Dark Tides Thrillers Box Set

by Tony Hutchinson

  ‘Fine,’ Sam said, exhaling loudly. ‘The Assistant Chief pulled me in the corridor after the press conference.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘The usual. Do you need more resources? How’s it going? What are your lines of inquiry? Are the deaths related? How much are you spending?’

  She paused, rubbed her eyes. ‘But all roads lead to Rome. In this case Rome being how long will it take to get it sorted?’

  ‘In that case,’ Ed emphasised the word ‘case’, ‘you might want to look at this. Rewind it Paul.’

  Paul Adams hit a button and the TV monitor brought up a black and white image.

  Ed pointed at the screen. ‘There’s Julius Pritchard.’

  Sam bent down for a closer look and saw Julius walking along North Road. ‘Who’s he with?’

  ‘Just watch for now,’ Ed said.

  Sam saw two men in gorilla suits grab Julius and force a mask on his head before one of them opened the back doors of a Ford Transit.

  ‘Freeze that.’

  Paul Adams hit a button.

  Sam peered closer. ‘Are they cuffing him?’

  ‘Difficult to tell,’ Ed said. ‘We’ve watched it a dozen times but it looks like they’ve used something to restrain his wrists. Maybe cable ties. The quality of these cameras isn’t getting any better, sadly. ’

  ‘Go on Paul.’ Sam said, as she watched Julius thrown unceremoniously into the van. ‘Ooh, bet that hurt.’

  ‘No doubt,’ Ed moved his eyes off the screen. ‘Pretty gentle though when you think what was coming his way at the abattoir.’

  Sam stared at the screen again as the two gorillas got into the back of the van.

  ‘Rewind it Paul,’ Ed said. ‘Now watch closely Sam, but don’t look at Julius, watch his mate this time.’

  Sam locked everything onto the other figure.

  ‘There,’ Ed said, pointing at the screen.

  Paul froze the footage.

  Sam stared then under her breath whispered: ‘Shit.’

  ‘John Elgin speaking,’ the mobile shaking in tandem with his hand as soon as he heard the voice on the end of the line.

  ‘Councillor Elgin, star of stage, screen and CCTV,’ Billy Skinner laughed. ‘Not the biggest boy the girls have seen but certainly willing, for a more mature gentleman anyway.’

  ‘What do you want?’ Elgin’s voice was laced with sour unease.

  ‘Easy tiger,’ Skinner serious now. ‘I’ve got a new proposition. I’ve just negotiated the purchase of the old abattoir.’

  ‘What, where those two bastards were killed?’ Elgin’s stomach felt like it was in a fast descending lift.

  ‘Killed?’ Billy Skinner was as calm as the sea on a still day. ‘Don’t do those upstanding citizens a disservice. They were doing us all a favour. I thought you’d be pleased the kiddie-fiddlers were dead.’

  Does he know? Does this bastard know everything?

  ‘You there John?’

  ‘I’m here.’ Elgin dropped into the armchair and rubbed his brow. ‘What’s this got to do with me?’

  ‘Seems the owners are keen to sell,’ Skinner told him. ‘Hoped they’d make good apartments when they’d secured planning permission.’

  ‘They failed twice.’ Elgin exhaled, looked up at the ceiling and shook his head.

  ‘They’d get it eventually,’ Skinner paused. ‘Anyway they’ve had a change of heart now, didn’t fancy posh apartments being nicknamed The Slaughter House.’

  The sinister laugh made him sound like the bad guy from a black and white pot boiler.

  Elgin shivered: ‘Why are you telling me this?’

  ‘It’ll be one of the first jobs on your list,’ Skinner said. ‘A new club. I’m going to call it Angels, a small tribute to whoever gave it to those two sacks of shit.’

  ‘It’ll never get through,’ Elgin started. ‘The police will object for sure and…’

  ‘No excuses John.’ Skinner’s voice had changed, still conversational but Elgin could feel the aggression radiating down the connection. ‘Would you like me to send you a copy of the tape? Or perhaps your lovely wife would like a preview before it hits YouTube?’

  Another burst of laughter. ‘I’ll be in touch.’

  Elgin dropped the mobile and slumped into his chair, a tidal wave of acid rising in his throat.

  He took the stairs two at a time, barged through the bathroom door, and put his head in the toilet bowl. He hated the colour, 1970’s avocado green. He hated it more when it reeked of disinfectant, his eyes watering as he vomited yellow bile.

  He pushed himself up and saw an old man staring back in the vanity mirror, the eyes as lifeless as a dead fish, the forehead clammy and lined. He ran the cold tap and splashed icy water on his face.

  The smell of the heavy pine disinfectant in the small room was harsh. The smell of his own fear was even worse.

  He gargled cold water, spat it out, and squeezed toothpaste onto his brush with a shaking hand.

  ‘I’m better than this,’ the words said out loud bounced back from the mirror.

  Elgin had been smart enough to make a mark, smart enough to put a blighted childhood behind him and survive.

  He would survive now. He would find a way.

  He began brushing his teeth slowly, rhythmically, and watched something flicker in the haunted eyes, something take hold and grow.

  This time the voice was only in his head but every word burned like a flame.

  Fuck you Skinner. Fuck you.

  Like John Elgin, Mat Skinner stared into a small vanity mirror and felt alone. He was in the bathroom of the three-bedroom static caravan that had been the perfect bolt hole for him and Geoff…a sea view, a site that was open all year, and most importantly, anonymity. Mat filled his cupped hands with freezing cold water and soaked his face until it was numb then walked into the lounge, the water running down his bare chest. He picked up a bottle from the coffee table, stared out to sea through the rain splattered patio doors, and drank. Three mouthfuls had him spluttering, his throat on fire. He didn’t like whisky but it was Geoff’s drink of choice and this was his bottle. Staring at the waves thrashing against the lighthouse rock, he hoped whoever was taking Geoff to sea drowned as well. Certainly they needed to pay.

  Mat had already known where he stood in the family. Even the proverbial blind man could see Luke was the favourite, the one his father always turned to for advice, the one he really trusted.

  Mat took another mouthful.

  The last desperate days had just hammered it home.

  He was the oldest. He should be being groomed for the top job, but even his mother thought he was a hothead who was too wild to safely run the show.

  Yet today, Mat knew, he had been worse than weak.

  He’d walked head-down past Geoff’s pleading eyes, walked past without a second glance, without begging for the life of someone he loved.

  Some boss he’d make.

  Mat had been on the boat many times, watched men already beaten to a pulp plead for their lives as their feet were manacled to a rope and rock; watched them try to shake free, heard the splash when they were thrown to the waiting water miles from shore.

  Now it was Geoff’s turn and he’d done nothing to stop it.

  Mat wiped his eyes, took another slug, and dropped onto the settee. His shaking hands managed to light a cigarette and he blew smoke towards the flecked oatmeal carpet, suddenly remembering lino-floored caravans of his childhood, before statics the size of bungalows.

  Contrary to what his father said or believed, Harry Pullman was ripping them off. A lifetime as an ant in their organisation, what the police now referred to as a ‘crime family’, enabled Harry to understand the real size of the Skinner pie. Now he had decided to take a bigger slice.

  But his father was right about the nephew, Mat conceded. Dean Silvers was nothing if not ambitious.

  He walked to the cupboard above the gas cooker and hunted for the unregistered Pay-as-You-Go mobile. He scrolled thr
ough the contacts list, found the pre-programmed number for Scaramangers, and hit the call icon.

  As soon as the call was made he’d go for a walk and drop the mobile into the harbour.

  The risk he was taking carried the ultimate price. A Skinner or not, if what he was about to say ever got out he’d be taking a one-way trip on a trawler.

  Chapter Nineteen

  ‘Let’s see it again,’ Sam ordered.

  She watched the footage and there was no doubt.

  As soon as the mask was forced on Julius’ head, one of the gorillas slipped another mask to the unidentified man alongside him. He took off his black cap, pulled the mask over his own head and then helped the others throw Julius into the back of the van.

  ‘Where did the other gorilla go?’ Sam said.

  ‘The van’s picked up on a speeding camera,’ Ed told her.

  ‘If you’re telling me that, we’ve obviously got the film.’

  ‘We have,’ Ed said. ‘All down to Paul.’

  ‘Good work Paul,’ Sam said. ‘We got a photo of the driver?’

  Paul handed Sam a blown up photograph. She stared at it. ‘Not much chance of identifying him is there?’

  ‘Not unless they’re teaching gorillas to drive,’ Ed said. ‘But it’s not all bad.’

  ‘We’ve obviously got the number plate,’ Sam turned to Paul.

  ‘We have,’ Paul told her. ‘But it should be on a Range Rover. One of ours.’

  ‘What?’ Sam’s jaw dropped. ‘The cheeky bastards. So what’s the good news?’

  ‘Watch the gorilla who passes the mask to his mate.’

  Paul replayed the video and Ed pointed at the screen.

  ‘This one on the inside of the path. Look at him. Look how straight he walks. Remember how Jayne Culley said the man she saw at Scott’s was ramrod straight, like he was on a parade ground?’

  Sam stared at the screen. ‘Same with him.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Ed said. ‘Now look at where Julius is. He’s walking on the inside. When they grab him he’s got nowhere to go. He can’t run onto the road because he’s boxed in.’

  ‘Deliberate,’ Sam said.

  ‘I would say so. But look,’ Ed pointed again. ‘There, they grab him right next to the van. This has been choreographed like a dance routine.’

  ‘And our mystery man with Julius is pulling the strings,’ Sam said.

  ‘Would fit,’ Ed agreed. ‘Now watch it all again and count the gorillas.’

  Paul hit play and Sam focused once more on the screen.

  ‘Two on the path, a mask handed to Julius’ mate makes three, and then military gorilla goes out of sight, probably to drive the van.’

  She stood up straight. ‘Three. The same number as Curtis filmed getting Jeremy Scott out of the van.’

  They watched the now frozen screen without speaking.

  ‘Jesus,’ Sam broke the silence. ‘We’ve got a gang of vigilante serial killers on a mission.’

  ‘Where the fuck is he then?’ Billy Skinner, sat behind his desk in Pussycats, his face redder than a curry-from-hell eating champion.

  Luke, standing next to Mark, said he had no idea.

  Skinner pulled a cigar from his drawer and rolled the No. 2 Montecristo between his thumb and index finger.

  ‘How’s the faggot in the cellar?’

  ‘Unconscious,’ Luke said. ‘We’ll gag him before we put him in the boot just to be on the safe side. Boat’s ready. Just waiting until the tide’s right.’

  Skinner tilted his head and sent smoke rings towards the ceiling. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Never liked that fucker anyway.’

  He puffed his cheeks, pursed his lips, and let his thoughts drift between his eldest son and Marge.

  She would go ballistic when she found out what they had done to Geoff Mekins.

  Luke read his father’s thoughts.

  ‘Mat will be in bits at first but then he’ll be raging,’ he said. ‘When he’s like that there’s no telling what he’ll do.’

  Skinner pictured his eldest son, the cold fury that coursed through him like a black river below a wafer-thin surface.

  ‘You think he’ll come after me?’

  Luke stared at his father. ‘That would be a big call, even for him. I don’t think so but…’

  Skinner folded his elbows, placed them on the desk, and leaned towards his sons. ‘But what?’

  ‘That’s not to say he won’t send someone else,’ Luke told him.

  Skinner leaned back, more smoke rings drifting gently apart on their way to the ceiling.

  Who could Mat contract?

  A million and one people, Skinner realised; wannabees looking to muscle in; hired help if the price was right; even one of his own would switch horses if Mat convinced them he could win.

  Billy Skinner spun around in his chair and faced the wall, his back to his sons.

  ‘Mark,’ he said. ‘Give us a minute.’

  Mark stood without a word and walked out, closing the door softly behind him.

  Luke would be the boss and he had no problem with that. He knew his place and was happy there.

  Skinner waited for the door to close, sucked long and slow on the cigar, and turned back to face Luke.

  ‘Mat’s a fucking loose cannon,’ Skinner spat out. ‘I should never have listened to your mother, never let him lose himself with that faggot Mekins.’

  He rose, walked over to the oak unit against the wall, and picked up a photograph in a brushed chrome frame. He held it close to his eyes and studied it, him and his three sons, young teenagers then, stood on a riverbank fly-fishing. Marge had taken the picture.

  ‘God knows I tried hard enough, gave him some responsibility, even threw a couple of girls his way,’ Skinner said, his tone frosted with sadness. ‘What did I get back in return? A queer for a son with more than wild hair up his backside.’

  Luke had listened to his father, judging the moment to step in and speak.

  ‘What do you want us to do?’ he asked now.

  Skinner gave the order with a look not words.

  ‘Your mother can never find out,’ he said when Luke nodded once.

  ‘Sort the faggot downstairs first. Then find Mat.’

  Don’t miss your lover-boy too much, son. You’ll soon be reunited.

  Harry Pullman, beige sweatshirt and matching fleece bottoms, looked more like a gym rat than a pub licensee. He put the mobile in his sweat pants, walked to the end of the bar and sat on a wooden stool.

  ‘A strange day son,’ he said to Dean Silvers who was sipping on a Diet Coke.

  ‘What’s up?’

  Harry looked around. No-one was close enough to overhear. ‘Just had Mat Skinner on the phone.’

  ‘You what?’ Silvers stiffened his back like a weightlifter ready to clean and jerk his personal best.

  Harry leaned closer to Dean. ‘He wants to talk. Something’s happened. I don’t know what, but he was quiet, upset, not like him.’

  Dean’s fingers had tightened around his glass, Harry worried it would shatter any second.

  ‘Calm down,’ he told him. ‘Let’s just see what he has to say. He wants to meet. He’s got a caravan up the Northumberland Coast.’

  Dean stared into his glass, death grip relaxing. ‘Could be a set-up.’

  Harry shrugged.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘Told me his dad and brothers don’t know about the caravan.’

  Dean looked doubtfully at his uncle. ‘And you believe him?’

  Harry didn’t pause, his mind already made up.

  ‘Enough that me and you are going to drive up there now,’ he told Dean. ‘Get a shift on and finish your drink. We’ll take my car.’

  They were about to leave when the bar door opened.

  John Elgin walked in, sober and clean-shaven and wearing a navy suit that had miles on the clock but was still pretty decent. The brown Paisley tie, though, was a fashion statement too far.

  Harry Pullman turned towards him.
‘If you scrubbed up for Tara, she’s not here.’

  ‘That tie looks like something you’d shit after a kebab,’ Silvers said, grinning.

  Elgin felt himself getting red. ‘I’m off to a planning meeting…’

  ‘On a Saturday teatime?’ Harry shot him a ‘like-fuck-you-are’ look.

  Elgin moved a stool close to them and waited until the barmaid was at the other end of the bar.

  ‘I thought you might like to know Billy Skinner has bought the old abattoir.’

  ‘Where the two beasts were found!?’ Dean jumped in, his voice loud enough to have a few of the punters turning heads their way.

  Harry hissed for him to either shut the fuck up or at least drop the volume.

  Elgin got back to his news.

  ‘Buy’s only just happened by the sounds of it,’ he said. ‘He was straight onto the owners as soon as the bodies were found. Guessed they might be having doubts about converting a double murder site into top end apartments for professionals. He was right.’

  When Elgin told them Skinner wanted to make the abattoir a bar called Angels as a tribute to the killers, Harry couldn’t stop a bark of laughter.

  ‘That’s Billy Skinner all over,’ Harry said. ‘Credit where it’s due John, you’re very well informed. So what do you want us to do?’

  Elgin loosened his tie, told them what they did was their call, that he was just giving them the heads up.

  Harry Pullman stood and glanced around again. ‘You still after that tape, John?’

  Elgin nodded like a naughty toddler hoping his mother was about to forgive him.

  ‘Why not save yourself a load of chew and just tell that pig-ugly wife of yours that you’ve been shagging?’ Harry said. ‘What’s the worst that’ll happen? She’ll leave you and by Christ, that’s a win-win situation.’

  Silvers laughed but Elgin ignored him.

  ‘It’s not that easy,’ Elgin told Harry. ‘Out of spite she’ll contact the council and the local rag. I’ll be ruined.’

  Harry looked at Dean, then back at Elgin, serious now.

  ‘Better than taking on Billy Skinner,’ leaving it hanging there.

  Elgin pushed himself off the stool and moved his head closer to them.