by Ken McCoy
‘She saw the man come into the room,’ said Sep, ‘and she was terrified. Then she saw he was pointing a gun at her and she threw the clock at him. It hit him in the face and he dropped the gun on the bed. Winnie picked it up and shot him, all in one movement by the sound of it. End of story.’
‘She threw a clock at him?’ said Renholm.
‘She has a good right arm on her when provoked. She once threw a cup at me. Luckily she missed by half an inch otherwise she’d have taken my head off.’
‘Is she used to guns?’
‘She’s been on a firing range with me a few times, so she knows how to pull a trigger, that’s about all.’
‘I assume you heard all this. What did you do then?’ asked Renholm.
‘Well, I heard the gunshot when I was still occupied fighting my man off. He ran away. I heard Winnie scream but I didn’t know what was going on. I grabbed my crutch and got myself out to the hall and shouted up to her but I couldn’t hear anything so I thought the worst. Anyway I somehow managed to get to the top of the stairs and I still didn’t know what had happened. I was knackered when I got up there. Winnie was standing in the bedroom, absolutely frozen with shock. Then I saw the body and she told me what I’ve just told you. I took a look at him and noticed he’d obviously come armed and ready to kill, with a gun in a shoulder holster and a sheath knife. The gun was on the floor where Winnie had dropped it. We left the scene as it was, so forensics can take a good look at it all. There’s a bullet in that wall. It obviously went straight through the man, which it would at such short range.’
‘I see,’ said Renholm, trying to assimilate all he was hearing. ‘Do you think one of them might be the man who ran you down?’
‘I didn’t see who ran me down but I’d put money on it being one of them. Probably the one who attacked me. He’ll have been sent to finish the job.’
‘Well, we need to find out who they are for a start,’ Renholm said.
‘I’m aware of that,’ said Sep, thus reminding Renholm that he wasn’t the senior man on this case.
‘Either of you recognize the body?’
Both Fiona and Renholm shook their heads.
‘The one who attacked me has a very smashed-up nose,’ said Sep. ‘This is mainly his blood. Forensic are welcome to as much DNA as they like.’
‘We’ll certainly be doing that,’ said Renholm. ‘Hopefully the dead man’s body will identity itself, which might give our Cold Case Unit a decent lead in the case.’
Fiona looked at Sep’s face. ‘Did you nut him or something?’ she asked.
‘I did, many times. He was badly hurt when he left, probably needing hospital treatment.’
‘I’ll get the station to check all Leeds and district hospitals for a patient with a badly damaged nose,’ said Renholm.
‘Oh,’ remembered Sep. ‘The one who attacked me had a knife and a gun. I managed to knock them out of his hands. I don’t think he took them with him. If he’d found the gun I reckon he’d have shot me before he left. I did him a lot of damage. They should be downstairs somewhere with his prints on them. He wasn’t wearing gloves. Plenty of his DNA splashed about the room as well.’
‘Good, anything else?’
‘Well, we don’t really need to take Winnie in for questioning tonight. Her mind’s all over the place,’ Sep told him. ‘What she did took guts but she’s still in shock. Killing someone does that to you, no matter who they are.’
‘I think we can leave that until tomorrow,’ Renholm conceded. ‘It seems to me that we’ve probably got the sequence of events as they actually happened. I’ll get a forensic team here right away, see what they make of it. What do you say, Fiona?’
‘I agree, sir.’
Renholm had asked a question that met with Sep’s approval. No way would DCI Wood have asked for the opinion of a mere sergeant.
‘Just one thing,’ added Renholm to Sep. ‘This house is now a crime scene. I’m afraid you won’t be able to stay here tonight.’
‘Right,’ said Sep, now wishing he’d got rid of the hitman’s gun. ‘I’ll, er, need to change my shirt and grab a jacket, which are in the back bedroom.’
‘DI Black, we’ll need all your clothes for forensics; Miss O’Toole’s nightclothes as well.’
‘She, er, wasn’t actually wearing anything,’ said Sep.
‘In that case we’ll need the clothes she’s wearing now,’ said Renholm.
Sep looked at Fiona. ‘Ask Winnie to come up. I’d prefer her to help me change than you.’
‘So would I.’
‘There’s some of her stuff in the back bedroom as well,’ added Sep.
Winnie joined Sep in the back bedroom and helped him undress. She glanced at the wardrobe on top of which was the incriminating gun. The shock she was still suffering was etched into her face.
‘Don’t worry about that,’ Sep said. ‘I should have got rid of it properly, which I could have done had I thought about it. I think I kept it because it’s a gun I really like – a stainless-steel Smith & Wesson, three-inch barrel .357 revolver. A handy thing to have for personal protection. Mind you, it’s not exactly a hitman’s weapon. It’s like a pea-shooter compared to something really useful like the .44 Magnum Clint Eastwood had in the Dirty Harry films.’
‘I see. So what are we going to do? Try and smuggle it past them?’
Sep smiled and shook his head. ‘After I bought the house I fitted some hidey-holes, for want of a better word. One of them’s down there.’ She followed his gazed to the skirting board in the corner.
‘That corner moulding comes away if you prise it up with a screwdriver.’
‘Where do I get a screwdriver?’
Sep grinned. ‘There’s one on top of the wardrobe.’
Within two minutes Winnie had pulled up the corner moulding to reveal a small gap behind it, big enough to hide a gun.
‘Don’t get your prints on anything,’ Sep warned her. ‘If it’s ever found, it’s my problem not yours. In fact, if it’s ever found I’ll deny all knowledge of it. This gun’s not a recent model. It could have been there ten years or more.’
‘Sep, you really are a devious bugger.’
‘I play to my strengths.’
After carefully wiping it free of all prints she put the gun in the hole and replaced the moulding, examining it with a critical eye. There was no clue as to it being anything other than a continuous part of the skirting board.
‘Very good, Mr Black. How many more of these are there?’
‘Four altogether, some bigger than others. Some even more ingenious than that.’ He studied her face and asked, ‘How’re you feeling?’
‘Not good.’
‘It’ll wear off, especially when you get to realize that you’ve rid the world of a bad man who was out to kill us both.’
‘I know, Sep. I’m trying. But he was alive and now he’s dead because of me.’
‘It takes some getting used to.’
‘It’s not something I want to get used to.’
‘Fair enough. Now help me on with these trousers or they’ll think we’re up to no good in here.’
They emerged, respectably dressed, with Sep struggling on the elbow crutch. ‘Is there any reason why I shouldn’t stay at Winnie’s tonight?’ he asked of the two police officers.
‘None at all,’ said Renholm.
‘In that case, we’ll need some help carting my wheelchair over there and my medications and stuff. Plus another change of clothes that I’ve left in the bedroom.’
‘I’ll sort that out, Sep,’ said Fiona.
‘Will you be searching the house for any reason, because if you are, I want it leaving as you found it. I’m a very tidy man.’
‘I see no reason to have the house searched,’ said Renholm, now thinking it would do no harm to have a cursory look round the place, which didn’t look all that tidy to him. He’d heard about this Sep Black character and it would do no harm to see how the man lived. Sep read his mind.<
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‘You won’t be able to resist taking a look round. Just don’t leave a mess. I’m not in a position to tidy up after you.’
In Sep’s mind this was as good as telling Renholm that there was nothing incriminating to find in the house – apart from a killer’s gun, which they already had, if his story was to be believed.
The man killed by Winnie was identified as Bernard Armstrong Zermansky, better known as Bazz, a known felon with a lengthy crime sheet. He had too many associates for the Cold Case Unit to zero in on anyone in particular, although Sep thought that Stanley Butterbowl might be worth looking at. The dead man was a known associate of Butterbowl’s. According to Winnie, who felt she had every right to ask around about her would-be murderer, he was a man with whom Zermansky had been seen in a certain pub and a man suspected of being a hitman for several West Yorkshire gang bosses.
FIFTEEN
Clement Attlee Heights. Leeds
Sep looked up at the unimposing council block and commented, ‘I hope the lift doesn’t stink.’
‘I just hope it works.’
‘If it doesn’t, I’ll just hobble up on my crutches.’
His hope was optimistic. The lifts in many such council flats were ingrained with urine, both animal and human. Sep was in a wheelchair, which he’d now upgraded to a motorized one. The entrance to the block of council flats was up one step which did not have a ramp, so he took out a thirty inch wide wooden wedge from the wire basket beneath the chair and handed it to Winnie who positioned it in front of the step, giving Sep his own personal ramp. It required quite a run at it to mount the step without falling backwards. However, it was a skill Sep had perfected and he managed it first time.
Winnie pressed for the fourth floor and pressed the other end of Sep’s scarf over her nose. They looked at one another, each with an end of the scarf over their mouths and with smiling eyes that said, Together we can handle whatever the world throws at us.
The lift worked, which Sep considered to be a bonus. It stopped at the fourth floor and the door slid open. Another bonus. Sep steered his chair out and took a breath of fresher air coming through a broken window.
‘Flat 42,’ Winnie said. ‘I’m guessing it’s not far from the lift door.’
Within seconds she was knocking on the flat door. Adam opened it and stood there as if he never got visitors and didn’t really know what to say.
‘Mr Piper?’
‘Adam Piper, yes.’
‘My name’s Winnie O’Toole and this is Detective Inspector Black of the West Yorkshire Police.’
Sep held up his warrant card but he might as well have been holding up the Jack of Clubs. Adam wasn’t impressed. His eyes switched from the card back to Winnie.
‘He’s a detective … in a wheelchair?’
He asked the question as if detectives shouldn’t be allowed to go round in wheelchairs.
‘Yeah,’ said Sep. ‘I took the wheelchair job over when Ironside packed in.’
‘He’s joking,’ said Winnie.
‘Oh,’ said Adam.
‘We’re investigating a series of crimes that began with the murder of Mr Santiago and we wonder if you might be able to help us with our enquiries.’
‘It’s only because you worked for Mr Santiago at the time of his death,’ Sep added. ‘We’ll be talking to everyone who worked there. May we come in?’
‘Why do you wanna come in?’
‘Well, I think it might be better than talking out here on the landing. Hey, you have an American accent. What part of the States are you from?’
‘Erm, we’re from Brooklyn, which is a New York borough.’
‘Really?’
‘You may come in,’ said Adam. ‘My brother’s inside but he might be scared of you. He’s not very good at talking to people he doesn’t know.’
‘What’s his name?’ Sep asked.
‘Simeon. He has a social anxiety disorder.’
‘Ah,’ said Sep, ‘Now there was a man in Jerusalem, whose name was Simeon and this man was righteous and devout …’
Adam stared at him in amazement, as did Winnie.
‘I was quoting from the book of Luke in the Bible,’ explained Sep. ‘Simeon was a Catholic saint. Are you Catholic, Adam?’
‘No.’
‘Well, whatever you are, you look like a good man to me. I bet Simeon’s a good man.’
‘He’s my brother and you don’t need to patronize him, or me for that matter.’
‘May we come in?’
Adam stood aside to allow them access. Sep led the way in his wheelchair. Simeon was sitting at a table on which there was a series of picture cards laid out in jagged lines which he was trying to neaten, but the job was seemingly too much for him.
‘Hi, Simeon,’ said Sep cheerily.
Simeon didn’t seem to hear him. He proceeded to move the cards around.
‘He just collects the baseball cards and watches games on TV,’ Adam told him.
‘I’m Sep and this is Winnie. We don’t have baseball in England.’
‘I know,’ said Simeon, to the cards. ‘Can’t get none here.’
‘I bet Winnie could get you some more cards. Have you got Clayton Kershaw and Mike Trout?’
‘No.’
‘I bet Winnie could get them for you.’
Simeon glanced up at Winnie, who had never heard of Clayton Kershaw or Mike Trout. She was looking daggers at Sep.
‘We don’t know why you’re here,’ said Adam.
‘Ah, well, Mrs Santiago said you and Simeon might be able to help us.’
He accidentally bumped his wheelchair into a table and had to go backwards to get past it. ‘Sorry about the wheelchair but I’m new to this thing. It’s not permanent. I was in an accident.’
Simeon said nothing. He just gazed down at his three uneven rows of baseball cards, shifting them into different positions and humming tunelessly.
‘I was run over by a van,’ added Sep.
‘It wasn’t me who ran you over, muttered Simeon, just loud enough for Sep to hear’
‘No, no, I know it wasn’t you, but I think we might have a photo of the man who did run me over. Trouble is, we don’t know who he is and we need to catch him before he runs someone else over.’
Fiona had compared a photo of the dead man to the police mugshot file and had identified him as Bernard Zermansky who had served time for GBH and other violent crimes. He also found out that Zermansky had still been in prison when Santiago was murdered so at least one murder was as yet unsolved. Fiona had scanned a copy of the mugshot photo and had given it to Sep, who now produced it for Adam to look at.
Sep’s eyes were on Adam at the instant he saw the photo and what Sep saw was instant recognition before Adam looked away and said, quickly, ‘I don’t know him.’
‘Really?’ said Sep, eyebrows raised.
He steered his chair around the room so that he was facing Simeon, who now had his back to his brother. Winnie had twigged what Sep was doing and proceeded to show Adam another set of photographs which had nothing to do with the case and which had Adam shaking his head as Sep showed Wolf’s photo to Simeon.
‘I bet you know who this is, Simeon. Smart lad like you. I bet you recognize him.’
Simeon did indeed recognize him and gave a startled cry. Adam looked up and said, ‘Simeon, don’t tell them.’
‘Your brother doesn’t want you to tell us you recognize the man,’ said Sep. ‘But it’s a bit too late for that because you both know very well who he is … and we know you know. That’s why we’re here.’
‘He frightened me,’ said Simeon.
‘Well, he won’t be frightening you anymore because he’s dead,’ Sep told him.
‘So he can’t get us?’ said Simeon.
‘He can’t get anyone,’ said Sep. ‘Tell me what you know about him.’
‘I told you, he’s not very talkative,’ said Adam.
‘He frightened me,’ said Simeon.
‘How did
he frighten you?’ asked Winnie.
‘He shot me.’
‘What?’
‘Only with his fingers,’ said Adam. ‘He didn’t have a gun or nuthin’.’
‘What was he doing at your work?’
‘He came with a woman,’ said Simeon.
‘What woman? What was the woman’s name?’
‘Mrs Hardacre,’ said Adam. ‘I’m not sure she was actually with him. They just came at the same time.’
Sep closed his eyes at the introduction of yet another name to the list of people he’d have to investigate. He’d almost forgotten about Mrs Hardacre whose name had come up on James Boswell’s computer.
‘Who’s Mrs Hardacre, what does she do?’
‘Dunno,’ said Adam, ‘we didn’t ask. We were told not to ask too many bloody questions is what Mr Santiago said.’
‘What does Mrs Hardacre look like?’
‘She’s a bit of all right.’
Simeon grinned at his brother’s description. ‘She is as well,’ he said.
‘You mean she’s pretty?’
‘Yeah.’
‘How old?’
‘Not as old as you.’
Simeon was speaking to Winnie who scowled at him.
‘He doesn’t mean to insult you,’ said Adam.
‘Well, Winnie’s not very old,’ Sep said, ‘so this Mrs Hardacre must be quite young, is she?’
‘Yeah. I bet she’s as young as Simeon.’
‘And how old is Simeon?’
‘Twenty-four and a half.’
‘How many times have you seen her?’
‘Once, I think,’ said Adam.
‘She smoked cigarettes inside and you’re not supposed to do that,’ said Simeon, all in one breath. It was the longest speech they’d heard from him.
‘I agree,’ said Sep. He looked at Winnie and inclined his head back to Simeon. ‘I like this feller,’ he said.
‘She’s taller than me,’ said Simeon, who was becoming more loquacious by the minute. Sep thought it might be the prospect of Winnie getting him some baseball cards. This was something he needed to look into. Would they sell such things on eBay?
‘How tall are you?’ asked Sep, assessing Simeon’s height, ‘five foot nine?’
‘I bet I am.’