Angels and Apostles

by Tony Hutchinson

  Maybe booking herself on a short sailing voyage was just what she needed, although the North Sea even in spring was a different proposition to summer in the Med.

  That said, choose the right sail school and the skippers they provided would be extremely competent.

  Time slipped as she sipped and studied. At a quarter to midnight she bolted off the sofa, sprinted upstairs and scooped the washing from the basket in her bedroom. Her mother washed religiously every Monday. Sam washed whenever she remembered, usually when she was down to her last couple of blouses and knickers. The fact that today was a Monday, albeit fifteen minutes from Tuesday, was pure coincidence.

  At least she was putting a dark wash in; no chance of her whites turning pink.

  She took a Marlboro from the packet on the bench and watched the water fill the washing machine; was that Tristram’s last memory? The rising swell of the Atlantic?

  She poured another glass. No point leaving one in the bottle. Two cigarettes later and she was in bed.

  Sleep didn’t come immediately, it rarely did after a drink and never when she’d been thinking of Tristram.

  But he wasn’t on her mind when she finally fell sound.

  Sam had been thinking how hard would it be to trace the buyers of metal benches and girders?

  Tuesday 16th December

  Ed closed the front door and walked to his car. No breakfast, not even a cup of tea. Still, no tea was better than another domestic. Sue had been asleep when he got in and she was just stirring when he dressed after his shower.

  He glanced up at the bedroom window as he reversed off the drive. She stood peering through the vertical blinds, coldness staring at him.

  She was ready for round three after the battles of Sunday night and Monday morning. Last night’s reprieve would be waiting for him tonight, unless he got home late again.

  He rubbed his stinging, blood-shot eyes, eyes that were screaming for sleep as much as his pounding head, but in the stay-at-work-go-home-early contest, work always won.

  His mobile rang. He glanced at the screen, smiled when he saw it was Jayne-with-a-Y-Culley.

  ‘Morning Jayne. How are you today?’

  ‘Is that you Mr. Whelan?’

  Her voice echoed around the car on his hands-free.

  ‘It is Jayne.’

  ‘Can you come and see me. I think I saw one of the men who took Mr. Scott on the television last night.’

  Ed sighed. ‘Okay Jayne. I’ll pop round this afternoon. Have the kettle on.’

  ‘I will. Goodbye.’

  Ed’s smile was shadowed with sadness. Would she remember she called him? Would she remember who or what she’d seen on the TV? Would she remember to make two cups of tea?

  Dementia terrified him. Mortality was one thing, but if the last years of your life were locked in your own little world…

  So why had he missed the obvious with Linda Pritchard? Linda Avery staring at him all the time.

  And that so-called friend of Julius? The one involved in the abduction. What was it about his walk? He’d seen that walk before but he couldn’t place it.

  Why?

  For years he’d been renowned for his memory for faces and mannerisms, yet now he had failed to identify Linda Avery or the ‘walker’.

  Maybe he was just getting old. Perhaps all those nights on the booze in his younger days had destroyed his brain cells.

  He drove through the traffic, his thoughts turning to Ray Reynolds. He was in fine form yesterday. Great gaffer but without doubt a product of his time. He smiled again. What was Reynolds’ head like this morning? No doubt fresh as a bloody daisy. The man had always been a machine when it came to drink. Could be out all hours downing pints for fun, but come the next morning he was always first in the office, always immaculate.

  He rang Sam from the car park. ‘Fancy going to see Linda Avery?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Linda Pritchard. Remember? Carol Pender told us about her.’

  ‘I’ll be out in five,’ Sam told him.

  Twenty minutes later they were walking up the path of number 75.

  ‘Rudolph still looks pissed off,’ Ed said.

  ‘Not as pissed off as Linda’s about to be.’

  Linda opened the door and ushered them into the lounge. The bright ceiling lights were off but the log burner was roaring.

  ‘Kids at school?’ Sam asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Your mother-in-law?’

  ‘Out for the day thank God.’

  ‘So it’s just us then,’ Sam said sitting down.

  ‘Yes.’ Linda perched on the edge of the chair, one knee across the other, hands overlapped, resting on her knee. ‘Any news? Have you arrested anyone yet?’

  Ed stayed standing, watching Linda.

  Miss-Prim-and-Proper.

  ‘I must apologise,’ Ed said. ‘Please forgive me Linda.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Not recognising you?’ He paused, waiting for a reaction.

  ‘Not recognising me?’ Linda looked nonplussed. ‘Have we met?’

  Role-playing to the end.

  ‘Not in this lifetime but plenty in the last,’ Ed told her.

  Linda’s face turned as red as the carpet.

  Ed said: ‘The hair, the teeth, many things, but it was the house that really threw me. Never in a million years did I expect to see one of the Averys in a house like this.’

  Linda’s puzzled expression was gone, in its place a glare and a mouth set rigid, expensive new bridge work clenched.

  Ed, enjoying the moment, put his hands under the lapels of his blue Crombie and rocked back on his heels. All he needed was a gown and wig.

  ‘Linda Avery...shoplifter, escort, Billy Skinner’s moll and now to the manor born,’ Ed beamed. ‘Two kids, a smart house, and full makeover ending in an air of respectability.’

  Miss Prim-And-Proper had vanished faster than a summer cloud burst. ‘Fuck you Whelan.’

  ‘There we go,’ Ed clapped his hands. ‘The real Linda’s still in there. Sewer-mouth, accent from the back streets and oh goodie, you remember me. I’m touched.’

  Ed sat down. ‘So, tell me about John Elgin and that photograph.’

  ‘What...’

  ‘And before you start the bullshit we can do this in front of ghastly granny if you’d prefer.’

  Linda shot to her feet. ‘Don’t you dare threaten me Whelan. Just because I never sucked you off like Carol Pender.’

  Ed smiled and stuck out his arms palms facing upwards. ‘It’s not a threat Linda. It’s a promise. Now do you want to sit back down and decide whether we wait for nasty nana to return? You know the one who thought her son married beneath him because you worked in a supermarket.’

  Linda muttered. ‘Same old bastard.’

  ‘But unlike your good self, an honest old bastard,’ Ed shot back. ‘We should have sent you to A and E for an x-ray, see if there’s an honest bone in there.’

  Ed leaned back on the settee, stretched out his legs and said: ‘So are we waiting for the sweet old soul?’

  Linda glared some more and sat down.

  ‘Probably best if we get this done now, don’t you think?’ Sam made the extra push.

  Linda told them how she had met John Elgin at a council meeting about travellers - a part of her life she had run away from years ago but still cared about.

  ‘What about the kiss?’ Ed asked her.

  ‘What bloody kiss?’

  Ed was like a schoolmaster trying to stay patient with a mouthy pupil.

  Sam stepped in. ‘Linda this will get tiring if you answer our questions with another question. The one in the park.’

  When the questions moved to Julius, the sham the marriage had become was soon clear, Linda telling them how she found out what her husband really was soon after their youngest was born.

  ‘It was a total accident,’ she said. ‘I caught him watching some sick shit on the computer. Julius was never much into sex with me.
That’s when I realised why. Not like Billy Skinner. Christ he was a three meal a day man. Julius just wanted children, wanted to complete the image.’

  But now he’s gone, all of this is yours, Ed was thinking.

  ‘From a caravan to this in one lifetime isn’t bad going,’ he told her. ‘So what was your relationship with John Elgin?’

  ‘There wasn’t one.’

  ‘Did he tell you anything about his family?’ Sam asked.

  ‘What, apart from his horrible wife?’ Linda shook her head. ‘He knew Julius had interfered with his grandson. How do you think that makes me feel? I’m glad he’s dead and I hope he rots in hell. My kids will grow up wondering what he was like but if he’d just been convicted not killed they would have known exactly what their father was.’

  Ed looked surprised: ‘So you were protecting the family name?’

  ‘I did nothing, protect or otherwise,’ Linda said, prickling. ‘I cuddled a distraught older man. Big deal.’

  ‘Who took the photograph?’

  Linda looked wary. ‘A friend.’

  ‘Recommended by Ray Reynolds?’

  Linda shrugged. ‘You’re not the only copper with ex-tarts on the payroll.’

  Ed and Sam stood.

  ‘We’ll be in touch Linda,’ Ed said. ‘Lovely to bump into you again.’

  The door wasn’t slammed behind them as they left but Linda did give them a send-off.

  ‘Go fuck yourself.’

  Chapter Forty

  ‘Where’s Mat? He should be here.’

  Marge Skinner was sitting at the kitchen table, a pot of stewed tea in the middle, milk in two mugs.

  The metal ashtray, taken from one of their pubs, was overflowing, the bottle of gin waiting for its neck to be tilted one last time.

  Luke and Mark were leaning against the kitchen bench; the two bodyguards Luke insisted on staying at the house were busy checking the grounds.

  ‘He knows about dad,’ Luke said. ‘I told him.’

  ‘But where is he? He’s the oldest. He should be here.’

  Marge looked like an artist had used a scalpel to dig crevices down her cheeks and around her mouth and then drawn deep, black shadows under her eyes.

  She filled the tumbler then lay the bottle on its side.

  ‘You want to go steady mum,’ Luke said. ‘It’s way too early for that.’

  ‘What for?’ Marge took a hit from the gin. ‘Your dad’s gone. What’s left for me? Nothing.’

  She swallowed another huge mouthful, coughed and spluttered. ‘We don’t even know who’s behind it?

  ‘Yes we do,’ Luke said.

  Marge looked up from the glass. ‘Who?’

  ‘Harry Pullman.’

  Marge looked stunned.

  ‘I don’t believe it!’ putting the glass down hard on the table, her voice shaking. ‘Harry’s been with your dad...’

  Marge wiped her eyes while her sons waited.

  When she spoke again her voice was filled with certainty.

  ‘Harry Pullman’s been involved with this family for years,’ she said. ‘Since your dad started out. Why would he turn on him now?’

  Marge clenched her fists, the veins in her wrists standing to attention against her fake tan.

  ‘He admitted it mum.’

  Marge’s eyes locked on Luke’s. ‘You’ve spoken to him?’

  ‘Yes,’ Luke told her. ‘That nephew of his and McFadden as well.’

  Marge picked up the glass and swallowed gin.

  ‘I never liked that McFadden,’ she spat out the name. ‘Was he involved?’

  ‘They all were.’

  ‘I hope he suffered Luke, like I asked.’

  ‘Trust me mum it’s sorted,’ Luke said. ‘They were all plotting to take over: Stuart, Harry and his nephew Dean Silvers. Take out dad, take us all out. Here, let me put some tonic in that.’

  He walked to the fridge, took a glass bottle of Schweppes, and found a straw in the drawer next to the bottle opener.

  Marge nodded her thanks and lit another cigarette.

  ‘I still can’t believe it about Harry…where are they now?’

  ‘Taken care of,’ Luke said. ‘There’s nothing for you to worry about.’

  Marge stirred her drink with the black straw. ‘What if there are others?’

  ‘Then we’ll deal with it. But for now, it’s sorted.’

  ‘Mark, you do what Luke says,’ Marge turned to her middle son. ‘I know he’s the youngest...’

  ‘It’s okay mum. I know. Luke was always going to be the boss.’

  ‘Well until Mat returns,’ Marge told them.

  Luke threw a glance at Mark and walked over to his mother, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder.

  ‘Mat’s not coming back.’

  ‘What!’ She pushed herself out of the chair, gin spilling from the glass still in her hand. ‘What do you mean, not coming back?’

  ‘Not like that,’ Luke reached out for the glass and Marge handed it over, watched him put it back on the table. ‘Mat’s fine. Stop panicking. Sit back down.’

  Marge sat.

  Luke knelt down, took hold of her hand.

  ‘Dad never wanted Mat to run the business when he retired,’ he said. ‘He must have told you that.’

  Marge stared at the floor and nodded.

  ‘Mat knew that as well,’ Luke went on. ‘He doesn’t want to hang around with dad gone. He texted me to say he was getting on a flight.’

  Marge looked up. ‘Where?’

  ‘Him and Geoff are going to Spain to start again,’ Luke said. ‘Live the life. Mat wants a new start and who can blame him?

  Luke knew exactly which of Marge’s buttons to press.

  ‘He takes so much shit about what he is,’ Luke said. ‘He just wants to go somewhere where nobody’s bothered, somewhere him and Geoff can be themselves.’

  Maybe it was relief, maybe it was the gin, but Marge didn’t spot the holes in the story, Luke was happy to see.

  She didn’t even ask why Mat had never said goodbye.

  ‘It’s always been tough, bless him,’ Marge said. ‘Even your dad gave him a hard time about it, but as I used to say to your father, that’s the way he is. What are you going to do? Disown him? And Geoff is such a canny lad.’

  She sipped her drink through the straw. ‘When will he be in touch?’

  Luke told her Mat planned to leave it for a while, let all this settle down.

  ‘They’ve got plenty of Euros and we can get more to them if they need it,’ Luke said. ‘All you need to know is that him and Geoff are fine. Me and Mark will sort everything else out.’

  She pulled him into her, kissed his head.

  ‘You’re a good boy. What do you want me to tell the police when they come round?’

  Luke stood up.

  ‘Tell them we want them to catch whoever killed dad,’ Luke said. ‘A businessman kidnapped off the street in broad daylight and then murdered. Tell them it’s not the wild west.’

  He walked to the sink, turned on the tap, and filled a glass with water.

  ‘Tell them that we don’t know who could have done it or why,’ Luke took a long drink. ‘If they ask you about McFadden or Harry Pullman admit knowing who they are, but say you have no idea where they might be.’

  Luke drained the glass.

  ‘If they push it just say you never involved yourself in the business.’

  Mark, still leaning against the bench, unpeeled a banana.

  ‘What if it wasn’t them? What if it’s someone else?’

  ‘I thought you said they admitted it?’ Marge stared at Luke, waiting for a response. ‘Well did they or didn’t they?’

  Luke had always been patient with his brother but there were times...

  ‘What Mark means is anybody could have a pop at us now, so we have to be careful,’ he said. ‘Don’t go into town without taking at least one of those lads outside with you.’

  Marge nodded.

  Mark k
new better than to speak again, at least not until they were both outside.

  He waited until they were standing by the bonnet of the car.

  ‘What if it wasn’t Harry and Stuart?’ Mark said now. ‘Have you thought of that? I know I’m supposed to be the thick one, but what if someone just wants us to think it was them?’

  Luke moved towards the driver’s door.

  ‘It was them all right and remember you’re not paid to think. You’re paid to do what you’re told. We need to make sure all the pubs are working properly.’

  He got into the car and was talking before Mark closed his door.

  ‘We need to send a strong message. We don’t want dad’s death giving anybody ideas about skimming or trying to take over. We need to put someone in Scaramangers and then see John Elgin, see how he’s doing with the planning.’

  ‘What did you think of her then?’ Sam asked.

  They were pulling away from Linda Pritchard’s, Ed driving.

  ‘She would still have known enough in the travelling community to have her husband sorted out,’ Ed said. ‘Skinner dumped her when she’d served her uses but the travellers wouldn’t be frightened to take on Billy Skinner. That might explain why Carol Pender said nobody knew anything.’

  Ed fell silent, thought processes turning like the car wheels. They were still turning when the wheels stopped at HQ.

  Sam opened her door and broke the silence. ‘I’ve decided I’m going to book myself on a sailing trip.’

  ‘What?’ Ed taken by surprise. ‘Good, that’s great. So you should.’

  Doors shut, Ed walked around the front of the car.

  Bang!

  He smashed his palm against the bonnet. ‘Shit!’

  ’What the hell?’ Sam gasped, heart racing.

  ‘I want to watch the tapes again,’ Ed said. ‘Pritchard’s abduction and his trip around the football place with his new mate. I want to watch the mate again. It’s that walk. I think I’ve remembered who it reminds me of.’

  Sam said they could kill two birds with one stone.

  ‘Thanks to Bev we’ve got the CCTV from the car spares shop,’ Sam told him. ‘She’s in the crew room.’

  Sam entered the building first, Ed following as they climbed the stairs.

  ‘And by the way,’ Sam said. ‘They’re on a laptop. All been transferred across to make easier viewing.’