She paused, 'Oh, it was so long ago, I'd be guessing, Inspector. When exactly did he disappear?’ she asked, her eyes darting left.
'The evening of Friday 29th of September 1978. We are just trying to build a picture up of Lenny Wilder's last movements before he was killed,' Blake reassured her.
'I used to go the ABC cinema every Friday, back then, but I really can't be sure.'
'OK. No problem. Is there anything else you can think of that could help with our inquiry?' Blake asked, sensing her unease.
'Those bastard brothers raped me! I dropped the charge because a man I've never seen before visited me late one night and threatened he'd burn my parents’ house down, with them in it, if I didn't!’
Emerson was clearly shocked by her frank admission, 'I'm so sorry to hear that, Mrs Matheson.'
She looked at Blake for guidance, and he took over. ‘Carrying that burden around with you all these years must be terribly painful and challenging. We interviewed Johnny Wilder recently in connection with his brother’s disappearance. I strongly advise you to make another formal complaint against him.'
He’d barely had time for her revelation to sink in when his phone vibrated in his pocket, 'Excuse me a minute, Mrs Matheson, I have to take this,' he said, leaving the room. 'Jeff, any news?'
'You'll be pleased to know the familial DNA results are back in on the bones.'
'And?'
'They're a match with Johnny Wilder.'
CHAPTER 20
George Rills shuffled along his dark hallway in his white sliders, his gnarled arthritic toes curled. Who the bloody hell could be calling on him this time of night? He never had visitors. He glanced at the clock his dad had left him, along with the house, when he died. Like a fool, he didn't check through the front window before he opened the door. Big mistake!
Two faces he'd not seen in over twenty years barged into the hallway and flanked him on both sides.
'Hello, Georgie Boy. Long time, no see. Stick the kettle on, there's a good lad, eh?' Johnny Wilder mocked.
'What the bloody hell do you want?' Rills said, cowering like a scalded dog.
'A fine welcome that is, eh, Albert? Georgie, are you always so rude to your guests?'
Rills was too shocked to answer.
'Albert, show Georgie into his front room. Let's have a little catch-up about the old days, eh? Looks like he needs something stronger than tea, after all.' Wilder retrieved a pewter hip flask from the inside pocket of his camel overcoat. 'Thirty-year-old brandy that is, Georgie. A slug will do you the world of good,' he taunted.
Reluctantly, Rills entered the room, closely followed by Albert Carmelo.
'It's a bit of a shit tip. Cleaner on strike this week?’ Carmelo smirked, glancing around at the piles of books and VHS videos by the side of the old cast-iron fireplace. 'Seems you're still living in the past, by the look of things.'
'What's that supposed to mean?' Rills said, plucking up a touch of courage.
'Didn't VHS die off with Thatcher?'
'Very funny. I'm a pensioner. Can't afford subscriptions to Sky and all that new-fangled stuff. Besides, got no internet here.'
'He's a regular steam-powered dinosaur, Albert.'
'What do you want?' Rills asked nervously.
'Past your bedtime, is it? Only toying with you. We wanted a little chat about my brother, Lenny. The police think the bones discovered on the East-West demolition site could be him. You read the Sentinel, don't you?'
'So why are you telling me?' Rills looked at Wilder.
'Because you were one of the last people to see him alive in The Golden Nugget the night he disappeared. Do you follow me?’
'I had nothing to do with Lenny's vanishing act,' Rills said, concerned where this frightening impromptu reunion was leading.
'The thing is, Albert and I have been discussing this on the way over here, and we both agree, upon reflection that is, you know a lot more than you've ever let on. So I suggest you co-operate or Albert will go to work on you.'
Aware of Carmelo's reputation as a violent man, a sudden coldness spread over Rills.
Carmelo opened his jacket to reveal a pair of thin-nose pliers, ' I could give you a foot manicure, if you like, George? Clean up those disgusting yellow toenails of yours. I got my chiropody training in prison. Always knew it would come in handy! Although, I reckon those nails could do with coming off, growing new ones. What do you reckon, Johnny?'
'Afraid I'd have to agree.'
Petrified, Rills jumped up out of his armchair.
'Sit fucking down, Georgie!'
'Please, I don't know anything, Johnny. Honestly! Don't hurt me?'
'Just take us through what happened on the night my brother disappeared, and I'll call Albert off. Feed us any bullshit and I can't be held responsible for his actions.'
Sheer terror swamped Rills.
'Lost your tongue all of a sudden, George?' Wilder said, sarcastically.
'OK... OK. It was a Friday night and The Nugget was busy. I was pulled out of the change booth to stop young lads lifting the penny falls. Lenny left me to it while he cashed up and safed the takings in his office,' George said and, despite his terror, he could recall the flashing lights and the electromagnetic dings and clacks of pinball machines.
'Was anyone else with him?' Wilder asked.
George hesitated nervously, finding it hard to lie, 'Erm... that girl he was going out with, what's her name?' He stalled, but knew full well Margot Matheson was with Lenny that night.
'How could I forget Margot? She was gorgeous. Everyone wanted a piece of her. He always did have the pick of the birds back then,' Johnny Wilder's eyes lit up as he brought to mind the glory days of their reign, 'Anyone else?'
'I don't think so,' Rills said.
Albert Carmelo could see he needed coaxing, 'Let me jog your memory, George,' he said, turning the pliers over in his hands.
'No one else, Johnny, just Margot and me. I promise,' he trembled.
'I'm going for a fag. I’ll have a walk around this shit-hole of a neighbourhood while Albert brushes up on his chiropody. When I get back you'd better have a name, Georgie.' Wilder said, maliciously.
'Please, Johnny, I had nothing to do with it. Look at me, for fuck’s sake! Lenny would have knocked me out with one punch,' George pleaded, but it was no use. Wilder walked out of the room.
CHAPTER 21
Valletta Lombardi had been relatively easy to find through council tax records. The well-groomed sixty-two-year old sat opposite DS Murphy and DC Moore in Interview Room Three, nervously shifting in her chair. She'd not requested a lawyer yet, given she wasn't under arrest. Like Margot Matheson, she was an attractive older lady. She had long, almost certainly dyed, dark hair.
'I realise raking over the past can be traumatic, but this is a murder investigation and it's been brought to our attention that you knew the victim, Lenny Wilder, Mrs Lombardi?' Murphy said.
Even though DC Moore had called ahead, the question still seemed unexpected, Murphy thought.
'I knew of him, but I don't have anything much to say, really.'
'That's not strictly true is it, Mrs Lombardi? We've spoken to others who knew Lenny in the late 1970s, and they've confirmed you did know him. In fact, it's rumoured you actually had a relationship with Lenny Wilder at one point in 1978,' Murphy said.
Twisting her wedding ring nervously, she became even more unsettled.
‘This is probably going to sound like a daft question, given Lenny Wilder's death was over forty years ago, but is there a remote possibility you can remember where you were on the evening of the 29th September 1978?' Murphy continued.
She shot him a stern look, 'No chance. It’s just too long ago.'
'OK, did you go out with Lenny Wilder, then? That's not something you could forget, surely?' Murphy asked her.
'I had a few dates with Lenny, before dating Johnny for a few months, but I was young and foolish. Both were pretty volatile.’
'
Sounds like you had a bad experience? Tell us about Lenny,' DC Moore said.
'It was fine at first. He took me out for meals; treated me well.'
'So when did the problems start?' Murphy said.
She sighed, 'Lenny wasn't interested in me really. He only wanted to make other girls jealous.'
'Other girls?' Murphy said.
'Women were practically queueing at the bar for his attention. Young women have always liked a bad boy, but Lenny was an egomaniac. After he dumped me, I warned a few off, to save them the drama.'
'By that I take it you mean he was trouble?' Murphy said.
'Yeah. He'd think nothing of slapping you.'
‘So did he hit you, Mrs Lombardi?' Murphy continued.
'He slapped me in public a couple of times. That kind of thing is humiliating.'
'You think that could have escalated into something more serious if you’d stayed with him?'
'Definitely. Things got worse after my brother borrowed money from the Wilders to pay a gambling debt.'
DS Murphy nodded suspiciously at DC Moore, 'And what was the outcome, did he pay it back?'
Her eyes began to well-up. 'I haven't seen my brother since 1978. He's missing,' she said, dabbing her eyes with her sleeve.
Seeing her distress, Murphy asked her brother's name and stopped the interview for a comfort break.
****
Back at his desk, Murphy typed Antonio Lombardi into the Misper database. The picture of a fine-looking young man with shoulder-length dark hair sat in the top right-hand corner of the monitor. He was clenching his fist in front of his chin, showing off a gold watch.
CHAPTER 22
'Are you OK, Dad? I've just spoken to Mrs Lowe across the road. She says the police were here yesterday. What's going on, why didn't you tell me?' Joanne Bates said, sensing he was hiding something.
'Oh, that was just routine. You've heard about the human remains found at that demolition site in Hanley?’
'I read about it in the Sentinel. Why would they question you about that?'
'It was close to our old café. Can you remember the amusement arcade?'
She thought for a moment, 'Vaguely, why?'
'You'd have been about fifteen at the time?'
'I suppose. What's that got to do with it?'
'Well, the police think the bones are a horrible man called Lenny Wilder. He was a brutal gangster back in the seventies.'
'What aren't you telling me, Dad?'
'Nothing, why?'
'I know that look. I can read you like a book. You're keeping something from me. I'm worried about you.'
He sighed, 'I might have told the police too much about a few people who fell foul of Lenny Wilder back then.'
'And you’re worried there could be repercussions?'
'Yeah.'
'From one of these people?'
'No, from Lenny Wilder's brother, Johnny; he still lives locally.'
'Surely he's a pensioner, similar age to you?'
'Yes but, like his brother, he's a nutter.'
'What, a man in his early seventies?'
'Yeah.'
'Now I am concerned. Have you told the police?’
'Not really. I just mentioned about the Wilder brothers having a bad reputation in the old days. They told me he'd be questioned along with the others.'
'Would you like me to speak to them?'
'No, forget it. I'm flapping about nothing.'
'If you're sure?' Joanne Bates loved her father very much, but he'd always been overprotective and shielded her from the world; especially whilst growing up. She recalled he'd lied to her on more than one occasion, and now she wondered why.
CHAPTER 23
PC Emerson sat at a microfilm reader in the archive department of Hanley library feeling like she'd been transported back in time to the days of old technology. A helpful librarian had loaded the bizarre little film reel and given her a quick tutorial on the awkward buttons, then left her to it. She scrolled through Evening Sentinel news reports from 1978 in the hope of finding anything relating to the Wilder brothers and Clifford Bates. Given Bates ran one of the most successful cafés in town during that period, there might be an interview or other reports. For the Wilders it could be publicity for their night club, or crime reports. So far, apart from a couple of quarter-page adverts for Bates Café, she'd found nothing.
Slowly, she continued to scan the slightly blurred screen of endless news reports, until her attention was drawn to a subheading on the right-hand column of page 3 of the Evening Sentinel, 5th March 1978.
Man accused of sexual misconduct with a minor
She tapped the zoom button.
Parents of a fourteen-year-old girl, who can't be named for legal reasons, have made a complaint to Hanley police that their daughter was propositioned inappropriately by a male staff member whilst working at her Saturday job collecting crockery at a town centre café in Hanley. Again, for legal reasons we are unable to name the café or the accused. In a statement, DI Brady said they were taking the allegation very seriously and would be pursuing a prosecution if there was enough evidence.
She jotted down the name of the reporter, and immediately called the Sentinel to see if they still had an address or telephone number for him on file.
CHAPTER 24
The police investigation into Lenny's murder was becoming more probing. The coppers had interviewed everyone with links to him. The odds of connecting him and crimes from the 1970s were minimal, surely? They had very little in the way of forensics, apart from his old bones; surely that wasn't enough?
Those bastards had a nerve asking questions about the past. He could only remember select bits of what happened back then: the best bits, of course.
He turned the corner into his street. And – wait, why’s a police car outside my house?
Maybe there'd been a domestic? Those kinds of incidents happened all the time regardless of the area; but this time of day? Surely, domestics happened at night when there were copious amounts of alcohol consumed. Fuck, maybe they'd come for him? But how?
Crossing the road, he assessed the situation. Getting close, he was sweating. This could be bad; he needed to hold his nerve.
He slipped his coat hood up to guard from the rain. Passing his house, he shot a covert glance at the patrol car. No officers were in it. Where the hell are they?
He kept going. If they wanted to question him, they'd come back. They'd never find evidence here, anyway. Only a dumb schmuck would store incriminating stuff on their property. An accountant once told him: always keep your ‘other life’ on a separate, stand-alone device, and any physical stuff in a safe place away from prying eyes.
CHAPTER 25
Clifford Bates sat next to his lawyer with a concerned look on his face. His calm resolve from a few days ago seemed to have disappeared and his eye contact was nervously erratic.
Blake got straight to the point. 'Mr Bates, we're concerned about this news report from 5th March 1978 regarding a sexual allegation against you. Can you tell us what happened?'
'Why have you dragged me in here to discuss a pack of lies which was disproved all those years ago?' Bates said.
'One of my officers has spoken to the retired reporter who did the original exposé: he still writes the odd piece for the paper. Luckily for us, he’s methodical; kept cuttings of most of his reports, going way back. He’s adamant the girl's parents told him you tried to sexually assault their daughter, on more than one occasion, leaving her traumatised.'
The muscles in Bates’ face tightened as he tried to conceal his emotions, 'That bastard had it in for me. You know what reporters are like, they're lying sods. They'll say anything to sell papers and massage their egos.'
'I'm not the biggest fan of them either, Mr Bates, but one of my officers has had an interesting chat with Lorna Atwood’s parents. They said just after the report was published you approached them offering to pay their mortgage. They also said you dangled £300 hush mon
ey to make the allegation go away. We've checked and £300 in 1978 is the equivalent of £1876 in today's money; a huge sum. Is that why you were in debt to Lenny Wilder? It’s suspicious the allegation never surfaced again. You do know Lorna Atwood went missing just after this and has never been found? I'm convinced you're hiding something, Mr Bates; namely, your sexual deviance.'
Bates face turned crimson with fury. He jutted out his chin angrily and leaned over the interview table, 'That's slander and I'm not having it. All I did was try to help Lorna Atwood. She told me someone was trying to abuse her sexually. She was a very troubled girl. When I made enquiries, this slander appeared in the newspaper. Someone wanted to use me as a scapegoat. They blackmailed me into offering her parents the money to make it go away. To this day, I'm convinced those devious Wilder brothers were behind it all. I never touched that girl, and I certainly didn’t have anything to do with her tragic disappearance I have a daughter of my own. This kind of thing is horrific, it makes me sick.' He turned to his lawyer, who'd stopped taking notes.
‘My client doesn't need to justify his sexual preferences to you, Inspector. He was happily married for over forty years, and if you continue this line of questioning I'll advise my client to cease co-operation; after all, he is here voluntarily. Are we clear?' the lawyer demanded.
'Crystal,’ Blake said. ‘But I think you'll find, under section 17 of the Sexual Abuse Act, if we suspect someone has been involved in sexual activity with a minor, even historically, we can pursue our enquiries. Mr Bates, do you have any evidence Johnny and Lenny Wilder were behind this alleged blackmail?'
Deflated, Bates dropped back in his chair. 'Some bloke delivered a blank brown envelope to my café one day. There was a wad of cash inside and a note telling me to give the money to Lorna Atwood’s parents. Even though it was such a long time ago, you don't forget that kind of thing. I just wanted it all to go away. I had a business and a family to support. If my name got linked to this allegation, it would have ruined me.'
The Missing And The Dead: A tense crime thriller with a shocking twist Page 5