He dropped the microphone and ran with the other officers towards the bright neon sign at the entrance to the club. Already a thin stream of dishevelled customers was straggling out, and the policemen forced their way upstairs and entered the chaos of the big room. Jackie Stott was just in front of them, having thundered down from the casino above.
‘Somebody put the bloody lights on!’ he yelled.
Ahead of him was the even larger figure of Joe Blunt, flailing his way through the crowd with complete disregard for friend or foe.
Herbert Lumley was standing helplessly near his cubby hole as customers besieged him for their clothes. He wanted to join in, but the frightened and angry patrons were determined to get their coats and clear off.
‘Where are the switches, Herbert?’ snapped Bolam, before plunging into the melee.
‘On the left-hand wall, halfway to the stage.’
He hesitated.
‘Mr Hansen was sitting near them. I don’t know why he hasn’t put them on. I hope he isn’t hurt.’
Alec thrust forward against the stream of people, but before he got to the switches, the lights suddenly went up. Jackie Stott had reached them first and was now looking around wildly for someone to punch. But there was now no sign of anyone actually fighting or causing damage – the only scrap going on was between two of Jackie’s own thugs who had failed to recognize each other in the darkness.
‘Where are they, Joe?’ yelled Jackie. ‘Who done it? I’ll murder ’em.’
In the heat of the moment, he forgot that his words were rather too topical to shout in the presence of policemen.
Four uniformed officers appeared at the top of the stairs and began holding back those who were trying to leave but the confusion took a long time to die down, many customers still thinking they were in mortal danger of being knifed by the Mafia.
Jimmy Grainger, who knew that Betty Bolam was supposed to be in the Rising Sun that night, forced his way towards the band platform, but failed to see any sign of her.
He did find Freddie, however. Pale and trembling, the guitarist was carrying a black handbag and trying to get back to the stage.
‘Where’s Betty Bolam, Freddie?’ snapped Jimmy.
‘I dunno, she just went out.’
‘You’ve got her bag.’
‘She left it – I’m keeping it for her.’
Jimmy was about to call him a liar, when Bolam’s bull-like voice bellowed from across the room for him. Torn between getting the truth out of Freddie and the urgency in his boss’s voice, Jimmy hesitated, then rammed his way back towards the chief inspector.
‘Get all the exits closed and organize the uniformed men into checking all the customers and their membership cards,’ he snapped, ‘We’ve lost a canny few already, but some of them should be Papagos’s boys.’
Jimmy started to talk to him about Betty, but Bolam ploughed off again to intercept Jackie Stott.
‘You were bloody quick on the scene,’ raved the club owner.
‘Just as well – your defence team were a right flop … who kept those lights dowsed – it was tailor-made for those hoodlums to raise hell and get away with it?’
Stott swung round on Thor Hansen. ‘I thought you would have seen to that … what happened?’
‘I was over on the other side from the switches – I couldn’t get through,’ he lied easily.
Bolam swung away and found his sergeant still hovering behind him. ‘Get with it, Jimmy – any sign of my daughter, by the way?’
‘I’ve got a feeling that she went out the back way with Freddie Robson – I saw him with a handbag that could have been hers. I was going to follow, but you called.’
Bolam slapped his arm. ‘You’re a good lad, Jimmy. I expect she’s run off home. About time she learnt a lesson, silly bitch. Come on, let’s try to nobble some of these yobs.’
After two hours’ work, they managed to get enough information to arrest one man. The one, in fact, who had jabbed his cigarette at the stripper’s bottom. Two nearby patrons were willing to swear that he was the one who had started the trouble. The other vandals were unidentifiable, either because they had got out before the police arrived or because no one could pinpoint them in the darkness and confusion.
The one arrested would give nothing away except his name and address … he was from Doncaster. He had no membership card and refused to say anything at all, by far the best policy when accused of a crime. He seemed not unduly worried – he had been well paid by Papagos’s henchman and had nothing to lose apart from a few weeks in prison, at the worst. He did not even know that he was working for the Greek, so could not incriminate him in any way. The thugs were no less presentable than most of the other patrons and in fact were much less repulsive than Jackie’s bodyguard, so with genuine membership cards provided by Thor Hansen, there was no way of spotting them.
Stott fumed impotently up and down, looking at the wreckage. Tables were overturned, chairs broken and the walls running with beer dregs and scarred by broken glass.
‘You’re about finished now, Stott,’ said Bolam grimly. ‘Your place has been busted up twice in a few days, your customers scared half to death!’
‘They’ll come back – they came tonight, even after the bombing, didn’t they?’ Stott snarled at the detective.
‘Come back! … not the same ones, Stott. No one wants a fist up their nose or a broken bottle in their belly … not twice! But apart from that, your licence is in danger. The police have got something better to do than keep sorting out your troubles. When your licence comes up for renewal, the justices will kick you out … if the Chief Constable doesn’t recommend it right away!’
Jackie went almost purple. ‘This suits you right down to the bloody ground, doesn’t it, Bolam!’ he raved. ‘You’ve been waiting for a chance to get the drop on me … just because you can’t hang a murder on me, you’re out to fix me any way you can … that and your blasted daughter!’
Bolam ruffled up like an angry cockerel. ‘What the hell do you mean?’
Jackie sneered. ‘D’yer think I don’t know what goes on! … your kid and Freddie Robson. He’s a great boy for the chicks is Freddie. He’ll eat your kiddie alive, will Freddie!’
Bolam, enraged now, brought back his arm to hit Stott, but Jimmy Grainger grabbed it and levered it down.
‘Don’t let him rile you, sir … he’s trying to drop you right in it.’
The rage passed as quickly as it had come and within seconds Alec blessed Jimmy for his intervention. Striking Stott would have cost him his job in the police force.
‘You’ve had it, Stott … you’re finished!’ he gritted through his teeth.
The ex-boxer laughed triumphantly, the petty success with Bolam blinding him momentarily to all his other troubles. ‘Hope you find your daughter, Bolam … Reckon I could tell you where she’ll be, but I don’t know Freddie’s address, any more than I knew Geordie’s!’
Alec ignored this final jibe and walked back to the stairs to join the rest of the policemen.
‘Betty’ll have been home a while by now,’ reassured Jimmy, in a low voice.
But when Alec arrived home at two thirty, he was met by Vera at the front door. She was too worried to nag him, so he knew that something was seriously wrong.
‘Betty hasn’t come home – and she’s taken a case and some of her things with her.’
Without a word, Alec squeezed her arm and pushed her inside the house.
He went back to the garage and within a minute was racing through the cold, deserted streets back to Headquarters.
* * *
2Director of Public Prosecutions
Chapter Eleven
Thor Hansen managed to park his Rover within a hundred yards of the Rising Sun, and went straight up to Jackie’s flat, ignoring the shambles in the first floor room, the legacy of the previous night.
Stott was drinking coffee in the lounge, bleary-eyed and unshaven and wearing a shabby dressing gown.
Thor went straight to business. ‘I’ve just had a phone call from Kostas Papagos,’ he lied. ‘He’s in Darlington with Casella and wants to talk business with you.’
Jackie’s coarsely handsome face scowled at him. ‘Why the hell didn’t they ring me, then – I’m on the phone, you know!’
A day or two ago, he would never have queried Thor in this way, but the business of the lights failing to go up last night, the infiltration of the protection racketeers and the gravitation of Laura to the Dane’s company was at last beginning to add up in his mind.
Thor ignored this sarcasm. ‘They’ve changed their minds – they’re not interested in selling you “insurance” any more.’
Stott’s face began to light up, then it hardened. ‘Something worse, eh? They got a bloody hope!’
‘They say they want to buy you out – this club, the Middlesbrough option and be assigned insurance rights on the Mississippi. They’ll give you a very fair price.’
Jackie spat out a string of very rude words and finished by glowering suspiciously at his manager. ‘And where exactly do you fit into all this? I thought you were on my side, but now I’m wondering just what the hell you’ve been up to … how come you’re so thick with these London bums?’
Thor shrugged. He was committed to the opposition now. ‘Most business is done through a middleman. I’m only an employee around here. They know I’ve got no personal axe to grind, not having a stake in the business.’
Jackie loosed off a few more choice oaths and began marching up and down the room. ‘How much they offering? … not that I’m interested!’ he added hastily.
‘Thirty thousand … in cash, no questions asked. That’s pretty good, considering none of the premises actually belong to you, only the wreck of the boat.’
Stott snorted derisively. ‘Thirty grand! … they must be joking. It’s worth forty, fifty thousand any day, maybe more.’
Thor shrugged. ‘Not if all the customers get their heads punched every night.’
Stott’s face darkened immediately. ‘I’ll beat them … Joe’s getting half a regiment of. lads in tonight. Papagos will have to start compensating widows and orphans if he sends in any more hoodlums!’
‘And how long do you think your licence will last if that sort of thing begins? … it’s none too safe now, after last night.’
Jackie swung around and grabbed Thor by the shoulder. ‘I don’t get you, mister,’ he snarled. ‘Every angle I mention gets the ice treatment from you … you seem to want me out of business. Have they offered you a better job when they take over?’
Hansen pulled away and retreated around the settee away from Jackie. He took a deep breath – the crunch was about to come.
‘Are you going to talk to them or not? They’ll meet you anywhere in County Durham before tomorrow night. There’s a draft contract all ready. You can take it to Lupin to get it vetted, or take him with you. There’s no conveyancing of property to be done; the money could be in your hand by tonight.’
Jackie pointed a shaky finger at Thor, his face blazing with anger. ‘You’d better get out and stay out, Hansen … I always trusted you, but you’ve gone and stabbed me in the back, damn you. Clear out, while I still haven’t laid a hand on you!’
Hansen stood his ground. ‘All right, Jackie, if you want it the hard way. I did know Papagos and Casella before this and I’ve gone along with them in this business … they’ve offered me a sixth share to be their manager. But I still think you’ve shot your bolt here and you won’t get another good offer – or any offer, come to that.’
A torrent of foul language flowed over the Dane, but he stood unmoved, though he kept a wary eye on Jackie’s big fists. When the storm died down for want of breath, he cut in with his ace.
‘I didn’t want to do this, but I’m going to force you to see sense.’
‘You are! With what, a Bren gun?’ yelled Jackie derisively.
‘No … with Geordie Armstrong,’ replied Thor quietly.
Jackie’s low forehead wrinkled in perplexity. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘Geordie Armstrong,’ repeated Hansen. ‘You and Joe killed him. I know and I can prove it – to the police, if I’m driven to it.’
Stott stared at him in sheer disbelief. He laughed, nervously now. ‘Don’ gimme that bull! What sort of proof?’
‘All his clothes – in a plastic bag, with a piece of scrap iron in the bottom … and wallet, diary, the lot – probably with your fingerprints on them.’
There was a silence that could almost be felt.
‘I don’t believe you,’ hissed Jackie at last. His face had gone into mottled patches – a mixture of scared pallor and rage about to explode.
‘The police will believe it. That dim idiot Joe dropped Geordie’s clothes over the quayside on to a mud bank. I saw him do it, and when the tide went down, I picked them out. So unless you sell, I’ll give you away to the law.’
He saw Jackie’s amazement begin to kindle into blind rage and felt that discretion was the better part of valour.
‘Here’s Papagos’s phone number – ring any time.’
He dropped a card over the back of the settee and left the flat almost at a run. He was no coward, but saw no benefit in staying to be mauled by an ex-professional fighter.
Jackie almost went after him, but turned his rage on to the furniture instead. Some minutes later, when he had righted the chairs and collapsed into one with his head in his hands, Joe Blunt came into the flat.
Unsuspectingly, he began to offer his clumsy apologies for the fiasco on the previous night, when his handpicked thugs had failed so miserably.
Jackie waved him down wearily. ‘Forget it, Joe. We got something a lot worse to worry about now.’
He managed to get the facts of Thor’s betrayal through Joe’s thick skull and to convey the acute danger they were both in. The old sparring partner’s reaction was typical. ‘Shall I go after him and smash him?’ he asked simply.
Jackie shook his head. ‘There’s been too much of that already, Joe. That wouldn’t get rid of Thor’s evidence against us.’
‘How d’yer know he wasn’t just bluffing, boss?’
Jackie scowled at him. ‘Then how would he know it was in a plastic bag weighted with scrap?’ he demanded. ‘You were a bloody fool!’ he added bitterly.
Joe cringed, his little red-rimmed eyes watery. ‘I didn’t know the flaming tide would leave it high and dry, did I? And who would ’a thought Hansen would be sneaking around there that time o’ night?’
‘No use crying over spilt milk … I’m damned if I’ll be beaten by this. It took us years to build up this business. I’m not flogging it at the say-so of a couple of wop mobsters!’
‘What we gonna do, then?’
‘Get that bag of clothes back and destroy ’em. Hansen won’t have a thing against us without them. The Papagos crowd I can deal with my own way.’
Even Joe’s dim wits saw some sense in this.
‘Where’s he got the stuff, I wonder?’
‘In his flat, up in Jesmond, I’ll bet. He’ll be away this afternoon, supposed to be going down to Middlesbrough again. I just gave him the sack, but knowing him, he won’t take any notice till he gets it in writing or summat – or a poke on the nose, more likely!’
At two o’clock that afternoon, the white Mercedes drew up around a corner some yards from the old terrace house where Thor Hansen had a self-contained flat on the second floor, with a garage at the rear. The two men from the Rising Sun first reconnoitred this from the back lane.
‘His car ain’t there,’ said Joe, peering through a dusty window pane. The Rover was not there, but it was not in Middlesbrough either, being only a few hundred yards away, having a routine service at a garage.
They went back to the front of the house and went through the unlocked front door and up the stairs to the second floor. At the top of the stairs was another door fitted with a Yale lock.
Their mode of en
try was simplicity itself. They stood in front of the door, Jackie lifted his right foot and Joe Blunt his left.
‘One – two – three!’ chanted Stott and, on the ‘three’, two great feet with almost thirty stone behind them, crashed against the door below the lock.
It flew open as if it had been dynamited and the two men staggered inside with the momentum.
In the hallway, Jackie waved Joe towards the nearest door on the right, while he hurried to the one on his left.
It was a large bedroom, containing a double bed.
The bed contained Thor Hansen and Laura Levine, both sitting bolt upright at the noise. They were naked to the waist and Hansen’s arm was still wrapped around the girl’s shoulders.
Jackie stood transfixed for a second, whilst a red mist exploded in front of his eyes.
The singer gave a piercing scream and dived beneath the rumpled bedclothes as Stott charged across the room yelling obscenities. The Dane shouted with fear and struggled to get out of bed to escape the onslaught.
Jackie reached the bed in a couple of elephantine strides and dragged him out by the arm on to the floor. Completely berserk, he began kicking the naked body with frenzied blows from his heavy shoes.
Laura surfaced again and began screaming at the top of her voice, clawing her way across the bed to try and scram Jackie into leaving her lover alone.
Joe Blunt, attracted by the rumpus, lumbered into the room and across to the bedside, but before he could wrap himself around Jackie, the maddened ex-boxer had landed a dozen heavy blows with his feet to the Dane’s head and chest.
Joe dragged him back, collecting a few punches in the process. Laura, heedless of her nakedness, was spitting and sobbing at Stott as she tried to take his eyes out with her painted fingernails.
‘For Chrissake, boss, lay off!’ panted Joe. ‘We’re in bad enough as it is.’
He managed to pull Jackie far enough away for Hansen’s body to be out of range of Stott’s flailing feet.
Laura, sobbing more than ever, slid down onto the floor and crouched over Thor. His face was covered in blood as he lay curled up like an embryo. Great weals and grazes scarred his shoulders and chest as he lay as still as death.
Policeman's Progress Page 13