The George Elms Trilogy Box Set

by Charlie Gallagher

  ‘George, what news?’

  ‘Just this second out of my meeting with our friend Adrian. The boy’s an idiot. He’s been very naïve but I don’t put his involvement as any more than that.’

  ‘Has he been nicked?’

  ‘Yeah, he’ll get the full treatment, he’ll be formally interviewed but I don’t expect anything more to come out of that. I have what I needed.’

  ‘He was helpful then?’

  ‘I’m pretty sure he told me everything he knew. Unfortunately, that isn’t a lot. He was called out of the blue. We have the phone number but it will be a burner phone at a guess. He was offered a grand in two payments for the information he gave. He’s had five hundred already. It was stuffed through his letterbox. The other five hundred is due now he’s given the information.’

  ‘I see. So he has no idea who these people are?’

  ‘He says not. I believe him too. He got greedy and stupid.’

  ‘So where are we? Someone sitting up on his address for this next payment?’

  ‘I don’t think so, boss. They got his number from somewhere. We have to consider it was someone else here and someone who knew him well enough to know that he might be susceptible. They may already know he has been arrested — that’s if they ever intended on paying him the rest. I wouldn’t, would you?’

  ‘No, I guess I wouldn’t.’

  ‘I have his address. While I’m up here I’ll do some house-to-house, see if his neighbours saw anyone dropping anything through his door. You never know, we might get lucky.’

  ‘Okay, George. Keep in touch.’

  ‘I will do. I was planning on dropping in on my job on the way back. I want to see the old boy again. I want him to know I’m about.’

  ‘Understood. I’m sure Paul Bearn is very capable.’

  George finished his call. He considered calling Paul straight away to get an update on how Stan was doing. He decided against it. He trusted Paul like no other; George would let him get on with his job. He could talk to him soon enough. Emily was already standing by the car.

  ‘Did you say goodbye to your girlfriend?’

  ‘That was Whittaker. I think you might have misunderstood the signals between us two.’

  ‘You know what I mean, George.’

  ‘Let’s go knock some doors.’

  Adrian Minter lived in a reasonable area. It was walking distance from his place of work, off Coverdale Avenue towards the town centre. It was a busy road in both directions and had a parade of shops servicing the densely populated estates close to the police headquarters. Behind these shops was an L-shaped building with two levels of flats. Adrian’s was on the first floor. George walked the concrete stairwell noting the standard smell of urine. Adrian’s flat was four along. The walkway was exposed to the elements, the frontages of all the flats were featureless and identical. He knocked on Adrian’s door — just in case. There was no answer. The next flat along was the last one. All the front doors were the same: dull, white UPVC with three frosted panes: two squares and a semi-circle at the top. At least this one had a welcome mat. He knocked. He readied his badge in his hand.

  ‘Hello?’ an elderly female voice called through the door.

  ‘Good afternoon. I’m sorry to bother you, my name is George Elms. I’m a police officer, ma’am.’ The door scraped with chains and turning locks. The door was opened an inch — just enough for George to see half a wrinkled face looking out at him. He held his badge up to the gap. ‘Nothing to worry about.’ George added.

  ‘Just a moment.’ The door was pushed shut. George exchanged a smile with Emily. The door opened wider. ‘Oh!’ The woman exclaimed at Emily.

  ‘This is my colleague, DC Emily Ryker.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Like I said, nothing to worry about. Do you know your neighbour? The flat next door?’

  The woman stepped out of her front door to have a look, like she needed a visual reminder. ‘I say hello, you know? I wouldn’t say I know him. I mean, I keep myself to myself. You got to round here. Is he in some sort of trouble?’

  ‘Not really, no. I’m more concerned about people that might have come up and spoken to him. Have you noticed anyone at his door in the last couple of days? Or anyone hanging around that you haven’t seen before?’

  ‘Always people hanging around here. They use the stairwell, see. We get the kids from over the estate. They come and sit in there and have a drink. I mean they don’t give me any bother but I’m usually in and settled before they come out. Sometimes I see them in the summer.’

  ‘So you haven’t seen anyone new around?’

  ‘No. Did you want to come in rather than stand out there?’

  ‘No, thank you. I’m sorry I didn’t take your name.’

  ‘Rose. Rose Miller. Do you need my phone number?’

  ‘I don’t think so, Rose. Thanks for talking to me though. I’m really sorry to have bothered you.’

  ‘Oh, it’s no bother, officer. I like to help you lot. You know where I am if you need me!’ The woman seemed to suddenly be aware of herself. She mumbled her goodbyes and stepped back into her flat. George ignored Emily’s wide grin. He stepped past her to get to the front door on the other side of Adrian’s flat.

  ‘You know where I live, Inspector Elms. You can come here anytime. Do you need my phone number? Are you wearing a new aftershave or something?’ Emily’s voice was low and mocking. She was chuckling too.

  ‘Yes, thank you, Ryker. We’ll just do this one and then we’ll call it a day. This is a poke in the dark.’

  ‘I know where else you might be able to get one of those!’

  George composed himself before knocking on the next door.

  This one was answered quicker and by a far different animal. George stepped back. The man filled the doorway. He wore a white vest pulled taut over his chest by a protruding stomach. His head brushed against the top of the doorway and he had black football shorts straining against the size of his thighs. He had a flashing blue games console controller in one hand and a large packet of cheese and onion crisps in the other. He held the bag like a throttled chicken.

  ‘What you want?’

  ‘Sorry to disturb you, mate. I’m George Elms and this is Emily Ryker.’ George held up his badge and the man’s gaze stayed fixed on him.

  ‘So?’

  ‘We’re doing some enquiries around someone that might have been to your neighbour’s house. There’s been a rather serious incident and we think someone involved might have been here. Have you seen anyone knocking at his door?’

  ‘Nah, mate. I don’t really take much notice. You get people up here knocking at doors an’ that, but they don’t bother me. They wouldn’t fucking dare, you know what I mean?’

  ‘I think I do, yeah. So you haven’t seen anyone out of place or that you haven’t seen before?’

  The man shook his head. ‘I got a leaflet. That was it. I don’t get much post. People don’t know I live here. Soon as they do, they start asking for money. I’m still on the run from Brighthouse. Them people need to get their house in order before they start coming to mine, you know what I mean?’

  George had absolutely no idea. ‘Okay, so just a leaflet. No problem. Thanks for your time.’

  ‘Yeah. One of these restaurant ones — kebab house. I called them up too. I like a kebab and I thought it was a new place — but it weren’t. It was some setup on the other side of the town. They don’t even deliver out here. I said to them on the phone, ‘why the fuck did you stick it through my letterbox then, you cunt!’ They never had no answer to that.’

  ‘What leaflet?’ Emily cut in. George was moving away, looking to leave.

  ‘Wassat, babe?’ he said.

  ‘Have you still got the leaflet?’

  ‘I don’t fuckin’ . . .’ The man was half-turned as he spoke, he was inspecting the floor. He bent down behind the door. He handed the leaflet to Emily. ‘No good to me, babe. You can have it.’

  He shut the
door.

  ‘Babe?’ George said.

  ‘I still got it, too, George.’

  ‘Do you want to knock again? He might be single?’

  ‘Oh, he’s definitely single.’ Emily lifted the leaflet. ‘Best Kebab,’ she read. ‘Go knock on your girlfriend’s door, see if she got one of these too.’ George did as he was told. She confirmed that she had.

  ‘You’re thinking the leaflets are linked?’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s a common tactic, right?’

  George nodded. He’d used it himself. If he needed to get close to an address for a peak through a window or to work out the easiest way to force entry, he would scoop up some menus from a local takeaway and drop some through the letterboxes of the target address and a few houses either side. No one would look at you twice. It was also a tactic used by some burglars or con artists. It would be a good way of getting an envelope through someone’s door if you wanted to be certain of blending in.

  ‘You fancy a kebab?’

  Emily screwed her face up at the menu printed on the flip-side. ‘Definitely not.’

  George checked his watch. ‘We’ll do this one last enquiry and then I’ve got to get back.’

  Best Kebabs was already looking to be a bold claim before George and Emily stepped in. It was part of a drab, concrete square that sat between a launderette and a betting shop and boasted two-for-one pizzas on a handwritten cardboard star. The front of the shop was empty. George guessed they hadn’t been open long. The displays were largely empty too. A man appeared carrying a tray in each hand, both were loaded with long metal skewers through clumps of sandy coloured meat.

  ‘Hello!’ The man was immediately cheerful. ‘One moment.’ A thick accent, maybe Middle Eastern. George scanned the counter. Sure enough, he could see a stack of the same menus that had been posted through the addresses either side of Adrian. The man positioned the trays under the counter and they were visible behind glass. A fly had settled already. The man straightened up.

  ‘How can I help?’

  ‘Who does your leafleting?’

  ‘Leaflet?’ the man scowled, his smile dropping away in an instant.

  ‘You have a stack of menus there, who takes them out and drops them through the doors? Do you do it?’

  ‘Ah. You want job?’ The man still looked confused as he looked George up and down. He probably didn’t look like their average candidate.

  ‘No, not exactly.’ George showed his badge. ‘I’m investigating a serious incident. I need to know who’s been out delivering your menus and where they go. No one’s in any trouble, I’m sure. We’re trying to piece together what happened and you guys might be able to help.’

  ‘I’ll . . . you wait. I go see the boss.’

  The man left in a hurry. George had already noted the darkness of the back room had suddenly been flooded with daylight in the last minute. He reckoned they had lost at least one employee out the back. George didn’t need to be reacting to that: more than likely he would end up chasing someone down on foot who would turn out to be an over-stayer. Immigration certainly wouldn’t thank him for that.

  An older man with a shirt tucked into heavy-looking brown trousers emerged from the back. He was overweight, his shirt was open enough to reveal a tight-fitting white vest underneath and his sleeves were rolled up. He was chewing on something. He finished it before he spoke.

  ‘Problem?’

  ‘I don’t think so. I’m just here asking a few questions. I’m trying to piece together a serious incident some distance from here.’

  ‘We don’t get involved in things like that here. This is a good place.’

  ‘Things like what?’

  ‘Like what you investigate. We don’t have police come here. We have no trouble. This is a good place.’

  ‘Someone who did have some trouble had your menu delivered. We just wanted to speak to the person who delivers your menus. Maybe he saw something.’

  ‘Our menus? No, we do not deliver these. Not for a long time. No one is reliable, yes?’

  ‘You don’t put them out through people’s doors?’

  ‘No. But people, sometimes they take. A lot at once maybe?’ The man shrugged.

  ‘Who did?’

  ‘I not know, but maybe another of our men. Maybe somebody knows. I will talk tonight, okay?’

  ‘Do you have CCTV?’ George looked up at the ceiling. He could see a plastic dome that looked like it had a camera inside.

  ‘This? This does not work. Not now. It is broken.’

  ‘That is a shame.’ In George’s experience, takeaway shops rarely had working CCTV if they were asked by the police. George scribbled out his details. The man thanked him for them and pocketed the piece of paper without looking at it. George took his name, he was hesitant at first but he gave it. George thanked him and they left.

  ‘We’re not expecting any assistance from in there, are we?’ Emily asked.

  ‘No. It’s a tentative enquiry anyway. Not that it’s my problem. I’ll update Whittaker on the way back and then I’m going to see my victim.’

  ‘You want me to come with you?’

  ‘If you don’t mind. It’s on the way. I only want to drop in and see him for a few minutes for an update. I want him to know that I’m still about.’

  ‘Do you have an update to give him?’

  ‘No. But I’ll think of something.’ They made it back to the car. Emily seemed to be studying him with an air of suspicion. She was right to. There was nothing new to tell Stanley Wingmore about who had murdered his wife. But he wanted Emily to see him for herself, maybe then she would lean a little harder on her source handlers, dig a little deeper. He reckoned she knew exactly what he was doing.

  Chapter 12

  The rain was now heavier. Jenny was still under the cover of the tree but now the moisture was simply gathering on the leaves and falling in bigger drops. Her whole body shivered as she pulled the hood of the gilet in tighter and peered around for better shelter. The cemetery was vast, the size of twenty football pitches or more. She couldn’t see any buildings in the grounds, despite her elevated view. She presumed there must be a church or chapel somewhere at least. She gradually became aware of the distant whir of an engine. The sound was intermittent and somewhere in front of her, but the breeze rolling down the slope towards the town made it difficult for her to identify it specifically or to pinpoint where it was coming from. She stood up; her legs were stiff with the lack of movement, her back and hips the same. There was a line of trees to the west that looked like a good source of cover. Once she reached it and dropped down the slope a little, the tree line curved away sharply to reveal a sheltered clearing. In the middle of the clearing stood a cabin. She moved closer to investigate. The curvature of the woodland meant it couldn’t be seen by anyone looking up the slope. The cabin was made largely of wood and was shaped like a miniature house or some small-scale model. It had clearly been there a while; the wood was weathered and the grass around it well trampled. It had a solid-looking chimneystack of different coloured, flat stones, pushing up to the edge of the roof on the side closest to her.

  The door was made of thick wooden slats that likewise differed slightly in shade. A porch hung over it, held up by four wooden poles. There were no signs of life. She walked around it once, careful not to stand on any of the thin sticks or crunchy brown leaves that littered the ground. It had a wooden lean-to on the far side. Its double doors hung open to reveal a sit-on lawn mower. It smelled strongly of freshly cut grass and, when Jenny felt its flat nose, it was still warm. She started to move away.

  ‘Can I help you, love?’

  She grimaced. She was going to have to interact with someone — and he had called her ‘love.’ Visions of Anne flashed through her mind — that last look she had given her: Run, love!

  Jenny stopped and turned. A man stood out on the wooden porch, the door behind him open. She saw a puff of white smoke from the chimney and its movement drew her eye. She was pr
etty certain it hadn’t been smoking just a few seconds ago. The man was tall, despite an apparent stoop. His right palm rested on his hip as if he might have a back complaint. He had dark trousers tucked into welly boots and a lumberjack-style jacket. His grey hair and beard were topped by a wax hat with a rim to keep the rain off his face.

  ‘No. Sorry, I was just trying to find somewhere dry.’

  ‘You found somewhere then. Do you want to rest up? This rain will pass. It even stopped my mowing.’

  ‘No. Thank you.’ But she didn’t step away. She didn’t know where else she was going to go. If she got thoroughly wet, she didn’t know where she might get dry again.

  ‘I’ve just lit the stove. I can do a cup of tea. By the time we’ve drunk it, I reckon you might have a window.’ The man leaned forward a little and stuck his hand out from under the porch roof. ‘No point soaking you to your skin, love. It’s up to you, mind.’ He moved back into the cabin. Jenny looked around her. She couldn’t see anyone else moving. Everyone else was out of the rain, comfortable in their warm homes, drinking tea. She walked to the door.

  The smell dominated her senses as she walked in. It was wonderful, a combination of split timber, smoke from the burner and cut grass. It was bigger inside than she had imagined. To the right side of the door was a camp bed along the wall faced by two chairs. To the left was the wood burner with a wooden bench that held a tall flask and some pots. The man sat on a chair at the bench. A black, iron kettle was balanced on top of the burner. It was already fizzing steam from its nozzle. She could hear the rain bouncing off the tiles.

  ‘You decided you’d like a tea after all, then! A good choice. You can pull up one of those chairs over there if you want, sit closer to the heat. You look a little cold, love.’

  Jenny did as she was told. Gladly. She sat down. She stretched her hands out towards the flames — the fire was already roaring. ‘Thanks,’ she said.

  ‘No bother. I’m Mike. I do the upkeep around here. This is kind of my work place, I suppose.’

  Jenny peered around again. ‘You could do worse.’

  ‘I could at that.’