Dark Tides Thrillers Box Set

by Tony Hutchinson

  ‘So do you think Elgin will come good?’ he asked.

  Harry Pullman was standing next to him, an uncle enjoying some time with his nephew if the cops on the promenade ever got round to asking.

  ‘Can’t think of any reason to doubt him,’ Harry said. ‘He came to us. He’s in a hell of a state.’

  ‘What was the grandson bit about?’

  ‘Oscar, a canny kid,’ Harry told him. ‘Elgin reckons the lad was touched up by a couple of faggots at some sports club.’

  Silvers’ body stiffened and he jerked his head away from the white yacht making good headway towards the horizon.

  ‘Fucking nonces. They been sorted?’

  ‘Not yet. John doesn’t want to go to the cops. What would be the point? A 10-year-old’s word against two blokes. No witnesses. No forensic.’

  ‘That’s how they get away with it,’ Silvers leaned forward and rested his forearms on the railing. ‘What’s he going to do about it? Scum like that need sorting.’

  Harry said wheels would soon be in motion, that he’d told Elgin they could probably help.

  ‘Well give me the nod,’ Silvers stood up straight. ‘Beating a couple of nonces is always good for the soul. Anyway, Elgin, do you think there’s a tape?’

  Harry said he was 100% sure, said no way Skinner would have passed up the opportunity.

  Each stood in silence, watching the distant yacht and the white tipped waves.

  ‘So we take out Skinner and get the tape and in return Elgin hands the new licences to us,’ Silvers said. ‘Sounds easy.’

  Harry Pullman, deep in thought, was no longer focused on the yacht. It was a full minute before he spoke.

  ‘It needs to be funded Dean,’ he said finally. ‘Billy Skinner’s got a lot more cash than us. How the hell can we buy the places he’s turning into wine bars and clubs?’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about that,’ Silvers said. ‘If something happens to Billy, Mat will go after anyone and everybody. Kick an angry dog and it bites everyone. He would probably come after us but he’ll go after others as well. He’ll cause such a shit-storm there’ll be coppers breathing down every neck that’s not broken.’

  Dean’s knuckles tightened around the black handrail, his whole body taut and primed for a fight.

  ‘Nobody will want that,’ he went on. ‘They’ll not just stand by and let him. He’ll get himself killed and Luke will want to broker a deal, especially if John Elgin gets his magistrate and police mates to start kicking off about the licences they already have.’

  Harry let it play out in his head.

  ‘Sort out Billy and everything else falls into place, is that it?’

  Silvers nodded as Harry turned his head to face him.

  ‘Do you have any idea what stakes you’re playing for?’ Harry said now. ‘You’ll have one shot at this and even then there are no guarantees. Get it wrong and you’re a dead man. Me as well.’

  Overhead, the gulls were back, shrieking into the heavy sky.

  Silvers watched them and smiled, breathing in deep.

  ‘But get it right and we move up in the world,’ he said.

  Chapter Nine

  Sam left Bev with Alistair, rang Ed, and got a lift to The Avenue to meet him.

  He was leaning against a wall as she walked towards him and listened in silence as she repeated Alistair Scott’s story. ‘Bloody hell you’re not thinking of making all the victims TIEs are you?’ Ed said when she had finished.

  Sam laughed. ‘What like a TV drama? Trace, Interview, Eliminate. No chance.’

  They were nice words, good for TV crime shows, but scriptwriters had no concept of the criteria that had to be set to eliminate people, never mind the huge amount of work involved.

  ‘It’s why Sue never lets me watch them,’ Ed said. ‘All I do is shout at the screen. I know it’s only fiction but being in the same room as reality shouldn’t be that hard. I’m sure they just hear a conversation or a phrase that sounds good and run with it.’

  Sam’s immediate plan was much more practical - more research on Jeremy Scott and use the media to help with the digging.

  A retired teacher bound and burnt alive was news. The fact that teacher had walked on child sex charges only upped the ante.

  ‘Let’s start thinking about the press,’ Sam said. ‘Get our strategy right and they can help us here.’

  She looked around and saw the long-wheel based white police Ford Transit in the road, eight uniforms walking up and down the driveways or standing at doors talking to residents. Each officer carried a clipboard and Sam’s prepared questionnaire.

  ‘How’s the door-to-door going?’

  ‘Plenty of them at it but nothing as yet,’ Ed told her. ‘SOCOs are inside Scott’s house.’

  Sam nodded, looking at the smaller white SOCO van parked behind the Jaguar on Scott’s drive.

  ‘Anything?’

  Ed told her there was no sign of forced entry, no blood traces, and nothing out of place.

  ‘It’s as if he just walked out of the house,’ Ed said. ‘The fact I found the door unlocked makes you think he was expecting to walk back pretty much immediately.’

  ‘What about the van?’ Sam said, scanning the houses.

  Ed said the only witness so far was Jayne Cully and she seemed confused, to put it mildly.

  Sam searched her coat pocket for her cigarettes.

  ‘That doesn’t mean the white van wasn’t here, though. We just need to find someone else who saw it.’

  The allegations, Sam told herself. They have to be the trigger.

  She looked around the street. No press with cameras, no members of the public with mobile phones pointing in her direction. She lit the cigarette.

  There was no CCTV around the garage and picking out the van on cameras covering the town would be a lottery shot without at least a partial number.

  ‘Nobody we’ve spoken to so far got a flyer saying they’d won a TV or anything else so that’s probably how they got him to the van,’ Ed said. ‘But why leave it lying around for us to find.’

  Sam drew deeply on the cigarette as Ed went on.

  ‘Maybe Jayne-with-a-Y disturbed them. Let’s be right, if they’d seen she clocked them they’d want to get away pronto. They won’t have known she’s got dementia.’

  Sam looked past his shoulder and shook her head. ‘Look at that.’ Ed turned around and smiled. Seven uniforms were standing on the pavement, each holding a mug of tea, a large round lemon drizzle cake on a plate balanced on top of the garden wall.

  Debs Lescott waved towards them.

  ‘Seems like you’ve got a fan,’ Sam teased.

  Ed raised his arm. ‘Come on. She’s bound to have saved some for me.’

  Sam gave him the eyebrows up.

  ‘And if you’re really lucky she might have kept some cake for you as well.’

  Ed walked ahead and made the introductions as Sam joined them.

  ‘Debs this is DCI Sam Parker.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ Sam extended her arm. ‘And on behalf of the officers, thanks for the tea and cake.’

  ‘As long as there’s some left for us,’ Ed said, winking at Debs.

  ‘Of course there is. Come on. And it’s no bother.’

  Debs made three mugs of tea and cut three large slices from a huge Victoria Sandwich cake.

  ‘All this activity has upset Jayne,’ Debs told them. ‘She keeps telling me about Jeremy being pushed into a white van. She seems adamant.’

  Ed bit into the moist sponge, wiped crumbs from the corner of his mouth and spoke as he chewed.

  ‘I believe her.’

  ‘You do?’ Debs asked, startled.

  ‘I do,’ Ed took another bite. ‘I know she gets confused and her memory’s failing but that doesn’t mean she’s wrong.’

  Debs dragged her eyes from Ed and cut another half brick from the sponge.

  ‘How refreshing Ed,’ she said as she worked the knife. ‘Plenty wouldn’t have beli
eved a word. More cake?’

  Sam looked at Ed and was giving him the eyebrows again when his text alert sounded.

  ‘Excuse me while I check this.’

  Now it was his turn with the eyebrows. The text was from Sam.

  Grab your coat. You’ve pulled. Smiley face.

  He kicked Sam’s ankle.

  Brown leaves blew in the wind, traffic rumbled beyond the black railings, but Adam Best’s ears were tuned into something different; the sounds of children squealing as they chased each other on the grass, the noise of rusted chains as the swings flew ever higher.

  Adam liked children, enjoyed watching them, and there was nowhere better to watch than in a park on a Friday afternoon when school had just finished, even if darkness was descending.

  Some of the young boys wore football strips: the pale blue of Manchester City, the dark blue of Chelsea, the white of Real Madrid, all proof that tomorrow’s glory supporters were ready-in-waiting. As a boy himself Adam had followed Southampton before he realised it was more fun supporting a team who won something more than once in a generation. Some of the girls wore smart brown jodhpurs and waterproof country tops, ready to go to their ponies and riding lessons.

  Adam Best cut a less polished figure, brown hair needing a wash, blue suit jacket worn at the elbows and a hem coming loose from chocolate-brown chinos. The pristine white of his Stan Smith trainers made the rest of the ensemble shabbier still.

  A tall man, well-dressed and like Adam in his late-fifties, sat on the opposite end of the bench. ‘You’re a regular here aren’t you?’

  Adam tugged down on his black Adidas baseball cap.

  ‘No law against it is there?’

  ‘None at all friend,’ the stranger shuffled closer. ‘Just wondering what sort of guy sits in the park every afternoon when school’s turning out.’

  ‘Spying on me are you?’ Adam looked away.

  ‘You stick out that’s all,’ the stranger said. ‘Stick out to the sort of people looking for your type.’

  Adam turned his head and looked into the man’s brown eyes. ‘My type? What’s that then?’

  ‘We know your type.’

  Adam stood up and began to walk away but in a moment the stranger was at his side.

  He gently took hold of Adam’s elbow and eased him round to face him.

  ‘Don’t rush off friend. We’re kindred spirits. I’ve seen you in here every day for a fortnight. I know why you come.’

  The stranger bent slightly until his mouth was almost touching Adam’s ear.

  ‘Same reason as me,’ warm breath came with the whisper.

  Adam stepped backwards, almost stumbling.

  ‘Leave me alone,’ the voice a whine. ‘I know what you’re doing. Just get away.’

  The stranger moved closer again, arms slightly outstretched and palms up.

  ‘You think I’m one of those vigilantes,’ the stranger seemed amused. ‘Like the do-gooders who pretend to be young girls online? Organise a meeting and then hand the man over to the police. That’s not me, friend.’

  ‘Then maybe you’re the police,’ Adam said, looking the stranger up and down. ‘Just leave me alone.’

  Adam turned away but the man grabbed his elbow again and squeezed.

  ‘Let’s go for a cup of tea and have a chat. I’m not what you think. I just want to get to know you better. I know we have similar interests.’

  Adam wrestled his arm free but stayed a pace away from the stranger, eyeing him with a mix of tentative hope and straight up suspicion.

  ‘You think I’m going to hurt you?’ The stranger smiled. ‘Why would I do that in front of all of these children?’

  He looked around as if to emphasise the point.

  ‘Look, we’ll just go to the café here in the park,’ the man seemed to sense Adam’s indecision. ‘Plenty of people about, plenty of witnesses to make sure you stay safe.’

  Adam looked down at the ground and spoke just above a whisper. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Come on,’ the stranger told him. ‘What harm can it do? Two friends going for a cup of tea and if you don’t mind me saying, you don’t seem to have many friends.’

  Adam didn’t look up. ‘I’ve just moved into the area.’

  ‘All the more reason then,’ the stranger said cheerfully. ‘Come on. I’m buying.’

  Adam sat close to the window on the red plastic chair. The tall man placed a mug of tea in front of him.

  ‘Where’s that accent from then?’

  ‘South,’ Adam said. ‘I needed to get as far away as possible. So what do want from me?’

  The stranger sitting opposite emptied brown sugar from a sachet into his coffee.

  ‘I want you to be honest. Then we can go from there.’

  Adam looked into his own white mug, milky tea almost to the brim. He picked up a spoon and began to stir. He didn’t take sugar but he wanted to buy himself some time. As a prop the spoon would do. He took a deep breath.

  ‘I was falsely accused,’ he said.

  The stranger moved a steady hand and pressed it lightly on Adam’s wrist.

  ‘Go on,’ he said. ‘Tell me.’

  As Adam talked he seemed more and more at ease, telling the man how he had been a tennis coach when one boy, a junior with a promising future, claimed Adam had molested him, the police all too ready to believe, the whispers all one way.

  He had been speaking for many minutes when he realised they still hadn’t exchanged names.

  ‘Adam Best,’ he said, offering his hand.

  ‘Julius Pritchard,’ the man’s skin dry and warm. ‘Come on. Let’s get a proper drink. My car’s just round the corner.’ They walked in silence, Adam head down, cap peak pulled low. He looked up when he heard the beeping of the car being unlocked and slid onto the black Nappa leather of the 7 series BMW.

  ‘Nice car,’ Adam said, working the seat belt.

  Julius smiled, started the engine and put the automatic into drive. ‘So did you go to court? Maybe I read about it.’

  He looked over his shoulder and pulled out into the traffic.

  ‘No court in the end,’ Adam said, looking at the dashboard controls. ‘But it fucks up your life. Everywhere you go you think people are staring at you, that shop assistants don’t want to serve you. Then when they painted those disgusting words on my door, I knew I had to get out.’

  Julius glanced his way. ‘Where are you living now?’

  ‘Rented flat,’ Adam said. ‘Nothing special, but it’ll do.’

  Julius negotiated a set of traffic lights, turned left and moved the powerful BMW to the 40mph speed limit.

  ‘And what do you do with your time then, when you’re not in the park?’

  ‘Read,’ Adam told him. ‘I like the classics, transport myself back in time, imagine what it must have been like to live in Dickens’ day. Children knew their place then.’

  ‘I read them myself,’ Julius smiled. ‘Love them. Read them over and over, again and again.’

  Adam shuffled in the seat. His next question needed to be asked and he hoped he’d read Julius Pritchard right.

  ‘What did you mean in the park when you said the same reason as me?’

  Julius glanced at him.

  Adam looked back, relieved to see Julius’ fingers hadn’t tightened around the wheel, that the question hadn’t changed his mood or got his back up.

  ‘I go to the park because I like young boys,’ Julius told him. ‘What about you?’

  Adam shrugged: ‘They’re alright I suppose.’

  Julius suddenly braked hard, pulled the wheel, and swung the car into the kerb. This time his fingers were clenched and his voice was edged with anger.

  ‘Look if you’re not going to honest then there is no point in continuing this conversation,’ the heat bubbling under the surface. ‘We’re both wasting our time and I for one am not prepared to do that.’

  They stared at each other in the charged silence, Adam’s expression like a free
-running acrobat unsure he could make the leap from one high wall to another.

  He inhaled deeply, held his breath, and dropped his head as his words came in a whisper.

  ‘Yes I like young boys.’

  Julius slipped the BMW back into drive and pulled smoothly away. ‘Wasn’t so hard was it?’

  He patted Adam’s thigh then touched a button on the steering wheel, the car filling with classical music.

  Adam slipped down the seat, closed his eyes and listened to violins rise and fall like graceful fountains.

  Chapter Ten

  This time Jayne Cully poured hot water into three mugs, enough for the people in the room.

  Ed carried them to the table, Jayne following, leaning heavily against her black stick as she dropped into the hard chair.

  Ed looked around. Jayne obviously lived in this room; TV on, TV Times magazine on the small occasional table next to the chair, an indicator as to how she spent her days.

  Later in the day than his last visit, the room was stifling, the gas fire on full blast. The rest of the house was Baltic cold.

  Sam unbuttoned her coat.

  ‘Terrible thing about Jeremy,’ Jayne said. ‘All of those police looking for him. Do you think he’s still with the man in the van?’

  ‘I don’t know Jayne, do you?’ Sam asked.

  ‘I don’t know. You’re the detectives, not me.’

  ‘What did the man in the white van look like Jayne, can you remember?’

  Jayne was quiet for a moment, eyes closed.

  ‘I saw his face,’ she said. ‘He was tall. Distinguished type. Like an army officer. Back rigid straight, like my father. He was in the Guards.’

  She looked away, Sam watching her eyes flicker and glass over, distant memories suddenly vivid.

  ‘What else can you remember Jayne?’ Sam said.

  ‘Oh everything,’ she smiled. ‘How smart my father looked. His shiny boots.’

  ‘What I meant Jayne,’ Sam pressed gently, ‘was what else do you remember about Jeremy and the white van?’

  Jayne blinked. ‘They walked down the path. That’s when I saw them. I was at my front door looking for milk. Jeremy seemed quite happy.’