by David Blake
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
CLIMBING INTO VICKY’S car for her to immediately pull away, Tanner put a quick call through to Forrester, updating him with what they’d found at the scene and where they were subsequently heading.
Half an hour later they were turning off the road into Norwich to see a large flashing neon sign shimmering at them through the rain, the glowing silhouette of a curvaceous naked woman propped seductively up against the words Riverside Gentlemen’s Club.
After parking up next to a familiar looking Mercedes SUV, they threw open the doors to pelt their way over the water-logged gravel to huddle under a shallow torn awning that helped make up the building’s dark uninviting entrance.
‘Looks like it’s closed,’ Vicky observed, shaking out her umbrella.
Tanner glanced down at his watch before cupping his hands against the door’s smoke-glass window. ‘Well, it is eleven o’clock on a Sunday morning. Their clientele must all be at church.’
Trying the door, he raised an eyebrow at his colleague when he found it swinging open. ‘Shall we go in?’
‘After you,’ she smiled, gesturing for him to lead the way.
Entering a dark narrow passageway they soon found themselves in a large oppressive space, an unlit stage on one side, a similarly shadowy bar on the other.
‘Nice place for it,’ commented Tanner, his nose sniffing cautiously at what smelt like an unsubtle mixture of stale alcohol and undiluted vomit.
‘I suppose that depends on what “it” is?’ queried Vicky, her attention drawn down to their shoes, and the sticking noise they were making as they crept their way over the floor.
Stopping where they were, Tanner took a moment to glance cautiously about. ‘There doesn’t seem to be anyone around.’
‘I can hear voices, though.’
‘You can?’
Vicky pointed over towards the bar beside which was a small door with the words STAFF ONLY painted in bold white lettering. ‘Sounds to me like someone’s having an argument.’
Tanner waggled a finger inside one of his ears. ‘You know, I’m going to have to get my ears tested. I can’t hear a thing.’
‘Don’t worry. It’s very faint, but it’s definitely the sound of people shouting.
Making their way over the curiously sticky floor to where the door was, with the voices growing steadily louder, Tanner nudged it open with his foot.
‘I assume you can hear it now?’ questioned Vicky.
Tanner levelled his eyes at her. ‘I’m possibly a little hard of hearing – not as deaf as a post.’
‘Just checking,’ she smirked.
Opening the door to its fullest extent, Tanner was about to forge his way through when they heard a more distant one being slammed, closely followed by the sound of footsteps heading in their direction.
Preparing himself for what felt likely to be an aggressive confrontation, Tanner pulled out his ID, just in time to see a well-built young man dressed in an immaculate charcoal suit come charging around the corner, fury etched over his handsome suntanned face.
‘Who the fuck are you?’ they heard him bark, unnaturally white teeth flashing as he stormed his way down the corridor towards them.
‘Detective Inspector Tanner, and Detective Inspector Gilbert, Norfolk Police.’
Pulling up just inches away, the man cast an unnerving eye at the IDs being held up in front of him. ‘You’re a bit keen aren’t you? We don’t open till five.’
‘We’re looking for the owner; a Mr Terrance McMillan?’
The man’s eyes narrowed. ‘What am I supposed to have done now?’
‘I take it that means that you are him?’
Pausing for a moment, the man took a half-step back. ‘It’s a fair cop, I suppose,’ he eventually smirked, holding out his hands as if awaiting to be handcuffed.
Tanner sucked in an impatient breath. ‘Do you happen to know someone by the name of Michael Blackwell?’
‘Never heard of him.’
‘His full name is Sir Michael Blackwell; if that helps.’
‘I’m sorry, why would it?’
‘Apparently, he’s been all over the news recently.’
McMillan shrugged. ‘I don’t have time for lounging about watching TV, I’m afraid. Speaking of which,’ he added, making a point of glancing down at his over-sized jewel-encrusted watch, ‘is this going to take long? I have a business to run. Several in fact.’
‘How about a Mr Toby Wallace?’ Tanner continued, digging out his notebook to begin flicking through its pages.
‘Again, no, sorry.’
Tanner glanced up with surprise. ‘That is your car outside? The black Mercedes with the tinted windows?’
‘What about it?’
‘It’s just that we saw you yesterday, driving out of Mr Wallace’s property.’
‘Must’ve been someone else.’
‘You nearly drove straight into us. My colleague here made a note of your numberplate before you left us standing in a cloud of dust.’
‘I was here all day yesterday.’
‘Well, that is odd!’
‘It must’ve been my security guys. I did tell them to pop out to fetch some milk. They must have got lost on the way.’
‘Oh, right. That must be it. At least, it would have been had Mr Wallace not lived over ten miles away. That’s quite a journey to make, just for some milk.’
‘You can tell that to them. They may be good at security, but they’ve got a crap sense of direction. Anyway, are we done?’
‘Nearly,’ Tanner replied, with a thin detached smile. ‘We just have a couple more questions regarding a woman who we believe was working here last night.’
‘Yes, well; we have been known to employ the odd woman every now and again, but that shouldn’t come as too much of a surprise, given what we do, and everything.’
‘We found a photograph of you both together, tucked away inside her handbag.’
‘Again,’ he smirked, ‘she could be one of a hundred.’
‘No doubt, except this particular one was found dead this morning.’
‘Oh dear, how awful.’
‘Don’t you want to know who it is?’’
‘Not really.’
‘Her name’s Claire Metcalf. I assume you must know her?’
‘Nope, sorry. Maybe she’s another customer? We do get women in here as well as men,’ he added, turning to offer Vicky a sleezy wink.
‘Perhaps you know her by her professional name. Amber Vale?’
McMillan whipped his head back to fix his eyes on Tanner. ‘What?’
‘So, you do know her then?’
‘Of course I know Amber. She’s one of our very best performers.’
‘I therefore take it that you don’t know how she ended up sprawled out down a quiet alleyway, just down from where she lived?’
‘Why the hell should I?’
‘May I ask where you were this morning, between the hours of eight and nine?
‘I was at the hotel I’m currently staying at.’
‘Which is…?’
‘The Southern Lodge. It’s the closest one I could find.’
‘Will anyone be able to vouch for you?’
‘The receptionist. She saw me leave at around that time.’
Turning briefly to make sure Vicky was taking notes, Tanner continued. ‘What about on Thursday night between eight and twelve?’
‘Why? What happened then?’
‘That’s when Sir Michael Blackwell, the man you say you’ve never heard of before, despite his name being plastered all over the national news, was murdered in his bedroom, or at least one of them. He’d had his wrists and ankles handcuffed to the corners of a rather large four-poster bed before someone opened up his chest to remove his still beating heart.’
‘News to me.’
‘It should be, especially as the woman you’ve already admitted to having known, Claire Metcalf, otherwise known as Amber Vale, was seen entering Sir M
ichael’s home shortly before he met his untimely end.’
‘Then I suppose it’s a shame she’s dead, else you’d have been able to ask her why she killed him.’
‘Actually, we were able to speak to her, before she was murdered, of course.’
McMillan held Tanner’s eyes. ‘Don’t tell me she denied it?’
‘Surprisingly, she did. What’s perhaps even more of a surprise was that we actually believed her.’
‘Well; more fool you.’
‘At the end of the day, she just didn’t seem the type to saw open a man’s chest with a hacksaw, at least not whilst he was still alive.’
‘Then I suppose she must have neglected to mention her on-going psychological problems?’
‘You know what, she did, but don’t worry; we found out about them shortly afterwards.’
A contented smile spread out over McMillan’s face. ‘Well then, there you have it. Case closed!’
‘Despite that, we still thought she was telling the truth.’
‘Oh, right. And why was that? Actually, I think I already know. You allowed her beguiling beauty to persuade you; that and her quite extraordinary pair of breasts.’
‘Actually, there were two other reasons, neither of which were related.’
Tanner fell momentarily silent as the two men continued glaring at each other.
McMillian eventually opened his mouth. ‘Sorry, was I supposed to guess?’
‘Well, I think they’re fairly obvious, at least the second one is. First up, she seemed to lack motive.’
‘Oh, right. But I didn’t think deranged psychopaths needed one?’
‘And secondly,’ Tanner continued, happy to ignore the remark, ‘because she’s just turned up dead.’
‘So you don’t think she killed herself during a bout of psychotic remorse for having murdered some rich guy with a hacksaw, just because he wouldn’t tell her that he loved her?’
‘That would have been difficult, being that she was killed by a single blow to the back of her head, leading me to perhaps, unsurprisingly believe that someone else must have done it, possibly because she knew who’d actually murdered him, someone who wasn’t too keen for her to start going around telling everyone.’
‘Unless she was mugged, of course.’
Tanner offered him a thin smile. ‘Not very likely.’
‘What, you mean people don’t get mugged in Norfolk? Blimey! I’d no idea. It happens all the time down in London.’
‘Don’t worry, people get mugged around here as well, it’s just that the assailants normally remember to take the person’s money, especially when this one in particular had a purse crammed full of the stuff.’
‘Maybe they just forgot. From what I’ve seen during my brief stay so far, everyone around here is as thick as shit. Must be all the inbreeding,’ he sneered, staring first at Vicky, then Tanner.’
‘I’m from London,’ Tanner remarked.
McMillan shrugged. ‘Fair enough. Although, to be honest, there are plenty of stupid people down there as well.’
‘Which does lead me to ask what you’re doing all the way up here, Mr McMillan? I understand your main residence is in London.’
‘I’m here on business.’
‘What sort of business is that?’
McMillan glanced over at Vicky again. ‘Are you sure he’s not from Norfolk?’
‘I think my colleague is curious to know if you’re involved in anything other than the ownership of a chain of seedy strip clubs that stink of vomit and are so disgusting your shoes stick to the floor,’ Vicky replied, ungluing one of her feet to the sound of Sellotape being peeled from off its reel.
‘Yes, well,’ he replied, following her gaze. ‘I must admit to having been somewhat lackadaisical in my hands-on management approach recently.’
‘So, you’re here to get things back on track, are you?’ Tanner questioned.
‘Something like that.’
‘Is that what all the shouting was about?’
McMillan offered him a look of confused innocence. ‘Sorry, what shouting?’
‘When we came in. I assume that was you?’
‘Oh that! Right, yes, well. If you don’t raise your voice occasionally, nobody seems to pay any attention.’
‘May I ask what it was about, specifically?’
McMillan glanced behind him. ‘Oh, you know, the normal. Anyway, if there’s nothing else? As I said before, I’ve got a lot to be getting on with.’
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
WITH THE DOOR being both closed and locked behind them, Tanner and Vicky found themselves staring out over the carpark, once again taking shelter under the club’s ripped narrow awning.
‘What did you make of him?’ asked Vicky, giving her umbrella another shake before endeavouring to open it.
‘Just your average wannabe gangster, Tanner replied, pulling his fluorescent hood over his head. ‘Subsequently, I didn’t believe a word he said; apart from one thing, that is.’
‘That he didn’t know anything about what happen to Claire Metcalf?’
Tanner nodded. ‘He seemed genuinely shocked, which now that I think about it, does make me wonder if he was telling the truth about Sir Michael as well.’
‘How d’you mean?’
‘The only reason I can think of for Metcalf being killed was because she knew who’d murdered Sir Michael; and couldn’t be trusted to keep her mouth shut. On that basis, whoever murdered her must have killed him as well. If that wasn’t our new friend Terrance McMillan, then it looks like we’re back to where we started.’
‘Makes sense,’ agreed Vicky, her attention appearing to be more focussed on the clasp at the base of her umbrella than the ins and outs of their current investigation.
‘Saying that,’ Tanner continued, ‘I can’t help but think that he’s involved somehow. He clearly knows Toby Wallace; else we wouldn’t have nearly driven straight into him on his way out of his drive. We’ve already established he knew Claire Metcalf, even if he didn’t know her real name. Then there’s the business connection.’
‘What connection is that?’
‘Wallace and McMillan are in a very similar line of work in that they both own a late night entertainment venue. In fact, the only difference I can think of between the two is that the employees of one expose slightly more flesh than the clientele of another. Maybe they’re trying to do some sort of deal together?’
‘Maybe the deal went wrong,’ Vicky mused, ‘a bit like my umbrella.’