Dead Beat

by Patricia Hall

  ‘If you’re looking for Jimmy Earnshaw, so am I,’ she said firmly. ‘Mr Merryman asked me to wait until he came back from the school play with his wife and the other boys.’ The more people became involved in this drama, she thought, the safer Jimmy Earnshaw might remain.

  The man looming over Merryman turned towards her angrily. ‘You again!’ Venables said. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

  ‘Looking out for my brother,’ Kate said, and she knew from the sudden flash of anger in the DCI’s eyes that he understood how exactly she was proposing to do that.

  ‘You could go to the school to meet Jimmy,’ Merryman suggested faintly.

  ‘What time are they due back?’ Venables asked.

  ‘About nine thirty. I took them down there but they’re getting a lift back with a friend.’

  ‘We’ll wait,’ Venables said, glancing at his watch.

  Sergeant Harry Barnard had driven down the A3 towards Guildford with his foot hard down and scant regard for his own safety or that of anyone else on the notorious stretch of road where racing driver Mike Hawthorn had died a few years before. What David Hamilton had told him when he had eventually tracked him down to his study in the vicarage, sitting deflated at his desk doing nothing more constructive than staring out of his window at the police activity in the graveyard, had galvanized Barnard into action. DCI Venables, Rev Dave had said dully, had demanded to know where Jimmy Earnshaw was, insisting that he needed to interview him in connection not just with the death of Veronica Lucas, but other cases as well.

  ‘You told him?’ Barnard had said, his mouth dry.

  ‘Of course I told him,’ Hamilton said, looking surprised. ‘He’s investigating a murder. In my churchyard.’

  ‘You’d better tell me then,’ Barnard snapped. ‘There are things he needs to know before he starts on Jimmy.’

  So Hamilton had written down the address of St Luke’s vicarage in Guildford where his friend Stephen Merryman had agreed to look after Jimmy Earnshaw for the duration. ‘I think that young woman photographer has got hold of the address too,’ he said wearily when he’d finished. ‘I left her here by herself earlier and it was on a piece of paper by the phone. She could easily have seen it.’

  ‘Jesus,’ Barnard said, his stomach in a tight knot. ‘Sorry, vicar. Can we phone this Mr Merryman? I’ll go down there, but I need a word now, if possible.’

  Hamilton nodded and dialled a number on the phone on his desk, but he listened for a long time before putting the receiver down again. ‘No reply,’ he said. ‘Which is odd. He’s got a couple of boys of his own, so I shouldn’t have thought he’d be out at this time of day.’

  ‘I’ll catch up with DCI Venables,’ Barnard snapped, getting to his feet and glancing at his watch. ‘Can you keep trying Mr Merryman and tell him I’m on my way to see him? Tell him to keep that boy away from anyone who turns up before I arrive, absolutely anyone, even the DCI himself. It’s very important.’

  It was fifteen minutes since he and Hamish had watched the DCI getting into his car and Barnard had persuaded Hamish Macdonald to stay out of sight in the Farringdon encampment until he came to fetch him. He had raced back to his own car and set off, weaving his way impatiently through the early evening traffic, over Westminster Bridge and through Wandsworth and Roehampton until he could let the new, more powerful engine of the latest Capri rip on the Kingston bypass. Guildford was at least an hour away from Soho and he had no hope that he could catch up with Venables. His only chance, he thought, was that his warning to Merryman would get through and delay Venables long enough to prevent him picking the boy up on some pretext, in which case he doubted that anyone would ever see Jimmy Earnshaw again. And if Kate O’Donnell blundered into that situation he did not give much for her chances either. He was surprised at how afraid any threat to Kate made him.

  He had stopped briefly in Guildford High Street to ask directions, his much-thumbed A-Z of no use this far out of London, and drove more slowly up a hill leading out of town again and into a tree-lined road with a church at the far end and beside it another Victorian vicarage, not unlike the one he had just left in Soho. To his relief, he saw Venables’ car parked outside and lights on in the tall downstairs windows of the house. As far as he knew, Venables had come alone, just as he had left St Peter’s, but he wanted to take no chances. Very cautious now, he tried the front door but found it locked, so skirted around the side of the house to the back where the rear door opened to his pressure and he slipped inside. Apart from the slight rattle from an ancient-looking refrigerator in one corner of the kitchen, the house seemed to be completely silent and completely normal, washing up neatly stacked in the sink and the savoury smell of what must have been the family’s evening meal still in the air.

  Barnard moved silently across the room, opening the door to the rest of the house as gently as he could, freezing as the latch clicked slightly, but to no obvious effect. For a home with two sons and an extra boy in his teens as a visitor, the place was uncannily quiet, he thought. He stood looking into the hallway, listening, and from there eventually picked up a faint rumble of voices not far away. He inched along the hall until he located the door behind which a conversation was going on, one voice faint and apparently calm, the other – and as Barnard got closer he recognized DCI Ted Venables’ unmistakable growl – growing louder and more impatient. Putting his ear against the solid wood panelling, Barnard listened.

  ‘This is nonsense. I need a statement from that boy and I need it now, Reverend,’ Venables said, his voice rising. ‘I’ll go down to the school and find him.’

  ‘And I have told you, Chief Inspector, you only have to wait until my wife brings the three lads back. Surely another half hour’s wait won’t do any harm?’ The vicar’s voice remained low but even through an inch of solid oak Barnard could hear the determination in it and he guessed that David Hamilton had succeeded in warning his friend to keep Jimmy away from anyone who came calling, even the police. Then to his surprise he heard a third voice which he also recognized.

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ Kate O’Donnell said. ‘I need to talk to Jimmy Earnshaw too. I know he can clear Tom.’

  It was, Barnard thought, probably the worst intervention she could have made and he suddenly stiffened as he realized Venables’ patience had snapped and he heard a sound he recognized only too well. He flung open the door in time to see the DCI aiming a second violent blow at the man sitting cowering in a chair by the fire.

  ‘I don’t believe either of you, you’re playing for time,’ Venables yelled before realizing that Barnard was behind him. The sergeant was in time to catch his arm and spin him away from the horrified vicar before his fist connected with Merryman’s bruised face for a second time. Venables’ own face contorted with rage as he faced Barnard. He pulled his arm out of his grasp with a curse and backed towards the door.

  ‘Are you all right, sir?’ Barnard asked the vicar, who nodded slightly, obviously in complete shock as Kate put a protective arm round his thin shoulders. Barnard turned to Venables. ‘I think you and I need a word, guv. In private.’ He led the way out of the room into the hall. ‘It’s over, Ted,’ he said as he stood face-to-face with Venables, who was now red in the face and panting heavily, as if he had run a distance. ‘Georgie Robertson told me most of it when I spoke to him a while back, and there’s another eye witness who saw the two of you at the church before the murder of that harmless old biddy. I assume you thought she knew where the boy was, but she didn’t have a clue. You were wasting your time with her and she died for it.’

  ‘What’s this rubbish?’ Venables snarled. ‘I killed no one. I’ll have you out of the force on your ear for this—’

  ‘You were seen, Ted,’ Barnard interrupted sharply. ‘You and Georgie were seen, not just at Mason’s flat, but today, in the churchyard. And I guess there’ll be more from Pete Marelli’s place. Someone left fingerprints there. I saw them myself. I certainly didn’t imagine it. And maybe there’s mor
e from the little cover-up you tried to do at the picture agency when you realized there was evidence of how cosy the two of you were together at the Delilah. Georgie even offered to cut me in with the two of you. It’s finished, Ted. I’ve already filled the super in with the gist of it on the phone. There’ll be warrants out for the pair of you as soon as I’ve made a full report, and added this little episode in as well. I don’t imagine Mr Merryman will be reticent about giving evidence against you.’

  ‘You don’t need to do that, Harry,’ Venables said hoarsely. ‘There’s enough in this to see all of us in clover. It’s a little gold-mine Georgie’s dug. You get these well-heeled beggars Ray Robertson’s sucking up to, get them to a party where anything goes – women, girls, boys, a bit of rough stuff, and take a few snaps and how’s your father. They’ll pay up like lambs to keep it quiet. We’ll cut you in. Keep you in fancy clothes and fast cars for years, it will.’

  ‘I told you. Georgie made me the same offer and I turned him down,’ Barnard said, feeling weary. ‘You’ve blown it. You might be able to thump suspects who won’t tell you what you want to know at the nick, but not a bloody vicar in suburban Guildford. It’s probably the least of your crimes, but it’s the one that’ll sink you. And remember, I’ve seen one of the kids you lured to your parties. He wasn’t a pretty sight.’

  ‘And since when were you so bloody pure?’ Venables snarled. ‘Everyone knows what Vice gets up to. I bloody invented half the scams.’

  Barnard shrugged. ‘Backhanders are one thing, we’re talking murder here, and not just one, either, and illegal sex with children,’ he said. ‘Was it Georgie with the knife or has he been giving you lessons?’

  ‘I had nothing to do with any killings,’ Venables blustered, edging closer to the front door.

  ‘I don’t believe you, Ted,’ Barnard said. ‘Why else would you be so keen to lay hands on this boy if you didn’t think he’d seen you at Mason’s flat? Why else would you be so keen to pin that killing on Tom O’Donnell when it’s perfectly obvious he had nothing to do with it? And at St Peter’s you were seen going in, and coming out, and then coming back to lead the bloody investigation. You’re on a hiding to nothing, Ted, and what you don’t know is that Ray wants Georgie to go down. Even he’s fed up with that nutter, getting in the way of his business deals and his social climbing. And if Georgie goes down, and Ray will make sure he does, one way or another, you’ll go down with him. Make no mistake about that.’

  Barnard thought for a moment that Venables was going to take a swing at him too, as he was wondering how to arrest him, but he seemed to think better of it at the last moment, spinning on his heel and hurling himself out of the front door before Barnard could get a grip on him. Within seconds, as he ran after him out of the front door, Barnard heard his car start up and roar away. Wearily he turned back into the house and the vicar’s study to find Merryman still hunched in his chair looking white and strained. He would have a serious black eye by the morning, Barnard thought, and Venables would not get far once he reported what had happened. There was no point trying to chase him halfway across southern England personally. He was finished.

  ‘Who are you?’ the vicar asked, nodding faintly as Barnard explained and showed him his warrant card.

  ‘I seem to be one of the good guys,’ he said, with an attempt at a smile.

  ‘And was Mr Venables really an officer too?’

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ Barnard said. He glanced at Kate with an ambivalent expression. ‘Are you OK?’ he asked.

  She nodded, beyond words.

  ‘To be honest, I thought David was exaggerating. I couldn’t believe a senior policeman could be a danger . . .’ Merryman shook his head in astonishment and glanced at Kate. ‘Can you find our young friend?’ he asked her.

  ‘I’ll go and see,’ she said.

  ‘We really do need a statement from Jimmy,’ Barnard said to Merryman. ‘But then I’ll leave him safely here with you for the time being. And before I leave, I’ll tell the local police that you need some protection.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Merryman said. ‘I take it they’ll be on the side of the angels too?’

  ‘I think you can bank on that,’ Barnard said.

  Harry Barnard drove Kate O’Donnell back to London more sedately than he had driven out, pushing his own anxieties to the back of his mind and concentrating on her obvious happiness at the outcome of the evening’s dramas.

  ‘How long before they let Tom out?’ she asked as the road swooped around the dark expanse of Wimbledon Common and into the bright lights of the south-western suburbs.

  ‘It’ll take a couple of days to collate the evidence we’ve got now and charge the real culprits, but they should drop the charges against Tom after that,’ Barnard said. ‘Jimmy’s evidence really was crucial and he’ll be kept safe now.’ He glanced at his companion, who seemed remarkably untroubled by her brush with danger.

  ‘Can I buy you dinner before I take you home?’ he asked.

  She brushed her hair out of her eyes and smiled. ‘I’m bloody famished,’ she said. ‘Let’s do it, la.’

  ‘We’re relying on a bunch of vagrants and queers for evidence,’ DCI Keith Jackson complained when Harry Barnard faced him and other stony-faced senior colleagues the next morning.

  ‘This investigation will be conducted from the Yard from now on, Sergeant,’ one of them said eventually. ‘Have you spoken to DCI Venables since last night?’

  ‘No, sir,’ Barnard said. ‘I looked into his office when I came in but he doesn’t seem to be there.’

  ‘Right, we’ll deal with him. You are to hold yourself ready to make a witness statement when we are ready to hear from you in more detail. Understood?’

  ‘Sir,’ Barnard said gloomily, getting to his feet. This, he thought, might be the end of his career too before it was over.

  ‘And next time you get even the slightest hint that something like this is going on, can I be assured that you will report it very much sooner?’

  Barnard nodded, wondering how many other murderers the men from the Yard thought might be lurking in the ranks of CID.

  As soon as he could get away, he left the nick quickly and drove out of town to the south west where he knew Ted Venables and his wife Vera lived in a substantial semi in Purley. He knocked tentatively on the door and it was opened quickly by Mrs Venables herself, a well-built woman in a smart beige blouse tucked into a dark skirt. She looked tired and strained, no doubt regretting her return home.

  ‘He’s not here,’ she said sharply. ‘I told the uniformed officers who came at breakfast-time. He didn’t come back last night and I don’t know where he is. What on earth is going on, Harry? What’s he supposed to have done? He’s going to retire in six months, for goodness’ sake. What’s gone wrong?’

  ‘Have you no idea where he might have gone?’ Barnard asked.

  ‘You’ve always been a good friend of Ted’s, haven’t you, Harry? If he’s in trouble, can you help him?’

  Barnard shrugged but Vera Venables didn’t seem to notice.

  ‘He’s got a boat down at Chichester,’ she said. ‘The Vera V, it’s called. Got it a couple of months ago. Said he’s had a good win on the horses. I reckon he’s probably gone down there.’

  ‘Would it get across the Channel, this boat?’

  Mrs Venables looked blank. ‘He uses it for fishing. I don’t know how far it would go.’

  It took Barnard another hour to drive down to Chichester and find the moorings where Mrs Venables had told him her husband kept the boat which Ted had always claimed he would buy after he took his pension. Obviously his finances had taken a sufficiently dramatic upward turn to enable him to get his pride and joy much sooner than he had hoped. Walking along a jetty, slightly bemused by the ranks of dinghies and cruisers on display, Barnard noticed a group of men talking animatedly at the end of the pier.

  ‘I’m looking for a boat called the Vera V,’ he said as he approached. ‘Any idea where I’ll fin
d her?’

  One of the men spun round with a look of surprise. ‘We were just talking about her,’ he said. ‘My mate here’s just come in from a fishing trip and says he saw her adrift about a mile out. No one on-board that he could see. Do you know the owner? We should report it. It’s a hazard to shipping.’

  Barnard gazed out over the choppy grey sea beyond the harbour for a moment.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I did know the owner.’

  Kate O’Donnell was late for work the next morning, after a night spent tossing and turning as she tried to process the events of the previous day, and before she could take her coat off, Ken Fellows called her into the office. Expecting nothing less than a rocket, she was surprised to see him still clutching his phone with a smile on his face.

  ‘Get yourself down to Oxford Circus,’ he said. ‘Apparently there’s a couple of hundred screaming teenaged girls down there chasing after four young men called the Beatles. We need some pics and we need them quickly.’

  Kate gave him a flashing smile. ‘I did tell you what to expect,’ she said, realizing that at last the Mersey Sound had really come to London.

  ‘You did,’ Ken said. ‘And I’ll want all those pics of these boys you’ve already got. And for that, I suppose you’ll expect to still be here next Christmas.’

  ‘That would be good,’ Kate said with a grin as she re-buttoned her coat. ‘That would be really good.’

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  A Selection of Recent Titles by Patricia Hall

  Dead Beat

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen