“He wasn’t part of what happened to us,” Poole’s dad continued. “But he knows what started it.”
Poole felt his anger rising, but not with this man who was part of the gang that had shot him and killed his friend. His anger was with his father. What happened to us? Was that what he really thought? That this was something that had happened to him and not something he had caused?
Jack Poole turned to the man and gestured. “Go on,” he said, his tone aggressive.
The man swallowed and looked back at the large man behind him. “The bosses knew someone was cutting in on their drug business, but we never had a clue who. We tried to put the word out, but they weren’t using anyone we knew. People were coming into the area from outside.”
“I don’t care,” Poole said suddenly, turning away.
“Guy!” Jack shouted, stopping him dead. “Please, just listen. Then you can go.”
Poole turned around and waited. He noticed Brock hadn’t moved next to him. He could feel the coiled tension of the inspector.
“Go on,” Jack said to Stuart urgently.
“We used to hang out in this bar called Flakey’s. Everyone knew it,” Stuart continued, his speech rapid now, as though he wanted to get this over with.
“One day this woman came in and demanded to talk to the boss, bold as brass. We all had a good laugh at her, thought nothing of it, but she wouldn’t leave. Eventually, she starts shouting that she doesn’t want her husband to be any part of this drug business and that she’d be willing to pay to get him out of it.”
Poole moved his eyes from Stuart to his father, who stood staring at him. Jack Poole’s eyes were sparkling in the light, as though there were tears forming there.
“Well, then we got interested, hearing that this batty woman was willing to pay. We asked who this bloke’s name was and she said, ‘Jack Poole.’”
The breath vanished from Poole in an instant as a roar of blood rushed in his ears. His hand instinctively went back to the wound at his stomach.
“We didn’t have a clue who she was talking about, but we took a couple of grand from her and sent her on her way, promised to not involve him anymore. It was only later we realised that this must be who was cutting in on our business.” Stuart stopped and turned to Jack Poole, whose eyes were still locked on his son.
“I didn’t know I was part of anything, Guy,” he said, his voice a hoarse croak. “I was just an idiot getting paid good money to not ask questions. I just handled the shipping. I never knew what was in it. Never wanted to. I only ever had stuff at the house that once, just once—while I was waiting for a new storage place to work out. Your mum looked in one of the boxes and found drugs. She thought she could get me out of it.”
Poole staggered backward, feeling as though his heart had been ripped from his chest and thrown on the floor. He felt Brock’s hand land on his shoulder, steadying him.
“Don’t blame her, son,” Jack said stepping forward, his arm rising slightly as though he wanted to reach out to Poole. “She was trying to help me, to help us both. But I need you to know what really happened so that we might have a chance of something.”
There was no mistaking the tears now. They rolled down his father’s face as his eyes pleaded with Poole’s.
“I made bad choices, Guy. I put our family in danger. But I didn’t know what I was involved with, how dangerous it was. And what happened that day was out of my control.”
Poole turned and strode across the street, back toward the pub.
“Just talk to her, Guy!” Jack called out from behind him.
He opened the pub door and stepped inside, moving forward until he could look through the archway and see the table where his friends were sat. His mum was talking to Sanita and Laura, who were both laughing loudly.
“Poole,” Brock said softly by his ear, his voice coming as a surprise to Poole, who hadn’t seen him enter. “You don’t know what that man said is true.”
Poole said nothing but stared at his mother as he breathed heavily, a mixture of anger, sadness and blind panic welling in him.
“Not tonight, eh?” Brock said. “Have a drink, spend some time with your friends. You’ll do no good talking about it in this state.”
Poole nodded. He knew the inspector was right, but how could he go and sit down with his mother now without saying anything?
“Come on,” Brock said, but instead of leading him through the archway to their friends, he led him to the bar. The inspector ordered three neat whiskeys and lined them up.
“Only one of these is for me,” he said, knocking one back.
Poole downed the others in quick succession and leaned on the bar, taking deep breaths.
“OK.” He nodded, standing up.
They walked through toward the table and Sanita looked up at them.
“Where have you been? You should hear the stories your mum’s told us about you growing up!”
Poole looked from Sanita to his mother, who was red-faced and beaming. She jerked a thumb toward Sanita and then raised it with an excited jiggle. He smiled at her weakly and sat down.
Sanita gave him a curious look as Brock cut in.
“Right,” he said loudly, clapping his hands. “Another case solved, and I’d like to propose a toast to the hero of the hour—someone who put their life on the line for a fellow officer.” Brock turned toward Poole and Sanita. “And who has the meanest right hook in the whole of Addervale, Constable Sanita Sanders!”
There was a loud cheer followed by laughter as Sanita pulled a strongman pose.
Poole smiled, looked around the table and desperately tried to forget the scene outside.
He caught Brock’s eye and the inspector gave him a nod of reassurance, as though telling him he was here for him.
Poole picked up his pint and drank deeply.
More from A.G. Barnett
I hope you enjoyed this book, if you did, please consider leaving a review!
For news on upcoming books visit agbarnett.com and join A.G.Barnett’s newsletter to get new release alerts.
Don’t miss the next book in the series… When The Party Died… Available for pre-order now!
Books by A.G. Barnett
Brock & Poole Mysteries
An Occupied Grave
A Staged Death
When The Party Died
A Staged Death (A Brock & Poole Mystery Book 2) Page 16