Murder of a Silent Man

by Phillip Strang

  Ralph prided himself on his appearance, his clothes arranged on hangers in his wardrobe, his washing done by a lady who came in once a week. And she was now complaining, wanting more money, not to mention having to clean the sheets after Michael had brought a young woman over for the night. Although Ralph, who had been with Yolanda, a not infrequent occurrence, had to admit on his return to the flat that apart from the signs of debauchery, there were no signs of drugs and alcohol.

  Yolanda still stayed in her hotel, her gold-plated credit card working fine, although regular phone calls to Antigua were a requisite, and even a long weekend back there to ensure maintenance was carried out on the benefactor. The day she left, Ralph had driven her to the airport. He had felt a pang of sorrow that she was going to give herself to someone other than him in exchange for money. Not that he hadn’t been guilty in the past of such indiscretions, but with Yolanda he felt comfortable, as if somehow it was meant to be, and the years apart had been a mistake best forgotten. But then, he remembered as he bade her farewell, the two of them had been a lot younger, and the fire had burnt stronger then.

  Ralph, conscious that he was in his fifties and not in peak physical condition, took to exercising, a few laps in a swimming pool each day as well as walking three times around a park across the road from the flat that he and Michael occupied. Yolanda kept fit walking around London with her credit card. Michael, sober and responsive, looked for work, one of the conditions in his grandfather’s will, not that the thought inspired him. He was, he knew, an inherently lazy person, although he could see a future in sales, given that his natural charm and his looks made him likeable, but he had no track record.

  ‘I’m in a spot of bother,’ Ralph said as he sat down with Caroline at a pub not far from her house. At any other time, Ralph would have appreciated the open fire, the bonhomie of the place, the horseshoes nailed to the timber beams of the sixteenth-century former coach house. But he could see the look on his sister’s face, the look that clearly said no.

  ‘It’s money, this loan shark that you got yourself involved with, isn’t it,’ Caroline said. She was keeping to mineral water, Ralph had a glass of red wine in his hand. Neither was smiling.

  ‘If I don’t pay him, it’s a broken leg, maybe worse.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘It’s over one million pounds.’

  ‘Give him what I gave you and pay the remainder when you can.’

  ‘It’s not that easy. There’s the compound interest.’

  ‘You’re not going to be much use to Desmond and me, are you? If you can’t keep out of trouble, how are you going to keep Michael off drugs, and is he working? I’ve got some sway with Jill Dundas, but you’re going to destroy this, you know that?’

  ‘I’ll pay you back once the shopping centre sale goes through,’ Ralph said.

  ‘It’s still not enough, is it? And loan sharks don’t lend money at five per cent per annum, do they?’

  ‘That’s the problem. The deal in Spain was going well. We had the money, but my business associate took the lot.’

  ‘I saw promise in you, I really did. Now you are back with Yolanda, and Michael is making an attempt, but yet again you’re a loser.’

  Ralph could see that the bond between him and his sister was not there. She had needed him, still did, but she was going to throw him to the wolves. The evening ended badly, and neither felt the need to wish the other a good night.

  ***

  Back at the flat, Michael was occupied filling out another job application, the third in as many days. To one side of him on the sofa was Giles Helmsley. Ralph, alarmed at seeing the man on his return but remembering when they had been younger, initially felt the need to be polite, but soon realised that the eccentric former professor was not there for his son’s benefit; he was there for himself.

  ‘What are you doing here? This is my place, not yours,’ Ralph said. He sensed his temperature rising, the short temper that he had possessed since he was a young boy coming to the fore. It had not been a good day. His sister had rejected him, his son too now from what he could see, and Yolanda was in Antigua sleeping with another man. And then his phone rang.

  Absentmindedly, without first checking, he brought the phone to his ear. ‘Ralph, I was expecting you to come and see me,’ Frost said. In sheer terror, Ralph pressed the off button on his phone and lurched forward at Helmsley, grabbing him by the collar, causing a cup of coffee on the small table in the centre of the room to tip over.

  ‘Lawrence, what do you think you’re doing?’ Helmsley said. He knew that if Ralph hit him, it would hurt, but it was good, better than he had hoped, the chance to begin bringing back Michael to him.

  ‘Giles is helping me to get a job. We are not talking anarchy or politics at all. He is here as a friend,’ Michael said, hoping to calm the situation.

  Ralph, beside himself with anger and frustration and not sure what to do, took a seat to one side of the room. He looked across at the now-smiling face of Helmsley, wanting to punch him in the face, but realising that he was not the problem, it was his sister. She had more than enough money to pay off Frost.

  ‘My apologies,’ Ralph said. ‘Helmsley, I don’t trust you, you know that. I don’t even like you, never have, but you have a right to my son’s friendship.’ He didn’t know why he had said what he had. He did not believe it for one minute.

  ‘Michael needs our help, and you need mine,’ Helmsley said, going into charm mode.

  Ralph left the flat and went downstairs and out onto the street. It was a bright night, and he looked up at the sky.

  A car pulled up alongside him, the same BMW 7 Series that he had been in once before. Ralph reacted with alarm and attempted to move away and back to the safety of his flat. As he approached the main door to the building, an arm blocked his way. ‘Mr Frost wants to see you,’ its owner said.

  Ralph looked around and then up at where the voice had come from. It was one of Frost’s heavies. ‘I have an arrangement with Mr Frost. My time’s not up.’

  ‘Mr Frost, he wants to have a little chat, remind you of the seriousness of the situation. That’s what he told me, anyway.’

  ‘Tomorrow.’

  ‘Today. He said you needed reminding.’

  Ralph could only remember the first blow that hit him in his stomach outside his block of flats. After that, a blur as he was manhandled into the back of the BMW, his head pressed firmly down into the footwell.

  ‘Ralph, you hung up on me,’ Frost said when Ralph regained consciousness.

  Ralph realised that he could not move. He struggled, felt ropes binding his arms that were stretched skywards. He could see the beam above him. He felt the wetness in the crotch of his trousers.

  ‘What is this? What have I done?’

  ‘You’ve forgotten our agreement, haven’t you? I’ve been told that you and your ex-wife are getting cosy.’

  ‘You’ve been spying on me,’ Ralph said. He was feeling distinctly uncomfortable, his feet barely touching the ground, his right leg cramping up, the rope biting into his wrists.

  ‘Protecting my investment, that’s all.’

  Ralph wanted to tell the man he was a liar, but he knew that his situation was precarious. He was strung up as if he were a side of beef in a butcher’s shop, or maybe freshly slaughtered and in an abattoir. He was confused, not sure what to do, not sure if he would leave the warehouse alive, or if he did, if he would be able to walk again.

  ‘You’ve soiled yourself,’ Frost said. ‘We’re only here for a little chat, nothing more.’

  ‘But I’m hanging here. Let me down, please.’

  ‘If you insist, but my men will stay nearby. If our conversation is not to my satisfaction, you know what will happen.’

  ‘I do.’ With that the rope that had been holding the frightened man was loosened, and Ralph collapsed onto the ground. Picking himself up, he sat down on a wooden chair that was to one side of him, the wetness in his trousers causing him disco
mfort and acute embarrassment.

  ‘Now when will I see my money?’

  ‘Next week, as I told you.’

  ‘Your time is running out. And remember, the interest accumulates. Your wife is an attractive woman, so I’ve been told. It’d be a shame if she had an accident, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Leave her alone. Your issue is with me.’

  ‘That’s where you’re wrong, Ralph. Before, it was with you, but now you have a sister, a son, a lover. Any of them will do if you fail to pay me back. Today would be better, tomorrow at the latest. If you want another week, that’s fine, just add another eighty thousand pounds to your pay-out.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Can’t or won’t?’

  ‘I can’t get that sort of money. My sister won’t help.’

  ‘Then maybe we should talk to her first. I’m sure she will want to see you safe. Or what about her husband? He’s got himself a good business, lots of rich clients. How many children does she have? Two, isn’t it?’

  ‘You bastard. You would do anything to anybody for your benefit.’

  ‘You would cheat poor gullible tourists out of their retirement funds. We are very much alike, you and me, Ralph. Neither of us has too many morals. The only difference is that I use violence as a tool.’

  ‘And what if I don’t pay?’

  ‘You know what will happen. I’m giving you another week, interest-free.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I like you, or maybe you’ll need that week to recover, let the others see what will happen. Maybe your wife can convince the old man in Antigua to help. Your sister, what will she do? Help you out?’

  ‘Give me a week, and you’ll have your money,’ Ralph said, his body shaking from cold and fear. A rat scurried by. Over to one side, lying on the floor, his jacket and shirt.

  ‘Boys, you know what to do,’ Frost said.

  The first that anybody else knew was when Homicide received a phone call from the hospital.

  ‘It’s Ralph Lawrence,’ Bridget Halloran said as she walked into Isaac’s office. ‘He’s in casualty. He’s been severely beaten.’

  Chapter 20

  Jill Dundas smiled when she heard about Ralph Lawrence and his accident, falling off a roof and onto a concrete floor. At least that was what Ralph had said it was, his own silly damn fault for not looking where he was going.

  The team at Homicide were under no illusion, even if the man in the hospital bed said otherwise. He had received a severe beating. Sure, as the doctor had said, he had a dislocated shoulder, but there was no way that the bruising on his body had been caused by anything other than a man’s fists.

  ‘It’s the truth,’ Ralph said, his son on one side of his bed, his sister on the other, a nurse hovering nearby checking his temperature, ensuring that he was comfortable.

  ‘Why lie to us, Mr Lawrence?’ Isaac said, even though he understood why. It wasn’t the first time that a man had lain in a hospital bed, too frightened to tell the truth.

  ‘Why protect those who did this to you? You could have been killed.’

  ‘I wasn’t, that’s all. I’ve no more to say. Can’t you accept that?’

  ‘Leave my father alone,’ Michael said. ‘Can’t you see he’s in agony?’

  ‘You’re playing this wrong,’ Larry said. He had seen the flowers arranged around the room, noticed one bunch from Jill Dundas, another from Yolanda, now on a plane back from the Caribbean, her credit card revalidated. Another bunch from a mysterious sender, just a blank card, the only words ‘Get well soon’ printed in bold letters on one side in red. That one needed checking out.

  ‘Whoever did this, they’ll be back,’ Isaac said. ‘These people are professionals. Your only protection is with us.’

  Ralph stirred in his bed, attempted to sit up, grimaced in pain, and lay down again. ‘It was an accident. My fault for being on that roof. It wasn’t that high, maybe fifteen feet, and I thought I’d be fine.’

  Caroline Dickson came close to her brother and whispered in his ear.

  ‘What did you just say, Mrs Dickson?’ Isaac said, having noticed the sister leaning in near the brother, but not able to hear what was said.

  ‘I just gave him my love. He’s my brother, I care.’

  ‘Mrs Dickson, let me remind you. If you and your brother, even Michael here, are concealing the truth, for whatever reason, it could have serious repercussions.’

  ‘We’ve broken no law,’ Michael said.

  ‘The law you can deal with. Whoever did this is not held back by rules or regulations or the law. They believe they’re invincible, and they’ll be back. Maybe not today or next week, not even for a few months, but mark my words – these are dangerous men who could have killed Mr Lawrence but chose not to for a reason. And we all know why, don’t we?’

  ‘Do we?’ Caroline said.

  ‘They want something. This is a warning, and none of you here is capable of standing up to whoever it is. If they can’t get it through Ralph, they’ll get it another way.’

  ***

  The inevitable presence of Chief Superintendent Richard Goddard in Isaac’s office, not that anyone could blame him, certainly not in Homicide. The savage beating of Gilbert Lawrence’s son was a development, the first for some time.

  ‘Are you sure he was meant to live?’ Goddard asked. He was sitting across from Isaac. In one corner, a potted plant that Bridget and Wendy had given Isaac some time ago after another of his failed romances. On the wall, a picture of Isaac when he had graduated from university, his face beaming, proudly holding his certificate.

  ‘We don’t know who it was,’ Isaac said. ‘But we’re sure he didn’t fall off that roof. Why would someone risk bringing attention to themselves? It’s not as if Ralph Lawrence received any money from his father. He’s currently renting a two-bedroom flat, nothing special, and his son’s there as well.’

  ‘His sister did, and what about his ex-wife? Plenty of money there.’

  ‘We’re investigating all scenarios. Nothing’s certain, but we believe Ralph’s owing money to someone, and he’s having trouble paying.’

  ‘Evidence?’

  ‘None, just a hunch. We’ve seen it before. There’s no point killing the borrower. A few days in the hospital, a few broken bones, and the borrower’s more compliant, may even commit a crime to pay it back.’

  ‘Loan shark?’

  ‘Gangsters, loan sharks, even one of the man’s dubious friends. It wouldn’t be the first time Ralph Lawrence has found himself in hot water. He may have meted out similar treatment to others when he had been flush with money.’

  ‘Whatever, whoever, don’t take long on this one. Questions are being asked.’

  ‘They always are,’ Isaac said. As much as Isaac respected his senior, it was as if the man was playing the same old record. There was always a budgetary issue, the key performance indicators were down, he needed the current murder solving, or there was pressure from above.

  Although the pressure, as both of the men knew, was through the office of Commissioner Alwyn Davies, the head of the London Metropolitan Police, a man who did not rule by consensus and professional leadership but by adroit political manoeuvring and intimidation. Goddard and Isaac were very much in the man’s line of sight, having crossed swords with Davies on more than one occasion, and the commissioner wasn’t a man to forget. To both of the men, how Davies survived was of concern, but as Goddard had said before, get on and do your job, I’ll deal with the commissioner.

  With the superintendent out of the office, Isaac called in the team. It was still early in the morning, the best time Isaac always thought to formulate the actions for the day.

  Wendy Gladstone was first in, closely followed by Bridget Halloran, the office supremo, and then Larry Hill, Isaac’s detective inspector.

  ‘Find out who gave Ralph Lawrence a good beating, is that it?’ Larry said.

  ‘Critical, but his sister knows something. We need to talk to her first
.’

  ‘Before we plan the day’s activities, let’s recap on yesterday. Bridget, what do you have?’

  ‘More details from Spain as to what Lawrence was up to. The man’s associate was released from prison two weeks after Ralph Lawrence returned to England. He cleared out any bank accounts and disappeared, left a string of debts behind him.’

  ‘Debts someone wants to be paid?’

  ‘The company had leased a couple of vehicles through a local company, and the premises they operated from were owned by a local businessman. Apart from that, and the tradesmen who fixed up the office, there doesn’t appear to be anyone with any criminal connections.’

  ‘It depends on whether Lawrence’s colleague borrowed from loan sharks,’ Isaac said.

  ‘There’s no way to find out, and besides, that’s a Spanish problem. If Lawrence is beaten up here, and there were signs that his wrists had been bound and he was missing one shoe when found, then he almost certainly borrowed in England. Any idea how much?’

  ‘Not yet. It’s not a loan that would have been registered.’

  ‘Any luck with bank accounts?’

  ‘We know that the scam in Spain had almost two million pounds in a local bank. The Spanish police have supplied us some information, not all.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘They’re investigating a crime in their country. We’re not the most important, although they’ve been helpful up to a point.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘A murder in England is not their priority. The current government is attempting to cut down on corporate crime, scamming of tourists. The normal thing that gets the country a bad reputation, keeps the tourists away, as well as the genuine investors. The police, no doubt, are feeling the heat. The only person I’ve been in contact with is a junior officer, good English, and she’s tried her best.’