the other customers, eyes settling on a group of men at the opposite end of the bar, middle aged and laughing loudly at something the tall one had said.

  Elgin knew him…Detective Superintendent Ray Reynolds. Retired.

  Reynolds saw him looking, nodded in acknowledgement, and Elgin forced a smile.

  There are times he frightens me more than the bloody Skinners.

  Elgin looked away, downed his drink and ordered another. The slap on his back made him jump.

  ‘Good meeting?’ Harry said beside him, the question loaded.

  ‘Jesus Harry, you scared the shit out of me.’

  ‘Me? You’re amongst friends here.’

  Elgin looked again towards Reynolds. ‘You sure about that?’

  Harry followed his glance and smiled, said Reynolds was sound, that Elgin shouldn’t believe everything he might have heard.

  Reynolds looked over and nodded at Harry.

  ‘He knows we’re talking about him,’ Elgin said, uneasy.

  Harry told him to relax, told him he was getting paranoid.

  ‘He’s just a widower out having a few drinks with mates,’ Harry said. ‘Let me get you another.’

  Elgin took the drink, his third in not many more minutes. ‘What about my proposition?’

  ‘Not now,’ Harry said. ‘Haven’t I told you about these walls? Tomorrow. Besides look who’s here.’

  Elgin turned to see Tara walk into the bar.

  Sam peered out into the darkness where the snow flurries had given way to drizzle in the headlights, listening as Ed talked it through, the oddness of repairing the van then torching it, the new girder, the strength or otherwise of the possible connections in the case.

  ‘You want me to lead when we get there,’ she asked now.

  ‘May as well,’ Ed peered through the windscreen, hating the conditions.

  He kept thinking about Elgin, the man having to keep tight hold of his bowels when Ed walked in.

  ‘Let’s run through it again then,’ Sam was saying. ‘What do we know?’

  Ed let it roll out, see just where they stood.

  ‘Elgin’s grandson’s abused by Pritchard and van Dijk…Elgin’s shagging Jill Brown…Scott has abused her lad Curtis…Curtis is at the scene of Scott’s execution…Elgin’s God knows where but could be the one in Skinner’s pocket…and if he is, what’s Curtis got to worry about? Elgin could keep the Skinners on-side.’

  Ed felt like a man wandering around a maze in the pitch-black at midnight.

  ‘Unless they find out about Curtis’ video on his phone,’ Sam said, grabbing the door handle as Ed almost missed a junction and had to turn sharply.

  ‘That still bothers me,’ he said, mouthing ‘oops’ in Sam’s direction. ‘Curtis just happened to be there when the man who abused him years ago is brought there to be killed.’

  Like every other decent detective, Ed was no fan of coincidence.

  ‘He puts Dean Silvers there but that could just be bullshit,’ Sam said. ‘And I’m not sure Dean’s got it in him. The Skinners on the other hand…’

  Ed said okay, they were bad news no question, but there was no connection apart from Curtis bricking it about some councillor being in a gangster’s pocket.

  Ed peered out of the passenger window. Almost every house in the street was blinking and glowing, enough twinkling lights and flashing Santas to confuse a pilot.

  ‘Seventy-five’s on your side,’ Ed said.

  Sam strained to see the numbers on the doors, counting up until she said ‘there’ and pointed at a house.

  ‘The one with Rudolph in the garden minus his nose bulb,’ she said.

  Ed pulled up in front of an Edwardian semi-detached villa. The green gate was well oiled; the path to the front door split the well-tendered lawn.

  Ed was behind Sam who shook her head slowly, another family whose Christmas would never be the same again.

  She raised her fist to the oversized door and noticed the fairy lights stapled to the doorframe were switched off.

  ‘Here goes then.’

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Luke and Mark Skinner, dressed in salopettes and dark blue waterproof jackets with the hoods pulled up, held onto the side of the small trawler, bodies swaying and the taste of salt on their lips.

  ‘There’s something about the North Sea on a pissy night,’ Luke said.

  ‘Yeah,’ Mark tightened his grip. ‘Terrifying’s the word you’re looking for.’

  They both stared into the eerie blackness, their eyes straining to see the onboard lights of the tankers in the distance and the navigational lights of the cardinal buoys. They couldn’t see much more than Geoff Mekins and he was blindfolded.

  That their boat displayed no lights was an offence against COLREGS - the International Regulations for Preventing Collisions at Sea - but given their human cargo a breach of the sailor’s highway code was worth the risk.

  The noise of the engine and the bow cutting through the waves helped drown out Mekins’ moaning.

  He was curled up in the foetal position on the deck, shivering like a missionary with malaria, hands tied behind his back with thick oily rope; s
odden jeans and t-shirt providing neither warmth nor protection.

  ‘Much further Findus?’ Mark shouted. ‘It’s fucking freezing.’

  The expression on Jimmy Rhodes’ weathered face - or at least the sliver you could see above his thick grey beard - didn’t alter. He was used to Mark thinking his mickey-taking was somehow amusing. He’d gone to school with Billy Skinner, done ‘jobs’ for him for years. It was Skinner’s money that had bought the boat a lifetime ago. Putting up with Mark, the family’s weakest link in Jimmy’s book, was a price he had to pay. Living solely from the sea got harder every year. The cash-in-hand he picked up from Skinner for his special services put food and a bit more on the table.

  ‘Another half hour should do it,’ he shouted from the wheelhouse.

  Geoff Mekins couldn’t see but he wasn’t deaf. The rattle of a chain being dragged across the deck, Jimmy’s thirty minute warning…he knew what was coming. He tried to scream but his vocal chords made as much noise as a snapped guitar string.

  Luke bent down, yanked Mekins’ head up by the hair and started coiling the old anchor chain around his upper body.

  Unable to move his arms, Mekins thrashed his legs until Mark kicked him hard on the shins.

  Jimmy Rhodes stared ahead through the wheelhouse window. He’d seen it all before.

  Luke pushed Mekins backwards so that his spine was flat against the deck and coiled the metal links around his legs. Ankles bound, Luke ran the remaining metal up to his chest, padlocked two of the links together and checked the tautness.

  Satisfied with his handiwork, he stepped back and leaned against the side of the trawler. Mekins was ready, another whose race was almost run.

  ‘Get ready to sleep with the fishes,’ Mark said, his voice lyrical like a pantomime baddie.

  In the wheelhouse Jimmy shook his head…Mark and his bloody Godfather quotes. How many times had he heard that one by now? Six? Seven? He was losing count.

  Same script. Different cast.

  He adjusted his brown peaked baseball cap and reached for his pipe.

  Georgie Mills, the Family Liaison Officer, opened the door.

  ‘Alright boss. She’s in the front room. Granny’s here, her mother-in-law.’

  ‘Kids?’ Sam said, stepping into the hall.

  ‘Two. Granny’s keeping an eye on them.’

  Ed closed the door behind him.

  ‘We’ll follow you,’ Sam said. ‘Introduce us and we’ll take over.’

  Georgie turned around and walked into one of the rooms off the hall. ‘Linda, the boss is here.’

  Sam and Ed entered a room of high, primrose yellow walls, white, deep skirting boards and a white alabaster ceiling rose as old as the house. Lamps were everywhere, all off, subdued lighting replaced by bright white light from the five-bulb close-fit ceiling centre light. Heat bellowed from the wood-burner, glass door open, the flaming logs reminiscent of a particular breakfast cereal as they snapped, crackled and popped.

  Linda Pritchard pushed herself up off the chintzy floral patterned sofa; tall, voluptuous, long black curls drawing people towards her emerald eyes. Closer examination would reveal a slightly offset nose from a historical fracture but few ever noticed.

  Her two young girls, who had been sitting close either side of her, clearly didn’t want her to move.

  ‘Please, there’s no need to stand up. I’m Sam Parker, the officer in charge of the investigation.’

  Linda extended her arm and offered Sam a limp, clammy hand. She forced a smile, giving Sam a glimpse of teeth - Christmas snow white.

  ‘This is Detective Sergeant Ed Whelan.’

  Linda nodded, emerald eyes down.

  Sam continued. ‘I am truly sorry that we have to meet in these circumstances.’

  If being in charge of the Murder Team was the pinnacle of her career, meeting the bereaved was the nadir.

  Sam sat on an armchair. Ed, still stood by the door, stepped aside as a silent, slightly stooped woman ushered the two girls out of the room. The grandmother. Ed guessed neither child was older than nine. Linda was probably mid-thirties, a lot younger than her husband.

  Sam was perched on the edge of the chair, hands in her lap.

  ‘I cannot begin to understand what you are going through Linda,’ she said. ‘I have sat in this seat many times, but I have never sat in yours.’

  Linda Pritchard stared at the swirls on the red carpet.

  When she spoke it was barely above a whisper, but the broad northern accent seemed out of place amongst the wood panelled walls.

  ‘Who would do such a thing? Why? Julius was a family man. He’d never abuse children. To even suggest it is sick.’

  Sam glanced at the tall white Christmas tree, lights off, a fallen bauble unreturned to its imitation branch. Never had a symbol of joy looked so out of place. The second line of ‘Deck the Halls’ flashed through her mind. Not in this house.

  ‘Linda, rest assured we will do everything we can to bring the people who did this to justice.’

  Linda fidgeted with her hands. Sam watched the beautifully manicured nails, salon perfect, scratching the palms.

  ‘I know you will have already been asked this, but is there anyone you can think of who would want to harm Julius?’

  Linda shook her head, wiped her eyes with a handkerchief.

  Sam glanced around the room. Family photographs were everywhere; on the sandstone fire surround, in the glass fronted unit, on the recessed windowsill. Each showed Julius, Linda and their two children, similar poses, different locations…cities, beaches, mountains…clothing changing to match the climate.

  Ed and Sam turned to face the ‘excuse me’ from the door. Grandmother had reappeared minus the children. ‘Might I have a word before you go?’

  ‘Of course,’ Sam said.

  The old woman turned and walked away.

  ‘Take no notice of her,’ Linda said, something flashing in her eyes. ‘Julius is her only child, the prodigal son. She’s always been difficult…you know the type…you’re not good enough for my son, he could have done so much better than you.’

  Sam made a mental note. Linda Pritchard didn’t look like she took shit from anyone.

  ‘Did you ever meet Hans van Dijk?’

  ‘No. I know…’

  She stopped, sniffed, and rubbed her eyes.

  ‘I knew they did the football together, but I never met him. Not easy with young children. One of us always stayed in with the kids. I can’t remember the last time we went out together. Can’t remember the last time we did anything together, even late at night.’

  Sam stored away the hint of domestic unrest. ‘How long had they been doing the football?’

  ‘Oh I don’t know,’ Linda said. ‘A few years, but I still don’t…’

  Linda wiped her eyes again and bit her bottom lip. ‘I won’t believe they were abusing children.’

  Sam knew from experience that abusers could lead the most complete double lives.

  ‘I understand and of course there’s no evidence of that at this time,’ she said now. ‘Linda the purpose of our visit is to introduce ourselves. Georgie will be your point of contact. If you need to speak to me for whatever reason let her know and I’ll be round to see you.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She didn’t move.

  Sam stood and followed Ed into the hall.

  Granny appeared, her large ears, free from the thinning grey hair, looked like they’d been designed for evesdropping. She wasted no time on pleasantries.

  ‘If you’re in charge,’ she pointed a wrinkled finger at Sam, ‘you can tell the papers if they want to make libelous accusations about my son I will see them in court.’

  Feisty and a fighter, Sam thought. She probably did tell Linda she wasn’t good enough.

  ‘All my son did was to try to make the lives of those children a little better,’ her hands were trembling with anger. ‘Their own parents didn’t give two hoots, to suggest because some madman has slaughtered Julius and his fri
end that they are…I won’t even say it.’

  She glared at Sam and spat out the next words.

  ‘Warn them off young lady. My husband, like my father, was a respected member of the judiciary and I still have family friends in high places.’

  Ed chose his words carefully.

  ‘Your son didn’t fancy the law then?’ he asked.

  Her response was soft, tender almost.

  ‘Julius was a delicate child,’ she said. ‘Rough and tumble was not his thing. He was very shy and being away from home, unable to cope emotionally, his academic work suffered. Besides he always wanted to help others, hence the football team and before that the youth clubs. A natural response if you were bullied.’

  Or a paedophile, Sam and Ed thought in unison.

  Granny looked up into Ed’s eyes as she took a step towards him, her chin level with his chest, the anger back.

  ‘So no, he didn’t, as you so eloquently put it, fancy the law.’

  Ed wiped the fine mist of her projectile spittle from his chin.

  ‘He settled on starting his own business in computers,’ granny was saying now. ‘There wasn’t much money in it but he was always happy and he made a little extra at the university. ’

  She paused, contempt twisting her face.

  ‘That’s how he met Fanny Adams in there,’ she nodded her head to the living room. ‘She was in a class he was running.’

  ‘Here?’ Sam said. ‘Seaton St George Met?’

  Granny nodded again and stepped back from Ed, composure regained.

  ‘He could have done so much better,’ she said. ‘I arranged all sorts of dates for him, nice girls from good families, but he went for the supermarket check-out girl twenty years younger. Looks like butter wouldn’t melt but don’t be fooled. She’s pole-axed more men than a common cold. Poor Julius couldn’t keep up with her and her…needs. No man could.’

  Sam and Ed exchanged a glance.

  ‘He told you that?’ Sam said.

  Granny smiled without an inch of warmth or humour.

  ‘He didn’t need to,’ she said. ‘You could see it in his face.’