by Ken McCoy
‘Perhaps you should have told me that.’
‘There’s something else I should have told you. He more or less challenged me to charge him with something that would hold him so I charged him with aiding and abetting the murder of Santiago. It was something I plucked out of the air, with us having no real grounds to charge him but …’ he paused for thought.
‘But what?’
‘But the look on his face when I linked him to Santiago’s murder. I expected a look of contempt or some such thing, but what I got was a look of shock, as if I’d found something he was confident I would never find.’
‘Well, whatever it is, it seems that it’s there to be found.’
‘I know. The question is What is it that’s there to be found?’
‘It’s a big question, Sep, and you’re the man to find it. Feel free to use all the maverick trickery you have at your disposal.’
Sep left Julie’s house deep in thought and more confused than ever. Apart from him being able to drive again, things were definitely not slotting into place. All she had to tell him was that she and James had not been having an affair, but she’d told him that already. So, had she told him a second time to reinforce a lie she’d told him the first time? Or had they been having an affair? Or was he reading too much into this?
The problem was that he believed her, so his theory that Martyn had killed James was shot to pieces. It had to have been either Carl Redman or one of his thugs. It would definitely do no harm to track Roscoe down. Once he did that, Sep had no doubt that he could wheedle the truth out of him. Catching Roscoe was at the top of his list of priorities. Roscoe was an experienced hitman and he would have worked out by now that Sep’s offer of sentence reduction was a lie. Such lies only work when a miscreant is in custody, with no hope other than to cling on to any promise made to him. Roscoe posed a danger that was always on his mind, although this might be an advantage insofar as he might not need to find Roscoe – Roscoe might find him first.
All Sep had to do was to be ready for him. For this reason he took to carrying the .357 around with him, packed in a shoulder holster. Simply carrying an unauthorized weapon might even cost him his job in the police should he be caught, never mind him using it. But, to Sep’s mind, the sack is always better than death. Only he and Winnie knew about this and Winnie hadn’t been too pleased at all when he arrived home and told her.
‘Why don’t we just bugger off somewhere, Sep?’
‘You mean like New Zealand?’
‘I mean out of the way of the Roscoes of this world.’
‘There’s only one Roscoe Briggs and I intend tracking him down. I’m not letting him chase me out of my own bloody country.’
‘There’ll always be Roscoes in your life, Sep. You said so yourself.’
‘Could you make us a coffee, love, I need to make a call?’
‘Make a call or pay a call?’
‘Make a call on the telephone.’
‘A secret call, eh?’
‘A private call.’
‘Sep, what is this? I’ve got no secrets from you.’
‘I wish I’d said pay a call now. I’m ringing Patrick Lovell about something that might well prompt you into taking the piss again.’
‘Ah … here’s me on kitchen duties again.’
She was in the kitchen when Sep rang the number of the Tyke News agency.
‘Patrick Lovell.’
‘Patrick, it’s Sep Black here. I wonder if I might ask you what sounds like a daft question.’
‘Ask away. Might give you a daft answer.’
It was a remark Sep could have done without, considering his suspicion of Julie’s statement.
Although Sep had abandoned his crutches he still had a slight limp, which irritated him. He hated displaying any sign of weakness that might put him at a disadvantage under extreme circumstances. He explained his dilemma to Winnie, who made it clear that she was more worried about the possibility of him chasing after Roscoe and getting hospitalized all over again.
‘I don’t have to go looking for him, Winnie. He’ll find me.’
‘Now there’s a comforting thought. What’re you planning on doing, having a shoot-out? You’re not Wyatt bloody Earp, you know.’
‘I’m not planning on anything other than arresting him. If I can locate him, I’ll alert the troops. We’ll go in mob-handed and I’ll be at the back of the line.’
‘Sep. You need to know where the line is to be at the back of it. By the way, I think you missed a trick with Julie back there. I reckon she knows a lot more than she is saying.’
‘I tend to agree, but how do you know?’
‘Call it intuition. How do you know what you know?’
‘I call it suspicion.’
‘I suggest you send Fiona to see her tomorrow.’
Julie had obviously been crying when she opened the door to Fiona and a detective constable the following evening.
‘I’m Detective Sergeant Burnside and this is Detective Constable Miller. We’re just following up on DI Black’s visit yesterday. Have we come at a bad time?’
Julie stared at them for several seconds, as if mulling something over in her mind. ‘Possibly not,’ she said, eventually. ‘In fact, you might have come at a good time. Come inside.’
The constable and Fiona followed her through to the living room where the three of them sat down. Julie looked at Fiona and said, bluntly, ‘You think Martyn killed James Boswell, don’t you?’
‘To be honest, Ms Rogerson and I speak for DI Black, who has filled me in with the whole background concerning yourself and James Boswell, but we can think of no one else with the means and a motive.’
‘Well, my husband didn’t actually have a motive because James and I weren’t having an affair.’
‘Why did Patrick Lovell think you were?’
‘Oh, Patrick knew we met now and again but it was only ever in connection with our work. I told Patrick that he was talking nonsense but he wouldn’t have it. You know what men are like – they like to think the worst of you. To be honest, I think Patrick was a bit jealous – I think he fancied his chances with me himself. You see, I had some information for James about the Santiago murder which I planned to give to him. We communicated by text, which is just about the worst way anyone can communicate anything as confidential as that.’
‘What was the information you had for him?’ Fiona asked.
‘It was to do with one of the Snowball investors.’
‘Would this be Carl Redman?’
‘It would, yes. I knew him to be a violent criminal and I wanted to warn James not to have anything to do with him.’
‘And that’s all, is it?’
Julie crossed her arms over her body and rocked back in her chair. Her lips trembled, her brow began to crease and tears welled up. Her words tumbled out amidst the sobs.
‘I’ve kept this … to my … myself … b … but it’s not fair … fair that I have to.’
‘Life isn’t fair,’ said Fiona sympathetically. ‘Julie, if there’s something you need to get off your chest concerning this case you really need to tell us. Otherwise life will become very unfair for you.’
‘Please don’t threaten me.’
‘I’m not threatening you, I’m trying to help you. If it transpires that you’ve been holding something back that will help us with the case you’ll be in more trouble than you can handle.’
‘Actually, no, it’s not all I know.’
Fiona and the constable exchanged optimistic glances. ‘I didn’t think it was, Julie. Just tell us what’s troubling you and it’ll be our problem, not yours.’
‘I didn’t tell DI Black the whole story. To have told him any more would have got me into serious trouble and destroyed my marriage.’
‘I see,’ said Fiona, looking down at her notes. ‘Julie, when you first told DI Black about Carl Redman you said all you knew about him was his name. That wasn’t exactly true, was it?’
‘
I knew his name and that he was a dangerous man, which is what I told DI Black.’
‘You told him he was a heavy.’
‘Heavy – dangerous man – same thing. If I didn’t say he was an investor, it’s because I didn’t think it was all that important.’
‘Julie, were you involved in James Boswell’s murder?’
Julie hesitated for quite a while, before saying, ‘All I can say is that I blame myself for it and probably you will as well.’
‘Julie, if you tell me anything that I need to arrest you for, all I can promise is that, in exchange for relevant information, we won’t apply for you to be held on remand. You’ll have to spend a night in custody before going to magistrates’ court but that’s all. So, once again, do you have anything you want to get off your chest?’
TWENTY-EIGHT
Winnie was waiting in reception as Sep came up from the custody suites where he’d taken Julie, after Fiona had arrested her for perverting the course of justice.
‘I guess the girl’s in trouble,’ Winnie said, ‘for trying to keep herself out of trouble. I’ve been there myself a few times.’
‘I’ll do what I can for her by recommending leniency in exchange for the help she’s giving us,’ said Sep. ‘The rest is up to the courts to decide.’
‘Well, Septimus,’ Winnie said. ‘As far as I can see that’s your job done. You can transfer over to uniform now and keep regular hours … and keep yourself out of trouble.’
‘Job? What job’s that?’
‘The job you took on for Mrs Boswell. The one she’s paying me fifty grand for. James is in the clear. He wasn’t meeting a prostitute. He wasn’t having an affair. He’s as pure as the driven snow.’
‘I still need to catch whoever killed Santiago and I can’t do anything while Roscoe’s on the loose.’
‘Bloody hell, Sep! Santiago’s murder’s a job for the West Yorkshire Police, not just you; just as it’s their job to catch Roscoe Briggs and find out who killed Graham Feather.’
Sep shook his head. ‘Winnie, you know I hate not finishing a job once I’ve started it. A good friend is dead because I involved him and I nearly lost you. It won’t seem right to turn my back on it just because things got rough for me.’
‘But the people who killed Eli are either dead or locked up.’
‘Roscoe Briggs isn’t. He’s out there and he’s got a real grudge against me and who’s to say he wasn’t the one who put the bullet into Eli?’
‘Bloody hell, Sep! You’re one man, not an army. If I were you I’d go and see Mrs Boswell and tell her her late husband’s completely in the clear as far as having a bit on the side’s concerned, then pick up the fifty grand and bring it back to me.’
‘Winnie, the money is to pay for my new Jag.’
Stanley Butterbowl wasn’t in much of a mood for talking, having lost both a leg and a future as a strong-arm knuckle-dragger. He had also been brought into St James’s hospital in Leeds. His injured leg had now been amputated and he was waiting for a prosthetic leg to be fitted.
‘What am I supposed ter bleedin’ do now, eh? I can’t even work the doors anymore.’
‘It didn’t stop Long John Silver being a pirate,’ said Sep.
‘Right, I’d best go buy meself a parrot.’
‘Once you get a false leg who’s going to know? All you have to do on the doors is look the part and with an ugly mush like yours, you’ve still got that.’
‘You’re a cheeky bastard for a copper.’
‘Us coppers can afford to be cheeky with such as yourself. All I want is an answer to a simple question.’
‘What’s in it for me?’
‘I’ll be blunt with you, Wolf. The offer of a reduction in sentence still stands, now that Roscoe’s had it on his toes. With you losing a leg, the judge’ll no doubt take your disability into consideration, especially if we tell him how cooperative you’ve been.’
‘How much time are we talking about?’
‘Not sure, what’ve you been charged with?’
‘Two counts of attempted murder and some other minor bollocks. I forget what.’
‘Have you got any money for a decent brief?’
‘Some, yeah.’
‘A half-decent brief’ll get the attempted murder charges knocked down to GBH. I find it bloody annoying but it happens a lot.’
‘Then what? And don’t give me any of your lies.’
‘Look, I know I stretch the truth a bit with such as yourself, but if you plead guilty on the minor charges and give us whatever info we want, the police will do a deal on a fairly short tariff, so it could be that end up doing no more than a six stretch, after time off for good behaviour.’
Butterbowl gave a slow nod in appreciation of such a short sentence for such major crimes. He’d been anticipating having to spend the rest of his life behind the door. In fact, Sep had no idea what his sentence might be, other than at least three times what he’d just suggested.
‘And what is it you want to know?’
‘I want to know where Roscoe’s likely to be. Is there a regular place where he holes up when things get too warm? And remember if we don’t catch him, the judge’ll be tempted to extend your sentence to make up for him not turning up to take his. They do that do judges, you know. They’re like football referees when they think they’ve missed giving a player a yellow card. The next time his teammate commits any sort of foul that poor sod picks up a red. How’s the leg anyway?’
‘How would I know? I don’t even know where it is.’
‘But do you know where Roscoe is?’
‘Not for certain.’
‘I’ll take your best guess.’
‘There’s an old foundry down by the canal in Hunslet where he used ter work as a lad. It’s rustin’ ter bits but there’s a wooden hut there that’s not in bad nick. I’ve known him go there ter keep his head down. It’s got its own bog and runnin’ water and a stove and electricity now that Roscoe’s got it wired it up ter the mains. All he needs is a few cans o’ food and he can live there fer weeks while you lot are runnin’ all over Yorkshire tryin’ ter find him. That’d be my bet.’
‘What do they call this place?’
‘South Leeds Foundry. What’s the score with me then? When will I be taken ter the nick?’
‘As soon as the hospital discharges you, you’ll be taken to the hospital wing at Armley Prison, so I wouldn’t moan too much about being kept in here if I were you.’
‘And you’ll tell the courts that I’ve been helpful?’
‘I will, providing you’re telling me the truth. If not, I’ll be back for the proper story.’
‘I’ve told you all I know about Roscoe.’
‘South Leeds Foundry, eh? That’s a big place if I remember rightly. Plenty of places to hide.’
‘It is, but there’s only one wooden hut. It’s painted black. Yer’ll need ter break a padlock on the main gate to get in. Roscoe’s gorra key, with him swappin’ their padlock fer one of his own.’
‘So, no one’s got a key that works apart from Roscoe?’
‘I think there’s more than one entrance – other keys to other locks.’
‘Is there a security guard?’
‘Only Roscoe, an’ maybe a dog. There’s no scrap metal left ter pinch unless yer can take a big wagon in there and a load o’ cuttin’ gear. That’s been tried by some lads from Wakefield but they got nabbed within ten minutes, thick bastards! There’s allus a cop car drivin’ past, lookin’ fer summat a bit out of order. Silly sods had left the gate wide open.’
‘It’s a wonder no one’s seen Roscoe on the premises.’
‘Mebbe they have but he’s not pinchin’ nowt so why bother him? They’ll most likely think he’s just some old dosser who’s found somewhere ter kip.’
‘I wonder if our boys are aware of him squatting there?’ mused Sep, fully intending to ask Fiona to put that very question to her copper colleagues.
‘I should think the coppers kne
w about him,’ said Butterbowl. ‘They’re not completely useless, so I’m told.’
‘Us useless coppers caught you and your lot,’ Sep pointed out.
‘If yer goin’ after him, I should go now. I reckon he’ll be on his toes out of the country before long. Maybe even as we speak.’
‘Right, I’d best be on my way then.’
Within a minute of Sep leaving, Stanley Butterbowl took an illicit mobile phone from his bedside drawer and called a number he had on speed dial.
‘Roscoe, it’s Wolf. I know yer on yer toes, are yer down at the foundry?’
‘Yeah … why?’
‘That twat Black’s on his way to pay yer a visit.’
‘When?’
‘Now.’
‘Who told him where I was?’
‘I thought I’d give yer a chance ter square things with him. Are yer carryin’?’
‘Yeah, I’ve gorra 9 mil auto. Tracey brought it to the hospital.’
‘Did she now? Why would she do that?’
‘She’s me sister.’
‘I know but it’s a hell of a risk for her to take. Has she got any other reason?’
‘Like what?’
‘Like she’s got somethin’ going on that we don’t know about.’
‘All I know is I’m free and clear and it’s all I need ter know.’
‘OK, right, well, yer’ve also got surprise on your side. Black promised me a short sentence if I told him where y’are, as if I’d fall for that shit.’
‘Yeah, he fed me some o’ that bollocks. Told me I’d just get a six stretch, if I helped him.’
‘Yer didn’t believe that, did yer?’
‘Well, he made it sound as if it were possible, but now I think about it I know he were feeding me bollocks,’ said Roscoe.
‘That’s how he works, the lyin’ bastard! When he gets there you fill him full of ’oles an’ leave the fuckin’ country.’
‘Is he comin’ on his own?’
‘I reckon he will be, yeah. Have yer gorra decent passport?’
‘I have yeah.’
‘See yer, Roscoe.’
It was raining on that day when Sep went to find Roscoe. He had armed himself with the .357 Smith that he’d got from Winnie’s attacker, plus a pocket full of bullets. With it only holding five rounds, he didn’t want to end up with an empty gun like he had at the cottage. The entrance to the foundry was in a secluded area, once a district of busy industry but no longer so.