Dark Tides Thrillers Box Set

by Tony Hutchinson

  Sam looked over her shoulder and watched Curtis sit bolt upright, his knees squeezed together and body stiff. Ed had hit a nerve.

  ‘Who were you going to be? Elton John or Billy Joel?’ Ed said.

  Curtis turned his head and looked out of the window.

  ‘I don’t even know who that last bloke is.’

  ‘You don’t know Billy Joel?’ Ed grinned. ‘The Piano Man?’

  He started to sing the first couple of lines of the song.

  ‘I hope he sounded better than that,’ Curtis said.

  Ed made a mock-hurt face into the mirror.

  ‘Nothing wrong with my singing.’

  All three were laughing as Ed pulled into the yard at Seaton St George Police Station.

  Curtis eyed the yard gloomily. ‘I’m not going to be here all night am I?’

  ‘Hopefully not,’ Sam told him. ‘Let’s just get out of the car, stand here, and you and I can have a cigarette. Don’t let anybody see you though. You’re not supposed to smoke here.’

  Curtis offered Sam one of his cigarettes, the box trembling in front of her.

  ‘Thanks Curtis but I prefer these.’

  She lit a Marlboro Gold.

  ‘Curtis,’ Sam said, inhaling smoke. ‘Your mum told Ed you went for piano lessons somewhere on The Avenue.’

  She studied him, waiting for a response, a once good-looking lad now in his mid 20s, 6 feet tall and probably weighing less than 8 stones.

  Curtis’ whole body shook as he blew smoke upwards.

  ‘Long time ago. I didn’t like it but my mam kept pushing me. I used to think she was doing it just to get rid of me for an hour.’

  ‘Can you remember what they called the teacher?’ Sam pushed.

  Curtis looked down and allowed smoke to drift from his mouth and nostrils.

  ‘I thought you wanted to talk to me about the body, not some piano teacher from years ago.’

  ‘Humour me Curtis,’ Sam said. ‘You never know, I might be thinking of taking up the piano myself.’

  Curtis looked at her.

  ‘It was Scott...Jeremy fucking Scott,’ he said at last. ‘And I hope you play better than he sings.’

  Chapter Twelve

  Adam leaned against the wall of the floodlit five-a-side pitch and scanned the blank membership form Julius had given him. He noted the parental permission dotted line and wondered if they knew what they were agreeing to.

  The form did specify that no child would ever be left alone with one adult. That sounded good in principle and looked reassuring on paper but when everyone involved had a taste for young boys it meant nothing.

  The only people protected were the perpetrators themselves; the word of two adults against one child, a child that probably already had issues at school and with the law.

  Earlier Julius had given him the tour...a glassed reception area where a young woman in a yellow polo shirt bearing the centre logo sat at a computer screen; CCTV coverage in the corridors; a couple of vending machines selling energy drinks and bars; changing rooms with showers but understandably no cameras and so the obvious place for the ‘sexual assault zone’.

  Upstairs was a bar with sliding patio doors to a balcony overlooking the ten five-a-side pitches and at the end of the corridor, the manager’s office.

  Adam considered the potent combination: alcohol, vulnerable young boys and predators.

  He was on the balcony, watching the youngsters on the pitches below, when Julius tapped him on the shoulder.

  ‘What do you think then?’

  ‘Seems well organised.’

  Julius looked upwards, smiled, and shook his head.

  ‘It’s that alright, but I meant the latest crop?’

  Adam stared back to the noise and movement on the busy pitches.

  ‘They seem nice kids.’

  Julius puffed out his cheeks.

  ‘Adam, we each know what we are. Let’s cut the bullshit. Anyone caught your eye yet?’

  Adam looked straight head and didn’t answer.

  ‘Look there’s a party next Friday night after the football,’ Julius told him. ‘A couple of the older boys are coming, you know, drink and cigarettes, a little cocaine. Hans has organised it. Are you up for it?’

  ‘You sure Hans won’t mind?’ Adam sounded doubtful. ‘He didn’t look too happy when I couldn’t join in the synchronised wank.’

  Julius’s laugh this time was genuine and throaty, a nod to his ambivalence towards tobacco health warnings.

  ‘Quality…synchronised indeed.’

  He laughed again. ‘Are you up for it then?’

  ‘Yeah okay,’ Adam couldn’t stop his own small smile. ‘What time and where?’

  ‘We’ll meet here then we’ll walk,’ Julius said. ‘Hans will transport the boys. He’ll text me the location as we walk.’

  ‘All a bit cloak and dagger,’ Adam looked back to the boys below. ‘Doesn’t he trust you?’

  ‘It’s called being careful,’ Julius said quietly. ‘That way we keep out of prison.’

  ‘Feeling better than you were this morning?’ Harry Pullman asked as John Elgin walked to the bar.

  He glanced around. The place was busier but not packed, the customers a mix of older couples in winter coats and a younger crowd dressed for summer. Typical north east.

  ‘How’s Oscar?’ Harry asked as he pulled a pint of Peroni.

  Elgin watched the glass turning golden.

  ‘Withdrawn, upset, hurt,’ he told Harry. ‘Everything you’d expect him to be. He doesn’t want to report it though and his parents don’t want to force him. Meanwhile, the two fuckers responsible walk around without a care in the world.’

  Harry put the pint in front of Elgin. ‘People like that always get what’s coming. How did anyone find out?’

  ‘He just blurted it, poor kid,’ Elgin reached into his pocket for change.

  Harry shook his head. ‘On the house.’

  ‘Cheers.’ He drank the crisp lager, froth attaching itself to his moustache. ‘He only went to the football because his parents thought it might get him off the iPad for five minutes. Always been a bit of a loner our Oscar.’

  He drank some more and had another look around.

  ‘But he’s never liked football,’ Elgin went on. ‘Why they sent him there I’ll never know. The bastards who abused him are called Julius and Hans. If I could get my hands on them.’

  He swallowed three mouthfuls of Peroni, enjoying the cold rush in his throat.

  ‘A man in your position is better keeping his hands clean,’ Harry told him. ‘Leave dirty work to dirty hands. What about his dad?’

  Elgin put his glass on the bar top and wiped his mouth.

  ‘Iain?’ he said sourly. ‘Don’t be daft. Not everyone from Glasgow wants to fight. Drink maybe, but not fight. Iain couldn’t punch his way out of a paper bag.’

  Harry stepped away to serve a couple further down the bar and picked up Elgin’s empty glass when he returned. He swapped it for a fresh one and held it under the Peroni tap without asking.

  ‘As I said, they’ll get what’s coming to them.’

  ‘You believe that Harry?’ Elgin nodded his thanks for the new pint and put a £5 note on the bar. ‘I think they’ll get away with it and while I say nothing, the next kid’s getting lined up.’

  Harry took the money.

  ‘You can’t say anything. Oscar and his parents would never speak to you again. They’ve trusted you with the information. They don’t expect you to spout off about it.’

  Harry let his words sink in before continuing. ‘Something will turn up. Trust me. Down the Astroturf you said?

  Elgin nodded, hunched over the bar and stared into the pint glass. It was becoming a habit, the pint and the staring.

  ‘Now about these licences,’ Harry was saying now. ‘We’ll need more info.’

  ‘What do you need to know?’ Elgin said without looking up. ‘I just want Skinner off my back.’

  Harry s
poke to the top of his head. ‘John, it’s not that simple. It’s not going to happen overnight.’

  Elgin dragged his eyes from the glass, told him the applications didn’t start to kick in until January, that there was time enough.

  ‘That’s good, but we need to know the premises he’s eyeing up,’ Harry said. ‘We’ll need to sort out some backers. He’s got more cash than us. It won’t be easy.’

  ‘I never said it would be, but it’ll make you rich Harry.’

  ‘And for that we’ll always be grateful,’ Harry said. ‘Goes without saying if this comes off, drink, food, girls...always on the house.’

  This time Elgin met his eyes.

  ‘On the house is what got me into trouble with Skinner.’

  ‘But he uses people,’ Harry said. ‘Forgets what side his bread’s buttered. We’re not like that.’

  Elgin dropped his gaze back to the glass and the gently bubbling lager.

  You’re all like that. Out of the frying pan…

  ‘Jeremy Scott’s dead,’ Sam said.

  Curtis Brown stubbed out the cigarette with his left foot and pulled another from the packet.

  ‘Fucking great,’ he lit up. ‘No good ever came from his life.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Ed joined in.

  Curtis shook his head and spoke as he let out smoke. ‘Nothing mate.’

  ‘Curtis we know what Jeremy Scott used to do with young boys. The body you found.’ Sam stopped and fixed her eyes on his. ‘The body was Jeremy Scott.’

  Curtis’ cigarette hand started shaking. ‘What are you saying?’

  Sam studied him. ‘I’m saying the body was your old piano teacher.’

  ‘No, what are you saying?’ Curtis demanded. ‘I did it?’

  ‘Did you?’ Ed’s voice was neutral.

  ‘Fuck off.’

  Sam stepped in front of him. ‘Look at it from our point of view Curtis. We know what Scott was.’

  ‘Do you? Do you?’ He shouted. ‘You have no idea. Every week my mother dropped me off there.’

  He flicked the cigarette away and immediately lit another. His eyes filled and his cracked voice fell to a whisper.

  ‘Every week. She may as well have wrapped me in fucking Christmas paper.’

  He inhaled and stared at the ground.

  ‘Shall we get a cup of tea?’ Sam said, touching his forearm.

  Curtis was still shaking his head when Sam’s mobile rang in her pocket.

  She took out the phone and saw Bev’s name on the screen. She answered, listened, and typed a quick text to Ed before returning the mobile to her pocket.

  Ed read the message.

  Neighbour of Jayne’s saw Scott walking towards a white van. No reg.

  ‘Sure you don’t want to get that cuppa Curtis?’ Ed said.

  ‘No. Once I’m in there you’ll try and stick this on me.’

  ‘Curtis...’Sam said.

  ‘I knew it was him,’ the voice loud and raw. ‘Knew it was that bastard when I saw him.’

  ‘Calm down Curtis,’ Sam said, voice soothing, melodic. ‘How?’

  Curtis looked at her.

  ‘I saw them taking him in,’ he said. ‘I recognised him when they dragged him out of the van.’

  Sam glanced at Ed, the breakthrough glance of hundreds of investigations, the here-we-go-glance, the detectives’ heroin hit.

  ‘Curtis we need to go inside and talk about this. Get it on tape.’

  A nod.

  ‘We need you to take your time and describe everything you saw.’

  Curtis stared at the ground and mumbled. ‘You can watch it.’

  The walk through the town centre for a pint was Adam’s idea, one for the road. Julius agreed but said Hans was expecting him, so one it would be.

  Ahead of them, two masked gorillas holding pints of lager staggered in the busy street, another stag party on a bender. Julius put his hand in his pocket when he felt his mobile vibrate and glanced at the screen.

  Don’t be too long. Hans.

  Julius, head bowed, read the message and smiled. That man even had to use correct grammar in text speech.

  ‘Alright gents?’ one of the gorillas slurred.

  ‘Fine mate,’ Adam answered.

  Julius was slipping the phone back in his pocket when a rubber mask was rammed onto his head and strong arms manhandled him towards a Ford Transit parked at the kerbside.

  Men were singing a loud and tuneless version of ‘who’s getting married in the morning’, the noise blocking out the groan as the van’s back doors were flung open, flakes of rust from the unoiled hinges dropping onto the road. His arms and legs were pinned tight, restraints were snapped around his wrists, and he was thrown into the air. Whatever he landed on wasn’t concrete but it was hard.

  ‘Fuck!’ he shouted.

  An engine started and the transit shuddered into life.

  ‘Adam!’ Julius shouted. ‘Adam. Are you there?’

  The doors slammed.

  ‘What the fuck’s happening?’ Adam’s voice sounded panicked but close. ‘Is this down to you? Some sort of initiation ceremony?’

  ‘I’m fucking sure it’s not,’ Julius screamed.

  The van moved; no wheel spins, no harsh acceleration.

  ‘Hey,’ Julius shouted.

  No one answered.

  ‘Kick the panels Adam,’ Julius said, lashing out with his heels. ‘Scream for help. Somebody will hear us and call the police.’

  Adam kicked at nothing and when he spoke he sounded resigned more than frightened.

  ‘Julius calm down,’ he said. ‘What’s the point? Nobody’s calling the police. Anyone watching would just think we were part of the stag party. It’s a joke. This lot’ll get bored and drop us off somewhere. So long as they haven’t set out to get you.’

  Julius went quiet and still.

  ‘Nobody’s out to get me, but this van’s travelling. We’re on a fast road here.’

  He rolled onto his back to take the weight off his arms. ‘What the fuck is all this about?’

  ‘You tell me,’ Adam said.

  They lay in silence, the journey lasting no more than ten minutes before the van stopped and the doors were opened.

  The mask was ripped off Julius’ head, his eyes struggling to focus, another figure on the floor of the van next to him, wrists cuffed and a gorilla mask on his head.

  Two gorillas stood at the back doors. ‘Phone,’ one of them demanded. ‘Where is it?’

  ‘Trouser pocket,’ Julius said, still on his back.

  Should I have lied?

  They each grabbed an ankle and dragged him towards them. One of the masked men checked his pockets and took the phone. ‘Code?’

  ‘One-nine-seven-eight. Look can we go now? You’ve had your fun.’

  ‘Get out.’

  Julius did what he was told, dropping his legs over the edge and jumping the short distance to the ground.

  ‘What about my hands?’

  ‘They’re fine for now.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  They were back in the same interview room but this time Sam and Ed weren’t in a hurry and both of them sat down instead of standing in the doorway.

  ‘You okay doing this Curtis?’ Sam said.

  Curtis nodded.

  ‘Curtis we’ll talk after this, talk about professional help, that sort of thing. You don’t need to carry this around with you by yourself. Remember you did nothing wrong all those years ago.’

  Another nod from Curtis.

  He pressed play on his screen, put the phone on the desk and spun it around so that the two detectives opposite could watch. A white van was already parked in front of the garage, a tall man, the driver, walking to the back doors. Jayne Culley had described a man with a straight back and a military demeanour and this guy fit the bill. There would be no joy identifying the face. The mask, like something from the old Spitting Image puppet show, would see to that. The doors were opened, two other masked figures
jumped out and there was Jeremy Scott, hands tied behind his back. Scott dropped to the floor and whilst the footage was soundless, he was talking until the driver punched him in the face and the others dragged him facedown into the garage.

  ‘Did you record any more Curtis?’ Sam asked, looking at him.

  He shook his head. ‘Too scared. I could hear screaming and I saw them all walk out.’

  ‘Then what happened?’ Sam said.

  ‘The masks were off by then,’ Curtis told them. ‘They put them in one of those things strikers on the picket lines light to keep warm, you know like a dustbin on fire.’

  ‘A brazier?’ Ed said.

  ‘I don’t know the proper name,’ Curtis shrugged. ‘Then they took off the boiler suits and burnt them as well.’

  ‘Can you remember what they looked like?’ Ed pressed him.

  ‘Not really and I don’t want to.’

  Curtis started clawing at the back of his right hand like a demented cat scratching a piece of carpet.

  ‘I saw what they did to him and he fucking deserved it but no way the same thing’s happening to me.’

  His hand suddenly stopped.

  ‘And anyway,’ Curtis almost smiled. ‘Why would I want to help you catch the people who killed that bastard? I only showed you what happened so you couldn’t fit me up for it.’

  ‘Curtis I don’t want to accuse you of withholding information,’ Sam said. ‘I really don’t.’

  ‘I can’t get accused of anything because I have a bad memory,’ he shot back. ‘So I remember the driver was tall, the others were medium and when they took their masks and overalls off I was too frightened to look at them.’

  ‘What about your bad memory this morning?’ Ed said. ‘Why didn’t you show me the film then?’

  Curtis glared. ‘I just wanted to get out, get myself sorted.’

  Sam stood up and walked out of the room. Ed followed.

  ‘Look we’re all tired,’ she said, rubbing her eyes. ‘We’ve got more than we had before we picked him up. ‘

  Ed leaned against the dirty magnolia wall.

  ‘You know, years ago these would have been painted regularly, but not now,’ he ran his hand lightly over a stain. ‘Private Finance Initiatives saw to that. Costs a fortune just to change a light bulb now. Paint a wall? Cheaper to use Michelangelo.’