by Diane Ezzard
Dave had been with the police for a long time. It didn’t look like he was interested in promotion by the sound of things as he had taken sideways moves. It wouldn’t have suited me. I was a sergeant when I was asked to resign. I’d been destined for great things according to my superiors, but I didn’t regret what had gone. I had to make the most of what I had now.
I didn’t know if this murder enquiry would end up having any connection to my case, but I couldn’t ignore the possibility. I called at Billy’s house. There was no answer. That wasn’t unexpected. It had been a long shot. I decided to pop in the local pub Carmen and Billy frequented. Jade told me Carmen went there most evenings and that sometimes she stayed over at Billy’s but if she went home, she was generally worse for wear.
The hostelry wasn’t the most salubrious of places, but I’d been in far worse in my drinking days. A handful of people were dotted around even though it was only mid-afternoon. They looked hardened drinkers.
I made my way to the bar, leaned on the counter and asked for a coke. The barman was a big guy in his thirties. He looked a real ale lover with his rosy cheeks. He wore his hair tied back in a ponytail. Wiping the inside of a glass with his tea towel, he put it up on the shelf above my head and nodded.
“Draft or bottle?”
“Bottle, please, that draft stuff tastes like shite.” He didn’t seem perturbed by my comments.
“Not seen you in here before?” His tone was friendly.
“No, I’m trying to find out about Carmen Weston. I believe she was a regular in here?”
“You police?”
“No, a private investigator. I’m working on another case – the disappearance of a young boy, Louie Marshall.” I pushed a copy of his photograph across the counter.
“I don’t know him but he’s too young to come in here.” His mouth drooped. “Does he live around here?”
“Up Walmersley Road, so not far.” He looked again at the picture.
“Sorry, can’t help.” He was silent for a few moments then said, “Nasty business that with Carmen, right on our doorstep.” He shook his head.
“Did you know her well?” He gave a short laugh.
“She was a regular if that’s what you mean. There were a few blokes in here who knew her very well.” He emphasised the word very.
“So, she was in here a lot?”
“Yeah, most days for part, if not all the time.”
“Was she here the night she died?”
“Yeah, the poor woman had a skinful like she did most days.” He frowned. “She may have been a slapper, but she didn’t deserve what happened to her.”
“She was putting it about, was she?” He looked upwards then turned to me.
“I don’t think she was just seeing Billy, no, but then Billy’s not a full shilling, bless him. He idolised her, and that was where she got her beer money from. He was in the army. I think he was pensioned off. That was probably why she hung around him. He got blown up while out in Helmand, Afghanistan and suffered a traumatic brain injury and post-traumatic stress. It made him slow off the mark if you know what I mean, but he enjoyed a pint or two.”
“Poor bugger. How did they seem that night?”
“Same as usual. They argued which was normal for them. He left early. He often went home before last orders to feed his dog. I think he cared more about that dog than he did about Carmen and that’s saying something.”
“So, she didn’t leave with Billy the night she died?”
“The police asked me that but if I’m honest, I can’t remember. There was a darts match on, so we were busy. Those two don’t stand out unless they were performing or raising their voices. I think she left with Billy, but I wouldn’t stake my life on it.”
“Were any guys sniffing around her that night?” His eyes narrowed as he thought about it.
“Not that I can recall. I don’t believe Carmen was still here at the end of the evening. In fact, I’m fairly certain she wasn’t because I always have trouble kicking her out. She is normally the last to leave. Sometimes, I have to wake her to get her to go. She’d stay here all night if she could.” He laughed. His face turned serious. “I’ve just realised, I’ve been talking about her as though she’s still here.” He shook his head and his body shuddered. He looked deep in thought. “Sorry, where was I?”
“Was Billy jealous?”
“I don’t think he liked her behaviour. She could be very provocative, you know, rubbing herself up against men. She wasn’t my type.” He grinned, and the glow of his cheeks increased.
“So, you wouldn’t have gone there then?” He grimaced.
“Not in a month of Sundays. No, Billy had his work cut out keeping her in tow. He would sulk in the corner or leave when she was performing. To be fair, I think he was happy just getting blotto and Carmen was the icing on the cake. One night, he fell asleep and I couldn’t get him to wake up. Brazen as anything, Carmen cleared off with someone else.” He laughed. “I thought the bloody cheek of her. No, I wouldn’t have touched her with a bargepole, for all she kept giving me the come on.”
“No?”
“She fancied me alright, but she was hard work and a drunk. She was too wild for my liking.” He rubbed his nose and looked away.
“Did her daughter, Jade come in here?”
“Once or twice but she was underage, so I couldn’t serve her.”
“It’s hard to tell with the young girls when they’re dolled up to the nines.”
“I knew how old she was.”
“Oh?”
“You get to know the locals in this place.” His red cheeks glowed.
“So, what do you know about Jade?”
“That she’s been dabbling in drugs and is seeing that waster, Dom Duggan and making a fool of herself.” The vein in his neck protruded as he clenched his teeth.
“In what way?”
“He clicks his fingers, and she comes running. She’d do anything for him, and he knows it.” His eyes narrowed.
“I take it you don’t like Dom Duggan then?”
“No, thankfully he doesn’t come in here much throwing his weight about. He’s scum.”
With that, he turned away and carried on emptying the dishwasher. I nodded.
Chapter 13
Jack
Sophie and I had another argument earlier. I told her she couldn’t come out on surveillance work with me anymore, at least not while I dealt with gangsters. It was too dangerous. She took it personally, thinking I didn’t want her company. The truth was I feared for her safety. If those guys got a glimpse of her and knew they were being watched, I couldn’t envisage what they might do. I didn’t want to take any chances. So, I was back to working alone.
I spent the last few days in this empty property overlooking another of the houses that Dom and Dirk Duggan frequented. It was up Ainsworth Road in Radcliffe. Luckily, there were plenty of chip shops in the vicinity, so I never went hungry. Both my car and my stakeout stunk of chips. It was an occupational hazard. There were far worse things in life than the odour of vinegary fried potatoes.
None of his crew had spotted me yet. I never left my car anywhere close. I kept a change of clothes and wore different hats, ever the secret agent. It wasn’t hard to keep myself disguised. Today, it was raining so I put my hood up. I’d just answered a call of nature and been down to the chippy on the corner. Pie, chips and gravy wasn’t the best diet. I indulged in takeaways more than I should, but I’d make up for it with salads in a few weeks’ time when it got warmer. I worked out and did weights, so I could treat myself to the occasional fast food meal or two. Resolving to put a few extra hours in down the gym, I opened the parcel of food up and bit into the pie. Breathing in the smell of the chips, I walked along, heading back to my stakeout. I was too hungry to wait until I got back, so I bit the end off a greasy chip. It was hot, and I burnt the roof of my mouth with my eagerness and impatience, but it tasted good.
I wore an old parka with the hood up. I p
ulled down my baseball cap over my face, feeling brave enough to walk near to the house the brothers used. There’d been no movement all morning. Their business interests took them out of an evening so anyone in the property could be sleeping. I got close to the house and breathed in. I sniffed and smelt more than just my food. Something was burning close by.
I looked up and noticed smoke coming from the back of the Duggan’s place. I had an idea. Walking around the block, I came to the house backing onto their back garden. I greedily stuffed a load of chips in my mouth then threw the screwed-up paper in a random wheelie bin. Sauntering up the path of the house behind the Duggan’s hangout, I knocked on the door. No one answered. Good. I could snoop around without having to make up a story. My luck was in. There was a narrow cycle path between the property and the neighbours. That meant getting closer still without fear of being challenged. I nipped over to the bike path and walked towards the Duggan’s property. The ground was muddy, and I splashed my way through the puddles. There was no one about. I could still smell whatever it was being burnt in the garden at number twenty-two.
I got closer, up the pathway meandered between both properties. I didn’t want to risk being seen. There were crackling sounds of embers burning, then, someone coughed. It was a deep cough. I stood behind a tree and peered around it. The bushes were high which was both a help and a hindrance. I could make out a man poking a stick at a wood-burning stove. He wasn’t wearing a coat. He was dressed from head to toe in black — black jumper, black jeans. It was the same guy from the other day, the foreign-looking chap. His focus was on the fire and he concentrated hard on the task in hand. Could he be burning evidence of some sort? I guessed he was up to no good. I needed to find out more about this guy, who he was and what his connection to the Duggans was.
I stuck around to watch if anything else got put on the fire. A young lad pushing a moped came up the path towards me. I turned away from him and got out my mobile and pretended to speak into it. He didn’t stop or even slow down. I stayed watching until the big guy went back inside. Coming up with a plan, I called into the nearest local to see if anyone knew of the goings on at number twenty-two.
The pub around the corner was clean and more modern than I expected. It was overshadowed by a large mill that was something of an eyesore on the local landscape. The council had talked for years about knocking it down, but it was still standing. There were four people in the pub. It wasn’t exactly doing a roaring trade. I went straight up to the bar and brought out my business card. The barmaid gave me a suspicious look.
“What can I get you, Jack?” She was more observant than I gave her credit for. She was a middle-aged woman of ample proportions. Her bleached blonde hair worn up in a top knot reminded me of the iconic barmaid, Bet Lynch from Coronation Street. She’d no doubt been attractive in her youth and was still trying her best to keep the heads turned.
“Coke, please and you are?”
“Brenda, and I’ve worked here for thirty years so you’ve come to the right person if there’s anything about the local area you want to know.” She strutted towards the lower shelf where the bottles of coke were displayed. She wiggled her butt in her tight skirt as she leaned down, probably for my benefit. I watched her as she slowly poured the drink into the glass, licking her lips. She placed the drink on the counter, and I couldn’t help but notice her cleavage. She watched my eyes and smiled. I handed over the money, then I leaned in towards her. She matched my stance.
“22, Carr Street, do you know the occupants?” I asked, almost in a whisper. She looked around the pub before she spoke.
Mimicking my tone, she replied, “We don’t talk about number twenty-two.”
“Well, that doesn’t surprise me. I know the Duggan brothers.”
“Oh, you know them, do you?”
“Yeah, unfortunately, I went to school with Dom until he was expelled.”
“Fighting or drugs?” she asked.
“Both, if I remember.” I showed the photo of Louie around, but the regulars shook their heads. No one had seen him in the area. These guys were probably permanent fixtures in the pub and never saw daylight.
“There’s a feud going on at the moment between the Duggans and Terry Booth and his missus. Have you heard of them?”
“No, I can’t say I have.”
“He’s a nasty piece of work and she’s not much better. Even the local bobbies are scared of her. If she kicks off in any of the pubs around here, they won’t even attend anymore. We have to deal with it ourselves. They’re both barred from here, but I believe they can still get in the Waggon and Horses.”
“So, do the Duggans come in here?”
“Occasionally but I think they prefer their drugs than the booze. That Dom’s a psycho but his brother, what’s his name?”
“Dirk.”
“Yeah, Dirk. If he comes in, he’s always pleasant.”
“There’s a foreign-looking guy I keep seeing at the house, do you know who he is?”
“No, but hang on a minute.” She tottered to the other end of the bar where two older guys stood talking. They both glanced over at me. She returned a few minutes later. “If I can’t help, I know a man who can.” She held up a glass of scotch in her hand. “Cheers,” she said looking at her confidantes and nodding. She downed her drink in one. I smiled. “His name’s Vladimir Popov.”
“Russian then?”
“No, Irish,” she knocked my arm, winked and laughed. “Yeah, I’m only teasing, couldn’t be anything else with a name like that, could he?”
“Do you have any more information on him?”
“He speaks English, and he looks mean.”
“Well, it’s a start.” I felt lucky now being in the right place at the right time.
In a hushed voice, she said, “Number twenty-two, it was Jordy Price’s place, but no one’s seen him around here in ages.”
“Oh?”
“No, it must be three months since we’ve clapped eyes on him.”
“That’s interesting. Where might I find out more?”
“I wouldn’t ask too many questions about that lot if I were you.”
“No?”
“It would be a shame to see any harm done to that pretty little face of yours.” She came up close and lifted the edge of my chin with her finger.
“I’m sure you can be discreet, Brenda.”
“I’ll see what I can do if you want to call back sometime soon.” She winked again.
“I’ll do that,” I said, winking back at her. I finished my drink and left.
Chapter 14
Jack
I walked over, grabbed hold of Sophie’s shoulders and peered at the screen with her.
“I’ve got a report here that gives details of the so-called legitimate businesses the brothers run.” She held the two fingers of each hand in the air, in a mock speech mark sign at the word legitimate.
“You mean, they haven’t listed the brothels or the drug smuggling and dealing businesses?” I laughed. “You do surprise me, ha, ha.”
“They have a chain of businesses listed — three massage parlours, a scrapyard, a used car showroom, a nightclub and a security company. Oh, and Dom owns a café in Whitefield.”
“Well, they’ve got to launder the money from the drugs somehow. Perhaps they make a killing on jumbo breakfasts. Keep digging.” I playfully squeezed her shoulders.
“Yeah, I will.”
My phone rang. It was Snakehips calling. His nickname always made me snigger. He was the least likely person you would imagine being called that. He put the Michelin man to shame with his layers of fat rippling over his stomach. Most of his time was probably spent at Dom’s café eating triple burgers and apple pies. I had him down as a bouncer, but he was too fond of lager to do any honest work. He made his living as a hustler and passing on useful information, which I hoped was the reason for his call today.
Snakehips had been a handy contact for me, ever since he’d moved south from Glasg
ow. He seemed to know everyone and everything and if he didn’t, then he knew someone else who did. He helped me out when I worked for the police, then after I left, I still used him as an informant when I set up my private detective agency.
“What have you got for me, mate?”
“Och, nay how are ye?” I laughed.
“Look Snakehips, I don’t need to ask how you are. If anything was wrong, it would make the national news. So, have you found anything useful?”
“I’ve done better than that, I’ve gort you a meet organised wi’ a guy called Rocking Rod,” he said, rolling his r’s, “down at the garages just off Turks Road in Radcliffe. Apparently, that’s where some of the vehicles are done up before they’re shipped off.”
“Sounds interesting.” I nodded. I’d heard rumours about the Duggan brothers’ car ringing business some time ago. This could a breakthrough even if it wasn’t connected to their drug empire. I was interested in all lines of enquiries relating to those two. If I kept close to their business interests, Louie might pop up somewhere. I took down the details and ended the call. Sophie finished what she was doing and stood up to leave.
“I’ve got to get back, Jack.” She’d popped into my office over her lunch hour, as she often did on weekdays. I was grateful for the extra help. She was a trooper. After telling her the details of the call, and my plans for the afternoon, I helped her put her jacket on and saw her to the door.
“You be careful, Jack.” I knew Sophie worried about me dealing with criminals and gangsters. She much preferred it when I was finding unfaithful partners and breaking up marriages. There was less likelihood I’d get hurt with them although I had been on the receiving end of the occasional black eye when I found a cheating spouse. A quick peck on the cheek and she was gone.
I smiled. She was so eager to please. Next, she’d be fishing out copies of old school reports on the brothers. I knew what Dom’s would say even though he rarely attended – needs to listen more and talk less, and, is more suited to practical subjects. Dirk was the brains and Dom the brawn. Dom’s behaviour at school still needled me but I had to put personal feelings aside. I couldn’t let past issues cloud my judgement. I had to be objective, but I’d nail the pair of losers somehow.